#me: I will read up on software programming to see if this is a bug i could maybe fix myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freerangeranger · 2 years ago

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<As students are filing into the lecture hall, Honoria Sorrel can be see fiddling with a projector. The first slide of the powerpoint reads: 'So You Don't Want to be a Ranger?'

Honey straightens up as the slide finally comes into focus, before glancing put at the sea of children still settling into their seats. She purses her lips slightly and wanders across the stage to a podium that had been moved aside - reconvening with Lamp the Sizzlipede who was watching her from atop the wooden stand.

No one can hear her as she speaks to the little fire-bug, although she does hand Lamp the projector control after a few moment.

As the crowd slowly settles - with much hushing from the other adult supervisors - Honoria takes a deep breath, and begins.>

"Hello Campers, welcome! My name is Honoria, and I am a Ranger stationed in Castalia city. Some of you might know me from the Shadow Sky Incident; I was one of many who assisted with relief efforts. I have been afforded the opportunity today to teach you about the Ranger Union and what it can do for you, even if you do not want to become an offical pokemon ranger."

"The Ranger Union is best known for its Area and Field Rangers... but you know, not everyone is cut out for that sort of job.

It's true! When you get older - don't give me that look, you will get older - Your life isn't always going to turn out the way you planned it. Sometimes we hurt ourselves. Maybe you will have a family! Or find that your passion is in engineering or marketing or security. Maybe you just hate being outside or in the field.

And that's okay! Just because you aren't a Ranger doesn't mean the Union is a dead end for you. There are tons of opportunities that people don't know about and most Ranger schools have programs for these jobs as well."

"Let's talk Operators. You all got your phones - yea? Did Miss Ellisa ask you to put them away? Well - not all of you are listening. I see you in the back. Yea, you! Hot tip: If you want to hide your phone, don't turn it on in a dark room. But you my friend might be a perfect fit for an Operator.

Operators are our IT management team for the Union. Prior to the invention of phones they were people who coordinated local Rangers, organized job boards and sent messages between Bases to facilitate smooth operations.

Now that we have satellite radio and modern communications integrated into our stylers, Operators work as a hub of all incoming reports and updates from Rangers in the field. Being knowedgable of software - both new and old - is crucial because if something goes wrong you are able to help with repairs, suggestions and even call emergency services. Not only that! Operators can reassign missions, give constant updates and are often the people who begin and end missions for Rangers. You get to boss us around over the phone - it's great."

"Mechanics! The sister-field of IT. Where operators know what to do when software is on the fritz, Mechanics are responsible for building, maintaining and repairing all of the computers, stylers and other wacky gadgets that rangers use."

"Look at this. Not quite a clunky old styler, huh? My friends, this is the first artifical pokemom leaf ever conceived. It works too! With some grafting you can attach this prosthetic to any grass pokemon that has lost a major body segment and it will provide them with a method of creating their own food. This is what I mean when I say 'mechanics'. Tools and Tech that go beyond your average smartphone.

... although it does help to know how to remove a SIM card from a phone.

If you love the idea of keeping a well oiled machine running or even inventing your own machines on someone else's dime, the Union offers scholarships for high school students - encouraging your to pursure higher education and create something that you can share with the world."

"Not many people know this, but a lot of the research that the Union supports doesn't actually relate to the field of pokemon conservation. True - creating better medical systems and styler technology is benefical to the Union as well as the medical industry. But there is a lot more to it than that. Which leads us to..."

"Acedemia!

Now, this job isn't strictly 'working for the Union'. Your paycheck doesn't solely come from us. However. I don't know how many of you know this - but research is expensive! Last year the pokemon medical industry put 3.5 million dollars into new technology. Thats insane! I could buy the Union for that amount. But it gets used by people who want to know more about the world.

Now this doesn't really get explained to you so I'm going to lay it out here.

"No one knows anything. The smartest, most well known scientist in the world can't tell you everything - heck they can't tell you anything with certainty. And thats how they like it.

The world is wide and vast and so crazy complicated. There are still arguments about photosynthesis, whether or not Flygon is a Bug or Dragon, and how bones heal. And the Union wants to support people who are trying to answer these questions - to create things like the prosthetic leaf and to inform policies to protect and manage pokemon-human interactions."

"Okay. So you don't wanna sit in a stuffy office looking through a microscope all day. But being a Ranger seems very stressful and you don't really want to deal with the people-side of the job.

May I present 'Survey Corps'. These are the enviromental sciences part of the Union. They are the ones responsible for long term monitoring and management of specific at-risk habitat and populations.

Their job is similar to Area Rangers, only if they see signs of human interruption they call the Area Rangers and get the heck out of dodge. Their job is strictly tagging pokemon, taking soil samples, checking water temperature and quality, monitoring construction sites for pokemon nests and even handing out hunting tickets for overpopulated species.

That doesn't tickle your fancy? What's that? You want to pet the pokemon but not get attacked by an angry Ursaring?"

"Rehabilitation is the name of the game! or job. Unsuprisingly there is a massive branch of pokemon welfare within the Union, both for the ride pokemon born and raised in captivity as well as injured pokemon who are going to be re-released. The Union also funds and runs its own breeding programs to reintroduce species back into their original habitats and potentially bring back ancient species that were wiped out by human intervention.

An example - not related to the Union - is with @sneasedtomeetyou who has spent time breeding hisuian sneasel - an extinct poison type - from the recessive genes recently discovered in modern sneasel. It's their hope to reintroduce these species back into Sinnoh because it was recently discovered that certain species of trees grow only after the seed has passed through the digestive tract of certain poison types."

"What? Some of you want to deal with people more than pokemon? Jeez - picky crowd today.

Luckily I have a solution. The Union employs a lot of security forces both in the field and in their buildings. Because there are high risk pokemon in the protection of the Union - no I'm not going to tell you where or what they are, put your hand down - we need security guards who are skilled combatants to protect them. This is a perfect job for professional or aspiring trainers who need a fallback plan or simply don't want to be in the competitive scene anymore.

"In conclusion. The Union employs a wide variety of people with drastically different skills and needs. If you want to be Ranger - go for it! Be the best that you can be. But if you don't, I hope you will consider the opportunities presented here and maybe I'll hear you sometime over the phone telling me...

'Mission Clear!'"

#irl pokemon #pokeblogging #rl pokemon #foster island summer camp #adventures on foster island #honoria lore #pokemon ranger headcanons #pokemon ranger #long post #ranger talks

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lonely-shine · 1 year ago

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Alnair 🌂🧠 Atlas 🍎🎯 Shell 🎓🍀 Ebis ✨🥊🎯 Marcus 🌂

Thanks for all the questions!! :D Let's see...

*Alnair

🌂 - What genre do they belong in? Fantasy! She's an Arcana game OC, so fantasy all the way in.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC? They're the perfect mashup of self-insert to project into and character of its own to explore paths I myself would personally not walk through. I also love how she lets me rewrite canon events however I want xD

*Atlas

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like? In short, pretty good! Atlas has two moms, Naith (they/them) and Irdred (she/her) (and the auntcle/biological father, Laith (she/he/they)) and loves them very much. Atlas picked many interests from them (art, gardening, etc), specially from Naith. And athough he travels far and often (he picked that from Laith), he still keeps in touch regularly and visits home once in a while.

...wow, me giving a character a perfectly healthy background/family. This is rare to happen. Quick, make a wish!

🎯 -What do they do best? All things plants. In magic? That means potions, charms, etc. In daily life? You got him gardening, cooking, brewing tea... If it involves working with plants one way or another, he has you covered.

*Shell

🎓 - How long have you had the OC? I wanna say May 2021? *goes check* Yeah, I posted about her in June 2021 for the first time, so maybe I had her for like. maybe a month before that. Which means I had her for almost three years already? And she's still so little developed? Gods. In my defence I don't choose what my brain fixates on and also my life went to shit in late 2021 and kept like that for two years, so yeah. I want to take better care of my OCs and stories now tho ^^

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC? At first I just needed someone to comfortably play Asra's and Julian's routes with because it didn't quite work with either Alnair nor Atlas. Then I started wondering if it was possible to have one character that fitted all six Arcana routes. So I gave her an angsty backstory by which her identity was stripped and to be reshaped by the route she takes, gave her the name 'Shell' solely so I could have the play on words "Shell is your name and that's what you shall become" as part of her 'curse', and ta-daa! Yet another OC for the collection was born xD

*Ebis

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name? Okay, bear with me. Ebis is a Submachine OC, loosely based on the Player. And I say 'loosely' because there isn't really any information about Player to base Ebis on. Anyway, in one of the games you get out a padded room and there's the patient number 2183. Which, in digital clock numbers, if mirrored, kinda read like 'Ebis' if you squint hard enough. That's the logic Ebis follows to choose her name, since she wakes up without memories and it's easier to think of herself as 'Ebis' than a 4 digit number anyway.

Maybe it's a dumb way to decide for a name but if it works it works.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do? She loves tinkering away with computer software, which is good for her because she makes a job out of it post-canon (I have not written about that, but it exists in my head), and also numeric games for when she wants to scratch that brain itch without dealing with the inevitable bugs. She also loves gardening and not only that but needs to get her hands into the dirt and feel the sun on her face regularly for optimal mental stability. As for hating... I can only think of anything that would involve her going underground? Trauma related thing, after Submachine she's had enough underground for the rest of her life. Otherwise I don't know, I haven't given much thought to it. Oh! But she's incapable of sitting still and doing nothing, if that counts.

🎯 -What do they do best? She's very good at computers and programming... and the less socially accepted side of it as well (by which I mean she knows how to hack stuff, but she doesn't do that post-canon, and in-canon she does by necessity).

*Marcus

🌂 - What genre do they belong in? As the other Submachine OC I guess sci-fi/fantasy? Adventure? There's some post-apocalypse vibes to much of the game as well. Post-canon this would turn to the fluffy slice-of-life this poor tired man (and Ebis as well) deserves.

And that's all!! I believe I have talked enough for the day, thank you so much for the questions, they made my day :D

#shine answers #ask #ask game #I didn't proof read this so please forgive any typos #the arcana #submachine

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nel-world · 11 months ago

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You know, I needed a job. So, I’m flipping through the student paper, and I see this opening in the computer lab. Perfect, right? Except, I knew next to nothing about computers. I mean, I knew how to turn one on, and if something went wrong, just reboot it. Coding? Programming? Troubleshooting? Yeah, no.

I go in for the interview with this quiet guy named Dominick. He’s wearing glasses, a buttoned-up shirt, light brown khakis, and Nike running sneakers. He goes, “Hi, Kunal, nice to meet you,” in this soft, high-pitched voice. “What are your skills?”

And I’m like, “Troubleshooting, programming, Excel, PowerPoint.”

He’s like, “Can you give me more details?”

“Sure, I’ve read courses online, fixed bugs on my computer, developed applications.”

“I like you. I’m going to hire you,” he says. Bingo! “Given your advanced skill set, I’m going to give you a very special project.”

So, he turns to the computer and opens up some software I’ve never seen before. “The school is integrating this new voice recognition software. I want you to figure it out, dissect it, and write an entire instruction manual.”

So, three days a week, four hours a shift, I’m trying to figure out this voice recognition software. First day, I’m taking it very seriously. I speak into the microphone, “The cat drank the cow’s milk.” On-screen: “You drank the milk.” I try again, slowly… “You drank the milk.” I basically give up after a few days. I spend fifteen minutes on the software and the rest of the time chatting.

The week passes, the manual is due, and I’ve got nothing. I decide to write something like, “Click the L button… etc.”

Then Dominick emails me. “I have some troubling news.” Shit. My scholarships. Dominick takes off his glasses. “The school has decided to stop the software. The license expired.”

I say, “Whatever’s best for the university.”

“Because of your hard work, I’m promoting you to lab manager of the engineering building.” And he bumps me up to nine dollars an hour. I was a good lab manager.

After college, I got a job as a waiter. But I also had to wash dishes. I was slow. The restaurant needed clean dishes to keep running, so I kept going. The owner would come over, shaking his head and yelling, “Wash the pots first! Why are you washing the plates? We have lots of plates!” When he got really frustrated, he’d grab the spray nozzle and clean a bunch of pots in minutes.

Then, I got a job as a used car salesman. Apparently, you need zero qualifications for that. The car lot manager, Larry, was a sixty-year-old alcoholic. I wouldn’t see him for days, and then he’d come and sell ten Dodge Neons in a week. I looked up to him as a top-notch car pusher. I learned from Larry and got good enough to afford HomeTown Buffet once a week. I knew that if I worked hard, I could afford Red Lobster one day.

I saw a job posting in the college newspaper for a telemarketer. The college building was squeezed between a sandwich place and a bookstore. The guy interviewing me looked like Paul Giamatti from "Billions," but there were no billions to be made here.

He asked simple questions like, “Who’s used a computer before? Who knows how to use a phone?” I got hired and was given a script. My job was to keep alumni on the line and talk about how great the university was. I’d ask them for a hundred bucks to support the college. One alum, Milli, says, “Oh, I’m barely scraping by on a fixed income. A hundred dollars? Not happening.” So, I lower it to fifty. Still no. Then twenty. She agrees.

After an hour, a bell rings for a break. The boss stands on a chair and announces how much everyone brought in. He gives cookies to the top three earners. It was an interesting experience, but I quit before the semester started.

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insanitysilver · 5 years ago

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Great for commutes/while doing chores/etc. Also great for proofreading your own stuff! I made version 1.0 in 2015, but the program I recommended has since switched over to a monthly subscription-base model (boooo). So, here’s my new, still free, 2020 method:

1. Choose and Download Your Fanfic:

AO3 comes with download options, and of them HTML tends to play the nicest. Viewing then downloading the fic using AO3’s ‘Entire Work’ option will save you some time. Copy and pasting the entire body of the text will works too. For FFN, you’re going to either have to a.) use a third party site to download fics (sketchy) or b.) install a userscript that reenables copy-paste (more labor intensive).

2. Choose Your Text-to-Speech Software:

First, you’ll need text-to-speech software. There are many options on the market, some free, some not. For this tutorial, we’ll be using Balabolka. A free program made Ilya Morozov in 2010 that he’s continued to update and work on since. It’s Windows-only for now. (Mac and Linux users might want to look into Natural Reader since that’s web-based, though the free version offers less functionality.)

Balabolka Pros:

Can export audio files

Can create multiple custom pronunciation dictionaries!!!

Change pitch and speed of read-aloud voice

Sleep timer!

Very customizable interface

It’s free

Balabolka Cons:

Doesn’t come with additional voices. Only uses default Windows voices + any extra additional ones you’ve installed.

It’s freeware maintained by one man for free, so patches and bug fixes will come slower.

3. Download and Install Balabolka

As of Nov. 17th, 2020, Balabolka’s official website is cross-plus-a (dot) com. Google it. If the site layout changes in the future just check that the bottom still says ‘Copyright © 2006-2020 Ilya Morozov’ so you know you’re in the right place.

Upon downloading, if you’re using Windows 10 you might get this pop-up:

Here Windows is checking the program for an EV Code Signing Certificate. Basically, checking its credentials. Getting and keeping an EV Certificate costs the developer(s) ~$100+ yearly, so bc a program doesn’t have one doesn’t inherently mean its not safe. That’s the trade-off for freeware. No money goes in, so no money can go out to get certified. As always, do your due diligence before downloading any program to your computer, and read up on the benefits and risks of freeware if you’re not familiar with them already. *gets off soap box*

Pressing More Info will allow you to continue installation.

4. Get to Know the Program

Keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle! Upon opening the program you’ll be greeted with this interface. Feel free to open your HTML file or paste some sample text to start playing around with.

Areas of Note:

These are essentially your voice engine options and will vary computer to computer. Click through the tabs to see where your default voices are stored. If you buy additional voices from a 3rd party they’ll show up here too.

Up under View you can change the font settings and the program’s skins. Nifty.

Meet your new favorite button: The Panel of Dictionaries.

5. Fix the Pronouciations (Optional)

Chances are your fic has internet slang like t/n, or non-english words, or fantasy terms, or maybe just an unusual surname that your voice bank refuses to pronouce correctly. Balabolka makes it quite easy to fix that. I have a more in-depth tutorial for this on my blog.

Balabolka can also switch voices within a single document. This could be useful for differentiating dialogue or forcing correct pronunciation of foreign names if you have voice banks in multiple languages and the original characters at your disposal. Tutorial for that here.

6. Convert Your Fic, And You��re Done!

The hardest part is long since past. Now that you’ve got your settings worked out and the pronunciation as good as it’s gonna get, time to press either ‘Save Audio File’ or ‘Split and Convert to Audio Files’:

Notes about File Types

Mp3 – compressed for smaller file size, pretty universally playable

Mp4 – refined compression, (potentially) even smaller file size, widely accepted, but not universal

WAV – no compression, high quality, large file sizes

For multi-chapter fics:

I highly recommend using ‘Split and Convert to Audio Files’, as trying to export a 100k fic as a sound file takes forever (esp WAVs), and is very unruly to navigate as a listener.

10k words roughly equates to an hour of audio

Pick through the options offered for what suits your needs best. For AO3 HTML files I have good luck picking ‘two empty lines in succession’ if you’re trying to divide by chapter.

Next Balabolka lets you preview the cuts you’re about to make. Truly a kind and forgiving piece of software. I recognize my own chapter titles, so it’s easy for me to uncheck anything that doesn’t belong.

Fix the settings to your liking on that and BING! Finished! Oh, and whenever you finish a fic remember to go back and leave a review! Sweet reviews make authors write faster!

