#moving services cape town

[dielmanmoving]

Dielman Moving & Storage Services

Looking for reliable moving services in St. Charles, MO? Look no further! Our professional team specializes in both residential and commercial moves, ensuring a seamless transition for your belongings. With attention to detail and a commitment to customer satisfaction, we make moving stress-free. Trust us with your next move and experience the difference! 

[mrcheaptransports]

[firehouse-movers-blog]

Stress-Free Relocation: The Ultimate Office Move Checklist

Transitioning your office to a new location might feel overwhelming, yet with careful planning and organization, it can become a remarkably smooth process. Whether you're upgrading to a larger space, downsizing for efficiency, or simply craving a change of scenery, our Texas-based moving company is ready to support you throughout the entire journey. To simplify your office relocation, we've assembled the definitive office move checklist, accompanied by a comprehensive timeline designed to guarantee a successful transition for your business. Click the link below to delve deeper into our resources and learn how we can ensure a seamless move for your office.

[bestmoversadelaide]

Moving To A New Office?

Moving offices can be stressful, but these 6 tips can ease the process: plan ahead, delegate tasks, communicate clearly, label boxes, hire professionals, celebrate milestones.

👉Learn More about : https://bit.ly/3ydv9cU

[megashiftlogistics55]

Moving to Cape Town

Cape Town is a diverse and gorgeous city in South Africa. It is a thriving center for the arts, has a vibrant nightlife, and is home to top colleges and universities. Cape Town offers limitless career opportunities, making it an ideal location for people from all walks of life. Read on to learn more if you're moving to Cape Town.

[beautiful-basque-country]

Hey, I've been reading through your posts about how tourism and digital nomads and expats are gentrifying all kinds of cities and places in Spain and price out the locals and don't respect the culture and only put money in the hands of the wealthy.

I completely understand where you are coming from and what you're saying makes a lot of sense, but as an extranjero who wants to visit Spain, what are some things we can do to support the locals and also celebrate your culture while visiting?

Kaixo anon! Thanks for your message ^_^

I know that we all travel on a budget and are very much used to low costs in everything, and many of the suggestions I'm gonna write are quite more expensive than maybe other alternatives. This is another issue: affording ethical tourism is a privilege not many visitors have.

avoid big hotel chains and AirBnB. Instead, choose little, family-owned hotels. They usually are in villages not far from the big touristy town and also provide a calm space out of the noisy crowd.

avoid restaurant chains and fancy ones, since 99% of the times they're owned by a board of investors. Run away from those with menus displayed on blackboards written in English, they're usually unauthentic tourist traps with poor quality food. Instead, choose family restaurants offering homemade, real Spanish food. There are maaany of these, and they're a terrific experience.

if you're willing to buy some groceries, avoid supermarkets. Choose any good-looking fruit shop, or butcher's, or fishmonger's. Go to local markets and buy local produce.

if you're moving around, use public transportation or a bike. Avoid renting a car or boat and polluting our hometown and seas. If you're moving between towns, choose the train if possible instead of booking a flight.

And regarding the celebration part, some simple pieces of advice:

unless you're Latin or Mediterranean-looking, you're gonna be spotted as a guiri at first sight. You can do nothing to stop being a guiri, but don't behave like one. Since you're an easy target, be especially wary with your belongings and with people that suddenly approach you, they might be thieves. Don't walk with your map in hand 24/7. Leave your valuables at home or at your accomodation. Don't think Spain is your playground where local law doesn't apply to you because you're spending your money there. Behave like you would normally do at home.

many foreigners don't understand Spanish service. Waiters and waitresses won't be all smiles, sweet as candy, asking you non-stop how everything's going. That doesn't mean they're being rude to you and want you out, it's just a different culture: their job is to take your order, get your food, and give you the bill when asked for it. That's all the interaction you'll get. If you need more drinks or bread, you'll just have to politely attract their attention and they will help with your needs.

flow with Spanish schedule. Many tourists are entitled enough to ask for lunch at 12 or for dinner at 7. Of course this won't be a problem in tourist bars and restaurants, but everywhere else this just won't happen. Make sure to ask for the kitchen's working hours if you're interested in having a meal in a certain place and don't ask Spaniards to follow your guiri schedule.

use basic words in Spanish to be polite: buenos días, gracias, hasta luego. You don't need a Spanish proficiency certificate to leave a good impression after you leave and avoid that everyone thinks putos guiris again.

