#and so is Damian he just has black and purple lens over it

[mistyaquaart-oocmustafa]

If Rhea is Damian Priest’s “Terror Twin” can Bayley be his Sunshine Sibling? 🥹💕

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Chaos and Bloodshed Already Haunt Us

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim and Jason get kidnapped by Black Mask. Jason is too sacrificial for his own good.

Tim has been waking up tied to chairs in strange places since he was thirteen, to the point where he has been kidnapped more times than he’s been to Chuck E. Cheese. When you’re a Wayne kid and a batkid, you learn to accept regular kidnappings as a part of life, just like taxes. Is it so unreasonable that Tim would prefer to wake up in his own bed, for a change? First things first: take stock. Assess the situation. Go from there. Before he’s even opened his eyes, Tim feels for what he’s pretty sure is regular rope keeping his hands tied behind him. Unfortunately, even rope can hold a bat when said bat has no weapons to bail them out, which Tim doesn’t. His utility belt and bandoliers are missing, and any spare tools he has hidden on his person are impossible to reach with the way his arms are wrenched behind him. His fingertips are already tingly, going on numb. “Red? You up?” Tim opens his eyes at the familiar voice. Jason is tied to his own chair across from him, a mirror of Tim’s own situation. The room itself is small—gray walls, cement floor, unmarked crates stacked along the walls. Jason’s helmet is off, exposing the domino he wears underneath. Tim’s mask hasn’t been touched either. “Do you remember what happened or do you need the recap?” Jason asks.

It’s blurry at best, but Tim remembers enough. “Intel mission on Black Mask, right?”

