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nervousladytraveler · 4 years

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@veryflowerobservation asked me for a little story with a very specific plot line. While I doubt this is what they had in mind (apologies in advance) this is what came to me over my morning coffee. Also, I’ve been reading Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, and am indebted to her for the world (and tone) of that novel that I borrowed here.

---

She was already seated at a table in a quiet back corner when Ross entered the restaurant. A sandwich sat in front of her--untouched. How long had she been waiting? Ross hadn’t been late. In fact he was rather pleased with his timing.

He’d only just found her note a mere half hour before he was to meet her. He’d almost missed it--a small piece of folded paper deposited on his desk and no one claimed to have seen the messenger.

Dear Mr. Poldark, it read. Please meet me, if you can, noon today. The Drake. Important item to be discussed. Yours, Miss D. Carne. The ink had smeared a bit revealing an impatient or untidy author.

He remembered Miss Carne. Often, if he were to be honest. He smiled at the physical feelings associated with the memory and was on his feet shuffling for his coat before he’d thought it all through. After a late breakfast, he wasn’t hungry yet his curiosity was piqued by such a veiled message. Then again cryptic was the nature of their business, he supposed.

Ross hadn’t wanted the job but was cajoled, battered--railroaded really. But his gallantry in the previous war and in his off-the-record jaunts in between, not to mention his Good Family (“So many Poldarks already in the high ranks, you know”) were all tallied up. If Ross was trying to slip away from duty unnoticed, it seemed he was his own worst enemy. And if he had a choice, he’d have preferred to return to the army, but his ankle still bore shrapnel from ‘17 and apparently he wasn’t needed in that capacity.

“We need trustworthy men inside, Poldark,” some smart Undersecretary and an older but oh so reputable Colonel had huffed. They nodded in agreement with one another, and without waiting for an answer, had begun making plans for Ross in an unmarked office at the end of a serpentine hall in That Building.

The last thing Ross wanted was to be trusted with someone else’s secrets and yet, there he was--working for the War Time Government, which he soon learned was a very different machine than the one they’d elected in times of peace, the one everyone thought they knew. And once he saw the ways the gears really moved, Ross was certain most would prefer not to know much about this one at all.

Miss Carne, the author of the note and the guardian of the untouched sandwich, was one of the girls in the unmarked office. The department that didn’t really exist on paper needed scores of young women to keep it running.

She was different from the other girls. Not just a typist but clever--she was always solving problems, often before they were discovered, and saving the men who didn’t really exist on paper from very real embarrassment.

Ross hadn’t many dealings with her. Well, not until that one night when he got to know her quite well.

It had been a Thursday and there had been cocktails out--what had been the occasion? War had already been declared so it was quite unusual to have held a work do. Why was she even there?

He remembered the dress she wore--blue satin--and the way it fit her. Like a glove. No, more like water in a stream rippling smoothly over immovable stones. It made him feel at ease to look at her and he knew how the night would end.

In the all the secretarial pools across the city, few girls had their clothes tailored--who had time or money? So when they ventured out after work, they sported those subtle signs of economy--gaping necklines or tight stretches across the middle. Their one good dress hadn’t been replaced in so many years but their bodies had changed with the war. Rationing had left them scrawny or cheap gin had left them bloated.

Oh but those girls tried, didn’t they? They carried on the best they could. With their lips so brightly made up they could violate the black out, they were hell bent on keeping up the spirits of the lads. Wartime made for an interesting and furtive nightlife. Of course the nice girls, the ones with breeding and good dress makers weren’t out much at all these days.

But this one, Miss Carne, with her red hair--real, not from a bottle--and a fitted dress the colour of the sea at twilight, was different. Demelza was her name. It sounded like some yet-undiscovered gem. Rare as hell and essential to keep out of enemy hands. She didn’t seem to belong in either world--not the world of well dressed would-be fiancees nor the seedy boîtes, that were filled after hours when the good girls were tucked up in their bunkers.

The hotel Ross had taken Demelza to after they’d left the party was nice enough. Not the Savoy but it had a toilet ensuite and the sheets were clean. She was not Ross’s first affair so he knew how to be discreet when signing the register. He needn’t have bothered--the concierge clearly hadn't cared.

He remembered the sound of that blue dress as he unfastened it down the back. A crisp zip in an otherwise quiet room. That and her breathing and his heart beating in his chest. The sounds of anticipation. Before the dress slipped from her shoulders and his hands clasped her naked body to him.

Today she wore a stiff woolen frock the colour of filing cabinets. It reminded him of a wall of sandbags, protecting a hidden softness beneath. Still the zipper would sound the same.

“Miss Carne,” he smiled and held out his hand to her. He contemplated kissing hers when it was finally offered but sensing some unspoken chill, he refrained. He sat down opposite and gave his serviette a merry snap.

She twisted her lips when she spied the gold band on his left hand.

“You're married?” she began, raising one perfect brow. Was it naturally arched or was that her own artistry?

He might have wanted to scrutinize her face, to map out what was artifice and what was real, but at that moment he didn’t dare look her in the eye.

“Yes, I am,” he said, just a decibel louder than a mumble. “And yes, I was married when we…” He took a gulp from his water glass.

“And yet there was no ring that night,” she mused. She had no problem with eye contact, her blue eyes remained fixed on his face.

“We...uh...we were in the midst of a separation then but the war has made us rethink things…”

We. Us. There wasn’t really an us. Elizabeth was merely feeling scared and lonely, between lovers, and suddenly liking the idea of a strong husband about. But since then her plans to retreat home to Cornwall, first spoken of as a ‘hypothetical perhaps’, had started to come to fruition. She’d been packing a trunk for some days now and was fretting about whether to take just some of her furs, or all of them. She was clearly planning to stay away. Ross’s response was to arrange a driver.

“Well then,” Demelza said and pushed away her plate. “That will complicate things but doesn’t change reality one bit,” she continued crisply.

It was an office voice. With it she would manage the girls under her with confidence and efficiency. No time for emotion, yet it wasn’t sour. Must keep morale up. They had jobs to do and every memo taken, every letter filed, was a fulfillment of their duty.

It was not the soft, easy voice that laughed in his ear as she lay next to him on the pillow in the blacked out room. The dusky voice that had whispered his name as he crawled up her body like a soldier crawling through mud. On a mission. Towards his target.

“It seems, Mr. Poldark, that I’m to have a baby.”

He held his glass aloft and stared at her.

“What?” he spat. “Well, it can’t be...I didn’t…not in...” Of course he couldn’t utter those words in daylight. Not over a sandwich at lunchtime. One needed a stiff drink before dissecting the mechanics of love. Yet somehow he knew it was possible. He thought he’d been careful not to leave seed in the field. Now it hit him he’d in fact laid a land mine.

“Well it doesn’t really matter what you believe you did not do, because apparently whatever you did, was enough,” she responded coolly.

He didn’t dare ask if there were any others who might stand accused with him in the dock. His gut told him she wasn’t that type. And though she hadn’t confirmed it during their night together--nor had he looked for evidence later--he suspected she’d been intact before he took her to bed. Oh, she’d been a quick learner!

He also sensed that she’d rather be sitting across from just about anyone else than talking to him now, so she certainly wasn’t trying to trap him.

“Are...are you sure? I...I need to think,” he said, aware that he sounded like an old Spitfire whose propeller couldn’t quite get going. So much sputtering.

She lit a cigarette, took one long drag, then ground it out carefully in the ashtray. No doubt she’d revisit that same fag again later, at a time when she was less impatient, when she could enjoy it alone.

“Well, you do that then,” she said, and gathered her handbag, ready to take her leave.

“Wait! Where are you going? How can I reach you?” His words came out in a fast and frantic stream. The engine had started--the sputter became a steady buzz filling the room.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head lightly. Today her hair was held back with tortoise shell combs on either side. Tidy, discreet, and appropriate for an unmarked office. Or any office.

He recalled his hands getting lost in a sea of those curls, fistfuls he’d grasped in passion. An unexpected lifeline, it had seemed at the time, that prevented him from drowning.

He felt himself going under again.

“Now you want to reach me, Mr. Poldark?” she said archly.

“Hey--you left me! You were the one who waltzed out of that hotel room while I was asleep, without so much as a backwards glance,” he growled. He’d been rankled that she continued to call him Mister Poldark, especially when he could still hear her hiss in his ear--Ross--while her body bucked under his.

“I assure you it wasn’t a waltz,” she said. And that was all she said. At least she didn’t claim she’d been trying to save him the embarrassment of a morning after. “I share a flat with another girl in Kingley Street. We don't have a telephone but you can find me at the office--unless I get reassigned in the next few days. There are changes coming, I’ve been told.”

She rose to her feet and towering over him, nodded.

Ross tried to stand up quickly--to plead with her to stay? To follow her out? He couldn't say what his intentions had been but it mattered little. He was too slow. His legs got twisted under the narrow table, his chair scraped awkwardly, and the remaining lunch things began to tip before he caught them with his broad hands. He narrowly avoided one mess, aware that he had quite another still to be cleared up.

And just like that she was gone. Leaving her entire sandwich and almost-intact cigarette behind afterall.

In a strange flash, Ross was surprised she didn't offer to pay for her own lunch. Of course a gentleman should pick up the bill for a lady no matter the circumstances, but there was something so determined and iron about her now, that he couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to help her.

And yet help her he must. Somehow.

He felt his pockets frantically for a scrap of paper but only found a stub of a pencil.

Kingley Street, he scrawled on the back of a matchbook. He had no house number, nothing else to go.

Could he ask someone to watch the street? He knew some blokes who would do a job like that--a stake out--for the right price. Or was he better off handling this himself, intercepting her at work? Even if she did get moved to a different sector--one that also did not officially exist--he might have channels to find her.

He sat back in his chair and reached for her cigarette. He imagined it smelled like her but he lit it anyway. It helped him to relax for just a moment while he planned his next move.

Ross knew he had a duty to this woman--to their child if one was to be--and while that was an overwhelming and unforeseen realisation, he was taken aback by a different unexpected sensation.

Desire.

He wanted her. Again. Now.

And he had to find her.

#poldark fanfic #poldark modern au #london blitz #ross poldark #demelza carne #blue dress #fastens down the back

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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Casting the Runes

M.R. James (1911)

April 15th, 190_

DEAR SIR,___ I am requested by the Council of the ________ Association to return to you the draft of a paper on The Truth of Alchemy, which you have been good enough to offer to read at our forthcoming meeting, and to inform you that the Council do not see their way to including it in the programme.

I am,

Yours faithfully,

_______Secretary.

April 18th

DEAR SIR,___ I am sorry to say that my engagements do not permit of my affording you an interview on the subject of your proposed paper. Nor do our laws allow of your discussing the matter With a Committee of our Council, as you suggest. Please allow me to assure you that the fullest consideration was given to the draft which you submitted, and that it was not declined without having been referred to the judgment of a most competent authority. No personal question (it hardly be necessary for me to add) can have had the slightest influence on the decision of the Council.

Believe me (ut supra).

April 20th

The Secretary of the _______ Association begs respectfully to inform Mr Karswell that it is impossible for him to communicate the name of any person or persons to whom the draft of Mr Karswell's paper may have been submitted; and further desires to intimate that he cannot undertake to reply to any further letters on this subject.

"And who is Mr Karswell?" inquired the Secretary's wife. She had called at his office, and (perhaps unwarrantably) had picked up the last of these three letters, which the typist had just brought in.

"Why, my dear, just at present Mr Karswell is a very angry man. But I don't know much about him otherwise, except that he is a person of wealth, his address is Lufford Abbey, Warwickshire, and he's an alchemist, apparently, and wants to tell us all about it; and that's about all - except that I don't want to meet him for the next week or two. Now, if you're ready to leave this place, I am."

"What have you been doing to make him angry?" asked Mrs Secretary.

"The usual thing, my dear, the usual thing: he sent in a draft of a paper he wanted to read at the next Meeting, and we referred it to Edward Dunning - almost the only man in England who knows about these things - and he said it was perfectly hopeless, so we declined it. So Karswell has been pelting me with letters ever since. The last thing he wanted was the name of the man we referred his nonsense to; you saw my answer to that. But don't you say anything about it, for goodness' sake"

"I should think not, indeed. Did I ever do such a thing? I do hope, though, he won't get to know that it was poor Mr Dunning."

"Poor Mr Dunning? I don't know why you call him that; he's a very happy man, is Dunning. Lots of hobbies and a comfortable home, and all his time to himself."

