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rileys-nest · 3 years

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Jedi Ceremonies

Reminder: These are my own personal ceremonies, I wrote these with help from Grace and Dome plus others from NSWC and Guides. You can use the full ceremonies in your writing, or you can take the general baseline and use them to create your own. The only thing I ask is for permission to be given, and linked directly back to either my archive of my own page (The_Highlands_Lady) or my tumblr (rileys-nest). Thank you.

When a Foundling is Brought to the Temple (Also known as the Welcoming)

“From safe beginnings, you come, brought by the Force into our care and responsibility. With the Force, you will learn and grow under the watch of all of Us. May the Force watch over you, and bless your path from now on, present and future, eternally, little one.”

(IF a Foundling is brought with a slave name/no-one’s name, this version is used) “The Force recognizes your name as improper, little one. Force-sensitivity is not a curse, nor is it a reason to enslave children. We, as guardians and keepers of the Force, hereby remove (insert slave/no-one’s name), and bless you with (insert new name here). May the Force watch over you and bless your path from now to ever on, little one.”

When an Initiate Becomes a Padawan (Also known as the Graduation Ceremony)

“You have learned from your clan, crèchemates, and instructors, and now you have found someone you want to teach and be taught by.”

“Do you, (Insert Master’s name here), take (Insert Initiate’s Name here), as your Padawan learner until the day their Trials arrive? Do you swear to guide them, to teach them, to care for them until the day they become Knights?”

“Rise as one, Master (Insert Name here), and Padawan (Insert Name here). May the Force watch over you and light your path until the end of your days.”

The Braiding Ceremony (Also known as the Master-Padawan Ceremony)

“As you were once an Initiate, so does your journey begin on the path to knowledge. Three strands, three paths. The Past. The Present. The Future.”

“There is the Past, your childhood, now fallen to the wayside. A new path has been laid out for you to walk in the eyes of the Force.”

“There is the Present, the current, the path you now walk. As a Padawan, you will encounter times of peril and times of peace. The Force will always be with you if you remember to listen.”

“There is the Future, the path that awaits you. All Futures are the same, but yet, all are different in the end. The Force will be here to support and guide you, and so will We until the end of Our days.”

When a Padawan Prepares to Take Their Trials

(This is the pre-vigil ceremony, spoken by one Councilor directly to the Padawan) ”Padawan (Insert surname here), the time has come for you to come to the Trials of Knighthood. Five trials that you will face, five trials that will determine your path. The Trials of Skill, Courage, Flesh, Spirit, and Insight await you… and do not forget that the Force is always with you.”

(This is the ceremony that precedes the entrance into the Trial Room)“As you were once an Initiate, you now stand before us, prepared to take your Trials. The Force has guided you through trials and triumphs, tribulations and victories, and now it will guide you through the Trials that lay ahead. The Force is always at your side, you never walk alone. May the Force watch over you and guide you through the paths that lay ahead.”

The Knighting Ceremony

“You have passed the Trials laid out ahead of you, and your Master states that you are ready to be an independent member of the Order. You are ready to serve the Order as a Knight.”

“You have learned from your Master and experiences, and in return, you have taught your Master. Though your padawanship is coming to a close, you take the first step onto the pathway of Knighthood. In doing so, you are always learning and teaching.”

“May you find the strength to remain open to new experiences on the path you now walk. May the Force be with you always.”

“By the Right of the Council, and the Will of the Force, we name you, Knight (Insert Name and Surname here).”

The most senior member of the newly-Knighted’s lineage steps forward to shear off the braid with the end of their lightsaber.

When Taking a Padawan

“I, Knight/Master/Councilor (Insert name here), swear to you, Padawan (Insert name here), that I will teach you, care for you, and guide you through all the winding paths that the Force guides us on throughout our years together. If the Force agrees, will you, Padawan (Insert name here), take me as your Master to see you through to your Knighthood?”

“I, Padawan (Insert name here), do swear to you, Knight/Master/Councilor (Insert name here), that I will teach you, care for you, and follow your guiding light through the paths of the Force until the time comes for separation. The Force agrees that you will be my Master to see me through to my Knighthood.”

When a Knight becomes a Master

“Knight (Insert surname here), we have called you to stand before us. You have guided and supported a Padawan from the very start of their life to their Knighthood, and as such, we feel you are ready to take the title and responsibilities, as well as having shown the behavior expected, that come with being a Master of the Jedi Order. May the Force watch over you, from now until the time you step into the Force.”

When a Master becomes a Councilor

“Master (Insert surname here), you have walked the path of the Force. You have guided others to understand the twists and turns of the Force, helped teach the next generation. Now, the time has come for you to help us all by guiding with the unified and living Force, for the best interests of all, from the oldest senior to the youngest crècheling. We, the High Council, are pleased to count you among the ranks of Councilors, former and present, until the time comes.”

When a Councilor Steps Down

“I have served the Order faithfully as a Councilor and Master for the past (Insert time served as a Councilor here) years, but I feel that my time as a member of this High Council is coming to an end. I thank all of you for the lessons you have taught me over the years, and what I have taught you as well, but the Force is now calling me to serve in a different position. May the Force watch over all of you, and choose a worthy candidate to fill my chair.”

When a Master Retires from Active Service (Also known as Retirement)

“As nature changes, so does the Force. I have served the Order faithfully for (Insert years here, if KNOWN), and the changes in the Force are now calling to me that it is time to retire from active field-service. I am thankful for everything I have learned over my years active, and I hope to have many more years as a senior in the Order.”

When an Initiate is Killed

“There is no foot too small, no step too short, that it cannot leave an imprint on this world. The Force gives, and the Force takes, but (they/she/he) was taken too early. (They/She/He) had years of life, years of brightness ahead of (them/her/him), but the Force called for them to serve in a different manner. May you always find peace wherever you walk.”

When a Padawan is Killed

“Those we have held in our arms for a short while, we hold in our hearts forever. The Force gives, and unknowable twists occur through the days, taking Padawans too early. We say farewell to (them/her/him), a light that was cut too short, in the days of training. The Force called for them to complete their training in a different path, and for that, may they always find peace wherever they walk.”

When a Knight is Killed

“Those we love don’t go away; they walk beside us everyday. (They/She/He) served the Order strongly, following the call of the Force in every mission they took during their active years. We say farewell to (insert Knight’s name here), knowing that (they/her/him) will be serving the Force and walking along us until the days come to an end.”

When a Master is Killed

“The galaxy changes from year to year, our lives from day to day, but the love and memory of you shall never pass away. (Insert Master’s name here) has served the Order faithfully and without hesitation for (insert time served), and have trained skilled members throughout the years of their service. We say farewell to them, knowing that they will remain walking at our sides until the end of days come.”

When a Councilor is Killed

“A golden heart stopped beating, hard working hands at rest. (Insert Councilor’s name here) has served the Order, as a student, Master, and Councilor, for (insert years served) here. They have learned, and taught, and the Force calls for them to teach and learn in a different manner. We say farewell to (them/him/her), knowing that they will always be there even in the most difficult of moments.”

When a Retired Master Dies/is Killed

“To these memories we hold, with their blessing we will go, to turn at last to paths that lead home. (Insert Senior Jedi’s name here) has been a lifelong representative of the Order, bringing their talents to planets and cultures far and wide. They have learned, and taught, even in their advanced age, and the Force now calls them to their side for evermore. The lessons they have taught will always remain, their memories never forgotten, and their presence never vanishing.”

Jedi Convocation

“As we serve the Force, the Force gives us life. The Force calls the Individual Representatives of the Temples of the Order to (Insert Temple & location here), on (Insert date).”

Concordance of Fealty

“I, Knight/Master/Councilor (Insert Name-Surname here), entrust my lightsaber to you, Knight/Master/Councilor (Insert Name-Surname here), until I return. In entrusting my lightsaber to you, I give you my trust until the end of days.”

“Knight/Master/Councilor (Insert Name-Surname here), I have something to return to you. It is a product of your own hands, which you once entrusted to mine. In returning this lightsaber, I return your trust.”

When a Jedi is placed on the Blacklist

“You, (Insert Master/Knight’s name here), have overstepped your bounds where Padawan (Insert surname here) is concerned. You swore to them that you would care, guide, and teach them, but you broke that oath. There can be no second chances given when a Padawan is at stake, and we, the High Council, unanimously agree to put your name on the Blacklist.”

A member of the Supply department is standing by to give the Blacklisted Jedi their new robes, with their embroidery covered in a thick black fabric.

When a Jedi is exiled from the Temple

“Padawan/Knight/Master (Insert name here), you have broken the Trust placed in you by the Order. You have broken the oaths sworn to your Temple, and you will not be given a second chance to break the oaths again. You will be exiled, tracked by the Guards, not to be permitted within one ship-length of (Insert Planet that the Temple is located on)’s airspace until the time of the exile has concluded. Under discussion, the Council has decided that the exile will last (Insert length of time of Exile here). From the end of the meeting, you will have six hours to gather what you need, and then you will be escorted to the ship that will remove you from (Insert planet again here)’s airspace until your time has concluded. May the Force decide your path.”

When a Jedi Falls

“As there are two sides to the Force, there is always a decision to be made as to which path to walk. Padawan/Knight/Master (insert surname here) has chosen to walk the path of the Dark, chosen to walk the path of possessiveness and selfishness. They are no longer considered a member of the Order from this day on. May the Force guide them.”

When a Jedi Leaves the Order

“Despite the years served, Padawan/Knight/Master (Insert name here) has chosen to depart from the Order due to (Insert reason here, if applicable). They still regain the qualifications and inter-galaxy benefits granted to them by their position, but are no longer allowed to consider themselves representatives of the Order. Despite this, they will still be remembered for their acts in service of the Order and the wider Galaxy. May the Force watch over, and guide their path until the end of days.”

When a Jedi Switches Branches

“Padawan/Knight/Master (Insert surname here) has been called by the Force to serve in a different manner than first intended. They will transfer to (Insert new branch here), to serve the Order as a member of (Insert sub-group of new branch here), until the end of their days. May the Force guide their hands as they learn the new branch of service.”

#rileys nest #jedi #ceremonies #worldbuilding #my writing #writing #sw_meta #jedi_culture #you may use with permission #you may reblog

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lalitawagh · 3 years

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What Makes Navya The Most Credible Online Second Opinion Platform?

Navya’s pioneering work was created in collaboration with the world’s best cancer centers, has been recognized by the world’s leading cancer conferences, and has helped tens of thousands of patients.

When we first had the idea of using data and technology to empower cancer patients with information, we knew we would need the support of the best oncologists in the world. We partnered with Tata Memorial Centre, the largest tertiary care center in Asia, and later with National Cancer Grid.

TMC and Navya have a symbiotic relationship. TMC trusts Navya to be its primary solution for all its machine learning and online patient service’s needs. Every cancer specialist at TMC has served on our expert opinion panel since 2010, the beginning of our partnership. We have collaborated on several research initiatives, co presented at leading cancer conferences, and co-authored academic articles.