“Started out that way. We got here and I figured out that Sionis was selling weapons to Intergang so we blew the whole shipment to hell.” “You figured it out?” That doesn’t sound right, as fragmented as Tim’s memories are. From the throbbing in the back of his head, he must have been hit pretty hard. “You calling me a liar?” “I ain’t calling you a truther,” Tim mutters, fiddling with the rope that’s been cutting off circulation in his hands for what must have been at least an hour. He can’t get Jason and himself out of here in this condition. “Did you—" “Already signaled him.” Good. Bruce will send someone to bail them out of this in no time. They just have to hold out until then. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” a chilling voice speaks from behind Tim. “You have no idea how bored I was waiting for the party to start.” Fingers touch Tim’s shoulder and he jerks away. Jason, unbothered by the newcomer, snorts. “This is what you consider a party? You need some fucking friends.” Sionis ignores the jab. He passes Tim and goes straight for the camera set up near the left wall, just far back enough to fit both Tim and Jason in frame. Very, very bad sign. He turns it on, the red light blinking. “You making a movie?” Jason says. He’s snarky, but Tim can see the fear lurking behind his eyes. Roman ignores him and adjusts the camera so it points at himself. “Hello, Batman.” Tim’s eyes snap up to meet Jason’s. “In case you were wondering, this is a live feed you’re getting now. And don’t try tracing it, you’ll just waste your energy. You’re not the only one who has talented technicians on his side.” He leans in closer to the camera, his mask nearly touching the lens. “In the spirit of clarity, let me be clear: this, right now? This is a gift. This is my warning to you to stay the hell out of my business, otherwise you and your precious lackeys will have to answer to me.” He moves out of the frame and zooms in on Tim’s masked face, then Jason’s. “Lucky for me, I found a couple of your birds messing with my shipment, and they so graciously volunteered to help me set an example.” He steps aside and gestures to a tray of tools, each one more horrible than the last. Most of them are still coated in blood from his last victim. Tim gulps. Sionis peruses his collection, which gives Tim the chance to catch Jason’s attention. He jerks his head toward the camera, mouthing, Tell them where we are. Jason nods, and Tim looks back at Sionis. “You think I haven’t been tortured before? This is just a workout.” Is it true? No. He’s terrified, actually. But Jason needs time to signal Bruce through the camera, so Tim will stall for as long as he can. “Bold words, kid.” Sionis picks up a knife, tracing the edge of it with his fingertip. “Just makes it more fun for me when you break.” He comes closer and grabs Tim roughly by the chin, pressing the knife against his cheek uncomfortably close to his eye. “I’ll bet I can make you cry.” “Hey, Blackie,” Jason calls, ripping their focus away. His eyes are narrowed, mouth twisted. “Did you hear the one about the rich dude who wore blackface?” Sionis tightens his grip on Tim’s face. “Do tell.” Stop talking, Tim tries to convey telepathically. Don’t make this worse. “It was universally agreed that he was a piece of shit.” “You should learn to keep your mouth shut when someone’s holding a knife to your baby brother’s face.” To prove his point, Roman digs the knife in, slicing a thin line down all the way to Tim’s jaw. Tim inhales sharply at the sting. “Baby brother?” Jason repeats. “You really are an idiot.” He doesn’t look at Tim, keeping his glare solely on Roman. “I barely know the guy. He follows me around, thinking I walk on water or some shit, but trust me. He’s a pain in the ass. You’re doing me a favor, really.” Sionis pulls the knife away from Tim’s face. Tim releases a breath. Sionis approaches Jason now, his knife still raised with Tim’s blood staining the steel blade. “Someone’s mouthy today.” “If you think this is mouthy, you should have heard your mother last night.” Sionis plunges the knife into Jason’s knee. Jason locks a scream behind his teeth, his face contorting in pain. “Try walking on water now,” Sionis hisses. He yanks the knife out, blood splattering on Jason’s legs and the floor. Tim looks nervously at the camera, its red light blinding ominously. Is Bruce watching this from the other side, agonizing over having a front-row seat to this display? Or is he already gone, on his way to rescue them? Tim hopes it’s the latter. “You think—think I haven’t been stabbed before?” Jason pants, his teeth gritted through the pain. “That was child’s play.” “Is that right?” Sionis looks over his shoulder at Tim. “Then maybe we should get a second opinion. What do you say, kiddo? Want to match your brother over here?” “Thank god,” Jason says. “Go over there and stay, if you wouldn’t mind. Your breath smells like dog shit. But I guess you are what you eat, so.” Roman punches Jason in the face so hard Tim can hear his teeth clank from here. He does it again two, three times, until blood streams from Jason’s nostrils and spills over his lips. Tim pulls frantically on the ropes binding him, tries to do anything, but he’s held tight. “Now, that,” Jason says, spitting out a mouthful of blood and what looks like a tooth, “was better. Still amateurish, but at least you’re not a fuckin’ sissy about it.” “Hood,” Tim snaps. “Please, shut up.” Why are you doing this? “Why should I listen to you? You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place, replacement. This is your fault.” Jason’s words are snarls and his eyes burn with a tangible hatred, all directed at Tim. But Tim knows him too well. Not everyone wears a literal mask like Sionis does. Roman reaches for his tray and picks up a new blade, this one with large, jagged teeth. “By all means, keep talking, Hood. See where that gets you.” “What, are you going to stab me? Go ahead. The little shit deserves to feel guilty.” Sionis poises the blade at Jason’s shoulder, digging the tip in until Jason hisses. He leans in close, grabs Jason’s jaw with his other hand. “I know you’re not stupid. You think that if you act like a big enough asshole, you can save the runt from me.” He pushes on the knife, slowly sinking it into Jason’s flesh, ridge by ridge. “I’m very okay with that.” Roman twists the knife and Jason screams. Tim closes his eyes but he can’t cover his ears; he can’t tune out his brother screaming in agony, and he almost wishes that he were in Bruce’s position, watching this through a video feed. At least then he could turn it off. “Stop, please,” Tim begs. “He didn’t do anything, it was all me. It was my idea to blow up your shipment. I ruined your business, not him. Just—hurt me, take it out on me. Not him.” Sionis releases the blade, leaving it sticking out of Jason’s shoulder. “Told you I could make the little bird cry.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim has never felt so powerless in his life. It feels like it goes on for hours, the blood and the screaming and the sickening sound of torn flesh. It only gets worse when he escalates to the snapping of fingers, the crackle of knife through bone. He hits Jason so many times there’s more purple riddling his face than clean, unmarked skin. And every time Sionis so much as looks at Tim, Jason does something new to pull his attention back like a wasp on a string. He provokes the sadistic bastard with vulgar comments, snotty complaints that belong more in Damian’s mouth than Jason’s. And Tim can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when something crashes behind him, which he assumes is the door. Roman barely has time to drop the blowtorch he’s holding before a batarang strikes him in the center of his mask, knocking him out cold. Jason doesn’t react. He hasn’t lifted his head in so long it puts Tim on the edge of panic, just quiet groans and grunts through every new injury inflicted on him. “Tim!” Dick is at Tim’s side in an instant, already working on the ropes binding him. “Are you okay?” Bruce is tending to Jason, putting a field dressing on one of his many open wounds while he talks to Alfred through his earpiece. He’s telling him to call Dr. Thompkins and tell her it’s an emergency. As soon as his hands are free Tim is lunging up from the chair, only for Dick to grab him by the shoulders and force him back down. “Hey, hey, slow down. Where are you hurt?” Dick lightly prods around the cut on Tim’s face, which is undoubtedly going to need stitches, but Tim couldn’t care less. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jason, who lets out a groan when Bruce accidentally jostles his broken arm. Tim shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything to me. He didn’t touch me at all. Only Jason.”