"I only meant I should be sorry for him if this man got hold of his name, and came and bothered him."

"Oh, ah! yes. I dare say he would be poor Mr Dunning then."

The Secretary and his wife were lunching out, and the friends to whose house they were bound were Warwickshire people.So Mrs Secretary had already settled it in her own mind that she would question them judiciously about Mr Karswell. But she was saved the trouble of leading up to the subject, for the hostess said to the host, before many minutes had passed, "I saw the Abbot of Lufford this morning." The host whistled. 'Did you? What in the world brings him up to town?" "Goodness knows; he was coming out of the British Museum gate as I drove past." It was not unnatural that Mrs Secretary should inquire whether this was a real Abbot who was being spoken of. "Oh no, my dear.. only a neighbour of ours in the country who bought Lufford Abbey a few years ago. His real name is Karswell." "Is he a friend of yours?" asked Mr Secretary, with a private wink to his wife. The question let loose a torrent of declamation. There was really nothing to be said for Mr Karswell. Nobody knew what he did with himself.- his servants were a horrible set of people; he had invented a new religion for himself, and practised no one could tell what appalling rites; he was very easily offended, and never forgave anybody. he had a dreadful face (so the lady insisted, her husband somewhat demurring); he never did a kind action, and whatever influence he did exert was mischievous.

"Do the poor man justice, dear," the husband interrupted. "You forget the treat he gave the school children." "Forget it, indeed! But I'm glad you mentioned it, because it gives an idea of the man. Now, Florence, listen to this. The first winter he was at Lufford this delightful neighbour of ours wrote to the clergyman of his parish (he's not ours, but we know him very well) and offered to show the school children some magic- lantern slides. He said he had some new kinds which he thought would interest them. Well, the clergyman was rather surprised, because Mr Karswell had shown himself inclined to be unpleasant to the children - complaining of their trespassing, or something of the sort; but of course he accepted, and the evening was fixed and our friend went himself to see that everything went right. He said he never had been so thankful for anything as that his own children were all prevented from being there: they were at a children's party at our house, as a matter of fact. Because this Mr Karswell had evidently set out with the intention of frightening these poor village children out of their wits, and I do believe, if he had been allowed to go on, he would actually have done so. He began with some comparatively mild things. Red Riding Hood was one, and even then, Mr Farrer said, the wolf was so dreadful that several of the smaller children had to be taken out: and he said Mr Karswell began the story by producing a noise like a wolf howling in the distance, which was the most gruesome thing he had ever heard. All the slides he showed, Mr Farrer said, were most clever; they were absolutely realistic, and where he had got them or how he worked them he could not imagine, Well the show went on, and the stories kept on becoming a little more terrifying each time, and the children were mesmerised into complete silence. At last he produced a series which represented a little boy passing through his own park - Lufford, I mean - in the evening. Every child in the room could recognize the place from the pictures. And this poor boy was followed, and at last pursued and overtaken, and either torn to pieces or somehow made away with, by a horrible hopping creature in white, which you saw first dodging about among the trees, and gradually it appeared more and more plainly. Mr Farrer said it gave him one of the worst nightmares he ever remembered and what it must have meant to the children doesn't bear thinking of. Of course this was too much, and he spoke very sharply indeed to Mr Karswell, and said it couldn't go on. All he said was: "Oh, you think it's time to bring our little show to an end and send them home to their beds? Very well!" And then, if you please, he switched on another slide, which showed a great mass of snakes, centipedes, and disgusting creatures with wings, and somehow or other he made it seem as if they were climbing out of the picture and getting in amongst the audience; and this was accompanied by a sort of dry rustling noise which sent the children nearly mad, and of course they stampeded. A good many of them were rather hurt in getting out of the room and I don't suppose one of them closed an eye that night. There was the most dreadful trouble in the village afterwards. Of course the mothers threw a good part of the blame on poor Mr Farrer, and, if they could have got past the gates, I believe the fathers would have broken every window in the Abbey. Well, now, that's Mr Karswell: that's the Abbot of Lufford, my dear, and you can imagine how we covet his society."

"Yes, I think he has all the possibilities of a distinguished criminal, has Karswell, " said the host. "I should be sorry for anyone who got into his bad books."

"Is he the man, or am I mixing him up with someone else?" asked the Secretary (who for some minutes had been wearing the frown of the man who is trying to recollect something). "Is he the man who brought out a History of Witchcraft some time back - ten years or more?"

"That's the man, do you remember the reviews of it?"

"Certainly I do; and what's equally to the point, I knew the author of the most incisive of the lot. So did you: you must remember John Harrington; he was at John's in our time."

"Oh, very well indeed, though I don't think I saw anything of him between the time I went down and the the day I read the account of the inquest on him."

"Inquest?" said one of the ladies. "What has happened to him?"

"Why, what happened was that he fell out of a tree and broke his neck.But the puzzle was, what could have induced him to get up there. It was a mysterious business, I must say. Here was this man - not an athletic fellow, was he? and with no eccentric twist about him that was ever noticed - walking home along a country lane late in the evening - no tramps about - and he suddenly begins to run like mad, loses his hat and stick, and finally shins up a tree - quite a difficult tree - growing in the hedgerow; a dead branch gives way, and he comes down with it and breaks his neck, and there he's found next morning with the most dreadful face of fear on him that could be imagined. It was pretty evident , of course, that he had been chased by something, and people talked of savage dogs, and beasts escaped out of menageries; but there was nothing to be made of that. That was in "89, and I believe his brother Henry (whom I remember well at Cambridge, but you probably don't) has been trying to get on the track of an explanation ever since. He, of course, insists there was malice in it,but I don't know. it's difficult to see how it could have come in."

After a time the talk reverted to the History of Witchcraft. "Did you ever look into it?" asked the host.

"Yes, I did," said the Secretary."I went so far as to read it."

"Was it as bad as it was made out to be?"

"Oh, in point of style and form, quite hopeless. It deserved all the pulverizing it got. But, besides that, it was an evil book. The man believed every word of what he was saying, and I'm very much mistaken if he hadn't tried the greater part of his receipts."

"Well, I only remember Harrington's review of it, and I must say if I'd been the author it would have quenched my literary ambition for good. I should never have held up my head again."

"It hasn't had that effect in the present case. But come, it's half-past three; I must be off."

On the way home the Secretary's wife said, "I do hope that horrible man won't find out that Mr Dunning had anything to do with the rejection of his paper." "I don't think there's much chance of that, " said the Secretary. "Dunning won't mention it himself, for these matters are confidential, and none of us will for the same reason. Karswell won't know his name, for Dunning hasn't published anything on the same subject yet. The only danger is that Karswell might find out, if he was to ask the British Museum people who was in the habit of consulting alchemical manuscripts: I can't very well tell them not to mention Dunning, can I? It would set them talking at once. Let's hope it won't occur to him."

However, Mr Karswell was an astute man.

This much is in the way of prologue. On an evening rather later in the same week, Mr Edward Dunning was returning from the British Museum, where he had been engaged in research, to the comfortable house in a suburb where he lived alone, tended by two excellent women who had been long with him. There is nothing to be added by way of description of him to what we have heard already. Let us follow him as he takes his sober course homewards.

A train took him to within a mile or two of his house, and an electric tram a stage farther. The line ended at a point some three hundred yards from his front door. He had had enough of reading when he got into the car, and indeed the light was not such as to allow him to do more than study the advertisements on the panes of glass that faced him as he sat. As was not unnatural, the advertisements in this particular line of cars were objects of his frequent contemplation, and, with the possible exception of the brilliant and convincing dialogue between Mr Lamplough and an eminent K. C. on the subject of Pyretic Saline, none of them afforded much scope to his imagination. I am wrong: there was one at the corner of the car farthest from him which did not seem familiar. It was in blue letters on a yellow ground, and all that he could read of it was a name - John Harrington - and something like a date. It could be of no interest to him to know more ; but for all that, as the car emptied, he was just curious enough to move along the seat until he could read it well. He felt to a slight extent repaid for his trouble; the advertisement was not of the usual type. It ran thus: "In memory of John Harrington, F.S.A., of The Laurels Ashbrooke. Died Sept. 18th, 1889. Three months were allowed."

The car stopped. Mr Dunning, still contemplating the blue letters on the yellow ground, had to be stimulated to rise by a word from the conductor. "I beg your pardon," he said, "I was looking at that advertisement - it's a very odd one, isn't it?" The conductor read it slowly. "Well, my word," he said, "I never see that one before. Well, that is a cure, ain't it? Someone bin up to their jokes 'ere, I should think." He got out, a duster and applied it, not without saliva, to the pane and then to the outside. "No," he said, returning, "that ain't no transfer; seems to me as if it was reg'lar in the glass, what I mean in the substance, as you may say. don't you think so, Sir?" Mr Dunning examined it and rubbed it with his glove, and agreed. "Who looks after these advertisements, and gives leave for them to be put up? I wish you would inquire. I will just take a note of the words." At this moment there came a call from the driver: "Look alive, George, time's up." 'all right, all right -, there's somethink else what's up at this end. You come and look at this 'ere glass." "What's gorn with the glass?" said the driver, approaching. "Well, and oo's 'Arrington? what's it all about?" "I was just asking who was responsible for putting the advertisements up in your cars, and saying it would be as well to make some inquiry about this one."

"Well, sir, that's all done at the Company's office, that work is: it's our Mr Timms, I believe, looks into that. When we put up to-night I'll leave word, and per'aps i'll be able to tell you to-morrer if you 'appen to be coming this way."

This was all that passed that evening. Mr Dunning did just go to the trouble of looking up Ashbrooke, and found that it was in Warwickshire.

Next day he went to town again. The car (it was the same car) was too full in the morning to allow of his getting a word with the conductor: he could only be sure that the curious advertisement had been made away with. The close of the day brought a further element of mystery into the transaction. He had missed the tram, or else preferred walking home, but at a rather late hour, while he was at work in his study, one of the maids came to say that two men from the tramways was very anxious to speak to him. This was a reminder of the advertisement, which he had, he says, nearly forgotten. He had the men in - they were the conductor and driver of the car - and when the matter of refreshment had been attended to, asked what Mr Timms had had to say about the advertisement. " Well, sir, that's what we took the liberty to step round about," said the conductor. " Mr Timm's 'e give William 'ere the rough side of his tongue about that: 'cordin' to 'im there warn't no advertisement of that description sent in, nor ordered, nor paid for, nor put up, nor nothink, let alone not bein' there, and we was playing the fool takin' up his time. "Well," I says, "if that's the case, all I ask of you, Mr Timms." I says, " 'is to take and look at it for yourself," I says. "Of course if it ain't there, " I says, you may take and call me what you like." Right," he says, "I will." and we went straight off. Now, I leave it to you, sir, if that ad., as we term 'em, with 'arrington on it warn't as plain as ever you see anythink - blue letters on yeller glass, and as I says at the time, and you borne me out, reg'lar in the glass, because, if you remember, you recollect of me swabbing it with my duster." "To be sure I do, quite clearly - well?" "You may say well, I don't think. Mr Timms he gets in that car with a light - no, he telled William to 'old the light outside. "Now," he says, "where's your precious ad. what we've 'eard so much about?"

"Ere it is," I says, "Mr Timms" and I laid my 'and on it." The conductor paused.

"Well," said Dunning, "it was gone, I suppose. Broken?"

"Broke ! - not it. There warn't, if you'll believe me, no more trace of them letters - blue letters they was - on that piece o" glass, than - well, it's no good me talkin'. I never see such a thing. I leave it to William here if - but there, as I says, where's the benefit in me going on about it?"

"And what did Mr Timms say?"

"Why 'e did what I give 'im leave to - called us pretty much anythink he liked, and I don't know as I blame him so much neither. But what. we thought, William and me did, was as we seen you take down a bit of a note about that - well, that letterin' -"

"I certainly did that, and I have it now. Did you wish me to speak to Mr Timms myself, and show it to him ? Was that what you came in about?"

"There didn't I say as much?" said William. 'deal with a gent if you can get on the track of one, that's my word. Now perhaps, George, you'll allow as I ain't took you very far wrong to-night."

"Very well, William, very well; no need for you to go on as if you'd 'ad to frog's-march me 'ere. I come quiet, didn't I? All the same for that, we 'adn't ought to take up your time this way, sir. but if it so 'appened you could find time to step round to the Company's orfice in the morning and tell Mr Timms what you seen for yourself, we should lay under a very 'igh obligation to you for the trouble. You see it ain't bein' called - well, one thing and another, as we mind, but if they got it into their 'ead at the orfice as we seen things as warn't there, why, one thing leads to another, and where we should be a twelvemunce 'ence - well, you can understand what I mean."