Most notably, TMC and Navya conducted a retrospective trial of Navya’s machine learning based Evidence and Guidelines Engines, which validated that Navya Expert System decisions are 98.6% concordant with the decisions of tumor boards and expert oncologists at TMC. Another retrospective trial was conducted in collaboration with UCLA-Olive View Medical Center, yielding comparable results.

To extend the reach of our service, we partnered with National Cancer Grid (NCG), a consortium of 200+ leading hospitals like Max, Apollo, AIIMS, Adyar etc. This expanded our expert panel to encompass the best experts across the length and breadth of India. Navya was the flagship service used by NCG in its first initiative to standardize cancer care across the country.

Because of its innovation and impact, Navya has been selected to present its work at the world’s leading cancer conferences. As one example, Navya was part of the 7% of applicants selected to present its work at the American Society of Clinical Oncology (ASCO) in 2017. ASCO only picks innovations they describe as “practice changing” each year. Navya has been presenting at ASCO every year since 2017. Navya, who provide cancer online consultation, has partnered with a number of other leading organizations as well, including the National Comprehensive Cancer Network (NCCN).

Navya’s credibility is boosted by its experience. Since we launched the Expert Opinion Service in 2014, we have helped over 70,000 patients in 74 countries. In many of these cases, patients changed a suboptimal treatment to one that offered better outcomes based on the expert opinion. In other cases, experts helped patients avoid treatments that were unnecessarily expensive. In others, any potential benefit of therapy would be far outweighed by its side effects. Because Navya is unbiased, we can prioritize patients’ quality of life, especially in cases where evidence does not clearly indicate further aggressive therapies will improve longevity.

#navya care #cancer online consultation #Online Cancer Consultation #online oncology consultation india #free oncology advice

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trevistaseniorliving · 9 months

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7 Safe and Engaging Fall Activities Ideal for Memory Care Residents

Fall is here, meaning it’s time to embrace all the season has to offer. The cooler weather allows seniors to get involved in various seasonal activities. This post explores 7 Safe and Engaging Fall Activities Ideal for Memory Care Residents. Below are a few other suggested activities we encourage our seniors to participate in. Read for more.

#Memory Care Concord CA #Concord Memory Care Services #Concord Senior Living #Assisted Living Concord CA

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angelofthequeers · 5 years

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Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 41

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@smolplantmum tagged as requested :)

Chapter 40 | Chapter 42 | AO3 link

“Who’s meeting us here?” Nino says as he, Marinette, and Alya make it to the Place de la Concorde to watch the fireworks, with Alya only being released after Nino defeated her overprotective older sister Nora in an arm wrestle (which Marinette may or may not have rigged), and Adrien and Kagami aren’t even with them in person because strict parents and all that. Ugh.

“I know Luka, Juleka, and Rose are,” Marinette says, and a shiver runs down her spine as it always does when she thinks about Luka for more than a nanosecond. “Chloé and Sabrina might.”

“I still can’t believe we’re friends with Chloé,” Alya says and makes a face. “Well…not-enemies. Frenemies.”

“Neutral parties?” Marinette says. Alya snaps her fingers and finger-guns Marinette.

“That’s the one.”

“I think she really has changed for the better,” Adrien says through Alya’s tablet. “Even if she slips up, I think she hit that point of no return.”

“Hi, guys!” Rose cries and waves from near the base of the Ferris wheel, and Marinette, Alya, and Nino rush over to join her. Juleka’s next to her, their fingers laced, while Chloé and Sabrina stand close enough to be part of the group but far enough to make a statement. And next to Juleka is…

“Hey, Marinette,” Luka says. His smile is like sitting next to the bakery ovens during winter, and it takes every little shred of Marinette’s willpower to force out a hello without stammering or otherwise looking like a weirdo.

“I wish we could be there,” Kagami says from the other half of the tablet screen once they’ve all paid for their tickets and have organised themselves in two compartments; Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Luka are in one, while Rose, Juleka, Chloé, and Sabrina occupy the next one down.

“Well, this is the next best thing, right?” Marinette says and angles the tablet so that Adrien and Kagami can see the fireworks erupting in the evening sky. “At least you get to see them.”

“That’s true,” Kagami says as Marinette turns the tablet back towards her.

“Beautiful,” Adrien sighs. He shakes his head. “The fireworks! They’re so beautiful!”

“Well, duh,” Alya smirks, while Marinette bites her lip and looks down. “What else would you have been talking about?”

Adrien’s cheeks darken. “Shut up.” Then his eyes widen. “Marinette, behind you! I saw something go by!”

“So did I.” Kagami leans forward with narrowed eyes. “What was it? A bird?”

“I don’t see anything,” Luka says, looking over his shoulder. “It could’ve –”

The ground starts to rumble before Luka can finish his sentence, and the Ferris wheel screeches to a halt. Nino yelps and throws his arms around Alya.

“Dude, please don’t tell me we’re gonna be stuck up here!” he whines.

“I thought you said you were going to protect us,” Alya teases. And speaking of protecting, as Marinette stands up and peers out the window of the Ferris wheel pod, Luka slides up behind her and plants his hands on the glass on either side of her head, as though shielding her back. Heat erupts in her cheeks, and she rests her forehead on the glass, as though this’ll cool her face down.

“Over there!” she gasps at the sight of the black and yellow spider-like being hanging off the middle of the Ferris wheel, spraying webs from its mouth to gum up the wheel. “A supervillain!”

“Uh, maybe you shouldn’t film it, Alya?” Nino says as Alya gleefully records the akuma on her phone. “You don’t wanna attract it to us when we’re up this high!”

And when they can’t transform. Shit. Marinette can’t transform! On the tablet screen, the pictures of Adrien and Kagami vanish as they either hang up or lose signal.

“A new scoop for the Ladyblog!” Alya’s bouncing on the spot. “The heroes will be here any minute!”

How is Alya so ecstatic? She’s Rena Rouge! She can’t show up if she’s stuck up here!

“Well, well,” the akuma cackles when it’s hanging outside their cabin. Up close, Marinette can see that it’s most definitely a spider akuma, with extra arms and everything. “There you are, fly-weights!”

Oh. “Nora?” Marinette, Alya, and Nino gasp. The akuma gives a twisted little grin, her dead white eyes standing out against her dark face and bright suit.

“Nora’s not here to protect you anymore. I am Anansi, super spider!” Then she grabs their Ferris wheel pod and leaps down to the ground to slam it on the concrete.

“All those arms are convenient, but you destroyed my scratching post!” says a blessedly familiar voice.

“Don’t mock the akuma when she’s got hostages!” Ryuuko says. Chat Noir just grins and tilts his head like an adorable little kitten, and between that, Ryuuko’s eyes darting around to take in their environment on her first akuma mission, and Luka’s arms around her as he helps her out of their pod, Marinette about melts on the spot.

“Lizard breath’s right, kitty cat,” Anansi grins. “How about we play a game of fetch?” She darts at Chat Noir and Ryuuko, dodges Chat Noir’s baton, grabs Ryuuko around the wrists with two of her hands, then throws Ryuuko into the Ferris wheel so hard that it creaks and rolls loose from its webbing. “Go get it!”

“No!” Chat Noir bounds after the Ferris wheel and Ryuuko. Just as Alya and Nino climb out of the pod, Anansi lands next to them with a thud.

“Now that you can’t cheat anymore, cappie,” Anansi says and grabs Nino in a reverse bear hug, “show us just how you plan to protect my dear sister with your muscles of friendship!”

“Hey! Let him go!” Marinette dives for a struggling Nino, but Anansi yanks him out of her reach.

“You wanna eat dirt, baguette?” Anansi swats Marinette across the stomach, sending her flying clean off the top of the pod.

“Marinette!” Before Marinette’s head can crack on the hard ground, she’s enveloped by warm darkness that smells of sea spray, and then she’s rolling and gasping but not hurting, and what’s going on? She gets her answer when she finally comes to a halt and pushes herself up rather woozily.

“Luka!” she cries. Underneath her is Luka, out cold with blood trickling down his face and abrasions all down his right arm, undoubtedly from cushioning her fall. With a gasp, she carefully reaches out and brushes Luka’s hair aside to reveal the gash that’s heavily oozing blood. “No!”

“Marinette!” Chat Noir lands next to her, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from him when he sees Luka’s state. “Luka! Is he –?”

“I think he’s just unconscious…” Marinette grits her teeth against the white-hot rage that’s bubbling deep in her gut, because how dare Hawkmoth hurt someone she loves like this? “But there’s so much blood! Is he even breathing?”

“Head injuries bleed a lot,” Tikki says from inside Marinette’s purse. “He’ll be fine, Marinette!”

“Tikki, I don’t think he’s breathing! Did the fall – did he crack his head that hard –”

“Marinette! If you transform, you can take care of Anansi and heal Luka!”

“Tikki’s right.” Chat Noir grabs Marinette’s hand and squeezes. “We can’t let this distract us, princess. If we let Hawkmoth take advantage of the people we love, he wins.”

Marinette takes a deep breath, then nods and squares her shoulders and pushes herself to her feet while swiping her sleeve across her face. “You’re right. We have to –”

“Can you step on it, you mangy alley cat?” Honeybee lands next to them. “Guitar boy’ll be fine once Ladybug’s here. Just shove him somewhere safe and come help!”

“Can you take them both?” Chat Noir says. “I have to go back up the others. Who else made it?”

“No one. We’re it,” Honeybee says. “Ryuuko’s trying to save the Ladyblogger and DJ Tupac all by herself so, like, maybe you should hurry the hell up before Spider-Wasp gets her Miraculous.”

“Right. Right.” Chat Noir stands up and twirls his baton. “Make sure they’re safe, Honeybee.”

“When did I turn into a goddamn taxi service?” Honeybee grumbles as she grabs Luka and slings him over her shoulder, then does the same with Marinette. Marinette’s expecting Honeybee to just dump Luka when she bounds into an alleyway a few streets over, but she’s almost gentle as she sets Luka down next to Marinette.

“Honeybee!” Marinette says before Honeybee can disappear. Honeybee looks over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you. You’re a great hero.”

“Of course I am,” Honeybee scoffs, but her cheeks are pink and there’s a softness in her blue eyes that Marinette’s never seen before. “Just keep guitar boy safe, okay? That mangy cat cares about him and I’ll flip my shit if I have to carry Chat Noir’s dead weight against Spider-Wasp. Ugh, and I was actually having a good time before I transformed. I so owe Spider-Wasp a sting up the –”

A crash from a few streets away cuts off Honeybee before she can finish her sentence. Shaking her head, she leaps away.

“Hawkmoth’s gonna pay for this,” Marinette growls, brushing strands of teal-tipped hair away from Luka’s forehead and away from the gash. She’s tempted to check for breathing or a pulse – oh, how tempting it is – but what if she doesn’t like the answer she gets? If Miraculous Ladybug will fix it anyway…well, maybe it’s better that she doesn’t know. Injuries fade, but memories don’t.

“Just keep a clear head, Marinette,” Tikki says. “If you let yourself get clouded by Luka getting hurt, Hawkmoth will win. It’s one of the reasons why secret identities are a thing!”

