#ONE outlet; one easily-cordoned-off outlet)

[elainemorisi]

a) if you would like to indulge in probably overblown panic about world events, do I have the spot on the internet for you

b) are people like, actually commonly incapable of seeing somebody say something they (observer) believes, to a somewhat informed degree, to be probably just catastrophizing and like... dismissing it?

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 7

Chapter title: Exhaustion

Word count: about 3300 words

Author’s Note: Thank you all for being so patient with me during the months this fic was on hiatus...but thankfully, the wait is over! I hope you all enjoy!

No warnings for this chapter, though it is pretty dark.

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...

The team had been working nonstop through the past several days, spending hours upon hours at different libraries throughout Westopolis and the surrounding areas. They never used the same one twice, so they couldn’t be traced. Hopefully.

Loading the full video and an explanation onto the three different USB drives they had bought took up most of that time, since it required a lot of formatting and download time and they couldn’t stay in any one place for too long. Rouge was the most talented with technology from her hacking experience, but slow Internet connections were something even she couldn’t work around.

Shadow really wanted to be a major part of the process, but his struggles with the video itself had posed serious issues for his involvement. While he had eventually been able to view the other part of the film, he’d still had a strong reaction and then needed an hour to decompress afterwards, all while feeling frustrated at (in his words) his “lack of self-control”.

Rouge and Omega were strongly opposed to that wording, since it suggested that his trauma- because it was trauma, despite his arguments- was something that he could control.

In the end, Shadow was often forced to take a backseat during much of the work, or else his mental state would be a mess throughout the rest of the day. He still helped out in any way possible, though, even if it was something as simple as going out to buy food to keep Rouge’s strength up.

Today was the final day. Team Dark was fully prepared to make a post on three of their main social media pages, and all three envelopes with the USB drives inside had been mailed out (under the false cover of being simple job application letters). They were headed to three different media organizations, which- while not necessarily mainstream- were at least somewhat reputable and sympathetic to their current cause.

While it was still unlikely that the general public opinion would change after this information release, there would hopefully be enough supporters for this to mean something.

At exactly 12:00 p.m. on Oceanic Standard Time, ten days after Team Dark had stolen their original files and fled capture by G.U.N., the videos were released out into the world for everyone to see.

At 12:01 p.m., OST, as the team watched from a public computer, the Internet basically exploded.

All three of the team’s accounts were flooded within seconds, ablaze with accusations, conspiracy theories, and more. The best were the expressions of sympathy and support, though. Those boosted the general mood in the room while providing the three with enough bravery to actually write back to a few people.

There were a few particularly vocal supporters who the team members recognized right away… it seemed that the members of Team Sonic had grown tired of sitting around while their friends put their lives on the line and were now channeling all of their frustration into their keyboards. The team’s morale only rose higher. (However, considering the depths they had been in before, this mainly meant that they seemed almost normal again.)

Through it all, G.U.N. remained silent.

The team decided not to stay at the computer for long- the organization was always watching and probably had some of their best hackers on the case already. Shadow grabbed a couple of books before they left, but none of them really even had the energy to read at this point. They’d spent so many late nights going over and over the wording of everything they would say and every move that they would make, and the replies they’d given just now were carefully considered by all three of them as well.

As soon as they made it back to the hotel, Omega whipped out his charging cord and shoved it into an outlet, and Shadow fell face-down onto the bed. “Oh chaos. Oh chaos we’re really in it now, aren’t we.”

Rouge sighed, sinking into a chair and massaging her brow. “Yes, we are. It's worth it, though.”

“I know.” Shadow muttered into the bedspread. “It’s just…” he trailed off, uncertain as to how to express his thoughts.

“...exhausting.” Rouge finished his sentence for him. “It’s tiring to work so hard on something, all the time.”

The hedgehog pointed a gloved finger at her briefly, before letting his hand fall back onto the mattress. “That sums it up perfectly.”

They lay there for awhile, just allowing themselves to rest after the frenzy of the past few days.

Eventually, though, Shadow forced himself to sit up. “So what are we doing next?” he asked, a frown set low over his eyes.

Rouge got to her feet, exhaustion weighing down her movements. “I think we should probably take a couple of days before we do anything else, hon. That was a lot of work.”

“I know,” Shadow said quickly, looking down at the mint-green sheets of the bed. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t working hard, I just-”

“I didn’t think you were.” she said gently. “I know you want to stop them as soon as possible, and so do I. But...we’re not in any shape to do much like this- being tired always makes people sloppy.”

Rouge smirked faintly. “I learned that one the hard way.” she mused, recalling a particular heist that she’d tried to pull off after going 48 hours without sleep. It had not ended well, to say the least. 

“I’m gonna head down to that restaurant we looked at earlier. I need food.” the bat muttered quietly. Omega gave her a thumbs-up as she walked out the door.

Rouge wandered through the town, looking around. She saw so many different people, all of them going about their ordinary lives, and reminded herself that soon enough, the world would be just a little bit safer for them to enjoy. This raised her spirits, if only slightly. Just enough that she felt like being a little more friendly to the (likely overworked and underpaid) workers in the restaurant than usual.

In fact, she suspected that recently when she had gone out to eat, she’d come off as almost as sulky as Shadow- constant work and paranoia really took it out of a person. Today, though, her work was temporarily finished, and she could take a deep breath with, if not relaxation, then at least a certain amount of freedom.

