#Metal Roofing Market Share

[coldpenguintaco]

Building Panels Market to Witness Rapid Expansion with Growing Urbanization

Building panels are prefabricated components used to construct a building’s walls, floors, and roofs. They are made of various materials such as wood, steel, concrete, and masonry. Building panels are lightweight, durable, and easy to transport, making them an appealing option for developers and builders. Building panels are becoming more popular as developers and builders recognize their low…

[sramfact]

The report "Building Panels Market by Type (Concrete Panels, VIP, SIP, Wood Panel), Raw Material (Concrete, Plastic, Metal, Wood, Silica), End Use (Floors & Roofs, Walls, Columns & Beams, Staircase), Application (Residential & Non-Residential) - Forecast to 2021", The building panels market size is projected to grow from USD 170.83 Billion in 2016 to USD 230.93 Billion by 2021, at a CAGR of 6.21% from 2016 to 2021

The global building panels market is driven by factors such as rapid development in the construction technology, modular/precast/prefabricated building systems, and rising demand in the residential and commercial sectors. The market for building panels market is driven by its rising demand for new construction and transportation facilities. The rising population and increasing disposable income of consumers in emerging economies are expected to drive the demand for these industries, which would in turn increase the application of this type of construction components and techniques.

The floors & roofs segment is projected to be the largest market in 2021. The demand for building panels for floors and roofs is expected to experience a higher growth rate, mainly because of the growing demand from the residential and commercial sectors. The Asia-Pacific region is projected to be the fastest-growing market for the floors & roofs segment owing to its increasing emphasis on building construction activities.

[woklaza]

Dazai seemed too focused on Chuuya’s side as Port Mafia instead of Chuuya. But to be fair, what is Chuuya? As a human. Dazai wanted to find out– no, he will find out.

“Turn around, Chuuya,” Dazai said into the wireless as the message transmitted to Chuuya’s receiver. Chuuya tutted but did as he was told, stealthily turning around to face the vase centring the floor of the closed museum.

“This one’s the baby we’re after– the vase is from the Qing Dynasty, Yongzhen Period. But make sure to see if it’s the real thing. The dragon should have no pupils–”

“–Yeah, okay. No need for the History lesson.” Chuuya patted the dusty porcelain vase as he confirmed the vase was real. It was. “It’s the real one.”

Double Black is currently doing a big job– stealing a vase from the thief market (British Museum) in the middle of the night. There is no need to ask why they are doing it with Chuuya as the robber and Dazai as the operator, it’s working out, so it isn’t the point. The point is, that the mission was done within ten minutes, no exaggeration. 

“Alright Chuuya, to your south-west direction, look up and what do you see?” Dazai was pretty clearly not taking his job as the operator seriously, almost as if it were child’s play (it was, but still).

“Absolutely nothing except from the fucking ceiling,” Chuuya said blankly.

“No, there should be a staircase. Wait sorry! I have miscalculated!” Dazai cheered without any signs of feeling sorry.

“What have you miscalculated?” Grunted Chuuya impatiently.

“Your height. I estimated your height as one metre, so you must look up! Okay, just look forward and you’ll see the staircase.”

“Fucker.” Chuuya found the staircase with the help of his torch and sprinted through it with ease. It was a one-way staircase to the roof, where a loud helicopter was waiting for him, rotor blades still buzzing. Dazai waved from the inside, a set of headphones still on his head. Chuuya hopped into the helicopter and the pilot droved it away, with London under it.

Dazai was squashed with Chuuya in the backseats of the helicopter (consider it a small one) and quickly snatched the vase away from the redhead to examine it.

“Hmm… breakable. What’s this, Chu-Chu?” Dazai pulled out a piece of irregularly shaped metal from the vase. 

It was an understatement to call the object a metal, even though it was one. It was entirely gold (Chuuya had later confirmed this with his experience of meddling with precious stones), and shaped like a rose. In other words

A golden rose.

“That’s mine!” Dazai announced happily as he rubbed the cold flower with his hands. Chuuya, noticing how he had let Dazai keep such a treasure, snatched it away immediately.

“I stole it!” Chuuya argued.

That sounded so wrong.

But the Port Mafia intended to steal the vase, and the flower seemed like a bonus the pair needed to learn how to split and share. Dazai seized the rose from Chuuya.

“Nah! I’m keeping it!” He laughed, “I’m the reason you made it out there unscathed.”

Chuuya’s next reaction was not something Dazai predicted or considered. The redhead sulked and after a few seconds his face flushed crimson, and he jumped off the helicopter.

Dazai did not worry about Chuuya dying from the fall, he is a gravity manipulator after all. What he was feeling was confusion. Why was Chuuya so angry at him?

The pilot laughed at Dazai (Yes, at ). 

“Nakahara-kun’s just a kid. Why wouldn’t he want flowers? Snatching it away from him is just mean. You don’t have those emotions, but he’s like any teenager his age. He wants flowers, of course.”

Dazai blushed. Then felt ashamed. All the while, he never really thought Chuuya would care about flowers and love. Well then, even if he is good at martial arts and has some strong ass ability, it doesn’t make him less human. Dazai seemed too focused on Chuuya’s side as Port Mafia instead of Chuuya.

But to be fair, what is Chuuya? As a human.

Dazai wanted to find out– no, he will find out.

~

Continue reading here:

[eleonore-songeve]

Fleeting Embraces ( Part 1 )

Summary : In medieval London, Aveline regularly encounters Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, in her dreams. Despite her initial skepticism, she is intrigued by Morpheus' revelations about the power of dreams. Their relationship develops, combining fascination and mutual respect, as Aveline begins to view dreams as having an influence on her waking reality.

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In 1287, London was a thriving medieval city, but it was still far from becoming the global metropolis we know today. The city was centered around the Tower of London, which was both a fortress and a royal residence. The streets were narrow and winding, with half-timbered wooden houses and thatched roofs.

Daily life in London centered around trade and crafts. Merchants sold their wares in bustling markets, and artisan guilds regulated the production of goods such as textiles, metals, and foodstuffs. The Thames played a central role in the transport of goods and people.

England was ruled by King Edward I at this time. He was known for his expansion of royal power and for his rigorous management of finances. Tensions with Wales and Scotland were also present at this time, and Edward I was involved in conflicts to extend his authority over these areas.

However, Aveline was not at all concerned about the political, social and economic upheavals of her country, living in a small village, far from the capital.

Each dawn saw Aveline emerge from her small home in the village, ready to embrace the challenges and simple moments that dotted her day. His days were punctuated by the tasks of daily life, but also by warm exchanges with the villagers who formed a close-knit community, where everyone knew each other.

The morning often began with a visit to the local market, where she exchanged a few words with the merchants who greeted her with a knowing smile. The stalls were full of local produce, and she lingered to discuss the latest news while shopping. Once her basket was full, she left, happy.

The rest of the morning was spent doing the agricultural tasks that defined his life. Aveline, having always been an orphan, having been educated by the elderly residents, actively participated in the planting and maintenance of crops, working alongside the other villagers. It was a moment when the solidarity of the community was manifested, everyone making their contribution to ensure the success of the harvests.

At lunchtime, she met with the grandmothers to share a simple but nourishing meal. Lively discussions echoed, evoking joys and gossip.

In the afternoon, she devoted time to more personal activities. She indulged in contemplation from the nearby hill, letting her gaze wander over the green fields. Or she made crafts, sharing her skills with those who wanted to learn in the rainy weather.

The evenings were punctuated by gatherings at the community home, where stories, songs and sometimes even a few dances were shared. Aveline, with her mischievous liveliness, brought a refreshing energy to these moments of conviviality.

Then, she returned to her modest home, with a light heart and a spirit nourished by the day's interactions.

Each day was woven with work, human connections and moments that recalled the simple beauty of existence, appreciating it greatly, not wishing to change its place for anything in the world.

As Aveline reached the age of twenty, the caring seniors of the village, guardians of centuries-old traditions, began to weave threads of anticipation around the young woman. A subtle murmur spread, carried by the wind of gossip, announcing that the time had come for Aveline to dive into the mysterious waters of love.

It was during the meal, during a lively conversation, that they spoke of the undeniable charm of Hugo, the village cutie. They tried, with a very maternal delicacy, to suggest that perhaps, between the furrows of the fields and the bursts of shared laughter, a romantic awakening could see the light of day.

But Aveline, a young woman with a mischievous look and a carefree soul, had taken this advice lightly. She responded with bursts of joyful laughter : “Maybe, maybe.”

The grandmothers persisted, persevering in their quest for love for she. They weaved romantic stories, insinuating chance meetings between her and Hugo during village gatherings. They already imagined the soft murmur of conversations shared by candlelight, walks hand in hand through the green hills.

However, Aveline, with her sparkling gaze, continued to joke and push back these romantic aspirations.

“Oh, you are so hasty ! So let the roses bloom at their own pace.”, she exclaimed, laughing.

Aveline, determined to live at her own pace, continued to cultivate the simplicity of her daily life. The elders, although persistent, learned to accept resilience in the face of the fact that she wanted to chart her own path, brushing aside pressures with a mischievous gesture.

Nevertheless, one night, destiny got in her way, putting her on the path to love, with an individual she would never have thought of, or even imagined, not knowing at that moment, his existence and all that would bring.

Morpheus, the ruler of the Dream Domain, moved through the dreamscapes, observing the dreams of mortals, to keep busy and check that everything was going smoothly. It was during one of these nocturnal wanderings that he crossed paths with the young woman.

She stood in the middle of an incredibly realistic dream, on top of a hill, looking up at the moon high in the sky, larger than in reality, surrounded by a singular aura that caught Morpheus' attention.

Her jet black hair delicately framed her oval face, like an ebony waterfall. His eyes, lit by a mischievous glow, reflected curiosity. They were the windows of his soul, wells of wonder, looking at his surroundings, with an intensity like he had never seen, interested in everything that constituted his dream which reflected a part of his sweet life.

Her skin, soft and pale, bore the subtle marks of the simple treatments of the time. It was a blank canvas, a testimony to the simplicity of medieval beauty rituals, where nature and gentleness were the allies of grace.

Dressed in a modest dress of earthy hues, she exuded a natural elegance that contrasted with the fantastical glow of her surroundings.

The content of the dream was imbued with a captivating novelty, distinguishing itself from the usual dreams of sleepers. He perceived in the imagination of this young woman an apparent simplicity which in reality revealed grandeur, each detail displaying exquisite beauty and depth of spirit.

Immaterial, he observed the scene with unusual fascination. The singular soul of this young woman captivated his attention. Gliding silently through the twists and turns of the dream like a night breeze, the Lord of Dreams approached.

He stopped beside her, remaining standing with indefinable subtlety and elegance. Their eyes met, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

- By my faith, who are you, good lord ? She asked, her eyes expressing a combination of surprise and intrigue.

He hesitated, then announced in a captivating voice, without even being aware of it :

- I am Dream, the Ruler of Dreams and the Guardian of Endless Nights.

With a smile, she put her hands behind her, looking at him with a slight tilt, as if she thought it was all just a figment of her imagination, aware that she was dreaming.

- Dream ? Really, is that your name, sweet lord ?

- I am known by many names.

- What are you talking about, please ?

- Names woven into the fabric of times. They call me Morpheus, the Weaver of Dreams, or the Guardian of the Gates of Night.

- Understood... She said skeptically, before saying in her soft voice, deciding to play along. Morpheus ? I take a lot ! And what does the honor of your coming bring me, Lord Morpheus ?

He remained silent, thinking about his own motivations and why he was engaging in conversation with a simple human, a race he had hardly liked since Nada's affair. Understanding his silence, Aveline, innocently, patted him lightly on the ground and said to him in her soft and cheerful voice :

- Don't stand, take a seat and come and contemplate the moon at my side. It is so vast that it would be a shame to miss this spectacle, wouldn't it ?

Intrigued by Aveline's invitation, Morpheus silently consented. He sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the moon which bathed the dreamscape in a silvery glow.

After a moment, he broke the silence :

-Your world is enchanting, dear mortal. Your dreams are woven from the unique web of your creativity, a beauty that is often hidden from the other dreams I experience. Every night in your dream kingdom offers a splendid picture, a living painting that stands out among the countless visions of the ephemeral.

- It's nice to think that the Master of Dreams would deign to linger in this simple reverie, and what's more, who would tell me who appreciates it, right ?

- Simplicity sometimes conceals an unsuspected depth. I am intrigued by the soul that shapes these night visions, by this ability to discover greatness in modest details.

Aveline stared at the moon, letting her thoughts sink into the soft clarity.

- Lord of Dreams, can you explain to me what dreams really are ? Why do we have them ? Why are they sometimes beautiful and sometimes scary ?

Morpheus nodded, saying :

- Dear mortal, he began in a voice full of wisdom, dreams are the invisible threads that weave the fabric of your lives. In the soft glow of the lunar glow, you discover worlds that go beyond the limits of your daily reality. These night visions are the keys to your imagination, the back doors to realms where the rules of the material world fade away.

He paused, watching the reflection of the moon's glow in the villager's astonished eyes.

-And nightmares, he continued, are the shadows that dance in the darkest corners of your mind. They are the mirrors of your fears, the echoes of the torments that you carry in silence. But remember, even in the darkness, there are lessons to learn, challenges to overcome. Nightmares, although feared, are the forgers of your resilience, the craftsmen who sculpt the strength that lies dormant within you.

Aveline listened to Morpheus' words with a gentle smile, as if she were hearing a fantastic story. His voice, warm and full of candor, broke the silence of the night.

- Oh, kind stranger, your words are woven with the magic of fairy tales. Dreams and nightmares, threads that dance in the mist of the invisible, is this not the work of our fertile imagination, a theater where our minds play out their hidden plays ?

Aveline looked down at the ground and picked up a handful of flower petals, letting them flow through her fingers.

- Maybe we are all like actors in a mysterious show written by the subtle spirit of the night. And you, dear dreamer, would be one of his fleeting creations. The stories you tell me are perhaps the fantasies of my own mind, echoes of my inner world that come to life in this starry night.

She looked up at Morpheus with a spark of curiosity.

- Yet, what would life be without a hint of mystery ? So, so be it, I'll take part in this enchanted game. Tell me more about these dreams woven by the threads of a reality that could only be an ephemeral dream.

A gentle smile floated on Aveline's lips, an invitation to share the wonders of her own world.

- But first, Monsignor, please stop labeling me “mortal”.

Morpheus, perplexed, tilted his head slightly.

- But you are mortal, like all beings who come to my kingdom. Why does this bother you ?

She smiled, expressing gentle patience.