“I know. I promise I won’t let this knock me down, Tikki. Luka didn’t sacrifice himself for me to let Hawkmoth win.”

Tikki darts up and nuzzles against Marinette’s cheek. “Good. You know what to say!”

“Tikki, spots on!”

Although only half the team is there, the fight against Anansi is quick enough with a well-timed Wind Dragon from Ryuuko to keep her distracted, allowing Honeybee to Venom her and Chat Noir to destroy the helmet containing her akuma. After they’ve pounded it and then scattered to detransform, Ladybug makes a beeline for the alleyway where Luka had been left and she detransforms around the corner so that he doesn’t see her.

“Luka!” she cries when she rounds the corner and finds him blinking slowly and pushing himself to his feet. “If you ever do that again, I’ll – I’ll –”

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Luka says with a soft smile. “Ladybug always fixes everything.”

“That’s not the point!” Marinette stamps her foot. “I – I care about you, you jerk! Ladybug might fix everything, but she doesn’t – she doesn’t take away the memories…”

“Hey.” Luka’s warm arms slip around Marinette as she sniffles, and she buries her face in his shirt, cursing the inevitable draining of adrenaline that turns her into an emotional mess half the time after akuma battles. “I’m sorry that you had to see that. But I’m not sorry for what I did. You’re extraordinary, Marinette. As clear as a music note, as sincere as a melody…you’re the song that’s been playing inside my head since the day we met. How could I not save you?” One of his hands slides between them to rest on her chest, above her heart. “You and Adrien have the most unique songs in your hearts. I’d do anything for you. For both of you.”

“That’s not a good thing,” Marinette says thickly. “There’s such a thing as being too selfless.”

“Perhaps.” Luka’s other hand starts to stroke Marinette’s hair, and she sniffles again and leans into the touch like a girl dying of thirst. “But we all have our flaws. I’d prefer to be too selfless than not selfless enough. And I get the feeling that you have that problem as well.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Marinette says and closes her eyes so that she can nestle even further into Luka’s embrace. “But still. You’re a jerk.”

“You’re still here, so I’m happy to be a jerk,” Luka says. When Marinette pulls away to squint up at him, she’s greeted with a teasing little smile, so she huffs and slaps him on the shoulder.

“I’m calling Adrien and Kagami,” she says, fumbling around in her purse for her phone. “We need to talk before I explode. And you can give up the act, Luka. I know you know who Adrien is.”

Luka shrugs with a small smile. “If you insist…Ladybug,” he says. Marinette’s heart jolts in her chest at the sound of someone other than Adrien calling her civilian self by her superhero name. “Tell them to meet us at the houseboat, then. Juleka was planning on staying at Rose’s after the fireworks, and Mum’s gone for the night. No one should be able to listen in.”

“S-Sounds like you want to lure us there and murder us in the dead of night!” Marinette jokes weakly.

“Now, why would I do that to such cute people?” Luka replies with a wink, and Marinette just whines and flushes because dammit, why does he have to be so adorable?

With the text sent, the two of them emerge from the alleyway and set off for the Couffaine houseboat. They’re walking close enough that Marinette can reassure herself that he’s very much alive, but far apart enough that no one will mistake them for a couple. Not that Marinette would mind, but maybe after the inevitable talk rather than before.

When they reach the houseboat, Chat Noir and Kagami are already waiting for them. There’s a tiny shred of jealousy that curdles in Marinette’s gut when Chat Noir heads straight for Luka and throws his arms around the taller boy, but she squashes that jealousy down like it’s an annoying akuma. No. This is not the time for jealousy, especially not when they’re about to have this long-needed conversation between the four of them. She’s not going to lose Chat Noir just because he chooses to show affection to Luka first, especially after what had happened that evening.

“You never did have that conversation with him, did you?” Kagami says, jolting Marinette out of her own mind.

“I never got the chance. Today was so busy because we were at Alya’s for the day, then Anansi happened…is it really that obvious?”

“The way you looked when Chat Noir went for Luka, even though Chat Noir isn’t pursuing a relationship with him. It was only for a split second, but I still saw it.”

“I know I shouldn’t be jealous. And I told myself that it was silly because it’s not like I mean anything less to Chat just because of another guy. But…”

“Feelings are irrational,” Kagami says with a small smile. “I know. I get jealous seeing you and Adrien together sometimes.”

“Does it ever go away?” Marinette says softly. “I don’t want to feel like this every time Chat hugs Luka, or Luka hugs Chat.”

“It’s natural to be jealous when you’ve spent so long believing that relationships can only be between two people,” Kagami says. “But so long as you’re open and don’t bottle it up, it’s easily handled.”

“Some more sage advice from Rin?” Marinette grins. Kagami laughs.

“Yes. I do miss her sometimes, but I’m glad I moved to Paris. I have more friends here. Friends I’m actually allowed to spend time with.”

“Your mother didn’t approve of Rin?”

“Not rich or influential enough. I don’t think Mother cares about who my friends are so long as they’re successful. I’m still afraid to tell her that I like girls, though…”

“You think your mother would approve of Marinette and Luka?” Chat Noir says. Marinette nearly jumps out of her skin when she realises that Chat Noir and Luka have been watching and listening for a while, although she couldn’t say exactly when they’d started eavesdropping. Hopefully, it was after the jealousy thing.

“Marinette? She just might,” Kagami says. “After all, Marinette won Mr Agreste’s design competition and her hat caught the eye of Audrey Bourgeois. Not to mention that she’s designed for Jagged Stone before. Mother might see that budding potential as good enough. But Luka? I’m not entirely sure, not unless he was to make a name for himself in the music industry.”

“I plan on it,” Luka says with that adorable smile where one side of his mouth curls up. Marinette about dies on the spot at the sight. It’s so different to Chat Noir’s toothy grins and Kagami’s barely-there smiles that creep up on her, yet it makes her insides explode in exactly the same way.

“But you know what?” Kagami says. “I find that I don’t really care who Mother approves of. I’ll always strive to be a daughter she can be proud of but, well…she can’t really say who I can and can’t be friends with, can she?”

“That’s the spirit,” Chat Noir says cheerfully. “Besides, you’re not dating Luka or anything, so…”

The dreaded d-word wipes the smiles off everyone’s faces. Clearing his throat, Luka steps onto the plank connecting the houseboat to the concrete bank and holds out his hand to escort Marinette across. Chat Noir does the same for Kagami and for a moment, it’s so similar to when Adrien had helped Kagami across on the day Marinette had first met her that Marinette’s forced to blink and shake her head to dispel the image.

“Drinks? Snacks?” Luka says once they’re all down in the living area and he’s flicked on the lights.

“I feel like you’re stalling,” Kagami says. Luka shrugs.

“Kind of. We all know how we feel about each other, but we’ve never actually talked about it.”

Chat Noir sighs and throws himself onto the couch. Marinette’s oh so tempted to sit in his lap or snuggle up to him, but she feels like that wouldn’t be fair to Luka and Kagami with the conversation they’re about to have, so she instead just sits next to him. Kagami takes the spot next to her and Luka ends up next to Chat Noir, sandwiching him and Marinette.

“So,” Marinette says. “Who, uh, wants to go first?”

“How brave of you, princess,” Chat Noir says dryly. “Fine, I suppose your knight in shining leather will have to take the plunge.”

“Never call yourself that again,” Marinette, Kagami, and Luka say in unison. Chat Noir pouts.

“I’ll go first, if only to never hear that name ever again,” Kagami adds.

“Alright, but can I do something first?” Chat Noir says. “Luka already figured it out, so it’s not fair that you don’t know. Marinette and I, uh…aren’t in a polyamorous relationship.”

“What?” Kagami’s brow furrows. “But she’s with Adrien, and she was caught kissing you.”

“Yeah. About that…” Chat Noir scratches the back of his head.

“Are you sure, kitty?” Marinette says.

“Yeah. Kagami can’t be the only one who doesn’t know. Claws in.”

Kagami’s jaw drops at the sight of Chat Noir transforming back into Adrien. “Oh,” she says faintly. “Oh. Um…okay. Yes. That makes sense. That’s why you and Chat Noir are never seen at the same time. And if you’re not all in a polyamorous relationship but you were kissing Marinette…”

“Y-Yeah,” Marinette says with a nervous little grin as Kagami leans in and brushes aside a lock of hair to reveal one black earring. “I kind of forgot that I wasn’t transformed when I was kissing him.”

“Wow.” Kagami sags back against the couch. “I think I need a minute to process this. How did Luka already know?”

“Their heart songs,” Luka says. “Slight differences when they’re transformed, but overall the same.”

There’s silence for a minute or so, to give Kagami time to process everything she’s just learned. Finally, she shakes her head.

“Okay, I think I’ve caught up with my brain,” she declares. “We should talk about where we each stand before I pass out from information overload. I’ve made my feelings for Marinette and Adrien clear. I also told Marinette that she needs to talk to Chat – Adrien – about what boundaries they want to set, how they’ll deal with jealousy when it arises, whether they’ll be open to each other dating others beyond us, but she obviously didn’t get a chance to talk to him until now.”

“You could’ve just DM’ed me,” Adrien says.

“Yeah, but it felt like a conversation to have in person, you know?” Marinette says. “And, uh…it’s not like I was in any hurry to have that conversation. Okay, so I may have been putting it off a little…”

Adrien snorts. “Well, I’m only the jealous type when I can’t have something or someone,” he says. “So long as I’ve got you, angel, and I don’t lose any time with you, I don’t mind who you date.”

“Still sounds like something you might want to work on,” Marinette says. “The whole “jealous if I can’t get what I want”.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just…not easy, y’know? You know I’m not exactly wanting for anything in my normal life. And since my father’s a colossal jerk…”

“Oof.” Marinette laces their fingers together. “Affection-starved and not used to not getting something.”

“Maybe you could see a therapist,” Luka says. “Or someone who could help?”

“I’m not messed up in the head!” Adrien says automatically.

“That’s debatable,” Marinette mutters, earning herself a pinch that makes her squeal. “But seriously, you don’t have to be messed up to see a therapist. They’re just someone you can talk to who don’t know you personally, so they’re like a third party. My mum used to see one when I was a child, although I don’t remember why.”

“As if my father would let me,” Adrien says. “I, well…being Chat Noir’s my escape. And it’s freeing, yeah, ‘cause I get to let loose, but in a way…I kinda resent it? I just…want to be able to be open and affectionate as me as well as Chat Noir.”

“You know I love you with or without the mask, right, kitty?” Marinette says softly. “Your civilian and hero selves aren’t separate people.”

“Marinette’s right,” Luka says. “You’re the same person no matter what. Chat Noir is just one instrument in your soul’s band.”

“Having more freedom to let loose behind a mask doesn’t make you a completely different person when you’re wearing it,” Kagami finishes. “It doesn’t mean that you’re “your true self” as Chat Noir; you’re just putting on a different face for the situation, just as everyone else does. And you know exactly where I’m coming from when I say this.”

“Thanks, guys,” Adrien says with a soft smile. It’s so raw that Marinette can’t help but lean into his side and rest her cheek on his shoulder, offering him that little bit more comfort. “You next, princess.”