End Notes:

So the first time takes a bit, but after that you can convert fics in under ten minutes.

A text-to-speech program isn’t going to beat out a real living, breathing narrator. Not this decade anyway. If you find yourself using Balabolka a lot and crave a smoother voice than Microsoft David’s, it might be time to look into buying a 3rd party voice bank. CereProc makes my favorites, and the personal use licenses cost ~$35. Balabolka + a CereProc voice is still much cheaper than most of the other software on the market and honestly outperforms a lot of it. Also throw a donation Ilya Morozov’s way through his website since he’s maintained this program freely for a decade and helped a lot with accessibility through doing so.

Example text is from ‘The Secret Desires of Buddy Valastro’ by perfectcannolis, and thank you to @bearfoottruck who informed me about balabolka to begin with.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #fan fiction #ffn #ffnet #fan fic #archive of our own #mine

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its-madi · 3 years ago

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kiss for your thoughts?

Requested by: @suntaek17 -- I’m sorry if this isn’t quite what you wanted !! Beta-Reader: @flansum Tags: mostly fluff, academic struggles, Boyfriend!Golcha TW: mentions of food Length:1.5k, roughly 150 words each

___________________

Daeyeol - classic literature

Literature wasn’t your expertise, but when your boyfriend asked for assistance, you couldn’t say no. He’d been curled up to the same novel — Moby Dick — for at least three weeks.

“It’s just so dry! Why do I need a chapter just telling me the anatomy of the whale’s fins?” he whined, leaning his head back onto the pillow.

You laughed, knowing how you felt similarly while reading it. “If you pretend those chapters don’t exist, it’s really not that bad of a book.”

Daeyeol groaned. “But my essay is due next week, and I’m only halfway through.”

“Or you could look at it as if you’re already halfway through,” you grinned, falling into the empty spot beside him. “Tell you what. For every chapter you finish, I’ll give you three kisses.”

“Only three?” he pouted.

“Four if it’s a long one,” you decided, pressing your lips to his. “And one for good luck.”

Sungyoon - music composition

“I don’t know why you’re asking for my help. Music is your thing,” you muttered, flopping down beside your boyfriend, Sungyoon.

“Music might be. But this program they want us to use? I can’t understand a thing.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, peering at the computer screen in front of him. “And they didn’t go over how to use the program?”

He shook his head. “Professor assumed we had prior knowledge, and I’d used a similar one, so I thought it would be fine, and-”

“Have you tried a YouTube tutorial?”

Sungyoon’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“You need to sleep more,” you laughed, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll treat us to supper.”

Jangjun - sound design

You’d never heard Jangjun be so quiet. You knew he’d been working on his final project for class, but you didn’t think it would pull him away from you for a full day.

After sending him a few texts and even knocking on his studio door, you eventually decided to just enter the room. Your boyfriend hunched over his desk, a microphone in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He was pouring it onto a tray, trying to capture the perfect sound effect.

You let out a laugh when he finished his take, causing Jangjun to jump into the air in fright.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you pouted, walking over to him. “I know you said not to bug you, but you haven’t eaten all day.”

Jangjun frowned. “I will. I will.” He looked back at his software. “Can you hold the mic so I can get this recorded?”

“Of course,” you smiled, taking the microphone out of his hands. “You’re working really hard.”

Jangjun grinned and met your lips with a quick kiss before sitting back in front of his desk. “And action.”

Youngtaek - journalism

“I just need you to proofread it,” Youngtaek muttered, shoving his laptop into your arms. The article he’d written was displayed on the screen in front of you. “Just check for typos, and make sure I sound unbiased.”

You nodded, sitting at your desk with his laptop. You read through the piece, trying to ignore his anxious breathing behind you. Like usual, you could picture his expression without seeing it: puppy-dog eyes as he waited for your opinion — one he always said he cherished. “Youngtaek, please. I can’t read it if you’re distracting me.”

“I’m sorry, this is just,” he sighed, “it’s worth like 40 percent of my grade.”

“And so far, it’s great,” you smiled, standing up once again. “Now, just give me some time to read, and we’ll get it sent in tonight, okay?”

He nodded. “Thank you. I love you.” He kissed you quickly, bouncing out of the room to let you edit in peace.

“I love you too,” you called after him, falling back into your chair.

Seungmin - philosophy

“I can’t wrap my head around what you’re trying to study,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms tight around your boyfriend’s torso. Seungmin had a midterm at the end of the week, and the poor boy had already spent the entire weekend cram studying. You didn’t understand how you could even test the subject.

“We’re studying like, whether humans have free will or not, and the midterm is essays based on the material we read, but I have a professor that grades based on his opinions,” Seungmin sighed.

“That’s the worst.”

“Mhm. But I need the credits, so I have to do well. I just can’t bring myself to disagree with my own thoughts.”

“Then don’t. And if he grades you badly because of it, we’ll write a complaint. I’ll back you up on this,” you stated, confident in your ability to write a professional letter of complaint.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I would.” You pressed a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek. “But I bet you’ll ace this midterm anyway.”

Jaehyun - calculus

“And you think I would be any better at this?” you asked, laughing at Jaehyun. “I haven’t done math in years. Not this complicated anyway.”

“No, I just thought you could at least give me some moral support,” he chuckled, biting on the end of his pencil.

You sighed, pushing the pencil away from his mouth, replacing it with your lips instead. Jaehyun, immediately flustered, pulled his attention away and looked back at his work.

“You’ve got an answer key. You can always try a question again if you get it wrong.”

“But that will take ages, and I-”

“I’ll kiss you for every question you get right.”

Jaehyun swallowed, meeting your eyes once again. “Okay.”

Jibeom - poetry analysis

“So because the curtains are blue, that means the whole poem is sad?” Jibeom questioned, looking at you for confirmation.

You shook your head quickly. “The curtains being blue can reflect the tone in the poem, but it could also just be because the narrator likes the colour blue.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him squint as he read over the poem again. “What’s it about?” You prodded.

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t really tell.”

“Is it an older poem?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

You nodded, knowing that sometimes older language wasn’t as clear. “I mean, a poem is fully up to interpretation. That’s the beauty of it; everyone can pull out something different.”

“But what if it’s wrong?” Jibeom looked up at you, worry stricken across his face.

You leaned over the counter and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “There are no wrong answers.”

Donghyun - art fundamentals

“What’s wrong with it?” Donghyun whined, staring at the portrait in front of him.

“What do you mean?” you glanced at the piece with him, a sticky note marked with a B+ on the top right corner. “Donghyun, that isn’t bad at all.”

“But they can’t just give me a B+ and not tell me what I need to improve on.”

You laughed a little but nodded in agreement. “It can be a little annoying, yeah. Did you try making an appointment with the professor? I’m sure they’d be willing to talk to you about it.”

“I-” Donghyun was unable to come up with any excuses. “No, I haven’t.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t we do that first, then?”

Joochan - scriptwriting

“How do you make dialogue flow naturally?” Joochan spoke into the silent room.

You glanced up from your desk, where you were working on your own assignments. “Well, you have to make it seem believable. The lines have to suit your characters and have to fit their personalities.”

Joochan hummed, looking back at the half-finished script in front of him. “Would you read one of the characters for me?”

“A cold read? Harsh,” you teased but stood so you could see the lines.

“I appreciate you; I think this will help a lot,” he grinned, handing you the script. “Your character is the villain, but you are falling madly in love with me, the hero.”

“Too late for that,” you teased, kissing him quickly before reading your first line.

Bomin - directing

“I guess I’m just not good with people or something. I don’t know,” Bomin groaned.

“Rehearsal didn’t go well?” you asked, sitting on the couch beside your boyfriend. You took his hand in your own, interlacing your fingers.

“Isn’t the class supposed to teach me about how to direct? Not just throw me in empty-handed?”

“I’d bet it’s hard to teach without the experience. You can only learn so much from a textbook,” you smiled at him. “Did you get a stage manager yet?”

He shook his head. “Professor is still looking for people to help out.”

“Well, that’s step one — your job becomes a lot easier when you have someone to help you out.”

“I just don’t get why they can’t follow simple stage directions. Is it that difficult?”

“You’ve got experience on the stage, Bomin. Not everyone in your show does. You need to be patient, and you need to trust the process. It doesn’t come together in the first couple rehearsals. And on stage is a lot different than on screen.”

He nodded. “You’re right. I’m being harsh.”

You shrugged, bringing his hand up to your lips and kissing his knuckles gently. “You’ll get there.”

©its-madi 2021

#~requested~#~madi's journal~#golden child #gncd #golcha

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uglymanchronicles · 4 years ago

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Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 2 Chapter 2: My Breakfast With Evan

Just a couple dudes getting to know each other.

“If you must know,” Evan sighed, spearing a glistening sausage on the end of a flimsy plastic fork, “my jackass older sister thought it would be hilarious to give me a cupcake she'd baked with about a dozen powdered viagra for my fifteenth birthday. I wound up passing out eventually. Burst a lot of blood vessels. Damaged the erectile tissue beyond usefulness.”

Titus froze mid-coffee-sip. “Seriously? What a bitch!”

“Buddy, you don't know the half of it.”

“So... no signs of life down there?”

“Nothing for twelve years.”

“I think I would literally kill myself.”

“It's not so bad, I guess. At least I don't have to drain the blood out of it any more.”

“Eugh! Fuck! Did not need to hear that!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to.”

“Do you get, like, blue balls all the time, then?”

“That's basically my ground state of being.”

Titus whistled flatly, avoiding looking Evan in the eye. He settled for staring at the table. There wasn't a lot of Evan's face that he felt comfortable looking at; every part seemed to at least be adjacent to some unpleasantry or another. About the only safe area was his right eye, which, as luck would have it, was directly opposite Titus's 'good' eye. Titus rallied and met Evan's gaze again. “Alright, your turn.”

They'd agreed on a sort of mutual interview process, taking turns asking questions to suss out what the other was capable or if he was worth having around. Evan took a bite out of the sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Who's Moreno?”

Titus hissed through his teeth. “A real piece of shit.”

“I'm going to need more than that.”

“I'm getting to it. He's basically, like... a freelance henchman? Like, sort of a mercenary criminal. Sells his services to the highest bidder.”

“And why's he matter?”

“That's another question.”

“No, it is not,” Evan said, quiet and serious. “Do not argue with me in bad faith, Titus. I have very little patience for it in the best of times.”

Titus regarded him for a long moment. The man across from him was wider than the table they sat at. His muscles were so pronounced in some points that Titus could tell when he was about to move by the way they bulged and contracted. Yet he gave the impression that he was constantly trying to pull himself inward, to make himself smaller. He spoke quietly and with a simple formality, but only hours before Titus had watched him single-handedly beat down some of the nastiest people he'd met in the past month.

Hmm.

“Fine. Moreno matters because I'm after the guy he's working for. You see, Moreno isn't just a normal scumbag. He works for people who need nasty things done. Not like regular nasty, either. How much do you actually know about magic?”

“I've got some... notes. So far I'm not able to find a lot of coherent rules. It mostly seems like it relies on things that nobody would normally do.”

Titus snapped his fingers and pointed at Evan. “Hit it right on the head. Rituals, reagents, that kind of thing... the reason—well, one of the reasons—magic doesn't just happen all the time by accident is that it's all weird little things. A lot of the more heavy magic relies on some pretty elaborate and obtuse shit to get it going.”

Evan momentarily thought back to the Book of Fate and his ritual in the woods. “So Moreno does these things for people?”

“Yeah. Thing is, though...” Titus stopped raising a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and set it down again, as if he'd momentarily lost his appetite. “The people who use his services generally practice some pretty vile magic. Real depraved shit. And to empower depraved magic, you need depraved rituals. Moreno is the guy you go to when...”

“I think I get it,” Evan interjected, since Titus seemed to be struggling with deciding whether to continue. “Your turn.”

Titus tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked Evan in the eye. “How smart are you?”

The scars on Evan's face squirmed around as he actually smirked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Hey, we agreed no 'whys'.”

“Alright, alright. Well, there's really no objective metric for it, but... I have Master's degrees in computer science and theoretical physics, Bachelor's in those in addition to mathematics and electrical engineering, and associate's degrees and certificates in everything from EMT training to ballet. I should have my doctorate in physics, but...” he said, with a bitterness that Titus made a note of, then changed gears. “Oh, and I also speak Mandarin, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic pretty fluently. I also know ASL. I can get by in German and Russian, too. I don't know if any of that is what you meant but--”

“Jesus, I get it,” Titus muttered, rubbing the side of his head. “How the fuck do you make money?”

“Software consulting, mostly. I specialize in security and processing efficiency. People pay me to break into their systems and then patch the holes, or to make their code run quicker or make their programs smaller. I've got a few patents I've licensed that bring in most of my income nowadays, though.”

“Anything I would have heard of?”

“If you've used a computer made in the last four years it probably has something I wrote integrated somewhere into it. I also helped develop a protein-sequencing program that helped develop a vaccine for this nasty SARS variant that broke out in China last year. They say if they hadn’t nipped it in the bud it could’ve spread worldwide and we’d be looking at millions of deaths by now.”

Titus scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, just say that like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m just glad it turned out not to be one. What I'd really like to do is get my compression algorithm out there, but if I do that, somebody's going to try to hoard it all for themselves.”

“Are you talking to yourself or me?”

“Look, I... a few years ago I figured out a way to compress memory down by a exponential factor of six with zero loss. All it takes is a couple software plugins that don't take up much room themselves. Essentially, I could make a gigabyte fit in a kilobyte with very little trouble, now that the math's figured out.”

“Holy fuck, that's insane! Why haven't I heard anything about this?”

“Mainly because I don't tell people. If I put it up on the market, some ISP would buy it and bury it. If you make information smaller, you make it faster. Can you imagine what it'd do to internet access if dial-up and barebones cellular networks suddenly had the bandwidth of fiber optics? It would... maybe not revolutionize our society, but it would level a lot of playing fields. Bring a lot of underdeveloped areas of the world—hell, this country—up to modern levels with no extra cost. The telecomms would crash and burn so hard. But I don't have the means to get it out there without going through someone else. Yet,” Evan added. “So I basically work watered-down versions of the compressor into the software I make. Nothing that can be duplicated, and nowhere near its full potential, but enough to get me hailed as some kind of genius and pay the bills.”

“So why aren't you on your own private island or something somewhere instead of puttering around God's Ashtray in a shitty old Bug?”

“Hey, the Beetle is not shitty,” Evan said, defensively. “And I'm just waiting for the AC in my RV to get fixed or I'd be driving that.”

“Oh hot damn! Now that's the way to live!”

“Not the one I'd choose voluntarily, but it could be worse.”

“How come you're doing it, then?”

“I think it's my turn to ask,” Evan said, mildly.

“Fine,” Titus said grumpily, crossing his arms.

“How do you make money?”

“That's easy. I'm basically a freelance bailbondsman. I just roam around, drop my advertising around bars and courthouses.”

“You get many clients that way?” Evan asked, cocking his remaining eyebrow.

“Oh, you'd be amazed how desperate people can get,” Titus said, shrugging. “Of course, they're usually not the most responsible people, so when they bounce, I track 'em down myself, drag ‘em back to jail, get the money back. My eye usually makes it super easy. Sometimes they don't even see me before I get the cuffs on 'em.”

“Why did you feel the need to rob a bunch of drug dealers, then? The thrill of it?”

“I had a pressing need for a large amount of cash that my normal work doesn't bring in. That got me enough to hold it off for a while. My turn.”

Evan waved down a waitress for a refill of his coffee, trying not to take it personally when she gasped upon seeing his face. “Go ahead…”

“No, no, hang on.” Titus waved a hand dismissively. “I want to try something. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

Evan groaned and reached back, removing his hair tie. After shaking his head, his hair fell over his face, obscuring everything but his nose and mouth. Titus pursed his lips and regarded him seriously for a moment.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well enough to not walk into things, I think, and I could probably read if I had to.”

Titus snapped his fingers. “Good. Go with that from now on.”

“Why?”

“Because now you don’t look like God’s mistake. Now you look like a big, dumb-but-lovable goon. Like Jack Black would voice you in a cartoon.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Do you like seeing people contemplating their own mortality and the general cruel absurdity of the tragic farce that is human existence when they get a glimpse of your face?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn and was actually grateful his hair was covering most of his face. “…not particularly, no.”

“Then there you go. You’re welcome. Okay, question time. Uh… how did you get your powers?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, now who’s arguing in bad faith? Fucking all of them, you thick-lipped gargoyle.”

Evan had the feeling he hit a sore spot. Titus's easy-going, jocular tone had bled away from him, leaving behind the hard-edged razor-blade of a man that had ambushed him the night before. He decided not to belabor the point.

“I don't know why I can rege—why I heal so quickly. No, I'm serious, as far as I know, it just started happening sometime in the past few months. I can't remember. Don't look at me like that, I'll get to that in a minute. When I was younger I recovered from a lot of injuries a lot quicker than the doctors thought I would, so maybe it's something I was born with and it just got stronger recently for some reason.”

Evan took a sip of coffee, mainly to buy a few seconds to think of how much to explain for the next part.

“The ability to shut off powers... that's part of, well, I guess you'd call it a magic ritual, because I don't know what else to call it. I found a weird old book that said it contained the key to making someone an instrument of universal justice, or something of the sort. Since then I can see... I guess they're souls? Maybe? I can sort of move mine and when I run it into someone else's it seems like I can shut off their powers. Or... take them entirely, if they're dying.”