Amid further elucidations of the proposition, George, conducted by William, left the room.

The incredulity of Mr Timms (who had a nodding acquaintance with Mr Dunning) was greatly modified on the following day by what the latter could tell and show him; and any bad mark that might have been attached to the names of William and George was not suffered to remain on the Company's books. but explanation there was none.

Mr Dunning's interest in the matter was kept alive by an incident of the following afternoon. He was walking from his club to the train, and he noticed some way ahead a man with a handful of leaflets such as are distributed to passers-by by agents of enterprising firms. This agent had not chosen a very crowded street for his operations: in fact, Mr Dunning did not see him get rid of a single leaflet before he himself reached the spot. One was thrust into his hand as he passed: the hand that gave it touched his, and he experienced a sort of little shock as it did so.It seemed unnaturally rough and hot. He looked in passing at the giver but the impression he got was so unclear that, however much he tried to reckon it up subsequently, nothing would come. He was walking quickly, and as he went on glanced at the paper. It was a blue one. The name of Harrington in large capitals caught his eye. He stopped, startled, and felt for his glasses. The next instant the leaflet was twitched out of his hand by a man who hurried past, and was irrecoverably gone. He ran back a few paces, but where was the passer-by? and where the distributor?

It was in a somewhat pensive frame of mind that Mr Dunning passed on the following day into the Select Manuscript Room of the British Museum., and filled up tickets for Harley 3586, and some other volumes. After a few minutes they were brought to him, and he was settling the one he wanted first upon the desk, when he thought he heard his own name whispered behind him. He turned round hastily, and in doing so, brushed his little portfolio of loose papers on to the floor. He saw no one he recognized except one of the staff in charge of the room, who nodded to him,and he proceeded to pick up his papers. He thought he had them all, and was turning to begin work, when a stout gentleman at the table behind him, who was just rising to leave, and had collected his own belongings, touched him on the shoulder, saying, "May I give you this? I think it should be yours," and handed him a missing quire. "It is mine, thank you," said Mr Dunning. In another moment the man had left the room. Upon finishing his work for the afternoon, Mr Dunning had some conversation with the assistant in charge, and took occasion to ask who the stout gentleman was. "Oh, he's a man named Karswell " said the assistant; "he was asking me a week ago who were the great authorities on alchemy, and of course I told him you were the only one in the country. I'll see if I can catch him.. he'd like to meet you, I'm sure

"For heaven's sake don't dream of it!" said Mr Dunning, "I'm particularly anxious to avoid him."

"Oh! very well," said the assistant, "He doesn't come here often; I dare say you won't meet him."

More than once on the way home that day Mr Dunning confessed to himself that he did not look forward with his usual cheerfulness to a solitary evening. It seemed to him that something ill-defined and impalpable had stepped in between him and his fellow-men - had taken him in charge, as it were. He wanted to sit close up to his neighbours in the train and in the tram, but as luck would have it both train and car were markedly empty. The conductor George was thoughtful, and appeared to be absorbed in calculations as to the number of passengers. On arriving at his house he found Dr Watson, his medical man, on his doorstep. "I've had to upset your household arrangements, I'm sorry to say, Dunning. Both your servants hors de combat. In fact, I've had to send them to the Nursing Home."

"Good heavens! what's the matter?"

"it's something like ptomaine poisoning, I should think: you've not suffered yourself, I can see, or you wouldn't be walking about. I think they'll pull through all right."

'Dear, dear . Have you any idea what brought it on ?"

"Well, they tell me they bought some shell-fish from a hawker at their dinner-time. it's odd. I've made inquiries, but I can't find that any hawker has been to other houses in the street. I couldn't send word to you; they won't be back for a bit yet. You come and dine with me tonight, anyhow, and we can make arrangements for going on. Eight o'clock. Don't be too anxious."

The solitary evening was thus obviated; at the expense of some distress and inconvenience it is true. Mr Dunning spent the time pleasantly enough with the doctor (a rather recent settler), and returned to his lonely home at about 11.30. The night he passed is not one on which he looks back with any satisfaction. He was in bed and the light was out. He was wondering if the charwoman would come early enough to get him hot water next morning, when he heard the unmistakable sound of his study door opening. No step followed it on the passage floor, but the sound must mean mischief, for he knew that he had shut the door that evening after putting his papers away in his desk. It was rather shame than courage that induced him to slip out into the passage and lean over the banisters in his nightgown, listening. No light was visible; no further sound came; only a gust of warm, or even hot air played for an instant round his shins. He went back and decided to lock himself into his room. There was more unpleasantness, however. Either an economical suburban company had decided that their light would not be required in the small hours, and had stopped working, or else something was wrong with the meter; the effect was in any case that the electric light was off. The obvious course was to find a match, and also to consult his watch: he might as well know how many hours of discomfort awaited him. So he put his hand into the well-known nook under the pillow: only, it did not get so far. What he touched was, according to his account, a mouth, with teeth, and with hair about it, and, he declares, not the mouth of a human being. I do not think it is any use to guess what he said or did; but he was in a spare room with the door locked and his ear to it before he was clearly conscious again. And there he spent the rest of a most miserable night, looking every moment for some fumbling at the door: but nothing came.

The venturing back to his own room in the morning was attended with many listenings and quiverings. The door stood open, fortunately, and the blinds were up (the servants had been out of the house before the hour of drawing them down) there was, to be short, no trace of an inhabitant. The watch, too, was in its usual place; nothing was disturbed, only the wardrobe door had swung open, in accordance with its confirmed habit. A ring at the back door now announced the charwoman, who had been ordered the night before, and nerved Mr Dunning, after letting her in, to continue his search in other parts of the house. It was equally fruitless.

The day thus begun went on dismally enough. He dared not go to the Museum: in spite of what the assistant had said, Karswell might turn up there, and Dunning felt he could not cope with a probably hostile stranger. His own house was odious; he hated sponging on the doctor. He spent some little time in a call at the Nursing Home, where he was slightly cheered by a good report of his housekeeper and maid. Towards lunch-time he betook himself to his club, again experiencing a gleam of satisfaction at seeing the Secretary of the Association. At luncheon Dunning told his friend the more material of his woes, but could not bring himself to speak of those that weighed most heavily on his spirits. "My poor dear man," said the Secretary, "what an upset! Look here: we're alone at home, absolutely. You must put up with us. Yes ! no excuse: send your things in this afternoon." Dunning was unable to stand out: he was, in truth, becoming acutely anxious, as the hours went on, as to what that night might have waiting for him. He was almost happy as he hurried home to pack up.

His friends, when they had time to take stock of him, were rather shocked at his lorn appearance, and did their best to keep him up to the mark. Not altogether without success: but, when the two men were smoking alone later, Dunning became dull again. Suddenly he said, "Gayton, I believe that alchemist man knows it was I who got his paper rejected." Gayton whistled. "What makes you think that?" he said. Dunning told of his conversation with the Museum assistant, and Gayton could only agree that the guess seemed likely to be correct. "Not that I care much," Dunning went on, "only it might be a nuisance if we were to meet. He's a bad-tempered party, I imagine." Conversation dropped again - Gayton became more and more strongly impressed with the desolateness that came over Dunning's face and bearing and finally - though with a considerable effort - he asked him point-blank whether something serious was not bothering him. Dunning gave an exclamation of relief. "I was perishing to get it off my mind" he said. "do you know anything about a man named John Harrington?" Gayton was thoroughly startled, and at the moment could only ask why. Then the complete story of Dunning's experiences came out - what had happened in the tramcar, in his own house,and in the street, the troubling of spirit that had crept over him, and still held him; and he ended with the question he had begun with. Gayton was at a loss how to answer him. To tell the story of Harrington's end would perhaps be right; only, Dunning was in a nervous state, the story was a grim one, and he could not help asking himself whether there were not a connecting link between these two cases, in the person of Karswell. It was a difficult concession for a scientific man, but it could be eased by the phrase "hypnotic suggestion". In the end he decided that his answer tonight should he guarded; he would talk the situation over with his wife. So he said that he had known Harrington at Cambridge,and believed he had died suddenly in 1889, adding a few details about the man and his published work. He did talk over the matter with Mrs Gayton, and, as he had anticipated, she leapt at once to the conclusion which had been hovering before him. It was she who reminded him of the surviving brother, Henry Harrington, and she also who suggested that he might be got hold of by means of their hosts of the day before. "He might be a hopeless crank, "objected Gayton. "That could be ascertained from the Bennetts, who knew him," Mrs Gayton retorted and she undertook to see the Bennetts the very next day.

It is not necessary to tell in further detail the steps by which Henry Harrington and Dunning were brought together.

The next scene that does require to be narrated is a conversation that took place between the two. Dunning had told Harrington of the strange ways in which the dead man's name had been brought before him, and had said something, besides, of his own subsequent experiences. Then he had asked if Harrington was disposed, in return, to recall any of the circumstances connected with his brother's death. Harrington's surprise at what he heard can be imagined: but his reply was readily given.

"John," he said, "was in a very odd state, undeniably, from time to time during some weeks before, though not immediately before, the catastrophe. There were several things; the principal notion he had was that he thought he was being followed. No doubt he was an impressionable man, but he never had had such fancies as this before. I cannot get it out of my mind that there was ill-will at work, and what you tell me about yourself reminds me very much of my brother. Can you think of any possible connecting link?"

"There is just one that has been taking shape vaguely in my mind. I've been told that your brother reviewed a book very severely not long before he died, and just lately I have happened to cross the path of the man who wrote that book in a way he would resent."

"Don't tell me the man was called Karswell."

"Why not? that is exactly his name."

Henry Harrington leant back. "That is final to my mind. Now I must explain further. From something he said, I feel sure that my brother John was beginning to believe - very much against his will - that Karswell was at the bottom of his trouble. I want to tell you what seems to me to have a bearing on the situation. My brother was a great musician, and used to run up to concerts in town. He came back, three months before he died, from one of these, and gave me his programme to look at - an analytical programme: he always kept them. " I nearly missed this one," he said. " I suppose I must have dropped it: anyhow, I was looking for it under my seat and in my pockets and so on, and my neighbour offered me his, said "might he give it me, he had no further use for it," and he went away just afterwards. I don't know who he was - a stout, clean-shaven man. I should have been sorry to miss it; of course I could have bought another, but this cost me nothing." At another time he told me that he had been very uncomfortable both on the way to his hotel and during the night. I piece things together now in thinking it over.Then, not very long after, he was going over these programmes, putting them on order to have them bound up, and in this particular one (which by the way I had hardly glanced at), he found quite near the beginning a strip of paper with some very odd writing on it in red and black - most carefully done - it looked to me more like Runic letters than anything else. "Why," he said, "this must belong to my fat neighbour. It looks as if it might be worth returning to him; it may be a copy of something; evidently someone has taken trouble over it. How can I find his address?" We talked it over for a little and agreed that it wasn't worth advertising about, and that my brother had better look out for the man at the next concert to which he was going very soon. The paper was lying on the book and we were both by the fire; it was a cold, windy summer evening. I suppose the door blew open, though I didn't notice it: at any rate a gust - a warm gust it was - came quite suddenly between us, took the paper and blew it straight into the fire: it was light, thin paper, and flared and went up the chimney in a single ash. "Well," I said, "you can't give it back now." He said nothing for a minute: then rather crossly, "No, I can't; but why you should keep on saying so I don't know." I remarked that I didn't say it more than once. " Not more than four times, you mean," was all he said. I remember all that very clearly, without any good reason - and now to come to the point. I don't know if you looked at that book of Karswell's which my unfortunate brother reviewed. it's not likely that you should: but I did, both before his death and after it. The first time we made game of it together. It was written in no style at all - split infinitives and every sort of thing that makes an Oxford gorge rise. Then there was nothing that the man didn't swallow: mixing up classical myths, and stories out of the Golden Legend with reports of savage customs of today - all very proper, no doubt, if you know how to use them, but he didn't: he seemed to put the Golden Legend and the Golden Bough exactly on a par, and to believe both: a pitiable exhibition, in short. Well, after the misfortune, I looked over the book again. It was no better than before, but the impression which it left this time on my mind was different. I suspected - as I told you - that Karswell had borne ill-will to my brother, even that he was in some way responsible for what had happened; and now his book seemed to me to be a very sinister performance indeed. One chapter in particular struck me, in which he spoke of "casting the Runes" on people, either for the purpose of gaining their affection or of getting them out of the way - perhaps more especially the latter: he spoke of all this in a way that really seemed to me to imply actual knowledge. I've not time to go into details, but the upshot is that I am pretty sure from information received that the civil man at the concert was Karswell: I suspect - I more than suspect - that the paper was of importance: and I do believe that if my brother had been able to give it back, he might have been alive now. Therefore, it occurs to me to ask you whether you have anything to put beside what I have told you."