[middleinthenight21]

DamiRae Week 2020- Day 1

Costumes

His disguise is horrible, he knows that. Damian Wayne spends most of the night strolling among the guests carrying a glass of champagne and a grimace under the black band that covered his mouth.

He was glad that he chose a costume as little revealing as it is, it fits the uniform he used to wear in the league of the shadows, being a pair of pants, jacket and black hood, in conjunction with a band that only left his eyes on view; he was not interested in being recognized. His brothers would have complained about bringing a replica of a uniform and his father would not be happy with the association, however, he bought wings in a small costume store whose wings simulated bone, joined by a porous plastic that gave the impression of being cartilage. When the owner of the store offers him the wings, he thinks they are small, that a structure like this could never support the weight of an adult, but he says nothing.

He can be anonymous.

His father had dragged them to an event commemorating the Wayne companies anniversary, Damian thinks his father is anticipating that some Gotham villain would attack the tower, but he hasn't said anything and it's not as if Bruce Wayne was very communicative with the information he shares in the family. Sometimes he understands it, most of the time he doesn´t, because he hates walking blindfolded.

He had been taught since he was a child that preparation is a prerequisite for victory and that faith is a waste fools allow themselves. He definitely hates it.

He glances at his older brother, flirting with a red-haired woman, she's attractive in a revealing pastel dress and there's a white mask holding up a chin. He rolls his eyes when his hands come dangerously close.

He does not understand what women see in Richard Grayson, the man can be a complete idiot.

"Don't look so angry" Emiko Queen appears next to him. He is surprised that she managed to recognize him. "Tim Drake tagged you in his photo. "

Growls.

He had hoped to go unnoticed. He observed her out of the corner of his eye, the young woman was dressed in a shirt that read "I wore a costume" and some casual jeans, she looked disinterested as if she did not want to come and her statement on the shirt was a sign of rebellion.

"Are you here for your brother?"

She growls.

"Yes. He likes to attend these elegant parties, he left me no choice" Emiko reaches for a glass of champagne as a waiter passes by with a tray. "A toast to the fun? "

Damian looked at her.

A few months ago, they had been dating, nothing formal, since neither of them liked the idea of ​​romantic relationships, everything was casual. He thought Emiko was great, someone who proved to be more than what was seen with the naked eye. They are both people who had a strict upbringing and gave themselves to protect the innocent, however, the similarities are just that and it did not mean that two people worked together.

They are still friends.

He bumps his glass with hers.

"My God, could you smile, even once?"

He rolled his eyes.

The night flows slowly, although Damian stays next to his friend, he does not get the fun and he does not feel entirely comfortable around all these wealthy people; The laughter echoed throughout the room and is as elegant as it is empty. He is used to formality, but if he is sincere expecting a villain to break in, then he would have something more interesting to do.

Emiko is not happy either, but she pretends and when she is with her brother a smile slips over her lips, the weight disappears from her shoulders and she moves lightly. Now, they dance around the dance floor and he thinks Oliver Queen's archer angel costume is too revealing, it leaves his torso visible through a maya and his feathered wings take up a lot of space.

Both siblings move lightly.

He looks around him, Tim and Stephanie are talking to their group of friends, Jason talks to Roy, his best friend and can see how malicious smiles are born on their faces. The two of them act like it´s their private club.