“Okay, okay, I guess I can’t run away forever,” Marinette says. “I don’t exactly know what boundaries we’d set off the top of my head. Maybe we could just go with the usual “open communication” and that sort of thing and figure out the rest as we go?”

“Sounds good to me,” Adrien says.

“The jealousy thing? I think the only thing I can do about that is to just keep forcing myself to unlearn it. Like…” Marinette sighs and looks down at her fidgeting hands. “Rationally, I know there’s nothing to worry about. I know you’re not going to leave me for someone else. I just…guess I’ve spent so long fantasising about meeting the perfect person and having three kids and a hamster with them that I’m still not used to the idea of having multiple people and balancing that.”

“If you need time to sort that out, Kagami and I would be more than willing,” Luka says. “If the original melody is off, any additional ones would just muddle it even further.”

“No. No. I want to be with you and Kagami as well,” Marinette says. “I guess…well, just slap me around the head if I ever start being overly jealous.”

“We wouldn’t harm you for it,” Kagami says. After a moment, she blinks slowly. “Oh. It was a saying.”

“Yeah,” Marinette says with a small laugh. “Luka?”

“I’ve made my feelings clear as well,” Luka says. “I’d love to date both you and Adrien. But I understand if the relationship between you two takes priority –”

“Whoa, whoa, no,” Adrien says. “There’s no priority. You’re all equally important to me.”

“What he said,” Marinette says. “Adrien’s not more important just because I was with him first. We’re not gonna just shove you and Kagami aside when things get rough, Luka. That’s why we wanna be sure we’ve figured this out before we go jumping in.”

The smile that spreads across Luka’s face is wide and warm, like sinking into a hot bath. If Marinette was sitting next to him, she’d almost certainly have melted into him, and it feels like Adrien would be doing the same thing if he wasn’t currently snuggling into her.

“Well, I’m not usually a jealous person,” Luka says. “So long as something’s not being flaunted, I guess. And I don’t really mind if you both date anyone else, so long as there’s no sneaking around.”

“Sounds like there’s a bit of history there,” Marinette says carefully when a scowl flickers across Luka’s face at that last comment.

“Let’s just say there’s a reason Mum’s single and we’ve got her last name. The less said, the better.”

“Oh.” Adrien reaches across to take Luka’s hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool. We just don’t think about him. That’s way more energy than he deserves.”

“My father died several years ago,” Kagami says. “Is Marinette the only one of us with a normal family life?”

Kagami’s joke successfully breaks the ice, as Adrien and Luka snort and Marinette rolls her eyes.

“I’d offer to have my dad adopt you three, but since you’re all my partners, I feel like that’d be a bit weird,” she drawls. Then she blinks and giggles. “My partners. Wow, that’s such a rush to say.”

“I know what you mean,” Kagami says and shifts so that she’s resting against Marinette with her cheek tucked against Marinette’s arm. “I felt light and fluttery when you said that.”

“Just give us a steady supply of treats and we’ll call it even,” Adrien says.

“Bad kitty.” Luka playfully swats Adrien around the head, causing him to hiss. “No begging for treats. Even if they’re Dupain-Cheng treats.”

“I thought bringing you three treats would be a given,” Marinette says. She rearranges herself so that she’s lying across Adrien’s lap, with her legs in Kagami’s lap and her head against Luka’s thigh. Luka immediately starts stroking her hair, while Kagami drapes an arm over her legs, and both Luka and Kagami lean against Adrien’s sides. She can’t help but let out a soft purr and curse Plagg, that damn kwami, because he hadn’t warned her that she’d be left with faint Black Cat side-effects from her few weeks as Lady Noire!

“So, uh,” Adrien says. “How do we do dates? I don’t think it should be all four of us all the time, especially because Kagami and Luka aren’t dating in this dynamic.”

“And I think we’d all appreciate being alone with one or both partners every so often,” Luka adds. “It’d give us a chance to work on our individual relationships. You know, so we’re not just known as Lukadrigaminette the four-way package deal.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Marinette says. Luka chuckles.

“I know. Some days, we might want Adrienette. Or Lukadrien. Or Kagaminette. Or even Lukadrienette or Adrigaminette.”

“What are you, a fanboy?”

Luka just shrugs. “Blame Juleka,” is all he says, while Adrien shakes with laughter against Marinette. “She’s a closet nerd, so neither of us are any strangers to shipping.”

“Plus, it might be a good idea to not be open about your relationships with us until you know how you want to announce it,” Kagami says. “The last thing you need is to end up in the tabloids with accusations of infidelity.”

“How about we do all that annoying thinking stuff later?” Marinette grumbles. “Just shut up and cuddle, all three of you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adrien, Luka, and Kagami reply immediately.

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northiowatoday · 7 months

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OBIT: Kathleen "Pat" Ziesmer

Kathleen “Pat” Ziesmer, 93, of Clear Lake, passed away on Thursday, February 29, 2024, at the Concord Care Center in Garner. A Funeral Mass will be held at 11 a.m., Friday, March 8, 2024, at Saint Patrick Catholic Church in Clear Lake with Rev. Josh Link officiating. Burial will be in Memorial Park Cemetery. Visitation will be held one hour before the service at the church. Cataldo Funeral Home…

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the-record-obituaries · 5 years

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Feb. 19, 2020: Obituaries

Chloe Huskey, 12

Miss Chloe Reese Huskey, age 12 of North Wilkesboro, daughter of Ronnie Huskey and Alisha Adams Huskey, passed away Saturday, February 15, 2020, at her home. Reese touched the lives of many with her infectious smile, her sincere kindness, and her incredible and courageous journey.

Funeral services will be held 2:00 PM, Thursday, February 20, 2020, at Fairplains Baptist Church with Pastor David Dyer officiating. The family will receive friends from 6:00 until 8:00 PM Wednesday, February 19, 2020, at Reins Sturdivant Funeral Home.

Reese was born February 7, 2008, in Catawba County to Ronnie and Alisha Adams Huskey. She was a member of Arbor Grove United Methodist Church. Reese was a student at Central Wilkes Middle School and attended North Wilkesboro and Wilkesboro Elementary Schools during her elementary school years.

She was preceded in death by her maternal grandfather; Gene Adams, her paternal grandfather; Troy Huskey and an uncle; Tommy Huskey.

Reese is survived by her parents of the home, maternal grandparents; Dean and Linda Absher of Wilkesboro and Cleo Huskey of North Wilkesboro, a sister; Reagan Adams of Charlotte, a brother; Reid Huskey of North Wilkesboro, aunts and uncles; Angel Minton and husband Jeff of Wilkesboro, Alison Thornton of Mooresville and Alison Huskey McCormick, cousins; Alex Minton, Lauren Minton, Raylan Minton, Aubree Thornton, Pierce Thornton, Cole Huskey, Alaina Grit, her special person, Deana Wyatt, and other relatives and friends who loved Reese very much.

The family would like to thank the doctors and staff of Levine's Children's Medical Center CVICU and Sanger Pediatric Heart Institute for their excellent care provided to Reese. A very special thank you to Mountain Valley Hospice for the incredible care and compassion provided to Reese and the entire family. The family appreciates all of the prayers and concerns extended to them during this time.

Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Mountain Valley Hospice 401 Technology Lane Suite 200 Mount Airy, NC 27030, Camp Luck PO Box 5159 Charlotte, NC 28299, American Heart Association 10 Glenlake Pkwy NE South Tower Suite 400 Atlanta, GA 30328 or Ronald McDonald House Charities 26345 Network Place Chicago, IL 60673-1263.

Eldon Gentry, 81

Mr. Eldon Gentry age 81, of Roaring River passed away Saturday February 15, 2020 at SECU Hospice Center. Mr. Gentry was born March 30, 1938 in Wilkes County, to Lonnie Spurgeon and Ruby Walters Gentry.

Eldon was a Retired farmer and a member of Benham Baptist Church.

In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his wife, Mable Billings Gentry; and a brother, Bob Gentry. Survivors include: son, Eddie Gentry and wife Rhonda of Wilkesboro; brother, Raymond Gentry of Roaring River; granddaughter, Meagan Leigh Gentry of Raleigh, and several nieces and nephews.

A funeral service with be conducted Wednesday, February 19, 2020 at 2:00 pm at Benham Baptist Church, with Rev. Keith Lyon, and Rev. Joe Souther officiating. Burial will follow in the Church Cemetery. The family will receive friends Tuesday evening from 6:00-8:00 pm at Elkin Funeral Service.

In lieu of flowers, the family request that donations be made to Mtn. Valley Hospice and Palliative care, 688 N. Bridge St., Elkin N.C. 28621

William Jennings, 51

William "Billy" Jennings, age 51, of Hays, passed away, Saturday, February 15, 2020 at his home. He was born May 29, 1968 in Portsmouth, Virginia to Roy Glenn and Onnolea Jean Johnson Jennings. Billy loved his model car collection, building and collecting hundreds of models. He loved NASCAR, the Pittsburgh Steelers and golf. He Loved and adored his family. Mr. Jennings was preceded in death by his parents; and wife Chrystal Jennings.

Surviving are his wife, Natasha Wingler Jennings; daughters, Stormy Dawn Davalos and spouse Alejandro of North Wilkesboro, Shandy Rae Miller and spouse Daniel, Kaylea Gentle all of Hays; grandchildren, Davari Davalos, Leticia Davalos, Zaiden Davalos; sisters, Angela Jennings Reed of Jefferson, Vickie Fox of Hays.

Funeral service will be held 2:00 p.m. Wednesday, February 19, 2020 at Miller Funeral Chapel with Jamie Rollyson speaking. Burial will follow in Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church Cemetery. The family will receive friends at Miller Funeral Service from 12:00 until 2:00 on Wednesday, prior to the service. Flowers will be accepted. Memorials may be made to the SECU Family House, 1970 Baldwin Lane, Winston Salem, NC 27103. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

Gary Miller, 66

Gary Wayne Miller, age 66, of Millers Creek, passed away Friday, February 14, 2020 at Alleghany Health. He was born June 11, 1953 in Wilkes County to Issac Lester and Adna Ruth Miller. Mr. Miller was preceded in death by his parents; his wife, Loretta Miller; several brothers and sisters. He was of the Baptist Faith and employed with W&L Motor Lines as a truck driver.

He is survived by his daughter, Rebecca Billings and spouse Dwayne of Millers Creek; son, Richard Bryant and spouse Shelley of Millers Creek; brother, Lee Miller of Millers Creek; sister, Louise Beverley of Greensboro; grandchildren, Christopher Queen and spouse Rebecca, and Breanna Billings all of Millers Creek.

Funeral service was February 17, at Miller Funeral Chapel with Rev. Danny Dillard and Rev. Don Bowling officiating. Burial followed in Miller Cemetery. Flowers will be accepted. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

Linda Brown, 66

Mrs. Linda Mae Wagoner Brown, 66, of North Wilkesboro, passed away on February 12, 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Hospital.

Linda was born on March 25, 1953 in Wilkes County to Dollie Odell Wagoner and Gladys Eddie Brown Wagoner.

