#Assignment Help Wellington

[beingalive1]

𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

Rupert Campbell Black x Oc (Lady Francesca Wellington)

Summary: Francesca Wellington was everything Rupert Campbell Black was and more. A successful show jumper with a title and an estate, she had it all. She was a constant reminder of the man he once was. He couldn't help but hate her for it and yet, he loved her for it just the same.

Part one : Here

Part two: Coerced by a friend

Part three: Here

As the tyres of the O'hara's family vehicle graced the gravel of the Priory's driveway, Francesca Wellington was doing what she considered a valuable part of her daily regiment: 

dancing in her underwear to Donna Summer's 'Bad Girls.' 

The athlete sighed blissfully as cigarette smoke wafted from her pink lips, her feet shifting rapidly along the fluffy carpet set upon one of her home's many living room floors. Her tan skin glimmered in the sunlight that poured through large bay windows overlooking her estate. Green grass and flowers hypnotic with scent played a delightful background to her mildly risqué dancing. Her body moved along to the beat of the music, her curtain of dark curls swayed in time with each of Donna Summer's lyrics. 

She was in absolute bliss. Nothing could spoil her mood. 

Not even Freddie Jones, who, for the last ten minutes had been knocking loudly on the door of her home. The portly man wiped his forehead in annoyance, his moustache twitching. He knocked once more. No response. 

He huffed as he pushed the door open. It was unlocked, as always. His ears were promptly assaulted by loud music wafting from the large home's second lounge. He minced forward, his eyes taking in the many familiar pictures of horses and other animals displayed proudly upon the tall walls of the entrance hall. The dogs greeted him at the door: two Saint Bernards, a golden retriever and a basset hound. Their tales wagged in sink as they hounded Fred, a usual guest. He stumbled forward, his mildly ill-fitting suit now covered in copious amounts of hair. He wandered towards the living room, catching sight of Francesca in her state of undress. 

"Jesus Christ!" The man spouted out, his hand jumping to cover his eyes from the sight in front of him: Francesca dressed in only a pair of red panties and a silk cami. 

"Freddie." Francesca greeted calmly as she moved towards the stereo to pause the music, her tan legs slowly stepping across the carpet with grace only possessed by swans and athletes. "No Valerie today?"

Freddie sighed, his eyes now fixating on the rug below his feet. His eyes staring deeply at the blue pattern of the carpet as he slowly made his way to the couch. "No Frank, not today." he replied. Thank god. He could only imagine his wife's face if she too had walked in on the antics of one of his closest friends; he figured he'd swiftly be banned from ever seeing Frank again.

Francesca, or Frank as Freddie referred to her as, disposed of her now finished cigarette into an ashtray before wrapping herself up in a silk gown and placing herself next to her dear friend. She had met Freddie Jones the week she moved to Rutshire. She had been on a run, training for the next riding world championships when Freddie had very nearly ran her over with his bright red sports car. He apologised and offered her a ride home; she told him that she'd only accept his apology if he could secretly bum her a pack of cigarettes behind the back of her riding instructor, Marty.

They became good friends swiftly after that.  

"So Fred-Fred," Frank mocked gently, "not that I don't enjoy your visits but why exactly are you here  disturbing my afternoon cigarette and session of dancing in the nude?" Due to the strict regiment of an olympic athlete assigned to her by her multiple trainers; coaches; and Marty (who she more feared then respected): Frank was only allowed one cigarette a day. To disturb her whilst she smoked was either a considerably brave act or, considerably stupid. Freddie Jones was definitely not a stupid man. She couldn't help but wonder why exactly he was so desperate to speak to her at this hour. 

Freddie shifted uncomfortably, his back leaning against the copious amounts of pillows set upon Frank's couch. He tried his level best to avoid her eyes. He knew, with one look into that sharp stare of hers he would be instantly coerced into talking. Freddie swallowed deeply, his hands finding comfort in stroking the hair of Barnaby: Frank's Basset hound who too had found himself on the couch. The basset  lying blissfully asleep between Frank and Freddie's laps, acting almost as a protective barrier between Freddie and the spitfire he affectionately called his friend. "...Tony Baddingham is having a garden party at his estate in the next two days. Valerie is desperate for us to go and I was wondering if you could maybe come with? I know you must have been invited and-" He was swiftly cut off by Frank jumping off the couch and walking towards the other side of the living room. He watched her worriedly, his hand still stroking Barnaby who now appeared frustrated at his owner for disturbing his slumber. 

"Absolutely not I don't do press Fred." Francesca shook her head, her curls flapping ferociously along with the movement. Freddie often thought, despite her gracious and humble disposition in front of the cameras and the Olympic committee, that his friend resembled a  fire. Just as warm and as comforting  as the flames but also just as dangerous. She looked like every other Lady: with aristocratic features and a slim athletic body, but her hair was as wild as her soul. 

Freddie continued to pet Barnaby slowly, his eyes watching Frank as she looked outside towards the fields containing her horses. Fred knew Frank only looked towards her horses or her dogs when she felt uncomfortable. The confident and strong-minded woman only ever felt true peace within the company of her many animals. "Frank," he started gently, "it's only one party and you could avoid the photographers at the front gate by sneaking inside within the boot of my car?"

Francesca smiled slightly, the mental image of her body draped in some ridiculously expensive dress being stuffed within the confines of Freddie's car boot made her want to giggle. "You couldn't fit me in that ridiculous sports car of yours."

"No," Freddie chuckled slightly "I couldn't. But I doubt Val would mind you being stuffed in her boot beside her party gift for the Baddinghams."

Frank outwardly laughed this time, her thoughts drifting towards lying in a boot parallel to some ridiculous gift basket Valerie would purchase for Tony and Monica Baddingham. "Fine," she conceded. She could never say no to the sweet smile of Freddie Jones. "But I'm not buying them a bloody gift."

"Darling." Freddie began, walking from the couch towards her and placing his hand upon her shoulders. "Your presence is more than an appropriate gift." 

She snorted, lightly slapping the lapel of his suit. Her feet stepped away from Freddie and walked across the blue carpet towards her pack of cigarettes. She lit another one, smoke puffing its way from her lips and swirling around the large room. Freddie opened his mouth to protest but was swiftly stopped by Frank's manicured hand lifting up into the air. "Uh-uh, I deserve this if I'm going to be spending my weekend conversing with Tony Baddingham and all of his entitled friends." 

Freddie nodded in begrudging agreement, a smile perched upon his lips as he gazed at her in thanks. "Thank you Frank." He said genuinely. 

"It's alright. Better you and I face those sharks together than you alone." She said, shrugging off his thanks as she often did. "Besides, how bad could one afternoon listening to Tony Baddingham beg me to join Corinium's board be?"  

If only she knew. 

[beachlifelez]

“This is Margaret Wallington. Oh, hello, Stephanie. Yes, your daughter has arrived.

"Of course, Paige is putting her full efforts into my assignments.

"Well, she’s quite busy at the moment. I had her starting to focus on two very important items before you called.

"Yes, well, after she finishes on those items, I have one extremely important area where she’ll be spending much of her attention. I’m looking forward to her diving in and delivering very positive results to me.

"Yes, of course, I’ll have her call as soon as she has completed those tasks to my total satisfaction. Goodbye, Stephanie.”

Margaret hung up the phone and looked across the room.

“Well, Paige, that was your mother, as I’m sure you surmised. She is a nosy little thing, isn’t she? And quite an interruption, I would say.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wallington. I hope she doesn’t reflect badly on me.”

“Of course not, dear; it’s just that she drags us away from our very important activities. Now, where were we?”

“I was helping you out of your jacket and blouse so that I might worship your magnificent breasts.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing she does not suspect your presence here is primarily due to your keen interest in pleasing older women. Alice Dunford was so good to introduce you to me.”

“You have taught me well and are very kind to me, Miss Wellington and I adore being able to pleasure you, as you know.”

Margaret removed her jacket and blouse, fully revealing her ample bosom. Paige’s eyes lit up as Margaret presented her breasts to her.