Learn about the different nations inside Spain before your visit. Don't expect flamenco shows in Donostia, or sangría in Santiago. Respect our pride: dressing up as a matador, donning a hat with the Spanish flag, or wearing it as a cape may be very unpleasant and rude for the locals in Catalunya, Euskadi, Galiza, etc. Do your homework prior to your visit and you'll enjoy it much much more, since you'll be able to appreciate all the different cultures that live together around here and what each of them has to offer you.

[purplehanfu]

Rating the Husbandos: The Story of Kunning Palace

notes: Spoilers! You really have your pick of men in this drama- but are any of them husband material?

Thoughtfully considered ratings behind the cut:

Xie Wei

A mysterious, tragic past is not a personality.

pros: Sexy as he looms over you in his fur collared capes. Exhibits very progressive thinking on women's issues. Which is strange considering all of his cons (see below).

cons: Explosive temper; violent; acts like he owns you; keeps trying to choke you (and not in a sexy consensual way); expects you to be grateful when he doesn't kill you in service to his grand revenge plan. Tough guy demeanor which he can only back up with the judicious application of his lackeys. Backstory so complicated you kind of lose interest. Looks like he has conjunctivitis a lot of the time.

hobbies: Making qins and tracking the wood shavings all over the house. Being afraid of snow except when the plot requires him not to be.

sexxin: Endless stamina and exquisite anatomy. Too bad he has no idea what he's doing. Cries after sex and gets mad when you laugh about it (why would you do that you monster).

Grade: C-

Zhang Zhe

Sometimes being hot is enough.

pros: HANDSOME

cons: His devotion to truth and justice will probably get him killed in the course of some courtly intrigues but the real tragedy is that he will never lie to spare your feelings. He will, however, compare your cooking unfavorably to his mother's.

hobbies: Restoring antiques; doing his own laundry

sexxin: Pathetic but you have to pretend it's great or he will become obsessed with improvement. At least the view is nice.

Grade: C

Yan Lin

A cheerful sweet ray of murderous sunshine.

pros: Smart, handsome, thoughtful, loyal, excellent martial arts, terrifying military skillset. You're his one and only, his ride-or-die, his day one.

cons: Related to Xie Wei

hobbies: Swordplay (see below)

sexxin: Complete freak in the sheets. Hope you have a strong bed and a soundproof bedroom, you're going to need both.

Grade: A+

Yan Lin's Dad

Reporting for duty.

pros: Has his own army but doesn't make a big thing about it (the Emperor and Xue family do, however).

cons: Frequently has the intensity dialed up to 11 when the situation clearly calls for a 6.

hobbies: Carving figurines for his 3-D map sandbox thing

sexxin: As expected of a military man he is good at taking orders and completing missions. His courage tongue should be awarded for its service to the nation you

grade: B+

Emperor

Heaven must have a sense of humor because it mandated this guy.

pros: Easily seduced by you.

cons: Easily seduced by people other than you. Married. Paranoid. Sickly but that might just be poison (if so add "unable to poison him" to the con list).

hobbies: Marveling at how good he is at seducing people.

sexxin: His game is as weak as his constitution.

grade: a solid F unless you want to murder your way to Empress, then he's a D

Fake Xie Wei

Ain't nothing like the real thing.

pros: social butterfly at parties, everyone knows him, can give you a wild night out on the town even if it's Tuesday and you're in some backwater village.

cons: is an actual con artist

hobbies: Collecting STDs

sexxin: so good you might be tempted to forgive him for his wandering eye. Don't. Just enjoy him if you must and move on.

Grade: D-

Gu Chun Fang

Hear me out.

You've been married more than 40 years. When your parents first arranged your marriage he snuck into your rooms that night to make sure you were ok with it. You fell in love at first sight. You never had children despite years of trying but he has never so much as looked at another woman. You come from a huge family and he has many young subordinates so your mansion is always very lively. Your New Year's parties are the stuff of legend.

pros: In all his years as an official he has never once made you get up early to help him get ready for court sessions.

cons: Would have no clothes if you did not buy them for him, would never eat if you did not arrange his meals, would fall asleep at his desk if you did not force him to come to bed.

hobbies: Collecting weird ugly giant rocks which he deposits in the various courtyard gardens of your mansion. Pretending to fish but really just taking a nap.

sexxin: After all these years you can still make him blush with a whispered invitation. Adorable.

Grade: A+ but he's not available and never will be

Dao Qin

It's always the quiet ones.

pros: Loyal; physique that was created as though by the gods themselves; surprisingly high EQ

cons: Kinda sad life made this guy an NPC when he has such strong main character energy.

hobbies: designing and crafting hidden weapons and/or cat toys

sexxin: You have seen the top of the mountain, and it is good.

