#most images i can find of him have like 3 pixels and hes coated in dust its great

[amygdalae]

Carl McCoy from Fields of the Nephilim.... not to compare everything to Bloodborne all the time but well. Just look at him. (Also listen to Fields of the Nephilim if u haven't)

[skellebonez]

How #67 with Mei and her parents? don't see much content with them. - Pixel Anon

Considering we haven't seen Mei's parents since episode 3 and we have no idea what their relationship is actually like now, I decided to do some canon-divergence and have them take initiative to be more involved in Mei's life. And since it’s fathers day... eh, why not do a little something with her dad in particular since I never really write her parents? (I got another anon for a fill involving Mei and her dad, but unfortunately Tumblr seems to have ghosted it into the ether, and i fused it into this one.)

My father may look like the scary one, but it’s my mother you need to be afraid of.

"Uh... hi mom?" Mei said in surprise, looking around when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind her and finding that it was indeed the two of them alone in the garage. "Where's dad?"

"He's a little tied up in business, but he’s home," Mrs. Long said with a sigh, moving to stand behind her daughter and look down at her project with a look of confusion and mild dismay. "What... are you working on, dear?"

Mei looked down at her current state, coated in engine oil and grease with scattered parts of one of the many many cars laying around her. Like a gutted fish but much shiner and louder.

“Oh, uh...” Mei started with an awkward chuckle. “After, you know, the whole break in and everything I’ve been fixing up some of the cars that were still mostly in one piece and, uh...” she gestured to the one in front of her, jazz hands waving slightly enthusiastically. “Ta da?”

“... Oh!” Mrs. Long said when she registered what Mei meant, a small smile finally forming on her face. “You didn’t need to do that on your own, Mei, but...” She moved forward, inspecting the car with a careful gaze. “This is quite impressive! You’d never know it was damaged at all. I thought...” She frowned again, looking back to her daughter. “Well, I thought you were only interested in motorcycles so I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh no!” Mei laughed, wiping her hands on her work overalls. “Motorcycles are my specialty, but I know enough about most vehicles to give them some good care!” There was an odd expression on her mother’s face that fell over her at these words, something far off and somewhat sad. “Mom? You ok?”

“Yes,” her mom replied, just a bit too fast before she smiled again. “Actually, I think your father was almost finished when I came in to check in on you. He wanted to talk to you himself, why don’t you see if he’s done? He should be in the tea room.”

“... sure...” Mei said slowly, bending down to start picking up parts before her mom placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, dear, just leave those there in case you want to come back later. Just... change into clean clothes and wash your hands for now.”

Now... that was odd. Mei’s parents had always been clear on keeping the house as tidy as possible once you needed to leave a room (barring her own bedroom). But ever since that one Bull Clone (General Ironclad she thought she heard Red Son call him once) broke into her house for the Dragon Blade her parents had been acting different. Not extremely different, but noticeably so.

But instead of bringing this up Mei nodded to her mother and headed to wash up.

~

“Dad?” Mei called out, cleaned up from her car repairs and in clean clothes once again. “Mom said you wanted to talk to me?”

He was right where her mother had said he would be, in the tea room. Strewn about in front of him were papers upon papers, some seeming to be insurance forms for the multitude of broken objects strewn about the house and others repair bills. She was certain some of them, all on one side of the table, were research papers of some kind. And sitting at a seat in the middle of the long table was her father, small space cleared before him as he drank a fresh hot cup of tea. There was another, equally fresh cup across from him.

“Ah, Mei!” Her father said brightly, but there was an odd tenseness to his tone. “Yes, come in, sit down! There are a few things that we need your input on.”

Well that was vague as hell. But Mei did as requested, taking the seat across from him and picking up the tea before her. “I wouldn’t think this is something you’d be doing here in the... tea room.”

“Yes, well,” her father shrugged, glowering down at the paperwork with a sigh. “Sometimes you put aside convention to be comfortable. And with my office out of commission this is a much more relaxing place to work on papers than the dining room. If I don’t replace those chairs as soon as possible remind me how uncomfortable they are!” He shuddered dramatically, the action making Mei relax just a tad bit. The chairs had always been uncomfortable, she and her mother had told him as much before, but the three of them had never sat in them long enough for them to become bothersome. “But that’s something to worry about later! First, the main reason I wanted to talk to you...”

He put down his cup, reaching over to grab some paperwork on the right side of the table and slide it to her.

“As you know most of our cars in our collection were not salvageable after the break in.” Mei tensed a bit at that, frowning down at the paperwork in front of her. And her eyes widened. “And, well, we never really had reason to drive them anyway. Refilling the garage with new cars just seems silly at this point, so your mother and I were talking about possibly restructuring it and making the empty 3/4 of the garage into a sort of...” He paused for a moment, humming before snapping his fingers. “A workshop, I suppose is the correct term! For someone who liked to collect a lot of cars at one point I don’t know much about them, that was always more your mother’s interest even if she always insisted we only needed two. But you’re always working on your motorcycle and I thought giving you that space would be a much more reasonable use for it!”

Mei set her teacup down, picking up the papers as he talked and looking over them with wide eyes.

They were blueprints. For a garage workshop. For her motorcycle. For her.

“I-I!” She sputtered, gesturing to the papers with a shake of her head. “You... but this is-! I don’t-!”

“Mei,” her father said firmly, but gently, holding up one of his hands. “I know that we paid for you to live on your own in your own pent house and that you have a workshop outside as well, but this house is still your home as well! You have a room here, after all. But you don’t have to agree to having a workshop here if you don’t want one, they’re just blueprints at this point, and we can always find other uses for the empty space in the future.”

“... ok, what happened?” Mei asked, deadpan and looking at her father with suspicion. “I mean, I love the idea! I’d love to have a place for my vehicle work here! But ever since the break in you and mom have been acting really weird, dad!”

Mr. Long tensed, looking away from his daughter for a moment before bowing his head to look down into his tea.

“We... had a conversation with Mr. Tang,” Mr. Long said after a moment of silence, making Mei look at him with surprise. “... actually, no, it was more like we were given a lecture by Mr. Tang.” He chuckled, ruffling his hair and looking back up to Mei. “We may have many years on him, but he made us feel like teenagers being yelled at by the principal again. Your mother and I... we realized after your reaction of surprise that we haven’t been the most open and communicative parents. We’ve treated our house like more of a museum than as a home ever since you were a child, and when you moved out and we helped you get everything you had no access to while growing up here... we didn’t realize that it would feel even more so like we were trying to uphold that image.”

“Mr. Tang talked to you about that?” Mei winced, remembering the multiple times she would rant at her family friend who had been there for her since she was just a little girl. Multiple... multiple times. He’d been sworn to secrecy, naturally, but it seemed that this was the last straw for him.

“Yes,” her father confirmed with a nod, twisting his fingers. “We never meant for you to feel unwelcome in your own home, but with how busy we always were and how proud we were of our family history we lost sight of the fact we were. Even if you only stay here when we’re gone to watch the house we want you to feel comfortable, Mei. I can understand if you’re still apprehensive of this, however.”

Whatever Tang has said to the Long family heads must have been something to behold. And Mei couldn’t help but grab the paperwork and move to the side of the table her father sat at, sitting beside him instead of across from him.

“Well for starters, lets make this less ‘business meeting’ and more ‘dad talking to kid’, ok?” She said lightly, laying the papers in front of both of them. “And... car upkeep is more mom’s thing? Since when?” Mei raised a brow with a smirk,

Her father looked at her with surprise before chuckling, moving to half face her and the table with a far more comfortable smile. “She hasn’t really had the time to work on them since well before you were born, but...” he leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially. “She used to be a street racer too!”

“WHAT!?” Mei exclaimed, covering her mouth when her father raised a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. “Mom was a street racer?”

“One of the best, right around when she was your age too!” Mr. Long laughed, a far off look in his eyes. “You and her have a lot more in common than one would think at first glance. You’re smart, good with vehicles, not to mention our dragon powers are from her side of the family- I only earned my own through being close to her over a long period. Why, sometimes I think the only things you got from me were your skills in video games and amazing sense of hair style!”

“Dad!” Mei laughed, gently shoving her dad’s shoulder tentatively. When he only laughed more at that she softened, relaxing against the table. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you both, huh?

“As long as you want to,” her father offered, spreading the blueprints between the two of them.

"I do,” she agreed, looking over the papers again. They could definitely use some... fine tuning. But they were a good start. “But I guess I was right about one thing!”

“What’s that?”

“Every time someone saw you guys they thought you were the one to be worried about,” she admitted with another chuckle, shaking her head. “I’d always correct them saying ‘my father may look like the scary one, but it’s my mother you need to be afraid of’ and now... well, if mom used to race the way I do on my bike I was way more right than I thought I was.”

“Oh, Mei, your mother was far more reckless than you ever were. You should have seen some of the catastrophes she used to cause.”

“... are they on the internet?”

Her father frowned for a moment before watching the door... and a conspiratorial smirk overtook his face.

“Want to find out together?”

[a-marriedgames-universe-blog]

Why We Need Gaming News

Evidently not a day goes by with out studying of the grotesque horrors related to modern day life. As with films and TV in days passed by it will seem the standard Video Game has emerged as the nice terror influencing the youth of right this moment's fashionable British society.

20 years ago in the event you were to say the words online game to anyone it could conjure up pictures of fats moustache sporting Italian named plumbers making their way by means of a two-tone facet scrolling magical land to an infuriatingly repetitive 8-bit noticias gamessoundtrack. However if you utter the identical two phrases in 2009 you might be likely to be greeted with a gasps and sighs of disgust as the image of a hooded teen in a darkened room with a yr's supply of vitality drinks and crisps piled up beside them.

It appears very a lot that Video Games have change into the enemy of the 21st Century however given the contradictory nature of online game critics it is difficult to take this view severely, however that has not stopped passionate advocates of contemporary day video games doing their upmost in protest of this Our Blog new medium of violence. None maybe have finished extra for the trigger than Florida based mostly attorney Jack Thompson. Thompson has made it his mission over the past decade to rid the world of violent video video games and guarantee those who do slip by way of the new don't fall in to the palms of minors.

Mr. Thompson has a specific bee in his bonnet regarding one Edinburgh based mostly publisher Rockstar Games. Since the launch of Grand Theft Auto and the Creation of Rockstar video games in 1997 the world of video game critics rejoiced at this new 'scapegoat', the mix of on display violence and hands on recreation play led to issues that video video games could be conditioning youngsters in relation to extreme violence. The video games questionable graphics and soundtrack result in many claims being dismissed, because it was not believed a title with such graphics may have a serious influence on a minors mind.

This changed with the release of the PlayStation 2 in 2000 and Grand Theft Auto three the next yr, this for the primary time bought truly 3D gaming to users. It was with the release of GTA 3 that Jack Thompson's ears pricked up with nice consideration Married Games and it wasn't long earlier than he was at it again. In 2003 Dustin Lynch made an madness plea after being accused of homicide claiming he was 'obsessed' with the sport and been influenced by the sport's depiction of graphic violence.

The plea was retracted and his mother acknowledged that it had nothing to do with Video Games. As video video games have improved each graphically and by way of recreation play they have taken https://marriedgames.com.br/ on new roles in society and in recent times have seen a return to the family orientated leisure hub of yesteryear however can online game developers really declare complete innocence?