Rouge got her food quickly, but with a (perhaps a little too) bright smile and a cheerful wave. 

She left a sizable tip in the glass jar out front, all the while trying to ignore a little voice inside her head that whispered you should give that money to others, you won’t be needing it for much longer…

The bat hated trying to imagine just what G.U.N. was capable of, as well as the potential consequences of their actions. That was exactly why she spent the rest of the day relaxing in her room with Shadow and Omega, mostly reading or playing board games with them. As nice as it was to be able to relax and not obsess over sentences and file formats, they all missed being able to go about their ordinary lives, instead of having to control their every move in order to stay alive. She could feel it in the atmosphere of the room. 

Out of nowhere, Rouge felt the sudden fervent hope that Shadow’s motorbike and Omega’s weapons collection would be okay. She had seen the occasional picture of Club Rouge during her time spent working, and it was all cordoned off and dark and sad...she had made a lot of fond memories there. 

Whether or not some of those memories were of kicking particularly irritating patrons to the curb when their behavior went too far was entirely nobody else’s business.

Rouge hoped for another day or two like this before they had to do any more work- they needed it if they were going to succeed. Shadow had dark rings under his eyes and this was Omega’s first day in over a week where he hadn’t gotten a “power low” warning. If they tried to pull off the kind of heist she had in mind like this, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

The next morning, however, it became clear that Team Dark wouldn’t get that kind of luxury until their work was completely finished.

Allowing herself one quick yawn as she strolled downstairs (given that her fangs could appear quite menacing to those without them), Rouge traced a familiar path to the hotel’s breakfast buffet, planning to fill the gaping void that was currently her stomach.

Her shoes clicked across the tiled floor, irritating her tired ears, and the too-bright lights didn’t do anything to help her overworked senses. She seriously considered just going back upstairs and hiding under the covers for another hour or two, but the smell of pancakes and ripe fruit dragged her over to the long table that held the complementary food from the hotel. 

Filling her paper plate, Rouge began to think again about G.U.N. and the various...unsavory tactics she’d seen them use over the years. Often enough, the soldiers in particular were not above frightening or intimidating those groups of people they saw as ‘threats’ while simultaneously politely cooperating with those that didn’t. While she did her best to distance herself from those kinds of people, filing a complaint would only get you a reprimand or even a hint that you might be fired. No real action was ever taken against those who had joined the force to hurt instead of protect.

She had seen, though, that the commander was definitely trying to make the organization a better place- the raid on Space Colony ARK had clearly left an impression- but that didn’t mean he was succeeding. Over fifty years of brutality, violence, machismo and deceit were not so easily rooted out, not even if the person trying to create change was at the very top. The bat had seen a few too many people being beaten mercilessly by a soldier long after they’d shouted their surrender to think that G.U.N. was all good. Indeed, fighting first and asking questions later was ingrained in the very foundation of the organization.

But whenever Rouge’s mind went down these pathways, there was one thought that always rose above the rest…

While she may have seen what they did, Shadow had lived it.

Rouge sighed, trying to control her violent emotions that always appeared regarding that particular event, and took another pancake. The poor hedgehog had dealt with so much already, and now this...she truly felt for him. They were constantly on the run, always trying to stay ahead of the entire military organization, and despite his status as the ‘Ultimate Lifeform’, she knew that he was struggling. Shadow would insist otherwise, of course, trying to carry the world on his shoulders as he so often did.

She knew better, though.

Rouge glanced upwards to get another look out the window, the general paranoia that came with being a spy too deeply ingrained in her body to ever fade. There were plenty of times when it was just a nuisance, if not embarrassing, but right now those reflexes came in handy.

That was when she saw the five G.U.N. agents talking to the receptionist out front.

She took a deep breath, standing very still at the table. Panic would not help her now. Rouge took two very deliberate, very slow steps to the side, obscuring herself behind a helpfully placed tiered food display. 

The bat caught a snippet of conversation. One of the agents was talking to the man at the front desk, asking, “Have you seen someone matching any of these three descriptions?”

The receptionist frowned, leaning in closer to study the photos, and Rouge decided it was about time to get out of there.

She put her plate down slowly, and then walked purposefully but calmly back to the stairs. Once she was sure that they couldn’t see her any longer, she beat her wings and began to fly up the stairwell as quickly as possible.

Once she got into their room, she slammed the door shut, catching Omega’s attention from where he had been constructing a paper-clip chain. Rouge allowed herself two deep breaths before rushing over to the bed and shaking Shadow’s shoulder with surprising gentleness.

“What do you want?” he mumbled, his eyes only half open.

The bat beat down another wave of nostalgia for relaxing weekend mornings (focus, Rouge, your lives depend on it!) and instead gave him a sad smile.

“They’ve found us.” she said, shattering her teammates’ relative peace in an instant.

Shadow practically catapulted himself out of bed. “G.U.N.? What? When?”

“Yes, five agents, and just now.” Rouge said, beginning to pack up their few belongings.

“What shall we do?” Omega asked, an almost staticky tone creeping into his voice. It had the effect of making him sound rather more dangerous than usual, which was probably intentional. “I would be happy to burn this building to the ground. Just say the word,” he said, revving up his flamethrower.

“No burning.” Rouge said, and it was evident just how used to Omega’s antics she was that this statement was delivered in a completely calm tone of voice. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We split up- there’s only so many of them there. We’ll get out of here any way we know how. Meet up at 9:30 outside that waterskiing shop. Got it?”