“Yes, these two very important items require your total attention, now, dear. And then we’ll move on to my extremely important area. You do have your work cut out for you today, Paige.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Object permanence

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND TOMORROW (May 2), and in WELLINGTON on SATURDAY (May 3). More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

#20yrsago Danny O’Brien goes to work at EFF! https://web.archive.org/web/20050507123924/https://www.oblomovka.com/entries/2005/04/29#1114782180

#15yrsago 1939 World’s Fair: the future’s cradle, in pictures https://web.archive.org/web/20100501170616/http://www.wired.com/thisdayintech/2010/04/gallery-1939-worlds-fair/

#10yrsago British austerity: a failed experiment abandoned by the rest of the world https://www.theguardian.com/business/ng-interactive/2015/apr/29/the-austerity-delusion

#10yrsago Translation: once they learn the truth, techies hate and fear us https://www.wired.com/2015/04/us-defense-secretary-snowden-caused-tensions-techies/

#10yrsago FBI’s crypto backdoor plans require them to win the war on general purpose computing http://webpolicy.org/2015/04/28/you-cant-backdoor-a-platform/

#10yrsago Anyone can open a Master Lock padlock in under two minutes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09UgmwtL12c

#10yrsago Couples counsellor who assigns Ikea furniture assembly calls Liatorp “The Divorcemaker” https://web.archive.org/web/20150430183654/https://laist.com/2015/04/28/santa_monica_therapist_uses_ikea_as.php

#10yrsago UK Tories forged letter of support in the Telegraph from “5,000 small businesses” https://sturdyblog.wordpress.com/2015/04/27/small-business-letter-to-the-telegraph-an-attempt-to-defraud-the-electorate/

#5yrsago How monopolism crashed the US food supply https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#butchery

#5yrsago Legendary troubleshooting stories https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#cuckoos-egg

#5yrsago Medical debt collection during the pandemic https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#armbreakers

#5yrsago British Library releases 1.9m images https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#it-belongs-in-a-museum

#5yrsago NSO Group employee used Pegasus cyberweapon to stalk a woman https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#loveint

#5yrsago Founder of AI surveillance company was a Nazi who helped shoot up a synagogue https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#damien-patton-nazi

#5yrsago Talking Radicalized with the CBC https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#zuckervegans

#5yrsago Bayesian reasoning and covid-19 https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#uncertainty

#5yrsago Cigna claims to be rolling in dough and on the verge of bankruptcy https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#someones-lying

#1yrago Cigna's nopeinator https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/29/what-part-of-no/#dont-you-understand

[inposterumcumgaudio]

The Magic Yam Cult/Father McCartney's Group, or the Weird Sisters?

I told @monstroso I got this ask and they were like, "The Witches, obviously," so there you have it. The various cults of the Garden District is a tale for another day.

The witches represent the only prominent female presence in Sally's life that she does not feel threatened by. They've known her since she was a child and have tried to impart their wisdom to her, to mixed success. They helped her give birth (out on their crag presumably), showed her how to substitute locally sourced ingredients in the formula for Joy, and now again for Blackberry.

The reason Sally does not feel threatened by the Witches is because they have little (apparent) interest in men. They are old - well, older than Sally anyway - so they are not competition for resources in Sally's world. (Incidentally, this is also why she gets along all right with Dr. Faraday, who is similarly disinterested in men.) I think Sally'd find that's not actually the case that the Witches couldn't pull their own, but luckily for her, they have apparently sworn off Village society and have elected to live a monastic life on a mountain.

But it's a delicious sort of irony that Sally's only genuinely benign support in Wellington Wells also reinforces her world view that all things have a transactional cost. The very first time we are shown the Witches, the very first line of the memory, regards the offering Sally's brought to exchange for their service.

Morgause: "Sally Boyle. What a lovely bunch of nonsuches. From your mum's garden?"

She's brought them these flowers in the hope that they will accept it in trade for a potion to make her "silly".

The thing is, as far as witchcrafty things go, everything has a cost because all things in the world are connected. And it's not out of greed or power struggle that the Witches require an offering so much as that it's a symbolic acknowledgement of the cost of their labor to both themselves and the world they live in. They'll take those flowers (that had their own lives that were cut short for greater purpose), make something useful out of them for someone else, and that person will go on to contribute to the world in their own way (hopefully for the better). Nants' Ingonyama.

This is not the way Sally sees the world though. For her, the offering is a trade; her giving something to get something. Which, fair enough, she's a child here. She probably only knows that Witches expect you bring something when asking for their help.

However, Sally is now in the situation that she is in because she has worked to make the city reliant on her, but she never actually thinks much about her place in Wellington Wells or what happens to the city when she removes herself from it. She sees herself as apart from the community, only interacting to trade resources. She doesn't see herself in the bigger picture; the picture is only ever of her. (Sounds familiar).

Since she never comes to understand the nature of cost the way the Witches do, she's a bit annoyed with them when they require she complete their "several" tasks before they will help her make substitutions in her Blackberry formula. It makes one wonder what they asked of her for the substitutions for her Strawberry formula. Suffice to say, Sally might have foolishly thought she'd get in and out of there for another handful of nonsuches.

What I think she also fails to realize is that the tasks the Witches assign her are meant both to serve their community, but also to teach Sally concern and care for that community. If she gave of herself more freely in this way, she would have a support system at the ready who was happy to assist her rather than a bunch of resentful debtors to call begrudging favors in from and having to ingratiate herself to the most powerful man she can find. Even doing something for which you will never see a direct reward or even be able to claim an unspecified favor for in the future still counts on the overall accounting of one's place in the world.

Maybe it woulda took if she was allowed to think she felt a presence at the Wedding Party stones. You know, give her the idea that someone else was keeping score.

All this said, wisdom is more or less free and the Witches have always tried to give her theirs while leaving her agency to choose for herself. If Sally's is a story about feminism, this is where it happens.

In "Rue", Nimue "presumptuously" offers Sally rue.

Nimue: "You're here for rue, I imagine."

Sally doesn't even realize she's pregnant at this point and I rather suspect Nimue knows that. But that she offers it as a statement, not a question, is implying what she feels is the correct choice. Her wording persists in treating the pregnancy as an option, but nudging Sally away from it. Morgause is more reassuring that both choices would be equally available, but they both impress upon Sally that keeping it will have a much higher cost.

Nimue: "You have a lot to think about. If you keep it..."

Morgause: "Then we'll help you as much as we can. But you'll need to be very brave, dear."

Nimue: "Much braver than if you don't."

Vivienne comes off as a bit dim compared to Nimue and Morgause due to her high-pitched voice and apparent slowness on the draw, but even she tried to give Sally a hint when she asked to be made silly and to like dresses.

Sally: "But you ladies don't care about dresses, do you?"

Vivienne: "But I love dresses!"

It's a subtle clue that even the Weird Sisters are Like Other Girls. They like dresses! Fashion and chemistry are not mutually exclusive interests, Sally. Like, you don't have to care about dresses and dances instead of rockets and chemicals, but you'd have a better time if you cared about them in addition.

It's hard to say whether Sally clued into this in later life. She seems more sociable than she was as a child and at the very least has managed to get along with the tabloids, but whether she's enjoys that aspect of her persona or if she's still just pretending isn't something she speaks on.

Vivienne (the center Witch) is markedly different to the other two, for the reasons I just mentioned. Nimue (left) and Morgause (right) can be told apart by subtle differences in their personality. Nimue is more subdued and tends to focus on practicalities, whereas Morgause is a little more good-humored and given to motherly reassurance. Very maiden, mother, crone. Or crone, maiden, mother, as it were.

Aside from Vivienne's love of dresses, we are only given one other piece of information about the Witches as people.

It is one of my favorite bits of info in the game.

Sally: You know your chemistry.

Nimue: I was on Harry Haworth's team when we invented Joy. One day I hope the Goddess will forgive me for that.

It's fascinating! Like, it means she had a whole regular professional Wellie life before fucking off to the Aggro-Crag. That kinda begs the question of if she gave herself a new Witch name upon retreating back to the wilds. On the other hand, this is a world where Sally named her baby Guinevere so I could see a precedent for Arthurian names, especially among the "herbalism" set. That the Witches have no last names makes their names sound assumed, but on the other hand, you hardly need your father's surname on Ladies' Only Mountain.

Anyway, the reason why this tidbit of info is interesting is because in Haworth Labs, there is a statue of Harry Haworth. Only, he's not alone on that statue.

She says she was just on his team, not particularly anyone prominent in it. But she's also named for the Lady of the Lake who gave Arthur Excalibur. And look, the statue has a water feature!

Nimue is the one of the Witches who actually does the work of determining the substitutions for Sally's Blackberry formula. It stands to reason the substitutions that comprise Sally's Strawberry formula were her frameworked ideas as well. Haworth (though written as a chemist) seems more like his discipline is psychology, so he'd have needed the help of someone like Nimue to arrive at the original formula for Joy. In any event, some lady chemist was instrumental enough in the creation of Joy that she was honored on the statue with Haworth, and Nimue is the only woman the game gives us who could fit the bill.

With regard to the cost of things, there's probably something to be said about what making the original formula out of materials brought by the country's enemies does to the books. Like, it's free, but now the people are hooked on some shit you can't make into perpetuity. Assisting Sally in making Strawberry helps them regain home field advantage, but the by product of production has its cost too. Helping Sally with her Blackberry is just kicking the can down the road with a higher cost when it comes time to settle up.

In view of Nimue's work at Haworth labs, there is one change that I would make to the writing if I could.

Sally: You can't prove it's magic, though. What if it's psychosomatic?

Morgause: So what if it is? You're still feeling stronger.

I would give this Morgause line to Nimue. And rewrite it to fit her character a bit better. "A psychosomatic response is still a response." Psychology is as much a type of "magic" as herbalism is. Giving Nimue a more subtle line that alludes to her history working with Harry Haworth without directly stating it would be some real good shit.