The Call of Responsibility sequence is without doubt one of the hottest and successful franchises in video game historical past and has even been adopted by the US army as a manner of coaching the US armies troopers in strategic fight so does this not implement the argument that video video games can indeed 'prepare' gamers Wikipedia Here in violent conditions? Well not precisely sure the advancements made in video games has made the level of realism unquestionably detailed however can it actually be argued that at the moment's youth are uneducated enough to battle to distinguish between actual life and quite a few coloured pixels on a tv display screen?

The contradictory nature I referred to earlier performs into this subject. Weight problems in recent times has change into a real hot subject within the USA and certainly Britain and what was being blamed? Sure, that is proper the time being spent in front of the small screen playing video games, so personally I discover it very troublesome to imagine these overweight avid gamers who apparently spend nothing wanting 'all' their time in front of the tv inflicting mayhem and dysfunction on the streets of this nation.

The online game ranking system ensures titles intended for adults usually are not offered to minors nevertheless it does not make sure that they will not be performed by such minors in some unspecified time in the future. An analogous ranking system is in place in the USA nonetheless it is not nearly as tight as that within the UK and mature titles have been bought to underage US kids.

Grand Theft Auto although a favourite for the prosecution just isn't the only franchise to be blamed, the Virginia Tech bloodbath in 2007 which saw the worst shootings of its form in fashionable history, Jack Thompson was fast to put the blame firmly at Social Profile the door of this exciting entertainment type after he acknowledged, killer Seung-Hui Cho was a fan of first person shooter counterstrike nevertheless it was later revealed by Cho's roommates that they had never even seen him taking part in the sport.

By no means the less the declare had great resonance here within the UK resulting in many retailers refusing to stock sure titles one in all which is another of Rockstar's titles 'Canis Canem Edit' originally generally known as bully which underwent a name change for the UK market due to strain on the publisher, despite the sport utterly advocating bullying. The bloodbath also contributed to the banning of the sequal to controversial Manhunt in the UK market.

As with mobile phones and their apparent hyperlinks to cancer much analysis has been executed in to the link between violence and video games, and it is not just violence that has been researched, oh no, it's also video video games obvious glamorization of intercourse, medicine and maybe even rock and roll'. And what is the conclusion? Nicely unsurprisingly research confirmed no significant hyperlink between video games and violent crimes, sexual assault or drug consumption. Nevertheless alcohol however might be immediately linked with the above however has this led to a world damning of alcohol? No. So what of our buddy Mr.

Thompson? What did he make of this analysis? Effectively, not much because it occurs nonetheless in a sign that video games are 'preventing again' in a very non violent approach after all he has since been barred by the state of Florida from filing any new circumstances as a result of improper conduct and abusing the system.

So nice news video games are off the hook, nicely if only it had been that straightforward. Critics will proceed to search for a simple excuse in justifying a teen's behaviour and when the white coat clad forensics transfer in they may nicely proceed to march previous the sawed off shot gun and the newest edition of shooting for beginners and march straight for the games room and the latest online game with an 18 certificates. However I ask these critics to contemplate this, the gangs or the games which got here first? In the meantime we await the most recent medium that may warp and destroy the minds of the children of the world abandoning logic, cause in favour of blaming the glamorous and evolving world of contemporary leisure.

Free online video games have got to be some of the extensive and helpful forms of leisure available on the Web. Web sites all around the world are providing free video games online with a whole bunch of mystery games on easy to use and family friendly web sites. Most web sites nowadays that offer some kind of entertainment or free online games will offer you a publication and give you a approach to keep updated on the most recent news, games, and leisure they've to supply to you.

Some video games will embrace the most well-liked characters that can continually preserve youngsters coming back for more. Mystery games with characters they love will keep them addicted to their free online video games. Some online gaming web sites will offer different types to ladies which are focused only for them in which they are going to enjoy essentially the most. There might be an in depth checklist of video games designed just for them.

Many games are contain using your expertise and require academic studying. Thriller games during which will educate you and make your gaming experience not only fun, however useful. A big free online gaming web site will offer an enormous number of free games for toddlers, kids, teens, and even adults. One of the vital common, best, and most up to date gaming web sites will offer you the power to enroll and can allow you to be interactive with all the things. Many web sites provide this neat means. If you end up provided the possibility to sign up, achieve this. It is possible for you to to touch upon games, write evaluations, message other members, and produce alongside your family and friends.

In the event you consistently end up searching for free online video games and might by no means find that one web site that provides you every part you want and need, search now more. Lately everybody has access to the Internet. Web sites are constantly being created, designed, and maintained. Remember there needs to be somebody to do that, however nonetheless there are hundreds of thousands of individuals on the earth and plenty of them enjoy being on-line.

The leisure by no means stops in the case of the online world. If you're tired of searching for the unique and weird sport, just cease. You're positive to seek out it when all you need to do is go online to your favorite search engine and easily sort in exactly what you need. There are such a lot of games as we speak that it would be inconceivable to not discover the mystery video games that you want to play essentially the most.

[elles-choices]

Chapter 4: Here Comes The Bride (MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

Book: Desire & Decorum

Summary: Their wedding day has arrived. Mr. Sinclaire cannot wait to see his wife to be. Clara cannot wait to become his wife. Will everything go according to plan?

Pairing: Mr. Sincaire x MC (Clara)

Words: about 2650

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Choices by Pixel Berry

Note: This mini series called “Marrying you” is about the final preparations for MC and Mr. Sinclaire’s wedding, their wedding day and night and their honeymoon… I hope you guys enjoy it :) Thank you for stopping by.

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

Chapter 1: The Last Fitting (Marrying You, MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

Chapter 2: Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue  (Marrying you, MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

Chapter 3: The “S” Question (Marrying You - MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

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Clara’s life has changed completely since the death of her mother. One moment she was struggling, knowing that she was loosing the most important person in her life and she would be alone in the world; the next, she was being told not only that her father was alive, also that he was an Earl. 

In the same day she left her childhood home to move into Edgewater, she was introduced to him — the man she is a few moments away from marrying. After everything she had gone through with her stepmother, becoming the Countess of Edgewater was the biggest honour she could ever achieve - some thought. To her though, the best was still to come for nothing compares to becoming Mrs. Ernest Sinclaire.

———————————

Clara watches carefully her image in the mirror. Although she had seen herself in her wedding gown before, this Wednesday morning everything looks more magical for her wedding day has finally arrived. 

She hears a knock on the door and soon the Dowager Countess entered her room. „Dear, the carriage is ready to take us to the church“, she inspects Clara’s hair, pulled back into a messy braid embellished with tiny little white jasmine blossoms and secured with Briar’s blue ribbon. She smiles by the sight of Clara, „You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen, Clara“.

Clara turns to her grandmother and hugs her tightly. „Would you help me with my wedding charms, Lady Grandmother?“, the Dowager Countess looks into her big green eyes and smiles as Clara hands her the diamond bandeau tiara, she giftet her not long ago. 

„The things with tiaras, dear, is that they tend to move around“, she looks in her bag for something, „Ha! Pray, take a seat… your great-grandmother taught me this trick. All you need is a needle and almost invisible treads“, she looks carefully at what she is doing, while Clara wonders if this will really work. „Perfect! Pray, move your head quickly from one side to another“, Clara does as asked and her grandmother smiles satisfied with her work, attaching her veil to her hair. „So, what are the other charms?“.

„Mr. Parsons borrowed me her pearl bracelet, it is beautiful, is it not?“, her grandmother smiles and nods putting it on her delicate wrist. Then, Clara turns to her dressing table, where Mr. Sinclaire’s gift lies waiting for this day, „This one is from Mr. Sinclaire. I have not seen it yet…“, she opens the beautiful wooden case to find a diamond encrusted collier with a huge emerald in the center of the pendant, matching her engagement ring. „Oh, Ernest…“, she smiles touched by how thoughtful he was. 

The Dowager Countess is amazed by the sight of it. „My dear, this collier is beautiful! Mr. Sinclaire has a quite exquisite taste — Well, I should not be surprised since he is marrying my granddaughter“, smiling to Clara, she takes it from its case and gently places it around her granddaughter’s neck, fastening it on the side. „Now all you need is a lucky sixpence in your shoe and we can head to Church.“, she hands it to her granddaughter and they leave her dressing room.

————————————

On Clara’s arrival, she could hear the bells of the church ringing, a sign that the wedding was going to start very soon. She looks at Annabelle, Briar and Miss Sutton, each one wearing white as participants of the bridal party and she smiles with teary eyes „Do not start crying, Clara or you will make us all cry and puffy eyes is not a look we wanna wear today!“, Annabelle hugs her friend, then brushes away a couple of tears from Clara’s face. She gives her a reassuring squeeze of the hand and gives her the bridal bouquet —a mix of wild flowers and white roses; Mr. Sinclaire had picked them from his garden the day prior to the wedding. „Much better…Are you ready?“, Annabelle smiles and Clara nods, leaving the carriage and heading to the vestibule of the church, where Mr. Sinclaire and his groomsmen were waiting.

Mr. Sinclaire seems very tense — he paces from one side to the other looking constantly at his pocket watch. His best friend, James Banks, one of the groomsmen, smiles and lays a hand on his shoulder, „I do not think I have ever seen you this nervous, my friend. I believe there is still time to run away“, he whispers jokingly. Suddenly he looks at the door excited „Or not… Your bride is already here. And may I say, you are a very lucky man, Ernest“. Mr. Sinclaire turns slowly to the doors of the church and as he sees Clara entering, he feels as if his heart stood still for a moment. Their eyes lock and she smiles as he heads to her. He is completely bewitched by her beauty, nervous like a school boy trying to talk for the first time with the girl he fancies.

„I… hmm… There are no words that could describe your beauty today, Lady Clara“, he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles never taking his eyes off her. 

She lowers her glance shyly, „You looking dashing as always, Mr. Sinclaire“. He is wearing a navy blue frock coat with a white waistcoat, a folded cravat and grey trousers. Mr. Sinclaire rises her chin up, so their eyes meet again and tries to lift the veil of her face for a short moment, when he hears the Dowager Countess clearing her throat.

„I believe this is not the proper time for that, Mr. Sinclaire. And if you want to get married today, I recommend you get in line, so the procession can enter the church“, Mr. Sinclaire blushes self-conscious of all eyes looking at him.

He looks at his bride and whispers, „I love you, sweetheart“, before leaving to take his place in line.

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

Close friends and a few distant relatives of both parties were already waiting for the ceremony to commence. The first groomsman, his best friend, entered with Annabelle, the first bridesmaid. The  others followed together with flower girls and ring bearer. Mr. Sinclaire walks down the aisle together with the Dowager Countess upon his arm. Clara had decided to do this walk alone as a sign of her grieving -- she was still sad that her parents were not there, however, she could feel their presence somehow and this brought her some comfort. 

Upon her arrival at the altar, she hands Annabelle the bouquet, then, takes her place upon the left of Mr. Sinclaire, in front of Bishop Monroe — her Grandmother standing by her right side. Mr. Sinclaire lifts her veil seeing her clearly for the first time today. He caresses her cheeks with his thumbs quickly, a gesture she really appreciates.

„Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to witness and celebrate the union of Mr. Ernest Sinclaire and Lady Clara, Countess of Edgewater in holy matrimony. With love and commitment, they have decided to join together as husband and wife. At this moment, I would like to share a passage from the holy book with you: 

‚Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and can understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have faith, that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I give all I possess to the poor, and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;  does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’

These two persons present come now to be joined, therefore if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully join together, let him now speak or else here after forever hold his peace“, after a long second of silence, Bishop Monroe smiles, „After reviewing that there were no impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, I do now ask: Ernest Alexander wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness, and in health? And forsaking all other, keep thee only to her, so long as you both shall live“.

Mr. Sinclaire looks at Clara and smiles: „I will“.

„Clara Marie, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love, honour, and keep him, in sickness, and in health? And forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?“ 

She smiles at Mr. Sinclaire: „I will“

Bishop Monroe looks at the Dowager Countess „Who giveth this woman to be married unto this man?“, and she gives Clara’s hand to him, who hands it to Mr. Sinclaire.

Mr. Sinclaire looks into Claras eyes, smiling and repeats Bishop Monroe words, "I, Ernest Alexander, take thee, Clara Marie, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance: And thereto I plight thee my troth“.

Clara hold his gaze whilst Mr. Sinclaire caresses her knuckles: „I, Clara Marie, take thee, Ernest Alexander, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love, and cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance: And thereto I give thee my troth“. 

Bishop Monroe blesses the ring -- Mr. Sinclaire takes her hand in his and repeats after the Bishop: „With this ring I thee wed: with my body I thee worship: and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.“, he puts the ring on her finger and kisses it. After a last prayer, the Bishop joining their hands together declaires: „Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. Forasmuch as Ernest and Clara have consented in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands: I pronounce that they be man and wife together“. Annabelle hands Clara her wedding bouquet, lifts her gown’s train and Mr. Sinclaire, Clara and two witnesses follows the Bishop to the vestry to enter the marriage lines into the parish register book. 

Mr. Sinclaire signs proudly his name and Clara giggles as she signs her new name for the first time: Clara, Countess of Edgewater, Mrs. Ernest Sinclaire. As they leave the vestry, Mr. Sinclaire escorts Clara outside the Church and into his carriage. 

In the minute their carriage takes off to Edgewater, Mr. Sinclaire sits by Clara’s sides and without any other word he kisses her passionately, something he wished he could have done as soon as he laid eyes on her this morning. His hand cups her face, her hands caressing his strong arms — it was a special kiss, the first as husband and wife. It was fiery and demanding, there was nothing holding Mr. Sinclaire back anymore — she was his and he was hers. His lips leave hers and he looks intensely into her eyes „Mrs. Sinclaire… there is so many things I wish I could have told you this morning, however, the most important of all, I want you to know how blessed I am for having you as my wife. I cannot wait to start my life with you… to tell you everyday how beautiful you are and how I appreciate everything you do. I cannot imagine another day without you by my side, Clara“, before she can say anything he presses his warm lips against hers once again.

——————————

Upon arriving in Edgewater they head to Clara’s room for a moment alone whilst their guests arrive from the church for the traditional wedding breakfast. Clara shuts the door behind her and smiles, „I do not think you have ever been to my chambers, Ernest“, she walks to him and brushes her lips against his cheeks, „Would you please free me from this veil?“, she turnes around allowing him to take a look at it.

„I cannot say I have...“, he does as she asked, then lowers his lips to her neck, kissing his way to her shoulder. His hands pulls her towards him, „You look stunning... I know better than starting something I cannot finish, however, you are irresistible, my Lady“, his hands moving from her waist to her thighs. His touch sends a shiver down her spine.

Clara turns around, she crosses her arms behind his neck and pulls him closer, „You have been able to resist me for the past seven months, what are a few more hours of waiting?“, she caresses his cheeks.

„Eternity…“, he chuckles, „However, we only have a breakfast to attend to, some socialising to do and in the afternoon I will not be going home alone. I will hold on to this thought!“. He kisses her gently „Will you dance with me, love?“, his eyes are sparkling and his smile is broad.

Clara giggles and blushes „Mr. Sinclaire, I thought you hated these kind of activities. Also, there is no music we could dance to“, she lays her head on his chest, her hands holding him.

„I would not say that I hate it, I just do not enjoy it as much as the others. However, I would enjoy it with you… here… right now. We do not need music, we have each other and that is all we need“, he lays his hands protectively around her. She looks up to him and he gazes upon her. For a while, they move their bodies slowly in a rhythm only they know. He twirls her around, dipping her, then he leans forward, staring at her big green eyes. Clara feels her heart skip a beat, her face turning to a light shade of pink as he closes the distance between their lips, kissing her for a second and then pulling her back up. „I would love to forever dance with you, my love, however we should go and celebrate with our guests“, Clara nods and they leave the room.

—————————— 

The weather is so lovely that tables were setup outside. Into the afternoon, after receiving congratulations, having a lavish breakfast with their guests, cutting and boxing the wedding cake for the attendants, Mr. Sinclaire takes Clara to her new home: Ledford Park.

He stands with Clara and Briar in front of Clara’s chambers: „Miss Daly, would you please give me a minute alone with Mrs. Sinclaire?“, Briar nods and Mr. Sinclaire guides Clara into her new room. After shutting the door behind him he holds both of her hands in his: „Before I leave you alone with Miss Daly, is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything you would like to do today? Ride somewhere, for example?“, he kisses one of her hands.

„Thank you, Ernest. However, the weather is changing and it will soon rain. I would rather spend sometime alone with you…“, she blushes looking at the floor.

Mr. Sinclaire smiles and kisses her cheek gently, whispering: „There is nothing else I would rather do, love“, his strong arms surround her into a gentle hug, „I will light the fire in our marital chamber’s fireplace before I go freshen up. This door will take you to our room“, he points to the dark wood door with golden knob behind Clara and kisses her forehead „I love you!“, he heads out throwing one last glance at her before leaving.

--------

Read more: 

Marrying you: Chapter 5: “Ever Thine, Ever Mine” (NSFW — MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

-------

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[undertale-rho]

Underearth: Book 1 - Chapter 23

The inside of the laboratory was dark. The only light that Frisk could see was from a massive monitor screen that appeared to be displaying... him? Frisk continued further inside, hoping to find the exit before something found him. Clinging to the right wall, he crept further and further into the lab. A bit further in, he heard a door open, causing him to freeze in place. A second later and the lights turned on. Right in front of him was a large yellow lizard, about Frisk's size. It wore a white lab-coat, a bra, panties, and glasses. After turning on the lights, they went to observing whatever was on a clipboard in their left hand before looking up and spotting Frisk.

"Oh. My god." she said, dropping the clipboard on the ground. "I didn't expect you to show up so soon! I haven't showered, I'm barely dressed, it's all messy, and..." she turned around and stayed silent for a moment before turning her head back to face Frisk. "Ummm... H-h-hiya!" she turned around fully, the lab-coat now fully buttoned up. "I'm Dr. Alphys. I'm Asgore's Royal Scientist! B-b-but, ahhhh, I'm not one of the 'bad guys'!" She stuttered as she spoke, tripping over words all awkwardly. "Actually, since you stepped out of the Citadel, I've, um... been 'observing' your journey through my console. Your fights... Your friendships... Everything!"

Frisk looked back at the large monitor he saw as he walked in, still displaying a live image of him.

"I was originally going to stop you, but... Watching someone on a screen really makes you root for them. S-so, ahhh, now I want to help you! Using my knowledge, I can easily guide you through the Hotlands! I know a way right to Asgore's palace, no problem!"

She stopped for a moment, crouching down a bit to pick up the clipboard.

"Well, actually, umm, there's just a tiny issue."

"What is it?" Frisk responded.

"A long time ago, I made a robot named Mettaton. Originally, I built them to be an entertainment robot. Uh, you know, like a robotic TV star or something. Anyway, recently I decided to make them more useful. You know, just some small practical adjustments. Like, um..."

She began tripping over her words again.

"Like what?" Frisk questioned, a bit annoyed.

"Anti... anti-Human combat features?"

Frisk couldn't believe it. It's as though everything down here has a side purpose of slaughtering Humans. And that self-rightious 'Undyne' called me a murderer.

"Of c-course, when I saw you coming, I immediately decided... I have to remove those features! Unfortunately, I may have made a teensy mistake while doing so, and, um... Now he's an unstoppable killing machine with a thirst for Human blood?" She then gave out an awkward laugh before getting back on track. "But, ummm, hopefully we won't run into him!"

Just as she finished saying that, there was a loud banging sound.

"D-did you hear something?"

Another banging sound.

I swear, if that's this 'Mettaton', I'm gonna be pissed.

Another few banging sounds.

"Oh no." Alphys said before a large explosion happened and all the lights went out.

"OHHHH YES!" Frisk heard a new, unfamiliar voice. "WELCOME, BEAUTIES..." A spotlight turned on to reveal a rectangular metal box on a singular wheel, four dials on the bottom, an array of massive pixels on the top-mid, and two arms sprouting out the sides. "TO TODAY'S QUIZ SHOW!!!"

Music began playing as lesser spotlights came down, covering the lab in colored lights.

"OH BOY! I CAN ALREADY TELL IT'S GONNA BE A GREAT SHOW! EVERYBODY GIVE A BIG HAND FOR OUR WONDERFUL CONTESTANT!"

As Mettaton began clapping, confetti fell from the ceiling onto Frisk. "NEVER PLAYED BEFORE, GORGEOUS? NO PROBLEM! IT'S SIMPLE! THERE'S ONLY ONE RULE. ANSWER CORRECTLY... OR YOU DIE!!!"

While Frisk had never been on a game show before, he wasn't particularly in the mood at the current time.

"LET'S START WITH AN EASY ONE!!" Mettaton began. #1: What's the prize for answering correctly? A: Money B: Mercy C: New car D: More questions

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that D was the blatantly correct choice.

"D" Frisk said confidently.

"RIGHT! SOUNDS LIKE YOU GET IT! HERE'S YOUR TERRIFIC PRIZE!"

#2: What's the king's full name? A: Lord Fluffybuns B: Fuzzy Pushover C: Asgore Dreemurr D: Dr. Friendship

Frisk remembered that Undyne called him Asgore Dreemurr, which sounded like the most correct out of all the options anyway.

"C"

"CORRECT! WHAT A TERRIFIC ANSWER! NOW, ENOUGH ABOUT YOU. LET'S TALK ABOUT ME!"

#3: What are robots made of? A: Hopes & Dreams B: Metal & Magic C: Snips & Snails D: Sugar & Spice

He knew that Metal was involved, but he wasn't sure if Humans used magic in their robotic creations.

"B"

"TOO EASY FOR YOU, HUH?????????? WELL, HERE'S ANOTHER EASY ONE FOR YOU!"

#4: Two trains, Train A and Train B, simultaneously depart Station A and Station B. Station A and Station B are 252.5 miles apart from each other. Train A is moving at 124.7mph towards Station B, and Train B is moving at 253.5mph towards Station A. If both trains departed at 10:00AM and it is now 10:08, how much longer until both trains pass each other? A: 31.054 minutes B: 16.232 minutes C: 32.049 minutes D: 32.058 minutes

Easy? You call this easy? I can't even remember half of what was said!!

"HURRY, DARLING, TIME IS RUNNING OUT!"

Oh yeah, like 30 seconds is enough time to figure out a physics question!