Grade: B+

Master list of all show recaps etc.

[women-throughout-history]

Sarah Baartman

Sarah Baartman's tragic story is a heartbreaking narrative of exploitation, racism, and the dehumanisation of an African woman in the early 19th century. Born in South Africa's Eastern Cape in 1789, Baartman faced a life marked by hardship and loss. Orphaned at a young age, she entered domestic service in Cape Town after her partner was murdered, and their child died.

In 1810, under questionable circumstances, Baartman signed a contract with British ship surgeon William Dunlop and entrepreneur Hendrik Cesars, agreeing to travel to England to participate in shows. Her distinctive physical features, characterised by extremely protuberant buttocks due to steatopygia, made her a spectacle in London's Piccadilly Circus, where she was exhibited in skin-tight, flesh-coloured clothing adorned with beads and feathers. The fascination with her large buttocks reflected the prevailing fashion of the time, but Baartman's public display in so-called "freak shows" also highlighted the darker undercurrents of racism and colonial exploitation.

Baartman faced a tumultuous life in Europe, performing on stage, enduring private demonstrations, and facing questions about whether she willingly participated or was coerced. The British Empire had abolished the slave trade in 1807, but Baartman's treatment raised ethical concerns, leading to a court case against her employers, although they were not convicted.

Moving to Paris in 1814, Baartman continued her exhibitions under the nickname "Hottentot Venus." She faced further exploitation, possibly engaging in prostitution, and ultimately succumbed to illness, dying at the age of 26 in 1815. The postmortem exploitation continued as Georges Cuvier, a naturalist, dissected her body, preserving her skeleton, brain, and genitals. These remains were exhibited in Paris's Museum of Man until 1974, a grotesque testament to the objectification of Baartman.

The journey of Sarah Baartman's remains back to her homeland was a protracted one. Finally, in 2002, after years of advocacy and efforts, her skeleton, brain, and genitals were repatriated and laid to rest in the Gamtoos River Valley, where she was born. Baartman's story remains a symbol of the intersection of racism, sexism, slavery, and colonialism, prompting debates and discussions about the historical exploitation and the ongoing fight against injustice.

[scotianostra]

Scottish physician Ian Donald was born on December 27th 1910.

There are differing versions of Ian Donald’s birthplace, one gives it a Cornwall, another vaguely states Scotland. The last time I posted about the man Wiki was non committal and just gave his date of birth, it now says Cornwall .

Anyway his ancestry is beyond doubt, he was born to John Donald and Helen née Barrow Wilson in 1910. His father was a general practitioner who came from a Paisley family who were immersed in the medical profession.

No matter where he was born Ian Donald’s education was firmly Scottishhe attended Warriston School in Moffat and Fettes College in Edinburgh, following this the family move to South Africa where he graduated BA from the Diocesan College in Cape Town. He then studied medicine and was awarded MB BS at London University in 1937. During 1942-1946 he served as a medical officer in the RAFVR; was mentioned in dispatches and awarded the MBE for rescuing airmen from a burning aircraft. He is considered a Scot though, so we’ll claim him.

So apart from being a brave guy what else has he done? Well during his wartime service he became interested in radar and and sonar technology and with this in mind he worked with T G Brown of the the scientific instrument makers Kelvin & Hughes to create the first diagnostic ultrasound machine, and in 1958, with Brown and John MacVicar, he published his findings in The Lancet. Donald’s idea of using ultrasound to diagnose humans was ridiculed. However, after a large ovarian cyst was diagnosed in a female patient, practitioners took the technology seriously.

He was involved in the planning and design of the Queen Mother’s Hospital in Glasgow, which opened in 1964 and was Regis Professor of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at Glasgow University, from 1954 to 1976.

In honour of Professor Ian Donald, Professor Asim Kurjak founded the Ian Donald Inter-University School of Medical Ultrasound in Dubrovnik, Croatia in 1981. It is one of the world’s largest school of medical ultrasound and each year many celebrated students come through their advanced courses in medical ultrasonography.

And in recognition of his pioneering work in Ultrasound, an Ian Donald Gold Medal was awarded each year by the International Society of Ultrasound in Obstetrics and Gynaecology to the person whose pioneering work is considered to have the most profound influence in the development of Obstetrical and Gynecological ultrasonography.

The pic shows Donald with one of the earliest machines used in obstetrics, the Diasonograph circa 1960.

