#Route to market India

[spiritsrituals]

Market Entry India and Route to Market India - Spirits and Rituals

Introduction to Market Entry in India

Entering the Indian market offers immense opportunities for businesses worldwide. With its vast consumer base and growing economy, India presents an attractive destination for expansion. However, navigating the complexities of this diverse market requires a well-thought-out strategy.

Market Research and Analysis

Before venturing into India, thorough market research is essential. Understanding the demographics, consumer behavior, and competition landscape is crucial for success.

Choosing the Right Market Entry Strategy

Businesses can opt for various market entry strategies such as direct exporting, joint ventures, licensing, franchising, or establishing a subsidiary. Each approach has its advantages and challenges.

Understanding Indian Regulations and Legalities

Compliance with Indian regulations is vital for business operations. Familiarizing oneself with corporate laws, taxation policies, and intellectual property rights is essential to avoid legal issues.

Setting Up Distribution Channels

Establishing efficient distribution channels is key to reaching Indian consumers effectively. Building partnerships with local distributors can help penetrate the market more efficiently.

Cultural Considerations in Marketing

India's diverse culture requires businesses to tailor their marketing strategies accordingly. Language, customs, and traditions play a significant role in consumer perceptions.

Importance of Localizing Marketing Strategies

Adapting marketing campaigns to local preferences is essential for connecting with Indian consumers. Leveraging social media and digital platforms can enhance brand visibility.

Navigating Logistics and Supply Chain Management

Efficient logistics and supply chain management are critical for timely delivery of goods. Understanding India's transportation infrastructure and investing in warehousing facilities is vital.

Overcoming Language Barriers

Language barriers can hinder effective communication. Employing translation services and hiring bilingual staff can bridge the gap and facilitate smoother operations.

Building Relationships with Stakeholders

Establishing relationships with government agencies and local businesses is essential for navigating regulatory processes and gaining market insights.

Risk Management and Contingency Planning

Businesses must assess potential risks such as political instability and economic fluctuations. Developing contingency plans can mitigate adverse effects on operations.

Assessing Market Entry Success

Monitoring key performance indicators allows businesses to evaluate the success of their market entry strategies. Flexibility and adaptability are crucial for making necessary adjustments.

Case Studies of Successful Market Entries in India

Studying successful market entry cases provides valuable insights for businesses planning to enter India. Learning from past experiences can help avoid common pitfalls.

Conclusion

Entering the Indian market requires careful planning and execution. By understanding the market dynamics, complying with regulations, and adapting to cultural nuances, businesses can pave a successful route to market in India.

FAQs

What are the main challenges of entering the Indian market?

Entering the Indian market poses challenges such as cultural differences, regulatory complexities, and intense competition.

How can cultural differences affect market entry strategies in India?

Cultural differences influence consumer preferences, communication styles, and purchasing behavior, necessitating tailored marketing approaches.

What are the advantages of forming a joint venture in India?

Forming a joint venture allows businesses to leverage local expertise, share risks, and gain access to established distribution networks.

How important is it to comply with Indian regulations?

Compliance with Indian regulations is crucial for avoiding legal complications, maintaining business continuity, and fostering trust with stakeholders.

What role does market research play in market entry strategies?

Market research helps businesses understand the Indian market landscape, identify opportunities and threats, and formulate effective entry strategies.

[vivekbsworld]

Your Comprehensive Guide to Car Hire Services in Calicut

alicut, also known as Kozhikode, is a city steeped in history and natural beauty, making it a popular destination for travelers exploring Kerala. Whether you’re visiting for business, leisure, or to delve into the rich cultural heritage of the Malabar region, having access to a reliable car hire service can greatly enhance your experience. This guide will walk you through everything you need to know about car hire services in Calicut, ensuring you make the most of your visit.

Advantages of Car Hire in Calicut

Renting a car in Calicut offers numerous benefits:

Flexibility: Enjoy the freedom to explore Calicut and its surrounding areas at your own pace, without relying on public transportation schedules.

Convenience: Easily access attractions, markets, and restaurants that may not be easily reachable by other means of transport.

Comfort: Travel in comfort with the convenience of having your own vehicle, especially useful for families or groups.

Exploration: Discover off-the-beaten-path destinations and scenic routes that may not be covered by tour packages.

Top Car Hire Services in Calicut

Here are some reputable car hire services in Calicut to consider:

Savaari Car Rentals: Offers a wide range of vehicles including economy cars, sedans, SUVs, and luxury cars. They provide both local and outstation travel options with competitive pricing.

Zoomcar: Known for its self-drive car rental services, Zoomcar provides flexibility with a variety of vehicles from hatchbacks to SUVs. Ideal for independent travelers looking to explore Calicut on their own terms.

Myles Cars: Provides both self-drive and chauffeur-driven car rental options with a diverse fleet that caters to different budgets and preferences. They offer convenient booking options and reliable service.

Avis India: Specializes in premium car rentals with a focus on comfort and style. Avis offers a range of cars including luxury sedans and SUVs, perfect for business travelers or those seeking a touch of elegance.

Carzonrent: Offers dependable car hire services with a variety of car models available for short-term and long-term rentals. They ensure customer satisfaction with competitive rates and flexible rental plans.

How to Choose the Right Car Hire Service

Vehicle Selection: Consider the size of your travel group and the type of terrain you plan to cover. Choose a car that suits your comfort and luggage requirements.

Rental Terms: Review the terms and conditions carefully, including insurance coverage, mileage limits, and any additional fees or charges.

Booking Process: Book your rental car in advance to secure availability, especially during peak travel seasons or for specific vehicle models.

Conclusion

Renting a car in Calicut provides the freedom and flexibility to explore this captivating city and its scenic surroundings at your own pace. Whether you’re visiting historical sites, enjoying local cuisine, or simply soaking in the coastal beauty, having a rental car ensures you maximize your time and make lasting memories.

Call to Action

Ready to embark on a memorable journey through Calicut? Explore the car hire options mentioned above and book your ideal vehicle today to start your Kerala adventure with convenience and comfort.

[liesmyth]

Do you think the Nine Houses follow a Marxist, Keynsian, or Austrians economic model

this ask made me SO happy you have no idea! some vague thoughts

The Houses obviously have to do careful resource allocation. I doubt they have a free market economy, at least not on a system-wide scale. I could see some of the Houses — like the Third or Fifth Houses, which are by all accounts wealthy and with a very large population — develop some kind of internal capitalist economy within the House itself. Namely, private actors who control and own properties, wealth accumulation, competitive markets etc. But ultimately I think even those are subject to strong (local) governmental oversight because, again, they live on space installations in a situation of constant resource constraint. I bet there are quotas for everything.

However! No way ALL the Houses have a market economy. I'm thinking especially those Houses that are very small and/or have a "mission" which means that societal development is carefully planned, and probably the economy is also centrally planned. (Ninth, Eight, Sixth, maybe Second and/or Fourth).

On an overreaching scale (within the Home System) I don't think "the Empire" (as in, John) is overly concerned with the yearly economic development of the Houses, partly because he's been historically absent for decades or even centuries at a time. Verging sharply into headcanon territory, I think the closest thing the Houses have to a real centralised government is military leadership (High Command or the Fleet Admiral, who's the head of the Second House) and when it comes to issues that concern multiple Houses but are more "civilian" in nature, is kind of a free-for-all. I'm thinking about how Harrow thought that writing to ask for help would result in the Fifth or maybe the Third cannibalising the Ninth House — it looks like there's an informal council of House leaders, but no properly organised central government.