- My lord, the term "mortal" seems to evoke a fragility, an impermanence which, although true, carries with it a connotation of degradation. Each of us is ephemeral, but we preferred to be defined by our essence, our dreams and our actions rather than by our finitude

She paused, letting her words float in the soft night air.

- I am Aveline, a soul who dances in the glow of existence, and although my life is a flame that burns one day, I prefer to be defined by the glow of my dreams rather than by the duration of 'my breath.

She added, with quiet conviction :

- So, if you wish, just name me Aveline.

Seeing Morpheus' eyebrows furrow slightly, she continued :

- My lord, imagine if I named you "Ephemeral of the Dream Kingdom". Although this is technically accurate, wouldn't you think it does justice to the grandeur of your existence ?

She continued with a kind smile.

- When you said your name, Morpheus, you made a fair exchange. So, I simply ask you to call me by my name, a name that, although doomed to fleetingness, aspires to be more than that in the dreams I weave.

Aveline expressed these thoughts with a delicacy that she hoped would allow Morpheus to see the mutual respect behind her request.

Morpheus, still imbued with his ethereal and reserved character, absorbed Aveline's words with an inscrutable expression.

He didn't like the fact that she was asking for fairness between them. However, seeing the glimmer of hope in the young woman's green eyes, he didn't know why, but it calmed his feeling of offense.

After a moment of silence, he responded in a calm and measured voice.

- Well, if the name 'mortelle' displeases you, I will respect your preference, Aveline.

- I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord.

A slight smile appeared on Morpheus' immortal lips, showing a subtle recognition of the dialogue that had just taken place between them.

Then, she suddenly left him, waking up in his world.

The following evening, Aveline fell back into sweet sleep, finding herself once again on the ethereal hill. The stars sparkled above her, and the silver light of the moon created a magical atmosphere.

In the dreamscape, she made out a familiar silhouette emerging from the mists of the dream. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, reappeared, as enigmatic as the first time. His eyes reflected the silver glow of the moon, and he approached Aveline with unparalleled grace.

- Good evening, Aveline. He whispered in a haunting voice.

She greeted him with a smile.

- I didn't expect to see you again anytime soon. What brings you here, Lord Morpheus, on this occasion ?

The Lord of Dreams, his gaze lost in the stars, confessed :

- I have returned to explore more of this world that your mind created.

Aveline nodded, letting herself be carried away by what she believed to be her imagination, a complicity that she cherished.

- In that case, let's explore it together. She offered, holding out her hand, a warm glow emanating from her.

Morpheus, after silent deliberation, finally accepted, arousing the obvious joy of the young woman. Thus, through fantastic lands, they shared moments of contemplation and discovery. Morpheus revealed new aspects of his kingdom, to the limits of what a human mind could conceive.

During this new adventure, they exchanged words, he confiding fragments of stories about dreamers of the past, souls whose dreams had left an imprint on the very fabric of the dream universe. Aveline, although admiring, could not help thinking that all this could only be the fruit of her imagination.

Finally, as the moon's glow reached its peak, Morpheus announced :

- The time has come for me to take my leave. Aveline, until our next meeting.

Aveline smiles, grateful for these unique moments.

- If it's as you say. In any case, I will await our next meeting with great fervor, Lord Morpheus.

And like the first time, the Lord of Dreams vanishes into the darkness of the dream, leaving Aveline to wake up in her bed.

The nights followed one another, and each evening, Aveline found Morpheus in the kingdom of his dreams. The landscapes changed, the adventures were renewed, but the presence of the Lord of Dreams remained constant.

Aveline, although captivated by these nocturnal encounters, persisted in believing that Morpheus was only a creation of her mind. Morpheus, for his part, continued to reveal fragments of wisdom and enigmas that intrigued Aveline. He spoke of the power of dreams, how they could influence reality, and how each dream contributed to the fabric of the universe.

One evening, as they stood on the shore of a sparkling ocean, Aveline questioned him curiously.

- Lord Morpheus, why do you take your place in my dreams every night ? What force brings you to be present in these places ?

- As I told you before, dreams are portals to the soul, Aveline. Your mind creates worlds of unique beauty that I appreciate, just as I have come to appreciate your presence.

Aveline shook her head with a gentle smile.

- It's fascinating and pleasant to share these moments with you. However, I can't help but believe that this is all just a figment of my imagination.

He approached her, at a distance where she could have felt his breath if he had any, causing the young woman to blush due to the sudden proximity to a man.

- Mortals, in their misunderstanding, think that dreams are only illusions, without influence on the waking world. But that is their mistake. Dreams are fragments of reality woven into the fabric of night, and their power extends far beyond the realm of sleep.

Aveline stared at Morpheus, absorbing his words with some thought. The waves murmured softly around them as they stood on the ethereal shore.

- Do you really believe that our dreams can have any influence on the world with our eyes open, noble lord ? She asked, her eyes showing a mixture of fascination and doubt.

Morpheus inclined his head gravely.

- Each dream is an echo, a subtle melody that resonates in the waking hours, influencing the course of your lives.

Aveline, stepping back, lost herself in the contemplation of the dreamlike stars.

- It is a very strange thought, Sir Morpheus, I say. She said, before she felt herself leaving, a sign that she was waking up.

Two months had passed since the first meeting between the woman and Morpheus. Dreams had become a sanctuary where their connection had deepened night after night.

At that dusk, as Aveline strolled through the cobbled streets of her village on her way home, with a full stomach, she could hear the bursts of laughter from the children in the houses lit by candlelight, making her smile. Sometimes, Aveline wondered what her life could have been like if her parents had not died, but the memories of her childhood would arise and these questions would just as quickly disappear, driven from her head. She did not consider herself unlucky or to be pitied.

Her heart was imbued with a special serenity when she reached the threshold of her little house. However, when she arrived at the door, she jumped, surprised to see a man she did not recognize from the village.

The man's silhouette stood out in the darkness. The pale light of the moon cast dancing shadows across his features, masking his face in an aura of mystery.

-Who are you, noble lord ? She asked, her voice trembling, as she searched the darkness for clues.

The man remained silent, taking a few steps forward, slowly emerging from the shadows. The glow of the moon revealed her features, and Aveline shivered, recognizing the blue eyes that had become so familiar to her in her dreams.

- Please excuse me, but I'm afraid you misunderstand who I am, you know. She stated, trying to appear comfortable and hide her anxiety, knowing she was helpless.

After a moment, the silence becoming heavy, Aveline narrowed her eyes, trying to pierce the veil of the unknown.

- Why are you here ? What is your intention towards me ?

The individual moved a little closer, now visible in his full appearance, and smiled.

- I came to visit you in your world.

Stepping back a little, she looked him up and down, observing his clothes waving silently in the light wind. A long, deep black coat fell gracefully to her feet, creating a stark contrast to the earthy palette of the surrounding landscape. Her dress, a dark yet richly textured hue, revealed a timeless elegance, evoking a mystical aura.

A finely crafted belt adorned her waist, accentuating her slender figure. High boots, made of polished leather, framed his feet. A necklace with a red ruby as a pendant adorned her neck.

Ebony locks spread in a flowing, rippling cascade around her pale face. Deeply black, they seemed to catch the ambient light and reflect a subtle glow, creating a striking contrast with the paleness of his skin. The hair, neither too short nor too long, accentuated her delicate features and piercing eyes.

Although the hair was of equal length, it appeared untouched by the wind, maintaining a carefully maintained appearance.

Aveline felt a shiver run down her spine.

- You... You look like someone I know... But... But that can't be, it can't be.

- It is, Aveline.

The man stepped forward slowly, each step marked with confidence. The proximity became tangible, to the point that Aveline's breath almost caressed the face of the one who didn't have one. She could have felt the quickening rhythm of her own heart, an irregular beat that echoed in the silence of the moment.

Aveline, in a state of fascination and confusion, could not look away from this being who seemed to possess a deep and intimate understanding. Anxiety should have overwhelmed her, pushing her to flee or call for help, but strangely, she remained motionless, captivated.

As the space between them shrank to nothing, Aveline almost whispered to herself :

- Lord Morpheus...?

A glimmer of recognition lit his eyes. The name echoed in his consciousness, conjuring up images of dreams and deep thoughts. Morpheus gave a slight smile.

- Yes, Aveline. Our paths have crossed many times during your dreams.

She felt overwhelmed by a strange warmth, a connection that transcended the rational. His mind, enveloped in this enigmatic presence, tried to untangle the intertwined threads of reality and dreams.

- I... I'm not daydreaming, am I...? She stammered, her eyes searching for answers in the deep gaze of the man before her.

- No, we are not in my kingdom. We are in your world. He replied, an assured calm in his voice.

The words struck Aveline's mind like shards of truth, provoking a confused reflection on the blurred boundary between tangible reality and intangible dreams.

However, before she could unravel this mystery further, the cheerful voices of villagers approaching their position pulled her from her thoughts. Panic gripped her at the idea of being caught alone in the middle of the night with a stranger. Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly opened the wooden door, inviting the man inside.

The Lord of Dreams crosses the threshold with infinite grace. Aveline, still in shock from the situation, closed the door behind them, trying to hide this unusual encounter from the curious eyes of the outside world.

As the voices of the villagers faded away completely, Aveline breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, feeling a wave of calm after the storm of her own dismay. However, the darkness of the room, plunged into the silence of the night, made her realize that she had just brought a man into her home.

The room, devoid of light, because Aveline had not yet lit the candles, accentuated the enigmatic nature of the situation. Despite the darkness, Aveline could feel Morpheus' penetrating gaze on her.

She blushed, embarrassed, already imagining the village grandmothers' gossip about this nocturnal encounter if they knew it.

- I... I apologize, very humbly. She stammered, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a shy smile. It's just... I wasn't expecting a visit, especially at this time.

Morpheus, always calm and reserved, inclined his head slightly in assurance. He seemed to understand the complexity of the situation and the unexpected nature of their meeting in the waking world, nevertheless thinking that she would be happier to see him under these conditions.

Aveline, looking for a pretext to hide the uneasiness in the air, decided to light candles.

- I'm going to light some candles to light up the room a little. It will help us see things more clearly, I think. She announced, trying to maintain some normalcy in what had become a picture of the strange.

Under Morpheus's scrutinizing gaze, she looked around the room looking for candles. His gestures, although deliberate, revealed a certain excitement. She still didn't fully understand what was happening, but she wanted to hide her own insecurities behind a facade of activity.

One by one, the flames danced with the matches, illuminating the room with a flickering glow. Morpheus, once the room was bathed in this warm and soft light, observed the nooks and crannies with particular attention.

Aveline, a little more reassured by the light of the candles, looked away from Morpheus' shadow which seemed to blend into the darkness. She hoped that this subdued atmosphere would help ease the tense atmosphere.

Morpheus' gaze rested on the shelves, decorated with pottery with simple and authentic shapes. The fumes of the dried herbs, carefully arranged in a basket, floated in the air, creating a subtle ambiance that tickled Morpheus's senses. The atmosphere of the room revealed a humble life, but full of nuances, like a living painting that Morpheus was invited to contemplate.

Aveline, watching him do this, felt her head turn, and declared in a calm but perplexing voice :

- I feel the need to take a seat.

She sat, her eyes fixed on Morpheus, waiting for explanations.

Morpheus, while maintaining his aura of mystery, took a seat in the chair that she offered him with almost supernatural grace. His eyes, of infinite depth, met those of the woman. A breath of silence hung over the room before he began to speak, choosing each word carefully.

- I introduce myself again. I am Morpheus, Dream of the Infinites, Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares, watching over the dreams that populate the night of humanity.

Morpheus' words echoed through the room, tinged with a revelation that transcended human understanding. The woman, although surprised, received these explanations with an astonishing openness of mind. Her eyes held a mixture of fascination and acceptance, as if a part of her had always known that their connection went beyond the limits of her consciousness.

- Morpheus... You are Morpheus, Dream of the Endless... She repeated slowly, letting the weight of this revelation settle. The dreams... Was all this really real ?

- Dreams are as real as life itself, sometimes even deeper in their meanings and truths. He explained, his voice carrying ancient wisdom.

The woman, trying to assimilate this extraordinary revelation, confided to him that she needed time to understand. She held her head in her fingers, closing her eyes, thinking about everything that was happening right now. If she wasn't dreaming or if it was reality. However, when she looked at him, she felt deep inside that she was not sleeping, but that it was indeed happening.

- Why did you come here ? She asked with perceptible excitement, her eyes searching for answers in the enigmatic ocean of Morpheus's pupils.

He responded with a simplicity that contrasted with the complexity of their connection.

- I just wanted to see you, in this waking world.

- Understood... She said, her face betraying her nervousness. Noble lord... Uh... How should I act ? Should I get you something ? A humble offering perhaps ? Or would it be rude of me to let you sit in such a modest chair ? I... I apologize, I...

She stood up, panicking. Morpheus, with the wisdom characteristic of his timeless being, reassured her in a softer voice than usual :

- No need for change or offerings. You can act as you normally would in my presence.

The woman, seeking to follow this advice, replied in a slightly trembling voice, sitting down again and tightening the fabric of her dress around her legs :

- Understood... As usual... Hm...

Her look betrays a mixture of astonishment and respect towards this being who, despite his grandeur, treats her with disconcerting simplicity. However, still in shock from this extraordinary encounter with Morpheus, she took a deep breath and gathered the courage to ask a question that weighed on her tormented mind :

- That would mean that all deities exist ?

Morpheus, with infinite tranquility, replied in the affirmative :

- Yes indeed. Each pantheon, each belief, finds its reality somewhere in the cosmic fabric of the worlds. Gods and goddesses, myths and legends, are all facets of the human imagination made reality.

This response shocked the woman in a way she had never anticipated. Having never been a fervent believer, she found herself confronted with the idea that the deities, which she had always perceived as tales, were in reality existing entities. The tangible presence of Morpheus in front of her forced her into an acceptance that she struggled to integrate.

His gaze betrays deep confusion, a tumult of emotions mingling in the crucible of his consciousness. She could not deny the evidence before her, the existence of gods and goddesses, embodied in the person of Morpheus. It was a revelation that shook the very foundations of his understanding of the world.

Morpheus, sensing his confusion, chose not to add pressure to this already trying revelation by revealing to him that as far as he was concerned, he was above the gods, he was more. He let the woman take time to digest.

Aveline, looking for answers in Morpheus' deep gaze, persisted in her questions.

- So what do you want from me ? Why did you show up at me, who's nothing special, just a humble village girl with no big story ?

Morpheus, inclined to his imperturbable calm, let a hint of a smile appear delicately on his lips.