“Yes.” Omega and Shadow said simultaneously.

“Alright, good. Omega, take the suitcases. Let’s go.”

She threw herself out the window as Shadow teleported the robot down into a nearby alleyway before vanishing again. Her wings folded tightly against her back as she shot down the side of the building, her fingers nearly skimming across the steel and glass. Rouge forced herself to trust in her wings, snapping them out at the absolute last moment before she could hit the ground and hoping that nobody in any of the rooms had seen much more than a red-and-black blur.

She almost laughed to herself- that used to be Shadow.

Laughing wasn’t something any of them did much anymore.

She stalked through a dark alleyway before rushing down a couple of blocks, trying to get as far away from the hotel as she could on foot without being too suspicious. By now, G.U.N. would have realized that the team did not look like they used to, which would make it a lot more difficult to escape their notice.

Rouge spotted Shadow moving quickly several blocks down, and made an immediate left to stay away from him. There was still over an hour until their rendezvous time, and until then it was best to stay away from one another. A hedgehog and a bat together would only draw the organization’s attention. 

Rouge forced her legs to take one step in front of the other- she had to stay moving. The bat was...a little too used to pushing through exhaustion when simple survival was her only goal. Memories of having to hide after heists, constantly walking to nowhere just to stay away from the police surfaced vaguely in the back of her mind. Rouge was still tired from nights of obsessing and writing and rewriting with Shadow and Omega, and this new stressor wasn’t helping at all, forcing her back into the same introspective cloud that always surrounded her whenever important things started happening.

Yet at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to feel afraid of what could happen should she get captured. It was almost as though she wasn’t truly awake. She was worried for the rest of the team, it was true, but they were all already in such deep trouble that it almost felt as though she’d maxed out on stress.

As she walked, Rouge wanted to feel something more, some sense of a higher purpose to keep her inspired…

...but when it got down to the basics, change wasn’t always glamorous court battles or powerful arguments delivered to roaring crowds. Sometimes you just had to keep pushing and pushing and pushing until finally someone took notice and listened to what you had to say. It was tiny steps, day by day, almost like trying to grind down a mountain with a single stone. Despite being part of the catalyst, she couldn’t see any of the effects from here.

Was anything even changing? Rouge didn’t know.

She shook her head, trying once again to bury these thoughts in the back of her mind. This was just like a mission. Do the task, then think about the bigger picture afterwards.

The bat briefly wondered if this mentality was why the organization had gone downhill before forcing herself to focus. Right now, she needed to use her instincts. That was all.

…

After an hour, during which she had to hide behind a dumpster (in other circumstances, she would have laughed and called it cliche) to evade G.U.N. pursuit, she met up with the other two at the waterskiing store. Thankfully, Omega had managed to acquire a new car- their old one would have to be left back at the hotel and become more collateral damage, as much as they all wished otherwise.

They’d really liked that car.

Rouge and Shadow piled in, and the bat could only feel relief that Omega didn’t really get tired like they did, so at least there was low danger of someone falling asleep at the wheel. 

“We’re in the final stages now,” Rouge said encouragingly, trying to keep up morale. “Just this last heist to get more dirt on G.U.N., and then we’re free to do as we please…”

Shadow sighed. “I hope.”

“Perhaps…” Omega said cautiously, “...G.U.N. will get so busy with lawsuits that they will cease pursuing us after that. Their public image is...somewhat important.”

He didn’t sound like he believed his own words, though.

Rouge, feeling tired, had to practically beat her nagging thoughts off with a stick by this point. What if they never stop, the voice whispered. What if they just keep coming and coming until you give up because you’re just so tired of running-

“Rouge.” Shadow said quietly. “Are you doing the overthinking thing again?”

“What, hon?” she asked, feeling underequipped to have any conversation, let alone one about herself.

“The thing.” Omega called from the front seat. “Where you insist upon shouldering all of the burden simply because you’re the self-appointed team leader. That is not allowed in this car. At all.”

The bat smiled faintly. Even after all this work and exhaustion, they were still worrying about her. That kind of thoughtfulness was enough to relax her a little, and she leaned on Shadow’s shoulder.

“Let’s talk about stupid stuff for a little while.” she said firmly. “We should talk about something like, like- when we went to that one restaurant and Shadow ate like three bowls of their five-alarm chili in twenty minutes and won that T-shirt.”

Shadow smirked briefly. “It didn’t hurt at all and Sonic and Knuckles yelled at me for being a cheater. Having specially bioengineered taste buds has its perks.”

They reminisced about the good times, all three trying to keep the mood light and not discuss the elephant in the room (or car, as it were)- which was of course when they might be able to do that sort of fun thing again.

And then they were on the highway, and headed to what was hopefully the last place G.U.N. would ever expect them to be.

Central City.

[filmstruck]

Vietnam On The Homefront by Greg Ferrara

A lot can be learned about moments in history by observing how it was perceived at the time it was happening. Documentaries about World War II were predominantly positive propaganda efforts, like the WHY WE FIGHT series ('42-'45) intended to keep morale up on both fronts, at home and at war. But the documentaries released during America's involvement in the Vietnam War, and those released later on looking back, are of a different tenor. They view the war through a murkier lens, where good and evil aren't so easily cordoned off. And they tell the stories that the public may or may not want to hear but need to. In short, the documentaries produced about and during the Vietnam War weren't about propping it up so much as tearing it down. It was a way in which filmmakers could become activists, which led to a completely different focus for the documentaries, one much more personal.