“Horseshit!” Titus scoffed. “That's... that's like meta-magic. I don't even know if that's real.”

“No, seriously! I don't think it's just magic powers, I think it... 'normalizes' things.” He briefly recounted his encounter with the pain monster.

“Are you kidding me? That...” Titus took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly and loudly. “Look, I don't know much, but the fact that you even ran into something like that, let alone survived... those odds are astronomical. And you say you negated not just its powers, but its whole form?”

“Yeah. Once I... reached into it, like I did with you—oh don't make that face. Grow up—I kind of disrupted what made it... different, I guess? Like I cut it off from its special qualities. Like it was...”

“Disjuncted,” Titus cut in.

“Yeah, that's a good word for it. Like the old Mordenkainen spell?”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Eat my ass. Anyway, after I killed it, I was able to reach into its... soul? Animating force? Aura? I don't know what to call it. I was able to grab something and pull it out and it just got pulled into me.”

“Not aura.”

“What?”

“Aura's a different thing,” Titus said, dismissively. “So what did you get from doing that?”

“I.. I feel pain differently. I don't flinch or get adrenaline rushes from injuries that don't actually impede my ability to function. I think I have a better sense of what is actually dangerous to my body now. It still hurts, but I don't react to pain like people normally do. It's like...hmm.” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about video games? Fighting games, specifically?”

“I used to fuck around on an old Alpha 3rd Strike cabinet when I was a kid. Why?”

“Do you know what 'super armor' is?”

“Isn't that where a move can't get stopped by being hit when you're doing it?”

“Right. I'm kind of like that now. Pain doesn't interrupt me.”

“Fucking nerd.”

Evan's fist involuntarily clenched. “I'm trying to put this in terms you can understand, you stupid reprobate. My experience with your judgment thus far hasn't given me much faith in your intellect.”

Titus burst out laughing. “So he does know how to banter! I thought you might be one of those Rainman types.”

“Oh sure, call it 'banter' to try to excuse the fact that you've been insulting me for the past half hour. Do you say you're ‘just joking’ when people get mad at you for saying stupid shit, too?”

“C'mon, lighten up! We're partners now! Tell me more about this soul thing. I still think you're full of shit.”

Evan sighed through his nose, then held up his left hand, forming his fingers into a circle and peering through them.

“Yours is... a sort of cross between a sea green and an oil slick. The tendrils of it keep reaching out and snapping back, going all over the place. It seems to keep expanding and contracting. It's almost flickering, like... it's indecisive. Very chaotic. The tendrils that aren't snapping around seem to be kept pretty close to your body, wrapping around you like... I can't tell if it's protective or restrictive.”

Titus's expression slowly became serious. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I have a lot of theories, but nothing solid to go on. I'm not sure if it's allegorical or a literal representation of a person's... power, maybe? Yours definitely looks a lot different than most people's.”

“I don't believe this for a second. Let me see.”

“How would I do tha—hey!”

Titus grabbed Evan's wrist and held his hand up to his eye. “Ho-lee...”

He pulled back from Evan's hand, staring at him. Then he looked around the room, mouth slack as he took in the diner's other occupants.

“Huh. Did you know it keeps working until you blink?” He said after a moment, a faraway tone to his voice.

“I didn't even know other people could do it,” Evan said, awe in his voice. “Hey, wow, you're right!”

“Jesus, yours is, like, really blue. It looks like... a bunch of steel cables. It's weird, I felt like I both could and couldn't see the edges of it...”

“I can kind of move it, but I'm not sure if I can do anything with it beyond interfering with people's powers. It's like learning to use a muscle you didn't know you had.”

“Huh.” Titus was again silent for a long moment. “Your turn.”

“Can you do anything else supernatural? Besides your time-eye?”

“Don't call it that, it sounds stupid. And... sorta. I seem to have whatever innate talent you need to actually do magic, but it's not like it's easy to find instructions. Most of the people I know who can use it just dabble with half-broken magic items—wands, amulets, charms,” he pulled the silence charm out from under his coat and bounced it at the end of its chain. “I guess I'm sort of a dabbler. I know a few tricks, I can use a lot of magic tools, I can sense magic pretty well, I can dowse... Most of the time I really never have to use anything besides the eye, though.”

“Is the eye all-or-nothing?”

“Yeah. It's not nearly as useful as you'd think, but any edge is an edge.”

“When I turned off your power and it was coming back, though, you started speeding up—or, I guess, everything else was slowing down? You were moving faster, one way or the other. You were able to touch me, and those punches hurt.”

“Huh, yeah, you're right.”

“Do you think there's a way you could learn to only partially activate it?”

“That'd be great, wouldn't it? Thing is, just using it is a huge strain, and that time spend outside of time adds up. Going by normal calendar time I'm only 26.”

“Fuck, I'm 27!” Evan laughed.

“Yeah, well, I'd rather be prematurely gray than what you've got going on. My turn. Uh... huh, I can't really think of anything else. Uh... are you gay?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No, but the question still counts.”

“I'm bi,” Evan mumbled, crossing his arms across his prodigious chest. “Not that it matters. And before you ask, no, you are not my type. We're done talking about this.”

“Huh. You ever sucked--”

“We. Are. Done. Talking about this.”

“Fine, God. Go.”

Evan mentally circled back to an earlier question he felt hadn't been properly answered. “Why are you after Moreno?”

To Evan's surprise, Titus didn't hesitate. “I'm actually after his current boss. He's just the best lead I have to go on.” He took a deep breath, then started talking with a rushed, deadpan pace, as if he was eager to get the words out as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be in his mouth very long.

“Moreno is working for a guy only known as the Soultaker. He has an innate supernatural ability to pull a person's soul out of their body. When that happens, the person just... shuts down, usually. No motive force behind them. Eventually they just die of dehydration, usually. I've seen some people so set in routine that they keep going without a soul, but... it's not really life.

“It seems like the extraction process takes a while, so he can't just walk past you on the street and pickpocket your entire essence. So he needs people rounded up for him, held until he can do his nasty juju. So that's where a degenerate like Moreno comes in.

“So when he pulls out a soul, it, well, it looks like this.”

Titus pulled a battered, faded Crown Royale bag out of his jacket. It bulged strangely and made a quiet clacking when he set it on the table. He pulled out what looked like a large marble, or maybe a dull pearl, and handed it to Evan.

Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes and peered into the milky depths of the sphere. After a few moments of staring, the murky clouds inside the thing seemed to clear and a face floated to the surface. A black man, maybe in his late 40s, going thin on top. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, but his expression had a look of discomfort to it, as if he was having a bad dream.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan whispered, “I've seen this guy... Martell Calloway? I saw some news article about how his family found him tied up in his apartment and completely comatose! But he didn't have any injuries beyond being a black eye... so he's dead?”

“Life support,” Titus said, taking Mr. Calloway's soul back from Evan's unresisting fingers, “technically, he's one of the lucky ones. They found his body before it wasted away to nothing, and I was able to intercept his soul before it got to a buyer.”

“Why would someone buy something like this? What use is it? Can you fix him?”

“A human soul is a damn near exhaustible arcane battery,” Titus said gravely. In the split second between sentences, Evan noticed something—after he'd put the bag back into his jacket, Titus surreptitiously touched a pocket on the other side of his jacket, as if he was making sure something was still there.

“If you know what you're doing, you can power a lot of magic using a soul. And you can reuse them as long as you don't overdo it. If you know what you're doing, you can wring all but the last drops of essence out of a soul and let it heal or recover or whatever, and it'll eventually be back to full strength. Very resilient things,” Titus continued. “I don't think they're conscious in there, but... anyway, it's supposed to be really hard to extract a soul. But this guy was born with or spontaneously developed or somehow figured out a shortcut to the whole process. So the market is getting flooded with torture-batteries and ECUs are getting flooded with vegetables. And families are winding up with loved ones who are as good as dead, without having any idea why this happened to them. Dozens of them have been taken off life support in the past few months. Half these souls have no body to return to. And no, I can't fix it. At least not yet,” he sighed again. “I was hoping once I found him, I could somehow get the secret out of him or force him to put them back, or... maybe I thought if I killed him it'd reverse the effect. He needs killing, either way.”

Titus's eye widened as a thought struck him and he looked Evan in the eye for the first time since he'd started the story. Evan realized what he was thinking and looked down at the tattoo on his left arm, flexing his fingers.

“If you can take people's powers after they die...”

“...then we can save these people.”

Titus put a hand over his mouth and for a moment Evan thought he saw his eye well up.

“I'm in,” Evan said, a sense of righteous purpose welling in his heart. “I don't really know what the universe wants, but I doubt... I know it's not this. We'll find him, we'll stop him, and we'll save as many of these people as we can.”

“...thanks,” Titus mumbled behind his hand. He swallowed hard, then seemed to come back to himself. “We're back to square one, though.”

“You said you could dowse? Like, for real?”

“Yes, for real. I can find things and people with the pendulum method. It's handy for tracking down bounties.”

“Why don't you dowse Moreno?”

“Why didn't I think of that?!” Titus said incredulously, smacking his forehead. “Because he's warded. He's not magic himself, but he's collected enough gear through his career that my normal methods don't work.”

Evan rubbed his chin. “What if we used an abnormal method?”

-------------------

An hour later, they were in the RV. Titus was poring over the collection of Evan's notes and the strange papers he'd bought from Delmann's shop. Evan was very carefully slicing a strip of skin from his own ankle up all the way up his leg. The Guiding Light—the Finder's Follysat on the table between them, filled with fresh blood.

“Even if this works, he's going to know we're coming,” Titus muttered, engrossed in the pages. “Remember what I said?”

“That's why we're not going to look for him,” Evan said, adjusting his grip on the potato peeler. “I don't know how we'd even write his name. Can you read that, by the way?”

“Kind of. This is... most of this is written in, like, arcane pidgin. Who compiled these notes?”

“I did, I think.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to clarify on that. Apparently a couple months ago, before the ritual, I drilled a hole in my own brain to erase some kind of very dangerous memory.”

“You what.”

“That's not a metaphor or anything. Really did it. I could show you the video.”

“I'll pass. So you don't remember where this came from?” Titus shook the Book of Fate at him.

“Nope.”

“Jesus shit, do you have any idea--”

“How reckless that was? Yeah, yeah, I'm still here and I'm the answer to your fuckin' prayers, aren't I?” Evan gave a whoop as the peeling skin reached his thigh. “Got it this time!” he said cheerfully, snipping the flesh-ribbon off with scissors.

“God, that's so fucking gross. Anyway, you haven't explained how we're going to use that thing to find Moreno.”

“We don't set it to look for him. We look for somewhere he's been. Maybe the last place he slept. Do you think you can describe him well enough in that language for it to work?”

Titus looked like he might actually be impressed, but he hid it well. “Yeah, probably.”

“Good. I've got a dictionary I've put together on that tablet next to you, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. Maybe it'll help?”

---------------------

Two hours later, they had it.

Find where a man born between the 27th and 28th north parallels during a new moon under the sign of capricorn with black hair and green eyes who has killed at least 10 people slept in the past week.

They really had to squeeze the letters in, but when Evan put a flame to the wick, it sprung to life, wavered for a moment, and then pointed east. Both men cheered. Evan threw Titus the keys.

“Drive! Drive north until I tell you otherwise!”

While Titus started the engine, Evan spread a map of the United States on the table in front of the lamp, then produced a protractor and a notebook from a drawer. “Okay, you bastard... let's see where you've been hiding...”

It took three days—one spent driving north, one spent driving back to where they'd started, and one spent driving south. While Titus drove, Evan made meticulous notes of the flame's direction, marking angles on the map. Finally he threw the pencil down triumphantly.

“He's in Salt Lake City.”

“Well, that narrows it down a little, I guess. So what, do we just go there and hope this thing points us in the right direction?”

“Too slow,” Evan called, stepping back into what used to be his bedroom and sitting at his computer. “Now I work my magic.”

After parking, Titus walked back to look over Evan's shoulder. The half-dozen monitors on the wall were flickering between rapidly-changing pictures of faces and what appeared to be CCTV footage.

“What is this?”

“This,” Evan said with dramatic pride, “is Blaccat. Facial recognition algorithms that the CIA wishesit had. I actually started working on it years ago before I thought about the implications of it, but I shelved it. I figured since I may be needing to, uh...”

“Be Batman?”

“...yeah...that I should get back to work on it. Right now it's comparing faces to the description you gave me and cycling through every damn security camera in the city looking for it.”

“How illegal is this?”

“Soooooo illegal.”

“Oh, hey, can you get into police department records?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“See if you can get into the Las Vegas mugshots from... February 2019. Run your face-recognition thingy there.”

“Alright.... and... is that our boy?”

A handsome Latino man in his early 30s with shoulder-length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes stared at them from over a booking clipboard.

“That's him,” Titus breathed.

“Perfect! Now I just have to feed that into... wow.” Evan made a gesture and a black and white video popped up on the biggest monitor. The man in the mugshot was walking along the street, flanked by a short stocky man in bandanna and a lanky man with the ugliest white-boy dreads Evan had ever seen.

“That's him! Where is that? When is that?”

Evan grinned up at Titus. “That's live. I can track him and put us at the nearest intersection.”

Titus smiled, eye overbright, and began breathing heavily through his nose. “We got him.”

Evan met his eye and nodded. “Let's get him.”

#my writing #urban fantasy #ugly man chronicles: reignition

23 notes · View notes

queenlua · 4 years ago

Note

hey, i started following you recently and ur bio says ur a hacker? any tips on where to start? hacking seems like a v cool/fun way to learn more abt coding and cybersecurity/infrastructure and i'd like to explore it but there's so much on the internet and like, i'm not trying to get into anything illegal. thanks!

huh, an interesting question, ty!

i can give more tailored advice if you hit me up on chat with more specifics on your background/interests.

given what you've written here, though, i'll just assume you don't have any immediate professional aspirations (e.g. you just want to learn some things, and you aren't necessarily trying to get A Cyber Security Job TM within the next three months or w/e), and that you don't know much about any specific programming/computering domain yet.

(stuff under cut because long)

first i'd probably just try to pick some interesting problem that you think you can solve with tech. this doesn't need to be a "hacking" project at first; i was just messing around with computers for ages before i did anything involving security/exploitation.

if you don't already know how to program, you should ideally pick a problem you can solve via programming. for instance: i learned a lot back in the 2000s, when play-by-post forum RPGs were in vogue. see, i'd already been messing around, building my own personal sites, first just with HTML & CSS, and later on with Javascript and PHP. and i knew the forum software everyone used (InvisionPowerBoard) was written in PHP. so when one of the admins at my RPG complained that they'd like the ability to set multiple profile pictures, i was like, "hey i'm good at programming, want me to create a mod to do that," and then i just... did. so then they asked me to program more features, and i got all the sexy nerd cred for being Forum Mod Queen, and it was a good time, i learned a lot.

(i also got to be the person who was frantically IMed at 2am because wtf the forum is down and there's an inscrutable error, what do??? basically sysadmining! also, much less sexy! still, i learned a lot!)

the key thing is that it's gotta be a problem that's interesting to you: as much as i love making dorky sites in PHP, half the fun was seeing other people using my stuff, and i think the era of forum-based RPGs has passed. but maybe you can apply some programming talents to something that you are interested in—maybe you want to make a silly Chrome extension to make people laugh, a la Cloud to Butt, or maybe you'd like to make a program that converts pixel art into cross-stitching patterns, maybe you want to just make a cool adventure game on those annoying graphing calculators they make you use in class, or make a script for some online game you play, or make something silly with Arduino (i once made a trash can that rolled toward me when i clapped my hands; it was fun, and way easier than you'd think!), whatever.

i know a lot of hacker-types who got their start doing ROM hacking for video games—replacing the character art or animations or whatever in old NES games. that's probably more relevant than the PHP websites, at least, and is probably a solid place to get started; in my experience those communities tend to be reasonably friendly to questions. pick a small thing you want to do & ask how to do it.

also, a somewhat unconventional path, but—once i knew how to program a bit of Python, i started doing goofy junk, like, "hey can i implemented NamedTuple from scratch,” which tends to lead to Python metaprogramming, which leads to surprising shit like "oh, stack frames are literally just Python objects and you can manually edit them in the interpreter to do deliberately horrendous/silly things, my god this language allows too much reflection and i'm having too much fun"... since Python is a lot of folks' first language these days, i thought i'd point that out, since i think this is a pretty accessible start to thinking about How Programs Actually Work under the hood. allison kaptur has some specific recommendations on how to poke around, if you wanna go that route.

it's reasonably likely you'll end up doing something "hackery" in the natural course of just working on stuff. for instance, while i was working on the IPB forum software mods, i became distressed to learn that everyone was using an INSECURE version of the software! no one was patching their shit!! i yelled at the admins about it, and they were like "well we haven't been hacked yet so it's not a problem," so i uh, decided to demonstrate a proof of concept? i downloaded some sketchy perl script, kicked it until it worked, logged in as the admins, and shitposted a bit before i logged out, y'know, to prove my point.