- Earthly merits cannot have any value in my eyes. He replied softly. What you are, Aveline, transcends simple appearances. I did not come with pre-established expectations. Your essence intrigues me, and the simplicity of your daily life represents a unique reflection in the kaleidoscope of human existence. You are much more than you imagine yourself to be, and it is this essence that guided me to you.

Morpheus' response brought a shy blush to Aveline's cheeks, a complex mosaic of embarrassment and surprise. The idea of being perceived as "interesting" by the Dream Lord aroused conflicting emotions in her. She had never imagined that her simple and unpretentious life could captivate the attention of a being such as him.

A silence fills the room, broken only by the muffled crackling of the candle and the frantic pulsations of Aveline's heart. He observed the young woman with calm intensity, capturing every nuance of her emotion.

After a moment of embarrassment, she timidly raised her eyes to meet those of Morpheus.

- I'm nothing other than... Me... She whispered, uncertain about the interpretation of this new perspective on her existence.

Morpheus, with a deep look in his eyes, replied :

- This is precisely what charms me, Aveline. The purity of the soul, the sincerity of an existence without artifice. Everyone carries a unique story, and yours, although seemingly simple, resonates with a beauty that transcends the limits of the trivial.

Aveline, still blushing but also touched by Morpheus' words, discovered a certain warmth in this unexpected recognition. Concerns about his own importance faded slightly, giving way to a burgeoning curiosity about the deeper significance of this encounter.

The seconds dragged on, and Morpheus, although resolute in his unchanging nature, could not ignore the emotional transformation he had caused in Aveline. As he watched the embarrassment and confusion flash across the young woman's face, a fleeting emotion flashed through her infinite eyes, a wound in her eternal ego, a crack in her imperturbability.

Morpheus, sitting in the tranquility of the dim light, reflects on the nature of this encounter. An unexpected sadness, an echo of regret, manifests in his being. The question lingers in her mind : "Was it a good idea to venture into the life of a simple human like this ?"

A glimmer of hesitation crossed Morpheus's eyes, a rare flash of vulnerability. Despite his infinite wisdom, he also found himself subject to the torments of human emotions, which he explored in a unique way through the twists and turns of dreams.

Rising with thoughtful grace, he advanced towards the door, ready to slip away.

Aveline, coming out of her trance, noticed his intention to leave and stood up with new determination.

- Wait a minute.

The Dream Lord stopped, turning back to her.

Aveline's gaze, tinged with shyness, but carrying a glimmer of audacity, met that of Morpheus.

- Can I... Can I find you in my dreams ? And... Even here, in... In the Waking World ? That's how we say it, right ? She asked, her voice barely audible, mixing embarrassment with vibrant curiosity.

Morpheus, impassive as usual, nodded slightly.

- If this is your wish, Aveline, our paths will cross again in the kingdom of dreams and in the waking world.

The door closed softly behind Morpheus, leaving Aveline alone with her thoughts and the anticipation of the nights to come. The idea of finding the Lord of Dreams in the dream world awakened in her a new emotion, a bridge between reality and imagination that took shape with each beat of her eyelashes.

When she went to bed, Aveline surrendered to the palpable expectation that filled her. In sleep, she delved into the realm of dreams, searching for the familiar figure, which she quickly found, creating an eternal bond between Aveline, the simple villager, and Morpheus, the Dream Lord and the King of Nightmares.

For better and for worse.

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

Author's word : 

I hope you enjoyed this first part of the story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

In any case, I'll see you soon for the rest of the events !

[naturallyadventured]

ofstardustandearth

like the strum of a chord that plays our heart strings oh just so, some places, people, scents, melodies, moments embed themselves into our souls as I lay in the sand watching the waves, wild and powerful, crashing with such unexpected conviction, the warmth of the day radiating deep into my naked skin and down into my core, I was immersed in a daydream, experiencing this human life stretching out from birth to death as an epic treasure hunt each of us fitted from the womb with a unique internal compass that blinks and beeps and sings when we hit on something that’s for us. Like the metal detector my Uncle T would sweep across the fields, recovering silver dollars and odd shaped mechanical doodads. One man’s trash, another’s most prized treasure. Seeing things not as they are, but as we are. As they are in significance and relation to ourselves delighted by this vision of the treasure hunt, I lay and mused on what fun it is that we get to adventure through our lives looking for each jewel that lights us up. No right or wrong, only what makes the vibration and chimes set off a strawberry tamale made by a sweet grandma in a little mountain hut blooming with bright flowers, an open aired perch above the tumultuous ocean with dreamy mosquito net and a little thatched roof window to the sky, the melancholy lilt of a flute as the sun dips slowly into the sea and night sweeps deep purples into the clouds, the radiant smile and spark of recognition from a new friend in the market sharing a mug of tejate, the feeling of my camera encased in her water house, supplicating in my hands, seducing me to hold her and create mermejita you have my heart. A gleaming love shaped agate from the ocean, smooth and delightful in the palm of my hand. A treasure I will cherish for always

[midmorninggrey]

Hiya! Dunno if i'm late, but maybe 18 or 25 from the Artifacts of Thedas prompts? c:

Hey, it's never too late for prompts!! Thank you lots for sending these over. Short and sweet scenes are a joy to get back into.

(I will probably do #18 later, but I'm going to make myself post this one now.)

"25. An empty chest with scratch marks around the lock" from the wonderful Artifacts of Thedas writing prompts.

“Be careful,” her father said at the door. “Don’t touch anything.”

There wasn’t much for Celeste to touch in the burned farmhouse, and what was left had already been picked through by her father and the Seeker while she and Cole waited outside in the Ferelden sunshine. Still, she seized the chance to enter the dark house. Celeste always hoped to find something they’d missed.

The house had been built by a prosperous family, now gone. On their approach, she had seen the neat fences that remained around pastures, but the first sign of druffalo was a half-burned hide lying beside the cold hearth. The fire had swallowed half the house. Part of the thatched roof had been eaten by the flames, but the patch of sunlight the hole let in did nothing to brighten the charred, crumbling remains. The house stank of ruin.

Sniffing, Celeste ducked towards the back of the house, which the fire had spared. A thin mattress, leaking clumps of druffalo hair, was tossed in the corner. Someone had been at it with a knife, she thought, and not her father or the Seeker; they would have been cleaner. The same knife had been used on a great chest that was lying overturned on the floor. The polish must have once gleamed on a sunny day, but now desperate hacks and scratches dulled it. The thick wood had held against the attack, but the lock was weaker. The blade had chewed the metal before cracking it.

She knelt down to look inside, and then Cole stood beside her. He swayed, but the floorboards did not creak beneath his boots.

“What do you think was in it?” she asked. With her finger, Celeste drew a line through the dust gathered on the bottom of the chest, catching a hint of cedar.

Cole started in a rush. “Five head to market, a bursting spring. Heavy silver for bells, too heavy to carry - ”

“Wait, Cole,” Celeste cut in. “That’s not really the game.”

“The game?” He asked, the tip of his head exaggerated by his hat.

Celeste sat back on her heels. “Like, you guess the best thing that could be in the box. Even if it's made up. Like a big giant glowing spider that will catch your enemies. Or old maps to a forgotten temple. Or old love letters between two people who aren’t supposed to love each other or something.”

“Those are all things you want.”

“I suppose,” Celeste shrugged.

She didn’t mind Cole being in her head. After her weeks of interrogation at Haven and the days she now spent on display within Skyhold’s walls, it was a relief to not choose which version of herself to share. Everyone wanted something different from The Herald, she knew, yet she was learning she could not satisfy anyone. They deemed her cold and unnatural when she was calm; when she cried, they dismissed her as a child. The arrival of her father had taken many of the eyes and tongues away from her. Even when people had time to gossip between the orders of the newly appointed Inquisition Regent, few risked his ire by speaking of her unkindly. Celeste told herself she was not afraid of her father, but the year they’d spent apart was a gap not easily crossed even now that they could stand together again. She found herself trying to find the right version of herself for him, too.

“You used to play the game with your father,” Cole piped up. “You laughed.”

“Yes,” Celeste admitted, glancing over her shoulder. Her father and the Seeker were outside, but not out of earshot.

She couldn’t be in Cole’s mind, so she made due by peering up under his hat. “What’s your guess?”

“Something that makes the red fade, flash, then go. It will make them whole. A blanket, wrapped blue -”

“No,” Celeste interrupted again, frowning. “Those are things I want. What do you want?”

“The same. You want peace,” he said. “I want the hurt to stop.”

Celeste looked back to the empty chest and wished it were full.

“I don’t want the spider,” Cole was quick to add. “It’s very big.”

[frozen-fountain]

Find the Word... Love Edition!

Thank you to @mothboypoison for the tag :) In return I nominate @hrh-spinach, @ourspecial, @runicmagitek, @laboradorescence, @visualheresy, @keioschaos, @wandringaesthetic, @danceswithdarkspawn! And anyone else who wants to join in.

Words for me to find: hand, familiar, embrace, yearning, dear

Words for you to find: lips, holding, present, star, simple

Hand

- from Aperture Priority

The tram left them in the shadow of the command centre, under a roof patterned with leaping dolphins in the undulating hues of the sea. Last time he stood below that waveless surface Elmyra kissed his cheek and put him on the journey home, and just the touch of her hand melted the layer of rime that still clung to his skin after months making wind power in the far north. She had pictures to show him, too, of Corel in a new spring where the sun awakened the mountain fern and things were being built again – thanks in no little part to the expertise a certain master of materia shared with them the year before. He smiled as he took Marlene's hand again and led her through wide streets bereft of road markings where no cars roved, framed by cascades of flowering vines and merry market stalls. Elmyra's green fingertips had touched every part of the city, left a little Cetra magic down every dirty alley she walked at the start of it all, and some of those sparks still danced on his skin, too. The town was lit in amber the first evening, when she took his hand and marched him through the streets she helped to shape, back to her place without a second's hesitation. Not until her clothes came off and she covered her chest with her palms, like he was meant to be surprised she didn't have the body of a twenty-year-old beauty queen under there. He stepped closer and took her hands in his and she placed them on his arm, over the rough and cratered band where skin met metal.

Familiar

- from Dulosis

Elena blinked. The lines between the sky and the trees were still there. Connecting lines. Not separation boundaries. One could not be without the other. “My parents used to say people who did drugs only had themselves to blame when they ended up selling their bodies in the gutter.” Her mouth moved on its own, shaping familiar sounds with no weight behind them. Yuffie snorted. “Kinda hard when you freaks don't use money anymore. 'Sides, what a load of horseshit. Old Man Shinra did just fine, and there's no way he wasn't powdering his nose when no-one was looking. Hell, probably when they were, too. Who was gonna stop him?” A laugh bubbled up out of Elena's nose. “I believe Sephiroth had that honour.” Yuffie was silent, then responded with a quiet, “heh. Yeah. He did. And I'm the one who stopped Sephiroth.”

Embrace

- from Into the Night Uncharted

The lights stayed with him on the long flight across the ocean. And then rose Junon, a cracked and rotten tooth jutting out of the broken ground. He would be there for the days when the seeds his friends had planted came at last to full bloom and draped the concrete bulwark all in green, when butterflies flocked about the heights and the people sang in the streets. He'd be there when the last grain of the desert beyond the mountains blew away and left only trees and flowers to tell the tale. And he'd be there, still, when the ocean returned the city's verdant embrace at last and toppled the tall tower, taking it and leaving it somewhere else as time marched on and made new.

Yearning

- from Prints

The yowl crawled in from the empty hall, long-drawn and full of yearning. Reeve put his equations to the side and rubbed the blur from his eyes. Rolling his neck and straightening his back yielded a chain reaction of cracks and crunches, and he groaned. “I'm right here, pretty girl.” Another keening wail prompted a pause in the clatter behind him. “She wants attention where she is,” said the disembodied husky voice from the kitchen. “Probably.” The rise and the run and the long strings of numbers had stopped translating into a helpful vision of ramps and pulleys about half an hour ago, anyway. Junon's first high-rise farm, the project of a lifetime and culmination of five years of the city's healing, could wait. Reeve slid from the couch onto his knees, into a patch of late afternoon dappled light. He rapped with three knuckles on the floorboard. A chirrup, a scrabble of claws, and a small clear bell sang in time with Freya's soft trot along the corridor. She stopped in the doorway, then barrelled into his open arms, ringing with every bound. Reeve laughed as she nuzzled into his shoulder, pressed her lithe body against him until the gentle rumble of her purr reverberated in his own chest. “You're so big now,” he whispered, kissing silky fur and scratching her ears. “How'd you get so big, when I wasn't looking?”

Dear

- from Fogged Windows

Terra sighed as she smoothed her skirts, tugging at the darker dampened patches. “Oh, dear. It really is obvious what we've been doing, isn't it?” “You slipped while picking the carnations and pulled me down with you. Or we had a water fight, which I would win.” Terra laughed. “You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?” She slipped her sandals back onto her feet, but it helped little. Her hair was a knotted briar and her dress, wrinkled and wet, did nothing to disguise the prominence of her still-roused nipples. Celes nodded, reaching down past the sodden patches daubed on her legs for her boots. “We could head for my chambers, if you wish. They're closer and more out of the way. We'll find you something more presentable to put on.” And I could have you screaming the night away with no-one the wiser. You'll see what I can do with a bed under us, she didn't say. Not with Terra still pale and shaken and blinking away tears. Celes would only clothe her, hold her, let her fall asleep on her shoulder or read to her until guilt, that most unwelcome of intruders, left the way it came in the night.

[disaster-on-the-horizon]

I'm not sure if the market for Meow Tower enjoyers who read fanfiction is much bigger on here, but I wanted to repost it to Tumblr, anyway

Spoilers for Morris' story

Summary:

Still a little kitten in a big world, Morris gets separated from his mother, at a train station. Luckily, the local station master's cat is there to help him. An encounter that changes the course of his life.

(A deeper look into the backstory he provides you with, in-game)

Despite the late hour, the sun shines brightly onto the roofs of the station's gigantic machines, as they stand idly on top of the seemingly endless tracks. The shadows of the wheels, alone, cast the kitten into complete darkness. He carefully approaches the round monstrosities, when they start moving with a deafening, terrifying hissing sound, sending the poor thing onto the floor, shivering. "Moriss.", an older cat calls out to him, sitting down next to his shivering form. "Don't get too close to the trains, sweetie. I don't want you to trip." With his mother as support, he gets back to his feet, catching a glimpse between the borders of different train station sections. The blurry carts race across the thick metal rails, leaving behind an empty canyon, as if they had flattened the very earth itself, marking their territory. The bottom is easily visible, but so far away at the same time.

"Are you alright, if we keep going?", his mother, rubs her head soothingly against his tiny back. "Yeah, we can go.", he answers quietly, forcing his eyes away from the metals and machines, focused instead on the ground before him. "Don't worry, hun, I'm here." At last, the two return to their original course.