World War II documentaries often focused on the battles. With Vietnam, the focus was often on what we were doing wrong and how we were reacting at home. THE CAMDEN 28 (’07), was made well after the war was over but focuses on events that happened at home in 1971, when a group of 28 activists in New Jersey raided a draft board office in Camden, New Jersey in an attempt to destroy draft records. Unfortunately for the group, one of them was an FBI informant and all were arrested. The documentary doesn't just show the events but it hones in on the principles of all involved. Even the informant ended up testifying for his partners in crime, not the FBI. The deciding factor was all 28 standing together, refusing to be tried separately. The group obliterated the idea that being anti-war meant being a student or hippie: they were priests, academics and activists. Famed professor of history Howard Zinn testified for them, one voice speaking for the whole. He encouraged the jury to not focus on whether or not they had broken the law but whether or not the law was just. Or if it was just, was it being broken for valid and humane reasons?

Of the documentaries made during the war, perhaps the most striking is the one the least amount of people saw, WINTER SOLDIER ('72). Before getting to that, a little background on what led to the documentary in the first place. In March 1968, the My Lai Massacre occurred in which United States forces murdered unarmed villagers, including children and infants. One member of the forces, Lieutenant William Calley, was convicted of killing 22 villagers and given life in prison, later commuted when he was pardoned by President Nixon. After the events of March 1968, Calley became the face of evil for the American army and to the army's benefit, a stand-in for all evils. In 1971, in Detroit, Michigan, 109 veterans and 16 civilians gathered to tell stories of war crimes committed so that the public could understand that the My Lai Massacre was not an isolated incident and that Calley was not a unique figure.

Some 20 documentarians were on hand to document the event but nothing seemed to come of it. No one picked it up to distribute it, no major media outlets covered it and the few people that heard of it didn't believe it. The reports by veterans of rape, slaughter and cold-blooded murder weren't the images most people wanted of our army. Of course, the veterans weren't saying that everyone in the army acted that way. They were stressing that policies in Vietnam and lack of support was creating an atmosphere of lawlessness in the field. It wasn’t until over 30 years later that it got a wider release, long after the Vietnam War ended.

Finally, the most impactful documentary of the era came near the end of the war and helped the country find its way home. The documentary was Peter Davis' HEARTS AND MINDS ('74) and it remains one of the most controversial documentaries ever made. When it won the Oscar for Best Documentary, the controversy got even worse. Supporters thought the film showed the horrors of not only the war but of Americans' attitudes towards it. Critics felt it blatantly slanted its perspective to make the pro-war side look as bad as possible. Even if one is on the side of the anti-war movement, it's hard not to see Davis' personal bias in control. The subjective editing makes clear what his opinion of the war was, and it was this subjective documentary style that caught the attention of many young people, including Michael Moore, who felt it expanded documentaries into new arenas, removing it from objective journalism and placing it squarely into the realm of personal polemic.

At the Oscars, when it won for Best Documentary, producer Bert Schneider read a letter of greetings from Ambassador Dinh Ba Thi of the Viet Cong which infuriated many present, including John Wayne who had to be physically restrained backstage from going out to the podium and ripping the letter from his hands. Frank Sinatra came out to the podium shortly after with a statement penned by Bob Hope that the Academy regretted the events that took place. Even today, HEARTS AND MINDS polarizes audiences.

America's involvement in the Vietnam War will always be a hotly debated and controversial era in this country's history. These three documentaries, all available on Filmstruck, present a point of view from a point in time that remains painful to many. They present ideas and events and stories from veterans and citizens that are sometimes hard to hear, and even harder to face.

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (5/?)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

The route Angus chose led them to a big square near the center of Neverwinter, a crossroads of a dozen different streets converging onto a central marketplace packed with people from every corner of Faerun. There was a clock tower here, covered in ornate golden filigree, stretching up into the sky. It was one of the tallest buildings outside the noble quarter, and besides serving as an easily visible landmark, kept excellent time.

It was a little past eleven, now. Angus knew the schedules well enough to figure they'd be able to score tickets easy enough, but he wanted to avoid the afternoon rush.

Taako wasn't exactly cooperating.

"How much?"

The aarakocra merchant pointed to the sign hanging from his cart. "Fifty gold, sixty for the shawl."

Taako blanched, the cloak he'd been admiring draped over his hands. "Sixty?! I wouldn't pay thirty for this thing!"

"Price is the price, wingless," the merchant said firmly. "You wanna haggle, go bother the rakshasa."

"Why would I haggle?" Taako scoffed, rolling up the cloak. "Stuff ain't worth my time, anyway."

Angus stood behind Taako, glancing around. He always kept one eye open and a hand on his coin purse whenever he traveled through the market square; getting his pocket picked one unlucky afternoon had taught him that lesson.

Good thing, too, since he was attentive enough to see Taako slip a scarf from underneath the cloak he was replacing on the cart. He tucked it behind his back with the practiced ease of a petty thief.

"This is all fine-count Calimshan silk, dunce," the merchant shot back, his feathers ruffling. "You won't find better prices north of Memnon!"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, thug," Taako drawled with a smug grin. "This is a big-ass brand-name markup for chumps, and we both know it."

"Markup?!"

"This is some cast-off outlet shit you got from a thrift store in Tethyr, my dude! You're tripling your money at thirty gold."