Linda is preceded in death by her parents; sons, Randall Shannon Wagoner, Allen Parsons and many brothers and sisters.

Linda is survived by her husband, Christopher Brown; granddaughters, Kaitlyn Wagoner and Erica "Hannah" Wagoner both of North Wilkesboro ; mother in law and father in law, Vea and Paul Brown of North Wilkesboro; sisters, Marlene Testerman ( Jerry) of Millers Creek, Rebeca Blevins (Dewey) of Wilkesboro, Jeanne Shumate of Millers Creek, Sue Absher of Wilkesboro, Shirley Osborne (Robbie) Gallatin, TN, Sandra Stewart of Grover, NC; brothers, Fred Wagoner (Delores) Taylorsville, James Brown of Forrest City, Danny Brown (Kathy) of China Grove.

A visitation was held at the Mountlawn Memorial Park Chapel February 14, and graveside service followed.

Pastor Scott Wagoner be officiated. The family request no flowers or food please.

As an expression of sympathy, memorial contributions may be sent to the American Heart Association, 128 S Tryon St #1588, Charlotte, NC 28202.

Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes has the honor of serving the Brown Family.

Billy Anderson, 75

Mr. Billy George Anderson, 75, of North Wilkesboro, passed away on Tuesday, February 11, 2020 at his home.

Billy was born on August 3, 1944 in Wilkes County to John Olden Anderson and Johnsie Bell Miller Anderson.

Billy is preceded in death by his parents; son, Jason Dewayne Anderson; brother James "Jimmy" Anderson; sister, Mary Jane Lowe and grandson, Zackary Cochran.

Billy is survived by his wife of 57 years, Wanda Lee Cain Anderson; daughters, Gail Parks (Ricky) of Yadkinville, Penny Cochran (Larry) of North Wilkesboro; sons, Tim Anderson of Denver NC, Dalton Anderson (Anne) of North Wilkesboro; brother, David Lee Anderson of North Wilkesboro; five grandchildren and three great grandchildren.

A memorial service will be held February 22, at Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes Chapel, 2109 Moravian Falls Rd, Moravian Falls.

Rev. Charles Cain will be officiating.

Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes has the honor of serving the Anderson Family.

Kent Greer, 81

Mr. Kent Tracy Greer, age 81 of Wilkesboro, passed away Tuesday, February 11, 2020, at Wake Forest Baptist Hospital in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

A private burial service for the family was at Mount Lawn Cemetery in Boone, February 15. Masonic rites were conducted by Ashler #373 and Military Honors were provided by the United States Air Force Honor Guard. A Celebration of Life service followed with Reverend Shannon Critcher and Reverend Jim Gore officiated.

Mr. Greer was born on February 9, 1939, in Watauga County, North Carolina, to Walter Monroe and Viola Nichols Greer. He was a devoted husband to Kate for fifty-two years, a beloved father, and grandfather. He was a member of Millers Creek Baptist Church. Throughout his entire life, Kent had an adventuresome, entrepreneurial and get it done spirit. He served in the United States Air force for four years, which took him to several countries. Later, he took his wife, Kate, to many more countries abroad and all fifty states. Known for his sense of humor and fun-loving nature, Kent readily shared laughs, jokes, and hugs with people he knew and didn't know. Regularly, Kent stated, "I've had the best life of anybody I know."

In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his wife; Lenna Kate Greene Greer, a sister; Anna Lee Greene and four brothers; W.M. Greer, Jr., Fayne Greer, Brook Greer, and Quentin Greer.

He is survived by a daughter; Janet Greer Brown and husband Mike of Banner Ek, North Carolina, two sons; David Kent Greer and wife Nicole of Concord and Philip Ray Greer of Wilkesboro, six grandchildren; Zach Brown and wife Emily, Jenna Brown, Kent Richard Greer, Katelyn Greer, Tracy Greer, and wife Kelsey and Amanda Greer Stewart and husband Chris and four great-grandchildren.

In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the American Heart Association, PO Box 9, North Wilkesboro, NC 28659 or Mountain Valley Hospice, 201 Technology Lane, Suite 200, Mount Airy, NC 27030.

Brenda Savage, 74

Mrs. Brenda Joyce Caul Savage age 74 of Wilkesboro passed away Sunday February 9. 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Health in Winston Salem.

Funeral Services were February 15, at Rickards Chapel AME Zion Church with Rev Richard Watts Officiating.

Mrs. Savage was born January 24, 1946 in Wilkes County to Anthony and Cynthia Marie Rouseau Caul. She retired from Tyson Foods and was a member of Rickards Chapel AME Zion Church.

In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by a son, Bobby Joe Campbell and a brother Reginald Keith Caul.

She is survived by her husband, Lavon Savage, two daughters Yolanda Burgess and husband Stephen of Walnut Cove and Lola Porter of Statesville; two sons John Porter and wife Staci of Louisville, KY, Billy Campbell of Wilkesboro, and two step sons Terry Calhoun of Wilkesboro and Rashaun Calhoun of Wilkesboro; nine grandchildren, three great grandchildren and four sisters Jacqueline Barber and husband Marvin of Wilkesboro, Deborah Carlton of Wilkesboro, Linda Howell of Wilkesboro, Maria Harris and husband Ronald of Wilkesboro; and one brother Timothy Caul of New Philadelphia OH.

Flowers will be accepted.

William Childress, 64

Mr. William Cole Childress, better known as Bill, age 64, passed away Sunday, February 9, 2020 at his home in Moravian Falls.

Funeral services were February, 14, 2020 at Reins Sturdivant Chapel with Rev. Ronnie Murray and Pastor Rodney Blake officiating. Burial will be in Scenic Memorial Gardens. The family will receive friends from 1:00 until 2:00 prior to the service at Reins Sturdivant Funeral Home.

Mr. Childress was born March 19, 1955 in Wilkes County to Luther and Pauline Annalee Porter Childress. He retired from Louisiana Pacific after 44 years of service. Bill liked to fish, loved to go out on his boat and going to Auctions. He loved his family and grandchildren.

In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his wife; Ellie Minton Childress, a daughter; Jennifer Childress, two sisters; Florence White and Mary Kay Childress and a brother; Edward Gray Childress.

He is survived by a daughter; Sally Hampton of North Wilkesboro, three grandchildren; Katie Hackett, Michael Walker and Malcolm Walker, a great granddaughter; Journee Hackett, two sisters; Elizabeth Murray and husband, Ronnie of North Wilkesboro and Carolyn Parks and husband, Alan of Lenoir, a brother; Harold Childress and wife Betsy of North Wilkesboro and a girlfriend and caregiver; Virginia Dancy and her family of Purlear.

Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Wake Forest Hospice 126 Executive Drive Suite 110 Wilkesboro, NC 28697 or American Cancer Society PO Box 9 North Wilkesboro, NC 28659.

James Garris, 94

James Arthur Garris, age 94, of Traphill, passed away Sunday, February 9, 2020 at Woltz Hospice Home. He was born June 9, 1925 in Wilkes County to Isom and Oma Wiles Garris. He was a member of Christian Home Baptist Church. He enjoyed coon hunting and fishing. James was preceded in death by his parents; his wife, Floie Prevette Garris; daughter, Lois Gregory; son, Willie Garris; brothers, Guilford Garris, Troy Garris, Lester Garris; sisters, Estelle Walls and Edith Tucker.

Surviving are his children, Billy Garris and spouse Janet of Traphill, Dottie Stanley of State Road, Buck Garris of Traphill; sisters, Cordie Bauguess of Traphill, Ruth Martin of Lexington; special friend, Mary Pruitt of Hays; eleven grandchildren; eighteen great grandchildren; and ten great great grandchildren.

Funeral service was February 13, at Miller Funeral Chapel with Rev. David Key officiating. Burial followed in Christian Home Baptist Church Cemetery. Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Joan & Howard Woltz Hospice Home, 945 Zephyr Road, Dobson, NC 27017. A special thanks to Rose Glen Manor and Joan and Howard Woltz Hospice. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements. Online condolences may be made to www.millerfuneralservice.com

Pallbearers were Scotty Garris, Marty Garris, Rocky Garris, Tracy Ward, Chris Gregory, Aaron Thomas.

Angel Brown, 31

Angel Nicole Brown, age 31, of North Wilkesboro, was called home early on Thursday, February 6, 2020 and left her worldly struggles behind. Angel was born June 3, 1988 in Wilkes County to Gary Maurice and Bessie Bell Bledsoe Brown. She enjoyed cooking, camping, wild crafting herbs and loved to sing.

Angel graduated from North Wilkes High School with honors and was a former cashier with Dollar General. She was preceded in death by her father, Gary Brown; grandparents, Ruth Ann Edwards and Faye S. Goss.

Surviving are her son, Channon Roark of the home; fiancé, Chancey Roark of the home; mother, Bessie Brown of Hays; sister, Ashley Brown and spouse Kenny Ashley of Hays; niece, Riley Ashley of Hays; nephew, Bentley Ashley of Hays.

Memorial service was February 16, at Miller Funeral Chapel with Rev. Robert Harris officiating. Flowers will be accepted or donations may be made to the family for her son, Channon.

Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

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wutbju · 4 years

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WutBJU covers the deaths of Bob Jones University alumni because they seem to be overlooked by our alma mater. It’s comforting to see the variety of people that have passed through the same classroom doors and know that a full life is possible.

Memorializing Daniel Clark Stodala’s death is different. He never attended BJU, but he would have. His parents attended PCC, and they are employed at The WILDS in New England. His sister graduated in 2018, and his two brothers are current students.

BJU was his planned destination. His obituary states:

Daniel Clark Stodola was born on January 20, 2004. He went home to be with the Lord on November 6, 2020. While our hearts grieve, our hope is in the Lord who works all things together for good.

Daniel was a senior at Trinity Christian Academy in Concord, New Hampshire. He loved soccer, biology, anatomy, animals, climbing trees, and was always up for quoting Jim Gaffigan and the Grinch with his brothers. He will be remembered as intelligent, caring, and having a clever sense of humor. He loved to take care of his family, especially his mom.

Daniel will be dearly missed by his parents, Steve and Rhonae Stodola of Deering, New Hampshire; his older siblings, Kristy Stodola, Drew Stodola and David Stodola; grandparents, Kathryn Johnson of Augusta, Georgia and Doug and Ruth Stodola of Rockford, Illinois. He was preceded in death by his grandfathers, Ronald Hill and Jerry Olsen. In addition, Daniel was loved by many uncles, aunts, cousins, friends and classmates.

A Memorial Service to remember Daniel’s life and anchor our hope in God will be held on Tuesday, November 10, at 11:00 am at Trinity Baptist Church in Concord, New Hampshire. His burial will take place on Friday at The Wilds in Brevard, North Carolina.

In lieu of flowers, any memorial gifts can be given in Daniel’s memory to The Wilds of New England, 1181 Deering Center Road, Deering, New Hampshire, 03224.

He was buried up in the WILDS in Brevard, folks. That’s how devoted this family was to fundamentalism and to the piety that fundamentalism peddles.

And we all know Trinity in New Hampshire with Chuck Phelps and Tina Anderson.