By way of answer Dunning had the episode in the Manuscript Room at the British Museum to relate.

"Then he did actually hand you some papers; have you examined them? No? because we must, if you'll allow look at them at once, and very carefully."

They went to the still empty house - empty, for the two servants were not yet able to return to work. Dunning's portfolio of papers was gathering dust on the writing-table. In it were the quires of small-sized scribbling paper which he used for his transcripts: and from one of these as he took it up, there slipped and fluttered out into the room with uncanny quickness, a strip of thin light paper. The window was open but Harrington slammed it to, just in time to intercept the paper, which he caught. "I thought so.," he said. "it might be the identical thing that was given to my brother. You'll have to look out, Dunning; this may mean something quite serious for you."

A long consultation took place. The paper was narrowly examined. As Harrington had said, the characters on it were more like Runes than anything else, but not decipherable by either man, and both hesitated to copy them, for fear, as they confessed, of perpetuating whatever evil purpose they might conceal. So it has remained impossible (if I may anticipate a little) to ascertain what was conveyed in this curious message or commission. Both Dunning and Harrington are firmly convinced that it had the effect of bringing its possessors into very undesirable company. That it must be returned to the source whence it came they were agreed,and further, that the only safe and certain way was that that of personal service; and here contrivance would be necessary, for Dunning was known by sight to Karswell. He must, for one thing, alter his appearance by shaving his beard. But then might not the blow fall first? Harrington thought they could time it. He knew the date of the concert at which the "black spot" had been put on his brother: it was June 18th. The death had followed on Sept. 18th. Dunning reminded him that three months had been mentioned on the inscription on the car-window. "Perhaps," he added with a cheerless laugh, "mine may be a bill at three months too. I believe I can fix it by my diary. Yes, April 23rd was the day at the Museum; at brings us to July 23rd. Now, you know, it becomes extremely important to me to know anything you will tell me about the progress of your brother's trouble, if it is possible for you to speak of it." "Of course. Well, the sense of being watched whenever he was alone was the most distressing thing to him. After a time I took to sleeping in his room., and he was the better for that: still, he talked a great deal in his sleep. What about? Is it wise to dwell on that, at least before things are straightened out? I think not., but I can tell you this: two things came for him by post during those weeks, both with a London postmark, and addressed in a commercial hand. One was a woodcut of Bewick's, roughly torn out of the page: one which shows a moonlit road and a man walking along it, followed by an awful demon creature. Under it were written the lines out of the 'Ancient Mariner' (which I suppose the cut illustrates) about one who, having once looked round -

'walks on, And turns no more his head Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.'

The other was a calendar, such as tradesmen often send. My brother paid no attention to this, but I looked at it after his death, and found that everything after Sept. 18th had been torn out. You may be surprised at his having gone out alone the evening he was killed, but the fact is that during the last ten days or so of his life he had been quite free from the sense of being followed or watched."

The end of the consultation was this. Harrington, who knew a neighbour of Karswell's, thought he saw a way of keeping a watch on his movements. It would be Dunning's part to be in readiness to try to cross Karswell's path at any moment, to keep the paper safe and in a place of ready access.

They parted. The next weeks were no doubt a severe strain upon Dunning's nerves: the intangible barrier which had seemed to rise about him on the day when he received the paper, gradually developed into a brooding blackness that cut him off from the means of escape to which one might have thought he might resort. No one was at hand who was likely to suggest them to him, and he seemed robbed of all initiative. He waited with inexpressible anxiety as May, June, and early July passed on, for a mandate from Harrington. But all this time Karswell remained immovable at Lufford.

At last, in less than a week before the date he had come to look upon as the end of his earthly activities, came a telegram: "Leaves Victoria by boat train Thursday night. Do not miss. I come to you to-night. Harrington."

He arrived accordingly, and they concocted plans. The train left Victoria at nine and its last stop before Dover was Croydon West. Harrington would mark down Karswell at Victoria, and look out for Dunning at Croydon, calling to him if need were by a name agreed upon. Dunning, disguised as far as might be, was to have no label or initials on any hand luggage, and must at all costs have the paper with him.

Dunning's suspense as he waited on the Croydon platform I need not attempt to describe. His sense of danger during the last days had only been sharpened by the fact that the cloud about him had perceptibly been lighter; but relief was an ominous symptom, and,if Karswell eluded him now, hope was gone: and there were so many chances of that. The rumour of the journey might be itself a device. The twenty minutes which he paced the platform and persecuted every porter with inquiries as to the boat train were as bitter as any he had spent. Still, the train came, and Harrington was at the window. It was important, of course, that there should be no recognition: so Dunning got in at the farther end of the corridor carriage, and only gradually made his way to the compartment where Harrington and Karswell were. He was pleased, on the whole, to see that the train was far from full.

Karswell was on the alert, but gave no sign of recognition. Dunning took the seat not immediately facing him and attempted, vainly at first, then with increasing command of his faculties, to reckon the possibilities of making the desired transfer. Opposite to Karswell, and next to Dunning, was a heap of Karswell's coats on the seat. It would be of no use to slip the paper into these - he would not be safe, or would not feel so, unless in some way it could be proffered by him and accepted by the other. There was a handbag, open, and with papers in it. Could he manage to conceal this (so that perhaps Karswell might leave the carriage without it), and then find and give it to him? This was the plan that suggested itself. If he could only have counselled with Harrington! but that could not be. The minutes went on. More than once Karswell rose and went out into the corridor. The second time Dunning was on the point of attempting to make the bag fall off the seat, but he caught Harrington's eye, and read in it a warning. Karswell, from the corridor, was watching: probably to see if the two men recognized each other. He returned, but was evidently restive: and, when he rose the third time, hope dawned, for something did slip off his seat and fall with hardly a sound to the floor. Karswell went out once more, and passed out of range of the corridor window. Dunning picked up what had fallen, and saw that the key was in his hands in the form of one of Cook's ticket-cases, with tickets in it. These cases have a pocket in the cover, and within very few seconds the paper of which we have heard was in the pocket of this one. To make the operation more secure, Harrington stood in the doorway of the compartment and fiddled with the blind. It was done, and done at the right time, for the train was now slowing down towards Dover.

In a moment more Karswell re-entered the compartment. As he did so, Dunning, managing, he knew not how, to suppress the tremble in his voice, handed him the ticket-case, saying, "May I give you this, sir? I believe it is yours." After a brief glance at the ticket inside, Karswell uttered the hoped-for response, "Yes, it is; much obliged to you, sir," and he placed it in his breast pocket.

Even in the few moments that remained - moments of tense anxiety, for they knew not to what a premature finding of the paper might lead - both men noticed that the carriage seemed to darken about them and to grow warmer; that Karswell was fidgety and oppressed; that he drew the heap of loose coats near to him and cast it back as if it repelled him and that he then sat upright and glanced anxiously at both. They, with sickening anxiety, busied themselves in collecting their belongings; but they both thought that Karswell was on the point of speaking when the train stopped at Dover Town. It was natural that in the short space between town and pier they should both go into the corridor.

At the pier they got out but so empty was the train that they were forced to linger on the platform until Karswell should have passed ahead of them with his porter on the way to the boat, and only then was it safe for them to exchange a pressure of the hand and a word of concentrated congratulation. The effect upon Dunning was to make him almost faint. Harrington made him lean up against the wall, while he himself went forward a few yards within sight of the gangway to the boat at which Karswell had now arrived. The man at the head of it examined his ticket, and, laden with coats he passed down into the boat. Suddenly the official called after him,"You, sir, beg pardon, did the other gentleman show his ticket?" "What the devil do you mean by the other gentleman?" Karswell's snarling voice called back from the deck. The man bent over and looked at him. "The devil? Well, I don't know, I'm sure," Harrington heard him say to himself, and then aloud, "My mistake, sir; must have been your rugs! ask your pardon." And then, to a subordinate near him, "'ad he got a dog with him, or what ? Funny thing: I could 'a' swore 'e wasn't alone. Well, whatever it was, they'll 'ave to see to it aboard. She's off now. Another week and we shall be gettin' the 'oliday customers." In five minutes more there was nothing but the lessening lights of the boat, the long line of the Dover lamps, the night breeze, and the moon.

Long and long the two sat in their room at the'Lord Warden'. In spite of the removal of their greatest anxiety, they were oppressed with a doubt, not of the lightest. Had they been justified in sending a man to his death, as they believed they had? Ought they not to warn him, at least? "No," said Harrington; "if he is the murderer I think him, we have done no more than is just. Still, if you think it better - but how and where can you warn him?" He was booked to Abbeville only," said Dunning. "I saw that. If I wired to the hotels here in Joanne's Guide, " Examine your ticket-case, Dunning," I should feel happier. This is the 21st: he will have a day. But I am afraid he has gone into the dark." So telegrams were left at the hotel office.

It is not clear whether these reached their destination or whether, if they did, they were understood. All that is known is that on the afternoon of the 23rd, an English traveller, examining the front of St Wulfram's Church at Abbeville, then under extensive repair, was struck on the head and instantly killed by a stone falling from the scaffold erected round the north-western tower, there being, as was clearly proved, no workman on the scaffold at that moment: and the traveller's papers identified him as Mr Karswell.

Only one detail shall be added. At Karswell's sale a set of Bewick, sold with all faults, was acquired by Harrington. The page with the woodcut of the traveller and the demon was, as he had expected, mutilated. Also, after a judicious interval, Harrington repeated to Dunning something of what he had heard his brother say in his sleep: but it was not long before Dunning stopped him.

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leapoffaith2017 · 7 years

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07/01/17 Rocking On

I will confess to being the worst one fingered typist ever. Be tolerant with typos. So what is new? The trail and the culture around the trail is changing. In the south church groups and many other groups were happily providing trail magic. As I move further north hikers are treated by some hostel owners and shuttle drivers like naughty children. It is a strange experience for me to adapt to this attitude. However, I can understand why. Some people refuse to follow basic rules. I started the trail feeling young for my age and now feel like a senior. The scenic views are rare but I do occasionally see a new and beautiful wildflower. I encountered a rattlesnake the other day that rattled at me three times. I finally waded through the poison ivy to pass after 3 unsuccessful attempts. Hmm...,poison ivy or poison snake. At least I am still here to share the story. The rocks are a challenge. My toes are bruised and demanded a day off. Back on the trail in the morning. Afternoon thunderstorms are intense. It is energizing to take a zero and dry out my gear. My plan had been to push on for another 60 miles but the body required rest. Flexibility, adaptation, and/or going with the flow is key to achieving the goal. I will remain fluid and ride the waves of this epic adventure. Just an FYI: I passed the 1200 mile marker yesterday. Bring on New Jersey. Rocking on in PA. Moonbeam 🌜

#appalachain trail

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dramallamadingdang · 8 years

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‘Tis reply time!

For @criquette-was-here, @alexbgd, @scibirg, @simsllama, @didilysims, @emeraldfalconsims, @getmygameon, @holleyberry, @raindropdrinkwater, and @ilikefishfood...

Hilarious! Wandering through original game resources is always a great fun ��

This was actually the first time I’ve seen something like that. Maybe I need to pay closer attention...

alexbgd replied to your post “*plays Castaway Stories* WHY DOES THE TAB KEY NOT WORK??! Oh, right,...”

I also wish they have button for hunger, bathroom etc in sims 2 like in castaway..

scibirg replied to your post “*plays Castaway Stories* WHY DOES THE TAB KEY NOT WORK??! Oh, right,...”

what i like the most in castaway are the keys you can press to get sims to fill their motives, like H for Hunger. i always try to press h when i get back to ts2.

Yeah, those buttons ARE really nice! It’d be nice to have them for TS2. They really reduce the mouse clicks, if you use them. Which I guess was kinda the point since the Stories games were designed with laptops in mind. Not everyone has a mouse for their laptop and, at the time the games were made, not all laptops had nice touchpads but rather those stupid little pain-in-the-butt mouse buttons. :P My only problem with those keys is that I tend to hit “Y” for hygiene when what I really want is “U” for cameraman mode. But that’s more because I’m a sloppy typist.

simsllama replied to your post “*plays Castaway Stories* WHY DOES THE TAB KEY NOT WORK??! Oh, right,...”