Angus touched Taako's shoulder. "Sir? We should really get moving."

As Taako turned to face Angus, he reached over and discreetly pulled the scarf from Taako's belt. Taako's eyebrow twitched, but he grinned and laughed it off.

"No big shakes, boychik," he said casually. "Nothing here worth these prices, anyway."

The aarakocra grumbled, his wings unfurling slightly. "Forty five!"

"For the shawl?"

"No, the cloak!"

He turned away again, disinterested. The merchant made a disgusted noise.

"Fine! Forty five for the shawl!" He grumbled. "You're scaring off my business."

Taako turned and grinned. "Deal!" he said triumphantly, reaching for his coin purse while Angus tried to stealthily replace the scarf on the cart.

Suddenly, Taako spun and his ears pricked up visibly. Angus was about to ask what was wrong when he heard it himself — a sudden crash, loud and clattering, followed by the sound of screams almost drowned out by the noise of the crowd. He barely had time to react before Taako tackled him to the ground.

A wagon, small and built for city travel, crashed through the market stall behind them. People scattered in every direction as it raced through the square, heedless of pedestrians, bouncing over the cobblestones and coming within two feet of where Taako and Angus lay. They watched as the aarakocra took to the air while the wagon splintered his cart, then, accompanied by the screeching crash of wood and metal, it was suddenly stopped by a spell — Bigby's Hand, glowing a neon red, had appeared in front of the wagon and blocked its path.

Angus pushed himself to his feet. Taako was alongside him, dusting himself off. "The hell did that come from?"

"Alright, everyone, please step back!"

A woman, tall and broad shouldered with a long braid wrapped around her neck and a scar on her forehead, marched out of the crowd. She wore shiny full-plate armor and a tabard bearing the sigil of Neverwinter. Angus recognized her instantly as Dierdre Boudicca, Lord-Commander of the militia.

"This isn't a show!" she shouted, marching forward towards the wreckage. "If you need medical attention, speak up! Healers are on their way!"

"Hey! You still have to pay for that!"

He glanced over his shoulder — Taako was halfway through stuffing a shawl into his purse, smiling innocently while the merchant perched with his arms crossed on the ruins of his cart. Angus gave him a look, and Taako rolled his eyes before pulling out his coin purse.

Angus turned back to the crime scene. Militia men and women swarmed around Boudicca, pushing people away and trying to establish a cordon. The massive spectral hand disappeared as another woman he recognized stepped out of the crowd — shorter, younger, and clad in typical militia leathers and longcoat rather than heavy armor. Angus waved and managed to catch her attention.

He liked Silvia a lot. She was clever, compassionate, and had a strong sense of right and wrong. They'd collaborated on a few cases together, and though he'd been prepared for obstinacy, she'd helped as much as she could. It was more than he'd expected from anyone in the militia; private detectives weren't exactly popular with law enforcement. Angus had come to think of her as a very good friend, and he appreciated her help.

(He also appreciated her hair, thick and curly and tied behind her head. And her eyes, hazel brown set against mahogany skin. And her nose, a bit bigger than his, which scrunched up when she laughed. He didn't make any particular judgments about these things, of course. He just noticed them, that's all.)

"McDonald!" Silvia said with a grin as she approached. "Don't tell me this is one of yours?"

Angus smiled back. "No such luck. Can't expect every crook to just fall into your lap."

"You'd be surprised," she said, glancing back towards the wagon. Boudicca was directing others as they hauled the driver out. "Just sort of stumbled into this one, believe it or not. Wanted thief rounds a corner right into the Lord-Commander doing her weekly inspection. He bolts, hijacks a wagon, and there I am doing my rounds when he peels around a corner into the market."

"Jeez. Talk about bad luck."

"For him, sure." She turned back and smirked. "It's all a matter of perspective, right?"

Angus chuckled. Then his eyebrows rose. "Oh, hey, can I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure. What's up?"

He pulled out his notebook, tore out half a page and handed it to her.

"I'm working a new case," he explained. "Nothing I can talk about, yet, but if you happen to hear anything about a noted thief in town, or run into any seventh-level Evocation, could you let me know?"

"Real hush-hush, huh?" she drawled, taking the scrap of paper from him.

"Sorry," Angus said sincerely. "Client privilege."

"It's cool. I get it." Silvia stuck it in her pocket. "I'll keep an ear to the ground."

"Thanks, lieutenant. Really."

"No problem." Silvia leaned around to look past him. "Who's your friend?"

Uh oh.

Taako shoved Angus to the side as he stepped forward. "Hail and well met and stuff," he said, tipping his hat and grinning his Cheshire cat grin. "Name's Taako. What's your handle, maydl?"

Silvia's eyes widened as she glanced briefly at Angus. "So you're Taako, huh?"

"That's what it says on the merch! Why?" Taako leaned in conspiratorially. "Has Agnes been telling stories? Because I can guarantee at least half of them are true. Which half is up to you!"

She laughed, and extended her hand. "Lieutenant Silvia Hayden, Neverwinter militia. Nice to finally meet you, Taako."

Taako shook her hand firmly. He cocked an eyebrow. "You moisturize?"

"Got to, in this climate."

He nodded approvingly. "Nice."

Angus cleared his throat. "We're, uh, actually in a hurry, so—"

"News to me, my dude!" said Taako. Then he turned back to Silvia. "Why don't we do lunch? Boy's rail thin, needs to put on some ell-bees."