I do wish we'd seen a little more of them in other stories, if only because I want to hear their metaphoric chants for when different characters ascend the crag.

[corner-stories]

sketches and snow

Mikasa Ackerman. Jean Kirschtein. Snowfall. Teapots. Quebecois Swearing. Grad School AU. 5236 words. (ao3.)

Mikasa Ackerman’s first two months in grad school were going well. On top of her advisor being one of the country’s experts on molecular plant pathology, the undergrads she was assigned to babysit had yet to get on her nerves. In fact, she started to look forward to running online “office hours,” since people rarely came by it gave her time to catch up on some reading or emails. Ideas regarding her thesis were also flowing a lot better than she expected — despite all the time she had to decide she was already keen on exploring a specific parasite that only affected flowers that thrived in cold environments. 

Montreal also proved to be as lovely as she imagined it. On top of the colourful architecture and supreme walkability, Mikasa was able to get around despite her less-than-stellar grasp on French. Being capable of interacting outside of the anglophone bubble proved to be helpful, even if all she could do was order food or say, “No, I don’t watch hockey.”

That being said, Mikasa Ackerman’s third month at grad school was going considerably less well. From the moment she applied to McGill she had been warned of the hell that was winters in Quebec. Those who grew up around the area had been acclimatized to the cold the second they were born, but a born-and-bred Vancouverite like herself stood no chance. Having lived on the west coast for most of her life, Mikasa’s could only handle mild winters at best and freezing rain at worst.  

When she got accepted to the program she was ecstatic, feeling satisfied in knowing that all the work she put into her undergrad had amounted to something. On top of earning a Master’s in Plant Science, it would be an opportunity to move to a new city and explore a different side of life. She hadn’t visited Quebec before and was pleased to have a reason to. 

But once the weather began taking a turn, a part of Mikasa wondered if she should’ve explored a different side of life somewhere else — preferably a place with temperatures above fifteen degrees. 

Suffice to say, the multiple chunky sweaters her Auntie insisted she pack were barely enough to fend off the chill. 

Today proved to be a bundle of surprises. The sky was overcast when she left her apartment and commuted to the university, nothing she couldn’t handle. The weather was the last thing on her mind as she entered the biology department and rushed to Professor Dietrich’s office. Even when she received a teasing text from her roommate to prepare for the snow, Mikasa didn’t anticipate more than a few inches of powder. 

However, what she did not anticipate was shockingly thick layers of white piling up on every corner of the city. Upon exiting the biology department  she was greeted by much more chill than she had dressed for. Combined with the snow currently gathering on the ground, she was already anticipating just how difficult it would be getting home. 

Making her way to the metro was the first step — a step characterized by the heavy snow coming up to her knees. Hopefully the students leaving the building got a good laugh from the poor grad student currently trying out for the Ministry of Silly Walks. 

The train was the normal amount of hectic when Mikasa got on. As various Montrealers and nervous anglophone McGill students bumped against her, she fished her headphones from her bag and put them on. Hopefully a song or two could alleviate the stress already building inside of her. 

Unsurprisingly, Mikasa was greeted by more snow upon arriving at her station and stepping outside. 

With a sigh, she tightened her overcoat around herself as began to walk underneath the white flakes. Just like before the layers of white were higher than she anticipated, making her realize that wearing knee-high wellingtons were only a good idea if bits of water weren't able to slowly trickle inside the boot. 

The wind made everything in the air blow sideways, causing snowflakes to hit at every angle. Pulling her scarf over her nose seemed to only do so much. And as to be expected for Novembre, the days were shorter and thus the sky was already dark. 

Mikasa didn’t believe in a higher power, but it was moments like these that made her wonder if the gods of winter were hunting her for sport. 

After a few minutes of trudging through the very snowy streets of Plateau Mont Royal, Mikasa finally arrived at her block. She could already imagine the ways she could warm herself once she got inside her apartment. She could change into some dry socks, brew herself some tea, or even treat herself to a nice bath. The mere thought of such things already felt like heaven. 

Then in her pocket she felt her phone vibrating, with her numb, ungloved hands she fished it out of her overcoat. Upon looking at the screen Mikasa read a message from her Aunt Kiyomi, who seemed curious to know how her favourite niece was doing on the colder side of the country, and whether she was going to watch the game that night. 

Roughly five seconds after Mikasa typed a response about how everything was fine, her foot either lost traction on the ground or hit a curb she couldn’t see. 

Mikasa’s heart skipped a beat as she fell onto the snow, managing to be thrown forward to land on her knees. On the bright side, the impact was very much cushioned by the powder and didn’t hurt as much as she expected. On the not so bright side, she had dropped her phone and somehow it had disappeared underneath the white. 

And she really thought that learning French would be the most difficult part of moving to Montreal. 

On instinct, she allowed herself scream “FUCK!” just to let it all out. The second she let herself yell so loud that her throat began to strain, she immediately felt a lot better. Shortly after, she took in several slow breaths to actually calm herself down. 

Barely a few seconds passed before Mikasa heard a voice amongst the wind and the snow. 

“Tabernak!!! You alright!?!?”

Mikasa looked forward and saw Jean Kirschtein standing on the sidewalk. Without much regard to his own safety, he dashed towards her with surprising ease, showing off the uncanny ability to not bite it on the snow. 

Jean knelt down to her almost effortlessly as she began dusting powder off her jeans. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mikasa insisted, though she was lying through her teeth. She was cold, wet, and very likely black and blue in places that she had no desire to be. Now more than ever did she desire the warm bath waiting for her just inside the building. 

“Did you see where my phone fell?” she asked, trying not to think of the gnarly bruises that were definitely forming on her knees. 

“Ah, let’s see…” Jean said, briefly inspecting the snow for any clues. Soon enough he spotted the red plastic of her phone case sticking out of the powder and reached for it. “Here it is!” 

When he handed it over she took it just as fast, quickly slipping it into her jacket’s inner pocket. 

“Thank you.” 

Jean smiled. “Bienvenue.”

He then stood up and offered a hand down to her, and for reasons she didn’t quite know Mikasa reached back. He held her with a firm grip as he got her back onto her feet. 

“Marde, this snow, right?” he remarked, looking at the white powder accumulating on every building on the street. “Came out of absolutely nowhere, didn’t it?” He shook some snowflakes off his cap. “Ah, calice…” 

Internally, Mikasa recognized a handful of the French that Jean so casually dropped. Her short time in the city had already familiarized her ears to the very peculiar — and often religiously themed — profanity only used in this part of the country. 

“Do you always swear… like that?” asked Mikasa as she brushed snow off her overcoat. 

Despite the weather, the darkness, and the chill of the situation, Jean’s friendly grin twisted into a smirk. “C’est correct.” 

Truth be told, Mikasa didn’t know Jean that well. She knew that he was one of Sasha’s closest guy friends buddies, a fellow grad student at McGill, and as Quebecois as they came. As much as he cursed, she did envy his ability to effortlessly slip between French and English — it only served to remind herself that her own grasp on the province’s official language was not as“bien” as she wanted it to be. 

She recalled Sasha mentioning that Jean was an aspiring architect, though Mikasa couldn’t envision him doing it. Perhaps the image of architects in her mind were restricted to clean-cut, bespectacled nerds who wore all black and slaved over drafting tables all day — not tall and bearded Quebecers who went around muttering “tabernacle” at every inconvenience.  

Speaking of which, Mikasa couldn’t help but notice the snowflakes accumulating in Jean’s facial hair. At the moment it was looking less like fashionable stubble and more like unkempt scruff, most of the length being on his chin and above his lips. She could remember him being mostly clean-shaven when they met months ago, perhaps the colder the weather got the thicker his beard would be. 

As she tilted her head up slightly to meet his gaze, Mikasa noticed something that she hadn’t seen due to her little tumble on the snow. 

“Why do you have a guitar case?” 

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Huh? Oh, just delivering this to Sasha,” he explained, reaching back to touch the instrument currently hanging from his back. “She wants to borrow it, there’s this whole open mic night thing she wants to do. You should come, it’s uh… popping, as the kids say.” 

As he spoke, Mikasa could hear the traces of his Quebecois accent on his voice. She was getting used to hearing it the longer she lived in the city, but Jean’s in particular was becoming distinct to her. 

“Sounds fun,” Mikasa replied in a voice that sounded anything but. 

With her place only a few steps away, she said nothing else before continuing her trudge through the snow. Jean followed her, his longer legs making it easier for him to stomp through the constant piles of powder covering the sidewalks. 

“It’s a good thing I ran into you,” he remarked, putting his hands inside his coat pockets. 

“Why? So you could play the hero?” she retorted, her voice sounding a little more acrimonious than she intended. 

“Uh… no,” Jean stammered out. The grin of confidence on his face seemed to falter. “I'm just relieved that I don’t need to text Sasha to let me in. Last time I did that she left me on read for ten minutes.” 

“That’s odd,” Mikasa hummed. “She always answers when it’s me.” 

Jean raised one of his eyebrows. “Really?! Tabarnak! I’ve known her longer!”