I never knew that you can do it with the key 'U'! ��

Yup! That’s how you get into cameraman mode in the game. I assume it’s that way in all the Stories games. Otherwise, it’s hard to take nice pics. :)

didilysims replied to your photo “So what do you do when you have way too many babies on a lot and not...”

Ha ha, you are so lucky the social worker wasn't stranded here too. :P

Inorite?! Then again, even if she was, it’s not like there’s anywhere she could take away the kids to. :) Unless she wanted to raise the little hellions herself or something.

emeraldfalconsims replied to your post “Preggo Komei!”

Your Goopy reminds me of a cross between Glen Quagmire and Gaius Baltar.

I confess that I had to look up both. :) I’ve never watched Family Guy and only watched the new Battlestar Galactica once, years ago. (Now, if it was the original Baltar? Totally clear memory there. John Colicos was a scenery-chomping god. :) ) But now that I’ve done my looking-up...Yeah, I can see it. Especially if you add a bit of surfer-dude to the mix. :)

didilysims replied to your post “Sims ask: 7 8 17 :)”

I didn't know there WAS a great debate until I saw this meme floating around. Thanks for educating me. ;)

Well, it was a great debate a while back. As I recall, there was some sort of livestream or something prior to TS4′s release where the devs were playing a bit to show off the game, and one of them said “Live Mode” with “live” pronounced with a short “i.” Then there was The Debate. (That short-i dev was completely delusional. Obviously. :) )

didilysims replied to your photo “Brandi LeTourneau. Or, as I call her, “Big Hair” LeTourneau. ...”

Does the game keep track of fish caught/fruit eaten/etc. for you or are you manually doing that?

Manually, unfortunately. I wish there was some sort of modded object, like that painting someone made that counts dream dates and whatnot, but...alas. Then again, I think that painting works by looking at memories, and since the things I’ve targeted don’t generate memories, I’m screwed, anyway. :) Thankfully, no one’s been doing much of anything other than toddler-wrangling lately, sooooo... :)

didilysims replied to your post “So you’re stranded with seven other complete strangers on what may or...”

Those sleeping positions are...different.

They kind of sprawl, yes. The animations are funny, too. To get into the bed, they stand with their back to it and flop backwards. The sprawl they land in is how they sleep. I’m guessing those animations is why the leaf beds weren’t converted to TS2. Which is a shame.

getmygameon replied to your post “Preggo Komei!”

Well that's the door to the 7th hell blown wide open right there...

It’s the door of all the hells blown open, yes... Well, actually, no, it’s really not all that bad. Two of the toddlers are children now, and children pretty much totally free-will in this scenario, so I don’t have to do anything with them. Just watch them be kids, basically. Five of the remaining toddlers are about to age to child as I type, so I’ll just be left with two toddlers -- Who will age the next day -- and two babies. And no one’s currently pregnant, either. Easy-peasy. :)

holleyberry replied to your photo “Say whatever you want about Sandy Bruty. I think she’s very pretty....”

As you know, I am a BIG Sandy Bruty fan. I think with the right hairstyle and make up she's a real beauty.

Even without hair/makeup, I just think her facial structure is striking. Maybe it’s because she has fairly large eyes, which I always find attractive. (Though not when they’re unrealistically-large, like in anime-style.) She has nice cheekbones, too. Yeah, her mouth/lips are a little extreme, but it’s easy to overlook that, IMO. Plus, she’s a Romance Sim, and I have a weakness for those. They’re just so fun because sex-postitivity is fun.

holleyberry replied to your post “Sim Parenting: A comparative study”

I've always said romance sim males make very good daddies.

They do, yes. Get them in a more committed relationship and their romance-y wants focus on their partner(s), mostly. Sure, there’s the occasional want to “cheat,” but my feeling when playing committed/married Romance Sims is that they’re more the open-relationship type, and I imagine that their partners, if they’re not Romance themselves, would lean more that way, too, that they’d kind of have to in order to make a decision to commit themselves to a Romance Sim, who they have to know is going to want to “cheat.” Right? I mean, they’d know that. Unless they’re really stupid. :)

But that’s why I think you get Goopy/Sandy right in your story. They love each other, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not interested in other people, too. And you know what? There’s nothing wrong with that. But I’ll stop before I get on a soapbox. :)

And yeah, Romance Sims do tend to be kid-interactive, too. I think it’s because most of the pre-made Romance Sims, playable or otherwise, were given more playful personalities. That seems to be the key to good, attentive parenting in the game. It’s probably why Ben Long is a good dad, too; although he’s Knowledge, he’s got 7 playful points. Sandy’s got 8 playful points, and she’s all over her alien twins in this scenario. Pre-made Family Sims tend to get the Cancer personality, which is middle-of-the-road boring...and fairly serious, too. Which is totally not conducive to kid interaction.

raindropdrinkwater replied to your post “Sim Parenting: A comparative study”

Yup. In my experience, family sims aren't even that good at taking care *of themselves*. Swoon over the romance sim? Check. Complain about not being pregnant often enough? Check. Feed oneself, or one's spawn? Hmpff. Who has time for that?

*nods* Very true. It always dismays me that, when people play “Orphanage” challenges, they tend to make the adults Family Sims. It makes me want to scream, “NOOOOOOOOOO!” They’re the absolute worst choice for that. Family Sims are breeders in the worst sense of the word. They’re all about having the kids, but not at all about actually taking care of them or loving on them. And they definitely don’t care about kids that aren’t their own. For that, you need playful Pleasure Sims. They’re the best kid-raisers ever.

But since there’s no Pleasure aspiration in Castaway, the Romance Sims are stepping up to the plate. Goopy and Sandy are amazing in this scenario. :) Ben Long the Knowledge Sim is right there with them, too, and Andrea Hogan the Fortune Sim seems content to be the support system who’s always happy to empty the potty and change diapers when needed. :) And play with the kids, too, since she’s got 8 playful points. :) Whereas Orlando the Family Sim? Yeah, I’m contemplating nasty things for his future... ;)

ilikefishfood replied to your photoset “When you spend hours on stuff that’s purely, uselessly decorative....”

I do the saaaame thing! Lol! It's gorgeous, by the way!

I’m not alone! *tosses confetti* And thank you. :)

#criquette-was-here #alexbgd #simsllama #scibirg #didilysims #emeraldfalconsims #getmygameon #holleyberry #raindropdrinkwater #ilikefishfood

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lakbimajobs-blog · 4 years

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The Features About Temporary Jobs

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#Find Best Job vacancies in Sri Lanka #Best Vacancies in Sri Lanka

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datinglove07-blog-blog-blog · 6 years

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100 Reasons I Love You

New Post has been published on https://onlinedatingloves.com/awesome/100-reasons-i-love-you/

100 Reasons I Love You

I’m a writer.

I can’t say whether I’m any good. All I can say is that I’m prolific.

I wrote the comedy column in my college newspaper.

I wrote a dozen screenplays and 15 sitcoms when I moved to LA in my twenties.

I have written over 1000 blog posts, 400 newsletters, 100 podcasts and 4 volumes since then.

But the most meaningful thing I’ve ever written is something “no ones ever” read before.

It’s a series of listings called “1 00 Reasons I Love You” that I wrote for the extraordinary girl I call my wife.

The first one was dated July 25, 2007. That was six months into our relationship when I first told her I loved her.

The second one was dated November 25, 2007. That was for her 38 th birthday.

The third one was dated April 24, 2008. That was when I proposed to her.

Since then, we’ve gotten married, bought a house in the suburbium, and had two children , now 6 and 7, who fill up our world with delight.

As a husband, father, son, friend, friend, and small business owner, I’m as harried as you are, trying to spread my day and attention around to attain everyone I love happy.

But, as you know, things fall through the crackings. That’s life.

We all have to pick and choose what’s important.

As a dating coach, I have a daily window into this, and one of the things I see regularly is how well-meaning couples fall into a rut and are beginning to take each other for granted.

To be fair, we all have a great excuse: life is, indeed, busy!

And actually, who has the time and energy to treat your spouse like you did when you first began dating?

Yet that absence of period and energy are exactly why relationships falter.

It’s why people grow apart.

All the little things stop and you fall into your roles.

You work. You parent. You sleep.

All the time you put into being a couple has disappeared and been absorbed into life’s other endeavors. Next thing you know, you’re wondering: “What happened to us? ”

THAT’s why I insist that relationships don’t take “work, ” but they do take EFFORT.

So while I’d like to think I’m a good spouse- I wake up the kids and induce them breakfast, I’m out of the office every day at 5:30 to help out my family, and I’m fluent in all 5 Love Languages- there’s always something that can be done better.

I’m doing it today.

This week marks my 10 th Anniversary.

It’s is not merely been ten years since my wife and I tied the knot, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health,’ til demise do us portion- but it’s been ten years since I wrote a listing for my spouse of 100 reasons I love her.

It’s something I’ve been meaning to do, but haven’t get around to, what with football practise, cleaning out the garage, and putting together that earthquake preparedness kit.

My 100 Reasons list is not a run of literary genius. It’s largely a series of inside jokes for an audience of two. But I’m sharing it with you today for three reasons :P TAGEND

1. I’m proud of it. I’m proud of my spouse. I’m proud of my wedding. I’m proud that I’m given this opportunity to let you peek in on my relationship and demonstrate you what healthy, lasting love looks like from the inside.

2. My wife is cool with it. Sure, this is written for private purposes, but my spouse has constructed peace with the facts of the case that I’m an open book. So while I respect her privacy and cherish our wedding, I also consider our partnership as an education on love that I can offer immediately to you. All the good, all the bad; I merely have one mode: honest.

3. True love are likely to be yours. While I wouldn’t hold my breath on your future spouse writing you 4 lists of 100 reasons he loves you, that’s because he’ll have a real task besides “dating coach.” What he lacks as a romantic and fast typist, I promise he’ll make up for with other traits: character, consistency, kindness, and commitment.

This much I know is true.

Great husbands come in many forms to the millions of women who look for them.

They don’t, however, come to women who have given up on men.

They don’t come to women who guess the worst of men.

They don’t come to women who think dating is a waste of time and that relationships merely lead to heartbreak and disappointment.

That’s why, starting officially on Thursday, November 1st, I’m having a special marketing on my Believe in Love program where you’ll get $50 off just for being on my mailing list.

Consider that my 10 th-anniversary gift to YOU.

You deserve to be happy and in love.

If you don’t have it now, then something has to change- preferably sooner, rather than later.

In the meantime, enjoy your day, hug someone special, and check your inbox on Thursday morning to take advantage of this opportunity to get your groove back and save big money.

Warmest wishings and much love,

Your friend,

Evan

P.S. You didn’t believe I’d shut this email without sharing my list, did you?