Angus sputtered. Silvia grinned, but shook her head.

"Can't," she said apologetically. "Got some legwork of my own to do. Angus isn't the only one who has to work for a living."

"Yeah, speaking of—"

"How about dinner then? His place." Taako leaned forward. "I make a mean risotto!"

"We should really get going—"

"Sounds great," Silvia said, barely restraining a laugh as she glanced between the two of them. "But I've got a thing. Rain check?"

"Sure, sure! Anytime's cool for us!" Taako said cheerily, elbowing Angus in the ribs. "Ain't that right, Angarang?"

Angus got between them and started to push Taako away. "Sorry, really gotta go! Talk to you later, lieutenant!"

"Give us a buzz!" Taako shouted over Angus' shoulder.

The moment they were through the crowd and out of the market, Taako burst into laughter.

"That wasn't funny!" Angus said, stamping his foot like he was eleven years old again.

"Au contraire, mon frere!" Taako managed to gasp. "That was fantastic!"

Angus moaned and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses while Taako steadied himself on his shoulder.

"Oh, kiddo," he sighed. "What a gift."

"To whom?"

"Me, mostly," Taako said honestly. "But don't worry, we'll get you that date yet."

Angus took off his cap and hit Taako over the head with it, which only made him laugh harder. "She is a friend and colleague!"

"Oh, don't play dumb!" he retorted, grinning wickedly. "She's your fucking crush, dipshit!"

Angus continued to hit Taako with his cap as the elf cackled maniacally. The final blow knocked his hat off. With a harrumph, Angus slammed his cap back on his head and stomped off down the street. He heard Taako follow close behind, still giggling, and the telltale sound of his umbrella wooshing through the air as he swung it idly.

In all honesty, that had gone about as well as he'd expected it to.

[brigitteeastman-blog]

Selecting A Title For Your Automobile Service center

STORE inventory will certainly turn into its appraisal, and also this is going to head materially greater in a multi-year and multi-month window. His natural pork items, consisting of hand-crafted sausage in Seat, are actually produced with the very same demanding criteria as the rest from his products, as well as have a flavor unlike anything you can discover in a conventional butcher shop or even supermarket. A creditor is allowed to state on the created list the company for which the buyer is not allowed to store, lxiii supplied that the collector accurately and notably sets apart those companies off the solutions where the customer is actually permitted to look around. A great method to save on Little one Furniture to enter your Infant Nursery, or even Child Area, is to go shopping the neighborhood discount stores, previously owned furniture establishments, newspaper classifieds, or you could possibly buy used Infant Household furniture from Friends and also Families. Facades from shattered properties, dropped tiles and also defective glass coming from shop front ends as well as banking companies littered the pavements from Juchitan while greatly equipped soldiers stood and safeguarded protector at locations cordoned off as a result of the level from the harm. To begin with, because The Tile Shop selected to access the general public equity markets by means of a SPAC deal on 08/22/12 at $10.00/ portion as opposed to a traditional IPO list method, this is vital for present financiers to contemplate the building factors of the alternate economic item. No, I'm certainly not recommending everyone become a mature auto mechanic; I am actually psorilax ervaringen suggesting that every car proprietor ought to recognize the free information and also affordable devices readily available to steer clear of those diagnostic fees, potentially create smaller/easier repair works on their own, and also in the event where a trip to the outlet is required, to become capable to approach that with some information on their side that can help protect them off scams or bad prognosis. The hidden cam is actually extremely easily fixed in one of the teddy bears of my outlet so that no one will ever familiarize that there is a covert video camera dealt with in it and also this teddy bear is maintained along with the other playthings in the exhibit from my toy store. The new tax regime-- replacing an unpleasant mix from state and also federal government tax obligations built up over 7 years of Indian commerce-- will certainly affect the ultimate cost from every parlor game as well as baseball bat in Sanjiv Mehra's confined shop in Khan Market.

[kennethrazo77-blog]

Wagner Coating Eater Evaluation.

NEW DELHI (AP)-- The everyday bustle from tourists and also buyers has ebbed in a trendy market in main New Delhi, however a plaything shop manager is actually still busy looking new Indian tax policies that work upcoming month. Determine your exotic color scheme as well as how you will administer it to your room, buy one-of-a-kind and also notabl (not automatically pricey!) parts, consist of all-natural appearances, avoid over-accessorizing, and also you will get on your method to making a lovely Florida style decoration, no matter where you reside. It is excellent when these treasures are found or even you find something of true worth in some great-granny's attic room but that is not what I am actually referring to when I ask, do you ever before go jewel hunting; and I'm not talking about going with your steel sensor back and forth beach fronts or backpacking places after the groups have actually gone residence. Because after you obtain a lathe, there is still heading to be additional cash money to format for here. all those devices and also add-ons that you're visiting need to have as well as the store won't grow quickly. It's also attractive in more contemporary, sleek setups where the spotlight is on the gemstone alone. The produce section of Newport Avenue Market is actually likewise an excellent location to pick up the best elements and also natural herbs - some in your area grown however all natural and also as natural as humanly possible. Every shop around community uses this container at good costs as a result you do not must invest bunches of funds in your attempts to discover a suitable food compartment when Tingkat is actually on call and for grabs. This provides print clients the ease of collaborating with a neighborhood print shop while still obtaining the highest quality from publishing available. It's a wonderful factor to review a book like Kate Atkinson's 'Responsible for the scenes at the museum' while sitting in a coffee bar in York (Or even the museum gardens, climate permitting). The street resulting in the Delicious Deli in Clydebank was cordoned off on Wednesday evening and cops groups might later on be observed looking at the entryway to the store. Practically you should produce the exterior furniture match the building and also concept that your outlet utilizes. When I was a younger kid I was actually a mimic and also I could possibly mimic folks locally authorization physiques, educators, shop owners, various other moms and dads, police officers on the beat. Exquisite as well as lovely you can easily nab the tourist attraction from all the site visitors when you show your web site very professional.