Trade: travel and commerce between the Houses is regulated. You can't just take a spaceship and move from the Eight to the Second, for example — movement of people as well as goods depends on a ship schedule that runs on "routes" and I'd bet there's an immigration/emigration quota that's maybe decided between specific House leaders, or maybe a third party. My best bet is that one of the Houses (possibly the Third or Fifth) OR an ad-hoc organisation (which includes multiple higher-ups from said well-off Houses) are the ones who regulate shipping and travel, and either have an ownership stake in the shipping system or administrate it in the name of the Emperor.

The shepherded planets: putting the "imperialism" in "Empire". The Houses definitely exploit their colony planet for resources, as per AYU (talking about the "contracts" that the Empire signs with the occupied planets). However, it's also worth noting that 1) for at least 5000 years, the House system was self-sustaining and hadn't made contact with any other population; and 2) stele travel is kind of a hassle, and only seems to be limited to Cohort ships that we know of.

What I'm getting at is that I think the economy of the Houses is not dependent on their war of conquest — imo it's more of a mission of conquest for conquest's sake, see Corona thinking that the economy of the Houses doesn't quite add up, and Augustine talking like the ongoing expansion of the Houses is a whim of John's and little else. Basically, it seems to be a way to oppress the occupied planet for occupation's sake, and I wouldn't be surprised if the resources the Houses extract from the conquered planets go straight into financing yet more war and occupation and very little (if any) of any wealth they may accumulate makes it back to the Houses.

It COULD be that there's a necromantic equivalent of the East India Company, and my bet would be on the Second administrating it — Harrow doesn't seem to rate them at all, which tracks because Harrow's primary concern is Houses that could be a threat to the Ninth, and the Second being focused on exploitation that's external to the Home System could be an explanation for that. I've also seen speculation that making money from colonialism is the Fifth House's purview (*) but EYE think it makes more sense if the House that are more strongly associated with running the war effort are also the ones making money from it. Or it could be a joint operation.

(*) never forget the iconic tag #we regret to inform you that spreadsheets dad is maybe running the necromantic East India Company @katakaluptastrophy here)

Anyway. Sorry I haven't answered your actual question! GUN TO MY HEAD, if I had to pick ONE economic model to map the Houses onto, I wanna say soviet type economy (think: centralised planning, no inflation, little to no unemployment, tendency towards black market, little to no innovation). I have thoughts about what the consumer needs market looks like in the Houses but nobody needs to hear that. Also, it's def very limited

If anyone has thoughts PLEASE feel free to jump in, I'm always thinking about the logistical side of space imperialism in the necro empire!

[zvaigzdelasas]

Turkey has discreetly imposed a comprehensive ban on the export of weapons and defence-related items to India, one of the world’s leading arms importers, to show its support for Pakistan, India’s main rival in South Asia.[...]

“India, for example, is one of the world’s top five arms importers, a massive market, importing close to $100 billion. However, due to our political circumstances and our friendship with Pakistan, our Ministry of Foreign Affairs does not give us positive feedback on exporting any products to India, and consequently, we do not grant any permits to our companies in this regard,” he said.[...]

Turkey and India are at odds over a proposed initiative introduced by India, the United States and the European Union at the G20 leaders’ summit in New Delhi on September 9, 2023. The initiative seeks to establish a substantial economic corridor linking Europe with the Middle East and India via rail and sea routes. It aims to connect India, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Jordan, Israel and the EU through strategically placed shipping ports and an extensive railway network.

Excluded from this corridor, Turkey openly expressed discomfort with the initiative, which it believes undermines its role as a trade hub and favors Greece and other regional competitors. Instead, Turkey supports China’s expansive Belt and Road projects.

Ankara is also advancing the realization of an alternative route, known as the Development Road, which aims to connect Europe and the Middle East through Turkey. “We say there can be no corridor without Turkey. The most suitable route for traffic from east to west must pass through Turkey,” said Erdogan on his return flight from India last year.

Erdogan said they are discussing a corridor that goes from Iraq, Qatar and Abu Dhabi through Turkey to Europe. The corridor is a 1,200-kilometer (745-mile) transportation route comprising railways, motorways and pipelines. It will stretch from Iraq’s Faw Port in Basra to the Turkish port of Mersin and is estimated to cost $20 billion.

Turkey’s anti-Indian policies have prompted New Delhi to seek alliances with countries where Turkey faces challenges in its neighborhood, such as Greece, Cyprus and Armenia, in order to send a message to Ankara that it is prepared to play hardball. As a result, security, military and intelligence cooperation among India, Greece, Cyprus and Armenia has been significantly enhanced in recent years.

18 Jul 24

[justbeingnamaste]

STOCK MARKETS ARE CRASHING, JOBS NUMBERS ARE TERRIBLE, WE ARE HEADING TO WORLD WAR lll, AND WE HAVE TWO OF THE MOST INCOMPETENT “LEADERS” IN HISTORY. THIS IS NOT GOOD!!!

🇺🇸 Donald J Trump 🇺🇸

“Japan down 12%, India down 6%. Germany way down also. U.S. really bad. This is a preview of the world markets without Donald J. Trump in the White House. None of this happens if Trump is in. Kamala and the markets don’t go together. She’ll destroy the markets. She’s in power now and look at what is happening. One week of the fake media saying better polls and you get a market crash.”

The Legendary Howard Lutnick!

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Three Broken Threads

Hat tip to @myemuisemo for another excellent post that covers much of what I was planning together:

Data protection was not really a thing back in 1889. However, paper hotel registers would be something filled in by the front desk staff, not the guest. They would contain details of extra charges incurred as well, all stuff generally done by computer, but you can still buy paper copies today. Particularly for the Indian market, where less than half the population have Internet access. These registers are generally mandatory and in some countries, the data will still be passed to the police when it concerns newly arrived foreigners. That's why they ask for your passport.

Newcastle upon Tyne, the one people generally talk about as opposed to Newcastle-under-Lyme in Staffordshire, was at the centre of a major coal mining area in North-East England, the Durham and Northumberland coalfields being in close proximity. The industry was still employing children - boys as young as 12 could work in mines - and was still a pretty dangerous, not to mention unhealthy industry.

The British economy was heavily reliant on coal, especially the newly built electric power stations. While the railways had a big coal trade for internal transport for domestic purposes, boats also played a big role, either going via canal or down the East Coast of Great Britain to the London Docks. This route would become vulnerable to German attack in the World Wars, particularly in the second war from fast torpedo boats known to the British as "E-boats"; the East Coast convoys are a lesser-known part of the naval war, with Patrick Troughton having served with Coastal Force Command.

The Mayor of Gloucester, like most civic mayors in England, is the chair of the council, elected to a one-year term by their fellow councillors. The current holder is Conservative councillor Lorraine Campbell. It's a mostly ceremonial role involving going to various events while wearing a red cloak and a big hat:

Gloucester's Deputy Mayor is called the Sheriff of Gloucester. There is still a Sheriff of Nottingham, by the way.

The Anglophone Canadian accent was historically noticeably different to an American one and of course had its own varieties. They've gotten closer over the decades, especially due to television.

Sir Henry would have limited luggage space on the ship over, so three pairs of boots would be reasonable. He'd have to ship over anything else at further cost, so it could be cheaper to buy new in London.