Read a wee bit more on the man here https://www.ob-ultrasound.net/iandonaldbio.html

[mrcheaptransports]

Tips to Relocating on A Budget

Moving can be costly, requiring security deposits, movers, and whole days devoted to packing. Few people are fortunate enough to move for nothing. When money is scarce, relocating fees for the majority quickly pile up and cause unneeded stress. There are, however, ways to manage your money and stick to a budget without losing your mind. Finding a reputable Cape Town moving company with professionals at your side at every turn is the first and most important step. You significantly reduce costs and complete the procedure on a budget by keeping a few simple suggestions in mind. Every decision you make marks the beginning of a new stage in your life and offers you the possibility to start again or even reinvent yourself. Here is some advice for stress-free relocating on a tight budget. -Plan beforehand to reduce stress - Do not just sit back and wait for the removal companies Cape Town to arrive. Take the initiative and control the packing of at least the smaller items. The simplest method to ensure that your relocation goes well and within your budget is to plan. There are several online moving checklists with advice on how to complete each stage.

-Get rid of certain items - The perfect opportunity to get rid of extra luggage is when you move. In order to cut down costs with the Cape Town moving company, get rid of everything that triggers unpleasant recollections. Change to new items that reflect the life you desire to lead. This does not have to be a pricey procedure; it may be as easy as switching out the big sofa for a smaller chair or letting go of the bookcase that serves no purpose. Do not hang onto things that are no longer useful. -Try relocating during the off-season - Relocating with removal companies Cape Town during the off-season, which is often autumn or winter, might save you money. Although it can take a little more effort and forethought, your budget will benefit from the change. You can benefit from the fact that moving firms are aggressively hunting for business throughout the off-season because most individuals prefer to relocate during the warmer months. This provides you the opportunity to find the greatest offers provided by the Cape Town moving company and perhaps even try your hand at haggling for a lesser price. So even if the weather may not be great, the time is, and as you are aware, time is money. Your new life is waiting for you, and the decisions and preparations you make now will determine whether your transfer goes smoothly or whether you experience hiccups in the process. The removal companies Cape Town will assist you at every stage. You should give your new house the care and consideration it needs to be successful. If you use these money-saving strategies, moving on a budget is not only achievable but may even feel simple. To avoid unexpected costs in the middle, have the moving firm provide a transparent price beforehand.

[elenscaie]

Title Tales, please! 😊

forgiveness (is for the weak)

So... This clearly went out of control 😆 Oops? (Except not really oops~) In any case, here you go. Enjoy!

Miss Nia-Marriash Lahazhr is a commoner girl of no consequence. Her Imperial Wrath, Empress Amileen ran Zahashenie, could not care less.

She certainly does not care now.

Amileen's afternoon outing in one of the demonic towns located on the leftwise side of the homeworld, situated on a planet populated with more demons than humans and more of other species than demons, has come to an ugly conclusion.

The girl kneels before her. A dagger, its long length gleaming full of pure white angel-grace on one side and glowing a poisonous green-black with terrafin on the other, sticks out of her chest.

The assassin, their task thwarted to failure, is fleeing.

Amileen will not allow for them to get away.

The girl's eyes are struggling to stay bright. Likely, the only reason Miss Nia-Marriash Lahazhr is yet alive is for the terrafin imbued in the blade. A full angel-grace blade would have killed her on the spot. Killed any demon so young, and the girl cannot be any older than thirteen, perhaps fourteen. Terrafin, so loathed a substance for how it is truly fatal to Necromancers, would yet not have killed Amileen given her status as Empress, but, still so near to her nascent ascension to the throne and the power that accompanies such, she would have suffered all the same.

It would not have spelled Amileen's death, but that's beside the point. What is important is that this little slip of a demon saw fit to risk her very life in service of her Empress. Not a knight, not a soldier, not a demon of an upper echeleon and so possessed of enough power to see them safe and secure from such ills, not even a demon so fortunate to be of an age where such an attack would not wound them terribly so. No, none of that.

Just a little slip of a demon scarcely into her teenage years.

And yet, so brave.

So very, very brave.

Such bravery and service is to be rewarded.

Her Imperial Wrath, Empress Amileen ran Zahashenie, curls her fingers even as she kneels before the girl in turn. Then, her fingers go flicking away, and those demons nearest the assassin find their bodies moving of their own accord, absent any mental input, attacking the assassin and bringing them down before they can try once more to vanish into mere wisps of smoke and shadow.

Impossibly, the girl succeeds at a smile. "Are you all right, Your Majesty?" Red-black blood spills forth from her lips. It hisses and steams as it hits the shining obsidian paving. But of course, the girl's body must be going into overdrive, alerted into offense in the face of such danger and injury. Acidic blood is, after all, common as dirt among demons, and not only those of Wrath.