That a handful of folks virtually in a garage or even a small shop constructed a plane that doubled and outright range file, flew right all over the world, soared by means of all this climate and also came back house carefully, because that was done all composite without mixing steels without handling all these foolish concerns that the developers produce on their own, that will certainly deliver the inspiration, that my The lord, that can be performed. They also branched off in to a line of toys in the little pet dog shop zoo with a wide range of creatures and a zoo play collection. Thus, regardless of if your Do It Yourself job consists of a straightforward print and also mail work or ONE HUNDRED entirely handcrafted wedding event invites, you may prepare, store, print, as well as construct your way to a gorgeous invite.

[jackblankhsh]

Inauguration of a Nightmare -- building the avalanche

JANUARY 20, 2017– the resistance begins

Sirens randomly wailed as emergency vehicles screamed towards grim scenarios.  For any city native it’s a common sound, though one is tempted to call it foreshadowing.  A palpable dread pollutes the dreamlike atmosphere of this fog shrouded metropolis.  Any other night it might feel like the start of adventure and perhaps it still does, though one can’t help feeling what lies ahead is too dark to enjoy.  Yet, it’s the perfect time for Chicago to feel ethereal. The last few months have certainly felt unreal.  

In that time America elected a new president.  By many standards the man is barely human.  A mass of congealed hate and rotted dumpster meat wrapped in ruby cheeked Peking duck skin, cloaked in a miasmic aura of narcissism, dishonesty, and the kind of childishness one hopes never to see in a world leader; there are many facets to this wicked pig.  Like a matryoshka doll many entities exist within his soul: the Twitter crazed tantrum throwing teenager, world’s most successful conman, the unstoppable pussy grabbing hand rapist, demagogue extraordinaire, and gold plated plutocrat.  His obvious flaws caused Olympic grade mental gymnastic in many of his followers, while he fought hard to ultimately lose the popular vote, yet still become president.  

So on the night of his inauguration thousands gathered in Chicago.  In Washington protesters assembled for the event itself, but they got off on the wrong foot.  Violence erupted, and though brief, it tainted the message.  The goal of these protests is not to spill blood, or burn the world, it’s to avoid silence.  Activists want to show where they stand:  against what is coming.  This is especially necessary now given Trump’s pathological lying, and routine desire to rewrite history for his benefit.  Even after winning the election he found it so implausible that he lost the popular vote he began alleging voter fraud.  Not only does he operate under the delusion the country loves him he thinks reality is open to revision, particularly if it doesn’t match the fantasy in his head.  That’s why people are gathering in order to leave a mark which cannot be denied.  

Walking there, distracted by bleak visions of tomorrow – Vlad and Donnie raping Lady Liberty while dead eyed Stepford wife Melania watches, waiting to be told what to think, and press secretary Spicer prepares alternative facts to explain the grotesquery favorably – I wandered down the wrong street.  Instead of joining at the designated assembly point, Wabash and Wacker, I strolled down an empty avenue cordoned off by a smattering of cops. However, police made no move to stop a solitary oddity drifting with the trickle of 9-to-Fivers.  I blended in, and got a chance to observe the cops in waiting.  

Chicago police have a long history with protests, not all of it good, but in that time they’ve learned a thing or two.  Instead of trying to herd the rally they simply fortified the only target of assault. The odds of anyone getting within spitting distance seemed improbable, and because I beat them by chance I will eternally regret not taking the opportunity to hork a wad of phlegm at the building.  An officer moved a barricade aside to let me out of the area, complimenting my sideburns as I passed.  It made me wonder about their feelings.  Some may not have voted for him, but are now ordered to protect his property like dutiful centurions.  One can only hope that given a crisis of conscious, a moment that requires humanity not slave devotion to orders, they’ll do the right thing.  But for now they simply want the night to pass peacefully. They aren’t alone.  

Demonstrators assembled loosely, crowding into a tighter collective by Kupcinet Bridge. There to shout across the river at the name TRUMP glowing in blue tinted lights.  Among the masses a throng of musicians calling themselves Sousaphones Against Hate provided an odd soundtrack to the evening’s events.  One doesn’t think of sousaphones when picturing a protest, but they added a flavor to the affair more clichéd choices would not. There’s something about a brass band playing “The Imperial March” – it put a smile on the face of a man dressed as a nuclear missile, his costume chillingly implicative, but given the music one could only grin as well.  

Homemade signs declared the litany of grievances against President Trump from his failures as a human being and business person to his grotesque, undesirable political agenda. It’s unnerving to watch a young woman hold up a sign in hopes of reminding the world she’s deserves decent treatment because she doesn’t expect it in Trump’s America.  After all, she isn’t the right color, or on the right side, literally and figuratively, though it is heartening to witness so many gathered to stand with her.  