"TIME'S UP!" Mettaton shouted as a bolt of lightning extended from his finger and hit Frisk straight in the chest, sending him flying into the wall behind him.

Frisk fell to the ground, coughing up blood and, in another second, vomiting onto the floor. His chest burned, but, like all forms of attacks he'd encountered so far, not a single mark was found.

"HURRY, GET UP, DARLING! WE'RE NOT DONE YET!"

Frisk looked up at Mettaton, his vision all blurry.

"HMM, WELL I GUESS IT'S TIME TO BREAK OUT THE BIG GUNS!!"

#9: In the dating simulation video game 'Mew Mew Kissy Cutie', what is Mew Mew's favorite food?

Before Mettaton could finish reading the question, Alphys interupted him and started shouting the answer. After a minute, Mettaton stepped back in and began scolding her.

"ALPHYS, ALPHYS, ALPHYS. YOU AREN'T HELPING OUR CONTESTANT, ARE YOU? OOOOOOH!!! YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME. I'LL ASK A QUESTION YOU'LL BE SURE TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO!

#?: Who does Dr. Alphys have a crush on? A: Undyne B: Asgore C: You, the Human D: You don't know

Frisk, fighting through the headache that now plagued him, thought back. Undyne spoke of Alphys, though this could simply be idle speculation, and perhaps just one-sided if that were the case. Asgore was an unknown variable. He himself was out of the question for him. The most correct answer would be D. But, whatever it may be, perhaps curiosity, Frisk chose a different answer.

"A"

As soon as Frisk had said that, Alphys turned as red as a lobster while Mettaton spoke down to her.

"SEE, ALPHYS? I TOLD YOU IT WAS OBVIOUS. EVEN THE HUMAN FIGURED IT OUT."

I did?

"YES, SHE SCRAWLS HER NAME IN THE MARGINS OF HER NOTES. SHE NAMES PROGRAMMING VARIABLES AFTER HER. SHE EVEN WRITES STORIES OF THEM TOGETHER... SHARING A DOMESTIC LIFE. PROBABILITY OF CRUSH: 101 PERCENT. MARGIN OF ERROR, ONE PERCENT."

Mettaton rolled back away from Alphys towards Frisk.

"WELL WELL WELL. WITH DR. ALPHYS HELPING YOU... THE SHOW HAS NO DRAMATIC TENSION! WE CAN'T GO ON LIKE THIS!! BUT. BUT!! THIS WAS JUST THE PILOT EPISODE!! NEXT UP, MORE DRAMA! MORE ROMANCE!!! MORE BLOODSHED!!! UNTIL NEXT TIME, DARLINGS...!!!"

And with that, Mettaton blasted off through the roof of the lab, heading further into the mountain, no doubt.

A silence rung over the lab for a few minutes before Alphys finally spoke up.

"Well that was certainly something."

Frisk began walking towards the exit of the lab.

"Wait, wait!" Alphys called out to Frisk. "Let me give you my ph-phone number! Th-then... m-maybe... If you need help, I could..."

As she spoke, Frisk pulled out his phone. When Alphys saw it, she was shocked.

"Wh... where'd you get that phone!? It's ANCIENT! It doesn't even have texting. W-wait a second, please!"

She then grabbed the phone out of his hand and ran off up a conveyer belt. He then heard a load of mechanical sounds coming from the floor above before Alphys finally came back.

"Here," She said, handing Frisk back his phone "I upgraded it for you! It can do texting, items, it's got a key chain... I even signed you up for the Underground's #1 social network! Now we're officially friends!"

Great, just what I've always wanted. To be friends with *those* kinds of people.

Alphys then gave out a very awkward laugh before going silent for about a minute before saying something about a bathroom and running off.

With Alphys finally out of the way, Frisk continued out of the lab.

A Whole New World : Quiz Show

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[cheezlogerratum]

A Persuasive Essay

☼

           The two duos of half-plastic half-rubber wheels have remained, for the past thirty seconds or so, at rest. Kurtis Spottiswoode, preferably to him Kurt, the owner of the pack, has been repeatedly, over and over, scanning a sign off to the side of the asphalt path. In yellow, it's been telling him:

ATHLETIC EVENT

... with an appropriate arrow pointing to the left. Still, in that same spot, he stands. He can't necessarily tell whether he's trying to understand something he's missing or if he's just spacing out, knowingly looking like a moron, but too afraid to break out of what he believes is a commitment. Even still. Eventually, Mr. Spottiswoode catches onto the fact that the sun has long been set and that there are no "ATHLETIC EVENT"'s in session at this time. His feet succumb to the decline and start stepping across into the parking garage wondering if the sign was placed for a past "ATHLETIC EVENT" or a future one? This is all he seems to think about in the structure, the halides buzzing above and the rumble of the little wheels on his backpack don't even register in his mind. He unlocks and enters his used Camry automatically and realizes he's driving, somehow unable to shake the image burned into his eyes or maybe his head:

ATHLETIC EVENT

←

           Mr. Spottiswoode arrived at his apartment complex at around 9:23pm, around a minute or two later than he usually remembers, and follows the rut path up to his apartment on the second floor. The residents on the first were shrieking, almost with no words, but it soon shifted into laughter and niceties he couldn't quite make out. He went to the bathroom, where he unzipped and went about his business looking at himself blankly in the mirror mysteriously installed right above, maybe a little crooked, the toilet. Kurt had small beady eyes and a large forehead mapped out by rows of remnants of brow folds and a receding hairline, brown and faint. The rest of his torso was adorned by a sport coat and a wrinkly plaid shirt, the rest is invisible. It was a lingering revelation in Mr. Spottiswoode's mind that he was wasting away, not really doing much, but he never wanted to address it head on in fear of possible sadness... but, as he undresses getting ready for bed, he wasn't feeling much now? Just sort of following what he'd always been doing and doing at as succinctly as he can, probably to occupy his mind from that "possible sadness".

☼

           Kurt was traversing through the input and output population of students in flux all around him, talking into headphones and trading glances back and forth, when he realized—the sign was still up! "ATHLETIC EVENT". He felt a minuscule rush inside of him, slightly increasing the speed of his pace, and making him aware of his breath, of his life. He looked around with his head at anything and everything of interest, impulsively, excited. ECSTATIC! He thought he might be forcing this adrenaline onto himself, but he told himself to shut up. Shut up! He was loving it, and would remain loving it all the way to class, his wheels rumbling at a higher pitch.

           Höffus Hall, room 488, was unlocked, dark, cold, and alone for the past thirteen hours or so. Mr. Spottiswoode, with his newfound motivation to live, flicked on the lights and plopped his computer bag onto the table offset at the front of class. He thought of himself as a bearer of life to the once dead or perhaps unborn room, mentally patting himself on the back as students came in at different intervals of time and frequency, totally unaware of their professor's enthusiasm. He unzipped his bag and brought out his old Dell laptop, gray and void of any personal touch. He logged in and fired up Microsoft Outlook, twiddling his fingers as more students populated the room. Outlook revealed itself, updated its folders, and notified the user of an "important message" he received. WOW! Kurt clicked the alert and he was brought to an e-mail sent by an unfamiliar address containing the following:

dear professor,

ive been thinking about alot of things like the paper we were made to write a few weeks ago. i know i haven't finished it and i bet its too late to turn it in now for any grade and i know im failing the class, but i cant fail this class and i think this paper is the only thing that will save me. i hope you understand. ill have the essay done by the start of class on thursday but if you dont accept it or give me a high enough grade to pass the class im going to kill you. i dont want to kill you but i also dont want to fail. i hope you understand.

best, your student

           Kurt Spottiswoode read the message over a few more times, just to make sure, again, not knowing what he was feeling, but whatever it was it wasn't exciting. Before he even had the chance to reply, or give the message a sixth reading, or to think about what the hell, just what the hell he was going to do? he looked at the clock in the bottom right and saw it change from 11:13 AM to 11:14 AM right before his eyes, four minutes late. He looked up with a buzzy sharp air behind his eyes, at a loss of what to even do. What to say? Most importantly, WHAT?

           "Uhhh," Spottiswoode emitted, "who was it that sent me an e-mail this morning?"

           Blank. The look on the students' faces suggested that he had said absolutely nothing. Instead of reading the students for any kind of response, he started to read for any clues, any telling thing coming from any of their persons that might inform him of the presence of a possible murderous psychopath enrolled in his class. There were only 19 students on the registrar but only, after doing the math with his eyeballs for a few seconds, 11 students present. Both the fear of the anonymous student's absence and the regret of not making attendance mandatory via a sign-in sheet and a significant percentage allotted to "Attendance" in the final grade struck him like headlights he wasn't aware he was invading the path of. He quietly surveyed those present in class and what he knew of them. To his knowledge, only 3 students were failing the class, and one of them, Mehi Georgensen, was present, but he knew for a fact she turned in the last assignment. The prompt, by the way, was to write a persuasive essay supporting their opinion on the scientific studies surrounding the spike in American crime rates in the 1970s and 1980s and how experts believe that the trace amounts of lead found in gasoline sold during this time is directly related to the uptick in violence and aggression in people who are exposed to automobiles on a regular basis if not daily. Mehi's essay was roughly 85% blockquotes, 5% topic and concluding sentences, and another 10% dedicated to an enlarged, pixelated image of a red, turned dark gray by the printer, gasoline jug. No, Kurt thought, it can't be her. The other two names failing the class were Eloy Hewitt and Harold Skouras III, both with zeros in the gradebook, but that's all they were to Mr. Spottiswoode. He tried forcing himself to remember who these boys were, what they looked like, who the sick culprit could be. He started to sweat and realized so when a droplet fell from his nose and onto his knuckle belonging to his right hand cupping his mouth out of a side effect of vigorous thought, if you could even call it that. It was now 11:19 AM and Kurt stood back up, hands at his side, eyes open, looking again trying to recognize anyone. He knew who some of the kids were but couldn't remember others because of, what he thought was, a lack of in-class participation. He did, however, recognize Kevin, hands clasped together resting on the table up front, good posture, beaming at Mr. Spottiswoode. Kevin, politely responding to Kurt's gaze, cracked open a smile, unimaginably ready to learn. What a good egg Kurt thought, and looking at this kid, this bright and utterly innocent young man smiling undoubtedly at him, his spirits were lifted by a fraction of security, but that was enough. Kurt breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, clearing his throat, coughing, and began the day's belated lesson.

           Sitting in his assigned corner of office room number 528, populated by a desk, a shelf, a disconnected phone with the cord bunched up, various handbooks on MLA, APA, and Chicago format, yesterday's ¾ eaten Subway sandwich, a stack of filled manila folders, a photo of Bruce Springsteen printed out on an 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper taped to the wall, and a lamp—Mr. Spottiswoode sat leaned back in his office chair borrowed from the downstairs supply closet, staring, arms crossed, eyes serious, at his computer screen. The e-mail shone through the screen, he couldn't stop thinking. He followed a tangent marveling at the screen itself and its thousands of little pixels made by three columns, red, blue, green, each flickering at him performing as one chunk of some incomplete illusion, creating the image of something that is anything but. Kurt, at a loss, followed multiple tangents like that, perhaps, in a kind of unconscious fashion, trying to find some external excuse or explanation for all this. Surely, surely, it can't be real right? It made no sense, absolutely, completely, totally no sense whatsoever, that this array of pixels that have orchestrated themselves in varying degrees of dimness onto his laptop screen could spell out so plainly and absent of reality his own eventual fate. Well, it doesn't have to come true, does it? Kurt Spottiswoode couldn't believe that he didn't just think of giving in and offering the perp the grade he so desired. Yes. Yes! That was it! He didn't even take into account the circumstance of his academic honor, he had his life! Once again, "LIFE!" He was up, his fists were in the air, his legs were spread apart, and his breathing had escalated into a pant. Yu Quoque, or Professor Quoque as she vehemently prefers, in the opposite corner saw him and witnessing this side of Kurt she had never seen before, she stared, on the phone, mouth slightly agape.