Amileen stares straight into the soft red eyes of her newest knight—she will allow for no less than complete and utter recognition and reward for what has been done here this day—and says in a voice implacable with determination-love-possessiveness: "Yes, I am, but only because of the unmatched bravery and service you have shown me here today, my dearest brave knight."

Miss Nia-Marriash Lahazhr—Dame Nia-Marriash Lahazhr from this moment on—stares at her in utter hope-awe. Her eyes shine like scalding-hot coals. "Your Majesty," she rasps out, tears trickling down her cheeks, even as Amileen envelops her in darkness and power and mine-all-mine.

Amileen, for her part, glares a deadly rage as the crowd parts and the would-be assassin is dragged to the fore and shoved into kneeling onto the hard obsidian paving.

"You dared to harm my knight", she says, a snarl ripping through her every word. Reluctantly, she rises, cradling Nia-Marriash into a standing position alongside her, drawing a cape of shadow and blood and bone out from the aether to mantle her nascent knight from shoulder to ankle. "You dared to touch what is mine." Her next words emerge layered in a legion of cruel, wrathful voices. "You dared to go against your Empress."

The assassin only snarls, sharp teeth bared in full, and snaps, "Better a dead Empress than a false one!"

Amileen's rage rises into a height untold. Her tail, sharp scythe-end sheathed within the meat of her ankle—she's had no reason to have it out in the open until now—lashes into sight as all glistening lethality and gouges out a deep red-black scar across the wretch's eyes.

At once, she shrieks, hideously and miserably, hands flying to clutch at her ruined eyes, for the ability intrinsic to all Wrath demons that allows for them to take pain and turn it into further strength is all of nothing in the face of Amileen's desire for the wretch to suffer.

But this? This is nothing. This is no punishment at all. For even Unmaking this wretch into oblivion will not suffice. No, she shall suffer for as long as Amileen wills it.

Oh, but she will suffer forever.

For Her Imperial Wrath, Empress Amileen ran Zahashenie, will allow for nothing else.

Her eyes, alive with an inferno of unrelenting rage, fall upon her newest and youngest knight. Her grip tightens just shy of bruising.

Mine.

[justforbooks]

Although there was never any such phenomenon as Whittakermania, Roger Whittaker, who has died aged 87, built a huge international following in a career that spanned six decades. As the Boston Globe noted of his stage performances: “No one gets high. No one gets hysterical with excitement. And yet Roger Whittaker is one of the most popular entertainers in the world.”

Whittaker’s smooth baritone voice and songs of love, loss and yearning endeared him to audiences worldwide. His best known songs, where his voice was invariably accompanied by keening strings, included 1969’s Durham Town (the Leavin’), I Don’t Believe in If Anymore (1970), which reached No 8 in the UK, The Last Farewell (1971, reissued in 1975 to become a Top 20 hit in the US and a chart-topper in 11 countries), and Wind Beneath My Wings (1982).

He also had a trademark whistling ability, which he used to perform The Skye Boat Song in a duet with Des O’Connor, reaching the UK Top 10 in 1986.

Though he did not rack up chart hits as prolifically as the Beatles or Abba, his frequent TV and live appearances made him a household name in many countries. In the mid-1980s, he was acknowledged as Germany’s most successful recording artist. He made several recordings in German, singing the lyrics phonetically since he could not speak the language.

He was never fashionable, but never out of fashion with his audience. When he recorded a song such as Green, Green Grass of Home, it lacked the drama of Tom Jones’s version and his treatment of Song Sung Blue was homelier and more avuncular than Neil Diamond’s original, but it all became Whittaker music.

He liked to say he represented the “silent majority”. He defined this as “the kind of person who when he marries becomes a parent and a taxpayer and devotes himself to bringing up his children properly – all in all, a pretty straight-down-the-line guy”.

In the 70s, when rock music was dominating the record industry, Whittaker was dropped by his label, RCA, despite the fact that he had sold several million discs. He decided to market his 1977 album, All My Best, on TV. “I was the first act to go on TV with records,” he said. All My Best sold nearly 1m copies.

Born in Nairobi, Kenya, he was the son of Vi (nee Showan) and Edward Whittaker, who had owned a grocery shop in Staffordshire, but moved to a farm near Thika after Edward sustained serious injuries in a motorcycle accident and had been advised that a hot, dry climate would aid his recuperation.

Edward developed a new grocery business, while Vi worked as a teacher. Roger, who could speak Swahili before he learned English, attended the Prince of Wales school (now Nairobi school). He had begun learning the guitar at seven.