Deliveries of telegrams that weren't in the immediate area of the office cost extra. Bradshaw's Guide for Tourists in Great Britain and Ireland would state the nearest telegraph office for a town, as the 1866 edition demonstrates:

Sir Charles' estate was worth around £80m in today's money, but that would not even get him onto The Sunday Times Rich List, which starts at £350m (Sir Lewis Hamilton, i.e. the F1 driver). It tops out with Gopichand Hinduja and his family at an estimated £37.2 billion, whose conglomerate is many focussed on India, but also are the biggest shareholders in US chemical company Quaker Houghton.

Westmoreland was a historical county in Northern England; it was absorbed into Cumbria in 1974, but its area became part of the Westmoreland and Furness unitary authority in 2023.

"Entailed" means that Sir Charles has stipulated in a legal document that the Baskerville estate would have to pass to Sir Henry's heir intact. This was a feudal era practice that has now been abolished in most jurisdictions, with limited remaining use in England and Wales. Simply put Sir Henry is not allowed to sell the house or the land, even part of it. He can do what he likes with the cash and probably the chattels, the movable property like the candlesticks and the toasting forks.

This page covers it in relation to the works of Jane Austen with relevant spoilers:

Borough is another name for the area of Southwark. It got a Tube station in 1890, when the City and South London Railway opened, now the Bank branch of the Northern line. It also is famous for Borough Market, then a wholesale food market under cover of buildings from the 1850s. Today it is a retail market for specialty food; kind of like a farmers' market.

In 1888, the 10:30 from Paddington would get to Exeter at 15:35, a journey of five hours. @myemuisemo provides route maps. I would add at this point, GWR services to SW England went via Bristol, adding a lot of time to the journey, while the LSWR route from Waterloo was a lot more direct. Wags dubbed the former "the Great Way Round". The construction of two cut-off lines allowed the GWR to go via Westbury and Castle Cary.

I will cover the modern day condition of the route in my Chapter 6 post.

The GWR still had some broad-gauge track at 2,140 mm(7 ft 1⁄4 in) left that Brunel had favoured, but this would be finally eliminated in 1892.

Finally, Holmes is referencing the sport of fencing when he learns the cabbie has been given his name. The foil is the lightest of the three swords used in competitive fencing, such as the Olympics.

In an age before electronic fencing equipment, point scoring relied on the eyesight of the umpire... and the honesty of the competitions.

I was in my fencing club at university. I can't say I was that great. I preferred the epee, which doesn't have the priority rules...

[ptseti]

THE MOORS By: Dr. Leroy Vaughn, MD, MBA. A Dynamic, Honest and Powerful View of Black History.

During the European Dark Ages, between the 7th and 14th century AD, the Moorish Empire in Spain became one of the world's finest civilizations. General Tarik and his Black Moorish army from Morocco, conquered Spain after a week-long battle with King Roderick in 711 AD. (The word tariff and the Rock of Gibraltar were named after him). They found that Europe, with the assistance of the Catholic Church, had returned almost to complete barbarism. The population was 90% illiterate and had lost all of the civilizing principles that were passed on by the ancient Greeks and Romans. The Moors reintroduced mathematics, medicine, agriculture, and the physical sciences. Arabic figures including the zero and the decimal point replaced the clumsy Roman numerals. As Dr. Van Sertima says, "You can't do higher mathematics with Roman numerals." The Moors introduced agriculture to Europe including cotton, rice, sugar cane, dates, ginger, lemons, and strawberries. They also taught them how to store grain for up to 100 years and built underground grain silos. They established a world-famous silk industry in Spain. The Moorish achievement in hydraulic engineering was outstanding. They constructed an aqueduct, that conveyed water from the mountains to the city through lead pipes from the mountains to the city. They taught them how to mine for minerals on a large scale, including copper, gold, silver, tin, lead, and aluminium. Spain soon became the world centre for high-quality sword blades and shields. Spain was eventually manufacturing up to 12,000 blades and shields per year. Spanish craft and woollen became world famous. The Moorish craftsman also produced world-class glass, pottery, vases, mosaics, and jewellery. The Moors introduced to Europe paved, lighted streets with raised sidewalks for pedestrians, flanked by uninterrupted rows of buildings. Paved and lighted streets did not appear in London or Paris for centuries. They constructed thousands of public markets and mills in each city. Cordova alone had 5,000 of each. They were also introduced to Spain's underwear and bathing with soap. Their public baths numbered in the thousands when bathing in the rest of Europe was frowned upon as a diabolical custom to be avoided by all good Christians. Poor hygiene contributed to the plagues in the rest of Europe. Moorish monarchs dwelled in sumptuous palaces while the crowned heads of England, France, and Germany lived in barns, lacking windows, toilets, and chimneys, with only a hole in the roof as the exit for smoke. Human waste material was thrown in the streets since no bathrooms were present. Education was made mandatory by the Moors, while 90% of Europe was illiterate, including the kings and queens. The Moors introduced public libraries to Europe with 600,000 books in Cordova alone. They established 17 outstanding universities in Spain. Since Africa is a matriarchal society, women were also encouraged to devote themselves to serious study, and it was only in Spain that one could find female doctors, lawyers, and scientists. Moorish schoolteachers knew that the world was round and taught geography from a globe. They produced expert maps with all sea and land routes accurately located with respect to latitude and longitude; while also introducing compasses to Europe. They were such expert shipbuilders that they were able to use their geography expertise to import and export as far away as India and China. It was not by accident that a Moor named Pietro Olonzo Nino was the chief navigator for Christopher Columbus on the flagship Santa Maria. He is said to have argued with Columbus as to who really discovered America. One of the worst mistakes the Moors made was to introduce gunpowder technology from China into Europe because their enemies adopted this weapon and used it to drive them out of Spain. #Africa

[mariacallous]

Conspiracists and far-right extremists are blaming just about everything and everyone for Tuesday morning’s Baltimore bridge collapse.

A non-exhaustive list of things that are getting blamed for the bridge collapse on Telegram and X include President Biden, Hamas, ISIS, P. Diddy, Nickelodeon, India, former president Barack Obama, Islam, aliens, Sri Lanka, the World Economic Forum, the United Nations, Wokeness, Ukraine, foreign aid, the CIA, Jewish people, Israel, Russia, China, Iran, Covid vaccines, DEI, immigrants, Black people, and lockdowns.

The Francis Scott Key truss bridge collapsed when the MV Dali cargo ship collided with one of the bridge supports. Six construction workers, who were filling potholes on the bridge’s roadway at the time, are presumed dead. The ship is owned by Singapore-based Grace Ocean Private Ltd., and the 22-person crew were all Indian. The ship was en route to Colombo, Sri Lanka, at the time of the accident.

This did not stop people from “asking questions” about the incident, a frequent conspiracist response to major events. And though conspiracy theorists are having a hard time pinpointing exactly what conspiracy caused the collapse, the one thing they do agree on is that this incident is a “black swan event.”

The term black swan event has been around for decades and is used to describe a major global event (typically in the financial markets) that can cause significant damage to a country’s economy. But in recent years, the term has been co-opted by the conspiracy-minded to explain an event triggered by the so-called deep state that would signal an imminent revolution, a third world war, or some other apocalyptic catastrophe.

One of the first people to call the bridge collapse a black swan event was disgraced former US national security adviser Michael Flynn. “This is a BLACK SWAN event,” he wrote on X. “Black swans normally come out of the world of finance (not military) … There are harbor masters for every single one of these transit points in America that are in charge of assuring the safety of navigation … start there.” Flynn’s post has been viewed 7.2 million times.