Moriss' mother has gone the way through the central station probably a dozen times now, but this is the first time she is able to take her son with her. She is hoping he'll learn a little more about the vast world, outside of their home. It's not his first time outside, but he has never been this far away, and has never seen this much action in one place. And especially not these tall…beings. They're not cats, that's for sure, but Moriss has never seen something like them. Maybe it's rude to stare, but the kitten can't help, but be curious about these mysterious non-cat giants. He feels as if he almost breaks his neck, trying to look at their faces.

"Please, look at the road, hun.", his mother catches him slowly drifting off to the side. "Oh, yes, sorry." Moriss has always been teased as being a 'head-in-the-clouds' type of cat, by basically everyone who knows him. Though, he likes to call himself 'attentive'. And how could he not be, when there is so much to see, and so little time? And every time he thinks he's close to seeing it all, his parents show him some new place or new food or introduce a new cat into his life. Sometimes, he wishes he could just spend his life traveling around, seeing it all. Even just from this station, he can see new trees, birds, and even a few hills in the horizon. What must lie behind them? Not to mention these new creatures all around him! He could spend all day, just finding new things around here. But his mom told him to look at the road. Almost forgot.

…Wait. "Mommy?" Where is she?

Moriss frantically spins his little body in circles, but he can't see his mother anymore. A few meters away, he spots a pair of furry legs beneath the crowd, and quickly follows the hint, without much though. But once he's close enough, he realizes this cat doesn't actually share his spotty pattern. She tilts her head in confusion, but before she can ask the kitten any questions, he runs towards the next cat he sees. Though this one doesn't have quite the right colours.

The next has too much fur, the one after is a bit too tall. Two others have the wrong eye colour, and the last is actually just a short dog. Yet, he runs after them all. And now, he's even more lost.

Having lost any possible means of orientation, Moriss sits down on the gravely, train station floor, still moving his head in all directions. A few tears roll down his cheeks. The crowd of giants has circled in on him, obscuring every inch of the world around the kitten, and making him unable to see anything, but their seemingly never ending legs. They move around him, like an impenetrable wall, some just barely avoiding toppling him over. Maybe they're too big to see, maybe they're too big to care, who knows? As his breathing speeds up, the thoughts inside Moriss' little head start swirling around uncontrolled, slowly pulling him down into their vicious circle.

"Excuse me?" With wide eyes, Moriss turns towards the source of the noise, fearing it to be his own, fear-filled head. Then he sees a cat approach him. She effortlessly cuts through the mass of legs, every single one of them, freeing the way for her without a moment of hesitation. A little, blue-golden cap, and a tie in those same colours, compliment the orangy-yellow tiger stripes, covering her fur. A little bell is attached to her long tail, with a blue ribbon, softly jingling with each minor motion. The cat stops, only a couple feet away from the kitten.

"Hello, little one.", she speaks with a silky-smooth tone, a gentle smile grazing her face. "You seem lost. Do you need help, finding your adult?" Something rises in Moriss; a feeling of relief. But he won't allow himself to indulge in it, just yet. He might not be particularly old yet, but his mom has already taught him rule number one: Do not talk to strangers.

Seemingly reading the time of departure for his train of thought, the other cat tilts her head, in a playful manner. "My name is Skim. I'm the station master around here. Do you know what a station master is?" Moriss relaxes just a bit, still has to shake his head, however. "It means that I make sure that everything at this train station works, like it is supposed to. I make sure the trains and the signs are all up to date, and that everyone here is always provided with the help they might need." Skim lays down, holding her head more on eye-level of the kitten before her. "Did you come here with an adult?"

After briefly looking over the cat once more, Moriss nods. "I lost my mommy.", he sniffles. "Do you think she knows where the station master's office is?" "I think so. She comes here a lot."

"Alrighty then.", she smiles, getting up very slowly. "How about I bring you to the office, and we wait for your mommy there, together?" Finally, relief washes over Moriss, as a few more tears escape his eyes. He nods, sticking closely to Skim's side. While they walk, the older cat never losses sight of her companion, simply letting her body automatically guide her along a path she has walked a million times before. Moriss doesn't feel in any way weirded out by this close supervision. He feels safe; protected in the same way he feels when his parents watch over him, when he plays alone outside. And it's nice to be sure that he won't accidentally get lost again. Not a single obstacle stops the two in their path, and when Moriss flinches and stops at the sound of a train whistle, Skim gentle presses against his side, giving him something to hold on to. She herself doesn't seem bothered by the sounds in any way, helping a little with the kitten's fear.

Before he can even really realize, they arrive in front of a large, dark-blue door. In bedded in the bottom is a smaller, yellow silicone clap, resting between the wood. Skim steps halfway through, holding the flap up, so Moriss can step through without worries. Once both are inside, she lets the cat-door close, though it swings in its hinges for a while, before it comes to a standstill, which mesmerizes Moriss.

He stares at the room in the same awe. Dozens of pictures, in colourful frames, line the walls, in the midst, certificates and hand-drawn pictures. A small stove stands next to a bench, in the corner of the small room. And right in front of Moriss, sits a giant, in a big, blue armchair, stretching his legs over the wooden table in front of him. His whole body is covered in the blue and gold fabric that Skim wears, too, and he wears a big version of her hat. From this angle, Moriss can see that he is almost completely furless, only singular hairs covering his arms and face. On top of that, two of his paws are a shiny black, while the other two, smaller paws, are white. He turns his head towards the two cats. Moriss startles a bit, at the sight of his big, brown eyes. Or more, his big irises. Whoever he is, he must be really excited to see them.

"Ah, Skim. Who's our little fella here?", his voice easily fills the entire room. "We are just going to wait for his mom, he lost her. You think, you could maybe go on look out?" He laughs softly. "Of course. I'll find her in no time, no worries.", he now looks directly at Moriss, who hides part of himself behind Skim. The tall creature steps over the two cats, opening the big door, before stepping out.

"Can they understand us?", Moriss immediately asks. Skim is slightly caught off guard by the sudden enthusiasm of the previously shaken kitten, but she catches herself fast. "Not all of them can. Gerald is one of the lucky few." She starts walking further into the small room. "You probably haven't met a lot of these guys yet, right?" He shakes his head. "They're odd." "At first, yeah, but they tend to grow on you really fast, trust me.", she chuckles, jumping on the bench, to reach the stove. "Some of them think, we are odd, too."

The kitten also fully enters the room, now, letting the entire atmosphere settle in on him. It's a nice change of pace, after the constant excitement going on outside.

"Do you think, you can make it up the chair, by yourself?", Skim asks from her position, watching Moriss silently approach the armchair. "I can do it!", he smiles confidently, aiming his shot. The seat is definitely a little higher than what he would usually jump on, but it's nothing he can't handle! Lowering himself a little to the ground, he wiggles around, waiting for the perfect moment. Then he strikes, stretching his body as far as he has ever stretched before. After what feels like an eternity in the air, he hits the edge of the cushion. It was a close call, but he made it.

Skim silently sighs in relief, walking over with a warm kettle in her mouth, easily following him onto the furniture. She has to fight a snicker, as she sets down the kettle on the table. Moriss has practically melted into the soft cushion of the armchair. "You should have seen it when it was new.", she says, though she can't guarantee that the kitten hears her, swimming in all of his bliss. In the meantime, she pulls the bowl, standing on the other edge of the table, towards her, carefully pouring a good amount of milk into it. A little bit of white steam steams off the white liquid, as it settles flat into shape. Moriss perks back up.

"I warmed up some milk, if you want it. It always cheers me up!", Skim pushes the bowl further towards Moriss, before gently lifting him onto the table, by the scruff of his neck. Looking into the bowl in awe, he sticks out his tongue, to take a single sip. Never, in his life, has he had warm milk before. Though, as the warmth spreads through him, followed by a high and gentle purr, he slowly starts drinking every last bit of the milk.

The warm, orange evening sun reflects in the wet trails, left behind on the inner walls of the bowl, jumping between the different spots. And the quiet, satisfied sips of the milk, are underlined by the soft 'chugga-chugga' of a nearby train, following its path. From another direction, a whistle blows, greeting the other trains with a jolly 'choo-choo'. Unintelligible, interchangeable conversations, audible through the office's window, show the life going on inside the train station. A few drops of milk drip off of Moriss' chin, and Skim chuckles. Moriss laughs with her, swooped up by her good mood.

The big door opens, with a soft click, as the handle moves down. "And here you go, ma'am." Between Gerald's legs, another cat steps into the office. Upon seeing his quickly rising joy, Skim lowers the kitten to the ground, his legs already running towards his mother. "Mommy!", he calls out, running face-first into her fluffy chest. Rather out of breath, but also relieved, she nuzzles her head into her son's fur. "There you are, sweety! I was so worried about you!" He purrs softly. When she manages to take her gaze off of her child, her eyes fixate on the cat on the chair. "Thank you so much for finding him." "Oh, it's no biggie. All a station master's work!"

Skim leaps off the seat, directly walking up to the kitten. "Well then, I hope we see each other again, very soon. And if you ever need help again, you know who to ask.", she flashes her kind smile again. With a high-pitched noise of glee, Moriss pushes his head against the station master's fur, in a content 'goodbye'.

Gerald closes the door behind the duo, who closely stick together throughout their walk. "Well, I've certainly had enough excitement for today. How about, we just go back home?", his mother laughs, though the signs of worry are still clearly painted on her face. "Okay.", Moriss pushes himself slightly into her side.

As they make their way back, he once again takes in all the sounds and sensations around him, though this time also focused on his mom beside him. Thanks to the gentle rumbling, he can already feel the next train coming, from underneath his feet. A lot of the Geralt-like 'guys' are gathering at the edge of the track, though careful to avoid the mysterious white line. So many of them are carrying large or small bags with them, ready to face whatever adventure awaits them next. And even as time goes on, and the sky colours itself in different hues of pinks and reds, the trains never become less full.

In the train station, time stands still, and space becomes obsolete. You can travel around the world, with all of its wonders and miracles. And no matter where you land, there will always be somebody you can rely on.

"Mommy?" "Yes, hun?" "I want to be a station master!"

Thank you so much for reading, especially to those on AO3 :)

[slunch]

Jelly Dreams

There was something on my mind a moment ago, but the thought has vanished.

Strings of multicolored pennants snap at the air above my head. I’m standing in the crowd in the middle of an open-air market. Behind the tin roofs, I can see the points of the snow-capped mountains that surround us. They’re close in the clear air, just a few steps beyond the edge of the market.

I scan the stalls, trying to remember what I was going to buy. I was definitely here for some reason. I pat my pockets, trying to find something amiss. Was I hungry? Needed a part for something? I turn and look behind me, trying to figure out the way I came.

One person brushes past me and I feel them take my wallet. I grab their arm a moment too late, and they twist free and sprint into the crowd. All thought of my present situation lost, I tear after them, pushing through the space they leave behind.

The thief turns right, darts into a narrow tarp-covered gap between two stalls. For a moment our pursuit is quiet and blue. The noise of the market is muffled here. We pass behind a food stall, sun-shafts through holes in the tarp flashing by in the steam. I try to keep my footing on the wet floor.

Ahead, they leave the alley and plunge back into the crowd. I exit the blue alley and the sunlight blinds me, so I stumble and fall. The thief is gone when I scramble upright. 

I wait a moment and seek higher ground via a stack of crates and the roof of an unused stall. A flutter of dark material in an alley catches my eye but I stand, panting, and watch the thief pull away.

The wallet has my cards, my passports, my vital papers. It becomes clearer in my mind as I dwell on it. The wallet itself is artisanal; expensive leather worked by a close friend of mine for a large amount of money. The wallet has an emotionally significant symbol etched onto the front, an emblem of a close experience I shared with the friend who made it. To let it go would be dangerous and expensive and humiliating, and my body strains to continue the chase.

I remain still. I don’t know why I’m frozen until the two-step mantra rises.

To escape the dreamer, remain clear-minded and see your death.

I’m clear-minded now, having released my connection to the tether, but something is missing. I don't see anything in the market that could be my death. Fabrics, trinkets, electronics.... 

An icy metal railing catches the sun at the end of an aisle. A battered yellow sign warns people away from the edge. I focus, imagine myself leaning over the railing. Looking at the blue-shadowed glacial valley below the mountain, outcroppings of rock drawing my eye down, down. The ice on the railing melting under my hands. My hip bones on the railing as I lurch forwards, fingers slipping—

My stomach jolts and I snap out of the vision. Sweat beads on my brow, unnaturally warm for the winter, because of course it isn’t really winter—

And I snapped out of the vision again, into the real world. Out of the icy market and into my sleeping bag in my tent in the desert.

I sat up and drew in a long, shuddering gasp, hand already reaching behind me for the dreamer that had fallen with one tendril still on my neck and the others lying limp in the polyester fabrics.

“d,” I said. 

I cleared my throat.

“DREAMERS!” I yelled. 

I yanked my bare feet out of the sleeping bag and into the boots, flailed around on the floor of the tent for other dreamers (none), unzipped the tent, stopped!

I pushed my hand against the roof of the tent. There was a dreamer sitting above the flap. I slapped it sideways, through the fabric, and heard it flop onto the ground. Then I crawled out, dragging the one that was in there with me out onto the dirt, where I stomped it into mush.

This all happened in pitch-blackness. I had shuffled back to my tent and started on the second dreamer when the lights came on. The camp came alive with groaning and muttering.

“I got two!” I yelled to nobody in particular.

Flashlights scanned the ground inside the circle of tents, then around the perimeter. There was a thud and a muffled squish. “Got one!” yelled Mandela.

“Nothing here!” came another report, this one from Poke.

“Nothing!” yelled Star.

“All clear, I think,” said Koda.

“Okay!” I yelled, and sighed. There was silence while we reassembled.

“It’s 5:30,” said Poke, and looked at us. We all looked at the sky that was beginning to lighten.

“I’ll start the coffee,” said Poke.

Ten minutes later, we were sitting around the half-buried ashes of last night’s fire. Poke made the best coffee in what was left of the world. I savored it, rolled each grainy sip around my mouth. It was old trail coffee, but well-preserved. Low acidity, and Poke never burned it, regardless of how rough the previous night had been.

I was still in the post-dreamer stage where I relished every sensory connection to the waking world.

“Crane, how are you feeling?” asked Koda.

I looked up blearily at him.

“It wasn’t the worst one I’ve had,” I said, eyes back on the ashes.

Getting nabbed by a dreamer was a uniquely personal experience, and often a humiliating one. It was a stark reminder that you had slipped up. Forgetting to look up when entering an abandoned building, neglecting to check your back when traveling alone, or in my case, leaving the tent flap slightly unzipped.