But there’s one more details. Suicide was the cause of Daniel’s death. His mother posted on November 7, 2020:

Our hearts are heavy and overwhelmed to say our youngest son, Daniel went to be with the Lord last night having taken his own life unexpectedly. We sorrow not as those who have no hope because we know Daniel accepted God’s free gift of salvation and we will see him in heaven someday.

Yes, Daniel is now safe in Jesus’ arms. I agree. But something made him feel completely unsafe on earth. Something caused him distress. And the WILDS with its GRACE-sanctioned Jim Berg curriculum did not comfort him.

At all.

Read and heed, my friends. Read and heed.

#Bob Jones University #Obituary #Trinity Christian School #Dunbar #New Hampshire #Chuck Phelps #Tina Anderson #Daniel Stodola #Jim Berg #GRACEReport

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madscientistjournal · 5 years

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Fiction: The Prototype

An essay by Claire Lev, as provided by Judith Field Art by Luke Spooner

When they let me out of hospital, I decided to rent somewhere with space to write. Jo, the social worker, helped me find a terraced house in the old part of town, the only one in the row not converted into flats. Gentrification had leapfrogged the area. There were no skips outside the tumbledown houses, no four-by-fours blocking the narrow streets. The shades of my immigrant ancestors spoke to me in the place they’d once made a crowded, warm world of their own.

“Bit big for a youngster like you, on your own,” the landlord said, “Miss … er …”

“Claire Lev,” Jo said.

“Claire … Lev. Millwall … two!” I chanted, using the rising and falling cadence of a football commentator. Okay name for a house, Millwall. Bucolic. Strong.

Jo pursed her lips and shook her head at my display of what the shrink dubbed “knight’s move thinking.”

“Miss Lev.” The landlord leaned away from me, as though I was contagious. He told me a rabbi had lived in the house, which meant that he’d labeled me as Jewish. Once people slot you in like that, the label is like a flashing light in their heads, steering everything they say. I waited for him to ask “if I knew the Cohens.”

“It was about 80 years ago. There were a lot of you people ’round here then.” You people.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

No one since the rabbi had smartened the house up. The faded, peeling wallpaper looked as if it had been there since the thirties. It was patterned with overblown tea roses that I saw faces in. The bathroom looked even older, with its rust-streaked basin. The bathtub stood on little bunched feet, poised to run.

The attic became my writing room. I scattered rag rugs and beanbags over the floorboards. The light poured in through two huge skylights and blasted the frozen shadows off my brain. Sometimes I’d be writing a poem and in mid-sentence I’d have to stop, as though someone had plucked the thoughts right out of my head.

It didn’t help that the house was full of noise–pipes clanging, stairs squeaking, floors groaning. The cat flap in the back door banged, even on windless days. I rang the landlord and asked him to get rid of it. I heard soldiers marching in one of the bedrooms, but when I went in, there was nothing to see, even though I could still hear them. And always the smell of wet mud, the sound of water dripping.

Outside the kitchen was a tiny garden, grass with a couple of anonymous scrawny trees. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. The tablets made me constantly hungry. I decided to go cold turkey, to stop the medication and to try to lose weight.

I never seemed to be able to keep the cracked, dull linoleum on the kitchen floor clean. I washed it every morning, but a few hours later, there would be another line of muddy blobs leading from the back door, like animal tracks.

In bed I squirmed, trying to sleep. A mob of problems whirled ’round my mind. When I had worried about each one, they all took another turn. I stood in the middle as they danced around me, pulling at me, demanding a piece of me in higher- and higher-pitched voices. Bills. Poetry. Weight. Leaky roof. Benefit. Noise in the house. Food.

One night, a hand stroked my hair.

“Claire, poor Claire,” the female voice said.

“That’s all you ever say,” I replied. Two old women’s voices discussed a cake recipe. It made my stomach rumble.

It didn’t help that the house was full of noise–pipes clanging, stairs squeaking, floors groaning. The cat flap in the back door banged, even on windless days.

I had to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch, cut diagonally, set on the plate with the red line ’round the edge, otherwise my nerves would jangle and a band would tighten around my ribs as I forced myself to breathe. The sandwich had to be sliced with one of the blue-handled knives that made me feel safe when I held them. I rummaged about in the drawer, but my fingers met one of the solid metal ones. It weighed my hand down, and the edges of the handle felt alien. My heart pounded faster as I poked and prodded in the drawer. My mouth dried. I felt sick and the room became fuzzy ’round the edges.

“Claire, poor Claire,” said the woman.

“She’s useless and you know it,” a new, male voice said. “Can’t even find the right knife.”

I smelled that muddy, earthy odour even though it wasn’t raining. The cat flap banged and movement flickered in the corner of my eye. I grabbed a carving knife and whipped around, jerking the blade forward.

“Get out!” My voice caught on the lump in my throat as tears rose behind my eyes.

A tiny, human-shaped pile of mud stood by the back door, in front of the cat flap. I dropped the knife, with a clatter that seemed to go on and on. I rubbed the back of my hand across my nose.

The man’s voice started again. “You clumsy, filthy whore. Give up. You’re worthless. Take that knife and slit your–”

“Shut it!” the mud man-thing shouted. “My voice is the only one she needs to hear!”

Silence. I reached down.

“No,” said the mud-thing, “I’ll deal with that.” It kicked the knife under the fridge.

I backed away, my fists clenched, until I was pressed against the wall. The thing walked toward me.

“Look at me,” it commanded. Its eyes glowed red. Warmth ran through my veins. I breathed out and my heartbeat slowed.

“Don’t be scared. Forget the others; they’re gone. I’m your helper. Better let you see my job description. Here are my personal specifications and objectives.”

The top of its head opened. It reached inside, pulled out a roll of parchment, and handed it to me.

“Careful. It’s written in a special ink made out of oak galls, copperas, and gum arabic. You won’t find them down in the shops.” The orange-tinted parchment was peppered with the hair follicles of the animal from which it came, as if hit by a tiny shotgun. The black, square letters were written with a sweeping hand: broad upstrokes and narrow downstrokes. Some were embellished with crown shapes at the top. Others stretched, giving a solid edge to each column of text.

My Hebrew was as rusty as the taps in the bathroom and my shaking hands made it hard to read, but I made out the letters: gimel, lamed, mem …

“You’re a golem?”

It nodded. “Call me Rishon. Don’t you know who lived here? Rabbi Yossi, one of the greatest twentieth-century mystics. He made me. I’m a servant made out of non-living stuff by magic.”

Okay. What would I have to say to get rid of it? I tried to dredge some Hebrew from my memory.

“Gleeda!” I shouted.

“Ice cream? You’ll have to get your own. But I’ll protect you, if you let me stay.” It spoke as if it was reading my mind.

“You? How? Jump up and bite attackers on the kneecap?”

“Now you’re being size-ist. I can’t help it if I’m only twelve inches high. I’m a mock-up, a prototype. Rabbi Yossi wanted to make the perfect golem. That’s why I can speak. The others couldn’t. He died before he could make the full-sized version. I’ll protect you from Cossacks, expulsion, blood libel, and the voices in your head. I can help ’round the house.” It ran its hand across a cupboard door and stared at the place where its fingertips would be. It tutted. “I do cleaning as well.”

“Those your footprints all over the kitchen floor?”

“Sorry about that, but I had to get in quickly. Couldn’t stop to wipe my feet.”

“Why were you in the garden?”

“Where else could I go? I was minding my own business in the attic, for eighty years I’ve been up there, but then you had to go and use it as a study. Couldn’t stay up there with you tapping at your keyboard all day. It’s like being inside a ticking clock.” It put its hands up to where its ears would have been. “I’ve been hiding in the garden, but it keeps raining. I’m made of clay. The rabbi never got ’round to firing me in the kiln, so I have to come in out of the wet. I’m a priceless ethnic artefact, you know. And I’m not an it, I’m a he.”

“If you stay, do I have to tie a bit of red string ’round my wrist? Kabbalah, and all that?”

“Kabbollocks. Made-up nonsense. Anyway, I’ve got work to do. Now that I’ve shut up that lot of voices in your head, I’ll go get rid of the barmy army in the bedroom.” He reached out an upturned hand and twitched the curled fingers toward himself. “Scroll. Give.”

I passed it to him, and he put it back inside his head. It clicked shut. The stairs creaked as he made his way upstairs.

I listened for Rishon, coming up and down, in and out through the cat flap, while I worked. And the poetry flowed. Now that there was silence in my head, instead of the crushing band around my ribs, I felt a painless silver belt around my brain, squeezing ideas out, yet at the same time holding them back so that they didn’t all erupt at once. Everything in sight glowed, sunshine dancing on glass.

Rishon reappeared one morning as I was looking out the kitchen window at the gnarled, pallid leaves sprouting on the stunted trees. The doorbell rang. He ran out through the cat flap.

I opened the front door a few inches. The community nurse put her hand through, showing her ID. I peered around.

“I’m Vikki,” said the woman by the nurse’s side. “I’m your befriender.”

I let them in. I didn’t look at the woman. If she spoke, I didn’t hear it.

“Let’s talk about your treatment plan.”

The nurse started some spiel about empowerment. About concordance between service user and care-giver. She gave me new tablets. I had to take one a day.

“You’re a bit isolated here. Pop into the Day Centre, it’ll do you good. They’ll send transport for you. Get to know people, learn new skills.”

When the bus came, I wouldn’t open the door. “You should go,” Rishon said. “Make friends. Maybe meet a nice young man.”

“I don’t want to meet someone like me. I’m fine here. I’ve got my poetry. And you. It’s perfectly okay.”

Rishon clambered onto the kitchen worktop and shuffled forward till his face was up against mine.

“Now look,” he shouted. I could see inside his mouth. “You have to do more with your life than skulk around here all day. When you do creep outside it’s only to scuttle to those pokey little shops. Get out! Look at nature! You might pick up some ideas for poems!”

“No, you look, Mister Perfect Golem. I do have a choice about all this, and I’m not going. I don’t want to write about how it feels to sit in one of those care-in-the-community buses with people gawping at me.”

“Why don’t you learn to drive, then?”

“I can drive. Used to have a car.”

“Stolen, was it? I’m not surprised, around here.”

“Sort of, but it happened where I used to live, before I went into hospital. One night the police took my car away. By the next morning, before I got up, they’d replaced it with one that looked exactly the same, only, they could control it. So I had to get rid of it.”

“That’s clever of them, considering they couldn’t catch a one-legged burglar with his arms tied behind his back.” Rishon picked up my tablet box and looked inside. “You’re meant to take these every day, you know. Get yourself a glass of water.” He pushed the box toward me.

A week later, the Vikki woman came back. I shouted at her to go away, but she said she couldn’t hear me. I opened the door. A shove at the back of my knees ejected me, staggering and stumbling, onto the path. The door slammed shut.

“Let me in!” I shouted through the letterbox. “Please! I haven’t got my key!”

“Go on, now! Get some fresh air,” Rishon called, from inside the house. “It’s a sunny day, I’m off into the garden. I’ll open the door–later.”