(they responded by banning me for two weeks, and did not patch their software. which, y'know, rip to them; they got hacked by an unrelated Turkish group two months later, and those dudes just straight-up deleted the whole website. i was a merciful god by comparison!)

anyway, even though downloading a perl script and just pointing it at a website isn't really "hacking" (it's the literal definition of script kiddie, heh)—the point is i was just experimenting a lot and trying a lot of stuff, which meant i was getting comfortable with thinking of software as not just some immutable relic, but something you can touch and prod in unexpected ways.

this dovetails into the next thing, which is like, just learn a lot of stuff. a boring conventional computer science degree will teach you a lot (provided you take it seriously and actually try to learn shit); alternatively, just taking the same classes as a boring conventional computer science degree, via edX or whatever free online thingy, will also teach you a lot. ("contributing to open source" also teaches you a lot but... hngh... is a whole can of worms; send a follow-up ask if you want that rant.)

here's where i should note that "hacking" is an impossibly broad category: the kind of person who knows how to fuck with website authentication tokens is very different than someone who writes a fuzzer, who is often quite different than someone who looks at the bug a fuzzer produces and actually writes a program that can exploit that bug... so what you focus on depends on what you're interested in. i imagine classes with names like "compilers," "operating systems," and "networking" will teach you a lot. but, like, idk, all knowledge is god-breathed and good for teaching. hell, i hear some universities these days have actual computer security classes? that's probably a good thing to look at, just to get a sense of what's out there, if you already know how to program.

also be comfortable with not knowing everything, but also, learn as you go. the bulk of my security knowledge came when i got kinda airdropped into a work team that basically hired me entirely on "potential" (lmao), and uh, prior to joining i only had the faintest idea what a hypervisor was? or the whole protection ring concept? or ioctls or sandboxing or threat models or, fuck, anything? i mostly just pestered people with like 800 questions and slowly built up a knowledge base, and remember being surprised & delighted when i went to a security conference a year later and could follow most of the talks, and when i wound up at a bar with a guy on the xbox security team and we compared our security models a bunch, and so on. there wasn't a magic moment when i "got it", i was just like, "okay huh this dude says he found a ring-0 exploit... what does that mean... okay i think i got that... why is that a big deal though... better ask somebody.." (also: reading an occasional dead tree book is a good idea. i owe my firstborn to Robert Love's Linux Kernel Development, as outdated as it is, and also O'Reilly's kookaburra book gave me a great overview of web programming back in the day, etc. you can learn a lot by just clicking around random blogs, but you’ll often end up with a lot of random little facts and no good mental scaffolding for holding it together; often, a decent book will give you that scaffolding.)

(also, it's pretty useful if you can find a knowledgable someone to pepper with random questions as you go. finding someone who will actively mentor you is tricky, but most working computery folks are happy to tell you things like "what you're doing is actually impossible, here's why," or "here's a tutorial someone told me was good for learning how to write a linux kernel module," or "here's my vague understanding of this concept you know nothing about," or "here's how you automate something to click on a link on a webpage," which tends to be handier than just google on its own.)

if you're reading this and you're like "ok cool but where's the part where i'm handed a computer and i gotta break in while going all hacker typer”—that's not the bulk of the work, alas! like, for sure, we do have fun pranking each other by trying dumb ways of stealing each other's passwords or whatever (once i stuck a keylogger in a dude's keyboard, fun times). but a lot of my security jobs have involved stuff like, "stare at this disassembly a long fuckin' time to figure out how the program pointer got all fucked up," or, "write a fuzzer that feeds a lot of randomized input to some C++ program, watch the program crash because C++ is a horrible language for writing software, go fix all the bugs," or "think Really Hard TM about all the settings and doohickeys this OS/GPU/whatever has, think about all the awful things someone could do with it, threat model and sandbox accordingly." occasionally i have done cool proof-of-concept hacks but honestly writing exploits can kinda be tedious, lol, so like, i'm only doing that if it's the only way i can get people to believe that Yes This Is Actually A Problem, Fix Your Code

"lua that's cool and all but i wanted, like, actual links and recommendations and stuff" okay, fair. here's some ideas:

microcorruption: very fun embedded security CTF; teaches you everything you need to know as you're doing it.

cryptopals crypto challenges: very fun little programming exercises that teach you a lot of fundamental cryptography concepts as you're going along! you can do these even as a bit of a n00b; i did them in Python for the lulz

the binary bomb lab is hilariously copied by, like, so many CS programs, lol, but for good reason. it's accessible and fun and is the first time most people get to feel like a real hacker! (requires you know a bit of C beforehand)

ctftime is a good way to see when new CTFs ("capture the flag"s; security-focused competitions) are coming up. or, sometimes CTFs post their source code, so you can continue trying them after the CTF is over. i liked Stripe's CTFs when they were going, because they focused on "web stuff", and "web stuff" was all i really knew at the time. if you're more interested in staring at disassembly, there's CTFs focused on that sort of thing too.

azeria has good ARM assembly & exploitation tutorials

also, like, lots of good talks out there; just watching defcon/cansecwest/etc talks until something piques your interest is very fun. i'd die on a battlefield for any of Christopher Domas's talks, but he assumes a lot of specific x86/OS knowledge, lol, so maybe don’t start with that. oh, Julia Evans's blog is honestly probably pretty good for just learning a lot of stuff and really beginner-friendly?

oh and wrt legality... idk, i haven't addressed it here since it hasn't come up in my own work much, tbh. if you're just getting started you're kind of unlikely to Break The Law without, y'know, realizing maybe you're doing something a bit gray-area? and you can cross that bridge when you come to it? Real Hacking TM is way more of a pain-in-the-ass than doing CTFs and such, and you'll learn way more with the latter, so who cares lol just do the fun thing

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painted-crow · 4 years ago

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Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 1

I guess I should start with a little about me, since that’s easier than making you pick through previous asks for information and some of you guys are new here. This one’s going to be heavily personal, so you can skip it if you want.

I’m a double Bird. My Bird primary system is heavily Badger influenced, and I also use Lion to support it by telling me when I should investigate something more closely. If we can dip into primary territory for a moment, I guess you can say I understand the world through systems that model things around me. But not all of those systems are things I’ve consciously examined, or fully investigated.

My understanding of how historical people dressed is pretty limited, for example, because I haven’t studied it in depth to get all the information—but I consciously understand what I do know about it. You could say this system piece is tiny but clear; I could expand it if I chose to find out more.

My understanding of how someone I’m not close to thinks might have more data to work with, but I haven’t consciously processed it; that’s the kind of thing where my Lion primary model will tell me to look closer if that person starts acting weird. This system piece might be described as huge but fuzzy; I could clarify it if I sat down and thought about it. I probably have more of these than I realize, but Lion basically takes care of monitoring those. I don’t have to investigate everything.

But some of my systems are both large and fairly clear, because I’ve taken the time both to gather data on them and to examine it. My understanding of myself is… well, I won’t say it’s terribly clear, because I’m in my early twenties and I’m still constantly getting new information, plus someone keeps changing the environment and mucking with my data (that would be me). But I have to examine it, because my brain is like a notoriously buggy piece of software and I’m the poor schmuck saddled with tech support duties.

Basically, the reason I’m good at playing therapist with other people is that I’m constantly doing exactly that thing with myself. (This probably makes me a very annoying patient for actual therapists.)

About that buggy brain, then.

I have major depression. That was professionally diagnosed when I was a teenager and it’s probably genetic. I take medication for it, when I remember to. It especially flares up in the winter or when I’m under stress. I probably have some kind of anxiety disorder too.

I’m almost certainly autistic, which I’ve never brought up with a professional—the first person to figure it out was the system I’m now best friends with, because they’re autistic and they knew I was within two weeks of talking to me. It took me two years to catch up with them and figure it out myself.

In my defense, I thought executive dysfunction, sensory overwhelm, dissociation, and hyperempathy were like… secret menu items for depression, because those only really bug me during depressive episodes. My current theory is that they’re related to autistic burnout instead.

I mask a lot, subconsciously—it’s actually really hard to turn that off normally—and I just can’t do that as much when depressed. If I do, my tolerance for everything else goes way down and I’ll go into overwhelm and start having shutdowns and dissociating. I recover pretty quickly (hours, not days), but if you’ve never spent 15 minutes standing in a Walmart aisle trying to decide whether you want a jar of peanut butter, but you can’t make decisions because you can’t access your emotions and you don’t really feel like you’re “here” but you kind of just want to go home… well, be glad I guess.

Of course, I have other autistic traits that show up when I’m not under stress, but they’re seldom associated with autism because most people don’t know what autis are like when we’re actually happy. Like, hyperlexia? That’s not even an “official” word, the auti community just uses it because “official” literature hasn’t caught up. I taught myself to read at age three (according to my mom; she says I was reading news headlines and stuff, not just books I’d memorized) and wrote a 35k word novella when I was ten, with no external prompting. My audio processing used to be terrible, but I routinely tested at college age reading levels as a kid.

I also might have ADHD? If so, it’s also mostly just noticeable if I’m under stress, and then it’s hard to tell if that’s the issue or if it’s just autism/depression again.

You might be getting a clearer picture of how my secondary and its model end up burnt so often!

(Resisting a very strong urge to cut stuff from this post.)

In short, I was a Gifted Kid. I spent a lot of my teen years biting off more than I could chew, honestly. I felt that I should be able to do more, and I wanted to be taken seriously, but I had basically no idea how to take care of myself because my needs are different from everyone else’s. I’m still figuring those out.

I’m kind of like an orchid plant: incredibly picky about conditions, wants a different “soil” and watering schedule, gets stressed if stuff changes too quickly, but when everything is just right and it does bloom, it goes all out.

I’m not kidding when I say that I have odd needs. One of them is the need for creative work, which seems to be hardwired into me. When I say that art or writing keeps me sane, I often hear back “oh yeah! I’ve heard that can be very therapeutic,” which is an innocuous reply, but it’s always bugged me, and I think I’ve figured out why.

First, because that’s not the reason I make things… I just… have to. Second, I can’t “make up” not doing creative work with some other kind of therapy. Third and most importantly, I’d much rather think of “artist” as my ground state, and depression as a condition that happens when my needs aren’t being met, rather than thinking of depression as the default that I’m just using art to escape from. That seems to me a healthier way of thinking, and probably a more accurate one, but I’m probably the only one who can see that distinction.

If life gets in the way and I can’t make space for creative work, it will actively make my depression worse. I know this because, multiple times, I’ve been unable to pinpoint why I’m feeling shitty, and then I go back to my easel or my writing or (ukulele, cooking, even just taking care of houseplants) and realize I haven’t done anything creative in like a month and thaaaat’s the problem.

I crack open a bottle of gesso to prep some canvases and it smells like… well, I don’t think you can get high off gesso? But it’s not like when you’re out of it on painkillers or cold medicine or whatever. It’s incredibly grounding, like the world snaps back into focus but it’s also oddly euphoric. Or I write ten thousand words in a couple days and it just… I don’t know what that does. I’ve never run across a word for it.

The writer of Smile at Strangers (a really good memoir centered around women, anxiety, and karate) describes a similar feeling in relation to her martial arts practice.

It’s also a bit like when all the snow melts after winter and you step outside and there’s the smell of wet soil under sunlight and I’m not sure if this fully translates for people who don’t have seasonal depression. Sorry.

Dammit, I want to paint… I haven’t had space to set up for like eight months. I’ve been nose-deep in writing projects since last summer for a reason, but right now my friggin Ravenclaw secondary is off angsting about something because of Life Stress Bullshit, and I don’t have the focus to work on any of my writing projects. Apart from this one. But it’s not really what I want in terms of creative work.

*velociraptor screech*

Oh, yeah. I guess I could mention this is why my nickname is Paint. Not sure if that was obvious before. The header image (which is more visible in the app for some reason) is one of my paintings. It’s a tiny one and it’s not one of my favorites, but I had the photo on my phone and the colors work well enough for what I needed.

(restrains self from negging my own painting ability)

This is starting to get into spoiler territory for what burned Ravenclaw secondary looks like, huh? It’s peaced out for a couple weeks at this point. I’m trying to write about what made it take off, but my ability to think of words and form a coherent sentence kinda flew out the window when I approached it directly.

Let’s just say that around the start of the month, someone I was talking to online (if you’re reading this, it’s definitely not you) kindaaaa hit a nasty depression trigger of mine. Not their fault—it’s very specific to me, and I struggle to explain why I can’t really talk about it. Basically, I spent years studying programming and web design, and due to several different but related issues during that experience, it’s now a trigger for me. I very much want it not to be, but trying to train that out of myself has induced more than one panic attack and I’m stuck between giving up on it or figuring out a way to go back to it that doesn’t totally shut my brain down.

That paragraph took forever to write, by the way.

I think I have to end this here. I… am going to go take out the trash, and water my plants, and make my bed, and file some paperwork, and maybe I’ll even mix up some bread dough or do some laundry. Spoiler alert for what it looks like when my Hufflepuff model takes over, I guess.

Oh. And I should maybe probably eat something. I almost forgot about that... again.

#sortinghatchats #time to overshare on the internet i guess #secondary toast revolving door #mental health #burned ravenclaw secondary #hufflepuff secondary model #ravenclaw primary #paint speaks

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madfantasy · 5 years ago

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Dear blogging

How are you today? Sending all the good vibes towards you. I feel much at ease as I had payed for Internet last minute just now (its thanks to you🙏💛) and happy to say Mani will be with you for another month🌟

(Just a small reminder I'm open for commissions to save up for the next one🍀)

Im just going to blab bout life and me art as usual, if you graciously don't mind c':

☆ I'm much at ease, it's the raining seasons in the bare deserts and I'm loving it(Actually, just came in from losing it a bit under the rain, heh) Not the part where it leaked into my carpeted room whilst getting fiercer :' I'm not particularly fond of cold weather, either. I almost enter dull stage of hibernation, being tightly wrapped with blankets and constantly breathing in cold air. I like to muse being born on December does a cold blooded creature make, hehe. But the quiet is much appreciated. They are almost drowsy all the time and I've got the chance to listened to lots of Hercule Poirot. Ironically my last random chapter was him having an old fashioned English Christmas, and it gave me a crave for puddings I haven't got the slightest idea how they taste lo'

I've missed the sun for almost a month and a half now, in much arguments over restricting the yard at first, but now it was a sleep issue. I finally woken up today to see the sun and felt very much.. "yes, I'm in my element " brighter feel

Speaking of which; I dedicate this song for you dears 💛💛🔥

youtube

And also this bug i found if ur interested

☆ I've also, naturally, been sketch-storming with my new tablet! I was simply tittering over all the new discoveries I've been making, while also being gobsmacked at how much painfully sore some side are lacking, and some I had no clue what I'm supposed to do with it, like confused grumpy grand-er

For example;

I love how crystal clear it is, but I guess I can now see the brush's repeating circle pixel and pattern which makes it too artificial for my taste and hender my trust in making strokes. I suppose its nice to zoom out just to be sure my process is fine or whatever idk :'

The softwares DO NOT lag when the canvas is big! Ugh, means I can fatten up the size of my pictures easily. But that's surely eats up the storage, and I found out last minute that ipad doesn't have sd slots, unless you have to buy an adapter. Which is the main lack in this stuff. Everything costs. You want to sneeze while holding the tablet? You can't till u buy a permit.

So yeah, my favourite drawing program there, Clip Studio Paint, is can only used by annual/ monthly subscription licence, while its one-time licences is only for windows, means having to by different licences for different systems. So I'm using the free month trail to get by for now, so be sure to read carefully which on is which before purchasing. ProCreate is a one time purchase, tho. And it has TIME LAPS VIDS idk why I go crazy but I love the fact that I can record my art with no effort or pause (cuz I can never sit 1 hr continuously, honestly), and you can see my horribly-edited vid practices on tiktok or insta as @MadFantasy_ . But as we were saying, they even more double storage intake hehe. Love how ridiculously fancy the lines smoothing on it, I can act up as a calligrapher easy and I'm a joke at it! Also I'm thinking of trying Craft Pro as well, is a one time purchase too. Will go through it in details when I cover all the corners cx

"Are you with me or are we together "

Sharing files between my pc and ipad is too much work, found an easy way I'm loving already, go to SnapeDrop dot net on both pc and ipad and basically all the devices on your network can share stuff! Instead of me pluging it and turning the app or sending by mail, ugh

If you're used to shortcuts, good luck being fast on it unless you get a keyboard, or in my case, screen on keyboard im looking an app for, and by mentioning apps

Regional restrictions, I couldn't download tumblr cause its not available in my region 8L

And alot of other things to be expected, really with more to share if its not much of an annoyance cx

I hope days brings you more ease and what much you desire my dears, happy everything you celebrate 🌋🔥🔥💛🙌

Always sending my love

Mani

3.12.2020 8 pm

#text #drawing journal #personal #Youtube

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alarawriting · 5 years ago

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52 Project #26: Marc Snowfrolic and the Quest for Biscuits

Look at him. Isn’t he the most dumbass-looking wolf ever? I love him. He’s the perfect faceclaim for Marc Snowfrolic.

I published part of this about 3 years ago. Finally done!

***

Marc Snowfrolic wanted biscuits.

It was really odd for him to want biscuits at a time like this. Also, very inconvenient, because he was a wolf, and couldn’t bake his own biscuits like he could have if this had been last Thursday. Not that he actually knew how to bake biscuits, but on Thursday he could have read a recipe book, and used his bipedal stance to stand at a kitchen counter and opposable thumbs to use tools and pour ingredients and put cookware into the oven and take it out, with appropriate oven mitts on. Today, and for most of the rest of the month, he couldn’t do any of those things, because he was a wolf.

If anyone in the town of Rema had been able to bake biscuits right now, Marc could have gone to that person and made his desires clear. He could read the Bisquick logo even though he was a wolf. There wasn’t any in his own pantry, but he was sure someone in town had some, and had some guesses as to who. And if, say, Heather Digswell or old lady Janice Eyehowler had some Bisquick in their pantry, he could go to their houses, knock on the door, walk into their kitchen when they let him in, go grab the Bisquick out of the pantry with his teeth, bring it to them, and point to the picture of biscuits on the back, and they’d get the idea. They’d be happy to make him some biscuits. If only they weren’t wolves too, right now.