Misogynist influencer Andrew Tate, who has been charged in Romania with rape and human trafficking, also posted on X early on Tuesday morning, writing: “Nothing is safe. Black Swan Event imminent.” The post has been viewed almost 19 million times.

The term black swan quickly began trending on X, and soon conspiracists, extremists, and right-wing lawmakers began coming up with explanations for what or who triggered this “black swan event.”

One post claiming a link between the bridge collapse and the film Leave the World Behind has been viewed more than 1.2 million times. The post claimed that because the ship was headed to Sri Lanka, which has a lion on its flag, then the situation was linked to the ship that runs aground at the beginning of the film which was called White Lion. The post also points out that the film was produced by Obama.

A post from Anthony Sabatini, a former Florida state congressman, declared, without evidence, that “DEI did this”—and its been viewed over 2.2 million times.

Some politicians have boosted the conspiracy as well. “Is this an intentional attack or an accident?” Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, an influential and conspiracy-minded member of the GOP, posted on X above a video shared by a prominent QAnon conspiracist.

Under previous iterations of X, formerly Twitter, such speculation would typically have gained little traction, as the algorithm would have prioritized trusted news sources and primary evidence. But under Elon Musk’s reign, anyone willing to pay for a blue check can have their posts artificially boosted by the algorithm. This means that conspiracies like this are ending up in the news feeds of millions of people.

On Telegram, one prominent election denier claimed the incident was linked to the fact that the bridge was named after Francis Scott Key, who wrote the words for the Star Spangled Banner, and was thus an attempt to undermine America.

“Don't let them erase our history,” the conspiracist wrote.

Investigators are looking into the cause of the tragic incident, but William DelBagno, the FBI special agent in charge, said on Tuesday that there are no indications of terrorism.

[aeolianblues]

good god girl, maybe some of us are not vegan because we eat chicken like once in three months?? Would reduction not be a more productive goal of vegan activism than outright banning? Like if your arguments are that animals are being eaten, then you’re being unrealistic about the entire actual concept of the food chain. Humans are omnivores, you do not need to change that to achieve your goals.

A vegan lifestyle is also entirely the product of your geographical location. If you live somewhere that shit does not grow, what are you going to do?? I just think about the difference between food options in India and Canada, for example. India: between the tropics (tropics and equator even, in fact). All-year-round sun, there’s pretty much always stuff growing. Different kinds of land will mean you can grow everything from staples like rice and wheat to vegetables, fruits and plantation crops. It’s reflected in the cuisines: Indian food has a much, much wider offering of vegetarian food, and many more Indians have restricted diets that more or less overlap with vegetarianism. Because crops grows. Locally.

Canada. Harvest in the fall, from November to March, your fields are practically unusable. Compare the prices of fresh produce in (and now I’m being generous to give you a highly populated, non-remote province here for an example) Ontario. Ontario has farms where in the fall you get fresh autumn vegetables and fruits. You’ll also get them in larger quantities. It is way cheaper, fresher and also uses less energy and fuel to transport the vegetables like 50 km from farm to market.

Come the winter and nothing grows. If you look at most vegetables you’ll find on store shelves in December or February, and most of it is either imported from warmer regions of the US (often the case for chains that are in both countries) or from South American countries (sometimes SA -> USA -> Canada). The importing has to go through cross-country customs, had to be driven for days, is less fresh or rich in nutrients by the time you get it, and is more expensive. Of course. And we all come out of it poorer. Is it any wonder why people will eat meat? We’re even talking here about a place like Ontario, very well connected on North American trade routes. Can you justify someone in Yukon deciding to eat meat over a $17/lb. green veg? Be for fucking real…

There simply cannot be a blanket-global solution to animal products. You’ve got to work with what your geography has to offer. It’s the same thing we say when we say that avocados have an environmental cost when you expect them to be available year-round in places they don’t grow. We encourage people to go for more local produce there, and I think the same should go for all parts of your diet too. If your animals are local, then their footprint is lower than importing kiwis from New Zealand to the US. I don’t see how that’s hard to understand.

[darkmaga-retard]

Michael Corbin

Sep 06, 2024

On September 4, Kommersant reported that Yuri Ushakov, aide to President Vladimir Putin, confirmed that Turkey is requesting full membership to the BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa) and that the organization would begin reviewing the request in advance of the BRICs Summit this fall.

The event will be held in Kazan, Russia, on October 22-24. Ushakov also underscored that Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan will attend.

The Russian aide’s announcement ended months of speculation and followed a Bloomberg article on September 2 claiming the country had “formally asked to join the BRICS group of emerging-market nations.” Erdoğan administration officials, speaking under anonymity, noted that one reason for the formal application was that the “geopolitical center of gravity is shifting away from developed economies.”

Noted Russian political scientist Alexander Safonov offered insight into the rationale for Ankara’s decision:

"Turkey is one of the states that is conveniently located in terms of global trade routes, including between Europe and Asia. This factor forces the government of the republic to seek as many contacts as possible through which these logistical features can be used. And, of course, BRICS as one of the modern leading economic platforms gives it more opportunities in this regard, including for establishing relations with China, Russia, and Iran."

Membership clearly would provide Turkey with the opportunity to increase its already high level of imports from China and Russia. It would also offer greater access for exports to these countries and lower the Ankara’s reliance on the United States and European Union.

[antaxzantax]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 54

Summary: Oswell E. Spencer hires Albert Wesker as security chief at Arklay Laboratory.

1

The Berlin Wall fell.

The Soviet Union dissolved and, with it, the definitive consolidation of Western hegemony.

A new world order ordered by the markets was born.

It was the corporations' time, Umbrella's time.

Spencer and Ashford had met urgently at Umbrella Pharmaceuticals headquarters in Bonn to discuss the future of the company and the joint course of action they would formulate for the bioweapons market.

Spencer never changed his mind. He set up Umbrella as an enterprise for his personal enrichment and for the extension of his individual fortune, as he promised his father Abraham. However, the serendipity of the Progenitor virus caused a deviation from his original route as a traditional businessman that uncovered new and affluent avenues for him to refocus his existential state. He had had a few ideas that had shaken him by their scope and overweening ambition, but these ideas were purely personal and unrelated to the subject at hand: the future of a multinational.

Ashford held a position that only the threat of thermonuclear war had quelled: Umbrella was to play a central role in the expansion and maintenance of Western hegemony. Alexander, like his father, his grandfather and virtually all his ancestors before him, wanted empire. Unlike the old glories who mourned the disintegration of the British Empire, Alexander looked to the wide ocean of nation-states with which to negotiate and in which to incite coups and civil wars. The Ashfords, and the Stuarts by extension, had cast themselves in the role of guardians of the old order regardless of whether the peasant carries a hoe or a computer. Specifically, of an old order dreamed up as an industrial and rationalist reproduction of the absolutism to which their Stuart forebears were usually prone.

And that was going to be a problem.

Spencer did not want Umbrella to survive. Although promising at first, his partnership with Ashford had turned into an ordeal of constant conflicting opinions because of the lack of a guiding principle between the two. He had experienced his long corporate career as enriching and forging a character that would have made his ancestors proud, but he was about to reach the limit of his effort and patience and could not simply walk away.