I stood up. Breathed in. Breathed out. Turned around.

Vikki looked to be in her mid-thirties, slim, with blonde hair tucked into a knitted teacosy hat. Her woolly tights were zigzagged with colour, like the patterns you see when you press on your eyelids.

“Hello, again. Walk with me?”

“Is your name short for Victoria?”

“Not short for anything. I’m just Vikki.”

“Just Vikki’s an okay name.”

She smiled. “Does this mean you’ll come for a walk?”

I nodded. “I’m on a drug called aripiprazole. Okay name for a man, that. Sounds Greek.”

“Nah, nobody’d be able to spell it.”

We walked up the street, the wind scudding cans and empty crisp packets across the pavement in front of us. Our path lit up, then dimmed, as clouds tore across the sun.

I’d never noticed the park entrance at the end of the street before. The park was deserted, except for old men sitting on benches and people with nowhere else to go. Vikki pointed to a seat outside.

“We won’t go in this time. Let’s sit here. Recovery is like climbing a flight of stairs. You have to take one step at a time.”

I turned my face upward and closed my eyes. The sun shone red through my eyelids. Vikki told me about her ceramics studio and the class she ran.

“I write poetry,” I said. “Here’s one about the shrink at the loony bin:

“Take head off, bin man,

A catamaran”

“They call that a clang association.”

“Don’t you start. That’s bin man talk. But Clang Association would make a good name for a band.”

We talked about music. The sunlight drained away. Coatless, I shivered in the wind.

It began to rain, and we ran back down the street.

I hammered on my door. No reply.

Vikki made up for saying that naff thing about climbing stairs by riffling in her bag, taking out some pottery tool, sliding it between the frame and the door, and opening it. If that was a skill they taught at the Day Centre, I might just go. I didn’t ask her in. I stepped into the house and slammed the door.

A note lay on the kitchen table. The landlord had nailed the cat flap in the back door shut.

I hurled the door open and rushed into the garden. A puddle of wet clay lay on the ground. A bit of yellowing paper, washed clear, lay to one side. I stood, water running down my face.

I scooped up the mud and the paper and stashed them in a plastic bag at the back of the cupboard under the eaves. Alone in the silent house for the first time.

Vikki’s guiding me back into the world. We’ve been out for coffee. We’ve been shopping at Tesco’s. I entered a poem about her in a competition; I’m still waiting to hear if I’ve won. She’s a shoulder to lean on, someone to trust. She believes in me as a whole person, with true abilities.

As I believed in Rishon the golem, who showed me the way.

I’ve started Hebrew lessons. I’ve been copying the bit of Genesis (Chapter 17, verse 1, actually) that says “walk before me and be perfect.” I’ve nearly got it right. Between that and Vikki’s pottery class, I’m hardly in the house these days. I’ve made friends at Hebrew class, but the potters won’t sit with me. “She’s weird,” they say. “All she makes is little clay men.”

I’m practising. Until I can make perfect.

Claire Lev also lives in London, UK. She’s a ceramicist, and she and Judith met at Claire’s art installation “Living Clay”, consisting entirely of golems of different sizes. Blink, and they seemed to have moved. But that can’t be so…can it?

Judith Field lives in London, UK. She writes because it’s in her DNA. She’s the daughter of writers and learned how to agonise over fiction submissions at her mother’s (and father’s) knee. She speaks 5 languages and can say “please publish this story” in all of them. Her short stories, mainly speculative, have appeared in a variety of publications in the USA, UK, Australia and New Zealand.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

This story first appeared in Stupefying Stories, August 2012.

Fiction: The Prototype was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Claire Lev #Judith Field #Kabbalism #Luke Spooner #Metaphysics

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caduceus-tealeaf-derolo · 6 years

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Mindful

Thanks to my current ‘biggest fan’ on this blog - @nuckton for the lovely prompt - Widomauk - sci-fi AU. It’s out of my usual wheelhouse, so I hope I did the prompt justice- Enjoy!

“I need to speak to a human, it is of paramount importance, and I know you have at least one on this ship.” Gaudily dressed, even for this planet, Mollymauk Tealeaf drummed fingers on his sleeve, crossed arms brokering no argument. “I am an ambassador to this planet from Terra, and I have need of a human to assist me. As is my right by decree of the Concord, I claim whomever the highest ranking human is within this ship as an associate of my delegation.” The guard raised an eyebrow, and turned to their companion, speaking in a language Molly assumed to be orcish. “It would behoove you to move quickly. My bodyguard will not hesitate.” Beside him, Fjord twitched perceptively, fingers moving to summon some eldritch energy to his palm.

The guard narrowed their eyes, and grunted to the other, sending them into the docked spaceship. “We have only one ranked officer that is also human within this ship - he was trained by the Archmage of the Dwendallian Empire of Terra. The captain will not release him from service lightly.”

Fjord stepped forward, energy still sparking along his palm as he spoke, inspecting his nails absently. “His Grace the Ambassador does not care about the minor opinions of a meager ship captain. You can find another arcane caster, and we will pay a stipend for the trouble.” On Molly’s other side, Jester handed Beau a small sachel of coin, along with five other coins that glinted in the dock’s fluorescent lighting. “Hey, friend, or the captain’s trouble, and for yours.” she said, handing over first the pouch, and then the other coins. A bruske nod from the guard while he eyed Yasha with apprehension, and the party waited. Ten agonizing minutes later, a human was escorted to the walkway off the ship. Flanked by the absent guard, and a well decorated formally dressed woman that Molly assumed to be the captain, the three disembarked, coming to stand a scant twenty feet from them. “So, you come to claim one of my crew? Under the law of Terra and the orders of whom?” “Tech-nic-ally,” Jester drew out the first word as though admonishing the Captain for misunderstanding their intent, “under the law of the Dwendallian Empire, on behalf of Terra, under direct orders of the Clovis Concord, to establish trade agreements.” Brandishing a thick piece of what looked like velum that held fancy calligraphy where words could be seen, she smiled. “You will find everything in order should you like to check.”

The captain paled perceptively, shooting a glare at the guard who had fetched them, and pressing the arcane practitioner forward a step or two. “Have him. This is the Mage Caleb Widogast, of Terra, from the Dwendalian Empire.” Turning to the auburn man, she muttered through clenched teeth. “I will have your belongings brought out in a moment.” Caleb nodded, stood back from the captain another step, and bowed briefly. “At your will, captain.” A sneer crawled across her face. “It’s not my will, Arcanist, it’s the fucking concord’s. Consider this-” she jammed the sachel of coin that the guard was trying to pass her at him. “Your remaining wages from this journey.” Caleb, meanwhile, was shaking - not with rage, but with fear. This was new, new and unfamiliar, and frightening. The ship had systems, standards, expectations for what his day would look like, and looking over the colorful assortment of individuals who had apparently just demanded his assistance, it looked like the only surety between them was utter chaos.

Caleb’s mind raced, taking in the new individuals; A Half Orc, two Tieflings, a large and imposing female humanoid who set his hackles up, a long and lanky male with pink hair and a kind of teal chitin armor. Movement behind the pink male made him blink just as a shrill voice entered his mind. “Caleb, don’t worry, you’re safe. You may not know us, but we know you. Just play along, I promise you’re safe. You-can-respond-to-this-message.” “Ah, well, Danke.” was all he managed to get out before he felt the magic dissipate, and was being approached by the two horned individuals, both with jewelry that caught the light in little glimmers, though the purple one was far more ostentatious than the other.

“He-llo Cay-leb!” The blue female sing-songed in a way that was both alien and familiar, as though he had heard the way of speaking before, but never known the face of who spoke. It made an itching in his mind, like a thought that tried to escape him. “Hello. I am at your command, Ambassador.” He bowed as he’d been taught to do, eyes to the ground, the picture of obedience. A strangled choking sound reached his ears, and when he looked up, he saw the purple one had turned away, tail thrashing about in what Caleb’s mind told him was agitation or anger. What had he done? The half orc stepped forward to address the confusion the Human was feeling. “It’s not your fault, friend. We’ll explain in a bit.” Ten minutes later, all of Caleb’s possessions were in the obnoxiously pink bag that the blue tiefling carried, with the exception of Frumpkin, who was currently in his pocket dimension.

“Where are we going, if I may ask, Ambassador?” Tail thrashing back and forth with each step, the gaudily dressed male called back to him, barely turning. “A tavern. I need a drink, and you will too, once we’re in private.” Mind whirling with possibilities, Caleb followed the group to a fairly nice tavern, certainly better than anything he’d have purchased personally, but not the fanciest place this planet had to offer. Upon entering, ordering a round of drinks brought up to the rooms that they’d previously secured, and making their way upstairs, Caleb found himself sat at a low table in a sort of common area that held four bedrooms off of it, fairly private from what he could tell, though he didn’t want to start casting to double check unless given permission. The tall individual, Duce as the rest called him, dropped an illusion as they entered and cracked his neck. “It’s not like I’m physically changed, but those illusions make me feel so cramped. Jester, let’s check the place over one more time, just in case.” The blue tiefling, Jester, cast some sort of magic that Caleb realized was divine along with Duce, and then scanned the room. “All clear, we should be fine.” The half orc and the small one, who Caleb realized was a female goblin, were busy over some sort of device made of a combination of technology and arcane energy. Setting it up behind the closed door, and pressing a button, Caleb felt the magic he had trained to harness just… melt away from him, still there, but out of reach. Suppressing his mounting panic at being in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, where they just suppressed his magical abilities, Caleb stood, and began to pace in small bursts, trying to not let his discomfort show. Drinks brought, and everyone sprawled around the table, the party looked to one another, before the half orc gestured to Duce. “Mister Caleb, would you mind me doing something? Or me and Jester doing something? We think you have magic on you that doesn’t seem good, and we’d like to take it off.” “Do… do I have a choice?”

The varied answers were not comforting, ranging from a “No!” from the goblin and the human female beside her, a drawn out “Well-” from Jester, an “I would imagine so,” from Duce, nothing from the half orc or the woman that Caleb now realized was of celestial blood, and silence from the nearly garish purple individual that Caleb still only knew as ‘The Ambassador’. “Mister Mollymauk?” Duce’s voice was soft and coaxing. Molly’s face was full of grief, tears streaming down his cheeks, red eyes pleading even as he said the words. “Of course you have a choice, Caleb.” “Then yes.” Caleb watched Mollymauk as the words passed his lips, his stomach twisting in distressed knots, telling him that he was the reason this beautiful individual wept. The tiefling’s tail stopped it’s rapid movement, and his voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper. “Really?” “Yes, do it.” There was a whirlwind of movement, as the goblin went over to the magical suppression device, Duce and Jester moved to either side of him, and the enormous assimar put a comforting hand on Mollymauk’s shoulder. The half orc and the human female watched intently, as the goblin disengaged the device, and Caleb felt his magic within his grasp once again. A split second later, the two clerics spoke, and Caleb felt his mind pulse as their spell hit a barrier he hadn’t known existed. Another casting, he could feel the strain they were under to break whatever shield existed in his mind, a third casting, and the barrier cracked. The fourth casting made the wall shatter, and Caleb felt his mind splinter into a thousand pieces, before a cool touch smoothed back his hair, and his understanding knit itself back together. Opening his eyes, everyone was watching him. The goblin, no… Nott. Nott, the Brave pressed the button once more, and the room’s magical aura was once more suppressed. Breath entered his lungs in a rush, making him realize he hadn’t had oxygen in several moments. Mollymauk - no… Molly. Molly was asking Caduceus and Jester if it’d worked, Beau, and Fjord, and Yasha were still silent, as he sat up. “Molly.” The name was out of his mouth, and the tiefling was across the table and in his arms. Memories flooded back to him as he comforted Molly, working backwards to when they’d last seen each other. The ship, working in the labs, being ill at the school, blankness, Trent Ikithon casting something on him. “How FUCKING DARE he take you from me?” Caleb wasn’t sure if the words had come from him, or from Molly, safely in his arms. “I will never let you go again.” “Please don’t.” “And I am going to destroy the Archmage.” “No darling, We are going to destroy the Archmage.”