Normally, he didn’t want biscuits when he was a wolf. Bread products were not usually the favored cuisine of wolves. He liked steak, and venison, and chicken, and elk, and pork, and mutton, and swordfish, not that he got much swordfish because Rema wasn’t particularly near any oceans but when he and his pals pooled their money and special-ordered it with 2 day delivery so they’d get it while they were still human, it was still delicious a few days later when they were wolves. About the only kind of meat he didn’t like when he was a wolf were crustaceans, because it was just too damn hard for a wolf to get the good meat out of a crab, or peel a shrimp, and honestly if he wanted to eat bugs there were plenty in Rema just waiting to be hunted. But today, he was really jonesing for a biscuit.

He trotted over to Ken Mayor’s house. The wolves didn’t generally spend a lot of time indoors, but Ken was an exception. Inside, the older wolf had a large flat-screen television, and a gigantic keyboard that he was typing on. Marc could almost make out the words on the television, but trying made his head hurt. He could see well enough to tell that Ken was writing an email, though.

Originally, the town of Rema had been fully self-sufficient. Wolves didn’t need much in the way of shelter or clothing and were quite capable of finding their own food. What little they couldn’t supply for themselves, they traded for with the humans, offering meat and pelts in exchange for things like nails to make the houses they built for their human days sturdier. But once the humans invented the automobile, it had been only a matter of time before they brought a road to Rema. And with roads had come salesmen, and more exposure to the modern conveniences the humans loved, which the people of Rema found pleasant for themselves on human days as well. Freezers, for example. Freezers were great, but they needed electricity, and both the freezer itself and the electricity that ran it needed to be paid for. Then there was the government, demanding that everyone in Rema pay taxes. And so forth.

Pelts and meat weren’t going to pay for all of that. But the citizens of Rema could get to places in the mountains that the humans couldn’t, and never had been. They mined for gold in places the humans had never managed to mine out. Wolves could dig, and humans could put up structures that would keep wolves safe while they did it. Everyone in Rema did shifts at the gold mine, and of course, they supplemented their income with their sales of meat and pelts from their hunts. All of the funds that anyone in the town owned were pooled to make them easier to manage. Wolves were not good at math.

Ken Mayor was the mayor, and had been the mayor for twenty years, not because he was a big or powerful wolf – he was actually smallish, and rather quiet. But he had a remarkable talent. He could read, do math, and, on a sufficiently large keyboard, even type, in wolf form. Back in the old days he’d used a typewriter, carefully, and sent a lot of letters, but he’d taken to this new Internet thing like a duck to water. He managed the town’s funds, paid the electric bills and things like that, and kept in contact with government officials via email to make sure they left Rema alone, or that if they had to come here they only came on human days. He had a teletype phone, like deaf humans used, but he’d made some kind of arrangements with the company that provided the service to make it clear to them that he was mute rather than deaf, because the wolves could understand human speech just fine even though they couldn’t speak it. Lately he was all excited about some kind of new software that would give him a cartoon human avatar when he talked to humans on the phone that ran over his computer, with a voice program that actually sounded human when he typed sentences into it. Mostly.

In the language the people of Rema used when they were wolves, Marc whined at Ken. “I really want some biscuits. Can I have money to go to a bakery and buy biscuits?”

Ken looked at Marc disbelievingly. “First of all, town’s thirty miles away. It’ll take you over an hour to get there if you run all the way, longer if you walk. Secondly, you can’t walk into a bakery and ask them for biscuits. Thirdly, if you act too smart, humans might get suspicious.”

“But I really, really want biscuits. Come on, Mayor.”

Ken growled. “Snowfrolic, you’re being an idiot. Which isn’t unusual for you, but you usually manage to keep your idiocy within a reasonable range. This is a totally ridiculous request. You understand that, right?”

“Absolutely,” Marc assured him. “I am being a grade A idiot here. But you can’t imagine how badly I want those biscuits. I will get in a car and drive to town if I have to.”

“How?” Ken asked flatly.

Marc stood up on his hind legs. He was a large wolf, six and a half feet long, so on his hind legs he was easily taller than most humans. “Trust me, I can reach the pedals and still see over the dash. And if I put my paws through the holes in the steering wheel, it’s not hard to steer the thing.”

Ken facepawed. “You’ve tried it.”

“Why do you think I have a 4 by 4? The snow in the mountains sticks around a lot longer, but you can’t bring warm towels to dry off in and those little hand warmer things for your paws and a nice blanket for sleeping in if you just run up the mountain.” His wolf name might be Snowfrolic for good reason, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate human conveniences for warming up after a good long day of playing in the snow.

“How have you never been pulled over?”

Marc shrugged. “I drive at night and I follow the speed limits. Not a lot of human cops around here anyway.”

“And if I don’t give you the money to go to town and buy biscuits, which you can’t do because no one will sell anything to a wolf, how does the fact that you’re willing to drive your car to town change matters?”

Marc grinned triumphantly. “Because no one will ever suspect a wolf of taking a getaway vehicle! So I’ll just steal the biscuits, and then drive off.”

Ken face-pawed again. It was a very human gesture; most of the people of Rema wouldn’t use it in wolf form. There were always rumors that Ken’s father was actually human, not one of the men of Rema. Marc wasn’t sure he bought it; half-human children were supposed to be human most of the time and wolf only on the change-days. But Ken making human gestures when no one else in Rema did while in wolf form was kind of hard to explain otherwise. Also, there was that whole reading and typing and doing math thing.

“Have you considered asking Jeff Leclair or Mandy Gruenwald or someone like them to bake you some biscuits?”

Marc had rather forgotten that there were, in fact, humans in Rema; human spouses were problematic in the sense that they produced kids who were wolf when Remans were human and vice versa, but they were very important for teaching Reman children how to talk like humans. Remans didn’t start being wolves most of the time until they hit puberty.

He whined a bit and pawed the floor, head down with embarrassment. “I don’t want to ask them for favors. Bob Pigeonchaser isn’t in town this week and everyone else with thumbs is someone’s wife or husband, and, well, you know…”

Remans were notoriously territorial. This often translated to jealousy. Saying hi to someone’s human spouse or inviting them over for barbeque on human days was one thing, but asking them to bake you biscuits was entirely too intimate a favor to ask. And right now, the only half-human in town, Bob Pigeonchaser, was out of town, because he was in human form when it wasn’t a full moon and he could drive wherever he wanted and buy his own biscuits.

“So you’re insisting that you have to go buy some?” Ken sighed. Wolves were not supposed to sigh; a huff, a snort, those were wolf expressions, but not a sigh. Marc didn’t mention this; Ken was oversensitive about his overly human behaviors. “I am going to have to go with you to keep you out of trouble, aren’t I?”

Marc growled slightly. “I’m not sharing my biscuits, dog. You can buy your own.”

“I’m a wolf. I don’t eat biscuits. Maybe you’d do well to remember that you are also a wolf. Wolves don’t eat biscuits. Or drive cars.”

“I’m a wolf and I drive a car, so why can’t I be a wolf who wants a biscuit? I mean, it’s not every day. I’m just really jonesing for one right now. One of those soft chewy ones with a ton of butter inside. Or maybe crisp and flaky. Man, I’m torn. No point in wasting honey butter on a wolf tongue but oh, man, can you imagine what a biscuit would taste like with bacon inside?”

“This is ridiculous but your mother would kill me if I let you run off in a car, and steal biscuits, and get your fool self thrown in a pound or shot by Animal Control or some overzealous human with a gun. So I guess I’m going with you.”

“As long as you don’t eat my biscuits, we’re cool.”

***

The thought occurred to Marc later that maybe, what worked really well in the dead of night when he was driving up a mountain nowhere near human habitation, just possibly, could have been expected to not work nearly so well in broad daylight as he drove toward a town full of people.

“Goddammit, Snowfrolic, that’s a cop! You just blew past a cop at 85 miles an hour!”

“Lots of people go 85 miles an hour around here,” Marc pointed out.

“Yes, but none of them are wolves. And I thought you said you drive the speed limit!”

“I really want that biscuit.” Marc kept his eyes on the road, not glancing back at the blue and dark yellow lights strobing on the car behind him. (He knew perfectly well that the dark yellow light was actually red, because when he was human he could see the color red, but to his wolf eyes it just looked kind of brownish.) “Anyway, he probably didn’t even see I was a wolf. He just wanted to make quota.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna see you’re a wolf now.”

“He’s gotta catch me first!” Marc sped up. He’d never tried to push the SUV past 100 mph. Maybe today was the day to do that.

“What? No! What the fuck are you doing? You can’t outrun cops!”

“How much do you wanna bet?”

“I don’t want to bet! They’ll call for backup and they’ll be out here with guns!”

“They won’t have silver bullets, though, I bet.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t ruin your car and hurt like fuck!”

The cop was gaining on Marc. This was actually exciting. Like a hunt, although he was the one being hunted, which made it slightly less fun. It would be much more entertaining to be the one chasing the cop car.

Hmm. That was a thought.

“Marc, for gods’ sakes, slow the fuck down and pull over! We can both jump in the back seat and pretend the driver bailed on us.”

“Naah, I’ve got an idea that’s more fun.”

“I do not like the sound of that.”

Marc swerved around a rocky outcropping and brought the car to a screeching halt in the truck pull-off right on the other side. The cop car zoomed past, unable to stop or pull off in time.

“He’s gonna turn around and come back. You’ve pissed him off. Just watch.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m counting on it.”

Marc opened the car door, awkwardly – he always hated this part. Getting his paw under the lever to pull it and open the door was never fun; wolf forelegs just didn’t bend the right way. The door swung open and he half-tumbled out, rolled about in the dirt a bit, used his back legs to close the door, and then trotted around to the other side of the car, where he lay down in the dirt of the pull-off and watched from under the car.

The cop car, predictably, came back. Police shoes, attached to police uniform pants, approached the car. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!” the officer yelled.

This was Marc’s cue. He popped up on the other side of the hood and barked.

And then immediately ducked back under the car as the cop unloaded a weapon at him, human face dead white and smelling of terror. None of the bullets hit him, but a few hit the hood of the car. Dammit. Ken was right, as usual. The cop really had just fucked up Marc’s car by shooting at it.

This wasn’t fun anymore. Marc growled. He really liked this car.

Through the rolled down window, Ken barked at him. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Yeah, no, gotta take a hard pass on that,” Marc said, and leapt onto the hood. The cop screamed and backed up, trying to aim his gun, but in the time it took him to do that, Marc was already jumping onto him, knocking him to the ground and sending the gun flying. He shrieked.

Marc licked his face.

“No, no, get away from me, get – what the fuck?” The cop seemed to realize that this was not going the way he expected around the third slobbering lick. “What the – shit, are you licking me?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Marc said, but since it was in wolf language, he knew all the cop would hear was whining and a bit of a growl.

“Marc. Stop torturing the poor guy. Knock it off.”

“He ruined my car! Shot a hole through the engine block! You see all that steam? There’s no way I’m driving this home!” Marc growled at the cop, who was trying to push him off, and then licked him a few more times for good measure. He strongly considered pissing on the cop, but Ken would have his head. “I can’t even get it fixed for most of a month – the full moon’s, like, three weeks off or something. And it’s gonna rain, and the rain will get in the bullet holes, and the whole damn engine will rust.”

“This is why I told you not to provoke the cops,” Ken said unhelpfully.

He got out of the car, tongue lolling, and trotted over to the cop’s gun. “Good doggie,” the cop whimpered. “Good doggies. Good, good doggies. Stay. Stay.”

Ken did not stay. He picked up the gun with his mouth, trotted over to where there was a scenic overlook down the side of the mountain, and dropped the gun over the cliff.

“Fuck!” The cop pushed Marc off, with difficulty, and struggled to his feet. “Goddamn it, dog, did you just – you did. You dropped my gun off the side of the mountain.”

Ken barked at him.

“Okay! Okay! Good doggies! I’m just… gonna take down this plate number—”

Marc growled and crouched, as if to leap. The cop hastily dropped his pad. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m going. Someone trained you guys to hate the police. I’m just going to back away and get back in my car and call for backup and get Animal Control or something. A couple of officers with guns.”

Marc leapt and knocked him down again, growling and barking. The cop screamed. While Marc had him pinned, Ken trotted over to the cop car. “The things you make me do.” He pulled open the door to the cop car, which was unlocked, with his teeth, and climbed in. The cop struggled as Marc licked him some more.

Ken came back with a good portion of the cop’s radio in his teeth. He dropped it on the ground next to the officer. “Oh what the fuck,” the cop mumbled, head turned toward Ken, staring at the ruins of his radio. “Someone really went all out to train you guys.”

“We need to get out of here,” Ken said. “If he flags down another human who has a cell phone, he can still contact his backup. We’re gonna be doing the rest of this on paws.”

“Yeah. Shit. We only had like ten miles to go.”

“Well, if we run all out, we can get to town in about 20 minutes.” Wolves could run thirty miles an hour, and could keep it up for around 20 minutes, but Marc was impressed that Ken had been able to do the math to figure out that meant they could run the rest of the way to town. He couldn’t quite wrap his wolf head around the equations Ken must have done to calculate that.

“We’ll be wiped when we get there, though. Dammit. I loved that car.”

“This was why you shouldn’t have taunted the cop.”

“Yeah yeah. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

***

They were both panting hard by the time they reached town. Presumably it had been 20 minutes. Marc didn’t actually quite know what a minute was when he was a wolf. He knew it was a measure of time, but he couldn’t really keep track of how long it was.

“Damn, I’m tired. And my paws are killing me. I could use some water. Probably even more than the biscuit.”

Ken just whined, and folded his legs, flopping down on the side of the road. As rural mountain road turned into smalltown America, the road had acquired a sidewalk, but only on one side. Since humans tended to be intimidated by wolves, they were on the side that didn’t have one.

“Oh, come on, Mayor, you can’t be that wiped out.”

“I’m dead. Leave me. Save yourself,” Ken mumbled.

“Come on.” Marc nosed Ken in the ribs, and when that failed to produce a reaction, started licking him in the wrong direction, messing up his fur. “Let’s find some water. There’s a fountain in the middle of town.”

“Knock it off!” Ken growled, the discomfort of having his fur ruffled in the wrong direction finally seeming to overcome his exhaustion.

“I’ll stop when you get up.”

“I will bite you,” Ken said, demonstrating by snapping at Marc.

“No, you won’t. You’re Mr. Civilization and everything. Now let’s—”

“PUPPY!”

Marc and Ken both swiveled their heads to see what looked like a six year old girl running across the street toward them. This was a problem both because there was traffic on the road, and because appearing to be a dangerous animal anywhere near a human child was usually a bad idea. “Oh, crap,” Marc said.

He could hear a car vrooming toward the girl, around the bend. Marc leapt, grabbed the girl’s T-shirt with his teeth as she screamed, and pulled her over to the sidewalk where she’d come from just as the car zoomed past where they had just been.

Then he licked her, because that was what his wolf instincts told him to do with a child who’d had a scare.

“Oh – a car!” It seemed to be dawning on the girl that she could have been hit by that car. “Puppy! You saved me!” She threw her arms around Marc and hugged him.

“No problem, kid,” Marc mumbled, knowing she couldn’t understand him.

“Do you want to come home with me? Do you have people? Mom and Dad said that dogs who don’t have people are scary and I shouldn’t play with them but I don’t think so! You’re such a cute puppy and you saved me! I bet you’re nice!”

“I’m not a puppy,” Marc growled, hoping to intimidate the child into letting him go. It didn’t work.

“You’re so soft!”

Ken limped across the road, apparently having recovered from his temporary bout of death. “Snowfrolic, you need to lose that kid. If a human sees a six-year-old hugging a giant unleashed dog with no owner around – let alone if they recognize you as a wolf—”

“I know, I know! But I haven’t got thumbs, so how do I pry her loose?”

“Another puppy!” the girl yelled. “I wanna take you guys home with me! Do you have owners? Are you lost?”

Ken flopped down at the girl’s feet, behind her, and whined. “Oh, poor puppy!” The girl released Marc and knelt down to pet Ken, who looked absolutely miserable.

“Okay, Snowfrolic, I got her off you,” Ken said. “Let’s go.”

And then he exploded into motion, racing away from the girl, down the sidewalk. Marc followed.

“No! Puppies! Don’t run away! I want to play with you!”

The girl chased after them. The only reason they didn’t outdistance her instantly was that both of them had badly aching paws, both of them were in desperate need of water, and neither of them were city people. Rema was a small town, and very focused on integrating into nature; the few storefronts and public buildings that existed all had luxurious wild patches of green all around them, which the wolves kept trimmed with their teeth. This was a lot more like a small city, with sidewalk on this side of the road taking up all of what should have been green space, only occasional patches set aside to surround a random small tree. It was disorienting.

“We should cross the street again,” Ken panted. “There’s green over there, and trees we can lose her in.”

“Yeah, but that isn’t gonna be the direction of biscuits, now is it?” Marc replied, and put on a burst of speed, letting the cries of “Come back, puppies!” recede into the distance as he turned a corner and raced deeper into town.

“Slow down! I’m an old man, my heart’s gonna burst trying to keep up with you!”

“You’re not that old, and besides, you’re the one who said we had to lose the kid!”