Now it was Mikasa’s turn to smirk, though perhaps that wasn’t the right word for it. She wasn’t a smiler in general, so whenever she was amused she would simply blow air out of her nose as the corners of her lips ever so slightly turned up. 

“Guess she just likes me more,” Mikasa replied, knowing full well that she had only known the brunette for three months. 

Jean managed to remain lighthearted as he chuckled. “Well, there is a lot to like.”

For a brief second Mikasa eyed him oddly. “Huh?”

“Huh?” Jean repeated, meeting her eyes for a second. 

But before either one of them could say anything else, they finally arrived at Mikasa's apartment complex, a place that could exist on many aesthetically-pleasing “Visit Montreal” brochures when it wasn’t currently being tormented by the gods of winter. Jean was quick to scale the snow-covered steps, swiftly arriving at the top before turning around and offering his hand again. 

“Aweille!” he exclaimed, then smiled again — this time it was softer. His voice then took a playful tone. “Come on, the West Coaster has to master our winters somehow.” 

Mikasa rolled her eyes and scoffed. “For your information I’m from Vancouver, not Los Angeles.”  

Despite her willingness to sass the tall Quebecer aiding her in the cold, she took his hand anyway. Besides, without her gloves touching him was much preferable to touching the frigid side railings. 

Jean chuckled again as he slowly helped her up the steps, barrages of powder collecting on their ankles as they went. 

“Oh yeah? And how often does Vancouver get snow like this?” he asked. “Once every decade, là?” 

Mikasa was not going to dignify his question with a response, but a part of her wondered how Jean would fare on her side of the country. While it was true that her hometown didn’t often make the residents fear the wrath of frostbite, Vancouver did grace its people with excessive amounts of rain. It would certainly amuse her to see Jean running around as droplets and wind hit him from every direction. 

Nonetheless, Mikasa still held Jean’s hand as she ascended the steps. She had only touched him for a few seconds, expecting him to be as cold as ice yet somehow he was warm. He wasn’t even wearing gloves. One could wonder how he did it. 

Once the two were at the top, Mikasa opened the door and let him follow behind her. It took a short walk in the hallway for the pair to reach the apartment, yet she couldn’t stop herself from shivering with every step.

Fortunately, the Ackerman-Braus residence was warm — opening the door and entering the living room was like being accepted into the arms of the gods. 

Mikasa wasted no time in removing her wet coat, letting the garment hang and dry as she took off her boots. When she glanced at the living room she spotted Sasha sitting on the couch like the productive vet student she was. She brunette was lounging in her bunny slippers and already holding a guitar, currently strumming a jaunty tune that made Mikasa remember that she originally hailed from some small town in Alberta. 

Beside her Mikasa watched Jean removing his own boots before walking into the living room.

When Sasha laid eyes on her two friends, she broke out into a smile so cheery that one could forget the snowstorm outside. 

“Hey, Roomie!” she greeted. “Hey, Jeanbo!” 

Mikasa gave a shy wave as Jean approached his friend on the couch.

“Jeanbo?” he scoffed, one eyebrow raised. “What are you? My mother?” 

There was a beat of silence while Mikasa wondered when Jean would notice the elephant in the room. Sure enough, just as she took off her socks she saw Jean’s normally confident smirk shift into a face of utter confusion. 

“Sasha… you have a guitar already?!?!!!” 

“Hm?” Sasha blinked, having not noticed the case on her friend’s back. “Oh, yeah! Niccolo had one and he just brought it over for me! Am I dating the biggest fucking sweetie or what?” 

“Mais pourquoi diable me fait ça?!?” Jean exclaimed. Somehow, he managed to communicate his ire without raising his voice to a shout. “Sasha, I came all the way from Griffintown to bring this to you!”

Sasha furrowed her brow and touched her finger to her chin. “Hmmm… now that you mention it, I knew I was forgetting something…” 

The groan that Jean let out was over dramatic and comical. Even Mikasa couldn’t deny the amusement in his antics, smiling very minutely as she walked barefoot across the living room. 

As Jean broke out into French to better express his frustration to his friend, Mikasa approached her bedroom. The last thing she heard before slipping inside was Sasha sassing Jean back in his first language. 

Though closing her door muffled the conversation between the friends, Mikasa could already envision the colourful argument the two were having. She was aware that Jean and Sasha knew each other for years — that the true testament to their being the many dramatic squabbles they could have while still remaining close. Usually, they quarreled over hockey games and whether IPAs were just beers that tasted even worse, but today they seemed very keen on debating the ethics of making a friend trudge through heavy snowfall for nothing. 

Moments passed as Mikasa changed out of her clothes and into something more dry. Once she tossed her water-logged leggings and cardigan into her hamper, she pulled on her bathrobe before grabbing a spare towel from her closet. She dried off her long dark hair just as she sat at her desk. 

Like most overworked grad students, she spent a moment answering the emails in the inbox, replying to the few that she had the emotional energy to handle before leaving the rest for later. While Professor Dietrich was as much as a strict hard-ass as his reputation foretold, he was a lot nicer to the grad students he advised, especially when emailing them after-hours. He even ended his message by asking her how she was adjusting to the weather, which made Mikasa nearly recount her struggle to climb her own goddamn staircase. 

In the end, she ended up saying that everything was okay, even if it was a dirty lie. Professor Dietrich really didn’t need to know how his Grad Advisee absolutely ate shit less than ten minutes ago. 

Mikasa then left her bedroom with one thing on her mind only. When she entered the living room she expected to see Sasha on the couch again, strumming her guitar to her heart’s content, but instead she was greeted to the sight of Jean. 

He had removed his coat and hat to sit at the island near the kitchen. His demeanor was relaxed as held a pencil over a pocket-sized sketchbook. In the short time she had known him she knew that he seemed to travel with at least one, whether to keep his hands busy or pass the time when he was bored. It certainly wasn’t the worst habit in the world, as the little sketch of Sasha pinned to the fridge could attest. 

Though Mikasa couldn’t imagine what in the kitchen was worth drawing. In fact, there was still some pesto on the ceiling from the time she and Sasha got polished off a box of wine and tried to make themselves dinner. 

There was a beat, then Jean looked up from his paper and met her gaze with his. 

“Hey.”

She only had the energy to give him a single nod, “Hey.” 

Being used to Jean’s presence in the place, she stepped towards the door to the bathroom, only to discover that said door was locked. 

Grumbling, Mikasa frowned as she restlessly fidgeted with the material of her bathrobe. “God, how much can one woman shit?” 

Jean chuckled as Mikasa went to the kitchen. She began filling the kettle with water before turning to the guest currently sitting at the island. 

“I’m making tea, would you like some?” 

He nodded. “Sure.” 

As Mikasa turned on the electric kettle, she noticed that the oven seemed to be preheating, then glanced at Jean with a curious eye. 

“Are you cooking something?”

He shook his head. “No, Sasha is — to repay me for coming all this way she’s making me dinner.” He let out a lighthearted chuckle, then went back to whatever he was sketching in his book. “And no worries, I’ll be out of your hair soon after.” 

Mikasa shrugged as she reached for the cupboard near the fridge. “Doesn’t bother me.” 

As Mikasa browsed her and Sasha’s exceedingly well-stocked tea cupboard, Jean continued to speak behind her, his smalltalk turning into a soothing background noise as she selected her leaves. Right now she was in a blueberry mood. 

Jean continued to doodle, but occasionally glanced up to watch her dropping spoonfuls of leaves into a cast iron teapot. “So… what do you have planned tonight? More depressing grad school struggles?” 

“I was going to draw myself a bath, but I suppose I’m doing that later,” Mikasa mumbled, then sighed. “And I was hoping to watch a baseball game…” 

“You a Blue Jays fan?” he asked, sounding both curious and surprised.

“Dodgers,” she clarified, shaking her head. “Ever since they signed Shohei Ohtani.” 

Jean hummed. “Interesting.” 

She only looked mildly puzzled at his response. “What is?” 

He was quick to notice the peculiar way she was eyeing him, then let out another chuckle, this one being laced with just a bit more fretfulness. “You just…” he started, then ran a hand through his ashy hair. “...didn’t strike me as a sports fan.” 

Mikasa scoffed. “I’m into sports that interest me.” 

“I guess hockey isn’t one of them?” 

Once more she shook her head. “Not my thing.” 

She didn’t have to explain it to him. She was okay with the sport, but it just didn’t intrigue and allure her the way baseball did. Truth be told, she just couldn’t see the appeal in a bunch of men chasing a puck across a sheet of ice. Perhaps if her Aunt Kiyomi had invited her to the living room to watch more hockey with her as a child, as opposed to making sure Mikasa knew the names of every Japanese expatriate currently playing for the MLB, then maybe things would be different. It did feel isolating to discover that most people in Montreal only cared for sports involving ice. 

After a few moments the kettle finally brought the water to a boil and Mikasa poured it into her pot. As the tea began to brew she procured two mugs from the cupboard and set them down, then behind her she heard Jean letting out a hum.