So, without further ado, 100 Reasons I Love My Wife, Volume 4 :P TAGEND

1. You always have floss with you.

2. You let me read bedtime stories to the kids every night.

3. You know how to turn on the pond heater and filter since I don’t.

4. You make a generous effort to visit my family whenever we can.

5. You have separate washings for blacks, colours and lights.

6. You say yes to all social plans- and often consider whether I want to be part of them.

7. You promote me to insure my guy friends.

8. You are the pioneer of the Mad Libs Dance Challenge.

9. You are really fun, considering you’re the not-fun parent.

10. You will always go out of your way to help a friend.

11. You validate me when I say I need more quality time with you.

12. You appreciate how much I want to provide for the family.

13. You offer me fair criticism in ways that I can always handle.

14. You drive six hours in a day for a weekend without the kids.

15. You make a mean gazpacho.

16. You rock those vacation wall calendars.

17. You care about the details of every barbecue, dinner party, and birthday party.

18. You continue to surprise me with random military facts that I don’t know.

19. You can expend three nights packing for a three-day weekend.

20. You need to have 10 all sorts of vinegar to eat one big heirloom tomato.

21. You listen to me relentlessly vent about the technology part of my business.

22. You are proud of your age and you’re proud that I’m proud of your age.

23. You know how to laugh at yourself.

24. You make sure the kids can laugh at themselves, too.

25. You are the model for all the Catholic wives at synagogue.

26. You sort through endless amounts of kids’ homework on the kitchen table.

27. You always prove that when I can’t find something, I simply did a “man-look.”

28. You are willing to go to the beach with me, even though you don’t like sand.

29. You constructed sure our 16 -day East Coast road trip was an experience to remember.

30. You’re willing to listen to my notions about how to be happier and more efficient.

31. You like to keep the pool at 88 degrees.

32. You get 97 texts from your PFA friends in one day.

33. You dominate at board game night, especially Taboo.

34. You are wonderfully shameless when it is necessary to karaoke night.

35. You never go to bed mad.

36. You can somehow sleep until 11 am on weekends.

37. You write cards that make me cry.

38. You merely cry when your computer is causing you trouble.

39. You will always want to go to a movie on a night when the kids are in San Diego.

40. You put salt on salted popcorn.

41. You actually owned a tank of helium for balloons.

42. You like math.

43. You are the designated poop-picker-upper when there’s an accident.

44. You never say no to a Mommy’s Night Out.

45. You curse more than I do.

46. You are more into reading, theater and politics than when we first met.

47. You insist on themed Halloween costumes for all four of our family members.

48. You have a whole section of the attic reserved for different holiday decorations.

49. You require two attics to house all the things you’ve never hurled out.

50. You like 90% of what I buy you for Christmas.

51. You trust me when it comes to choosing a restaurant.

52. You always order the least healthy( and most tasty) thing on the menu.

53. You are cool with canceling Christmas. Or our 10 th-anniversary vacation, if need be.

54. You are slowly coming around on the dog thing. Maybe a dwarf hamster first…

55. You eventually got into volume club- but you have a better idea if this one collapses.

56. You are always agreeable when I invite old friends over to dinner.

57. You treat my family like your own family.

58. You care about how you seem- and you invariably look beautiful.

59. You construct incredible meals in the crockpot.

60. You have a pantry with about 50 kinds of carbs, crackers, chips and cereals.

61. You don’t tell me how you vote- but I’m pretty sure you vote the way I would.

62. You are an excellent disciplinarian with the kids.

63. You invariably agree with me when we do our post-party rundown in the car.

64. You are the unofficial mayor of our town.

65. You embrace why my Israel trip entailed so much to me.

66. You are the best kind of stable- I know exactly what I’ll get for the rest of my life.

67. You are almost willing to go camping, as long as there’s a shower in the woods.

68. You are an easy audience.

69. You don’t count calories.

70. You attain bangs seem good.

71. You take pride in being the best school treasurer ever.

72. You’re sometimes willing to have sex TWO days in a week.

73. You use 12 pillows when you go to sleep at night in your pillow fort.

74. You knew every term at the Depeche Mode show and braved three days at Desert Trip.

75. You allow me to play dinnertime DJ and introduce the kids to our music.

76. You don’t want anything more in life than a weekend alone.

77. You still read marriage publications and consider them your version of porn.

78. You laugh at my mishaps at Thai massage places.

79. You drive much faster than I do.

80. You read much slower.

81. You say “I love you” at least 25% of the times I say it to you.

82. You are a hero to females you’ve never met.

83. You save random Saturday Night Live sketches for me to watch after you’ve seen them.

84. You handle customer service issues when I’m about to blow a gasket.

85. You make sure the kids are prepared for any fluctuation in temperature.

86. You never pass up a glass( or two) of wine.

87. You have middle-class savour at home and five-star taste in hotels.

88. You look great naked.

89. You stimulate me feel like I do, too.

90. You donate to every charity that any of your family members request.

91. You can take a 2-hour transgres from telling a tale and begin right where you left off.

92. You can operate on three hours of sleep.

93. You are more than willing to leave a party…an hour after I first asked if we could go.

94. You never induce me feel bad when I’m falling short.

95. You don’t let your past relationships negatively affect your present ones.

96. You understand my need to talk about my past- my father, my exes, my career.

97. You have the highest emotional intelligence of anyone I’ve ever met.

99. You know all my embarrassing anecdotes- and you’re still here!

100. You are my muse, my north star, my raison d’etre, my favorite person in the world.

Happy 10 th anniversary, honey!

Love,

Evan

The post 100 Reason I Love You seemed first on Dating Coach – Evan Marc Katz | Understand Men. Find Love ..

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averagemagicalgirl · 6 years

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Monthly Media: July Reading Challenge

Welcome everyone to this month's media breakdown! August is coming which means its time to wrap up July. This month saw me engaged in a personal reading challenge that I'll detail a bit more below. I don't know if I would call this month productive but I came away with a new found sense of confidence in my own writing so I suppose that's a good thing! This post is LONG LONG LONG (almost 3500 words!) and contains some spoilers so feel free to save it for later if necessary!

As a little background info: one day I went to Amazon and downloaded 62 free "cozy mystery" novellas. All these novellas were first volumes of ongoing series from their respective authors. I thought July would be the perfect opportunity to sit down and read them all, naively thinking at the time I could get through all 62 in a month. I of course did not, not even close because I forgot about life and other responsibilities and I also didn't think that some of these stories would be so terribly written that it would kill my desire to read anything for a day or two for recovery purposes.

I wish I were exaggerating.

I kept notes on the books I was reading and I've rated the books on a scale of 1-5 "stars", 1 being the worst and of course 5 being the best. Out off the 11 books I finished I was pleasantly surprised to see how many I genuinely liked but there are only a few series that I would continue reading. So without further ado here are my thoughts on the 11 books (and the 6 unfinished ones) I read this month!

One O'Clock Hustle by Joanne Pence ~ 1 out of 5; I really hated this book and as a result am disinterested in reading the rest of the series it precedes. The main characters were frustratingly one sided with badly forced chemistry and in the case of our heroine, poorly justified reasons that she was behaving out of character. She's described multiple times as being "by the book" and then proceeds almost immediately afterwards to be the complete opposite of that. It defies any kind of logic as to why a proud cop such as herself would jeopardize her beloved career on someone she says repeatedly that she doesn't know well. Innocent or not her "love interest" was putting her and her career in danger and she just let him. WHY? WHY, WHY, WHY?

I don't have time to speculate anymore and feel I'm much happier throwing this one into the trash heap and never thinking about it again.

Murder in Stained Glass by Margaret Armstrong ~ 3 out of 5; I'd read more if the second volume were under $2 or free. I had to go back and consult my notes about this story because all I could remember was feeling really let down by the ending. Mostly because the protagonist summarily makes herself useless at the very end. She mentions at the last minute climax of the novella that she didn't really do anything except buy the two young people in her life a tent and isn't that enough? I'm still not sure how to take such an abrupt about-face ending. The reader gets the sense that the older heroine is making progress somewhere in her investigation (there's an almost Miss Marple-like feeling about the whole story), and then suddenly the ending HAPPENS totally out of left field (which I enjoyed) but then because of this very interesting and "random" ending the heroine has to claim she didn't do anything at all?

As someone interested in reading more potentially it was kind of a slap in the face? Perhaps I'm putting more thought into it than necessary but I just spent my time reading your story and being invested in your character and they were functionally useless this whole time? Still, if the next book were free at some point I'd most likely read it.

Killing at the Carnival by L.A. Nisula 4 out of 5; I was going over my notes for this one to see if this story genuinely deserved it's 4 out of 5 rating and I still hold that it does. There was some preexisting history between the main character and the main policeman that they don't really touch on until much, much later in the novel. I'd read more but the other volumes would have to be free or bought with gift money at some point after other purchases. I honestly really enjoyed that there wasn't a romance involved despite the fact that I could see one organically developing down the line. The characters were interesting all around and I liked that the woman worked as a typist, I thought it was a really great job for main character of the time that you wouldn't perhaps see much of.

Murder for Neptune's Trident by Victoria LK Williams ~ 4 out of 5; I liked the characters and relationships in this book but it seems like it was written by someone who's more comfortable writing academically than creatively. What I mean by that is there were parts of the novel that read as very procedural and it was a very precise day by day account. It was a struggle to get through at times because parts of it were frankly boring. I would read more of this particular heroine though because I'm genuinely curious as to how she'd find herself in a similar situation. The story itself was so organic and natural in how it came to be and the heroine's reactions were BEAUTIFULLY believable like, she endeared herself to me immediately due to her very personal and realistic reactions to what was happening around her. My hopes for further reading would be that the author hits her stride and that the books become a little less precise and enjoy some extra fluidity.

Better off Wed by Laura Durham ~ 5 out of 5; One of the most endearing things about this story for me had to be the characters. The plot was well written/executed so that was a plus on top of just really feeling this aura of "fun" around the heroine and her friends. That being said I was mildly disappointed in the heroine being another one of those "no makeup/fussy" types because I've read a million of them and like...why anymore? BUT I DIGRESS. Having everything revolving around the life of a wedding planner was really interesting and different (most of the stories I downloaded seemed to involve baking???). I'm certainly keen to read more from this author about these characters. Well-paced and believable, I didn't have to bend over backwards trying to make sense of things going on.

Baking is Murder by Kathy Cranston ~ 4 out of 5; A really nice, romance free story with good character development and not a bad plot. It's a bit unpolished, I definitely had a hard time accepting certain things about the story but I enjoyed it so much anyway that I have a hard time giving it less than a 4. It's quick paced which is nice considering it's length and we finally got to see some BAKING! Oddly enough this was the only one I got through this month that included baking but I know I downloaded at least 5 or 6 novellas that either include baked good on the cover or have baking/cooking mentioned in the title. I still have a hard time believing most of the heroine's behavior was acceptable but I will admit that perhaps my "suspension-of-disbelief-o-meter" was very stressed by the time I started reading this book.

Two Tocks before Midnight by Clay Boutwell ~ 5 out of 5; A wonderful little story. This reads as a stand alone even though it's part of a larger series and I'm excited at the idea of there being more of these great little short stories running around. The main characters were older men involved in a society and I thought the plot and it's execution were quite well written. I'm certainly interested in reading more. They use some misdirection as well as later some dramatic letter writing that doesn't amount to anything but we get closure for it.

Nocturne for a Widow by Amanda Dewees ~ 5 out of 5; This book was a little strange for me because about a third of the way through I realized that it was a proper ghost story, which I wasn't fond of. I thought it was going to be more of a horror type situation but the story itself turned out to be pretty low-key in that regard. However, it's a very dramatic story with a lot of intense emotions constantly playing out. The love story at least felt organic in the way that only melodramtic Victorian stories can, which of course meant that the would-be lovers hated each other in the beginning and then were madly in love by the end. Still, not a terrible book and I did genuinely like the characters so I've made plans to eventually buy the other books in the series.

Peril at the Pink Lotus by Alice Simpson~ 5 out of 5; Originally I think I felt that this was a 4 out of 5 story but I couldn't give myself a good reason as to why I felt that way and so made it a 5. I enjoyed the main character and the story's pacing. Nothing in particular stands out to me either from memory or my notes which I think is okay sometimes. Not everything has to have one memorable part. As I look over my notes again I see that I liked how it ended and mentioned that it felt really natural given the way the story had been written. I do remember being surprised about something in the conclusion but in a good way. I would certainly read more.

Cinderella and the Dead Fella by Sue Heffer ~ 1 out of 5; Simply put this is a BADLY written piece of work. It reads like a super rough first draft with grammatical errors and plot inconsistencies. When I first finished it I had a lot of unkind things to say and then I spent the next few hours thinking about it and realized that the plot itself was a decent premise with the poisoning of a victim to the point where they start to behave questionably and is thought to be mentally incompetent. However, the execution of this plot was just SO VERY BAD.

It's very easy to say unkind things about this novel and I'm trying not to because unlike some of the other novels I read that I disliked I had this nagging feeling that this particular story was written by someone very new to writing. I went back to the Amazon page to try and find some more information about it but discovered that within a month the book was no longer available for download. My sincere hope is that the author removed it to polish it up, I think in time it could be a good story with interesting characters but it's not there yet.

The Art and Craft of Murder by Cozy Cat Parker ~ 5 out of 5; I don't have much to say about this book beyond that it was a good little read with the perfect amount of suspense. Decently written with an endearing main character and interesting secondary characters. I would definitely be interested in reading more from this author. There were some questions I had about the protagonists past but not nagging need to know type questions. I feel like the situation in which it will come up in the future will happen organically and I'm okay with that.

Murder in the House of Beads by Mary Jane Forbes ~ 1 out of 5; THIS BOOK JESUS WEPT. I think I might actually hate it. As I always strive to be honest, had this book continued the way it started I probably would have given it a 3 star rating. I might have been tempted to read another book in the series if I could get it for cheap or free; but it didn't. Somewhere around the 50% mark (according to my Kindle) the narrative NOSEDIVED HARD. I would have put it down but it took me another 10% of progress before I realized that something had gone horribly wrong with the story. By then I was so close to finishing it I thought it would be ridiculous to put it down. It was like the proverbial train wreck you can't look away from.