“She’s six! We don’t have to run all the way to California to escape her!”

“Mayor, my biscuits aren’t gonna eat themselves! Gotta find a bakery!”

“Don’t you—” pant pant “—know where—” pant pant “—a bakery is?”

“No, why would I know that? I don’t live around here, I just come here to buy snow gear!”

“Did—” pant pant pant “—it—” pant pant pant “—not—” pant pant ‘’—occur to—” pant pant pant “—you—” pant pant pant pant “--to check—” many pants “—a map—” so many pants Marc thought that was the end of the sentence “—before we—” a somewhat smaller amount of pants than the last time “—left?”

“No, why would I do that? I can’t read maps, I’m a wolf. I figured I’d just get into town and then walk around until I smell biscuits.”

“I can—” a lot of pants “—read a map—” many pants “—you idiot!”

“Then how come you don’t know where a bakery is?”

If Ken wanted to make a reply to this, he didn’t seem to be able to, with how hard he was panting.

It occurred to Marc that maybe he was pushing the old man a little hard. Werewolves had normal human life spans, so Ken, in his mid-forties, wasn’t all that old, and their regenerative powers made them all healthier and stronger than an equivalent human or wolf at the same stage of life. But Ken’s job as the Mayor made him very sedentary, spending most of his life writing emails and doing math and other not-very-wolflike things instead of healthy and fun stuff like running around town or snow sports or hunting his own food. Marc wasn’t actually sure Ken knew how to hunt. Biologically he was a wolf, but he was so human he might as well be a dog. So he was probably really out of shape in comparison to Marc.

Marc started to slow down, and then a random human man pointed at the two of them and yelled, “Jesus Christ, those are wolves! Someone call Animal Control!”

Ken put on a burst of speed that impressed Marc – he hadn’t known the old man had it in him—and raced past Marc, turning down an alley. Marc followed as Ken weaved through a network of tiny alleys and parking lots and small streets barely wide enough for a car, figuring the older wolf knew where he was going, until finally Ken stopped, less panting than gasping. There was a garbage can lid full of rainwater, but Marc didn’t get a chance to drink any of it because Ken picked it up with his paws and poured the whole thing down his throat rather than lapping it like a sensible wolf.

“Hey! I wanted some of that!”

“Find your own,” Ken panted.

Marc poked his head out of the alley. They were now well into the city proper. “I don’t see anywhere I can get any water,” he complained. “Where are we?”

“Yeah. Good question.” Ken trotted over to the edge of the alleyway and took a look.

“You mean… you don’t know?”

“Why would I know? I don’t live here either, and I didn’t have time to check a map before you dragged me on this quest.”

“Hey, you insisted on coming with me! And I thought you had someplace in mind, you seemed to be running somewhere. What’s with all the twists and turns if you didn’t know where you were going?”

Ken facepawed. “I was trying to lose the kid, you idiot. And then I was trying to lose the humans who wanted to call Animal Control.”

“Uh, they weren’t gonna follow some strange wolves into an alley, and it’s not like Animal Control can teleport. We’d have had time if we’d just strolled, we didn’t have to run like that.” Marc sniffed the air. “I don’t smell biscuits. Or water, either. Dammit.”

“If there’s rainwater in a garbage can lid, there’s probably rainwater in something else as well,” Ken said. He went back into the alley, down one of the ones they came from, and found another garbage lid full of rainwater, and also a random storage bin. “If you like your water with some flavor…”

Werewolves didn’t worry about getting sick. Marc drank the water eagerly despite the presence of mosquito larvae in it. Extra protein!

“I’m guessing we’re more likely to find bakeries downtown, in the touristy areas,” Ken said. “There’s likely to be some in out-of-the-way places near residential neighborhoods, as well, but we’ll never find those. Whereas downtown there might be some bakeries for the day trippers. Huh. Does Panera Bread make biscuits? I can’t remember.”

The last time Marc had been in a Panera Bread, he had not been obsessed with biscuits, and so he had not bothered to observe if they had biscuits or not. “Dunno, but you know where does? Fried chicken places. So it doesn’t even have to be a bakery. We could go to a fried chicken place.”

“Well, they’re more likely to be downtown, too.”

Down at the end of the block, Marc could see the kind of enclosure that usually signified a bus stop. “My paws are killing me. I’m gonna go take the bus downtown.”

“…what? You can’t do that! Animals don’t ride buses! And do you even know if that bus goes downtown?”

“Eh, I’m guessing it probably does.” Marc hadn’t looked at a map, specifically, but he’d seen enough maps of the area in his lifetime to know that the direction the traffic on this side of the street was going in was the direction of downtown. Unless the bus veered off and did something weird, it pretty much had to go through downtown.

There was one person at the bus stop, a young woman wearing headphones. She turned as Marc approached, and whistled. “Wow. You are a big doggie. Got an owner around here?”

Marc wagged his tail and panted in a way he knew from experience looked to humans as if he was smiling. “Aw. Such a cutie. I’d pet you, but I don’t know if you’re friendly if I get up close or not.”

Still wagging and panting, Marc walked closer to the woman, who watched him warily, and then lay down right near her feet. He wasn’t going to miss out on getting some pets.

“Snowfrolic, what the hell are you doing?” Ken called from the alley.

Marc didn’t answer. His language sounded to humans like barking, and barking could startle or upset humans. Instead, he looked up at the human woman, still panting and wagging, with his eyes open as wide as he could get them.

“You’re very tame. I wonder if you were a service animal at some point,” the woman said, and reached down to his head, slowly and carefully. “You wanna sniff my hand?” Marc didn’t really, he wanted pets, but he obligingly sniffed her hand while still panting and wagging. Having gotten that introductory formality out of the way, the woman scritched his head, including behind his ears. Ah, bliss.

“Snowfrolic! What are you… no, never mind. I was going to ask what you were thinking, but it’s obvious that you weren’t,” Ken snarked.

“Wow. Another one of you. You guys look a lot alike; are you related?”

“Does she expect us to be able to answer her?” Marc asked quietly, which sounded to human ears more like a whine than a bark.

“You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to get petted by a human.”

The bus arrived. The young woman stood up. “Well, doggos, my bus is here, so I have to leave you now,” she said. The bus stopped, the door slid open, and the woman mounted the steps.

Marc followed right behind her.

“You can’t have your dogs on the bus unless they’re service animals,” the bus driver said.

“Uh… that’s not my dog. He was just waiting at the bus stop with me. I have no idea why he’s trying to get on the bus.”

“Lady, you’re not allowed to have a dog on the bus!”

“He’s not my dog!”

Marc squeezed under the woman, making her yelp as he slid between her legs and up the stairs, where he jumped onto an empty seat and started wagging and panting.

“Lady, if you don’t get the dog off the bus—”

“How am I supposed to do that? He has no collar and he’s not my dog. Do you really think he’s gonna – oof!” This was said as Ken squeezed past her, getting onto the bus as well. He sat down near Marc, looking downright morose. “Oh, shit, there’s two of them.”

“Just let the woman on the bus!” a person in the back yelled.

“Yeah, the dogs aren’t hurting anyone!”

“She said they weren’t her dogs!”

“They’re service dogs! I can tell!”

“Maybe someone called their service dogs on the phone and asked them to ride the bus to where they are!”

“That’s ridiculous, a dog can’t do that!”

“Sure it can! Dogs are amazing!”

“Uh, people, I think those are wolves…”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the driver said. “All right. Fine. Pay your fare and get on. But if those dogs get off at the same stop as you, I’m having you banned from the bus system.”

“Whatever,” the woman said angrily, mounting the stairs. She ostentatiously went all the way to the back of the bus, head held high, not even looking at Marc and Ken. As she passed them, she muttered, “Stupid dogs.”

“Uh, I kinda think we just proved we’re really smart,” Marc whispered to Ken in a tiny, quiet whine.

“I think we just proved no such thing,” Ken responded, a little too loudly, and it came out as a bit of a bark.

“Oh, look at them! It’s like they’re talking to each other!” an old lady chortled.

Ken’s ears flattened back. Marc recognized the sign of a wolf who was scared that his secret identity as a werewolf might be endangered, and shut up.

The bus drove onward on its route. Sometimes, when the bus stopped, people who had to go past Marc and Ken to get to the door shrank away from them, being elaborately careful not to go too near the “dogs”. Some unwisely petted them or even scritched them, and one man rubbed Marc’s cheeks. Marc tolerated it. Snapping at any of these humans was a great way to turn all the humans against them and get thrown off the bus, or handed over to Animal Control.

As soon as the buildings around them looked tall enough, and the pedestrians thick enough, to be a downtown area, Marc pressed the button with his entire muzzle, when just his nose didn’t do the job. “Did you see that?” someone said. “He hit the stop button!”

“Wow, those dogs are well trained!”

“They’re wolves…” the man who’d originally pointed out that they were wolves sighed.

The bus stopped, the doors opened, and Marc trotted down the stairs and out onto the street, followed by Ken. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Ken asked.

“Gimme a moment,” Marc said, watching the bus. The young lady from the bus stop did not get off with them. Good. This wasn’t her stop, so she wasn’t going to be forbidden to ride the bus. As the bus drove off, he turned back to Ken. “No idea, but I bet there’s a bakery around here somewhere! Or at least a fried chicken place.”

He started strolling down the street, drawing numerous comments. “Marc. We need to hide in an alley. People on the street around here are figuring out that we’re wolves.”

“How’m I gonna sniff out biscuits if we spend all our time in alleys?”

“How’re we going to find your biscuits if we have to run from the cops?”

Marc loped forward, ignoring how humans all around him yelled with startlement, or shrank back against buildings, or stared. He was definitely smelling food. Not biscuits, but where there was the scent of food, there might be restaurants, and where there were restaurants, there might be biscuits. “I’ve got a scent. I’m gonna track it.”

��Oh shit,” Ken said. “I don’t think you’re gonna.”

Marc turned his head to where Ken was staring, and saw a large white cargo van stopping in the middle of the street, its hazards on. The side door slid open and the passenger door banged open, and two men in white with rifles in their hands jumped out.

“We need to run!”

“Why? You know getting shot won’t kill us. You think they’ve got silver bullets?”

“Snowfrolic! Just move!”

Ken ran for the alley. After a moment, Marc followed him – until a bright stinging pain exploded in his right rear haunch. “Motherfucker!” he howled. “They shot me!”

“I told you!” Ken glanced at the wound. “Shit, that’s a tranq. They’ve got tranq guns! Move it!”

“Do those work on us?” Marc asked uncertainly, feeling wobbly. His leg hurt, and it wasn’t regenerating, because the tranq dart wasn’t out of the leg yet, but he had to run after Ken or they’d shoot him again.

“If they hit us with enough of them, yeah.” Ken skidded around a corner. As soon as Marc followed, Ken yanked the dart out of him with his teeth. “They’re following us. Move it!”

This time Marc didn’t argue. He and Ken wove in and out of alleys, pursued by the men with tranq guns, until they finally came upon a dead end – an alley that ended in a tall wire fence with brown plastic slats inserted into it to prevent anyone from seeing through it.

“They’re cornered! Stay back, watch out for them to charge!”

Ken and Marc, whose leg had healed, looked at each other. They both nodded. And then they turned toward the fence and used their werewolf strength to leap over it… landing in a dumpster on the other side.

“Shit! They jumped the fence!”

“Do we climb it?”

“Too slow! Go around, go around! Cut them off!”

Something under him smelled good. Marc started to pull at one of the black garbage bags he was sprawled out on.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Snowfrolic. Biscuits?”

Oh yeah! Marc had been so enticed by the smell of the garbage, he’d almost forgotten his mission for a moment. “Right! Let’s get out of here!”

They jumped out of the dumpster and ran straight out of the alley they were in – into one of the guys with the tranq guns. “Shit!” Ken spun around and ran the other way, Marc following. Two tranq darts sailed after them, but didn’t hit.

There was a parking lot full of small trucks, folding tables, and tents. The smell of a variety of produce, and also, some scented soaps and candles, struck Marc’s nose. “Is that a farmer’s market?” he howled at Ken, and didn’t wait for an answer – he split off and ran into the parking lot, heading straight for a couple of hipsters holding hands. They shrieked and let go of each other to let Marc go racing through.

“Okay, great! The Animal Control guys can’t shoot at us if they’re risking hitting humans!” Ken followed Marc. More screaming ensued. The piercing shrieks of children, the high-powered cries of women, the deep terrified howls of men filled the air. Also, barking. Quite a lot of barking. Apparently many people had brought their dogs to the farmer’s market.

One of the guys in white had a weighted net. Marc saw it, saw him coming around the side of a truck that sold hot food, and made a decision. He angled himself directly for one of the tables selling produce, ducked under it – and then came up, fast and hard, before he was out from under it. This tipped the entire table over in the direction of his pursuer. Zucchini and tomatoes and apples and he really didn’t have time to notice what else went rolling across the pavement of the parking lot.

Ken joined him as they broke out the other side of the farmer’s market. “That was clever, with the vegetable table. Maybe you’re not a complete idiot.”

“I know, right? Every movie where there’s a chase scene on foot, a fruit cart ends up getting knocked over!”

Ken huffed. “I take it back, you’re every bit as dumb as I think you are.”

They ran down the nearest street. Touristy shop. Touristy shop. Fancy sandwich shop that did not smell like biscuits. Movie theater. Bookstore – wait, movie theater?

Marc opened his mouth, but Ken beat him to it. “Into the movie theater! Quick!”

They went through the spinning door. The ticket taker called out to empty air. “Hey! Dogs aren’t allowed! You gotta get your… the fuck? There’s nobody there!”

Since he was looking at the spinning door and not at the two wolves, Ken and Marc were able to slip past him. Ken pulled open the first movie theater door with his teeth, and he and Marc slunk in, hiding in the darkness.

There was some kind of very loud action scene going on, with car chases and bullets. Ken whined directly in Marc’s ear. “We can’t talk at all unless the movie’s being loud, and we have to whisper. That usher’ll be able to put two and two together if someone tells him there are dogs barking in one of the theaters.”

“Okay,” Marc whisper-whined back.

Movies were not that interesting when you were a wolf. The sounds didn’t have the depth that real life did – wolves could hear in ranges humans couldn’t, and humans only bothered to replicate the sounds they could hear. Wolf vision wasn’t really very good. And there were no smells. It was about as engaging as a cartoon from the 70’s with a low frame rate and lousy acting. Marc quickly grew bored of sitting quietly at the end of one of the rows, and padded over to the trash can.

“What are you—” The scene abruptly changed to a woman in a kitchen, much quieter than the explosions from the last scene, and Ken had to shut up. Marc stood on his hind legs. Jackpot! There was a large popcorn in there, one of those huge jobs movie theaters were famous for, barely eaten. He grabbed it with his teeth and carefully lifted it, stepping back, and lowering himself to the floor with a small enough jolt that most of the popcorn stayed in the tub.

He set it down at Ken’s feet. “Want some?” he whisper-whined.

Ken just glared at him, plainly not interested in popcorn. More for Marc, then. He shoved his face into the popcorn and gobbled as many of the buttery exploded kernels as he could fit in his mouth. They didn’t taste quite as good in wolf form as they would if he was human, but on the other hand, the smell was incredible and wonderful and mostly made up for it.

Now he was thirsty. The water fountain was unfortunately in the hallway outside the theater; there was no way a wolf could stand up and work the water fountain control lever and drink from a stream in midair without someone observing and realizing that went way beyond what a dog could be trained to do without supervision. He strolled back over to the garbage can and found what he was looking for – an almost full Pepsi, one of those super large ones.

Obviously he couldn’t drink from the straw. Wolf mouths wouldn’t do that. Just as obviously, he wasn’t going to be able to get it out of the garbage can with his teeth; it would spill everywhere, and then he wasn’t going to get to drink it. So he leaned into the trash can, carefully pried at the lid with teeth and tongue until he’d successfully pulled it off, and began lapping at the Pepsi.

The usher chose that moment to come back inside. Startled, Marc looked up at the man – more of a boy, really, a gangly teenager – as the light from the lobby of the theater shone through the door behind the usher, directly onto Marc. Who was a huge wolf on his back paws leaning on a trash can.

“AAAAAAAAAAH!” The boy turned around and ran for the door. “Fuck! Fuck! There’s a fucking wolf in Theater 3 getting into the trash can! Get Animal Control!”

This was not exactly quiet. Even over the sound of the movie’s action scene, theatergoers obviously heard it, because they all looked at each other, murmuring. “Did someone say—” “He said a wolf—” “Oh my god there it is!” This had to be them noticing Ken, as no one was positioned to see into the walkway from the theater door to the seating area, where the trashcan and therefore Marc was.

“They’re going to stampede! We need to get out of here!” Ken yelled.

“But I never got to drink my Pepsi!” Marc barked back.

“Take your Pepsi and shove it—” Ken described an activity that was technically possible for a wolf, but vastly easier for someone with opposable thumbs.

The barking set off the rest of the humans in the theater, filling the air with shrieks as they ran for the exits. Ken grabbed the scruff of Marc’s neck and dragged him toward the door out into the theater lobby.

“I knew there were goddamn dogs!” the ticket taker yelled as they ran out through the lobby.

The usher shouted back from somewhere, perhaps a back office, “They’re fucking wolves, Julio!”

Marc didn’t hear anything else, because he and Ken had just gotten themselves into the revolving door again.

Outside, they ran pell-mell down the street, trying to outrun any Animal Control officers that might be showing up. “I’m smelling biscuits!” Marc howled.