#widomauk #Drabbles #Dahlia Writes #nuckton

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 34

Table of Contents. Second Instar II, Ch1. Go to previous. Go to next. The beginning of Second Instar. ‘Choly worries too much.

Melancholy rode Angel past a sign which indicated ‘turn left now to visit Jonathan Emery Historical Site,’ and continued down Route 62 East through Concord. His mind wandered a bit, and he decided that, at least for the time being, donning the vault suit wasn’t so bad. Now that he had found new foundation-wear in the form of the surgical corset, the bodysuit fit acceptably, and contrary to the Vault-Tec staff’s insistence, wearing anything underneath it didn’t seem to have impeded the effects of its technologically advanced lining. He could appreciate its efficient thermal regulation, and also its dry-wicking technology. It seemed to sync up with his Pip-Boy as well somehow, though beyond introducing an additional icon on his health screen, he couldn’t discern how at a glance it even mattered. Of course, he still wore the belt from his dress military uniform so that he could utilize the suspender cases which held his then limited stock of syringer ammunition, as well as his white Pharm Corps coat. To make himself less visible at a distance, he figured the coat would dull out the bright royal blue of the vault suit, and the belt and bracers would dull out the rich gold edging along the bodysuit’s zipper and collar.

His canvas ankle braces didn’t fit inside the short boots that Vault-Tec had provided as footwear with the vault suit, so he stored the boots in Angel’s compartment and continued on with the oxfords from his dress uniform.

Following the road around the perimeter of a quarry property, the route switched to North Road Route 4, and from there it only took a matter of minutes before they finally came upon the junkyard ‘Choly sought. They entered the open double hurricane fence gates, and ‘Choly surveyed the yard with the impression it had been heavily looted in recent years, but knew better than to trust his eyes. The only visible salvage at a glance seemed to be car bodies stacked as many as five high, but he could tell robotics parts lay scattered here as well. Without going up to the piles, he couldn’t tell what robots they’d once belonged to. He dismounted from Angel and kept his syringer rifle at the ready, in case they happened upon any unwelcoming occupants in the office at the South corner of the property.

“Before we get to work, I think we should stop for lunch first.” He opened the metal door with its reinforced glass window, and skimmed the room with his weapon before dropping it.“Guess it’s just you and me as usual.”

“I can appreciate that,” Angel replied, following him inside.“You’ve only the one Melancholia left. What should I fetch you from my stores?”

“You could put on a pot of coffee, and fish out a sweet roll and the deviled eggs.”

“As you wish! Sounds like we’re here for the day. Forgive me for asking something likely quite obtuse, but Sir...What are we doing at the robotics disposal ground?”

“Making use of the facilities to repair you.” The chemist slung his rifle onto his back and pulled up a folding metal chair, sitting at the operational terminal to poke around.“And upgrade you, if you’ll allow it. We can stay here a day or two I think, before rations make it more urgent to keep moving. Getting you freshened up is my top priority today.”

“Beyond refilling my Handy Fuel tank, and reaffixing my laser attachment, I can’t possibly imagine what upgrades you’ve in mind.” It filled the percolator with canned water and measured out the coffee grounds.“There’s only so many different features that General Atomics offered for the Mister Handy line.”

“If you’ll recall, one of your tendrils is a Miss Nanny's, actually. Looking back on it, I’m surprised the DIA let me put in any sort of custom order for receiving you. All kinds of robots got discarded here. Maybe we can find a Mister Gutsy or two, to get you some hardier shell plating. I’m sure there’s some paint laying around, so that you don’t look quite so cobbled together after we’re done.” He looked up from the log entry for what all had been disposed of there between June and October 2077.“This place was a robotics graveyard on the surface. Most of its clients just wanted a place to dump broken or defective robots on the cheap, no questions asked. But the owner made good money by also offering salvage scrap as well as repairs. There’s good equipment here. I was taking a chance, coming out here without knowing for sure, but it looks like it’s survived in tact, unrusted, here in the office space. --Hm. What’s a Robobrain?”

“It doesn’t sound like anything General Atomics might have created... Perhaps it’s a RobCo product?”

“That’s my thought. I’m not nearly as versed with RobCo technologies as I am with G.A.” His head drooped over the terminal keyboard. “You wouldn’t dislike it if we mixed components between Nanny and Gutsy parts for you, would you? My priority is maximizing your hydraulics, to make it as easy as possible for you to carry me. I... I feel bad that you have to.”

“Mister Carey, it’s company-approved to combine any of the parts families you listed. As long as we don’t void my warranty, I want to optimize my performance any way you see fit. Until we find a better option to increase your mobility while out and about in the Commonwealth, you can count on me to provide that service. It’s not your fault that the apocalypse so direly ruined accessibility across the state.”

“You’re sure you’re all right with it? You’re not just a wheelchair. You’re an artificial intelligence.” For a moment, the Handy only replied by handing him a melamine plate with a sweet roll and two egg halves on it, and a ceramic mug of coffee. It observed him as he took these from it, and he ate one-handed with the plate in his lap.“Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure to see you continuing to function and excel, Sir. My behavioral matrices thrive when my owner thrives. Emotionally, physically, financially. ...Spiritually...” It let out a reserved holographic chuckle, then fell quiet.“Did you mean it, that we’re headed up to Chelmsford after this?”

With the question, suddenly the entendred use of the word exceldidn’t sound accidental. Yet, Angel hadn’t been there when he’d spoken to Missus Murphy. It couldn’t have possibly known. He set down his coffee and glasses and screwed up his face with both hands.

“I have to go to the base. I have to know what I was supposed to be working on when they sent me that letter calling me back to active duty. If they meant for me to cook more Psycho for another war, it’ll put my mind and soul at ease, knowing the nuclear exchange prevented any need for military-size shipments of the stuff. In hindsight, I suppose the fact they called me back to active duty two weeks before the bombs fell is all the proof I need that the government had advanced paranoia that something was wrong. I... I wonder if they knew what was imminent, but didn’t know how to stop it in time...?”

“Oh, Sir. That’s not a constructive mental track to get on. It doesn’t change what’s transpired since. If going to the Deenwood Compound will provide you some manner of closure, then we shall do so. But you cannot keep dwelling on a course of events over which you had no control. You have so much more control now than you ever did.”

“That’s part of the problem. Who the hell died and gave me self-agency?” He swallowed half of one of the egg halves and choked a bit, having forgotten to chew it enough. He washed down the musky, salty protein with black coffee and sat a moment to recollect himself.“I’ve made very few decisions in my life on my own behalf. And I feel like every decision I’ve made since I came back into the world has been poor.”

“Ah yes. This misguided worry again. We’re here to repair me,” it offered, topping off the mug.“I know you care about my well-being just as much as your own. It’s just that your needs have been a little more... time-sensitive, shall we say? Things will work out in the end. Just like with the wonderful people who settled into Sanctuary. They couldn’t have gotten there without us. Without you.”

“I’ve gone too long without giving you maintenance. In my own defense, I didn’t have access to the materials I needed to do true repairs and calibration. You really think they’ll be all right?”

“I’m more worried about you doing well, especially with us headed up to the Lowell area. Are you certain it’s wise? You don’t handle memory of your military career very well.”

“You’re here with me. And it’s not like Johnston will be there to put me right back to work. Besides, wouldn’t you like to figure out how Jared knew X-Cell was a Deenwood product?”

“There’s little greater meaning my programming could find, I could imagine. I’m positive that the DIA would love to nip that leak in the bud.”

‘Choly almost reminded it that the DIA likely no longer existed, but he still wasn’t completely sure. He didn’t say so, but he hoped to measure his speculation of the continued existence of the DIA, going by how Angel would react to his navigation of the military base. It ate at him, not knowing for certain whether all his behavior had not only been transmitted to some DIA outpost, but also observed by someone still surviving to this day--whether he’d eventually see consequences to his actions in Lexington. He balked into laughter and quietened himself with part of his sweet roll.

“Was it something I said?”

“It’s nothing. I just realized that the concept of having to answer for misdeeds, and the fact we’re operating on faith alone that the DIA still exists... It’s like with the Christians, and the belief that if they sin, they have to go to hell. Like they have to be held accountable by a higher power, in order to behave. A ridiculous comparison, I know, and without tact or nuance. The DIA is simply... an intangible source of authority that has not yet stepped in and punished me. Or maybe it has. I don’t know. I suppose I’ve sought accountability from others all along, to validate whether I’ve made the right choices in life.”

“Need I remind you that the Defense Intelligence Agency has offices at the Deenwood Compound. You might find those answers there as well.”

“Something in me doesn’t want to know for certain whether it exists. But you’re right, that I might.” He finished off his food and nursed on his coffee while he continued reading the terminal.“There’s something here about a Sentry Bot. Warnings not to let the temptation get the best of you, and to not under any circumstances power it on. It was dumped by government personnel, it seems. Wonder what the fuss is.”

“A shame it’s a RobCo product, isn’t it, Sir? Even if it’s survived in tact, its parts wouldn’t be compatible with a robot in the Mister Handy line.”

“They were hulking things. They had to carry the weight of a tank on their treads, with how heavy their armor was. It’d be a dream, it it were possible to harvest the hydraulics from their wheel-treads.” He glanced to the holotape on the desk, and pretended he didn’t see it was labeled ‘Combat Sentry Proto MK IV.’“It’s probably impossible, though, since mecanum mobility is a completely different mechanism than hover-thrusters. We should focus on locating Handy, Nanny, and Gutsy parts. I never said I was a genius with this stuff, so going wild is probably outside both my knowledge and skill set. Even if it were doable.”

“Just don’t overdo it, Sir. It’s all right to only do what you can manage. Even the most minor of adjustments will facilitate my facilitating you. I’m entirely content with an algorithm scan, a tank refill, and my laser repaired... and if you do feel so inclined, perhaps a bit of fresh polish.”

“First, let’s see what we can put our hands on out there.” He pocketed the holotape surreptitiously, and slung his syringer rifle onto his back while he pulled his cane from his belt. With his free hand, he brought his coffee with him. “That way, we’ll know what we’re working with.”

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