           "Where are you," over the phone, "what was...?"

           "Nothing," Yu whispered, "just work."

☼

           It was Wednesday, the next day, game day! Kurt missed whatever athletic event that happened the day before due to the fact that he was fearing for his life, but now, having found out what to do about the whole situation, he decided to treat himself to a nice, relaxing, athletic event, which happens to be a weeklong championship. Mr. Spottiswoode arrived at the makeshift ticket booth, which was a plastic table with a print out of ticket prices taped to the front side and a cheap cash box guarded by two girls, both with one earbud in whatever ear was facing away from each other, and inquired, "Hello! One ticket for the athletic event and please!"

           "Eight dollars please," the girls in unison, almost in harmony.

           Kurt immediately took to his various pockets in his coat, pants, and satchel, where he finally found a dilapidated ten-dollar bill with a frowny face drawn on Hamilton's face. The girl on the right snatched it, the girl on the left gave him the ticket, and the girl on the right gave him one dollar in change, but he was so ecstatic and overwhelmed by the butterflies in his stomach that he didn't even realize. He wobbled right up to the bleachers taking it all in, smiling, just like Kevin, and started down the steps. The sun was blaring but the air was freezing, a paradox Kurt pondered on fairly often before, but not today, game day! He found a nice spot just above half way down and sat down next to an incredibly buff guy with, who Kurt assumed was, the man's son wearing a black hoodie and buggy glasses. "Isn't this just great," Kurt broke the ice, "this is just... agh! It! You know?"

           "I don't."

           "What's your name?"

           "What's your name?"

           "... I'm Kurt! Err, Professor Kurt to you though, haha!"

           "Goodbye Kurt."

           And the big man got up, even more ginormous than he... holy shit—walked down the bleachers, stomping between other attendees and their picnics, to another spot. Kurt stared a while at the man and thought of his nerve, how someone can be so mean and... rude? but he caught himself in the act of negativity and tried to snap out of it, clamping his eyes shut as a reset mechanism of sorts. Upon opening them, he saw the faded green field, but the longer he looked, the more green it got. He started getting the hang of it and tried it on the trees, the bleachers, and even the jumbo man. The spark of an auxiliary cord boomed through the stadium and was shortly followed by T.I.'s "Bring Em Out" featuring Jay Z. "BRING EM OUT BRING EM OUT" The players jogged onto the field and started warming up, running around preset patterns of cones over and over. Just beneath the song blaring throughout the entire area, echoing off the apartments just next door, Kurt heard a voice, "What's today." Kurt felt it to his left and realized the voice was coming from the kid in the hoodie, still sitting where he first saw him.

           "Wednesday?"

           "And tomorrow?"

           "... Thursday."

The kid hadn't even turned his head to Kurt, in fact, Kurt hadn't even seen the kids' lips, only his eyes bulging out of the edge of his hood. "I need you to proofread something for me," the glasses said.

           "Do I know you?" Kurt inquired.

           "It's important, it's my life's work."

           "I can give you my office hou-"

           "I feel twisty, I can't move correctly... I'd appreciate this greatly."

           "... Ha ha, come on now, let's just enjoy the game?"

           "It's only if I express what I mean and get my point across in a certain perfect way and if I have a clear thesis and purpose to the essay and I make myself believable to the reader that I will get an A."

           "... Harold?"

           "I just need a professional opinion."

           "Eloy!?"

           "It's not done yet I'm sorry."

           And the glasses dropped 8 loose sheets of what Kurt can already make out as a poorly formatted essay and strode his way up the bleachers as swiftly as possible. The sheets were lifted by the wind and flew up down left right forward back, all directly away from Mr. Spottiswoode. Kurt scrambled to follow all of the sheets at once while the image of that hood and those lenses and his voice seared into his mind, playing in a loop, all floating in a superposition playing at the same time, over and over and over again. Kurt caught one of the pages, repeating, "one, one" and so on in his head, adding to the jumble, now worried, now realizing, all at once, that death was way too near. "Two, two two two" but what? He felt silly again, remembering he had a plan, a master one you could call it, but he still felt petrified, sad, wasting away, stumbling over people at an athletic event reaching desperately for pages of an essay a kid is threatening his life over. He lost track of all the remaining pages, looked around, drenched, and saw a page in the middle of the field. He ran down the steps, head bobbing, eyes on the sheet, feeling utterly lightheaded, and sprinted into the field, tunnelvisioned, and bonked heads with a girl swerving out of a row of cones. The audience's collective shocked, "Ooooohh" and a girl nearby's inhaling hissing sound of pain only made everything worse, and he felt like a kid. Mr. Spottiswoode reluctantly opened his eyes and looked at the girl rubbing her head and only thought of himself, how he looked, how people must think of him now, and, somewhat noticing, his stomach sunk. He tried, "I didn't... I'm sorry I'm sorry," under his breath. He grabbed the piece of paper, now grass stained, and made his way up the stairs, eyes down, only wanting to leave, only wanting to go home, and as the girl got up, ready to rumble, the audience broke out in applause.

←

           Kurt couldn't even look at Sally Pilckner and her glasses without shuttering somewhat, or feeling some sharp sweat incoming, so for the remainder of her presentation, he looked down at her converse pretending to be following along when really, truly, he's completely lost. He had already taken attendance to no avail, had sort of thumbed through the essay, but hasn't been able to read it, not even knowing if he should or not. So here he is, Kurt, sat, in the back of a classroom, looking at shoes and contemplating his chances of life or death. The ginormous mega man played in his head over and over, torturing himself somehow just for fun, relatively. "Observe," he remembered "Listen, yes!" So he tried, forcing his brain to latch onto everything happening in the room, which—well, he didn't know—wasn't working. He attempted to consciously meditate on the PowerPoint slide stricken on the pull down screen, bleeding off to the edges onto the whiteboard, infuriatingly so, and thought about the words without reading them:

           HUMANOID.

           CORN.

           BC.

           And he just thought, tried to imagine. He pictured a humanoid in his head and saw wiggles and a form blinking, on and off. The harder he tried the faster it disappeared. Okay uhh, the corn! He saw a kernel, a nugget, perfectly formed, so well imagined he was impressed with himself. Mr. Spottiswoode sat with that little kernel suspended in his mind, projecting it in front of his eyes, over the words, bouncing it around the room, putting it over Sally's face. "UuuaAAAGGHHHCHOOOO!!"

           "Bless you," in unison, harmonious monotone.

           Kurt, looking at the culprit's face a bit too long finally realized the kernel had been erased from his mind. The panic struck him and the sweat kicked back in, trying and trying, squinting and bubbling his mouth. Mr. Spottiswoode needed a plan B, so he remembered:

           BC.

           Okay, this can do. He chugged into his noggin the image of rocks... rocks? And monkeys, for some reason, a wheel? He was doing his best, breathing in and out. "Knowing what uh... how corn was the main commodity in indigenous cultures, what would the world look like right now if we used corn for money?" Dead flat silence, but Sally didn't seem to mind. The class willingly sat in the hoisted dead noise of the room, adding to it every millisecond, everyone thinking someone else will talk, they have to, why aren't they? Why is everyone doing this? And Pilckner, Sally stood face to face to the excruciating silence, swaying, hands clasped behind her back, sniffling, heard a cough, grounding the silence to the utmost potency of bad participation skills. Kurt felt himself walking but didn't remember doing so, and somehow decided to stop right beside Sally, too close, she steps back, and those monkeys are still in his mind, swinging and hooting until they come across a kernel, a big one, glowing in the shattered sun shooting through the tall grass, or the banana leaves, either or? staring at this weird yellow coconut. It's here that they stop moving, their personalities and characteristics put on hold, freeze framed, with the class waiting and peeking under the rim of the table trying to be sneaky superimposed atop the scene before Christ, now at the same time, both immobile, not moving, freeze framed and dead. Kurt stood there until the clock struck 11:58 AM, close enough, and the irresistible sound of ruffling papers and backpack zippers filled the room, sparking some kind of Pavlovian response in the students telling them, "it's time to go", which was probably for the best.

           Kurt Spottiswoode decided to keep on driving tonight, not a clear decision but merely allowing himself to do so. Millbrae now, by the BART station, the monumental Chase Bank shining blue up the columns, credit card slots blinking and egging him on, that Peter's Café across the street, still open, still not much business... but boy, oh boy... Kurt took a leap of faith and pulled an illegal U-turn across the yellow line, the toast in his sights. He parked haphazardly and sat for a minute or two, looking at the fog grow on his windows, and waited for it to completely shell his car. He was now encased, in his own little world he thought, free of anything and everything except him and the essay, now sort of dead within the new realm of his. It was only paper, just neatly formed, digitally stamped stains of ink on a page, saying nothing in particular. He wanted to marinate in this, get the feeling then go, and he went. The wet chill struck him as he left the stratosphere he created, and, with the essay in hand, walked into the snoozy joint.

           A song he couldn't recognize right away was wrapping itself up, and right when he thought he knew the song, "HI welcome to Pete's Café!" She popped up from right behind the circular bar, knowing he was going to be there somehow. She slapped down the menu, the cocktail menu, and a freshly laminated dessert menu. "Freshly laminated!"

           "Yep," Kurt sniffed the menu, "That's fresh for sure, hahahaha!" laughing more for himself than her.

           "What can I start you off with tonight?"

           "Just toast, please."

           "Sweetie, just toast?"

           "Yep just toast."

           The look on her face spelled imminent harm, then immediately transformed into unconditional hospitality. "Vikas! Toast! Sure thing sweetie," snatching the menus in one swoop.

           "Thanks uhh," trying to read her name tag but only caught a V.

           He looked around the place, at the lighting hung in trios across the sloped ceiling, the booths hidden by CLINK... Kurt looked down and saw a plastic tumbler, blue and chipped, filled with water and weak ice cubes, but no V in sight. Noticing this, he noticed everything, which wasn't much, just a diner open for business, no patrons. He sat tapping his fingers in a kind of rhythm when "Is That All There Is?" by Peggy Lee jumps on the overhead speakers.

I remember when I was a very little girl, our house caught on fire I'll never forget the look on my father's face as he gathered me up in his arms and raced through the burning building out to the pavement I stood there shivering in my pajamas and watched the whole world go up in flames And when it was all over I said to myself, is that all there is to a fire

Is that all there is, is that all there is If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing...

           Once that chorus kicked in he was humming along, eyes closed and drinking out of the mini cup. He opened his eyes and there before him was the essay, off to the side, right where he left it. He was lost in looking, only thinking about reading it, telling himself he wasn't afraid, and then the glasses appeared again, knowing that they belonged to the student, that the student typed this and printed it out, touched it, the net total of his movements to that moment of delivery resulted in the crimps and creases in the pages, the same on every page, again and again.