After school, where he had sung in the choir, he was called up for national service. He was posted to the Kenya Regiment, and for two years was involved in fighting the anti-colonial Mau Mau rebels. He subsequently attended the University of Cape Town to study medicine, but after 18 months he left and trained to be a teacher.

In 1959 he moved to Britain and enrolled at Bangor University in north Wales, where he studied zoology, biochemistry and marine biology. He also began to make his first moves into music, playing gigs to earn some cash and recording songs on flexi discs distributed with the university newspaper.

These provoked interest from Fontana records, and in 1962 his first single releases were The Charge of the Light Brigade and Steel Men.

He played concerts in Northern Ireland and appeared on the Ulster TV show This and That, and his career developed with constant touring around Britain.

“I learned how to entertain in the clubs of the north-east of England, the working men’s clubs where the miners go,” he said. In 1964 he married Natalie O’Brien.

By 1968 he was touring internationally and even had a TV showcase in the Soviet Union. At the 1968 Knokke song contest in Belgium, Whittaker performed If I Were a Rich Man, from the musical Fiddler on the Roof, and his own whistling composition, Mexican Whistler, helping Britain to win the competition, and both tunes were hits in France, the Netherlands and Belgium. In 1969 he scored his first UK Top 20 hit with Durham Town (the Leavin’), which reached No 12. Its easy-listening mixture of sentimentality and nostalgia, with its mournful references to war and bereavement, was typical of Whittaker’s work.

He revisited his African background in the documentary film Roger Whittaker in Kenya: A Musical Safari (1982), and in 1986 he published his autobiography (written with his wife), So Far, So Good. Three years later, he received the news that his parents had been attacked by a gang of robbers in Kenya, leaving his father dead and his mother brutally beaten. She subsequently moved back to Britain.

Outside music, Whittaker had a shrewd eye for antiques. His collection of paintings, furniture and works of art was auctioned by Sotheby’s in 1999 for more than £1m, at the same time as he sold his Herefordshire home and moved to Essex. Latterly he lived in the south of France.

He is survived by Natalie and by their five children, Emily, Lauren, Jessica, Guy and Alexander, 12 grandchildren, two great-grandchildren and his sister, Betty.

🔔 Roger Henry Brough Whittaker, singer and songwriter, born 22 March 1936; died 13 September 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[thiswasinevitableid]

Fall Fun (Indruck)

The runner up of the spooky creatures poll was "person indebted to a pumpkin demon."

Thanks to @bellafarallones2 for playing in this space on discord. This ended up being SFW, but if you need your horny pumpkin demon fix, I got you covered. And you can find even more plant demons here

Indrid Cold sits on the bedroom floor of his tiny studio apartment. The one that’s not up to code and he’s paying for under the table. The one he has just drawn green chalk markings all across the floor of. 

In retrospect, it was always going to come to this. 

Last year, the instant he turned 18, he moved out of his father’s huge, historic house and as far as his limited funds would carry him. Which turned out to be the other side of town. For awhile the combination from his pay at the Dollar General and commissions for his art were enough to keep him afloat. But now someone, he’s almost positive it’s his father, has bought the building he’s living in and jacking up the rent.

Indrid doesn’t have as many tools at his disposal as he’d like. But he’s got a strange  book he found at a thrift store and a willingness to get weird, and that will have to do for now. 

He finishes drawing the circles and lights the candles–orange–and reads the incantation. As the last word leaves his lips, the markings turn to vines, sprouting across the floorboards until he’s sitting in the middle of a pumpkin patch. A massive, orange pumpkin rises from the ground, nearly hits the ceiling before opening with a wet crack. 

A figure steps from within, and for a moment Indrid thinks he’s in a Washington Irving story; the man’s body is topped with a green pumpkin head, its eyes flickering with fire, and he’s clad in a green cape and riding clothes. 

The demon stares down at Indrid, then looks at his own feet. 

“Aw fuck, thought this spell’d been wiped from the books.”

“...excuse me?”

The demon picks pumpkin guts from his sleeves, “This entrance is messy as all get out. Wrote a new one where I just kinda poof into place. Guess you must’ve found a real old book.  Whelp, no point in dwellin’ on it; what can I do for you?”

Indrid cannot decide if the friendly demeanor or the southern accent is more wrong-footing, but he clears his throat and says, “I wish to make a pact, great and terrible one.”

“Okay, shoot.” The demon sets his gloved hands on his hips. 

“I…I want you to make it so that no one owns this building, but that no one makes me own it and, I don’t know, pay taxes on it or something. I just want to live here and be left alone.”

The demon looks around, then makes his way to the door and flips the light switch, leaving Indrid squinting under the bare bulbs.