One my biggest issues with the story was a subplot that revolved around a secondary character named Wendy, a teenage girl. It didn't add anything to the story. Towards the end she was kidnapped and locked in the truck of a car to die and for what? Nothing. She could have been omitted at any point, or replaced with one of the other main characters. So naturally to me it reads as very antagonistic towards this young woman for literally no reason and I feel like whoever edited the volume really did the story and the readers a disservice by including the subplot as presented. Not my favorite book by any stretch. It didn't help that the last half of the book was sloppily written either. If you ask nicely I might share my VERY ANGRY notes about it.

THE UNFINISHED

I want to point out that I was looking forward to all these books when I started them for various reasons and that I might still finish a few of them at a later date. Some of them I deleted permanently out of my Kindle because I had no interest in going back to them. My mother gave me a great piece of advice that I'd honestly never considered before: "Life's too short to read shitty books," and wow is that honestly life changing.

Life's a Beach then You Die by Falafel Jones ~ Unfinished; When I realized this book was written from a male perspective I was definitely interested because I was (still am) under the impression that most of the cozy genre was feminine. Our hero is a former forensic computer guy who's just retired to live in I wanna say Florida. Of course he takes a private case involved in a suspicious circumstance which set his plot up predictably but not unforgivably. Honestly I put this book down because it was boring.

In it's defense this was the second to last book I picked up this month and had already read through some other questionable narratives. It was incredibly detailed and procedural and I feel bad saying it was boring because the information is relevant to the story in a small way and also because the author was trying to do a service for the reader. However, it doesn't make up for the fact that it failed to grab my attention in any kind of memorable way. I will most likely pick this up again in a few weeks to see if I feel the same way after reading some well loved classics.

Louisiana Longshot by Jana DeLeon ~ Unfinished; OH THIS BOOK MADE ME SO ANGRY. I was SO irritated I went to Amazon just to read why other people also disliked it. My particular ire was the result of realizing that I HATE the overused trope of "I'm a COP/SPY/SECRET AGENT not a WOMAN" passionately. The main character claiming that the former beauty queen librarian who knits (whom she's supposed to be undercover as) "has single-handedly set the women's movement back ten years." and then asks if she can "kill her next". These are literal quotes from the book and there is no indication that she's joking. If I had had the book physically in my hand I would have launched it across the room. I have no time in my life anymore for characters like that, there's nothing funny, cute or endearing about it.

In addition to a now awful main character I refused to be invested in, the plot itself was OVERLY convenient and very suspect. Less than 10 pages in and I already felt my suspension of disbelief being abused. So this one would definitely count as a "ragequit" as the kids say and I passionately refuse to read it further.

The Obituary Society by Jessica L. Randall ~ Unfinished; I was irritated when I put this book down and now that I'm looking at it again and through my scant notes about it I'm not sure why. I remember being irritated with the main character but not for any unforgivable reasons, I think it had to do with how the story was progressing because it wasn't doing a very good job at keeping me interested. I do plan on picking this one up again in the future because there's really no GREAT reason not to.

Murder, Curlers & Cream by Arlene Mcfarlane ~ Unfinished; Something I ran into a lot when reading these novellas is that SEVERAL authors seem to enjoy hinting at an event happening in the past to set up something about the current story, or to reveal something about the character. As a literary device that's acceptable, however many of them seem unwilling to go into much more detail and it's VERY irritating. In this case we learn IMMEDIATELY through an incredibly insensitive detective that the main character might have been involved in some kind of crime related mystery solving before. We get pieces of information after that but not much.

I have one note on this book at 30 pages in which means on some level I must have been enjoying it or was engaged enough to forget about keeping notes at the time. So in this case there might have been something about the main character herself that wasn't interesting me at the time so I put the book down. In a lot of these books I remember just being irritated at the way they were being written, like an overly far-fetched plot device that seems incredibly out of left field and unconnected to the story but also inconceivably linked to the future somehow.

The Corpse in the Cabana by Shea Mcleod ~ Unfinished; This book will remain unfinished because the heronine did not endear herself to me in a timely manner. She's intensely unlikable. The writing was also rather inconsistent and confusing in a lot of areas. Going back over my notes I can see that even though I was about 10%-20% into the novella I already had several things that were causing me consternation. It seemed better to cut my losses than continue reading something that was already irritating me and not enjoyable.

What was especially annoying was that the heroine is supposed to be a romance novelist who writes racy bodice rippers and while I can understand thinking certain words (like 'bang') are uncouth, her character balked at even saying the word sex, IN HER OWN DAMN HEAD. Is that necessary? It certainly seems out of character, especially from what we've experienced already.

Armed & Outrageous by Madison Johns ~ Unfinished; I'm still not sure if I'll ever pick this one up again or not. I've saved this one for last because I'm having a hard time putting into words what exactly made me put this book down. I didn't necessarily hate the characters, or think the plot was TOO off track for a cozy mystery, but I think it had a lot to do with how the writer presented our heroines. There was also a creepiness factor in the story that rubbed me the wrong way and not in a "supernatural" creepy way just...creepy in general. It's so hard to explain how uncomfortable the story made me and the only reason I'm reluctant to ditch it from my life is that I'm not sure if I picked it up again in a month if I'd feel the same way.

Reading other (not so positive) reviews on Amazon helped put it in a bit more perspective after the fact but I'm still unsure if I'm willing to leave it. I've decided to wait it out and see if the next time I pick it up to continue reading I start to feel the same way.

THE WRAP UP

It doesn't escape me that most of the books I disliked got more wordage than the ones I did like and the honest reason for that is that if I was engaged enough in the story itself I didn't note anything. I was willing to forgive certain things in the narrative if I was compelled enough to keep going. None of these books were perfect but a few were definitely better than others. I still have a lot of books to go but I think for my personal sanity I'm going to read them sparingly between other books of substance and personal interest.

See you next month!

#reading #reading challenge #books #mystery books #cozy mystery #novellas #criticism #opinion #book review #review #rae reads #spoilers #swearing #humor

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stjohnintelligencer · 7 years

Text

St John Tea Transcripts - November 21, “1917″

[19:00] Gabrielle Riel: Good evening everyone! Thank you so much for joining me for tea tonight!

[19:00] Gabrielle Riel: I don’t really have any major announcements tonight. Tea this evening is more about me telling you what’s been going on with me and to talk a little bit about the season change in St John Woods and Christmas stuff.

[19:00] Kitty (vinje): Hello everyone!

[19:01] Gabrielle Riel: It's been an age since I have had tea like this!

[19:01] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): hi Kitty

[19:01] Gabrielle Riel: Usually I ask you to hold questions until I give the ok, but tonight, feel free to ask questions as we go. The information I will be discussing is different than what I usually talk about at tea.

[19:01] Gabrielle Riel: Ready? I do recommend that you buckle your seatbelts for this. It’s going to go down some paths that you would not expect...

[19:01] Kitty (vinje): ohh

[19:01] Pru (prudencejekyll): Ready

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel tucks Kitty's seatbelt around him

[19:02] Kitty (vinje): gulp

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel: Here we go!

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel: I don’t know if any of you have noticed but I have not been in SL very much over the last three months. I have basically logged in to play gigs and handle the most basic of land administration tasks...and that’s it.

[19:02] Kitty (vinje): looks for my flask

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel passes Kitty 2

[19:02] Kitty (vinje): ty

[19:03] Gabrielle Riel: St John is riddled with vacant parcels that I have simply not had the time to process. We are in pretty rough shape right now in terms of our tenancy levels.

[19:03] Gabrielle Riel: That’s due to several things.

[19:03] Gabrielle Riel: First of all, a lot of long-time residents downsized or left SL altogether this year. This has been an issue everywhere not just in St John.

[19:03] Kitty (vinje): (( whats his ma,e wamts a parcel for his theater again ))

[19:03] Kitty (vinje): Name*

[19:03] Kitty (vinje): but go on

[19:04] Gabrielle Riel: Secondly, the SL economy changes due to the things that happened in 2016 have come home to roost. The fact that I could not afford the sim buy-downs hurt us badly. Also the prim increases on the mainland did cause some residents to leave for that better value.

[19:04] Kitty (vinje): dang

[19:04] Gabrielle Riel: I understand why LL made those changes. They were smart business decisions, but they did hurt us.

[19:04] Gabrielle Riel: Third: some of you might be aware of this and some of you might not, but I, my estate and my residents have been stalked by certain avatars/alts since at least 2009. Well, 2009 in terms of my estate. I have personally been stalked by alts since 2007.

[19:04] Kitty (vinje): oh no is my cold dead body gonna be dragged away?

[19:05] Gabrielle Riel: What do I mean by “stalked”? Well, it manifests in several ways. One is just a general nosiness. There are some people that literally have nothing better to do than to be nosy about what’s happening in St John and what I am doing in general.

[19:05] Gabrielle Riel: Is that weird? Yep. A little pathetic? In my opinion, yes. Sometimes these alts lease land. Sometimes they show up at Tea even though they aren’t St John residents. They come to Tea to know what’s going on or to save the transcripts for someone else, which is incredibly silly as I post unedited transcripts after each tea.

[19:06] Gabrielle Riel: Another type of stalking goes like this: an alt moves to St John and is relatively quiet for the first 2-3 months of residency. This is not too hard to accomplish as the typist(s) is/are running a million other alts all over the Steamlands and in SL in general. It’s not hard to be quiet when you’ve got that many avatars to manage!

[19:06] Kitty (vinje): hi zen

[19:06] ZenMondo Wormser: Hello.

[19:06] Gabrielle Riel: After the initial quiet period, the alt starts to make friendly and social overtures to other residents. They make social connections, which can be somewhat easy to do in here, and especially easy for a manipulative sociopath.

[19:06] Pru (prudencejekyll): waves to Zen

[19:06] ZenMondo Wormser: Sorry I am late I had to make sure no one showed up to my class

[19:07] Kitty (vinje): ahhh

[19:07] Gabrielle Riel: Eventually the alt(s) focus(es) their “friendly” conversations with the other St John residents they have befriended on one thing. Me.

[19:07] Gabrielle Riel: How everything I am doing sucks. How my sim design and landscaping sucks. How I am using the wrong scripts here and there. How I am doing *everything* wrong. All the ways I am such an awful person and horrible estate owner. It turns into a non-stop Gabi-bashing session...all the time.

[19:07] Pru (prudencejekyll): nods

[19:07] Gabrielle Riel: Eventually the alt convinces their “friends” to dump their land. It’s amazing how many people will allow themselves to be manipulated in this way, but sociopaths can always bank on the weakness in so many people.

[19:07] Kitty (vinje): dont forget your sassiness

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel grins - oh just wait

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel: Voila. Vacant parcel(s).

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel: I have always found it to be incredibly ironic that the alt(s) is/are able to manipulate others into dumping their land...and yet they stay on, not only as that functional alt, but as many others in the estate. So, they generate vacancies and at the same time lease parcels. It’s like this obsession to destroy and yet stay connected to me at the same time.

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel: If you are sitting here, you are likely not someone the alt(s) would ever approach. They avoid long time loyal residents and fixate more on quiet ones or less social ones.

[19:09] Gabrielle Riel: I have been dealing with this scenario since 2009. All from the same root(s).

[19:09] Gabrielle Riel: This non-stop, ongoing stalking is one of the reasons we have vacancies at the moment. It’s also one of the reasons I produced this podcast in August: https://archive.org/details/RielConversationsAllAboutAlts . Because I felt it was important to provide information to my residents about alts and how to identify them.

[19:10] Gabrielle Riel moves on from the alt reason

[19:10] Gabrielle Riel: Another reason we are hurting is due to abandons we had in Parish after we had to rebuild the sim. The rebuild was absolutely necessary in order for St John to survive. I knew we’d take a hit and lose some residents, and we did. We just lost more than I had hoped and it made a bad situation worse.

[19:10] Kitty (vinje): oh no

[19:10] Gabrielle Riel: There is one final reason we have so many vacancies and I alluded to it when we started tea: I have not been online much and therefore unable to process parcels for leasing.

[19:11] Gabrielle Riel: Why have I not been online? That’s complicated, so I will try to keep it simple.

[19:11] Gabrielle Riel: 2017 has been one of the worst years of my life, my actual life.