Most people didn’t tell, unless it was a truly nasty one. A lot of people thought it was bad luck. Some people thought they were portentous, or full of rare psychological insights. Mandela talked about both of hers on this trip and they weren’t even that interesting. She definitely owed us after the first one, though. We lost twelve hours when we should have been on the road, propped her head up and spoon-fed her oatmeal and water. I wasn’t sure if she’d follow in her parents’ footsteps and never make it back up.

Mandela decided on a timeout after that.

“You know the drill,” I said to Koda, who was still watching me. “Cleared up, saw my death. I don’t think this one was more than ten minutes or so.”

“A speedrun,” he chuckled, and drained his coffee.

PC slang. Koda liked to flex his pre-crash birth year sometimes.

We broke camp swiftly and methodically. The last travelers to pass through had cleared brush around the site and swept the rusted table, and we did the same. Star led the way out, laminated map in hand. Mostly for show, because she’d done this route before and had a mind for directions, but old habits die hard and it never hurt to double-check.

“We’re finally turning south today,” she said. “We can get the shade from the highway on the trail, too.”

“Last day on foot, right?” asked Poke.

“Yep. We’ll get to the truck stop this afternoon ‘cause we started so early.”

“Yeehaw,” I murmured.

Tension left our shoulders and we adjusted our frame packs for speed at the cost of energy. The promise of a hot meal and a cold shower (and a truck!) was a lighthouse at the end of the shimmering desert.

Before the sun had fully burnt off the morning mist, we came up on the highway. It was a jagged line in the distance that snaked over the land and then suddenly, without warning, became a crumbling structure that loomed over our head. I could see a few dreamers lurking on its shaded underbelly.

To escape the dreamer, remain clear-minded and see your death. The thought was an unbidden but necessary guest, one I had invited into my mind years ago.

The trail didn’t cross underneath the overpass yet. It stayed in its long shadow, winding closer and closer to a point somewhere in the far distance. My gut clenched at the thought of passing underneath the clumps of dreamers. I glanced at my boots, where a few iridescent filaments lingered, and wiped them on some brush as I passed.

“This is a good route,” said Star. “I know you guys want to go fast, but if we hold a decent pace the trail will keep us in the shade for most of the day.”

“I wish concrete wasn’t so terrible for your legs,” said Poke. “Walking on that highway would be pretty nice.”

“Concrete also gets very hot in the sunlight,” said Star. “And there are no wind-breaks, so if you’re in a headwind it sucks.”

“Ech,” said Koda.

“It would be so nice to get an infra project out here,” said Mandela wistfully. “Just plant a bunch of trees in the median and on either side, maybe put down some dirt, and you’d have such a great road.”

“Hah,” said Koda. “Maybe bring it up at the truck stop and they’ll relay it to, what, Salt Lake? What’s the nearest city?”

“Reno, as of today,” said Star.

“Hell yeah,” said Poke. “That’s progress right there.”

We traipsed on in silence for a while. The sun rose steadily.

“You guys mind if I dictate?” I asked. The breeze from the morning had died down.

“Yeah, go for it,” said Mandela.

“Sure,” said Koda.

I reached back overhead and rummaged around in my pack. My fingers touched the toothbrush, crank battery, utility knife, and recorder.

 I inspected it for dust and damage as I walked, absentmindedly falling into step behind Poke so I wouldn’t twist an ankle. The recorder’s batteries were still mostly charged and its current storage chip was only half full. The blue paint was chipped. My fingers had long since worn away the text on the buttons.

I clicked it on.

“Alright, day seven of the San Francisco courier trip. We’re almost to the truck stop, and it’s a beautiful day to be walking, especially after the run-in I had with a dreamer last night. However, I was in and out in maybe ten minutes. Nothing scary, it was, uh...”

I trailed off, unsure.

“Are you guys okay with me talking about it?”

I was met with grunts of assent.

“It was a market in some snowy mountains somewhere. The tether this time was my wallet that got stolen. Nice wallet though, I remember it was made by some random friend and had something etched on the front.”

“What was it?” asked Mandela, hunting oneiric symbols.

“I’m not sure, I just remember that it was significant somehow. In the dream.”

“Probably a crane, har har,” said Poke.

“That’s a tether for you,” said Koda.

“Yeah, it was pretty textbook,” I continued. “The dreamer got into my tent somehow, I must have left the flap open a little. I found one more on the roof and knocked it off before I got out, and then...who got the other one? Star?”

“Dela got it,” said Star.

“Yeah, Mandela got the other one. Three in total. Anyway, the weather is nice and we’re making good time. We did a package check this morning and everything looks okay.”

I clicked the recorder off and took a sip of water.

“We did do a package check, right?”

“Poke did,” said Koda.

“Yep.”

We walked on. I watched the scenery pass. There weren’t many structures or ruins on our route. There was an occasional tree with a dreamer or two hanging in the branches like a limp balloon, but as far as I could see it was mostly grass and scrub. Some low brown hills crept by us in the middle distance, and closer to the horizon I could just make out the mountain range. It was odd being this far west and not hearing cicadas in the late summer.

Cloud shadows drifted on the dead grass. There was enough cover that the air stayed cooler than it had been at the start of our trip.

“We can stop for a meal up ahead,” Star said after a while. “There’s a rest area somewhere around here, if it isn’t filled with dreamers.”

Sure enough, the rest stop materialized as our path drew closer alongside the raised highway. It didn’t look like anything much, just a bathroom and a few shade-giving structures with some trees and picnic tables, but I was glad to see it. Then we got closer and I noticed the dreamer infestation.

They slumped and clumped on the trees. Tendrils hung in the air and trailed over the picnic tables. As we watched, one slid off a branch and splatted onto the concrete, where it lay motionless for a moment before beginning a slow slide into the men’s room.

Koda inhaled and sighed deeply, and started expanding his walking stick.

“You know,” he said slowly, “when I was a California baby, we had these things called piñatas. I loved them.” 

“...yeah?” said Poke.

“They were cardboard creatures, and they were filled with candy. When it was your birthday, they’d put a blindfold on you and give you a stick, and they’d hang one on a rope from a tree branch and let you go wild on it.”

“That sounds fun,” said Star.

“Yeah, it was pretty fun as a kid,” said Koda. “I remember one time one of my uncles was in charge of the rope and he kept yanking it up and down while I was blindfolded. I only got a few hits in before getting so frustrated I cried.”

We tried to imagine him as a crying child and there was a moment of silence, interrupted by two sharp clicks as Koda finished locking out the ends of his staff.

As we approached, one dreamer slipped off a picnic table and moved slowly towards us. As its tendrils extended upwards, Poke took a running leap and stomped on it with both feet. It made a huge mess, and Poke lurched backwards on his suddenly-slippery soles before righting himself under his frame pack. He turned back towards us in shame.

“Sorry.”

“Be careful,” said Star.

Koda said nothing and swatted the two remaining dreamers out of the trees.

We began the smashing in earnest. The procedure was very simple (if you were prepared): watch each other’s backs, always keep an eye on what’s above you, and burst the rubbery outer shell of the dreamer to destroy them. I didn’t think about it as killing, because I didn’t think they were alive. Dreamers just sat around and multiplied when nobody was looking. The closest Earth thing to them was a jellyfish, visually, but at least jellyfish had to eat. 

The folklore said dreamers were solar-powered, and that was why you didn’t see as many when it was overcast. My anecdotal evidence said otherwise. It was interesting to see them after the person they’d attached to woke up, though. They barely moved, and didn’t even reach for a new person. They just lay there like fat little batteries.

I wiped some sweat off my brow and checked on the rest of the group. Koda’s methodical stomping had coated the lower half of his boots in a layer of gelatinous dreamer innards. Star and Poke weren’t far behind, and they always had each other’s backs. Mandela was still struggling with the finer techniques of dreamer smushing.

“Dela, you gotta be more decisive,” I called to her. “You’ll only slip on them if you don’t burst the outer part. If you punch through the center you’ll be fine.”

Gazing thoughtfully downwards, she gave me a thumbs-up and raised a leg for a particularly powerful stomp.

“I think that’s all of them,” said Poke.

Star huffed. “Man. That was a lot of dreamers.” 

Even Koda was breathing a little hard. 

We shrugged our packs off onto the picnic tables and slumped down in the shade. I felt a tickle at the back of my neck and flailed for an embarrassing few seconds until I realized some of my hair had come loose from where I’d tied it back. Mandela giggled.

We unpacked the rest of the lunch. Dense bread, dried meat, and dried fruit was the same thing we’d had on most of the trip, but none of us really cared. It got the job done, and now that we’d cleared out the dreamers, this rest stop was definitely one of the nicer places we’d eaten. All the tables were in the shade of the trees and structures by now, alleviating the worst of the heat, and we could see for miles across the empty landscape.

“We’ve got twenty minutes before we need to head out, if you guys want to relax,” said Star. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that the clunky watch on her wrist served the same purpose as her laminated map.

Koda stretched out across the top of one of the concrete tables and closed his eyes. Poke began methodically cleaning his rifle, even though it had been a few days since he’d last fired it. Mandela started trying to sketch the dappled shade across his shoulders.

I grabbed a roll of paper and wandered over to the bathrooms. The structure would have been a disgusting place pre-crash, rarely cleaned for the volume of people that passed through it. Now it was just a dusty shelter for the animals that sometimes slept there. A small amount of light came in through the gap between the walls and the rafters. Someone had installed a pump by one of the toilets.

There was nothing in the stalls or on the ceiling, so I sat down and the dreamer fell onto my neck from its perch atop the wall.

The mascot costume is heavy and my undershirt is soaked with sweat. Drums and whistles clatter all around me. We’re approaching the second hour of the parade, and it isn’t showing any signs of stopping. I don’t even know what part of the city we’re in anymore. Worst of all, the five cups of coffee I had this morning are getting to me.

I need to stop, find somewhere to take a break, but I’m in the middle of a group of other mascots. Sweat drips into my eyes and I blink furiously in the steamy, still air of my costume. It’s stifling. I stumble and the mascot behind me collides with me. It grabs me, shoving me up and forwards, and I can catch a muffled expletive through its snout.

We march on through the sun-drenched streets. My eyes scan the sidewalks for a convenient alley or convenience store, but everything is roped off for us. For our parade. 

The light glitters off the windows and the drums echo off the buildings. The coffee churns in my gut and I can almost taste it in my mouth, bitter and burned. Poke never burned it.

When I remember who Poke is, I break into a cold sweat inside the costume. I don’t remember how I got here, not yet, but I need to clear my mind. That’s the first thing. I know there’s a second thing, but I can’t remember it yet.

The first step is always to accept your current situation; to take stock of what you’ve got. In this world, it’s established that I have to continue the parade. The physically roped-off alleys, the other mascots that push me if I falter. I can’t stop marching; that’s a given. I almost reach to pull off the head of my costume, but something tells me that’s a bad idea.

I take a deep breath of sweaty air and slowly let it out. Clear-minded. That’s the second thing. Remain clear-minded in spite of the obstacles the dream throws at you: tethers, physical discomfort, or rare emotional appeals. 

I remember the next step is to see your death. How can I die here?

I’m on the street, but it’s all closed off. I can’t be run over by any cars. Something could drop on me, maybe. I look up and in an instant the sun blinds me, but I have enough time to realize I’m in the middle of a large avenue. Not underneath any windows or scaffolding.

The parade turns a corner and I sneak a look backwards. We’re part of a small cohort at the head of the procession. Behind me plod other brightly colored mascots, followed by a marching band and a train of whimsically themed floats. My padded feet slip on a pile of confetti and I almost fall. The costumed creature behind me doesn’t push this time, instead opting to knee me in the kidney. Even through the layers of fabric, it hurts. If I were to fall, I’d get no sympathy.

But would that be enough to kill me, I think, trudging along. Let’s see. If I did fall right now, the other mascots would trample me first. It’d hurt, but wouldn’t be enough. They’d be followed by the band, weighed down by their gigantic instruments. Maybe that would be enough, but there’s more to the parade. I was able to see at least five floats before they disappeared in the haze of heat and confetti.

If I were lucky, the wheels of the first float would hit my head instead of my legs.

I bolted upright on the cold seat. My head snapped back and crushed the dreamer against the concrete. I ripped it off my neck and slammed it against the wall a few more times for good measure. Then I stuffed it into the toilet, where it lay as I tried desperately to flush it with the pump.

I splashed water onto my face when I washed my hands. The bathroom was cramped and dark like a mascot costume.

When I ventured back out into the light, I noticed that the sun had shifted, and the rest of the group was watching me. Mandela visibly relaxed as she saw me emerge. 

“You okay in there?” asked Poke. “I heard a lot of slamming towards the end.”

“You should eat more fiber,” said Star.

They were unconditionally glad to see me, which warmed my heart, but I couldn’t believe I missed the dreamer. I had even seen it crawl into the bathroom as we were walking up.

“Tricky, aren’t they,” said Koda, watching me silently shake my head.

“They always know somehow,” I said. “They’re always behind or above you, in those weird places where you have to look twice.”

“Yup.”

I stood there a bit longer, trying to follow the line of thought to its end and get it out of my brain, then shook my head.

“Ugh. Let’s pack up, I wanna get out of here.”

“What, you thought we were just sitting around waiting for you?” asked Mandela. “We’re ready to get going.”

I looked at the rest area. Everything was clean. My frame pack sat on the table, fully in order.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, and we kept moving.

I stayed in the back this time and kept my eyes up. I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid parade. We were just a small parade of five people now, camping costumes fluttering in the breeze, but it made me nervous for some reason I couldn’t describe. Acting out part of the dream, however small and remote, felt wrong. Like we were walking into a trap or willingly winding up some vast and terrible mechanism.

I felt like the rest of the group could pick up on my unease. They might have attributed it to the fact that I was grabbed by two dreamers in a day, which was pretty rare, but I could never tell what they were thinking sometimes.

I kept walking.

It was mid-afternoon when we got to the outskirts of the truck stop. It was a small settlement, but the farms and scattered animal pens stretched out for a few miles around it. Some people in the fields glanced at us as we approached, but a group of couriers was nothing new to them. I was glad we’d made it before the sun went down, because there was nothing worse than checking for dreamers in the dark.

We passed a large wooden sign that said THEATER. Behind it, a solar panel array stretched over to the hills. I blinked in the reflected sunlight.

“Is that a road name?” I asked.

“Pretty sure it’s the town name,” said Star. “I’ve seen weirder. I stopped at a place in Montana once that was just called E.”

“The solar panels look pretty clean,” said Mandela. “That’s always a good sign.”