Let's break out the booze and have a ball If that's all there is...

           His hand shot out at the pages and smacked them once, not knowing what to expect, just a release? Kurt looked up and saw V staring at him before she broke out into strides in his direction. He grabbed the paper and started reading it vigorously.

professor Spottiwoods

Rough Draft

Pedagogyy is the study of how tot each a class in school, anywehere, like elementary school or college. I have been in school for almost all of my life and I feel like I have a big say in how I should be taught in school. There has been much discusssion on what progressive pedagogy might look like, but it has always been discussed and taught in regressive pedagogical systems, which is something liek a paradox isn;t it? we seem to think education is the greatest good, it keeps us young, that's what Aristotle thought, but these systems are old, the teachers are old, and theyf ail to realize that they they are only apart of an institu

           "SPOTTISWOODE?" Kurt froze in the middle of that word he knew was going to be 'institution', maybe spelled wrong, but couldn't help but feel several shots of adrenaline pumping through his body, his heart trying to compensate. "PROFESSOR SUPERWOOD IN THE FLESH!!"

           Mr. Spottiswoode craned his shoulders around to see Zip Baltgalvis—he thinks? —and can only widen his eyes. Zip skips over to Kurt's seat lugging what might be three backpacks at full capacity while Kurt creeps back at the paper, wide eyed, blank, stuck on the same word. Zip spins into the seat next to Kurt's and side hugs him, not responding. "Duuude what's good Spurt? ... It's me!" Kurt turns his head, zonked out, to Zip, frozen in a smile with his fingers turned inwards into his chest. "Zip..." Kurt emitted.

           "Ziiiff!" exasperated, "Ziff Baltgalvis! Twenty-fourtee-" leaning in closer for the whisper-shout, "Twenty-fourteen man! Duude! You're here!!"

           "I'm... here."

           "Yes! Yes!"

           "Hey where's my toast..." slurring and directed in the direction of unseen employees.

           Ziff looked down at the essay through the blonde frizz hanging in front of his face. "State huh? State huuuhh!!? MAN in the flesh! Front and center, late night!! You know, I've been working on things..."

           "Things."

           "Things mmhm... some futuristic things," nodding slowly almost to hypnotize Kurt.

           "What things..."

           "I've been thinking about those things, like to help the future out. Man, Kurt, your mind will be buhlown."

           "Uhh... toast," again at the ghost place.

           "Yeaaah man toast! You're brain'll fry man right on!"

           "What do you mean?"

           "Oh you just gotta come and see."

           "See what Zip?"

           A plate of burnt toast lands and swivels down onto the table in front of Kurt, on top of the essay.

           "The future man..." nodding.

☼

           Kurt Spottiswoode didn't even know he was fast asleep until his own drool cooled by the leather returned to his cheek, sliding his face into consciousness. Wriggling his fingers, cracking them, still on his side, his arm slept along with him. He was awake, but only with his eyeballs. Everything else was testing the waters. Every few seconds the interior would illuminate, sometimes yellow but most times teal-ish, and Kurt was in it and apart of it, an honorary component of the car. Kurt inched his head up off the seat to get a better look at the LED clock up front. It was 12:02, most likely AM. He plopped his head back down, scrunching his mouth to avoid the drool as he tried making sense of the situation he was in. This wasn't his car, he wasn't driving, he wasn't tied up, he was stagnant yet rumbling across asphalt barely any more than two feet from his wet cheek, as the crow flies. Mr. Spottiswoode liked it here, liking the most being able to pretend to be invisible, or to transcend the state everyone thinks you're in, knowing something no one else in the world knows. It was also the quiet of the interior which implied a disappearance of everything outside and anything in the future, just being able to lay... wait... future...

           "COCKADOODLEDOO TEACH! Un-conked?"

           "Muh... Zip,"

           "Hahyeah,"

           "Zi-," stuck on a clog in his throat.

           "Honest man, be honest,"

           "Where are we going?"

           "Dude, you remember this!"

           "I...?"

           "You can think it man, you can access this,"

           "Why was I..."

           "If you just reaaally think,"

           "Is it... Thursday?"

           "Unrelated inquiry, unrelated inquiry,"

           "Zip come on-"

           "Patience is a virtue,"

           "This is fuckin-"

           "Woah, woah,"

           "This is frankly, fucking stupid Zip!"

           "WOOOAH WOOAH,"

           "I wanna know! Where am I going? Where am I being taken to?"

           "I w-"

           "ZIP my foot is down it's being put down right now you got to tell me,"

           Ziff looked back over his shoulder at Kurt, now up in his seat drenched in sweat, eyes locked and loaded. The light outside illuminates the car in red for a split second, distant honking. Ziff looks back and forth hoping he isn't seeing and hearing correctly.

           "I don't like the way you look right now man,"

           "Zip,"

           "I don't friggin' appreciate those looks man!"

           Ziff is nearly done pulling the car over to the side of the road into the grassy overflow of an empty lot next to them once he says this. The back of Ziff's head jerks about, trying to put the car in park while storming out of the car at the same time. "Jesus... ZIP!! ZIP!" Kurt yells at Ziff with the foggy passenger window in the way, trying to unbuckle himself. "ZIIIIIP!!" It was Thursday, it was without a doubt Thursday, and it all came crashing into Mr. Spottiswoode's stomach. Kurt didn't even consciously think these thoughts, but he knew somehow by the way his neurons scrambled to ignite, scrambling together as one, but the buckle is jammed. Kurt sits back and processes the vagueness of himself at this moment, unconsciously looking around, widening his eyes, tuning out everything in order to tune out himself, and the door closes. He looks up and sees the long hair splitting out from Ziff's head. "Zip, where are we,"

           "Mr. Spottiswoode, it'd be really sick if you said sorry,"

           "I'm sorry, now-"

           "For what?"

           "For yelling at yo-"

           "And?"

           "And?"

           Ziff turned his head around to look through the gap under the headrest, eyes worn and wet.

           "And."

           "..."

           "Ziff."

           "No, no no, slip of the tongu- er the mind. I'm sorry. My-"

           "I really wanted you to see what I made Mr. Spottiswoode,"

           "Sure-"

           "When I saw you at Pete's tonight I thought that it was like fate, like that dramatic shit... right?"

           "Sure yea-"

           "I thought 'Hey Kurt's here, I bet he'd like to hang with me' you know? See me..."

           "Yeah,"

           "I thought you were gonna be like the guy who pretends he didn't make eye contact or something, and I was bummed out Mr. Spottiswoode. You were like the first guy... to uh... like really, you know, get me stoked on learning shit. And you were eating and I knew that it was like that fate happening maybe, like the universe collapsed on itself for that one time right?"

           "Sure,"

           "Do you get the same emotions too?"

           "Maybe, I don't really know,"

           "Cause like, the universe likes us...? Like it doesn't stop turning. It's like it keeps wanting us to know something, like..."

           And Ziff stopped, seemingly lost in that universe that led him to what he thought was right now, but Kurt, on the other hand, was back on the paper. "Ziff, I need to sleep I'm sorry."

           Ziff dug into one of the three backpacks he dropped in front of his front door to fish out the keys. Kurt was keeping his distance considerable out in the middle of a parking lot, by the car. Ziff tumbled the keys into the lock and cracked open the door, creaky to the point of filing a complaint with whatever de facto powers that be. The place was lit by strung lights around every edge, ceiling, doorway, floor, but only out of necessity of upholding the common courtesy to the household. Ziff lifted his arms in introduction of the place, "Uh, you can crash on the couch probably."

           Pots and pans brought Kurt back to the waking world, seamlessly too. What amazed Kurt's brain, the first thought in his head this morning, was how shrill these utensils ringing off each other were and how, somehow, that comforted him. He rubbed the sleep off his eyes and got up to mull. He scuffled towards the kitchen a few feet away and stood in the doorway, drawing a blank at the kid with pleasingly messy hair, jammies, bare feet, flipping a piece of bread with a hole in the middle occupied by an egg. The kid felt his presence and gave a half-nod half-smile, what Kurt came to hypothesize as a newly evolved human instinct. Kurt leaned on this doorway, scanning the room for a clock or any other furnishing that might give him a clue of some kind. A group of kids passed by him, recalling, "...ea and his brother was a raccoon in the firs..." and further down the hall a burst of "pffff" and laughter bounced back to him as he tried logging the series of events in his brain. Looking, still standing, invisible again, superposed in this doorway and periodically thrusting his body off enough to fall back onto the wall. A printer fired up in a room somewhere reciting its rhythm of obeying the data it's been fed, music to his ears but merely instinct to itself. But now the printer was approaching...? It was getting louder and louder, its rhythms becoming more complex, fading into Kurt's range of comprehension, but the closer it got the less he knew, the more it wasn't printing anything. Kurt leaned his torso over to peer through the commons area and into the main hallway, footsteps thrown into the mix now too. An upright arrangement of plastic and spinning metal emerged from behind the opening to the room, then a rubber foot inched down onto the wood floor, and the robot was now recognized by Kurt alone. It continued forward, stopped, made minor adjustments to the placement of its feet, and made way straight towards Kurt. His stomach sank and kicked into some kind of action backwards and to his left feeling his way towards some cover of sorts. Kurt crouched behind the side of the fridge, peering out at the rest of the kitchen. The whirring got louder, again, and the robot emerged, again, stopped, repositioned, continued in Kurt's direction. Kurt stayed put this time only because he couldn't think of anything else other than the fact there was a fucking robot walking straight towards him. The robots innards became clearer and clearer as it approached, stopped, repositioned, and reached for the fridge handle, and pulled it, pinching Kurt's fingers. He freaked out for a split second but didn't want to make any sounds in an effort to preserve the invisibility thing that the robot may or may not have seen right through. The door closed and revealed a jug of soylent in the robot's plastic nubs, repositioning away, and inching back out of the kitchen. Kurt stood up and stared at the robot, mouth wide open, sweat flowing, trying to think of its thoughts and what it must be conscious of to do what it does, where it's stored, what it means to it, does it feel what Kurt feels, does it know? A poke arrived on Kurt's left shoulder and he spun around clockwise to whoever it must be, who turned out to be... "Sorry,"

           "Nono I'm sorry," Kurt rattled out.

           "Just getting the uh," she reached up to the cabinet above Kurt's head, which he dodged as it swung open.

           "Woo heheh,"

           "Wanna sit?"

           "Wuh,"

           "Down?"

           "Well okay yeah sure heheh,"

           And he looked underneath and around himself and settled on sitting on the tile, criss-cross applesauce. "Do you go here?" she asked, eyes on the readymade pancake mix.

           "A- me? No I uhhh... I don't, no. I uh don't. Do you?"

           "Yes I go here."

           "Pretty cool, pretty cool uhmm... for what?"

           "Literature, but I'm thinking of changing,"

           "To uhh... ?" shrugging, nervously laughing.

           "Electrical engineering,"

           "And uh, why's that?"

           "I'm working on a project of my own right now with a team of people so I sort of just want time to work on it and E.E. offers independent study in their labs so,"

           "What's the something?"