[19:11] Gabrielle Riel: It has also, hands-down been the worst year of my SL in 11.5 years.

[19:12] Gabrielle Riel: That is saying a lot. I’ve had rough patches before. Back in my early years, I was bashed in blogs. Called a c*nt in print and was accused of having multiple personality disorder. However there were also incredible high points during those times. It all balanced out.

[19:12] Gabrielle Riel: There was no balance this year. It has just sucked.

[19:12] Gabrielle Riel: At the beginning of 2017 I was SL-engaged with plans for a massive Mardi Gras SL-wedding. While it’s good that ended up not coming to fruition, it was still very difficult to deal with as it all fell apart.

[19:13] Gabrielle Riel: My close friends here right now can confirm my statement: “it was SO messed up”. Painful. Horrible. Heartbreaking. For me and for him. I wish him well and I wish him happiness. I am fairly sure he does not wish the same for me, but that’s how it goes sometimes when you sever a connection.

[19:13] Kitty (vinje): grrrr

[19:13] Gabrielle Riel scratches Kitty behind the ears

[19:13] Kitty (vinje): k

[19:13] Gabrielle Riel grins

[19:14] Gabrielle Riel: In addition to SL stress, I was also weathering incredible RL stress.

[19:14] JivenKitty: sends the "gentleman" an old furball

[19:14] Gabrielle Riel: Some of you know a little bit about my real life. I think I have mentioned here and there over the years that I have a son and that he has special needs.

[19:14] Gabrielle Riel: While it might seem like I am this active person with a radio station and a Second Life estate, the reality is that 90% of my life is taken up with caring for my son.

[19:15] Gabrielle Riel: The tasks involved in his care are a lot. I mean a lot. That’s all I am going to say about it. Just know that it’s not something most people could handle and I handle it...and I handle it like a damn superwoman.

[19:15] Gabrielle Riel: The need for me to focus on my son’s care has done nothing but increase over the years, so when I hear about someone bitching about “why hasn’t Gabi done this” or “why hasn’t Gabi finished that” or “where the hell has Gabi been” or “look at all those empty parcels”...

[19:15] Gabrielle Riel: I only have one thing to say:

[19:16] Kitty (vinje): who says that?

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel: *Kristin pushes the nice, professional Duchess aside and takes over*

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel: Fuck you. I dare you to walk in my shoes and handle it as well as I have.

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel regains control

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel: Oh LORD! I just swore at tea! Smelling salts all around!

[19:16] Kitty (vinje): haha

[19:16] Pru (prudencejekyll): :)

[19:17] Imon (imon.nightfire): smiles

[19:17] Gabrielle Riel tosses Amelia a bag of smelling salts...can you pass these out please... you're an expert at it ;-)

[19:17] Kitty (vinje): haha

[19:17] Gabrielle Riel whispers...we used to be Swooners...long story for another time!

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel: I don’t think I have ever cursed in public...oh, save one time in December 2008 when I dropped the F bomb in ISC (Caledon group chat) over something that happened (that could have been prevented) that totally messed up a huge event I was having.

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel: But hey...I’ve been here for almost 12 years and I’m damn tired after 2017! If someone hears/reads that and gets their panties in a wad and leaves St John, oh well!

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel grins - “panties in a wad” is such a Kristin and not a Gabi phrase!

[19:18] Pru (prudencejekyll): :)

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel: My Dad was a cop. I can swear like a cop. I can also kick your ass like a cop. ;-) Literally or figuratively!

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel crawls on top of Kristin and shoves her back into the closet

[19:19] Emmanuelle Huntress: or have one do it for her

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel grins at Emma

[19:19] Amelia Smythe quiletly passes the salts around the group

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel: Anyway!

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel: That’s why I have not been around. My son’s care has been all-consuming this year. And that is not likely to change.

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel: 2017 has been the “perfect storm” of horror for me. Hurricane Gabrielle was very appropriately named.

[19:20] Kitty (vinje): takes said smelling salts

[19:20] Gabrielle Riel: So...now...here we are…

[19:20] JivenKitty: looks for opium pipe

[19:20] Gabrielle Riel: I have a hope. That is that I will be able to spend some time working on St John over the coming weeks. I really need to get the estate in better shape. I need to get parcels set up for leasing. I have a lot of work to do.

[19:20] Gabrielle Riel: Just know that I WANT to do it. My RL will dictate my ability to make it happen.

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel: Also, while I do not have any current plans to close any of our sims, know that it IS a possibility. We might be stronger financially if I were to consolidate residents and dump a sim or two.

[19:21] Pru (prudencejekyll): nods

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel: That option is better than the other option which is: Gabi dumps all her sims and leaves SL. And yes, that is also a possibility.

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel hears the gasps of hope from altapalooza land

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel: I said possible. Not likely. So don’t get your hopes up bitch(es)!

[19:21] Pru (prudencejekyll): grins

[19:22] Gabrielle Riel sighs and shoves Kristin back in the closet AGAIN

[19:22] Kitty (vinje): whew

[19:22] Gabrielle Riel: So...what can you do to help? See if you have any friends that would be interested in leasing in St John! It’s that simple.

[19:22] Gabrielle Riel: And, yes, I know I need to process parcels first so they are available for lease! Don’t start marketing St John to your contacts until you see yellow on the map. My hope is to get parcels up for lease in the next week.

[19:22] Pru (prudencejekyll): My alt friends? ;p

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: Hey, as long as they don't harass anyone I am FINE with them!

[19:23] Pru (prudencejekyll): :)

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: That, my dears, is in a nutshell “what the hell has been up with Gabi for months”.

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: So...

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: After that refreshing airing of all sorts of stuff, are you all ready to hear about season change and Christmas?

[19:23] Kitty (vinje): Hi Edward!

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel grins

[19:23] Pru (prudencejekyll): Yes!

[19:23] Edward Pearse: Evening all

[19:23] Pru (prudencejekyll): Hi Edward. :)

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel waits for heads to cease spinning

[19:24] Kitty (vinje): yes!

[19:24] Emmanuelle Huntress: Yay winter

[19:24] Gabrielle Riel: All good to go? ;-)

[19:24] Pru (prudencejekyll): Bring it!

[19:24] Gabrielle Riel: Ok! So most of you probably already know this so I am going to keep it short. As St John is based on New Orleans, we are a sub-tropical climate. We do not have “changing of seasons”.

[19:24] Imon (imon.nightfire): yes :-)

[19:24] Gabrielle Riel: With one exception: St John Woods. We have all 4 seasons there. Woods is in Autumn mode at the moment, but the transition to Winter will start after Dec 1. I don’t go all snowy right away. I do it gradually over the first 2 weeks of the month. We go full snowy by Winter Solstice, which is on December 21.

[19:25] Edward Pearse: Yeah but pretty sure New Orleans doesn't have talking cats either :-P

[19:25] Kitty (vinje): pfffft

[19:25] Kitty (vinje) whispers: do too

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: Of course it does

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: It's New Orleans!

[19:25] Imon (imon.nightfire): depends on how much you've had to drink

[19:25] Kitty (vinje): voila!

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: Winter lasts in Woods until March 1. That is when melt begins and it happens over several weeks, with Spring springing on the Vernal Equinox which is March 20.

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: We also have a “freak snowstorm” in ALL of the St John sims on December 24, 25 and 26 for Christmas.

[19:26] Gabrielle Riel: And speaking of Christmas…

[19:26] ZenMondo Wormser: I actually date a talking cat from New Orleans in real life, so...

[19:26] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): a fgew

[19:26] Gabrielle Riel: The St John Christmas Ball will be Saturday, December 23 from 7-9pm SLT.

[19:26] Kitty (vinje): hahaha

[19:26] Edward Pearse: I was over in St Oswald last night. They're using the Botanical snow rezz thing. Worth looking at for comparison

[19:26] Gabrielle Riel: And could someone find me a nice date for it? I would be SO grateful because I SO don’t want to get lost in the memories of last year’s Christmas Ball! Thanks a bunch! ;-)

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: Speaking more of Christmas…

[19:27] ZenMondo Wormser: (her name is Fidget she is on my facebook)

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: I need volunteers to help decorate the sims for the holidays. I’ll figure out what I want in each sim and let you know what to do...or just ask Kitty. He’s an expert at holiday decor in St John!

[19:27] Kitty (vinje): haha fidget

[19:27] Kitty (vinje): good cat name

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: It’s 1917 now, which means it’s totally fine to decorate with electric lights in Parish and Uptown. I do prefer that folks in Bayou and Lake keep their holiday decor more natural as electric service was still not fully out to rural areas 100 years ago.

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: Folks in Woods: you can do whatever the heck you want. You are magic. Go nuts. If you do something I consider out of theme, I’ll let you know.

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: I will be putting up a Christmas tree here in Duchess Square in Parish and in Uptown, just like I have for the last 3 years.

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: If you would like to help with sim Christmas decorating, please just let me know.

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: Any Christmas questions?

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: You guys are all long-time residents, you know the drill.

[19:29] Pru (prudencejekyll): nods

[19:29] Kitty (vinje): yeah we're good to go

[19:29] Gabrielle Riel: There is something that Amelia is working on that I would like her to mention.

[19:29] Kitty (vinje): ohhhh claps for Amelia

[19:30] Amelia Smythe: If you haven't noticed there is a huge area in front of my store now. During the middle of December I'm going to run a small far for st john and other in theme merchants.

[19:30] Kitty (vinje): oops

[19:30] Amelia Smythe: fair that is

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): ohhhhh wow

[19:31] Gabrielle Riel: I am so not going to make out with you cat

[19:31] JivenKitty: nice

[19:31] Amelia Smythe: Right now I just need to collect names of the local merchants. If you are one, please send me an IM

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): snickers

[19:31] Amelia Smythe: that's all for now

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): i didnt know it moved you, if i moved

[19:31] Edward Pearse: :-)

[19:31] JivenKitty: "right"

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): looks for mint mouth spray

[19:32] Edward Pearse bites tongue

[19:32] Kitty (vinje): i really hate sitting like im going to the bathroom

[19:32] Gabrielle Riel: ty Amelia! We can send a notice about the fair as well.

[19:32] JivenKitty: wear a long gown, bring a chamber pot

[19:32] Gabrielle Riel: This is just the advance notice.

[19:32] Pru (prudencejekyll): wear one of your human costumes, Kitty.

[19:32] Kitty (vinje): i love that idea Amelia!

[19:33] Amelia Smythe: ty gabi

[19:33] Kitty (vinje): pfffft

[19:33] Kitty (vinje): damnit

[19:33] Gabrielle Riel: I have one last quick announcement. This is event-related. Starting this Sunday, my Swing Songs from The Nightingale show will run from 12:30-2pm SLT. This will be its time slot going forward. It will continue to be on the 4th Sunday of every month like it always has been, it will just be at this new, earlier time.

[19:34] Edward Pearse: Can you get me an updated poster sometime soon?

[19:34] Kitty (vinje) whispers: can i make out with Amelia?

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel: I play that at The Serpah Club.

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel: Yep - I made one today

[19:34] Edward Pearse: Cool

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel: It's actually on my FB notice for the event

[19:34] Kitty (vinje) whispers: ohhh did she say yep?

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel hasn't unbuckled your seatbelt yet cat, you can't reach Amelia

[19:35] Edward Pearse: Is there a Vet in St John?

[19:35] Kitty (vinje) whispers: damnit

[19:35] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): Ali is a baby doctor

[19:35] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): best I giot for ya

[19:35] Gabrielle Riel: Any questions? About anything?

[19:35] Pru (prudencejekyll): I know how to do it, Edward... I just need someone to hold him down.

[19:35] Kitty (vinje): gasp

[19:35] Gabrielle Riel: Including: "Gabi when you are going to say "fuck" again at tea" ;-)

[19:35] Kitty (vinje) whispers: omg

[19:36] Edward Pearse: Does that count as saying it?

[19:36] Gabrielle Riel: This was the second time I said it tonight.

[19:36] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): not it didnt have the same impact for me

[19:36] Edward Pearse: I'll get you a swear jar

[19:36] Kitty (vinje): i have one in the bar

[19:37] Edward Pearse: Or should that be a "cussing jar" here? :-)

[19:37] Gabrielle Riel: We can stay and be social, however - I hereby declare this tea officially over in regards to important estate information…

[19:37] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): thank you Gabi

[19:37] Gabrielle Riel: ...and damn I can not wait to post these transcripts. ;-)

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