Cass is talking to her father.

Emiko ran to her side, a smile on her face and she seemed illuminated by a new aura. Rarely had he seen her so excited, she carries a camera that hangs in her hands and waves it at him, like a flag.

Damian frowns, he does not understand his emotion.

"We have to take a picture of ourselves!"

He was going to reply, but she quickly requested help from someone who was passing, it is a girl; She is disguised as a witch, her bluish black dress falls to the ground and her pointed cap covers her hair revealing short dark strands that caress her shoulders. A mask over her eyes, the patterns are like a black spider web and it has an elongated shape.

Damian nicknames her on his head as "Witch Girl."

"Please take a picture of us."

Witch girl opens her mouth to answer, but the camera was already in her hands and Emiko would not accept a denial, she stands next to him and gets close to him. He tenses up when he feels pressured by Emiko to take this photograph. He doesn't like to see himself in photos, he had grown up differently, although he knows everything he needs and more, he still finds it strange to use technology for entertainment.

"It is for my brother."

As if that clarifies something.

Emiko straightens up next to him, a smile slipping across her face and he seems more like a soldier than a casual civilian who wants to capture a moment. Damian doesn't know where to put his hands, so he laces them behind his back and squares his shoulders, lifts his chin and ignores the smell of champagne in his mouth. The murmur and the sound of the orchestra shouting in the room, along with the knock on his friend's foot.

He focuses his gaze on the girl who points the camera at them. The device falls from her hands a few centimeters and she murmurs:

"He looks sad."

She says it to him, he is sure of that. He wouldn't have heard a thing will all the loud sounds, but he learned to lip read a few years ago, a skill that he found useful especially when you have to spy undetected. He wants to tell the witch girl that it's not true, and he's fine, everything is very good in his life. There is nothing he wants, he can snap his fingers and have what he wants, he surrounds himself with the most powerful people in the world, he observes things many would only dream of and found a family. She does not know anything.

A smile glides across his lips, the muscles in his cheeks tighten, unaccustomed to smiling, and he can feel his eyes take on small lines of expression.

The camera snaps back into place. It is as if the witch girl knew that he was smiling, despite not seeing the smile she feels he exhibited, but she had not given him the reason and that makes him happy for some reason. The witch girl was not right.

He doesn't look sad.

He can feel her eyes piercing him behind the contact lens, he distinguishes a dark color, like a purple beta, he has never seen a tone like this and he remembers that his father spoke of an actress with violet eyes, but that she had already died.

Elizabeth Taylor is the only person in the world with violet eyes, he had said, but he was wrong.

Now they look like wise eyes, like a rare diamond. Damian cocks his head trying to make out the face behind the device, only to have a piece of information to brag about in front of his father.

The flash blinks and the photo is captured.

"They look great together." The witch girl approaches and places the camera in Emiko's hands with a small smile. She leaves with her head down without looking back, the cloak of her dress rushes in midair and for the first time she notices, it catches the light in small flashes, in shiny blue stones.

Emiko speaks, but Damian barely hears what she is saying, because he still wants to see her face.

He does not like to remain in doubt.

"Do you think I look sad to you?"

She gasps, looks at him as if a horn had grown "I don't understand what you want ... "

He was no longer with her.

She does not see him for the rest of the night, so she simply shrugs and takes the opportunity to take photos with her brother and her fiancée. She would enjoy the night with or without Damian.

***

Later, Emiko would wonder what his eyes see when she looks at the photograph in the gallery, she and Damian are standing behind that old painting next to a plant, smiling happily for the moment. However, the attitude of friend distracted he shows signs of a smile and observes a point as if it were very interesting, a topic to talk about for hours, it seems that he is treading on another planet.

Damian could smile?

She had never seen him roll his eyes.

What had he seen?

"Oh no," Dinah leans on the sofa, looking at the photograph. She realizes she had zoomed in on the photo framing Damian's face. "I know that look. "

"What look?" She asks, interested.

Dinah Lance sits down on the sofa seat and smiles "He's in love. I know that look because I see it every day. "

Damian in love? That's ridiculous. It is impossible, there is much doubt in that equation, since their relationship ended a long time ago and they split quite well. Besides, he had never had those eyes for her.

"From who? "

The blonde laughs "From your brother. "

And Oliver is an idiot now.