           "I've been studying the stichomythia of reading common literature. Technically it isn't stichomythia, but it sounds nice to me for some reason and for what I do. So I study that stuff, the ups and down of laughter, contagious at moments and absent the next. Could you read a book or get its sense and flow from the mere knowledge of the progression of chuckles? Or guffaws? What does a 'guffaw' suggest in a story? This depends on the reader, though, which makes my job complicated. There's a flaw in studying and observing these things with people, who read and re-read, the speed increases and decreases, and this warps and distorts the nature of my work, the laughs and chuckles. Me and my team are now looking at developing a system which reads a book at an average pace, its text, and pinpoints or detects the humorous areas to give us a controlled, concise, perfect result of this landscape, the musicality that might be objective to itself and its language that the common subjective emotional someone simply lacks the capability of experiencing. This is what I do,"

           Teams? Landscapes, chuckles, this was all he could pick up on knowing the robot was walking around the place with soylent in its hands. He tried to be interested, but his mind was firing on other cylinders and sputtering out in the process. He was looking at the pan, sometimes focusing in on his periphera and the figures wearing mute colors walking in and out and past in silence—but what was silence to him, Kurt Spottiswoode thought, might have been a universal language to them that he was left out of. "What do you think of that?" He forgot.

           "Sounds pretty cool to me!" looking for something to catch his attention.

           "Do you read?"

           "I uh read lots of things every day yep,"

           "Enjoy it while you can,"

           "Well, you too heh! I'll uh see you around," offering a small wave and some kind of mouth movement he hoped would come off as normal. As he shuffled his way out, she started to mumble and hum the words to a song, loud and proud, making pancakes. He didn't know, he couldn't know if this was just himself projecting, but it sounded like she was humming the words to "Is That All There Is?", pushing himself away now, embarking himself into the house keeping his ears out for the bot. He stepped softly in hopes of the robot not hearing him, and he waddled and peered around and down the halls, doors open, now releasing lots of machine noise, almost every room. He walked up the stairs with his eyes locked on the chandelier which was smothered in webs and dust blocking the way of any light that might be wanting to pass through and offer itself. He was feeling his way upwards, and at the top he saw another commons area with a few couches riddled in no pattern whatsoever, and on one sat the robot, with its soylent in hand. Kurt sleuthed his way by way of his back to the wall down the hallway, soft stepping. "GOOOOOOD MOOORNIIING PALO ALTOOO," Kurt's body scrunched and searched for Ziff's whereabouts, leaning, dodging nothing, and finally finding it, papers and clutter reaching the ceiling and Ziff sitting in it all like a throne with his soylent in hand. "Where ya been buddy?"

           "Ziff listen I have a lot of papers to-"

           "Next on the program we have none other than English Composition extraordinaire-"

           "Ziff,"

           "Bonafide rager-maestro and chug champ 2000,"

           "Ziff that rob-"

           "AND honorary member of the fun boys themselves, Kurt 'Spurt' Spottiswoode!" as he started clapping by himself, clapping rang out from the rest of the second floor. He wheeled himself on his rolly-chair, stood up, and took Kurt by the shoulder leading him back down the hall. "We are utterly stoked to have you on this morning,"

           "Heh I-"

           "Mup, I'm asking the questions, I'm the teach... what is the future to you?" holding the air-mike up to Kurt's mouth.

           "It's soon,"

           "Would you say it's now?"

           "No cause... now's the present?"

           "But the now always changes right?"

           "I guess, but-"

           "Have you ever seen the future?"

           "No,"

           Ziff was now jogging over into the commons area, Kurt already knowing what the punchline would be. "Would you-"

           "Ziff, I need to go home,"

           "I gotta introdu-," taking the soylent out of the robot's hands.

           "Ziff. I'm going," backing down the stairs.

           "Kuuurt... Dude..."

           And everything seemed to fade out, leaving only Kurt's mind reeling in place. He got out onto the street and started following it wherever it went, freezing cold outside. He replayed that robot in his mind a long while and kept zooming in on its soylent trying to find a semblance of a clue that would lead him to some peace of mind, but he couldn't, just stuck in replay. Whatever direction Mr. Spottiswoode was heading in, there were trains.

           Kurt was staring while his mind rambled out the window. The train, he thought, was way too quiet, an environment that discouraged the cocoon of isolation he loved putting himself into. The tracks might as well have been non-existent, leaving Kurt the sole pleasure of listening to his own ears, ringing to themselves to avoid insanity, an instinct. For a moment, Kurt believed that the window his head was leaning on was nothing but another screen, extremely high definition, millions of pixels perfectly and spectacularly calibrated to fool passengers of any scenic route that might have been perceived. It had to be a conspiracy against the senses. What if the screen was hiding something grim and evil? Like an unforgivable violation of human's rights? Dwindling shacks, bodies slogging around awaiting their doom—if his eyes were to penetrate this screen, he wondered, maybe his eyes would meet someone else's, and maybe he would see something rapturous and impossible there in the shared misery, if that's what it was, only to witness it being cloaked by the train's comfy encasing, vanishing behind perspective.

           The corridors of Höffus Hall, human activity simmering down to bathroom breaks and "bathroom breaks", stood in preparation of fulfilling its intended purpose. Direction, visibility, transportation, criss-cross applesauce. Kurt lunged himself up through the stairwell, leaning into the curves of the railing for momentum, his rolly-backpack skipping on the steps, and jumped at the last step for the 4th floor, expecting another. He nearly jogged down the hallway mouthing, "Thursday Thursday, this," as he exhaled every other step. He kept his eyes on his door, erasing anything else from his perception to maximize efficiency. The door opened and out came, rushing, faceless, a slew of students escaping Room 488, breaking off into different directions, unsure if their rut is scheduled correctly or not. The students walking towards Mr. Spottiswoode passed with no regard, purposeful or not, either being plausible he thought. His legs and tiny wheels kept on chugging, though, traversing the hallway renewed with activity indifferent to its origin. Kurt swung open the door and immediately saw Kevin hunched over, shuffling with something. Mr. Spottiswoode moved into position at the front of class, behind his tabletop podium, faux-mahogany desk, and in front of the broken projector screen hanging askew, whiteboard neglected by former courses teeming with information, and sat down in his plastic mold desk chair, which let out a rubbery whine as he landed. Kevin turned around revealing his backpack, filled with five 2" wide binders and what sounded like a load of pencils Kurt assumed were infused with varying increments of graphite intensity, pooling underneath the organization. Kevin became pale as he met Kurt's eyeballs, both of them caught in the act of something untold, implied. The kid, his face tense and vulnerable, who Kurt couldn't believe was the same one who beamed joyous respect at him every single day of class, a scholarly constant, dislodged the frog in his throat.

           "Thank you for the semester Professor Spottiswoode. I wrote you a reflection highlighting how this course improved my ability to critically think about the world and how it presents itself to us and how I can express my personal perception of it through concrete argumentation and healthy sentence structure," digging into one of his binders from the top, sniffling, "I learned that writing a good essay will help you throughout the rest of your life, establishing pathos, logos, and ethos in order to engage the reader is key to allowing anyone to take what you say seriously, perhaps because deep down these elements and rules that go into a well written essay, like relevant topic sentences, presentation of evidence, and analysis of that evidence..." wobbling exasperation, "perhaps these are the fundamentals of life itself and why we love one another and why we make the decisions we make, even our mistakes. It's all one cosmic engaging, insightful, organized essay that we just can't read quite yet," carefully placing the quarter-inch thick packet on the table, "I learned that from you, and it's something I hope to pass onto my children and their children, and I hope to pursue a Master's so I can teach this truth to the next generation of students like you have. This is a part of my essay, I know it and can't control it, I can only proofread it," he picks up and rushes out the door, teary and red-faced, "You're the best teacher ever!" tripping on the door-stop, his sobs bouncing down the hallway in every direction, the most emotional energy this building has ever experienced, undoubtedly seeping into the firmament of the place, dormant and undisturbed, stored in a feedback loop.

           The clock nailed into the wall above the doorway rotated into 11:29 AM, followed close behind by the internal clock in Mr. Spottiswoode's laptop, tucked away in sleep mode inside of Kurt's rolly-backpack. Kurt unzipped the biggest pocket and logged into his laptop, Outlook opening on its own, following orders. The inbox updated and there, waiting, was an e-mail from Ziff with the subject line, "vid of my creation!!!! ;D" Kurt Spottiswoode sat and waited, leaving the e-mail unopened, watching the screen, hand curled into a fist at rest supporting his head, eyes forward. Had he been paying attention, he would've heard the uproar of footsteps outside, vague murmuring, screeching chairs and tables in neighboring rooms to the left, right, upstairs, downstairs, the beeping of high-powered turbo-toasters, motorized longboards whizzing by, trucks backing up, something custodial collapsing, honking, keys jangling to each step, someone quietly running late to class, electrical cars humming, mysterious whooping, and a burst of applause amplified by the valley of dorms just outside the classroom window. Both clocks hit 12:00 PM at almost the same time. Kurt dragged his finger across the trackpad to click the refresh button. Nothing. He hit refresh again. Nothing. He hit refresh. Over and over and over.

←

[gaildaley]

I started this year in Review in December of 2015 because that’s when I think the year really began.

Dec 27, 2015

Wow! Its only four days until another year begins. I’ve made a lot of changes this year. I began writing novels again and wonder of wonders, I’ve actually finished book one of the Handfasting Trilogy, A Year And A Day, and I’ve began on book two Forever And A Day. This story is about three sisters who live on a planet called Vensoog and the choices they make to help their colony survive the aftermath of a galaxy wide war.

February 8, 2016

This was a good week to get some work done. I am more than halfway through Forever And A Day, the second book in my Handfasting trilogy and I have covers done for both of the first two books. Rather than painting a cover in acrylics, I decided to go with some digital artwork so that I could make them very similar.  I think I will go ahead and use Amazons PDK system. It will mean that I can’t put my book up anywhere but Amazon, but its price is excellent—free. And I really don’t have money to pay a regular e-book publisher. My son’s book at Outskirts Press cost almost $2,000. He did get a lot for it, hard copies of his book and it’s marketed in I-Books and Nook as well as Kindle, but sometimes you have to cut your coat to suit your cloth.

I also got my two latest Acrylic paintings done, Cat Napping and Street Vendor and framed. I think I will put at least one of them in ACA’s membership show. Of course entering one of their shows is always problematic, as many times the judges they select don’t seem to care for my art. I used to worry about that, but not anymore.  Having seen some of the art ACA’s judges deemed worthy in the past, I killed any feelings of inferiority I used to have art wise.

Now that I have my enlargements back from the printer, I can also start on the three longhorn paintings I intend to do for the Old West Art show in April.

February 28, 2016

Well, so much for good intentions. I DID manage to get the three paintings started. Unfortunately, I also started a bladder infection; my husband came down with the flu (which he shared) so I haven’t done anything else yet. The medicine the doctor gave me for the infection has caused an almost constant migraine and nausea. Hopefully, however, March will be a better month. Here are three canvases.