“Great, wonderful! I’ve got a plan, follow me!”

Oddly, Ken’s plan did not seem to be “follow the scent of biscuits”, but “follow a well-dressed middle-aged lady who was walking into a hotel.” Marc was willing to give Ken the benefit of the doubt, though; the mayor was a lot smarter than he was, so if Ken had a plan, it would be better than one of Marc’s plans… as long as it ended in biscuits.

The doorman glared at the woman. “Ma’am, this hotel doesn’t allow dogs.”

“Dogs?” The woman sounded completely puzzled. “What dogs?”

“The dogs behind you. The ones following you. Your dogs.”

She turned. Marc opened his eyes wide, panted in a way that looked like he was smiling, and wagged his tail.

“Those aren’t my dogs,” the woman said. “Are those even dogs? They’re huge, are you sure they’re not wolves?”

“I—I don’t—”

Ken barked at Marc. “Come on! We need to hide!”

Marc looked around the wide, open hotel lobby. “Where?”

“Follow me!”

So Marc did, his claws skittering and sliding uncomfortably on the polished floor. Ken shot past the elevators, drawing stares from various humans waiting for it, went around a pillar, and dove into a dim, partially enclosed area with a lot of tables covered with tablecloths. Ken went under a table, and Marc followed.

“So what’re we doing?” Marc whisper-whined. “This is a restaurant, right? Are there biscuits here?”

“There are no goddamn biscuits at a fancy hotel restaurant.”

“How do you know?”

Ken sighed a very human-sounding sigh. “Do I need to get you a goddamn menu to prove there are no biscuits?” he asked quietly.

“What, you can read a menu?”

“Yeah, if you get my glasses out of the pouch on my back.”

Marc stared. Somehow, this whole time, he had never noticed that Ken had a pouch strapped to his back. “…how did you get that thing on in the first place?”

“With difficulty.” Ken lay down. “Don’t break my glasses getting them out.”

Carefully Marc nosed the flap of the pouch up. When he had enough of it up that he could get the flap into his mouth, he pulled it open. It was Velcro, so it came easily. He managed, with difficulty, to get his paw into the pouch, where he managed to snag the glasses and pull them out. “How’re you gonna get these on your face?”

“Give me a moment.”

Ken stuck his head out from under the tablecloth, just a little bit. “You stay here,” he said, and then he bolted. A moment later, he was back, with a menu in his mouth. He dropped it on the floor under the table. “There’s not enough light under here, hold the tablecloth up with your nose.”

“Uh, okay, is that all right? Are we not worrying about getting caught anymore?”

“There is no one in this restaurant but the bartender and he’s not paying any attention.”

Marc obligingly held the tablecloth up, and thus had enough light to see Ken pick up his glasses off the floor like he had thumbs, using both his front paws. Ken set the glasses on his snout as Marc goggled at him, because wolves really could not do that, generally speaking. Then Ken peered down at the menu. “Okay. We have breakfast here. Waffles. Eggs. Sausage. Bacon.”

“Can we get some bacon? I’d love some bacon.”

“Focus, Snowfrolic. Fruit cup. On to lunch. Cold sandwiches: roast beef, BLT, club sandwich, reuben, turkey, ham, Italian cold cuts. Hot sandwiches: hamburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger with bacon, vegan patty, chicken patty. Entrees: not a biscuit, not a biscuit, this one’s not a biscuit either, can you just take my word for it there are no biscuits anywhere on this menu?”

“Then why are we here? You said you had a plan.”

“I do have a plan, I just needed people to stop yelling about the big dogs. The heat’s died down; I want you to walk, not run, behind me, calmly, and look as harmless and friendly as you can. Like we’re two dogs who are trained to run around and get stuff for our owner or something.”

“You’ve got a thing that looks like a harness with that pack on your back, but I don’t have one. I’m not gonna look like a service dog.”

“You’re not a service dog. You’re an emotional support dog.”

“I don’t need a harness for that?”

“Just stay calm. We’ll get you your biscuit.”

The two of them slunk out from under the table and started walking, calmly, down a hallway. “Mayor. Your glasses are still on!” Marc growled at Ken, low enough to make it hard for humans to hear.

“Shit. I don’t have time to take them off and put them away, and if I put them in my mouth I won’t be able to see through them,” Ken muttered. “All right, I’m just gonna brazen it out.”

They continued to walk calmly down the hallway. No one but a small child noticed the glasses. “Mommy, that dog is wearing glasses!”

Mommy, on her cell phone, said, “Oh really! Very interesting!” without looking at the wolves at all, and then continued her cell phone conversation.

Ken pulled a door open by the handle, with his teeth. “Good,” he said, his voice muffled by the handle in his mouth. “No people in here. C’mon.”

Marc followed him in. There was a computer on a table, next to a printer. “Block the door. We don’t want any humans coming in,” Ken said.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m writing you a note,” Ken said. He pulled the chair for the computer out, jumped into it, and sat in it wolf-style. With his right paw, he maneuvered a little thingy around – oh, right, they called that a mouse. Marc didn’t know why. It didn’t smell anything like a mouse.

“You’re what?”

“Writing. You. A. Note.” Ken started typing, supporting himself with his left paw while he delicately used the longest digit on his right paw to peck out a message on the keyboard. “Please. Give this dog. A bag. Of biscuits. In exchange for. This bill.”

“Is that what it says?”

“No, Marc, it says rubber baby buggy bumpers.”

“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”

“What was your first clue?” Ken did something with the mouse again, and the printer whirred to life, a piece of paper slowly feeding out of it. “Now go back in my pack and get out my ten dollar bill.”

“You have money in there?”

“Just hurry up! While you’re away from the door getting the money out of my backpack, people could come in!”

Marc was pretty sure that if people shoved hard enough they could have gotten in even if he was leaning on the door; he was a big wolf, but a human had better leverage than he did. But there was no point in arguing with Ken about it. He stuck his paw in, felt around, and pulled a piece of paper out. “Is this your money?”

“Yeah. Okay, can you get the glasses back in?”

Marc considered the possibility of picking Ken’s glasses up with his mouth, and then tried to imagine how to get them into Ken’s backpack without breaking them, and came to the conclusion that it was not happening. “Nope.”

“Shit. Well, they’re readers, they’re cheap. I’ll get more from the drug store when I’m on two feet again.” Ken was for some reason sticking his tongue into a plastic dish full of little metal things, next to plastic dishes full of pens and plastic dishes full of rubber bands.

“What are you doing, Mayor?”

Ken glared at Marc, since with his tongue fully extended he could hardly talk. He withdrew his tongue. Oh, that was a paper clip! Marc recognized it now.

Using more dexterity in his paws than Marc could have imagined a wolf was capable of, Ken got the bill, the piece of paper that came out of the printer, and the paper clip together somehow, so that the bill and the paper were now clipped together. “Carry that in your mouth, but gently. Try not to slobber on it, we want humans to be able to read what it says.”

“I’m gonna have a hard time not getting slobber on something in my mouth, Mayor.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you have hands to carry it with, so you’ll have to make do.”

***

Outside, Marc picked up the trail of the biscuit smell again, and followed it down the street, Ken trotting behind him. They had to switch who was carrying the note, because all of that biscuit smell was making Marc salivate.

Marc traced the delicious smell to a glass window, which he pressed his face up against before realizing that he couldn’t actually go through the window that way. Ken pulled the door open with his teeth, which caused the note to fall down. Marc picked it up with his mouth, figuring that in the ten seconds it took him to get it to the counter, it couldn’t get too much slobber on it.

No one was at the counter. He dropped the note there. One of the bakers came out of the back, saw him do it, and stared. “Wow. You are a well-trained dog. Is that a ten dollar bill?”

Marc almost nodded, and then remembered not to do that because humans would freak out at the sight of a wolf nodding “yes” to their statement. Instead he made his eyes big, panted in a smile-like shape, and wagged his tail.

The baker picked up the note. “’Please give this dog a bag of biscuits in exchange for this bill.’ Oh, wow, someone trained you to go fetch them food! I wish my dog would do that.” She peeled the note away from the bill. “Ugh, dog slobber. Well, I guess there isn’t any other way for you to carry it, is there. But how about I give you a bag with handles, that way you don’t slobber on your owner’s biscuits.” She looked over at Ken. “Do you want some biscuits too?”

Ken whined and pawed at the door. “I guess not. You want me to let you out? How about I do that after I get your buddy the biscuits he came for?” She went into the back briefly, and came back with a tray of biscuits. “Fresh out of the ovens just fifteen minutes ago.” Marc had to resist the temptation to just grab one and run when she set it down on the counter and the smell wafted over to him. So close. So, so close to biscuit time.

The baker put several biscuits – more than Marc could count, but that didn’t prove much since he couldn’t count higher than five – into a plain white paper bag, and then put the bag into another bag, a shopping bag with handles that was made of a better, tougher quality of paper. Marc grabbed the handles with his teeth as the baker rang up the transaction, and put the change into a jar full of coins on the counter. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir!” she said, laughing. Ken shoved the door open, and he and Marc both trotted out of the bakery.

Within less than a minute, Marc was in the closest alleyway, hidden from casual human view. He dropped the biscuit bag on the ground, nosed into it, and pulled one of the crispy, flaky, buttery wonders out with his teeth. Biscuit time!

“Well?” Ken asked. “Was it worth all this?”

Marc chewed the biscuit thoughtfully, and then lowered his head, his ears going back a bit. “That’s disappointing. It doesn’t even taste very good.”

Ken’s ears flattened, he growled, and he crouched back in an obvious attack position, preparing to pounce. The body language was clear as day. Before Ken could jump him, Marc ran down the alley, leaving the rest of his not-very-good biscuits behind, as Ken chased him barking insults, curses and general imprecations the whole way.

#52 project #rema #werewolves #swift of foot and dumb of ass #accidentally named a werewolf after my ex #who identified as a werewolf

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wanderinginksplot · 5 years ago

Text

Clone Trooper Rambles

Welcome to my extremely silly series about my life and the imaginary group of clone troopers who follows me around. Several other parts of this series can be found here, along with a series of one-shots about Kix, the 501st’s medic.

Tech Likes Books Almost As Much As I Do

The first time I wished I had a helmet like the troopers - with the HUD, of course - was when Tech stepped into my room for the first time. I would have given anything to have a picture of his face as he saw the shelves holding my collection of books.

“There are so many of them,” he mused softly, eyes tracing the spines like he wanted to do the same with his fingers. I could sympathize. I wore the same expression every time I stepped into a large bookstore.

I nodded in response to Tech’s awed statement. “I have more back at my parents’ house. This is just what little I’ve managed to smuggle back during trips to visit them.” Tech’s fingers actually twitched toward the bookshelf and I had to smother a smile. “From what I understand, you should be able to pull one from the shelf and read it. It won’t be in Basic, but I know you’ve been working on your translation software…”

Normally, mentioning the translation program Tech was working on would be considered an invitation for him to talk about it for as long as anyone would listen, but his attention was firmly fixed on the books. Only seconds after my invitation, he had crossed the room and pulled a book from the shelf at random. From my vantage point, I could watch as the translation scrolled slowly across the inside of his modified HUD.

“A Separate Peace,” he read haltingly.

I nodded. “It’s a book about boys at a boarding school during World War II. They’re waiting to see if they get drafted when one of them gets hurt.”

Tech replaced the book reverently and picked up another. “The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe.”

“He’s a writer and poet who is famous for dark literature. Some of it is considered horror, but a lot of it is so pretty…” Tech flipped through the pages as I spoke. “His most famous work is probably The Raven.”

He turned to the right spot after consulting the table of contents, and I watched him take pictures of the pages - presumably to translate later.

Tech chose another book, but his brows furrowed at the title as it was translated.

“Something wrong?” I checked

“I- I think my translator still has some bugs in the code,” he said, sounding displeased by a flaw in his technology. “I have a translation of the title, but the software can’t define it.”

I glanced at the title and smiled. “The Hobbit? It’s a word the author made up. He invented an entire genre with that series of books.”

Tech studied the unassuming white covers of The Lord of the Rings series and lifted a brow. “These four?”

“Yep. You may not be particularly impressed by the battle scenes, but it is widely considered one of the best book series of all time.”

He considered The Hobbit for a long moment. “This is the first?”

I thought about that carefully. “Sort of. It’s set about sixty years before the main series. You’ll probably like The Lord of the Rings better than The Hobbit. The Hobbit is written more like a children’s story. It is lighter, more stylized, but all parts of the series are excellent. Feel free to read them or anything else you come across.”

Tech hefted The Hobbit and nodded before walking off. I could hear him muttering under his breath about the calibrations needed for the translator to do real-time translations, but he seemed willing to give it a try.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

#Clone Trooper Rambles #star wars the clone wars #bad batch tech #the bad batch #books #a separate peace #edgar allan poe #the hobbit #it's been a while since I read tolkien #forgive my poor summaries

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missmonsters2 · 6 years ago

Text

The Color of You || Part VI

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on. Please note this part includes abuse (non-graphic).

NOTE: The dark elements are coming soon. Drop a comment to be added to the tag list! Also me has no idea how the technology works. I just make things up ok

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V

PART VI of X

Count: 2481

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“...There’s something different about you.”

Natasha looked at Steve who was eyeing her, a slight squint in his eyes.

“Like what?” Natasha cocks her brow at him.

Steve continually eyes her but he doesn’t say anything else. But he knows there’s something different about his friend. They’ve arrived 10 hours ago and since then, Natasha keeps looking outside like she’s watching the time pass by.

Everyone was currently crowded around her dining room table, laying out what the plan was going to be.

“He should have his set up somewhere. I developed a counter bug to this sicko’s software. All you have to do is get to his computer and plug this USB in. Everything else should be taken care of. It will deactivate every chip there is and scramble any information that was gathered so they’re unsellable.”

Natasha nods, grabbing the USB stick from Tony.

“Do you still have the list of companies that were interested in this program?” Tony asks.

“Yeah, why?” Natasha asks as she puts the USB stick away.

“Give it to me,” Tony says and Natasha opens a drawer and throws a stack of papers onto the table for Tony to grab.

“Why?” Natasha raises her brow.

“I’m going to make their stocks drop and then make them bankrupt,” Tony casually says as he takes the stack of papers and gets F.R.I.D.A.Y to analyze and store the names.

Everyone just grins.

“What?” Tony says defensively.

“You’re soft,” Natasha teases with a smirk while everyone starts giggling.

Tony’s jaw drops and looks as Natasha offendedly.

“First of all--” Tony starts to say but is interrupted by Natasha’s cellphone ringing. She looks at everyone as if to warn them to behave as she takes the call.

She looks on the screen to see that it’s David calling her. Natasha turns her body slightly away as she takes the call.

“Natanya?” David sounds extremely frantic on the line.

“David?” Natasha responds confusedly.

“God--okay,” David panicked as he heard Natasha’s voice. “Fuck! I don’t--Can you--”

“David, David, calm down,” Natasha told him in a calm voice, trying to get him to slow down. She heard a deep breath on the other line.

“Can you please come by my place?” David asked shakily.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“God, fucking William...that fucking bastard. I’m going to fucking kill him, I swear to God--”

“David! I don’t understand, what’s wrong?” Natasha cut David off. She was getting a sinking feeling in her stomach, the one that told her that something awful happened.

“He beat her...bad. She’s here right now, but all she kept saying was to call you. Just come, okay?”

It was like someone took a swift punch to Natasha’s gut. She hung up the phone immediately, briskly walking to grab her jacket on the way out.

“Natasha, where are you--” Steve asked but Natasha was already gone.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There was frantic knocking on his front door, but David was already waiting in his foyer, pacing back and forth.

He opened the door with a wide swing. Natasha stood before him, lips pressed in a thin line as he let her in.

“Where is she?” Natasha asked throat raspy from how choked she was at the thought of you hurt.

“She’s in a guest room. Liam is bandaging her up.” David says as he leads Natasha up the stairs.

He takes a left and the door to the room is opened. Natasha sees you lying there in bed, your body under the covers with your arm out as she watches Liam is disinfecting some of the cuts on your arm. The sudden appearance at the door grabs your attention as you turn your head over.

Natasha sucks the air in sharply between her teeth.

There’s a nasty cut on your left eyebrow and your cheek is bruised and swollen, an ugly color taken over your once smooth skin.

“Nat...” your throat is so dry and raspy that Natasha was sure you had cried.

It was breaking her heart.

Natasha walks into the room, putting her hand on Liam’s shoulder softly. He takes the cue and leaves, ushering along David as he shuts the door and gives the two of you privacy.

It’s silent.

Natasha doesn’t know what to say because the only thing that wants to come out of her mouth is a choked sob at looking how broken you look. The next thing is that she swears she’s going to kill William. It’ll be a slow and painful death and she doesn’t care that it’ll add to her ledger.

She takes a seat next to your bed, grabbing the white bandage in one hand and cream in the other. Natasha delicately grabs your arm, applying the cream to the cuts and bruises before slowly wrapping the bandage until it comes to an end at your elbows.

Natasha’s eyes travel down to your fingers, catching the soft stains of paint that still linger and for some reason, it hits Natasha and she’s grabbing your hand, pressing your knuckles to her forehead.

“Nat...” you say softly and it grabs her attention as she kisses the back of your fingertips gently before looking at you.

“What happened?” Natasha asks.

You give her a half-hearted smile.

“We’re not as conspicuous as we thought. There was a maid who caught us last night as you left.”

“And he...he did this to you because of that?” Natasha fumed.