“It’s a shame,” he started, his pencil scratching against the paper of his sketchbook once more. “And here Sasha was hoping you’d come to the next Canadiens game.” 

To that Mikasa looked at Jean with a surprised look on her pretty face.

“I mean… I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to it…” she admitted. Especially if there were people she knew there like Sasha, of course, but perhaps Jean as well. 

It would be amusing to witness Sasha drunkenly heckling a referee at an actual game. Seeing her scream at the TV with a beer in hand was fun, but lacked a certain kick. 

Mikasa set a timer as the tea brewed. During the time she glanced at the window near the kitchen and noted that even more snow seemed to have fallen in the span of a few minutes. She let out a sound that was somewhere between a grumble and a sigh before affixing her vision elsewhere. 

She looked to Jean, taking in the focus in his eyes as he continued to sketch. She noted that without his coat he was currently sporting some kind of waistcoat over a slightly ill-fitting shirt, both garments hanging loosely over his slender frame. The top buttons on his oxford had been left undone, exposing the top of his chest very slightly. 

A part of her wondered why she hadn’t expected him to don such a look, while another part of her wondered why she was paying so much attention to it. 

Before she could dwell on things for too long the timer on her phone rang and Mikasa went to fetch the tea. She was quick to pour some out for Jean and herself. When she brought his mug over to the island she took note of the smile on his face, their fingers grazing ever so slightly as she handed it over. 

Like before he was warm, but perhaps the tea had something to do with it. 

“Merci.”

For a moment, Mikasa tried to recall the exact way the Quebecois said “You’re Welcome” before finally saying — 

“Bien.”

The visible confusion on Jean’s face made Mikasa internally cringe and seriously contemplate taking a vow of silence for the foreseeable future. 

Fortunately, before Mikasa could get too wrapped up in her embarrassment, she looked to the counter and caught a glimpse of Jean’s sketchbook. The subject currently scribbled on the page made her do a double take. 

“Is that…” 

Jean looked at the little drawing of Mikasa he had made in the short span of time. For a brief moment he looked sheepish, possibly embarrassed to have been caught in such an act. But soon he swallowed whatever fear was inside of him to hold up his sketchbook.

“Oh, yeah…” he started, taking a deep breath to recollect himself. He handed her his sketchbook, their fingers grazing again. “It’s basically finished so uh… thoughts?” 

Mikasa took in Jean’s drawing, noticing the delicate way he had depicted her glassy eyes, pointed chin, and daintier features. He even managed to include the scar just under her right eye, a remnant of the time she tried to ride a Great Dane as a child and the dog reacted accordingly. He had depicted her during a moment of thought, where her usually dull eyes looked more pensive than usual. 

She knew that Jean was good, but seeing him create an image of her so quickly with a shitty pencil felt like something else entirely. No one had ever sketched her before. 

“It’s very nice,” she told him, her usual monotone sounding a lot softer than usual. When she met his eyes she could see the slightest gleam in them, then felt her heart skip a beat as Jean managed another smile. 

“I’m glad you think so.” Once more he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m always glad to hear that my art minor wasn’t a waste of time.”

Jean let out a chuckle, then stood up from the counter. He walked to the other side to take his sketchbook again. Mikasa watched as he gently tore his drawing from the book. 

“It seemed only fitting,” he said as he used a magnet to pin the new sketch next to the one of Sasha. 

There was something amusing about a drawing of Sasha beaming like an idiot hanging next to a drawing of Mikasa looking thoughtful and introspective. In a way it summed up both their personalities and perfectly encapsulated how they held themselves throughout the day. 

“You’re really talented,” Mikasa decided to say. As she stood next to Jean now she noticed their height difference a lot more. 

Jean seemed to be blushing and avoided her gaze, preferring to look at the floor. “You’re just saying that.” 

She shook her head. “I mean it.” 

A brief moment of silence followed, a tense wordlessness existing between the pair. When Jean managed to glance at her again, only a few more seconds passed before they were interrupted.

The sound of the bathroom door opening was heard, garnering the attention of the two grad students. 

Sasha entered the living area with ease, grinning at both her roommate and her friend without a care in the world. 

“Now what are you two crazy kids up to?” Sasha asked with her usual goofy grin and distinct lack of tact. 

Mikasa swore that she heard Jean grumble as she reached for her mug of tea and walked away from the fridge. Just like before he ran a hand through his hair, effectively messing it and making him look even more scruffy. 

“Just talking,” she answered quickly. Her mind refocused on her initial priority now that there was nothing stopping her from running a bath now. 

Without another word she moved past Sasha and made her way to the bathroom. Parts of it felt rude, but she wasn’t going to deny herself the warmth she had been craving for the last hour. 

But before she could close the door she caught a glimpse of her roommate and her roommate’s friend, both currently standing in the kitchen of her apartment. Somehow she noticed the slightly saddened look on Jean’s face just before she shut the door behind her. 

…

…

…

Once Mikasa was gone Jean let out a sigh, rubbing his face as he walked back to the counter and sat. He could feel just the slightest bits of sweat forming on his forehead, something he hoped hadn’t been obvious during the last few moments. 

As he grabbed his mug of tea he glanced over to Sasha, who was fortunately none the wiser to what had just transpired. As to be expected she went straight to the fridge, grabbing a hefty cluster of grapes to munch on as she cooked her buddy dinner. 

But just as she shut the door she noticed the extra drawing pinned onto the fridge, the one that hadn’t been there before and depicted her Mikasa looking calm, quiet, and in the midst of an existential crisis with various strokes of graphite. She had known Jean enough to recognize the way he could sketch, as well as the way he viewed the budding botanist who paid half the rent. 

Letting out a sharp scoff, Sasha turned to Jean with the smarmy smile on her dumb face. 

Smartly — or at least, as smartly as Sasha could get — she slipped into French to avoid the risk of certain things being heard through the walls. 

“So… are you going to ask her out soon or what?” Sasha asked. “I mean, you’ve only been eyeing her from the second you met.” 

Jean grabbed the bottle of honey that was always on the counter and tried to act like her words held no weight. 

“No comment.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time a friend of mine dates my roommate,” Sasha pointed out. Without missing a beat she popped a grape into her mouth and continued to speak. “Remember Historia? I swear, Ymir was on that from minute one.” 

“I wouldn’t want to bother her,” Jean reasoned. In his mind and heart he knew that a pestering suitor would be the last thing Mikasa wanted. She seemed so focused on other things — mainly her research and just surviving — that putting anything else on to that platter just seemed unwise. 

And he didn’t want to ruin whatever rapport they had. As gut-wrenchingly beautiful as she was, he still enjoyed the simple pleasure of being her friend. Even if his heart would beat just a bit faster when he stopped by or saw her at the university, he was content to keep things the way they were. In a way maybe that was all she needed — for all he knew Montreal was still new to her, so perhaps having a tall and dashingly handsome Quebecer around was just what she needed to make the city feel more manageable.

“She’s…” Jean tried to say, his mind thinking of the right thought to vocalize. “She’s lovely though.” 

And to that Sasha chuckled. “Oh, I know.” She stuffed another grape into her mouth. “I see the way you… erm… look at her.” 

Jean avoided her gaze as he squeezed a healthy serving of honey into his tea. As much as he liked Sasha, he had learned the hard way that giving her ammunition of any kind would explode in his face. He really didn’t need his closest female friend meddling with his love life for a third time. 

So to that he replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sasha could only roll her eyes. “If you say, Jeanbo. If you say so.”

[allankinsella01]

How Allan Kinsella Shaped His Legacy Through Service and Sacrifice

Allan Kinsella’s life brings to mind perseverance and service as defining themes. From the unique military career he chose for himself to his government service, all throughout his life, he has shown keen attention to duty which has fulfilled Allan’s legacy.

Early Life and Foundations of Service

Assigned to a disciplined, community focused family on October twenty eight nineteen seventy, Allan Kinsella was born in Wellington, New Zealand. With the incessant dedication that Owen Kinsella, Allen’s father, put into his job with the fire service, not to forget all of Paul Kinsella who works as a fireman and brother to Allan, it becomes quite clear why the Kinsella family chose to dedicate their lives to Fire Service. The legacy that Alan’s family set becomes the hallmark of change for his life.

During his years at Saint Patrick’s College, Silverstream where Allan attended, the college was known for having competitive sports. Allan joined the myriad of students involved in performing arts and actively took part in the school drama club which later on, transformed into organized theatre. History and economics were blue subjects combined with a Bachelor of Arts degree that gave Allan his ticket to the University of New South Wales, and he later went on to pursue a master’s degree.

A Distinguished Career in the Military

In 1990, Allan set out on the journey that would deeply influence much of his adulthood by joining the New Zealand Army. He yearned for a career that was more engaging than the typical office job, so he was assigned to the Australian Defense Force Academy, where he received rigorous training from 1990–1992. After graduating from the Royal Military College, Dantron in 1993, outfitted with a commission as a Lieutenant in the Royal New Zealand Artillery, he was positioned to embrace experiences that would mold his personality and leadership skills.