***

Extra.

Damian walked around the room. He ignores the callers, including his brothers who want him to meet their groups of friends. Dick calls him as he wants to introduce him to his new conquest, Jason probably wants to annoy him, Stephanie wants to show him something (He wasn't going to talk about Tim Drake, because he doesn't count) and Cass frowns when she sees him walking through the crowd aimlessly.

He is looking for someone with a pointed hat, it is impossible to have more than one people like that.

Finally, there is a figure nearby having a glass of champagne, he only sees her back, but he would recognize that costume anywhere. His feet stop on a small slip on the polished ceramic floor and his heart hammers anxiously in his chest. He would have his answers.

He gives her a better look.

The witch girl has a costume in bluish tones, it´s smooth and hugs her slim figure. Gloves of the same color reach her elbows, and there is a small bracelet around her wrist in gold tones. What stands out the most is the pointed hat with a brim that brings shadows to her face.

Other girls had chosen mind-blowing costumes, elaborate hairstyles, and elegant outfits that were made to attract attention, but this girl is not flashy or flamboyant, she is simple. Damian finds something puzzling in her aura of mystery, but he has never been someone who will leave the mysteries unsolved.

He gulps and walks to her side.

She pretends to be interested in the snack table. Her eyes sweep over the food and he can see how she struggles to decide if she is going to eat those canapes or the miniature cakes, finally she chooses the cakes.

She has a sweet tooth.

He looks askance at her. He notices new details about the witch girl. Like she has a small red crystal on her forehead and gold star-shaped earrings falling down the sides of her face.

She has a smooth profile, as if she had been sculpted by delicate hands: A rounded chin, an upturned nose and soft skin, perhaps it she too pale, she probably does not like the sun very much.

She reaches for a chocolate bar and bites it "Chocolate makes me feel better."

Damian gulps again. He is not sure why; he does not like it.

He wants to end it all at once.

"Why do I look sad?"

She opens her eyes, turns to look at him and is amazed. Now, they are face to face, even with the mask on, you can see her surprised expression and the witch girl has more violet eyes than he had seen, and now she looks embarrassed.

"Sorry." Her voice is soft with a scratchy note. It´s unusual "It was just a thought that crossed my mind. "

He raised an eyebrow.

"You said I looked sad." He crosses his arms. "Why? "

She looks like she's about to run away, but she does something more puzzling to him, squares her shoulders and takes a firm stance. She is proud.

"You weren't smiling."

That's why?

He had looked for someone in an entire room where there are more than two hundred guests, only to be answered in this way. He wants to hit his forehead criticizing himself, but not everything is so bad. The witch girl watches him with attentive eyes, waiting for a sharp response, but instead a smile of amusement appears on Damian's face.

He slides the band that covers half of his face. They look at each other face to face, she decides to slide up the mask and they smile, because both are aware that this is ridiculous.

"I'm Raven." She extends her hand and he reciprocate.

Her nickname as "Witch Girl" slips into her name. He observes her eyes fascinated by the color of violet so rare. Despite the abnormality of the tone and her fresh face, he can feel as if he had met her at another time. He is aware that he has never seen her before, he does not believe in good first impressions, but he had the feeling that there was nothing to fear.

"Damian."

Not everything is so bad. He has the impression that his night can improve, he did not wear this costume anymore.

´´With you I feel alright

It´s been a long night´´

(THANK YOU @ravenfan1242 ❤❤ )

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Counting Your Chickens: The World’s Most Numerous Bird

By Eric Dorfman

View this article on Eric’s blog

If you Google “the world’s most numerous bird,” you will likely be given articles about the Red-Billed Quelea (Quelea quelea), also known as the Red-Billed Weaver Bird or Red-Billed Dioch that lives across most of sub-Saharan Africa. It’s considered the most numerous wild bird on earth,  the population sometimes peaking at 1½ billion individuals.

Individually, it’s a pretty little bird. Breeding males have a black facial mask, surrounded by a purple, pink, rust, or yellow wash on their head and breast. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine keeping them as pets. In fact, some people do.