“Looks like a big place,” said Poke.

“Maybe,” said Koda, after some thought. “I’d estimate a few hundred based on the farms, but we don’t know what the southern side looks like.”

We passed the inner wall. It was nothing special, a ring of repurposed livestock fencing around the core of the town. A few kids on bikes sprinted past. Old trees grew from the remains of the paved road, thick roots pushing aside chunks of asphalt.

“Look, they could have dug up the pavement around those trees like they did for the main road,” said Mandela, pointing. “But they didn’t. It’s restricting their growth.”

“They’re making a statement,” chuckled Koda. “Theater likes their theatrics.”

The truck stop was a complex of a few buildings. Oak trees shaded the remains of a parking lot, around which a few structures rose for a couple stories. I could see the garage in the back. The parking lot was enclosed by a low fence that seemed more for decoration than utility. Where it opened to the main road, a woman lounged with her feet up on a table. 

Despite the fact that she had watched us approach, she waited until we were at the table to swing her feet down and stand up to greet us.

“Afternoon,” said Koda.

“Hello, folks, my name’s Samantha, but you can just call me Sam,” she said. “We’ve got the common area here, lodgings over there”—she pointed to an ancient hotel-looking building—“and of course, the garage is behind the common area. Our truck stop offers a range of amenities, including hot meals, hot showers, and a prime location in Theater’s historic downtown.”

Recitation over, Sam smiled at us. “Well. If you’d like to follow me, we can deal with payment inside.”

She sized us up as she escorted us past the fence and into the truck stop. I felt more remains of asphalt under my feet. The air was cooler inside the compound.

“Five couriers is kinda rare, huh? Let’s see...”

Her eye was drawn down to Koda, as usual, and his gray-streaked hair.

“Leader.”

Koda nodded.

“Navigator,” she said, looking at Star and the constellation tattoos on her hands.

“That one’s a gimme,” Star said.

Sam’s eyes flitted over to Mandela, then Poke, noting his rifle, then back to Mandela. Most people on the road tended to give her a second look, which we were used to by now.

“If he’s the hunter, then you’re the mechanic.”

Mandela nodded. “Mechanic and botanist.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on her and then settled on me.

“So what are you, the second mechanic?”

“I’m an archivist,” I replied. 

“Archivist?”

“I’m documenting the rebuilding, mostly, and taking some field notes for when Chicago eventually gets the trains out here.”

Sam frowned. “Rebuilding what, exactly? We’re not doing much of that these days.”

I shrugged. “Someone’s gotta write things down, might as well be a courier. We carry little things,” I said, neglecting to mention what our current package was, “but they add up. Traveling is a good source of information too.”

“The extra pair of hands has been pretty nice,” said Koda.

“I can imagine,” Sam said absently. “Here’s the main hall. We’ve got a few people passing through, but I’m sure you folks will want to get on the road as soon as possible tomorrow. I’ll tell the mechanics to prioritize your group tonight.”

“What kind of trucks do you have?” asked Mandela, craning her neck to look over at the garage. Bits of conversation floated over, followed by the clang of someone dropping a metal tool on a concrete floor.

“Oh, this and that,” said Sam, raising her voice over the ensuing swearing. “No gas, obviously, but we’ve got two vans and a few flatbeds.”

Mandela murmured something.

“Where are the showers?” I asked.

“Ha!” said Sam. “No worries. We’ve got them in the lodgings. I’ll get your group set up with the keys.”

We entered a large lobby that must have been grand once. Wires snaked across the flaking plaster and through crudely punched holes in the walls. A few copper pipes rose into the ceiling. Despite this, the rest of the space was taken care of. The afternoon sunlight through the windows only lit up a few dust motes, and someone had swept the floor recently. 

Sam sat down at a large desk and flipped open her computer, already working the pedal on the floor. I felt the soft vibrations of the flywheel, heard it squeak as it started transferring power into the computer. 

“Thing takes forever to start,” she said, poking a few keys.

“That sounds like a small wheel,” said Mandela. “What do you do if you need to get up or something?”

Sam looked up at us over the lid of the computer.

“Well, then she saves her work,” said Koda, who was already digging into his pack, and said to Sam: “Two rooms should be plenty, thanks.”

“I don’t use it for much besides numbers,” Sam said, licking a thumb to count the bills she had been handed, “and to keep track of a couple things. We’ve got a guest book in the common area if you’d like to sign that.”

Sam pulled open a drawer and withdrew a group of worn golden keys. Their edges were soft with use.

“Two rooms, then. Second floor, first two on the right.”

The shower was everything I had hoped for. I still checked for dreamers, though. Afterwards, I lay on the bed, sandals and all, and watched as the rest of the couriers unpacked.

“What did Sam tell you about Theater? Is there anything cool here?” said Mandela, poking her head through the door to the room that I shared with Koda and Poke.

“Not much,” said Koda, emptying his pockets onto the single table. “Kinda funny that they actually have a theater though.”

“Closed ‘till Thursday!” hollered Star from the next room.

“It’s fine,” I said, lounging on my hard mattress. “You see one terrible rendition of a Shakespeare play, you’ve seen them all.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing any rendition,” said Mandela coolly.

“Well, if you’re up for an afternoon stroll, we can at least check out the building,” said Koda, leaning out into the hallway. “Any other takers?”

Poke nodded.

“Crane?”

“I would, but I’ve got some sleep to catch up on,” I said, lying back on the mattress. The tough springs were heaven after a few dreamer-infested days on the road. “Just lock me in when you leave. I’ll have the window closed.”

Koda tossed me the spare key from the doorway as they headed out. I was asleep before my fingers finished curling around it.

I never dream.

* * *

For a second after I awoke, I thought I was back home. The wall was to the right of my head and the dim light through my closed eyes was exactly how I remembered it. I lay there, relishing the illusion, until someone across the hall slammed their door. The spell broke and I woke up properly.

The room was silent, dark, and stuffy, and the sunset painted a deep orange square on the far wall. My mouth was dry and my head pounded. The water in my pack was still cool. From the rest stop in the desert that had been full of dreamers.

I shook my head despite the pain, trying to dislodge the vision that clung to my brain like a gummy tentacle. 

I slid open the window and took a breath of dry air. It was time to do my job and talk to some locals. I put more clothes on and grabbed my things from my pack, leaving a note for Koda and the rest of the group on the door as I left.

Archiving. Common area then closest tavern. Opened window for air. Watch for dreamers.

The door locked firmly behind me and I trotted down the worn steps and out of the bunk building. It was going to be a clear night, but the day wouldn’t let go just yet. Long shadows from the town’s other buildings stretched across the courtyard. The grand windows of the main hall were dark, but I saw a figure inside, silhouetted against the dusk as she swept the floors.

I wondered what this place had been before the crash. Maybe after the crash, for a little while, before the dreamers started dragging people away from the waking world. Before people figured out how to escape or constantly look over their shoulders and whole towns were swallowed up. 

Who knows how long it took the first dreamers to reach this little desert town after their capsule hit the Pacific. Maybe they hitched a ride on the bottom of a desert bus, or on the wheels of an airliner passing overhead. Or maybe they just brainlessly slithered their way across the desert, chasing whatever it is people have that draws them.

I checked above the door to the common room, but it was clear. I pushed it open and the figure at the far wall stopped sweeping when she heard the creak.

“Hi,” said Sam. Her voice echoed off the hardwood floor and high ceilings. “What can I do for you?”

“Just some conversation, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I always talk to one or two people in the places we pass through.”

“I’ve got a busy evening ahead of me,” said Sam, “but go ahead. You’ve got until I finish this room.”

By the looks of things, she was close to done. I felt my way over to one of the threadbare seats, trying not to bark a shin on a low table, and hastily made myself comfortable. Most people liked talking about their lives to anyone who’d listen. Sam was a rare sort.

It was too dark to take notes, but that was fine. I barely wrote things these days anyway since I was always walking. I clicked a few buttons on the hand recorder.

“So, Sam, you were born post-crash, right? Was it here in Theater?”

“Mm-hmm. Born and raised.”

That was unfortunate. She didn’t look old enough to have a PC birth year but you never knew. I was still waiting to hear about the first few crash years from someone who wasn’t Koda.

“Was it always called that?” I asked, and watched her silhouette pause mid-sweep.

“No, we used to be Aberdeen.”

“What’s the story behind the name change? Did it have anything to do with dreamers?”

She sighed. “We opened a theater. It keeps everyone sane. We’ve got original plays by one guy, but the theater’s closed right now.”

“Until next Thursday,” I pointed out helpfully.

“That’s right. Opening night,” she said and picked up the broom.

“Is the playwright available to interview?”

Sam paused in the doorway to the lobby, a shadow in the dusk.

“No. He locks himself in the tower of his house for a week before he finishes a play. Also, if you want to interview more people, the tavern’s right off the square. Sorry for not being too talkative tonight, but it’s been a long day and my work isn’t done yet.”

That was disappointing, but then again I wasn’t sure if I had the energy for an extended interview. It had been a long day. 

Lights came on outside. The streetlights here still worked, but I wasn’t sure how much longer the local power grid would stay up. That was a question for Mandela. Towns with good grids were always nice though, otherwise we’d be checking for dreamers everywhere. 

I wandered in the approximate direction of the town’s center. Star would have been able to find it in an instant, but I just walked towards whichever cluster of lights was brightest. 

Before long, the tree-lined street opened onto a plaza. A few strings of weak electric bulbs spanned the area between rusted traffic lights. More people wandered around. I didn’t like how carefree they seemed. The plaza was well-lit and full of good lines of sight, but you never knew what lurked around the corner in a dark alleyway.

The tavern was a large building at the far end of the plaza. An unlit sign indicated that it was called the Albatross. Inside, it was dim and quiet. I ordered the weakest beer I could find and settled in a corner, taking notes and wondering when the rest of the couriers would show up.

Eventually, I’d had enough. The place had filled up with more people. I got another drink and made a circuit of the main area until I saw what I was looking for: two people roughly my age who seemed to be enjoying themselves. I caught their eyes as I approached.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked. The locals smiled beerily and made welcoming gestures, so I pulled up a chair. After some small talk, it was established that they were Will and Hog (real name unknown). As for mine...

“Crane? That’s not a real name,” said the ever-observant Will.

“That’s right,” I replied. “You guys don’t know about road-names? You don’t do them?”

“What?” said Hog.

I paused, unsure how to explain the concept. They were big boys.

“It’s, uh, it’s easier to do certain things when you’re a little detached from people. On the road. 

“Imagine you’re traveling through some difficult mountains, and someone in your group gets grabbed by a dreamer. Of course you take care of them while they’re dreaming. But imagine an entire day passes, or maybe more, and you have to take care of this person and watch your own back at the same time, and you have no idea when or if they’re gonna make it back up. Imagine the next town is a week or more away, and the entire time you’re not moving, but you’re eating into your supplies. Then a storm rolls by, or the temperature drops, and you have to get moving, so you make a choice...”

I gazed into the distance and brought my drink to my lips, letting the timeout bracelet on my wrist catch the light.

“What?” said Hog.

“Forget it,” I said. “It’s an old courier tradition.”

I neglected to mention the superstition about real names and other people in dreams, and that most courier teams inevitably became close after a few weeks on the road.

“What’s your real name?” Will asked.

“My home-name? It’s a little similar to my road-name. But it’s bad luck to say it right now. And I’m not going to part with it on the road like this,” I added, trying to indicate that some peer pressure and a little more beer would convince me to part with it.

Will nodded sagely and glanced at my half-empty glass.

“So,” I continued, “what’s with the playwright? I hear he’s a recluse.”

“No, he’s a man,” said Hog, and laughed a deep hur-hur-hur.

“Shut up,” said Will, scratching the back of his neck. He turned to me. “Mr. Haywood is great. He keeps us sane.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You gonna be around for opening night on Thursday? I hear the newest play is going to be some powerful stuff.”

“What kinds of plays does he write?”

“Weird ones,” said Hog.

“Absurdist dramas,” said Will.

I nodded and left a gap in the conversation, trying to get more out of them without appearing too nosy, but they didn’t bite.

“You guys squash any dreamers lately?”

There was a pause. Hog scratched some stubble. “Not really.”

“Do you know what they are?” said Will. “You’re from one of the cities, right?”

“We left from Chicago, yeah,” I said. “Nobody knows what they are yet.”

Will set his drink down a little harder than he intended, slopping foam over his knuckles, and leaned over the table towards me. 

“Hog and I think they’re alien recreational devices.”

“Alien weed,” Hog added proudly.

“Not like weed, man,” said Will. “I told you. It’s like alien acid. You have to forget your earthly attachments and see your own death so you can ascend.”

I was glad that the survival folklore had made it to Theater, but less thrilled to see it come up in this context. The two-step solution was supposed to be used in life-or-dream-death situations, not half-baked conspiracy theories.

A small group pushed through the doors of the Albatross. One of its members waved.

“Next round is on me,” I said, and pushed my chair back. “Enjoy your night.”

I got in line and bought a large bowl of stew. The other couriers were almost finished with theirs by the time I got to their booth.

“You guys have a nice walk? I’ve been archiving. Scoot over.”

“Archiving brews, maybe,” said Star.

“False,” I said. “I’ve been assembling my data and I think Theater is close to a major breakthrough on what Dreamers actually are.”

“Really?” asked Mandela. “What are they saying?”

“Check this out.” I produced my notebook and spread it flat on the table. Everyone peered over their bowls as I carefully added another tally mark for Alien Weed.

Star dropped her spoon and rolled her eyes.

Mandela groaned. “I hate townies like that. You know they’ve never lost anyone to a timeout.”

“I tried to tell them about timeouts, but I don’t think they got it.”

“What, they couldn’t even imagine it?”

“I’ll buy us some drinks,” said Star. “Koda can tell you about the town.”

“They don’t get many couriers,” said Koda.

“Star said she’d been through before,” said Poke.

“That was years ago. I guess they haven’t had any since.”

Odd movement in my peripheral vision made me glance towards the bar. Star had been cornered by one of the locals. He gestured and stabbed a finger in our direction. In Mandela’s direction, to be specific, because although I couldn’t hear him, I saw his lips curl around with that and his nose wrinkle as he snarled the epithet. Then he lunged forward and threw a haymaker.

I started, and Poke and I instinctively moved closer on either side of Mandela, but the fact that Koda was still in his seat meant that things hadn’t gone completely south. I thought about what I had just seen and relaxed a little.

Visuals and body language were always important before a fight, doubly so in a room full of strangers. Anyone watching would have seen Star’s palms up in a placating gesture, head and gaze lowered as the aggressor loomed over her. That’s why it was okay for her to block the haymaker with her elbow and hit the man very hard in the throat. The kick to the stomach was probably warranted too.