If he ran, the Ashfords would own Umbrella in its entirety along with the Progenitor virus patent. Even if he kept a boxcar of samples, the Ashfords would destroy his legacy, ruin his name and the rest of the Spencers would jump down his throat for giving those jocks such a succulent steak. Then, there was the matter of Alex and his mixed feelings about her. She certainly needed an heir, but... She wasn't even English. And he didn't quite trust her. She had killed Marcus as a test of loyalty and that honored her, but it remained to be found out if her ambition and his matched or, on the contrary, her role as prodigal daughter would be abruptly cancelled by a bullet in the head.

He had to do something. He would rather die than lose control of his half of the company. Seeing Ashford excited about a hypothetical invasion of Iraq with Umbrella's explicit involvement turned his stomach. His grandfather was governor of India, not the head of a militia of down-and-out highlanders. He wanted order and control, and to resolve conflicts from the discretion of his office, whereas the Ashfords wanted to involve Umbrella in a second battle of Culloden with the prince at the helm[1].

He sensed that Ashford also wished to leave. However, their bond had been twisted to the point of making a peaceful exit impossible at this time. Therefore, Spencer had to design and execute his tactic carefully. First, he had thought of a radical measure, but one he believed to be effective: hiring Soviet personnel. He had his eye on a man, Sergei Vladimir, who would repel Alexander for his furious anti-communism and begin to build a faction of loyalists. In this sense, Vladimir was an interesting addition as a disenchanted Leninist and former Red Army colonel. It was Vladimir who had contacted Spencer through his agents to join the UBCS[2], a paramilitary unit against biological disasters that was set up in the wake of the Chernobyl nuclear incident.

He could not anticipate what the consequences would be, but he took comfort in having taken a first step.

Only time would tell.

2

A sip from the coffee cup. Sherry stood up on the couch to touch the bandage on her head. Her tiny finger touched a bump that made her shudder.

William pulled his daughter's hand away and forced her to sit next to him as the girl began to look distressed.

“It's nothing. Just a bump. Dad is fine.”

William was not well at all. The incident... He was in a coma for two full days. Fortunately, with no after-effects. A persistent headache for a few months and a requirement to avoid any further blows to the head on pain of permanently damaging his cognition. The man and the woman...

He had been placed on a three-month leave of absence for a full recovery. He had not been fired or suspended from employment and pay. They simply sent him to the hospital, paid all the bills and sent him home for a paid vacation. Annette, for her part, was still working.

The incident happened at full speed. He was pissed off because he had been demoted. Then he went to the sales office and was beaten out of there for his inappropriate behavior. He went to the lab and ran into the woman. The woman drove him crazy and then the bearded man showed up and beat him like a savage into unconsciousness.

The chain of events seemed logical, but him being alive and employed didn't make sense.

There were two words that fluttered around inside his skull and with which he had established a traumatic relationship: Alexia and Alexander. The woman said her name was Alexia I don't know what and she believed the bearded man's name was Alexander because she remembered in a flash the meeting at the Spencer mansion and Albert's comment about the identity of those present. Alexia said she was the head of investigations, while the bearded man stared at her silently with the expression of a serial killer.

He was prescribed antidepressants to cope with the loss of the G-virus. In reality, the existence of the G-virus was never mentioned to a lay doctor, but the incident passed for an accident at work and a nervous breakdown that a stranger invented to justify William's leave and his taking Prozac. He had been pill-popped since waking up from the coma to alleviate the extreme feeling of emptiness.

G. Golgotha virus. Destroyed. Forever.

Tears bathed his eyelids.

Sherry hugged her father and joined him in sobbing.

3

“Alpha. Beta. Pi.” Auguste rolled down the window. “This is it.”

Alfred started the engine. The Lamborghini Diablo roared. He stepped on the accelerator and pulled into the fraternity compound. The gravel road circled a circular lake decorated with an imitation of the Trevi Fountain. At the end of the road was the entrance to a three-story colonial mansion. Scattered around the doorway and stairs swarmed the members of the exclusive fraternity linked to Raccoon City University. As they advanced, heads turned and whispered to each other.

Alfred gave them a wry smile. He found it amusing that students from a crappy provincial university thought they were part of the upper class. They were just a bunch of children of the American upper-middle class that so repulsed him. Unnecessarily overbearing and obsessed with a ridiculous display of wealth. Classists with money, but no classy.

Alfred parked the vehicle on the snowy margin of the gravel road. He turned off the engine as Auguste got out and put on his cap with the visor back. When Alfred got out, he smoothed his suit jacket and replaced the gold watch his father had given him for his twentieth birthday. They both stood in front of the hood to survey the scene. Boat blondes, leather shoes and polo shirts with the college logo. The spitting image of the American lifestyle.

“Do you have the coke on you?” asked Auguste.

“I have five grams left over.”

“Shall we get a couple in before we go in? I'm not going to last all night sober.”

Alfred removed his purse and wallet from inside his jacket. With the help of a platinum credit card, he prepared four stripes which he consumed instantly and discreetly.

“Better.” Auguste breathed in sharply. “Let's go.”

They made their way to the entrance. Under the threshold, Richard and Tracy were waiting to greet them. Alfred met Richard by chance at the university. He had been sitting in the library reading a couple of things when Richard approached him about studying together. Alfred didn't mind but regretted it as soon as Richard questioned him about his religious affiliation.

“I am Catholic.”

Alfred replied dryly to tertiary the absurd conversation. Richard said nothing more and just studied in silence. The next day, however, Richard approached him in one of the corridors and invited him to the fraternity party. Likewise, Alfred self-invited his cousin Auguste so that he would not end up retired in a corner and on the verge of suicide from boredom.

Richard and Tracy stepped forward.

“Welcome to Alpha-Beta-Pi!” Tracy greeted effusively. “Ready to party?”

Alfred responded to the welcome with a forced smile. Auguste extended his hand to Richard and Tracy.

“Auguste Campbell, Alfred's cousin.”

“Nice to meet you.” Richard shook his hand second. “Come on in. We have fifteen minutes to spare before it starts.”

Alfred and Auguste accompanied their hosts into the building. There were beer cans with swallowing tubes set in the hallway. Auguste was fidgeting casually, and Alfred had gotten the urge to smoke to calm the cocaine-induced excitement. Richard and Tracy led them into the main room, where there was no one else except the four of them.

Tracy hooked Auguste. Richard went straight for Alfred.

“Would you like to have a drink?”

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Alfred showed him a pack of unbranded cigarettes.

“No, of course not. Go ahead.” Richard repositioned the collar of his shirt.

Alfred lit a cigarette with the zippo he kept inside the pack.

“I'm glad you came, and with your cousin. We love meeting new people.”

Alfred exhaled, controlling his euphoria. He was half listening to what Richard was saying.

“I found your seminar the other day very interesting. And for that reason, I tried to talk to you the other day. I'm sorry if I offended you.”

“You didn't. But why did you ask me about my religion?” Alfred really wanted to know why.

“Nothing special. It's because I was struck by your critical and somewhat nihilistic approach to research.” Richard tried hard to sound sympathetic. “I don't mean that you are, but I felt a little depressed when I finished.”

“It is a continuation of the work of my great-grandfather, Arthur Ashford. He experimented with classical conditioning long before Skinner published his thesis.”

“Wow, a man ahead of his time.”

“It was.”

Richard kept his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable with his guest's curt attitude.

“And what part of the UK are you from?”

Alfred took a puff.

“Scotland, but I live in Northern England.”

“Oh, you're Scottish. Edinburgh?”

“Highlands.”

“I would like to visit Scotland. Maybe I'll let you know about a getaway.” Richard laughed.