“William is a selfish man, Natasha. Everything I am doesn’t belong to me,” you tell her quietly.

Natasha clenches her jaw because it makes her furious, but she swallows it.

Her phone starts vibrating in her pocket. She sighs, pulling it out to see that it’s Steve calling her. She hangs up the call but sends a quick text to say she’s on her way back.

Natasha turns back to you.

“Come on, you can’t stay here,” Natasha tells you. It’s not safe to merely stay at David’s. She doesn’t doubt that David would swing a bat to William’s knees if he showed up, but Natasha is worried that William can still show up to take you.

Natasha helps you out of bed. “Can you stand?”

You nod, but take the extra support that Natasha offers you and lean against her as you make your way out.

“Where you going?” David asks as you make it down to the foyer.

“I’m taking her back to my place, she’ll be safe there. I don’t want to make it awkward for you since you’re family friends and all.”

“Oh,” David scoffs. “We’re way past awkward now. I’ve already called his mother and I’m about to let everyone know what a bastard he is. Let’s see how that helps his campaign. So, God, help me if he shows up here.”

David was so heated up, his cheeks were red as he rubbed his temples. Liam passed him a glass of water and gave the two of you half-hearted smile.

“Make sure to change your bandages in a couple hours,” Liam tells the two of you and Natasha nods. They help open the door and Natasha gently places you inside the passenger seat, closing the door gently before she gets into the driver's side.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

All eyes are on Natasha when she brings you in.

You feel slightly awkward and embarrassed for meeting everyone in such a poor state, but Natasha merely holds you tighter. She’s carrying you bridal style as she’s worried you’ll be in more pain if you walk too much.

Everyone is just looking at you. Looking at your bruises with a grim expression and you flush red under the attention. Steve gives you a small smile that you return before Natasha walks past everyone, putting you into a room on the main floor, softly setting you on the bed. She throws the cover over you, brushing her finger gently across your cheek.

She places a bottle of water on your tableside.

“I’ll be back,” Natasha tells you quietly, swiping her finger gingerly once more at the side of your cheek. She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

“So,” Tony drawls. “Who’s that?”

Natasha rubs her face tiredly as she comes back to stand around the table with everyone again.

“William’s fiancé,” she says plainly.

“Oh...” Everyone recalls in Natasha’s report.

“What the hell happened?” Steve asks.

Natasha bites her tongue because the last thing she wants to admit is that she fucked up.

“William caught us.”

“Us as in our mission?” Steve tries to clarify but Natasha merely shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“Well, that doesn’t change much. Not like he can speed anything up. If anything, just means we have to beat up more goons,” Tony says, Natasha internally sighing in relief from any more questioning.

It’s not that she’s ashamed of you, but she’s not ready to put you on the line. You’re hers and Natasha always keeps everything that’s hers safe.

The next couple of hours are spent planning again before it comes to an end and everyone leaves to get some rest.

It’s just Steve who stays behind.

“She’s the one who can see the future, right?” Steve says, trying to remember the report he briefly read on the plane.

Natasha nods.

“This guy...William...he did this to her?” Steve asks clenching his jaw.

Natasha nods again.

It seems stoic, but Steve has gotten pretty good at reading Natasha.

“What is it that you want for her?” Steve asks because it’s easier than asking what you meant to her.

Natasha taps her fingers against her biceps as she mulls over the question, over what you’ve told her.

“I want her to be free,” Natasha says and Steve catches the unsaid words.

Free to do what you want, love who you want, free from him.

Steve gives Natasha a small smile, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Good thing we’re freedom fighters,” he jokes lamely and Natasha rolls her eyes with a smile for his comfort.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The room is quiet when Natasha enters. She finds you sitting up against the pillows, looking outside the window into the night. The sound of the door opening catches your attention as you turn your head over.

Natasha shuts the door quietly behind her, leaning against the wooden frame for a moment before she pushes herself off, making her way over. Natasha takes a seat on the edge of the bed, one hand over your legs resting against the mattress.

It’s quiet as Natasha takes in your form.

A part of you wants to turn away because you don’t feel beautiful with the mars over your face, but Natasha doesn’t let you escape her gaze as she lifts her other hand to cup your jaw and neck, pulling you into a soft kiss.

You sigh lightly at the feeling of lips against yours and Natasha takes advantage by swiping her tongue at your bottom lip, kissing you deeply, and sucking on your bottom lip at the end. When she releases you, she looks over at your bandages and takes a deep breath.

“Alright, we should change your bandages,” Natasha says as she gets you to sit up straighter. She diligently changes or bandages, giving your arm a slight pat before she looks at you.

“I’ll give you a change of clothes so you can sleep comfortably,” Natasha walks over to the drawers and pulls out a change of clothes. She gives it to you but before she can walk out, you grab her arm.

“I...” You cough awkwardly, cheeks flushing red. “I can’t reach the zipper of my dress.”

Natasha tilts her head but nods as you stand up, slightly wobbly but steadied as Natasha held you. Tucking your head to the side, Natasha grips onto the zipper.

Before she can pull down, you use your good arm to grab her hand.

“I...” You say quietly, nervous, and unsure.

Natasha raises her brow, and you clear your throat.

“I won’t look,” she promises in an attempt to reassure you.

“It’s not that,” you tell her, licking your lips. “I just...I’m not...perfect.”

The way you emphasize the last word makes Natasha bite her tongue because she wants to blurt out that you are. At least to her, and nothing could change that.

But she merely goes back to unzip your dress. As the zipper gets lower and the sides fall apart to reveal your skin, Natasha sucks in a deep breath.

Your back was tattooed. There were flower petals and an outline of wings over your shoulder blade that carried down to the bottom of your back.

It would’ve been beautiful. But Natasha couldn’t help but focus on the angry scars all over your back. They were jagged and dark, but have long faded away into what they were.

It made Natasha want to cry.

The dress began to slip down your shoulders as you put your arms around yourself to keep it from completely falling.

You turned around and looked at Natasha’s expression.

God, how it broke your heart to see her like that.

You think back to the very first time you saw her...really saw her, and for a moment, you’re in disbelief that she’s in love with you.

“Did he...” Natasha begins to ask, but she can’t finish the sentence because she doesn’t know how she can ask out loud without storming out right now to find William and slaughter him.

Damn the rules and mission.

You look away out the window again before turning your face back to Natasha.

“You and I both understand what it’s like to be captured.”

Natasha hates it.

Because she doesn’t want you to understand what it’s like. She walks closer, pulling you closer as she grips the edge of your dress and lets it slide down. She turns you around so she can examine the scars in closer detail. You feel so exposed with her face so close, fingers unabashedly tracing your scars.

Your breath hitches when Natasha drops to her knees, pressing her soft lips against the dip of your back. She drags her lips against your skin as she comes back up, pulling you to bed with her.

Natasha unsnaps your strapless bra, throwing the garment on the floor. Lying you at the foot of the bed on your stomach, she climbs over you, fingers tracing your shoulder blade before it makes its way to a scar just under.

The air is different.

You can tell Natasha’s intention isn’t sex.

It’s a different kind of intimate.

The one where she wants to know everything about you, everything that’s been carved into you, and it’s almost overwhelming.

You fold your arms, head resting against it as you close your eyes, and let yourself feel Natasha’s fingers tracing your back.

“I want to know you,” Natasha says and you hum.

“Okay.”

PART VII

#mm: my fics #series: the color of you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #avengers reader insert #Marvel Imagine #marvel mcu #Modern Avengers AU

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chipotle · 5 years ago

Text

Panic's Nova text editor (a review)

Review: Panic’s Nova text editor

Panic, the long-established makers of Mac utility software, seems fully aware that introducing a new, commercial code editor in 2020 is a quixotic proposition. Is there enough of an advantage to a native editor over both old school cross-platform editors like Emacs and explosively popular new editors like Visual Studio Code to persuade people to switch?

I’m an unusual case as far as text editor users go: my primary job is technical writing, and the last three jobs that I’ve worked at have a “docs as code” approach, where we write documentation in Markdown and manage it under version control just like source code. The editor that works best for me in tech writing is the venerable BBEdit. When it comes to editing code, though, BBEdit lags behind. My suspicion is that BBEdit’s lack of an integrated package manager has hurt it here. Also, BBEdit’s language modules don’t support extending one another, making it effectively impossible to do full highlighting for a templating language like JSX or Jinja.

When I was a web programmer, I was one of many who moved to TextMate, and used it for everything for a while. When the Godot-like wait for TextMate 2.0 became unbearable, I wandered the text editing wilderness, eventually splitting my loyalties between BBEdit, Sublime Text, and more recently VS Code. At this point, I suspect nothing will pull me away from BBEdit for technical writing, but for programming I’m open to persuasion.

So: meet Nova.

I’ve been using Nova off and on in beta for months. I’ve reported some bugs, although I may mention a couple here that I didn’t catch until after 1.0’s release. And, I’m going to compare it to the GUI editors that I’ve been using recently: BBEdit, Sublime Text, and VS Code.

Nova is a pretty editor, as far as such things go, and with files of relatively reasonable size it’s fast. With stupid huge files its performance drops noticeably, though. This isn’t just the ridiculous 109MB, nearly 450,000-line SQL file I threw at it once, it’s also with a merely 2MB, 50,000-line SQL file, and Nova’s offer to turn off syntax highlighting in both files didn’t help it much. This may sound like a silly test, but in my day job I’m occasionally stuck editing an 80,000-line JSON file by hand (don’t ask). This is something BBEdit and VS Code can do without complaint. Panic wrote their own text editing engine for Nova, which is brave, but it needs more tuning for pathological cases like these. They may not come up often, but almost every programmer has one stupid huge file to deal with.

Nova has an integrated terminal and an integrated SSH client, and even an integrated file transfer system based on Panic’s Transmit. In fact, if you have Transmit and use Panic Sync, it knows all of those servers out of the box. Nova has a task workflow system for automating building and running. You can associated servers, tasks, and more with individual projects; Nova’s project settings are considerably more comprehensive than I’ve seen in other editors. You can even set up remote tasks. Nova has a serviceable Git client built in, too. Like VS Code, Nova uses JavaScript for its extension API, and it has built-in Language Server Protocol support—it’s a superbly solid foundation.

Beyond that, some smaller features have become table stakes for modern GUI editors, and Nova handles them with aplomb. “Open Quickly” can jump to any file in the open project, as well as search by symbols or just symbols in currently open files; it has a command palette; you can comprehensively edit keybindings. It has multiple cursor support for those of us who like that, and a “mini map” view for those of you who like that, although know that you are wrong. Nova’s selection features include “Select all in scope” and “Select all between brackets,” a command I often use in BBEdit and miss dearly in Code. (Both Nova and BBEdit select between brackets and braces, although BBEdit also selects between parentheses.) This effectively becomes “Select between tags” in HTML, a nice touch. There are a few other commands like “Select all in function” and “Select all in scope” that I didn’t have any luck in making work at all; a little more documentation would be nice.

That’s worth an aside. Panic has created a “library” of tech note-style articles about Nova sorted by publication date rather than an actual manual, and it’s not always easy to find the information you want in it. I know this is just what a technical writer would say, but I’d dearly like to see a human-organized table of contents starting with the editor basics and moving to advanced topics like version control, server publishing and extension authoring.

The Zen of Language Servers

A lot of Visual Studio Code’s smarts depend on the implementation of a “language server” behind the scenes: language servers offer almost spookily intelligent completion. For instance, take this PHP snippet:

if ($allowed) { $response = new Response(405); $response->

If you have the Intelephense PHP language server plugin, Code understands that $response is an instance of Response and, after you type the > above, offers completions of method names from the Response class.

Right now, Nova’s mostly limited to the language servers Panic provides, and they’re… not always so smart. In that snippet above, Nova starts by offering completions of, apparently, everything in the open project, starting with the variables. If I type “s,” it narrows things down to methods that begin with “s,” but it’s all methods that start with “s” rather than just the methods from Response. The “Jump to Definition” command shows a similar lack of context; if I highlight a method name that’s defined in multiple places, Nova shows me a popup menu and prompts me to choose which one to jump to, rather than introspecting the code to make that decision itself.

But, this is a solvable problem: there’s (I think) no reason someone couldn’t write an Inteliphense plugin for Nova. If Nova’s ecosystem takes off, it could be pretty formidable pretty quickly.

Walk like a Mac

Even so, LSP support isn’t Panic’s biggest selling point. Unlike Sublime Text or VS Code, Nova isn’t cross-platform: it’s a Mac-only program written to core platform APIs. Is that still a huge draw in 2020? (Is it instead a drawback?)

You can definitely see a difference between Nova and BBEdit on one side and Sublime and Code on the other in terms of resource usage. With the two Ruby files shown in the screenshot above loaded, I get:

VS Code: 355 MB, 6 processes

Sublime Text: 338 MB, 2 processes

Nova: 101 MB, 2 processes

BBEdit: 97 MB, 1 process

Code is an Electron-based program, although Microsoft famously puts a lot of effort into making it not feel like the black hole a lot of Electron-based apps are. Sublime uses its own proprietary cross-platform framework. In fairness, while us nerds like to harp on research usage a lot, if your computer’s got 16G or more of RAM in it, this probably isn’t a big deal.

You notice Nova’s essential Mac-ness in other ways. Its preference pane is, like BBEdit’s, an actual preference pane, instead of opening in another tab like Code or just opening a JSON file in a new tab (!) like Sublime. And while all editors better have first-class keyboard support—and Nova does—a good Mac editor should have first-class mouse support, too, and it does. You notice that in the drag-and-drop support for creating new tabs and splits. Nova’s sidebar is also highly customizable, possibly more so than any editor I’ve regularly used. (Yes, Emacs fans, I know you can write all of Nova in Lisp if you want. When one of you does that, please get back to me.)

Unlike BBEdit, though, Nova doesn’t have a Mac-like title bar, or a Mac-like outline view of the project files, or Mac-like tabs. (Well, BBEdit doesn’t have tabs at all, which turns out to be a great UI decision once you have a dozen or more files open, but never mind.) This isn’t necessarily bad; people often say BBEdit “looks old,” and it’s hard not to suspect that what people mean by that—whether or not they know it—is that it looks like the long-established Mac program it is. Nova is relying less on “we have a Mac UI and the other guys don’t” than on “we have Panic’s designers and the other guys don’t.” Make no mistake, having Panic’s designers counts for a lot.

What may be more disappointing to old school Mac nerds is AppleScript support: none whatsoever. It doesn’t even have a vestigial script dictionary. Again, this may not be something most people care much about; personally, I hate having to write AppleScript. But I love being able to write AppleScript. BBEdit’s extensive scriptability is one of its hidden strengths. Nova’s Node-based JavaScript engine is probably more powerful for its own extensions and certainly more accessible to anyone under the age of 50, but it may be hard to call it from external programs.

So is it worth it?

That probably depends on where you’re coming from.

If you loved—or still use—Panic’s older editor, Coda, this is a no-brainer upgrade. If you used Espresso, a Coda-ish editor that always seemed to be on the verge of greatness without ever reaching it, Nova may also be a no-brainer for you.

If you’re a fan of Sublime Text, BBEdit, TextMate, or another editor that doesn’t have native Language Server Protocol support, you should definitely try Nova. Sublime and TextMate have more plugins (especially Sublime), but many extensions seem to be languishing (especially TextMate). BBEdit never had a great extension ecosystem to start with. All of these editors have strengths Nova doesn’t, but the reverse is also true, and Nova may catch up.

If you’re an Emacs or Vim power user, we both know you’re just reading this out of academic interest and you’re not going to switch. C’mon.

If you use Visual Studio Code, though, it’s way tougher to make the case for Nova. Code has a vastly larger extension library. It has the best support for LSP of any editor out there (LSP was developed for Code). Despite being Electron-based, it’s pretty high-performance. Code doesn’t have an integrated SSH or FTP client, but it does have an integrated terminal and task runner and Git client. If you don’t object to using an editor that isn’t a “perfect fit” with the Mac UI, Code is very, very good… and it’s free.

I don’t object to Nova’s pricing model—$99 up front including a year of updates, $49 for future years of updates—but I can’t help but wonder if Panic should have gone with super aggressive introductory pricing. Also, I saw more than a few suggestions on Hacker News about how there should be a Code-to-Nova extension translator; I’m not sure automatic conversion would be practical, but a guide on manual conversion seems like an excellent idea.

For my day job of technical writing, I’m going to stick to BBEdit. (One day I’ll write up an article about why I think it’s the best “documentation as code” editor on the market.) For programming and web editing, when I was working on both a Ruby and a PHP project—the former a Rails learning exercise, the latter an obstinate “I am going to write a modern PHP app without using a framework” exercise—I kept trying Nova’s betas and then switching back to Code for Inteliphense and, I swear to God, MacVim for Tim Pope’s amazing rails.vim plugin. I suspect Nova could duplicate both of those, but I’m not sure I want to be the one to do it. (Also, while Panic has decent reference documentation for writing extensions, I’d like to see a few simple end-to-end walkthroughs for those of us who look at a huge list of reference topics and don’t know where to start.)

But Nova isn’t just pretty, it’s powerful, and has a lot of promise. The editors I’ve been comparing it to have been around since 2015 for VS Code, 2008 for Sublime Text, and 1992 (!) for BBEdit; it’s not reasonable to expect Nova to blow past them in every respect right out of the starting gate. Even so, they are Nova’s competition. Catching up fast is an essential requirement.

So: yes, I’ve bought Nova, and I’m rooting for Panic here. I’ll come back in a year and report if I’m willing to stay on the update train.

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