Amidst the activists at least two different publications vied for attention.  Handed for free to any who wanted them, one extolled the virtues of socialism, the other communism, while both asserted this presidency is the fault of capitalism.  Some took the papers gladly, though a few accepted them with a roll of the eyes destining them for the trash can unread.  Wandering the crowd I picked up discussions as protesters tried to comprehend how this reality came into being.  Everyone seemed to subscribe to their own theories which tended to lean toward their personal cause.  African Americans asserted racism as a primary factor in Trump’s win, while many women blamed sexism, but it’s important to note no one dismissed anyone else’s idea… except for one young man jabbering a slew of Orwellian weed tangled gibberish.  Many politely ignored him.  The point being that under a microscope everyone there clearly believed in a different cause, specific to their personal lives, yet those factors go somewhat to the wayside as activists assembled to resist the new president.  

A problem with contemporary protests is that everyone wants to come together as one but be heard individually.  Of one goal, demonstrators expect to be heard in multiple voices, each distinguishable from the whole.  This results in a garbled message.  However, that didn’t happen here.  Whatever a person’s reasons, everyone came to protest Trump.  And that message came across.

That made it sad when the various local news outlets seemed reluctant to record anything. I watched camera operators fiddle with equipment, but not shoot a thing.  They swapped idle chit chat waiting for, I can only assume, something unpleasant.  Riots are ratings gold after all.  I thought maybe they wanted to wait until the crowd reached a more sizable proportion, but honestly, the mass never reached anything critical.  Though thousands may’ve come a casual glance could tell the number easily stayed below ten, possibly even five… or dare say two.  Friday’s rally didn’t have an astonishing turnout, though Saturday would demonstrate perhaps many merely opted to wait to march in solidarity with the women of America.  

Still, this is a new era.  Reliance on old media is unnecessary.  I saw several in attendance recording, live streaming, photographing and video documenting the event.  The regular news may not have covered Friday’s protest in-depth, but the irregular new news, beamed out across social media, spoke volumes.  

#

The night started. Chants kicked up then died down, not enough voices joining in.  An organizer shouted into a crackling PA system that occasionally cut out, her voice vanishing before returning midsentence in a cloud of static. Volunteers passed out chant sheets, so anyone in attendance would know what to say.  Glancing over one I noticed a preponderance of, “2, 4, 6, 8…” followed by rhymes like, “No more violence, no more hate.”  After an hour, though, standing around felt like doing nothing, so I went into Hoyt, a nearby hotel tavern.  Also I needed to piss.  

Inside I found a pair of bottle blondes taking selfies, giggling over white wine without a care in the world.  Most eyes glued to the Hawks game on TV.  A few tourists glanced out the windows, and as if for the first time noticed the protesters choking the street.  They speculated about what could be happening.  It didn’t seem clear despite the “fuck Trump” signs and mass of humanity shouting anti-Trump rhetoric.  Then in true tourist fashion they hurried to the windows to snap pics, capturing real world souvenirs.  

Then midway through a refreshing Scotch I saw the protesters start marching.  I slammed the contents of my glass, and hurried outside.

“This is it!” I thought, “The resistance has begun!”  

Rushing to catch up I saw the demonstrators halt at Michigan Avenue.  Anticipating the attempt police stood ready to hold the movement back. So for a time the protest seemed destined to merely pinball between two streets until a group of activists turned the flow towards the river walk.  

Anxious to storm the Tower, the march poured down the concrete steps.  Hurrying to lower Wacker the maneuver seemed naïve.  Surely police must’ve anticipated such a move, though in fact they didn’t need to.  As already mentioned, barricades stood preventing anyone from getting close enough to piss on the gutters out front.  But motion feels like action, so the bulk of protesters surged onward. Signs held aloft elicited honks of support from passing motorists.  Cheering, feeling rejuvenated, on the road to success, the march circled like a shark.

It was then I saw a couple pausing from the protest to take a picture.  Passing by the infamous Billy Goat Tavern, a boyfriend photographed his girlfriend.  She posed to have, not only the landmark, but her sign in the photo as well.  The march slowly getting away from them, while they made sure to get the right shot.  

Shortly afterward I heard two demonstrators talking:

“Which street do we turn down to get to Trump Tower?”

“The next one?”

This exchange taking place a block after the relevant street.  I thought about directing them, but momentum seemed in favor of simply wandering the streets, shouting for attention.  When an organizer cried out, “We’re going to Lakeshore Drive!” trying to corral the herd to the Chicago landmark I departed from the march.  Gumming up LSD with protesters has become a predictable move in recent years.  It felt like the obligatory song of a one hit wonder trying to win back fans drifting to the exit.  Make no mistake, the spirit is willing, the flesh is not weak, but the movement is already fatigued.

Every day is a fresh pot of awful drunk choking back vomit.  This weekend’s protests are important, but they are more indicative of what’s to come rather than anything expected to effect change.  It would take god-sized optimism bordering on lunatic naivety to presume protests alone will unseat this “man.”  This is only the beginning.  

Now that it’s proven a call to action can assemble the masses it’s time to consider the next move. It isn’t enough to simply get people together.  Protests, after all, are more symbolic than effective.  Their main accomplishment is proving there is a movement, but they have to have an impact on something other than awareness of said movement.  

A friend of mine put it best, and if I may paraphrase:  it starts with a snowflake building to an avalanche.  We now need the avalanche.