Alfred finished his cigarette and went to the standing ashtray they had placed in the corner. Richard followed behind him as if he were his shadow. The party hadn't even started, and he was feeling anxious. He would escape to the bathroom to take two more drags.

“What about the rest of the guests? Anyone who likes horror movies?” It sounded like a snub, but Alfred was serious.

“There's Peter.” Richard took it as a joke. “He's got a little strange taste.”

Alfred sat on the couch waiting. He watched Auguste chatting animatedly with Tracy.

In short.

The rest of the guests milled around in the main hall. The carillon clock struck midnight. Alfred got up to greet people he didn't give a shit about. Auguste fell into his good graces and soon set out to smoke pot with his new friends. The only thing he liked was the music, a mix of New Order with Huey Lewis and the News, Mariah Carey and Billy Idol.

“Alfred? Are you Alfred?”

Alfred turned around. A young man about his own age, curly red hair, pronounced dark circles under his eyes and a pleasant smile.

“Richard told me you liked horror movies, didn't he?”

Alfred nodded.

“My name is Peter Lee. I am a medical student. My specialty is anatomy.”

They shook hands.

“Alfred Ashford. I am doing a pre-doctoral research stay.”

“You look very young. How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Peter was surprised.

“Wow. You are a genius.”

Alfred shrugged his shoulders.

“Well...” He drank from his glass of water. “And what's your favorite horror movie?”

“Hellraiser by Clive Barker.”

Peter looked at him ecstatically.

“Hellraiser... What a coincidence. It's also one of my favorites along with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Do you like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

“I prefer Halloween, but that is also among my favorites.”

“Have you seen Cannibal Holocaust?”

“I have an original copy...”

Peter sipped half his glass in one gulp.

“Do you know what snuff is?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow in confirmation. Peter was thrilled.

“I invite you to my house. I have some Japanese stuff you'll like.” He finished drinking his glass. “Friday?”

“Saturday night.”

“Bake St. 2013. A two-story mansion. A gift from my parents.”

Alfred memorized the address. Peter withdrew. Auguste shouted expletives with his new colleagues.

4

Ulysses slid to the edge of the bed. Alexander gently caressed his waist. It had been years since he had enjoyed a good orgasm. But that man was not the Ulysses of her youth, the handsome gentleman who stole his heart from an intense but short-lived passion that left a permanent imprint on him. He had paid for that man and had given him the name Ulysses to raise his spirits. Since his father's death, whether male or female, his relationships had been limited to one-night stands. If he had abhorred commitment before, the shocks he suffered after the founding of Umbrella had deterred him from emotionally relating to anyone. And so little had he sought such liaison that his apathy affected his small family.

He justified himself with excuses until his mother clarified his thoughts after the incident at the Antarctic base. Like an epiphany, and with his daughter strapped to a hospital bed after attacking her psychologist, he understood his distraught mother's warning.

It was the end. If he did nothing, it would be the end. And he didn't want it to be the end. His complacency had absorbed him in a way that frightened him and made him burst into bitter weeping.

The death of his mother in 1988 reaffirmed the evidence that he was completely alone. But his mother's death was different. It was a light departure, agreed upon, like that of a son who leaves on a trip and his mother bids him farewell on the platform. There was no decay, no strange thoughts, but a melancholy acceptance, for the situation was quite different.

In the previous years, from 1983 onwards, he tried to erase CODE: Veronica from his memory. His obsession reached the extreme of rummaging through his grandfather Arthur's old psychology books to suppress that memory. Obviously, nothing worked, so he resorted to the old reliable one of there is no such thing as what is not mentioned. With all the evidence suppressed, only he himself remained as a witness. His mother didn't believe it when he told her. However, since he and his father had been the masterminds, Elizabeth ordered him not to reveal the secret, and so he would act.

With his stupid project buried under tons of detritus, Alexander rediscovered his children. After the incident in Antarctica, he called Spencer to notify him of his absence and showed up at the Institute to accompany his daughter during intake. Elizabeth kissed them both when they returned. She did not congratulate Alexander because that is what Edward would have done for him. As for Alfred, during the first Christmas vacation after the incident, he hugged him for the first time. Alfred cried and the child told him about his experience of abuse, emotional repression, and sexual confusion at Jacob II; and Alexander, though he did not cry, empathized with his firstborn because he must have survived the same and prevailed, thus forging his character and sealing his future as head of the family. Alfred wiped away his tears and his eyes radiated admiration. Alexander felt comforted and that Christmas he regained his good humor.

What he started in that year carried him through to the present, and he realized he would give his life not to change it. Perhaps that was what his father would really have wanted. He would not know, but his mother rested in peace as she witnessed a seeming contentment that had never reigned at Ashford Hall since he was invested peer of the United Kingdom after inheriting his father's dignity.

For this reason, he struck William Birkin with the intention of killing him.

Alexia stopped him and interceded on the employee's behalf. She blamed herself and allowed William Birkin to live and keep his job.

The why escaped his discernment and eliciting it from her was not an option.

“William Birkin,” he whispered.

Ulysses cocked his head.

“I hate it,” Alexander mumbled into the void.

5

“Go ahead.”

Albert entered Spencer's office in the Raccoon City mansion. Spencer didn't get up from his seat, and Albert saw that a cane was propped next to his desk. He noticed that the decorations followed the same pattern as in the rest of the house, with hunting and classical art as the main motifs.

“Forgive me for not greeting you properly, but I am not feeling very healthy today due to the infirmities of age.” Spencer excused himself and invited him to sit down with a wave of his hand. “Would you like some tea?”

Albert nodded. Spencer pointed to the teapot for him to help himself. He noticed him more aged than last time.

“I read your letter of resignation as Arklay's chief researcher and your application to the Department of Information, and both made me feel bad.” Spencer dramatized. “You've worked for me for twelve long years. You have never let me down and your resume is enviable, Mr. Wesker. That distressed me, because I felt you were leaving by the back door, and in my family, we were always strict about credit.” Spencer took a sip from his cup of tea. Albert, without touching his cup, remained expectant. “I wish to make you a proposal.”

Albert swallowed hard. Spencer would look upon him as a god would pity his faithful.

“I would like to continue to think that you are one of my most faithful employees, and that I can rely on you for tasks of greater consequence than serving as a simple clerk. I know you were at the military academy and, although you have no formal experience as a soldier, you are in good shape and do well at shooting and fighting with your hands; for that is, among other qualities, what I am looking for.” Spencer fell silent and glanced at the cups before regaining his composure. “I want to make you security chief at Arklay Lab. But being head of security won't mean taking care of idle employees and repelling unwanted visitors; my integrity and that of my daughter Alex while we're here will depend on you; that things work in this place and, above all, that you accept me as your sole authority.”

Spencer underlined ‘sole authority’ as if he could see that phrase shining on a blank sheet of paper.

“I accept.” Albert did not hesitate.

“Come to the laboratory next Tuesday at noon. You will be met at the main entrance, just down the stairs from the fountain. Good afternoon.”

Albert stood up.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Spencer.”

Spencer took another swig from the cup. Albert went to the door and grabbed the doorknob.

“Loyalty is the most graceful of virtues, my father used to say.”

He closed the door.

[1] Battle fought in Scotland in 1746 by Prince Charles Edward Stuart against the House of Hannover for the restoration of the Stuart monarchy in the United Kingdom. The prince was defeated.

[2] Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service.

[scotianostra]

John Kirk was born in Barry, Angus, near Arbroath December 19th 1832.