The townie’s flailing arms cleared a table as he fell backwards. Star stood still, the model of restraint, as glass broke around her. Koda strode up a moment later before the other locals got to the scene to break up a fight that had already ended, and knelt down by the fallen man. Then he stood up and turned to Star. He said something and they both looked back at us, saw Poke and I sitting on either side of a very nervous Mandela.

I looked around the room. Will and Hog were glaring at me. The arrangement of legs under their chairs indicated they had been about to get up.

As conversation started to rise around the Albatross once more, Koda and Star leaned over to the bartender and had a hushed discussion.

There was a quiet noise next to me. Mandela and I looked over at Poke, who had just sheathed his knife. 

“What?” he asked.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” I said.

“I checked my rifle at the truck stop. I gotta have something.”

Star returned with drinks.

“Good news!” she said. “We’re going to drink these, and then we’re going to leave!”

* * *

I woke up again after less than an hour’s worth of sleep. I was still a little tense from the bar fight. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering if Star was also wound up and awake in her room, and then slowly sat up and looked out the window. 

A single light shone in the dark town. It was in the spire of a house on a hill, not far from here. The playwright was working late, and I suddenly needed to see.

The nap I had taken earlier in the afternoon had screwed up my sleep schedule, and a walk in the cool air before crawling back under warm blankets would help. Some part of me, the archivist that refused to leave a blank section in his notebook, told me this was a good idea.

I debated it internally and reached a decision after a few minutes.

The springs under the cot squeaked as I sat up, and I froze and looked back at Koda and Poke. Neither of them stirred as I pulled on my outdoor clothes, but I still kept my moon-shadow clear of their faces as I padded towards the door to pull on my boots and jacket. I paused at the door for a moment and decided to lock it. Koda had a spare key.

I stayed in the darkness as I made my way over to the playwright’s house. It was easier to see other things in the shadows when you didn’t walk in the light. The last thing I wanted was for a dreamer to fall on me, I thought as I checked the branches of a tree before passing underneath it. I imagined the rest of the couriers waking up and having to deal with an angry local who’d found me underneath a dreamer in someone’s backyard, or — I shook my head just thinking of it — some idiot panicking and pulling it off my neck before I made it back up. Dream death was supposed to be a peaceful way to go, but still.

In the still air, the bush ahead of me rustled. I stopped and waited for fifteen seconds until a dreamer slipped out from underneath it and crawled around the corner, trailing twigs and leaves.

Dream death. That happened once in my hometown, when I was much younger. They never said who accidentally pulled the plug. I supposed the guilt was punishment enough.

At least our group had never needed to deal with a timeout on the road. I’d met courier teams who had done it and they didn’t tend to stay together very long afterwards. Aside from the obvious reason of being down one member, a lot of people just couldn’t face the possibility of doing that to another person again. And so they stayed home, or traveled alone until a dreamer grabbed them.

I rounded a corner and stopped. I was at one end of an overgrown courtyard, which Haywood’s house overlooked. A single window on the second floor was lit up, and through it I could see the top of the playwright’s bald head. It looked like he was bent over a desk.

Something told me I needed a better view. This was straying out of night walk territory and into trespassing and spying on townie territory, but I didn’t care. Just like the snow market dream from the other day, I sought higher ground. In this case I climbed a toolshed in someone’s backyard and peered up at his window. 

I couldn’t see much. Haywood’s head didn’t move. He was still bent over his desk.

I climbed further, made it to someone’s covered back porch by way of a thick tree branch, and paused when I tried to make sense of what I saw through the window.

Haywood was bent over his desk, but in an odd position. His arms weren’t writing, but folded on the desk under his head. He was wearing a shapeless hoodie, hood rumpled over the back of his head and drawstrings pooled on the desk. It was an odd hoodie, made of suspiciously nice material for a town in the middle of nowhere. No patches on its surface, and it looked almost translucent...

When I finally understood that a dreamer was pulsing quietly on his spinal cord I almost fell off the roof then and there.

Instead, I just froze in a half-crouch for a few seconds and felt the hairs on the back of my neck dance and tingle in the dark. Like the few minutes after chasing away a spider when every itch feels like it has eight legs, every rustle of wind and click of timber sounded like a gelatinous lump slipping off a ledge. There was a dreamer on him, in his second-floor room with a closed window. 

If dreamers could get into these houses, I needed to go check on the rest of the couriers.

In my panic, I had barely registered the movement in the window. Haywood was stirring. His post-dreamer movement was the slowest I’d ever seen. He sat up with a faint smile and stretched, staring at the wall the entire time. This wasn’t a man flailing around in his first waking moments. This was a man deep in thought. This was a man who reached up and tenderly plucked the alien off his neck like he was picking a flower. This was a man who put the creature in an ornate lacquered box when it was done with him, efficiently cleaned the seeping wounds on his neck, and leaned forward with fire in his dead little eyes to start furiously writing down whatever it was that he had just experienced.

I was very glad we wouldn’t be here for Thursday’s opening night, I reflected in quiet horror as I climbed down from the roof.

I had to warn the group. Had to grab Mandela and Koda and Star and Poke and get out of this cursed place as fast as we could. Grab a truck, maybe, if Mandela could switch out a battery and get it ready for the road on her own. Worst case we all go on a midnight walk together. 

On the face of it, I knew there was nothing logically wrong with talking about dreamer encounters. Their subjects were only taboo due to superstition. But to purposefully seek the nightmares out, and then bring them into the real world and immortalize them...I shuddered. 

My body strained to run, but I knew enough to methodically pick my way back to the truck stop the same way I’d come. I looked at every bush, every overhanging eave and every tree, and despite that the dreamer still almost got me. I was almost to the truck stop, getting greedy with my time, so I barely noticed the tentacles swing up into the leaves. I wasn’t sure what I had seen and so I stupidly walked under the tree to check it out.

Looking up in curiosity was what saved me. My hand intercepted the dreamer as it dropped out of the trees, just barely kept the tentacles away from my neck. The fear and nervousness and disgust at this entire night converged on this thing, and it made a soft pop as I crushed it in my fist. A single tentacle waved at my neck and went limp a moment later as it expired without any further noise. I stuffed it into a knot in the tree and wiped my hands on the rough bark.

The rest of my night walk was uneventful. I moved slowly and methodically and avoided two other potential dreamer encounters before I got to the lodging building.

I crept up the ancient stairs and opened the door to the shared room as quietly as I could. I didn’t know what I expected. Koda sitting on the bed with a light on, maybe, like an angry parent. Poke glaring at me with his rifle on his lap.

I was greeted by nothing but two slumbering shapes. While I was gone, the moon had moved. Now only their edges shone silver in the room. 

I closed the door and leaned against it, thinking while I watched them. What would I accomplish by waking everybody up now? We’d scramble to get our things together and get on the road in the middle of the night. We’d be half-asleep and with an angry town behind us. Probably without a truck. Best to wait it out.

I locked and bolted the door and got into bed, where I stared at the ceiling until dawn.

* * *

Poke was the first one up. He was the type of person who was never affected by post-sleep drowsiness, even after a dreamer encounter. He went from stirring to sitting up and awake in a matter of moments, and that was why we always relied on him to make the coffee.

Even so, I wasn’t prepared for him to turn to me and say “Crane, you look like shit.”

I blinked at him. “It’s been a long night. I’ll tell you guys about it when we eat breakfast.”

Once the rest of the group had gotten ready, we picked up some supplies and food, and walked to the plaza to eat and soak up the early-morning light.

“How was your midnight walk, Crane?” Koda asked after a minute.

I froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth, and looked around the plaza. It was empty.

“I went to Haywood’s house.”

“Who’s Haywood?”

“The playwright. I figured out which house it was from talking to the townies.”

“And? What was it like?”

The sandwich was a lump of glass in my throat as I swallowed.

“Bad,” I said quietly.

Everyone leaned in.

“I know this sounds insane, but Haywood is purposefully going under with dreamers. He keeps one in a box in his desk. I walked to his house last night and I saw him come up from a dream and put it away. Then he started writing everything down.”

“He what?!” Star yelled. It echoed around the plaza as Koda put a finger to his lips.

“He what,” said Poke.

“He’s turning his dreams into plays. He’s making people act them out. And I think he’s been doing it for a while because his neck is” — I shuddered — “all messed up. It’s like there’s been a dreamer on him every night for a month.”

“That’s not good,” said Mandela.

“No, it’s not,” said Koda thoughtfully. “None of you saw anybody crush a dreamer yesterday, correct?”

We looked at each other and shook our heads.

“I think people here have different superstitions. I don’t think they want to kill them.”

We pondered this.

“I think they know about Haywood,” I said, “but I also think they’re scared of me, and want to get us out of here as quickly as possible. Sam didn’t want to talk to me because she knew I was writing everything down. Also, she kept pausing when I asked her about the theater.”

“That sounds about right,” said Koda.

“You didn’t say anything earlier?” said Poke.

“I wasn’t sure until I heard from Crane. Star seemed okay with the town.”

“That was years ago! I was only here for a night and I was a little preoccupied.”

“We need to get out of here as soon as we can, I think,” I said.

“I’ll go get the truck then,” said Mandela, getting up. “You guys can pack up whatever’s still in the rooms.”

I clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I think we should all stick together.”

The rest of the group was already packing. 

“Yeah, we’re not splitting up,” said Star.

We walked back in a group. The town center was sleepy and deserted, but more people were out and about as we got closer to the edge of the inner area.

“Packs now, then check out, then truck,” said Koda.

I opened the door to our room first. “Did one of you leave the window open?”

Koda frowned. “Check everything” — he put a hand on Poke’s chest as he surged forward— “carefully. I’ll check the other room.”

We rummaged. No dreamers, nothing missing.

“All clear,” said Koda from the next room. “Let’s get on the road.”

I was secretly relieved to see Sam not at her desk. We left the keys and headed to the garage.

It was smaller than I’d expected. The concrete floor was clear of tools but covered in oil stains. A truck sat pointing towards the door, which was already opened.

“Oil,” said Mandela quietly. “That means...” and she trailed off as the single mechanic there stood up from behind his workbench.

“Is this our truck?” said Koda. “Sam said you’d have one ready for us this morning. We’ve already checked out and we’re in a hurry.”

“Er, it can be,” he said. “I was about to put the last battery in.”

“Can we help?”

“No, no, I’ve got it,” he said, and we watched him unplug the battery and struggle to lift it off the ground.

“Here,” said Mandela, and leapt up onto the truck bed. She levered the battery bay open and paused.

“There are two empty slots here. I thought you said the truck only needed one.”

Mandela and I shared a look. Don’t ask questions here, we’re just good couriers trying to deliver our package as quickly as possible. We aren’t scared of a town full of dreamer-obsessed idiots.

“We’ve got the second one,” I said quickly, unplugging another battery. Poke helped me lift it into the truck bed as Mandela and the mechanic finished installing the first one. Koda and Star had already picked up the keys and were beginning to load up our packs.

Ten minutes later, we were out on the open road. The truck whirred quietly over the cracked highway. Koda was on the first driving shift.

“That town sucked,” said Star, dangling an arm out the window. “I don’t remember it being like that the last time I passed through.”

“Sure lived up to the name,” said Poke.

“I wonder what the play was about,” Mandela muttered. “Nothing good, probably.”

“You know,” said Koda, still looking at the road, “when I was a kid, we had naturally occurring dreams. People really liked to talk about them. There was no superstition around it.”

Poke wrinkled his nose.

“The funny part,” Koda continued, “was that nobody else wanted to hear about them. Nobody! It was universal. We all treated our own dreams as these incredible secret visions, but anyone else who heard about them just thought they were nonsense.”

“So you’re not too sad about missing the play, huh,” said Star.

“Not in the slightest.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You know, that town is pretty close to battery death,” said Mandela. “And I think they’re only just realizing it now.”

“Yeah?” said Poke.

“Do you remember the flywheel Sam was using for her computer? They know the basics of how to run a computer with dead batteries, but they’re still working out how to make it efficient. The wheel was too small, and running on bad bearings. Also the gearing was off, so Sam had to push the pedal faster than normal.”

“Hmm,” said Koda.

“And Sam said they don’t use gas anymore, but those were fresh oil stains on the floor. They probably found some old barrels and are trying to run some generators or something, and didn’t want us taking that last battery.” 

I scribbled furiously in my own shorthand, watching Mandela gesture as she spoke.

“Also, speaking of which, the batteries on this truck” — she jerked a thumb behind us — “are terrible. They’re not gonna fail on us before we get to the next truck stop, but I don’t think we should leave it parked in the sun if we can avoid it. I’m gonna see if I can disconnect the cables when we stop for the night.”

I glanced back at the San Francisco-bound package tied down in the truck bed. We were still a long way out, but were making progress. We would definitely be there before winter. Maybe I could make it home next year in time to spend the summer with my family.

“You must have a lot of notes, Crane,” said Mandela. “Gonna write us a story about them?”

I had so many notes. I had to tie the events of the last day and a half into a neat little package, not to mention the voice clips about the playwright and the townies’ views on dreamers to integrate and the visions from the dreams, plus my own memories before they faded and the notes from Mandela rambling about battery death...

“Eventually,” I said, reclining my seat. “For now, I’m going to get some damn sleep.”

[vh-rp]

The Nug

HABITAT: Orzammar, Crestwood, Emerald Graves, Emprise du Lion, Exalted Plains, Frostback Mountains, Hinterlands, Forbidden Oasis, Storm Coast COMPANION: Yes MOUNT: ..... (no) SHAPESHIFT: Yes CALLED UPON Yes

Nugs are diminutive, hairless creatures found exclusively in the subterranean realms of Thedas. These small, nearly blind animals sport pointed snouts ideal for digging through cavernous environments. Despite their innocuous appearance, nugs are voracious omnivores, consuming a wide array of sustenance found on the cavern floors, from insects and worms to minerals like limestone and simple metals when food sources are scarce. Their industrious digging habits have earned them the affectionate nickname among dwarves as "mud splashers."

In various cultures across Thedas, nugs play multifaceted roles. In Orzammar, nug-wranglers capture and sell nugs for various purposes, including as pets and as a crucial food source. Among the noble circles of Orlais, there exists a niche market for "lap-nugs," specially bred for companionship and luxury. Dwarven cuisine prizes nugs as a staple food, cherished for their tender meat that blends the flavors of pork and hare—a delicacy prepared in diverse culinary styles such as nug pancakes, nug-gets, and even nug bacon.

Despite their adaptation to underground life, nugs are ill-suited to non-temperate environments and remain vulnerable prey to a myriad of predators. One peculiar and often unsettling feature of nugs is their limb structure, which terminates in appendages eerily resembling hands—a characteristic shared with their larger relatives.