Allan’s military career included many operational tours and significant deployments, including working as the Senior Operations Officer during his posting to Sierra Leone in 1999 with the United Nations. While in Sierra Leone, he was an important participant in the Peace talks, where he militarily engineered the Peace Accord that was crucial for the recovery of the war afflicted nation. Later, in 2002, Allan got deployed to East Timor as the New Zealand Deputy Battalion Commander tasked with leadership responsibilities for counter-conflict peacekeeping operations.

The United States Command and General Staff College in Leavenworth, Kansas, distinguished Allan with a Master Strategist award in 2005 due to his unprecedented performance. This specific accolade emphasizes a singular achievement awarded to the best strategist out of a cohort exceeding a thousand students, which further demonstrates his unparalleled ability to dissect multi-layered scenarios, formulate precise courses of action, and saw them through.

Chronological Pivot to Public Service

Allan Kinsella shift into the public domain post his military tenure, where for two decades he was deeply immersed into several strategy frameworks. In 2011, he brought this wealth of experience to New Zealand’s Ministry for Primary Industries (MPI), where he instantly began rising within the ranks, eventually attaining the position of Director of Assurance. Here, he spearheaded responses to some high profile incidents, including the alarming 1080 child formula scare and the enforcement of Covid-19 protocols within the primary industry.

These crisis episodes showcase a degree of composure, clear thinking and ability to lead under strain that Allan demonstrated during these events. The 1080 threat posed a substantial risk to New Zealand’s dairy quadrant and Allan’s cool demeanor during times of chaos was essential to help steer MPI through some examinations. In the course of the COVID-19 outbreak, he along with his team received the Supreme MPI Leadership Award for the undying commitment provided toward the active services and, more importantly, public safety.

Personal Life and Resilience

For years, Allan Kinsella has prioritized family over work commitments, although busy their schedule gets or how hectic his ongoing projects are. They first met in 1997 and rekindled their relationship after a chance reunion in 1999. They exchanged marriage vows in 2002 and within a month, he was deployed to East Timor. Talk about patience for a military spouse!

Tragic as it may sound, the passing of his wife following a grueling four year long battle with myeloma in 2023 was one of the most challenging phases of Allan’s life. While the loss was deeply felt, Lady Kinsella as some would call him managed to remain resilient for their two children, Emma and Cayden. Allan’s ability to grapple with personal grief alongside professional responsibility showcases his undying commitment to family and service.

A Legacy of Service

Allan Kinsella remains an undisputed figure of relentless dedication and unyielding spirit. Whether it was negotiating peace in conflict zones or managing complex public meltdowns, his career was tied to some of the most challenging moments in international leadership.

Through his charitable work alongside family, he continues to inspire people from far and wide. In particular, his support for the Salvation Army, Mary Potter hospice and Caring Families Aotearoa solder his belief in community and collective effort, and aids soul.

The service and sacrifice that Allan Kinsella made helps explain how legacy was shaped. This illustrates the assertion that a single individual can indeed change a community, a country, and the world with their devoted service.

[gabicna]

Open Your Future: Top CNA Classes in Lakeland, FL-- Start Your Healthcare Journey Today!

Unlock Your Future: Top ⁣CNA Classes ⁢in Lakeland,⁢ FL – Start Your Healthcare Journey Today!

Are you considering a rewarding⁢ career ​in​ healthcare? ⁢Becoming ‌a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) is a fantastic first⁢ step.‍ The demand for certified nursing assistants ⁤is skyrocketing, and Florida,‌ particularly the Lakeland area, has an array of programs designed to help ‌you ⁢embark on this fulfilling journey. This guide explores the top CNA classes in Lakeland, FL, offering you the opportunity to unlock your future and‍ start your healthcare career today!

The Importance of CNA Training

CNA training programs are essential for those looking to break into the healthcare⁢ field. Here are a⁤ few reasons why:

High Demand: ⁣ The healthcare ‌industry is in constant need of certified ‌nursing assistants.

Career Growth: ⁣ CNA certification can lead to higher roles ⁤in the healthcare sector, such as nursing or specialized care.

Real-World Impact: CNAs play ‌a critical role in⁢ patient care and comfort, making a difference in lives every day.

Top CNA Classes in Lakeland, FL

Here are some ⁤of ‍the most reputable CNA training‍ programs available in Lakeland:

Training Institution

Program Duration

Cost

Location

Certification Offered

Florida Career College

4 weeks

$1,200

Lakeland, FL

CNA

Polk State College

6 weeks

$800

Lakeland, FL

CNA

Keiser University

7 weeks

$1,500

Lakeland, FL

CNA

Wellington Healthcare

3 weeks

$1,000

Lakeland, ⁢FL

CNA

Benefits of​ Choosing ⁣CNA Classes in Lakeland, FL

Choosing CNA classes in⁣ Lakeland comes with several distinct advantages:

Local Opportunities: ‌Gain employment in⁣ a vibrant​ local⁤ healthcare market.

Flexible Schedules: ⁣ Many programs offer evening and weekend ⁢classes to accommodate working students.

Hands-On Training: Programs ⁤often ‌include clinical experience, providing real-world‍ practice⁣ that enhances learning.

Practical Tips​ for Success in CNA Classes

To‌ maximize your success in CNA classes, consider the following tips:

Stay Organized: Keep track of your assignments and deadlines to avoid last-minute cramming.

Practice Skills: Take advantage of lab time to‍ practice essential⁢ nursing skills.

Study Groups: Form study⁣ groups to gain different perspectives and enhance understanding.

Communicate: ​ Don’t hesitate to ask⁣ instructors ⁤questions if ⁢you’re uncertain about any material.

Case Studies: Success Stories from Lakeland Graduates

Many graduates of Lakeland’s CNA programs have transformed ‍their lives and careers:

Jane Doe – From Student to ⁢Superhero

Jane enrolled in the CNA program at Florida Career College. In just four weeks, she completed her certification and started working at a local hospital. Fast forward ⁣two⁢ years, Jane is now a Registered Nurse, working in⁢ pediatrics, and she credits⁢ her success to the solid foundation she received in her CNA training.

John Smith – A‍ New Life

After facing job layoffs, ⁢John turned to⁣ Polk State College’s CNA program. Within six weeks, he was not​ only certified but also employed ‍at ⁣a senior care ⁣facility. ⁢Now, he motivates others to pursue careers in healthcare, emphasizing⁤ the‍ stability and fulfillment the profession offers.

First-Hand⁢ Experience: The CNA Journey

Many ⁤students enter CNA ‌programs not knowing what to ⁣expect. Here’s a recap from ⁤a recent graduate:

“My experience in the CNA ​program was enriching. The instructors⁢ were supportive, and the hands-on ⁣clinical‍ experience was⁢ invaluable. ‌I learned not just the ‌technical skills required, but how to connect⁢ with patients, which is just as important. Becoming a CNA isn’t ‌just about being a⁣ caretaker;⁤ it’s about ​making‌ meaningful connections and impacting lives every day.”

Frequently Asked Questions

What is the⁣ average⁢ salary​ for a CNA in Lakeland,⁣ FL?

The average salary​ for a⁤ CNA in Lakeland ‍ranges‌ from $25,000 to⁤ $35,000 annually, depending on experience and⁣ the type of facility.

How do I prepare for the CNA certification exam?

Make sure to review your course​ materials thoroughly, take practice exams, and familiarize yourself with the test format.

Are‌ online CNA classes available?

Some institutions offer hybrid models that include online coursework ​combined with in-person ⁤clinical ‌training.

Conclusion

Embarking on‌ your journey to becoming a Certified​ Nursing Assistant is a significant⁤ step toward a rewarding healthcare ⁢career. The top CNA​ classes in Lakeland, FL, provide excellent opportunities ‌for⁤ hands-on experience, flexible scheduling, ⁤and local ‍employment. Whether you’re aiming for a long-term career in⁣ nursing ⁤or seeking⁤ a stable ⁣job in the healthcare sector, Lakeland has the resources to​ help​ you succeed. Don’t⁤ wait—enroll in a CNA⁤ class today and unlock your future in ‍healthcare!

https://cnatrainingprogram.net/open-your-future-top-cna-classes-in-lakeland-fl-start-your-healthcare-journey-today/

[fudgeypants]

Why a Laundry Bag is a Must-Have for Every Household in New Zealand?

Laundry bags may seem like a simple household item, but their utility and importance can't be overstated, especially in a country like New Zealand where outdoor activities, unpredictable weather, and a love for adventure are a part of everyday life. Whether you're a student, a busy parent, or someone living in a small apartment, a laundry bag NZ is an essential tool that can make managing dirty clothes much easier.