Another wee snippet of history that few Scots know about, John Kirk was the driving force in Africa in eradicating the slave trade.

John Kirk was a physician, naturalist, a keen botanist and a valued member of David Livingstone’s Zambesi expedition of 1858-1863.

I read that perhaps his greatest contribution to the African expedition was as as the expedition’s unofficial photographer, however he worked tirelessly away from the expedition and is credited with being the driving force in ending the slave trade while working as an administrator in Zanzibar.

In the mid-19th century, the Zanzibar slave market was notorious as the last place on earth where human beings could still be bought and sold. Each year thousands of Africans were taken from the mainland and shipped to Arabia and Persia. Although slave trading had been suppressed elsewhere in the world, in East Africa it prospered with the connivance of the British authorities in India.

Dr John Kirk was appointed medical officer to the British Consulate in Zanzibar in 1866. Kirk was a pragmatist, and through a mixture of guile and perseverance, he finally contrived a way to shut down the slave market.

The National Library of Scotland hold many papers regarding Kirk, among them letters to Charles Allen, Secretary of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society they contain detailed accounts of many aspects of life in Zanzibar and of the slave trade. He reports fathers selling their children into slavery to pay for food: ‘such a state of things attracts the human vultures’.

He made slavery, in the eyes of the Arabs, socially unacceptable. He persuaded the Sultan to crush this important source of his wealth and power, to discipline those who continued the trade, to stop the dhows, to close the slave market. And then, when the trade switched to land routes, marching their slave caravans across Africa to the North in order to avoid his energy and determination to wipe it out, he went into the interior, intercepting caravans, freeing slaves, fighting slavers, closing down slave staging posts and successfully, almost on his own, defeating and crushing slave trading from the East coast.

In June 1873 Sir John Kirk informed The Sultan of Zanzibar that a total blockade of Zanzibar Island was imminent. Reluctantly he signed the Anglo-Zanzibari treaty which provided for the complete abolition of the slave trade.

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[helianskies]

They called him the Son of the Devil. 'They', however, did not know what the Devil truly was...

a gift for @needcake! this is just a lil' something hehe, but feliz aniversário e espero que você se divirta! 🌊

[ read the full fic on ao3 or down below! ]

They called him the Son of the Devil. 

‘They’ were the Portuguese, God-fearing, almost as much as they were Devil-fearing, evidently. From those unfortunate enough to meet him by land, to those even more unfortunate to meet him at sea, they were his adversaries, his victims, his entertainment.

The Portuguese ships—whether merchant or naval—who clung too close to his territory for too long were taught fast what it really meant to fear. Cannonfire was child’s play. Never did he miss, nor did his men ever hesitate when he made the call. That had bought him his name—a personal ferryman for Davy Jones, delivering souls to their watery graves like the swift turning of the tide.

Meanwhile, those who resided in the areas navigated by his ship did not venture too close whenever they docked. While some were sympathetic to the attacks against the Portuguese, and were kind enough to keep his crew stocked up and sustained with both food and leisure, others were sure to keep their distance when they could. Perhaps that was wise of them. Even the too-curious were at risk. And perhaps being feared like that, too, brought only a greater thrill.

A force to be reckoned with, was what he was. Fierce as the pacific seas he had come to claim as his own. So many ships had been sunken, so many men slain—and it had made Abel a man wealthy not only in riches, but equally in reputation. 

At present, Abel and his men were venturing the Coromandel Coast of India. The growing spice trade was teeming with opportunity, markets, clients, and the easterlies made it an easy route to take before swooping back around towards the East Indies. It suited them well. Here, they had been welcomed more openly than they were used to.

To make the most of a final night in their current host town, Abel had been generous and granted the crew an evening to explore and enjoy themselves. For the majority, that had meant a night wandering from tavern to tavern, tankard to tankard, and Abel had gladly joined them.

At least, for most of the evening.

As the moon was approaching its highest point in the sky, however, and as the stars came to shine their brightest, Abel found himself alone at the beginning of a beach. He couldn’t remember how he got there. He couldn’t tell if he had just arrived, or if he had been standing there for an hour. But the sea was calming, the breeze light, and the ‘how’, ‘when’ and ‘why’ were so suddenly, incredibly unimportant.

Abel wandered forth and welcomed the feeling of sand beneath his boots, sturdy yet not, gentle yet not. There was a bottle in his hand, he soon discovered, from which he took a healthy sip of spiced liquor. Life felt perfect.

The sea before him was illuminated by the moon and the stars and the ghosts of his victories. It was his—all his. It was an immense feeling, a sobering tidal wave (well, figuratively sobering, that was).

A younger Abel, who used to quietly watch from the window as his father went out to sea to catch fish before the sun even rose, would not have imagined this future for himself. He used to hate the sea. He used to hate how it stole from him. The day his father had gone out for work and not returned—not that evening, nor the day after, nor even within the next year—he had sworn vengeance.

But now, he was the one who stole, and the sea no longer laughed at him but respected him. It was no longer the enemy, but a friend. If his father had gone out to sea and drowned, then all Abel knew was that his father had simply not been strong enough a man to live…

…he took another swig from the bottle.

What made him do it, he lacked an answer (or at least, answer he was willing to admit, even to himself) but with a mere blink he was sitting down, and with another, sand cradled his body and he stared up at the dark blanketing sky.

Serenity was generally a foreign concept to Abel—otherworldly, even. But there it was, all-encompassing, all-consuming. How… freeing. He closed his eyes and breathed it in and felt that internal reminder why this life was all he needed. 

Abel lay there for a while, basking in the swelling night and sea. He could have fallen asleep right then and there—perhaps he even did—but just as all of his senses ebbed and flowed and threatened to leave him in the arms of Morpheus, something distant drifted through the haze. A voice. A chorus. 

It was angelic, if he had to try and describe it. A madman would have thought that they were dying and being greeted from on high. But Abel, far from losing his wits, had no other explanation for it.

Sitting up, it was clear that no one else was around on the beach. Even his own footsteps now had been sifted by the wind and cast away. So his head turned back to the sea—could there be a boat? sailors?—but no vessel was there, either, and his confusion remained. 

The voice was impossible to pinpoint. It truly seemed to surround him. The more he listened, the more he felt a pull, and the more he listened again, he began to make sense of the words filling the air—words that, at first, had not sounded like words, but which now sung of riches, home, and the sea in a language he knew—a language that was his own.

And then he heard a splash. It had been small, but noticeable, and it drew Abel's gaze towards the South, where rocks trailed from the edge of the coastline and dipped down into the waters.

At first, he wondered if he was, in fact, out of his mind. But he blinked, and peered harder through the night, and found his eyes still did not betray him: there upon the rocks was a figure—the source of the melody, and the object of Abel's fixation. Surely not. But surely, yes.

He was on his feet. He was not sure when or how he had moved, nor why he then proceeded to venture across the sand towards the outcrops, but he did, and he did not fight it. As he neared, the music grew stronger yet softer, more delicate and whimsical, but no less powerful. It called to him. He couldn't fathom why he felt that way, but he did—it was as though the performance was all for him, and he so desperately sought a closer audience.

Before he knew it, the distance that had separated them had shrunk to span only metres. Being so close, he could see the figure somewhat easier—a figure with long hair that they carefully groomed with their own fingers, and legs that appeared to vanish into the water. A midnight swimmer, perhaps? A woman who, like him, had maybe had one drink too many?

Nevertheless, as he stepped onto the rocks themselves in order to get closer still, the beautiful singing, so gentle and smooth, suddenly subsided.