“Hate to say it, slim, but it kinda looks like no one owns it now.”

“Yes, it does give that impression. But right now it costs me $800 a month with the promise of climbing more.”

The demon whistles, an odd, low tone, “Damn. Yeah, I can do that. But you gotta…uh, one sec” He pulls a faded, green book from his pocket and quickly scans the pages, “lemme see…looks like the best I can do is that favor in exchange for a year's worth of service to me. Bit steep, but we got brackets for this stuff that we gotta follow.”

“Done.” It’ll take him that long to save up for a move anyway. 

The demon holds out a hand, and when Indrid shakes it he feels vines and wood beneath, not skin. As carved eyes flash green flame, he’s glad he didn’t ask for more. 

“Deal’s in place. I’ll be around in a day or two. Gotta figure out how to put you to work.” He winks, then sinks into the floor with a “see you around, slim.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

“You gonna come hang out tonight?” Barclay slips an extra cookie into Indrids’ bag as he picks up his order.

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you for offering but I will be busy.” 

His friend looks worried enough that Indrid almost feels bad for the fact that what he’ll be busy doing is staring at the wall and wondering what the point of it all is. 

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Aubrey helped Ned clear out some Saturday Night Dead videos, so who knows what she’ll bring to watch.”

Indrid promises to think about it, then trudges home in the chilly air to a chillier apartment. Then it feels as if he’s in a late summer garden, and when he turns the demon is watching him. 

“Got a job for you.”

“Alright.” Indrid tries not to flinch as the creature raises his hand. A snap like breaking branches produces nothing but a cluster of new groceries on his counter. 

“You want me to bake for you?” Indrid picks up the box of pumpkin spice cake mix.

“Not quite. See, what’s gonna happen is you’re gonna make those, put ‘em all in this” a pumpkin shaped cake carrier appears “and go to your buddy’s house. You’re also gonna stop by your neighbor on the way, the nice guy with the funky metal goat statue in his yard.”

Indrid turns, can of cream cheese frosting in hand, “Apologies, dark one, but I’m not sure I see the point of this.”

The demon crosses his arms, “These last few days have been normal, right? How your days usually go?”

“Yes…”

“Yeah, see, you keep up like this, you’re just gonna shrivel up like a sapling in the sun.” The green coat rustles as he steps forward, “you’re lonely, slim. Don’t take demon powers to see that. Or that there are folks who don’t want you to feel that way. So” the demon tosses him an apron with a Death's Head Moth printed on the front, “get that oven on. And quit callin’ me ‘dark one’ and shit like that. You can just call me Duck; it’s a nickname.”

Indrid has a multitude of questions, but decides it’s better not to pester an entity that can turn his veins to vines. 

For some reason, Duck hangs around while he bakes, creaking and gliding from one end of the studio to the other, not speaking but not making Indrid feel as if he has to fill the silence. When he notices that he’s running out of time before movie night, the demon returns and perchings on the kitchen table as vines emerge to help Indrid frost the cupcakes. 

The demon dissipates as soon as he touches the front door. Indrid leaves a smaller container of cupcakes for his neighbor across the way, and the small burn he got from the oven is worth it a hundred times over when Barclay practically rips the door off its hinges letting him in. 

It’s only when he returns home, tired and happy, that he notices the stained, white paint of the bathroom is now a light, homey orange. Like candlelight in a window. 

It makes him smile. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

“Duck, can I ask you something?”

“Sure”  The green Jack’O Lantern by his chair replies, soft enough that only he can hear. 

“Why have me do this?” He gestures to the library's fall fair, where he’s currently under a pop-up tent next to a table of face-painting supplies. The children's librarian had been very excited when he’d volunteered his services; apparently none of the other volunteers felt confident in their artistic talents. 

“Are you not havin’ fun?”

“No. Nono, it’s actually rather nice. I was worried it would be overwhelming but it being outside has kept me from feeling trapped. And it’s fun to make the kids happy. I just don’t see how this benefits you.”

“It don’t. Not directly anyway. I was the god of harvest festivals once upon a time. Never cared much for the worship and such; I just liked watching people get all these little moments of joy outta things like pumpkins or turnips. Hell, even leaves. So I try’n do things to encourage that these days, too. Other demons might get all high on the fact they got power, but that’s never been my style. I’m a simple being.”

Indrid smirks, “That grazing board you made me spend three hours assembling yesterday begs to differ. I never should have let you know about Pinterest.”

“Was it or was it not the right thing to eat while watchin’ every single Halloween movie?”