1. Protect Your Clothes

One of the primary reasons to invest in a quality laundry bag is to protect your clothes during washing. Laundry bags, particularly those made from mesh, can help prevent delicate fabrics from getting damaged in the wash. In New Zealand, where outdoor activities like hiking, beach trips, and sports are common, clothes often bear the brunt of dirt, grime, and sweat. Throwing these clothes directly into the washing machine without any protection can lead to tears, snags, and premature wear. A laundry bag ensures that your favorite garments, whether they’re delicate fabrics or robust outdoor gear, stay in good condition for longer.

2. Simplify Sorting and Organizing

In a busy household, sorting laundry can be a daunting task. A laundry bag can be a lifesaver in this regard. Instead of letting dirty clothes pile up in a corner, you can assign different bags for different types of laundry—whites, colors, delicates, and heavy-duty items like towels or jeans. This system not only keeps your home tidy but also speeds up laundry day. You won’t have to spend time sorting clothes before each wash, as the laundry is already organized into its respective categories.

3. Easy Transport

Whether you're living in a flat, a dormitory, or a house with a laundry room at the far end, carrying your dirty clothes can be cumbersome. Laundry bags are designed for easy transport, with durable handles or drawstrings that make carrying heavy loads more manageable. For those living in apartments or shared housing in cities like Auckland or Wellington, where space is at a premium, having a laundry bag that can easily be transported to a laundromat or a shared laundry facility is essential.

4. Versatility

A laundry bag is not just for laundry. In New Zealand, where many people enjoy the outdoors, a laundry bag can be used for various purposes. It can serve as a storage solution for outdoor gear, beach toys, or even as a carry-all for camping trips. Its lightweight and durable design make it an ideal companion for outdoor adventures, keeping your items organized and easy to transport.

5. Eco-Friendly Option

In a country that prides itself on its natural beauty and commitment to sustainability, opting for a reusable laundry bag is a small but significant step towards reducing plastic waste. Instead of relying on disposable plastic bags for transporting dirty laundry or storing items, a reusable laundry bag offers a more environmentally friendly alternative.

Conclusion

A laundry bag NZ is an essential household item for every Kiwi. From protecting your clothes to simplifying the laundry process, offering easy transport, and even contributing to eco-friendly practices, a laundry bag is a versatile tool that can enhance your daily life in many ways. So, whether you're a city dweller or someone living in the countryside, make sure you have a quality laundry bag in your home—you’ll wonder how you ever managed without one!

[onlinetutorhelps]

Assignment Help New Zealand

At www.onlinetutorhelps.com We have an experienced team of writers for easy guidance and sample solutions along with the framework of the assignments. Read More At Assignment Help NZ

https://www.onlinetutorhelps.com/assignment-help-in-new-zealand/

[justquestionanswers]

Are you from Wellington Assignment Help then do not worry we justquestionanswer.com is here to help you with your Assignment Help Wellington Help. Get all university Assignment Help solution from experts.

[milliemowry]

This article helps you write a quality essay by sharing some of the best tips. Avail this essay writing help from the team of experts for best results.

[naresnani]

Ikevamp as Highschool teachers AU

and I'm just going to imagine my own Indonesian public high school rn because fuck it

Gym teacher Napoleon: I DO Not Care what anyone else thinks napoleon should be This idea won't leave my head no matter what!!!!! Help me!!

Napoleon dealing with teenagers being insane all day seems like the life he wanted! The boys gets along with him and they even hang out in the canteen often. The girls rely on him for various helps. Very popular teacher. Most students love him

History teacher Wellington: he's incredibly boring for everyone except the extremely nerdy. Likes to write on the whiteboard instead of using the projector, but he got a terrible cursive writing. He loves getting questions but doesn't show it....

Most students use his boring class to secretly work on other classes HWs. He'd try to stop them with surprise quizzes. They don't like him :)

Also GUESS WHAT! THESE TWO ARE DATING! WHAT ELSE DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME

More hcs: Wellesley is really really bad with technology. Napoleon would drag Isaac to his desk so Isaac would help him with the, the microsoft excel document. He did something with the tables and now it's all only showing the same numbers. Please help. (Napoleon kinda Suck with computers too and probably made things worse.)

Speaking of, Computer teacher Isaac turned math teacher: at some point in my hs years they decided that they don't need the computer class anymore. So it went poof. They still give the teachers jobs teaching something else but goddamn this poor boy!

Mister Isaac is pretty good but he teaches too fast sometimes. You just have to go up to his desk in front of the class with your notebook and then huddle around him with your friends as he explain better.

Art teacher Leonardo: I feel like my art teacher was practically similar to this guy. Constantly smells of smoke. Chill and lazy. Likes to tease his students about their terrible, terrible artwork.

You just have to match his vibes to like him.

Music teacher Mozart: He despises his students treatments of the school's musical instrument. They don't get enough funding from the goddamn government to buy more of these precious things

English teacher Arthur: gets along with the weird nerdy kids.

Literature teacher Dazai: supports your yaoi fanfiction for the assignment!

Comte: the headmaster.

The others: Alright.... Hah.... I've lost my juice......if anyone else got an idea then please..........

Tagging: @kissmetwicekissmedeadly because I just talked about it with her a couple of hours ago......

[sea-owl]

I should be working on my drafts, but this won't leave me alone. This is not all way thought out and is mostly me rambling, but I need to thought dump.

An AU where Penelope is a spy for the queen. In this AU Lady Danbury runs the spy organization for the crown (I nicknamed them the Shadow Gentry) and she takes notice of how observant Penelope is and recruits her into their ranks. Given the code name Lady Whistledown, her gossip column was basically training in how Penelope weaves her web of information, starting with what secrets she learns of the ton and what secrets she allows the ton to know what she knows.

Things turn "tense" with the queen her second season because in actuality they're getting ready to pull Penelope out so she can continue her training around England and then eventually in other countries. Eloise doesn't find out about Whistledown but she and Penelope still have a huge fight. Penelope walked in on Eloise trashing her room like in the show but with no Whistledown evidence Penelope played it off like she was fed up with Eloise's obsession and then let Eloise's hurt pride take care of the rest.

The next season when people noticed that Portia only returned to London with one daughter, she was strangely tight lipped about it.

The Shadow Gentry is an organization of spies for the crown ran by Lady Danbury. They travel all over but when they are in England or on formal business, they are to hide their faces. They wear masks and hooded cloaks to help hide their identities. Each member is trained in areas like combat, languages, acting, seduction, and how to write and decode coded messages. To the members of the ton they are basically a ghost story.

In the present day a 21 year old Penelope finds herself on the steps of Clyvedon after winning against her attackers on her way to report to Lady Danbury. Who just so happens to be staying with the Bassets for a family get together. Her vision blacks out before the door even opens.

Penelope wakes up in a bedroom, her side that had been stabbed is wrapped in bandages, and her mask was on the side table next to the bed.

Her mask was on the side table. Her face was exposed. Penelope shot up to grab the mask, but only to curl into herself as pain shot up her side and black spots danced in her vision.

"Relax child, none of them saw your face. And Simon knows better than anyone to not allow access while you're like this." Lady Danbury smirked. "Though that doesn't stop some of them from trying."

Penelope lifted her head slightly to see Lady Danbury sitting in the corner.

Lady Danbury leveled her with a look. "What did you find Lady Whistledown?"

Penelope rolled onto her side, her vision clearing and her mind coming back into focus. "Duke Wellington's attempted assassin's name is Marie Andre Cantillon. He's not a very good assassin and was easy to track down."

"Then how did this happen?" Lady Danbury pointed her cane at Penelope's side.

"I was ambushed on my way here. They used fake accents and carried a gold coin engraved with a beetle." Penelope watched as Lady Danbury inspected the coin. "They are dead now."

"Yes, I saw. Good work with that Lady Whistledown."

Penelope tries to sit up again but another stabbing pain hits. "Where is my next assignment?"

"Your next assignment is to rest right there in that bed."

"Lady Danbury!"

Lady Danbury leveled Penelope with another glare. "You are injured Lady Whistledown, and you almost bled to death. Clyvedon is one of the few places where a member of the Shadow Gentry can heal."

Penelope sighed, knowing that was no use arguing with one Agatha Danbury when she made up her mind. Laying back down she fell asleep.

Lady Danbury smiled, was that girl ever stubborn, and she didn't even mention the other guests yet. Leaving the room Lady Danbury made sure to lock the door. Penlope will be ok.

Waiting for Lady Danbury outside the room was the Duke of Hastings and Viscount Bridgerton.

"Will she be okay?" Simon asked.

"Yes, that girl is a strong one. I say the real fight may just be getting her to stay in bed."

"Do you know who attacked her? Should I be worried for my family?" Anthony asked.

Lady Danbury shook her head. "No, she isn't sloppy, and I double checked myself. The only one still breathing from that fight is her." She swung her cane to point at Anthony. "Just keep your brood quiet. The less that know she's here the better."

Anthony nodded. "Mother is already talking to them but I will repeat it until it is stamped on their brains."

"Good. We don't need Lady Whistledown's location coming to light when she needs to heal."

"WAIT WHAT?!"