Abel blinked. He stared. Hands dropped away from flowing locks, and a head turned so that two eyes could gaze upon him, and he could gaze upon them in turn.

“I thought it was considered rude to stare.”

The lump in his throat took a few attempts to swallow. “What are you doing out here?” he deflected, gesturing with his bottle (he was amazed he was still holding it) towards the sea. “‘S a bit cold for a swim…”

The other hummed. “Maybe I like the cold,” they—he—could they be a man, with such a frame, and such mystical hair…?—replied. And, just like that, he slipped himself right into the water.

It felt like the other was trying to put distance between them again (Abel did not like that). It also felt like he was trying to prove a point, based on how he did not seem perturbed by the chilly depths. The sailor felt himself shiver just at the thought of the water, but, just as he found himself growing wary of the swimming stranger, he became, once more, the only thing Abel could focus on.

“You seem lost,” the other said, bringing himself to the edge of the rocks, whereupon he rested his arms and held himself against the ledge. “You are not from these lands, are you?”

“No, I am not,” Abel slowly returned as he crouched down, and once more bridged the gap between them. “Though, you hardly seem to be a local yourself. You… barely seem to be of this world, in fact.”

An invisible smile seemed to appear on the other’s face. “Is that a compliment, or an insult?”

“A compliment,” the blonde assured him. 

He tried to read the other as he spoke, just as he would read any other person, but all he could think about was how curious this stranger was—how the moon almost seemed to make him glow. And surely it was not his imagination: the other was not only in the sea, but naked, a man who must have had more drink than Abel several times over!

“Do you have a name?” he then asked, hoping to put some pieces of this pretty puzzle together. 

To that, the other gave a soft hum. “Everyone has a name,” he replied. “Do you have one?”

“I have a few.”

“Greedy.”

Abel cracked a small smile of his own. “Tell me yours first, and then I will tell you mine.”

The proposal was considered for a moment. A lot of thought seemed to take place—eyes watched closely and the other had to fix his posture—before he finally said, “João.”

His smile suddenly tensed along with several other muscles in his body. “João,” Abel repeated, giving it a taste, letting it dance on his tongue. “Sounds quite… Portuguese.”

“Well,” João responded, “maybe that has something to do with the fact that that is where I come from, no? Now, no distracting yourself,” he went on with ease, “you owe me your name.”

Remaining somewhat wary, but equally as tenacious, the sailor provided what had been requested: “I’m Abel. Though, I must admit, your people tend to use a different name for me…”

It almost felt weird to say so out loud. Perhaps that was the effect of facing someone like João, clouded in mystery, seemingly carefree, Portuguese. What if he already knew of Abel? What if underneath the water was concealed a weapon? What if—?

“'My people', huh? And what name might that be, sailor boy?”

And like that—the very second Abel looked at the other, looked him in the eyes, and was met by a sort of wonder—the care was washed away by the ebbing sea.

“They call me ‘the Son of the Devil’,” he said, “when they are not busy trying to run away.”

The revelation did not quite inspire the fear or wariness he had expected it to, however.

“Seriously?” João reacted instead, as though unimpressed, or unconvinced. “You hardly seem like a demon to me.”

“How would you know?” Abel asked somewhat pointedly, and just as fast as he had spoken before, the other lost his voice.

Abel wondered if he had come across too harsh. Conversely, had that not been the idea? To prove himself? But then, had it been deserved, he had to ask himself. João was one of few people to have ever engaged in a conversation longer than thirty seconds with him. Where others kept their distance, João almost seemed to want to close it between them again.

"Tell me," the sailor said, wanting desperately to amend his prior cruelty, "what has driven you into the water? Not me, I hope."

At that, the other's amusement grew. "Why?" he questioned. "Should I have reason to run from you, too?"

"Or swim away, in your case."

He received a tut. "Well?" the stranger prompted. "Do I?"

"You might," Abel answered in earnest, lowering himself even further by taking a firm seat upon the rocks. "I'm not liked by many people. They prefer to avoid me, if they can."

That, however, only seemed to draw the other in. The gap narrowed even more.

"Does that mean you're dangerous?" he asked. 

The word brought Abel, in turn, a small burst of excitement. So much for wanting to make a better impression.

"They have not given me my nickname for no reason."

"Mmm,” João grinned, “that's good. I like danger."

"Oh?"

"Danger can be fun," the other mused. And then, after a short pause—a moment to think—he added, "I can be dangerous, too, you know."

To Abel, it was a laughable notion on the one hand, but equally quite cute that the man in the water did not seem to grasp what danger truly was. Abel had killed, and sometimes just because he could. But this person before him, with their wondrous hair and heavenly voice and gentle eyes (and very naked body), hardly looked capable of anything more sinister than ordinary wit.

Still, he found himself humouring this fantasy. Something about the other made him want to talk more, and enjoy his company.

"How scared should I be of you, then?" Abel asked, to which he received a sort of proud smile. 

"No, no. Not scared," João warned him. "Danger is fun, remember."

"Not my kind of danger."

"Only a coward thinks danger is dangerous," however. "So are you dangerous, or scared?"

He couldn't quite work out how they had arrived at such a statement, inflammatory and unnerving. It threatened Abel in so many ways. It was a challenge to his very name, the thing he had spent years of his life carefully constructing . He was hardly going to sit there, and take it.

"I," he said as clearly as possible, "am not scared."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Then get in."

The Dutchman stopped. He blinked. He blinked again. And then, he considered in brief the dark but tranquil sea. 

"Come on," the other insisted all the while, gently pushing away from the rock in order to fully embrace the waters around him. "Come in for a dip," he pressed, "and prove to me that you are not scared, sailor boy.”

It was an ask that felt like— No, no— It wasn’t too much—Abel was perfectly capable of getting into the water and going for a swim and had done so many a time—but the bottle in his hand felt heavier than before, and he wondered if perhaps this was all a falla—

A cold hand found his face, held his cheek, and offered a solace that Abel had not requested, but one that… he liked. 

“Come,” the other’s voice delicately urged again, “I promise it will be worth it. A quick dip, to prove to me that the Son of the Devil really is as bold and fearsome as he claims…”

Something about the way that João looked at him was utterly magical. He felt awe, he felt hunger, he felt desire. He had not often seen a man and had thoughts of such a nature, but he would allow himself to make an exception. 

He got lost in that world for a moment. He could still see and feel João there, reeling him in, but at the same time all Abel could think about was how it would feel to kiss him, to hold him, to have him in bed, to drown in him entirely. Abel wanted it. He wanted him. There was something so suddenly carnal about it—something so imperative, for the sake of his survival.

He was just so… so enchanting. It was impossible to look away, or think of anything—anyone—else. And the nearer João pulled him, the deeper Abel felt ready to—

The water was freezing. It smacked him in the face, merciless and harsh. The moment his body fell into the sea, Abel’s instincts screamed for him to swim, to get back out, to seek warmth and dry land—but as he tried to bob and find air and something to hold onto, all he found was João amongst the bubbles and commotion. 

João, who had pulled him right under the surface. João, who smiled at him and held onto him. João, who… did not stop pulling, or holding, or smiling.

It was only when Abel could no longer reach his hands above the water or remember the last few minutes in detail or feel enough air in his lungs that reality, at last, made itself known to him. Too little, too late. 

Abel was about to learn what it was like to be condemned to a watery grave of his own.

[uttarakhandoffbeatplaces]

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