Collectively, however, it’s something of a phenomenon. It feeds in huge flocks of millions of individuals, with birds that run out of food at the rear flying over the entire group to a fresh feeding zone at the front, creating an image of a rolling cloud. They avoid forests, preferring open scrubby habitat – exactly the kind of environment that results in land clearing for agriculture, where their massive numbers have made them a severe pest to farmers. It’s a positive feedback loop that speaks directly to the Anthropocene and the scourges humanity creates for itself when emptying the landscape of it’s natural diversity.

I could go on about the Quelea and sub-Saharan Africa, but I won’t. That’s because I want to talk about the world’s most numerous bird, and it’s not the Quelea, but the Domestic Chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus). In preparing for this post, I wanted to find out how many chickens actually exist worldwide. It’s not as easy as you might think. Estimates vary widely in the media, so I went to the source: the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO). They have a very handy calculator (FAOSTAT) that allows you to tally up the number of  chickens – or just about anything – produced for food in any country, between 1961 and 2016. I had a look at chickens out of curiosity, but aside from telling a story about food security, it also points to social equality and intangible natural heritage.

In 2016, worldwide, almost 66 billion chickens were produced. That’s a lot. The most numerous wild bird ever known, the Passenger Pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius) probably only ever reached a total population of 5 billion. China leads the pack with 9.6 billion chickens produced, followed by the USA, with 8.9 billion. Brazil is next, with about 6 billion and then Indonesia and India, each with about 2.5 billion. It tails off relatively quickly after that.

What’s more sobering however, is that the global tally is up from only 7.5 billion chickens 55 years earlier. Comparing it to the human population, however, is where it gets really interesting. In 1961 (December figures), there were just over 3 billion people worldwide (data from World Bank). In 2016, the human population was almost 7. 5 billion. This means that in 1961, there were 0.0024 chickens per person, or one chicken for about 400 people globally, whereas in 2016 there were 8.82 chickens for every person.

People are starting to think a lot about the the way the the Earth’s crust will look in the future, especially through the lens of the Anthropocene. In 2016, Damian Carrington of The Guardian, wrote a compelling article demonstrating how the domestic chicken will define much of the present-day global landscape as it’s represented in the fossil record of the next millennia. It seems undeniable.

I’m left wondering what it says about our changing relationship with nature as a context, and a commodity. We are more distant from nature and perhaps this makes us more rapacious. Is this just a Western phenomenon? Are we so distracted by our First World Problems that we aren’t noticing what we’re doing to the rest of the planet? Perhaps. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see the difference in ratio between 1961 and 2016 between the United States and the Developing World. I picked Kenya, in lieu of doing a robust analysis.

So. Both countries increased their production by about 360% between 1961 and 2016. However, over that time, whereas America’s human population increased by 176% (2.6B to 9.6B), Kenya’s population increased by a whopping 580% (8.36M to 48.46M). This means that the chickens that were produced had to be spread across a lot more people.

American chicken consumers were clear winners in this comparison. Here, the population of chickens went up from 14 birds for every person in the country to 30 birds per person. By stark contrast, the ratio of chickens to people in Kenya went down from roughly on bird for every person to about one bird for every two people. This semi-natural biological resource has become twice as scarce in Kenya over three generations. As human populations continue to increase over the next decades, questions about how biological entities interface with human survival (and, of course, their own) will become ever more pressing.

Does each American need 30 chickens? Perhaps not. In 2013–2014, the National Center for Health conducted a survey of obesity in the United States. Almost 3 in 4 men (73.7%) were considered to be overweight or have obesity, and about 2 in 3 women (66.9%) were considered to be overweight or have obesity. The same surveydemonstrated that a quarter of all people in the US to die between ages 24 and 65 were related to obesity. Our evolutionary drive that makes us strive always for ‘more’ can cloud our judgement, which is detrimental to our health and that of the planet.

The Anthropocene is concerned with the trace we leave behind in the geological record of the distant future. So on some level, the Anthropocene conversation intertwines ideas about how we commodify nature; create, distribute and transport resources; how societies treat one another; and – perhaps most fundamentally – how we view ourselves as part of the global ecosystem.

Eric Dorfman is the Daniel G. and Carole L. Kamin Director of Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Eric oversees strategic initiatives, operations, and research at the museum. He is an active advocate for natural and cultural heritage and has published books on natural history and climate change, as well as children’s fiction and scholarly articles on museology and ecology.