Beyond sustenance and sport, nugs also participate in a unique form of entertainment popular among the lower castes of dwarven society: nug racing. Bred for speed and agility, these nugs race through specially prepared tunnels, spurred on by the scent of roasted roof beetles. The races, adorned with house emblems and attended by nobles and casteless alike, provide not only entertainment but also a means of livelihood for successful breeders who later sell the retired nugs for consumption.

In essence, nugs embody a fascinating blend of utility and cultural significance across Thedas, from their role as a dietary staple to their involvement in unique sporting events, illustrating their adaptability and enduring presence in dwarven society.

[coldpenguintaco]

About MarketsandMarkets Study- Know How Building Panels Market Is Trending In Key Regions To Reach Next Level In Coming Years?

About MarketsandMarkets Study- Know How Building Panels Market Is Trending In Key Regions To Reach Next Level In Coming Years?

Building panels are large, prefabricated structural components used in construction. They are typically made from materials such as metal, concrete, or wood and can be used to form walls, roofs, and floors. Building panels are a cost-effective and time-saving way to construct buildings, as they can be quickly installed with minimal labor. The demand for building panels is increasing due to the…

[superbloverwhispers]

A Comprehensive Guide to Roofing Materials by a Roofer in Carlsbad, CA

Introduction

Welcome to this comprehensive guide on roofing materials provided by a roofer in Carlsbad, CA. In this article, we will explore the various types of roofing materials available in the market, their pros and cons, and which ones are best suited for different climates and architectural styles. Whether you are a homeowner looking to replace your roof or a contractor seeking expert advice, this best roofers in Carlsbad guide will provide valuable insights to help you make informed decisions. So let's dive in!

A Comprehensive Guide to Roofing Materials by a Roofer in Carlsbad, CA

Roofing materials play a crucial role in protecting your home from the elements while enhancing its aesthetic appeal. As a roofer in Carlsbad, CA, I have worked with numerous roofing materials throughout my career and have gained extensive knowledge on their performance, durability, and suitability for different environments. In this section, I will share my expertise on some of the most popular roofing materials.

Asphalt Shingles: A Budget-Friendly Option

Asphalt shingles are the most commonly used roofing material in North America due to their affordability and ease of installation. They are available in various styles and colors, making them versatile for any architectural style. However, they may not be the best choice for areas with extreme weather conditions as they have a shorter lifespan compared to other materials.

Metal Roofing: Durability and Energy Efficiency Combined

Metal roofing has gained popularity over the years due to its exceptional durability and energy efficiency. It is highly resistant to fire, rot, and insects, making it an excellent long-term investment for homeowners. Additionally, metal roofs can reflect heat effectively, reducing cooling costs during hot summers. However, they can be more expensive than other options initially.

Clay Tiles: Timeless Elegance with Superior Performance

Clay tiles offer a timeless and elegant look to any home while providing superior protection against the elements. They are extremely durable and can withstand harsh weather conditions, making them ideal for coastal areas like Carlsbad, CA. However, clay tiles are heavy, and the installation process requires expertise.

Wood Shingles: Natural Beauty with Maintenance Requirements

Wood shingles provide a rustic and natural aesthetic to homes, enhancing their curb appeal. They are environmentally friendly and offer excellent insulation properties. However, wood shingles require regular maintenance to prevent rot and mold growth. In areas prone to wildfires, they may not be the best choice due to their combustible nature.

Slate Roofing: Unparalleled Elegance and Longevity

Slate roofing is known for its unparalleled elegance and longevity. It can last up to a century if properly maintained, making it a worthwhile investment for homeowners seeking a long-term solution. However, slate is heavy and requires expert installation due to its fragile nature.

Concrete Tiles: A Durable and Versatile Option

Concrete tiles are known for their durability and versatility. They come in various shapes, colors, and textures, allowing homeowners to achieve the desired aesthetic for their homes. Concrete tiles are fire-resistant and have a longer lifespan compared to asphalt shingles. However, they can be heavy, requiring additional support during installation.

Synth

[trendingrepots]

Facades Market - Forecast (2024 - 2030)

Facades Market size is forecast to reach $242 billion by 2025, after growing at a CAGR of 5.6% during 2020-2025. With rise in Building and construction industries, the Facades Market is witnessing an increase in demand. Growing public interest towards environment-friendly façade (i.e green façade) will further enhance the overall market demand for Facades during the forecast period. 

𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞

Report Coverage

The report: “Facades Market – Forecast (2020-2025)”, by IndustryARC, covers an in-depth analysis of the following segments of the Facades Industry. 

By Materials – Wood, Cement (Fibre Cement, Portland Cement, Pulverized Limestone, Concrete, Others), Polymers (Resin, Polyamide, EPDM (Ethylene Propylene Diene Terpolymer), Others), Glass (Float glass, Sheet glass, Patterned glass, Wired glass), Metal (Steel, Aluminium, Copper, Others).

By Application – Industrial, Commercial, Residential, Others.

By Geography – North America, South America, Europe, APAC, RoW.

Key Takeaways

Asia-Pacific dominates the Facades Market owing to increasing demand from applications Buildings and Construction industries. 

The growing corporate industries, is likely to aid in the market growth of facades.

Increasing adoption of sustainable and environment friendly products such as green façade, which will increase the market demand for Facades in the near future.

Wooden facade is much more flammable, which will create hurdles for the Facades Market. 

Material - Segment Analysis

Glass façade holds the largest market share in the Facades Market due to increase in overall construction activities due to urbanization is a major factor for the growth of Facades Market. Rise in Consumer spending power and demand for a secured and protected workplace environment is growing demand for facades globally. Facades are vital components of the building & covers roof, street awnings, and ventilation louvers, along with the vertical and horizontal aspects of the building. Facades provides durability, safety & aesthetic feel, and focuses on energy efficiency and interior comfort requirements of the building. Increasing adoption of facades in rapidly growing construction industry for commercial and residential projects is expected to boost demand for facades and drives growth of the global market over the forecast period. 

Application - Segment Analysis

Commercial sector has been the primary market for Facades, due to the rise in the number of commercial buildings, such as retail stores, hotels, medical centers, warehouses, and garages. Corporates offices are highly dependent on façade as, it is one of the most integral pieces to the overall design of the structure, as it adds a unique personality and character to it. There is ‘n’ number of buildings that settle for standard designs and perfectly meet the structural regulations but always lack their identity, character, and personality. A Façade can play a huge role in this as it imparts that uniqueness to the structure which negates the detrimental effect of the building which lacks that something special. So, facades are very important and integral part in commercial sector which will drive the market demand for Facades.  

Geography - Segment Analysis

North America dominated the Facades Market with a share of more than 30%, followed by Europe and APAC. Countries such as US, Canada are the major market for facades in this region as, most of the world’s biggest companies’ headquarters are situated there such as google, apple, along with many other IT industries. Whereas the increase in number of skilled professionals that includes- qualified architects, consultants and manufacturers in construction industry, who possess in-depth knowledge about facade market and know their better usage in construction industry, has brought more professionalism to the industry and hence have contributed to their significant rise.

Drivers – Facades Market

Growing demand and Innovations in facades

Facades Market has a promising future because energy conservation is the need of the hour and facades have the potential to generate as well as restore renewable energy. The scope of advancements in facades to produce electronically controlled facades, automation in facades and use of advanced photovoltaic cells and heat filters in facades are also some of the promising factors for future growth of Facades Market. With innovative new materials and traditional materials animated by new technologies, façades now offer a cutting-edge visual experience – but at the heart of these advancements lies the endeavour to create environments that will be comfortable for the end-user.

Implementation of Stringent Environment Regulations

Increasing adoption of sustainable and environment friendly products such as green façade, which will increase the market demand for Facades in the near future. The concept of Green Building, to be specific, Green Facade is one of the most promising ways to ensure energy savings in buildings nowadays. It contributes to the reduction of the urban heat island effect in the hinterland. The shadow effect provided by the plants on the facade is the most significant parameter that serves the purpose of controlling the heat wave and pollution.

[market-insider]

Aluminum Alloys Market Report: Understanding Size, Share, and Growth Trajectories

The global aluminum alloys market is expected to reach USD 340.12 billion by 2030, expanding at a CAGR of 6.2% from 2024 to 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research, Inc. The increasing penetration of aluminum in the automotive industry is projected to benefit the market over the coming years.

For instance, in April 2024, Steel Strips Wheels announced that the company had successfully secured an order for aluminum wheels from one of the passenger car manufacturers in India. The company is expected to supply aluminum wheels along with steel wheels to the manufacturer. The company aims to remain committed to leveraging this opportunity to improve customer satisfaction and its automotive industry footprint.

The use of aluminum in different end use industries is increasing at a rapid pace owing to its advantages and less volatility in prices compared to its counterparts. The advantages of aluminum such as flexibility, formability, strength, durability, and lightweight nature have promoted the usage of aluminum alloys in different applications. Aluminum alloys are excellent materials for recycling and thus have a low carbon footprint compared to numerous materials.

Investment in aluminum casting facilities is anticipated to drive the demand for aluminum alloys over the forecast period. In May 2024, Hydro, a leading player in the aluminum industry announced an investment of USD 85 million for a new casting line for its recycling facility in Kentucky, U.S. This line is expected to start in 2026 with the production of high-quality automotive components. This new aluminum casting production line will have a capacity of 28,000 tons.

Aluminum alloys find applications in doors, windows, ceilings, wall panels, stairs, roof sheets, and many more. Investment in the construction industry along with new residential and commercial projects is anticipated to boost the demand for aluminum products and thus aluminum alloys. For instance, in June 2024, the Government of South Korea announced an investment of USD 19 billion for the construction of semiconductor parks, infrastructure development, and financial support for the semiconductor industry.

Packaging industry is projected to provide new opportunities for market vendors over the long term. For instance, in January 2024, Novelis Inc., a leading player in the aluminum industry value chain announced that the company had secured a new contract from Ardagh Metal Packaging USA Corp. Under this contract, Novelis will supply aluminum sheets for beverage packaging application. This was the third major contract for Novelis in less than seven months in beverage packaging of North America.

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Aluminum Alloys Market Report Highlights

Based on end use, the automotive & transportation segment dominated the market with a share of over 26% in 2023 and is anticipated to maintain its position over the forecast period. The sluggish but positive movement of real estate in developing countries is expected to benefit the market growth.

The focus on improving the fuel efficiency of vehicles is projected to play a key role in the expansion of the market. The use of aluminum components in vehicles significantly reduced the weight of vehicles, thus improving fuel efficiency.

Packaging end use segment is poised to grow at lucrative CAGR from 2024 to 2030. Demand for 3xxx series aluminum alloys for packaging of products such as food, beverages, cosmetics, and medicines is projected to benefit the market growth.

The market is fragmented in nature, as there are a large number of small and medium companies engaged in the production of aluminum alloys.

Gain deeper insights on the market and receive your free copy with TOC now @: Aluminum Alloys Market Report

Grand View Research has segmented the global aluminum alloys market based on the end use, and region.

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Global Truck Roof Market Size,Growth Rate,Industry Opportunities 2024-2030

On 2024-8-5, the latest report 【Global Truck Roof Market 2024 by Manufacturers, Regions, Types and Applications, Forecast to 2030】from Global Info Research provides a detailed and comprehensive analysis of the global Truck Roof market. The report provides both quantitative and qualitative analysis by manufacturers, regions and countries, types and applications. As the market is constantly changing, this report explores market competition, supply and demand trends, and key factors that are causing many market demand changes. The report also provides company profiles and product examples of some of the competitors, as well as market share estimates for some of the leading players in 2024.

According to our (Global Info Research) latest study, the global Truck Roof market size was valued at US$ million in 2023 and is forecast to a readjusted size of USD million by 2030 with a CAGR of %during review period. This report is a detailed and comprehensive analysis for global Truck Roof market. Both quantitative and qualitative analyses are presented by manufacturers, by region & country, by Type and by Application. As the market is constantly changing, this report explores the competition, supply and demand trends, as well as key factors that contribute to its changing demands across many markets. Company profiles and product examples of selected competitors, along with market share estimates of some of the selected leaders for the year 2024, are provided.

This report also provides key insights about market drivers, restraints, opportunities, new product launches or approval.

Truck Roof market is split by Type and by Application. For the period 2019-2030, the growth among segments provides accurate calculations and forecasts for consumption value by Type, and by Application in terms of volume and value. This analysis can help you expand your business by targeting qualified niche markets.

Market segment by Type： Translucent Roof、Opaque Roof

Market segment by Application：Light Truck、Medium Truck、Heavy Truck

Major players covered：Service Metals、Stabilit America、Crane Composites、Westcott Designs

The content of the study subjects, includes a total of 15 chapters:

Chapter 1, to describe Truck Roof product scope, market overview, market estimation caveats and base year.

Chapter 2, to profile the top manufacturers of Truck Roof, with price, sales quantity, revenue, and global market share of Truck Roof from 2019 to 2024.

Chapter 3, the Truck Roof competitive situation, sales quantity, revenue, and global market share of top manufacturers are analyzed emphatically by landscape contrast.

Chapter 4, the Truck Roof breakdown data are shown at the regional level, to show the sales quantity, consumption value, and growth by regions, from 2019 to 2030.

Chapter 5 and 6, to segment Truck Roof the sales by Type and by Application, with sales market share and growth rate by Type, by Application, from 2019 to 2030.

Chapter 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11, to break the Truck Roof sales data at the country level, with sales quantity, consumption value, and market share for key countries in the world, from 2019 to 2024.and Truck Roof market forecast, by regions, by Type, and by Application, with sales and revenue, from 2025 to 2030.

Chapter 12, market dynamics, drivers, restraints, trends, and Porters Five Forces analysis.

Chapter 13, the key raw materials and key suppliers, and industry chain of Truck Roof.

Chapter 14 and 15, to describe Truck Roof sales channel, distributors, customers, research findings and conclusion.

The Primary Objectives in This Report Are:

To determine the size of the total market opportunity of global and key countries

To assess the growth potential for Truck Roof

To forecast future growth in each product and end-use market

To assess competitive factors affecting the marketplace

Global Info Research is a company that digs deep into global industry information to support enterprises with market strategies and in-depth market development analysis reports. We provides market information consulting services in the global region to support enterprise strategic planning and official information reporting, and focuses on customized research, management consulting, IPO consulting, industry chain research, database and top industry services. At the same time, Global Info Research is also a report publisher, a customer and an interest-based suppliers, and is trusted by more than 30,000 companies around the world. We will always carry out all aspects of our business with excellent expertise and experience.