[aureliadebae603]

Georgina Beyers story

After I read over the brief, I began looking at the speech that I had been allocated. I was assigned a speech by Georgina Beyers. She was a New Zealand Mayor since 1999 and was the world's first outed transsexual to be elected to parliament.

As I began to research her further, I have come to understand what an amazing woman she was, through her incredible story about her life and how she has used her experiences to help create a change for the LGBQT+ community as well as sex workers within Aotearoa.

Beyer was born George Bertrand in November 1957 in Wellington. Her Iwi affiliations: Te Ati Awa, Ngati Mutunga, Ngati Raukawa and Ngati Porou. Shortly after her birth, her father abandoned the family and Beyers spent her early years growing up in Taranaki with her grandparents. When she was 4, she returned to Wellington with her mother and new stepfather, Colin Beyer. By this age, she had already discovered the joys of dressing up in women's clothing and by the age of 13, began to feel that her true identity was female.

Beyers epiphany came in her late teens when she attended her first drag show. Overjoyed to know she wasn't alone, she began working in the gay nightclubs in Wellington, singing and dancing in drag. With few employment options for young queers, she began to work in the dangerous industry of prostitution. Even though she felt a part of this new community, she was well aware of the homophobia that lay in the larger community.

In the later 1970's, she was beaten and gang raped by 4 men, a crime she did not report as her low self-esteem made her believe that she deserved such treatment. However, this became a positive turning point in her life as she believed that no one should feel so worthless that they consent to abuse.

In 1984, Beyer underwent sexual reassignment surgery, officially becoming the woman Georgina Beyers.

During the late 1980's she decided on another career change. Tired of being seen as a drag queen or a lady of the night, she was determined to pursue a career that would help to improve the lives of children in rural areas. She moved to the farming community of Carterton in the Wairarapa region to study to become a social worker.

In 1992, she was encouraged by family and colleagues to run for a seat on the Carterton District Council. She lost by only 14 votes. In 1993 she ran again and won and in 1995 she was elected mayor of the town, becoming the first openly transgender mayor in the world. She was re-elected in 1998 with a 90% majority.

In 1999, the Labour Party approached Beyer to run for the Wairarapa seat in Parliament. She agreed but her competition didn't believe that a left-wing Maori trans woman would win the traditionally conservative district. However, she won the seat and became the world's first openly transgender woman to be a member of the parliament. She reluctantly resigned from her position of Mayor of Carterton in 2000 to focus further on her national duties.

As a Member of Parliament, Beyer worked hard to represent both her rural constituents and the national and international queer community that looked to her for progressive reform. She remained as unapologetically open about her trans identity as ever, answering even questions about her sex life with frank humor, while speaking out about gay rights and working for the reform of prostitution laws.

Although she was unable to achieve the passage of a gender identity protection bill, she showed remarkable political savvy in persuading both the Solicitor General and the Attorney General to sign a statement making that protection explicit under New Zealand's current human rights bill, thereby achieving the same result.

She was also an effective proponent of the Civil Union Bill of 2004, which accorded same-sex couples the same rights and responsibilities as married heterosexual couples.

In 2007, exhausted by the long hours and demanding workload of a national representative, Beyer resigned from Parliament.

Beyer's experiences as a groundbreaking politician, her public role as a transgender spokesperson, and her glamorous, theatrical persona makes her an internationally popular speaker on issues of sexual and gender identity.

Unfortunately, Georgina passed away early this year in March due to underlying health issues she had been struggling with for a few years. Her memory and life will continue on within the changes she has helped to create for the LQBQT+ community and within the bills that she helped to pass while she was in parliament.

[allankinsella01]

Allan Kinsella: An Inspiration of Persistence, Leadership, and Dedication

The life story of Kinsella is built on remarkable resilience, exceptional leadership, and personal and national devotion. Born on the 28th of October in the year of 1971 in Wellington, New Zealand, Kinsella’s story is an unyielding reminder of the impact of strong family values, as well the importance of duty, adaptability, and perseverance. Starting from his days as a student at Saint Patrick’s College, Silverstream, to later serving in the New Zealand Army, and eventually transitioning into public service, Allan Kinsella has managed to blend a spectacular life of sporting achievement, academic success, military service, and leadership in highly challenging environments.

Youth and Education: The Basics of Leadership Education

Starting off in Wellington, a city with a unique flair, Allan Kinsella learned about arts and academic subjects early on. His primary schooling at Saint Patrick’s College, Silverstream, was crucial in developing his character. During this stage of his schooling, he was recognized for his academic achievements and performed exceptionally well in all sports and arts. This engagement in various activities indicated his talents as well as his potential to become an exceptional and well-rounded leader. Kinsella has always showed off his remarkable skills in rugby and drama, which helped him grow into a leader throughout his life.

Kinsella furthered his education by enrolling at the University of New South Wales, where he studied for a Bachelor of Arts in History and Economics. While at university, he strived to balance his studies with other activities. Kinsella was not only focused on his education, but also sought to further develop his talents in sports, especially rugby and cricket. This union of intellectual and physical activity would eventually define his lifestyle. 

Military Service: Developing Leadership and Tactical Skills. 

In 1990, Kinsella started a career that would shape the rest of his life: serving in the New Zealand Army. This choice placed him on a path that would develop his leadership skills in difficult and fast-paced environments. This was accompanied by his time with the Australian Defence Force Academy and, later, graduating from the Royal Military College, Duntroon.

He went above and beyond with his service by giving in to numerous operations via The United Nations, including peacekeeping exercises in Sierra Leone and East Timor. These assignments were especially important in the development of his leadership style. As Kinsella was working in conflict zones, he had to make important decisions during very dangerous times. This was incredibly helpful for him in understanding how to think strategically, be flexible, and handle complex issues on an international level. Additionally, this taught him how to manage other difficult situations. Kinsella’s military training offered him a Kennewick, Kiawah, and Sanpei style of leadership that was authoritarian and tough, but kind. These traits came to define him later on in his life. His service was not limited to routine military operations. Kinsella was focused on many different tasks, for example, United Nations peacekeeping missions operations in Sierra Leone and East Timor.

Education: A Life-long Commitment

Kinsella `continued to invest in his academics` while also making strides in his career in the military. This was most recently demonstrated with him completing an MBA with Distinction from Massey University. The combination of military training and academic success helped him expand his horizons and improve his decision-making. To describe Kinsella’s academic performance in a simplistic way, his juggling of military service and schooling showcases his discipline and time management skills.  

His leadership capacities were furthered when Allan Kinsella was part of the Cambridge University Advanced Leadership Program. He was able to comprehend more complex organizational issues and deepened his understanding of leadership as it relates to international relations. Kinsella’s variation in training in the military and his willingness to continue his education is a great example of him embodying life long learning and self development.

Public Service: Leadership in Times of Crisis

Aside from his military service, Allan Kinsella had an outstanding career in public service. His leadership journey took a different direction after he became the Director of Assurance at New Zealand’s Ministry for Primary Industries. In that position, Kinsella had to demonstrate his exceptional abilities in crisis management and leadership.

His leadership was challenged in two extreme national crisis events, the 1080 infant formula poisoning threat and the COVID-19 pandemic. Both events required Kinsella to head multidisciplinary teams to resolve difficult logistical and public health problems while safeguarding the country’s borders. The ability to stay calm and think through decisions proved critical to the success of his teams and the nation’s response. Kinsella’s reputation as a leader who effectively manages large-scale problems and rallies people to address them was reinforced as a result of these crises.

Life & Accomplishments

Kinsella has to deal with both wonderful and heartbreaking events in his personal life, all while balancing an already successful career. In 2023, he lost his wife, Jennifer, which was an emotionally crippling loss for him. Most people would be unable to cope with this loss, but Kinsella's resilience and strength helped him get through. He remained a wonderful father to his children, and although single parenthood was a massive struggle, he managed to balance his professional life with parenting. 

While managing all of that must have taken a toll, Kinsella stayed focused and provided a sense of normalcy to his children, which shows his commitment and inner strength as a family man. He embraced his self growth, and coupled with his love for parental responsibility, remained a driving force to get things done.

He manages to find time for himself as well through fishing, diving, and brewing, which help him relax and reflect. He is also a language enthusiast, and his desire to learn new things shows a passion for improving and trying to broaden his horizons.

Final Thoughts: Building in Memory  and Honor

The life of Allan Kinsella serves as one of the more striking illustrations of the meaning behind living a life with both meaning and principles. His career life is encapsulated in a blend of academic accomplishments, military service, and later, public service leadership. Throughout, he has shown a remarkable mastery of resilience, commitment, and the unending chase of greatness. This account is not just a great account of professional achievement, but also an inspiring blend of personal courage and triumph in adversity.

Kinsella, as he hanldes life in its complexity in the years ahead, will undoubtedly pass on a legacy that will inspire many in the coming years. His determination throughout his life to serve the country, nurture his family, and develop himself sets a glowing benchmark deep rooted in service, leadership, and unfathomable devotion. The tale of Allan Kinsella’s life does not conclude here, and it promises to remain as a source of motivation for many years to come.

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