March 13, 2016

For the last three weeks, I have had three unfinished paintings for the old west show sitting there glaring at me from my art table. Not really my fault I haven’t been able to work on them: I developed a bladder infection for which I went to the doctor, had a bad reaction to the meds he proscribed, and then I came down with Vernon’s flu he brought home from the Pool Workshops. This Thursday, I was finally able to start on Home on the Range and I got part of it blocked in. Unfortunately, after I sat there and looked at it for a while, I decided that I needed to get rid of the clay cliffs I was using as a background because they were competing with what I intended to be the focus — the Longhorn cattle resting in an almost dry river bed. I painted over my entire mornings work on the cliffs with grey and then had to let it sit long enough for me to be able to work it. I confess I really don’t understand why other artists complain about how fast acrylics dry because at some point in a painting, I will have to stop and let it sit so it will be dry enough not to make mud! I substituted some rolling hills for the cliffs with all those dark, cracked clay lines, which looks better, but I still need to cool off the background hills so that I can push them back or maybe I will add a structure or a tree line; I haven’t decided yet. I will be using pieces of the same dry streambed in all three of the paintings. I have one more day to work on it before I have to stop and do Vern’s invoices for this month.

March 22, 2016

Today I finally managed to start on Chilsolm Trail. I got most of the background done and the horses and men drawn up with white pencil. The background took more time than I thought it would, especially the riverbank.

March 23, 2016

Today I was hoping to get all the cows and the cowboy blocked in, but all those horns and legs took a lot more time than I expected. I finally left one of the cows un-blocked and worked on the horse and rider. I used ultramarine blue and powder blue underpainting on the horse. I will go in tomorrow and finish it off with black.

  March 24, 2016

Well today, I feel as if I am finally making progress; I do still have quite a bit to do to finish this one though. I think adding a second cowboy and more cows was the right thing to do. Five cows just didn’t look like a trail herd! Tomorrow I am taking a break to do housework, but hopefully by Monday I will be able to go in and finish off the foreground. Then I get to start on the 3rd one—The Bozeman Trail!

March 26, 2016

Saturday morning and I still have to finish off my household chores. Put up the laundry washed yesterday and do the dishes so I will have a clean sink to rinse out my paint brushes. (I say I’m only doing them every other day to conserve water, but the truth is I loathe housework). I’m pretty satisfied with the way Chilsolm Trail is coming along. For Monday I will need to finish off the foreground grass and then put in some shadows and highlights to identify which direction the sun is coming from. Details…

Tuesday March 27, 2016

Well Monday turned out to be a wash. It’s wonderful how other people seem to fill up your day without asking you first… Oh, well. Today I got the foreground grass done on the Chilsolm Trail done, and the background and drawing done on the Bozeman trail. I also got the backing prepared for four paintings. I use contact paper for backing and I reinforce the edges with clear strapping tape and use thumbtacks and Gorilla wood glue on the edges to fasten it down. This is easier to clean than plain brown paper, which seems to absorb dust. No surprise that the back of a painting gets just as dirty over time as the front!

The Proof copy of my first book in the Handfasting series came today, so I will be spending the next few days going over the proof for errors. I am a speed-reader so it should only take me about nine hours. I’m very pleased with the front cover design. The image I designed looks great.

Saturday, Vernon is going to be gone with some friends to the desert so I will have that day free to paint. He is actually very supportive, but the more people in the house when I am trying to work the more interruptions there seems to be…

April 12, 2016

I spent the weekend at the Columbia Inn (wonderful atmosphere, and they use real art bought locally in their room designs!) with my husband. It rained non-stop but that did not stop him and other members of CVP from enjoying panning the dirt brought in for them. They did this in the parking lot under pop-ups so that shows how dedicated they are to their notion of fun! We had a community dinner inside the 49er Mining Supply shop and Rob and Cheryl were wonderful hosts. Vernon has commissioned me to do a painting of the Inn and shop so I will be working on that later this year.

A Year And A Day, has been published on Amazon and Kindle and in May I will be making the rounds to advertise it. FYI, if you plan to use Amazon’s free publishing services; start with the printed edition on Create Space. I started with the e-book and ended up with two e-books (different covers but same book). In order to make the covers match, I took the first one I made off-line. Unfortunately, I had set up a pre-order on it, so Amazon has forbidden me to do any pre-orders for a year. Live and learn.

April 21, 2016

Well, the show and reception for Clovis Art Guild’s Old West & Rodeo show came off okay, despite the low amount of entries. I didn’t win anything this time, but that’s the breaks. The show comes down on Sunday. The next two weeks promise to be full also. Monday through Wednesday, I will need to get back to writing on my book and hopefully start my Safe Harbor painting. Andrew will be working with his Dad on Monday, so that will be the best day to paint. I also need to do some housekeeping on some of my POD sites (FAA, Pixels, and Red Bubble). Thursday, I need to change out my art at the Water Tower Gallery, and on Friday I take down my art from the Sunnyside Library Gallery (I also need to prepare a summer schedule for the library), then Saturday I plan to put up a couple of paintings in the Alliance of California’s membership display for the next two months.

I actually sold one of my hand painted keepsake boxes I have down at the Water Tower (Yaay!) So I suppose that this summer, I need to prepare some more for Christmas and Easter, which means developing some designs. Flower designs work well here as I am hopefully marketing these to women or to men buying for women! I ordered some Acrylic paint pens from Amazon and I plan to use them for the actual design after I paint the boxes. (Target date to do these is in June so they will be ready.)

June 10, 2016

Wow. Has it really been two months since I posted anything? Time flies I guess. I won’t say it has all been fun, but it has been productive. Sadly, I did not win anything at the Old West Show, but all the art was wonderful this year even though it was a smaller show.

I have finished two large seascapes and started my entry for the Miniature works show.

Forever And A Day is done and going through the editing process (this means I print it down at the local printer and go over it for errors. Fun). All Our Tomorrows is about halfway through the first draft. Because there are so many characters involved by now and the story moves from one group to another to remain coherent, I have to bounce back and forth between where the character focus is. I wish I could find another way to tell this so that won’t happen, but so far no dice.

Facebook kept rejecting my ad for A Year And A Day, so I ran it as a regular post and they blocked me out for ‘suspected illegal activity’ for two days…Big pain in the A to get back on. They won’t help you when you need it, but they sure do punish users who try to get around their system…

June 23, 2016

I’m trying to do better at posting to this journal. I just finished Vernon’s invoices for June, so I have had time to edit Forever and A Day three times, and I am starting on the fourth just as soon as I pick it up from the printer. I am in the process of writing All Our Tomorrows that I have already revised twice and it isn’t even finished yet! And I sold a copy of A Year And A day in April, for which Kindle will pay me around the end of June. That tells me if my ad campaign bears fruit in June, I won’t see money from sales until around the End of September.

My only entry I painted this year for the Miniature show is almost finished as I got to work on it today. Right now, it’s sitting on a little easel waiting for me to decide if I’m finished with it. It’s a night scene and those are always a struggle to split the difference between accurately showing that it’s at night and still making the paintings features visible…

August 7, 2016

Wow. I have gone an entire month without actually creating art. Well, not true really; I did five color studies for my Vensoog Handfasting series. I started to do a landscape of it also, but I ended up tossing it out (a rarity for me but it was just awful.) I actually have 4 small paintings drawn up (one 8×10 and two 5x7s). I also have two of my hand painted keepsake boxes started. They only need the painting done on the lids and then put together but there they sit…

Next week won’t be productive art-wise either tho’ because I will be starting on our Income tax. Ick. Migraine coming as always…

October 1, 2016

Wow! I’ve had a really busy summer! I have been working non-stop on getting the second book in my Handfasting Series published, and on top of that Clovis Art Guild had an art show and the Guild had to make arrangements to shuffle things around (our meetings, getting our 501(c) submitted to the IRS, etc.), so I confess I have neglected to write here in this journal. I went to a professional cover designer at fiverr.com to re-design the covers for my books and I am really pleased with how they turned out. I also finished the 2nd draft of the book “All our Tomorrows”. It’s currently being beta read by my son Andrew and a couple of good friends. My hand painted keepsake boxes are selling really well at the Watertower Gallery in Downtown Fresno, so I have also been busy making six more of those (actually a pretty time-consuming project). I start with a raw wooden box that I get from a local craft store, seal it, and then paint the base coat on the bottom and the lid. Then I draw a design on the lid and paint that. Then a varnish coat to protect the box is put on the outside and felt lining is added to the inside bottom and lid. Then I put the jewelry back on (hinges and clasps) and finally it is ready to take to the Gallery!  So I have been a busy girl. I also have six smaller paintings prepped (undercoat done and the image drawn up). I hope to have at least one of them ready by Christmas.

I had Pismo Beach critiqued by Master Artist Dennis Lewis at the Clovis Art Guild meeting last night. He confirmed what I was afraid of—those dratted cliffs in the back are still too bright. Considering how many times I repainted them trying to soften them, doing it over again is no big deal, but I wonder if I should also darken up the front. He also had some other suggestions for improving it, so since I have a month before the Fall Open where I intended to enter it, I will probably re work it.  Of course, that does mean re varnishing, but what the heck. I think I will re-wash the back with several layers of light grey and add some yellow to raw sienna for the sand front of the beach.

I also need to get in touch with my friends Betsy and Ron who volunteered to Beta read All Our Tomorrows for me and find out what suggestions they had. Andrew already made several, which I have implemented. It does make the book longer as he said I had rushed through several climaxes and through the chapter on the festival so I have added several pages there that involved re-ordering how the chapters were presented. I admit it does make the book seem less choppy. Beta Readers are a blessing… And just think, I haven’t started the editing for format errors yet! Still hope to get it into publication by Christmas…

December 7, 2016

Well, I did it again—missed an entire month of writing on this. In my defense, I should say that during this month, we adopted a new kitten. She was all alone out at one of Vernon’s commercial accounts. The manager had been feeding her but only twice a day, and a cat or puppy that young needs to be fed at least four times a day. We think Mab’s mother must have been killed and she couldn’t come back for her kittens. We never found the others, and it’s my opinion that Mab survived as long as she did because she is one stubborn feisty cat.

We also put on an art show at the Art Hub. Going to be taking it down later today. Yes, I know it’s raining, but sometimes you have to do what you can do.

All Our Tomorrows will be going to print in about 3 weeks. Yay!

I was hoping to get back into my regular artwork, but I caught a sore throat and it has turned nasty. (Can’t get the flu shot until after this clears up. Ick!)

December 15, 2016

Writing my 4th book in the Handfasting series. It’s a Cozy mystery set on Vensoog. Using Jayla (Gideon’s niece from Forever And A Day) as my heroine and Luc’s best friend Jake (All Our Tomorrows) as the hero. The story centers around the theft of the royal family’s Crown Jewels on planet Aphrodite. The thieves escape to Vensoog to try to fence them. There is a planet wide festival on Vensoog that draws interplanetary traffic so it makes good cover. The fence (Lipski) is killed and the jewels disappear. Jayla innocently buys the Lipski’s shop and then finds her body on the beach while she is out jogging.

I have got local, Royal and interplanetary cops who are suspicious of Jayla’s involvement. I have the original thieves, and the local mob who want to find the jewels.  A housekeeper robot who was programmed by the original owner as a gigolo and a sales bot who likes to run around naked (haven’t quite decided exactly what I’m going to do with them yet-maybe just comic relief).  Then there is Jayla’s nosy, interfering family, and her bossy boyfriend Jake who all trying to help her clear her name and getting in each other’s way.

Note to self: I think I have a form of writers block. I have to decide which of these plot lines to use as the main one, which ones are going to be red herrings and which ones are secondary. My problem is I like all of them so I haven’t written a thing on it that hasn’t felt forced for at least a week.

  A Year In Review I started this year in Review in December of 2015 because that’s when I think the year really began.