“Oh it definitely was.” He raises one of his brushes, “but maybe I should paint you as a bunny or something, just to keep you humble.”

A vine sneaks through the back of the chair and playfully pinches him, “Careful, slim, hate to have to get handsy in front of all these people.”

Indrid stifles a laugh, “Alright, alright, fair enough.”

“....If you wanted to paint flames on me that’d be sick as hell.”

He dips his brush in the yellow paint, “Your wish is my command.”

—------------------------------------------------------------

Duck’s never been accidentally summoned before. Usually he always has time to at least toss on the robe and make himself look like he wasn’t just in the garden or petting his cat when they called. But tonight, he’s just come in from checking on his fall beds, still in his t-shirt and tattered jeans,  when he’s yanked upward and around into the human world. 

He can by smell alone that he’s in Indrid’s place, and as he wobbles he spots the bags of Halloween candy the man bought the night before (“it’s still a few days from now, but I like to make sure I have the good stuff to give away”). What he doesn’t see is his human. 

“‘Drid? You home?”

A ragged gasp comes from the mattress in the far corner of the room, and a face peeks out from  what he assumed was just a pile of blankets. 

“Duck? What” Indrid sniffs and wipes his eyes, “what are you doing here?”

“No fuckin’ clue.” He kneels by the bed, “but I got a hunch that it’s got to do with you hiding away like a bulb waiting for spring.”

Worryingly, Indrid whimpers at that and retreats most of the way back into the blanket. Duck rests a hand on his forehead, petting his silver hair. Without his gloves, it’s obvious how much of his form is plant matter masquerading as a man. But Indrid doesn’t flinch, and so Duck uses the ends of his fingers to gently scritch his scalp. 

“What happened?”

“I, my, my father turned up at the Lodge where Barclay works. A-aubrey and some of my other friends were there too and he yelled at all of them for helping me. He even threatened Barclay to his face, he, I think he was trying to goad him into a fight so he could call the cops on him. Mama threw him out but I, when Barclay called me I could tell how upset and scared he was and it, it’s all my fault.” His face scrunches up and he burrows, without hesitation, against Duck, trying not to cry. 

Duck knows he’s never known a human who he thought looked cute even when he was crying, but now is not the time to bring that up. Instead he wraps his arms around him and adds some vines for extra security. 

“Hey, hey slim it’s okay. It ain’t your fault.”

“But it is. He wouldn’t have done that if it weren’t for me”

“For all we know he would have because he’s a huge fuckin asshole.”

“I just…I’m bad luck. I’m always causing my friends trouble, they’d be, be better off not knowing me.” He’s clinging to Duck’s shirt, and there’s now dirt on his cheek from where it’s been pressed to him. 

“That ain’t true. Know I’m better having you in my life, and I bet they feel the same.”

A final, shuddery sob leaves the human. Then he says, flatly, “I would like to go to bed now.”

“Okay” Duck releases him, “you want me to tuck you in. These are great for that.” The vines wiggle but Indrid just blinks at them. 

“No. Thank you. I will see you soon.”

Duck cups his cheek and wishes him goodnight. Then he stays in the shadows, imperceptible, until he’s certain his human is sound asleep. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is drunk on pumpkin spice BuzzBalls and practically passed out on a tombstone. 

Still not the worst birthday he’s had. 

Barclay had suggested he come over once trick or treating was done and join everyone for a Halloween/birthday party. He declined. It’s safer for them if he celebrates out here alone. 

He’s drunk enough that it feels like the ground is floating away. And like the world smells like the singed innards of a Jack’O Lantern.

Wait

“Duck?”

“Yep. Came by to bring you some special glow in the dark pumpkins and got kinda worried when I couldn’t find you.” The demon’s voice is blossom-soft as he lowers Indrid into his bed. He didn’t know Duck could teleport him as well. 

“M’fine, I promise.”

“‘Drid, it’s not even 7 pm and you’re falling down.” There’s a wooden buzz, then Duck says, “wait, it’s your birthday?”

Indrid sits up, finds the demon looking at the phone he left on the table.

“Yes. It has never been much fun to celebrate.”

There’s a flurry of vines and leaves, a burst of life, then Indrid’s apartment is full of lit pumpkins and halloween lights, making the walls orange and purple. Duck holds out a small, brown box. Indrid opens it. Inside are gauges for his ears; they’re burnished and beautifully organic looking, as if Duck made them of petrified pumpkin shell. 

“Figure I can do my part to change that.”

Indrid holds the box, looking up at Duck’s strange face. If someone like Duck cares about him, wants him to be happy, even when he’s seen him so pathetic…

“I…I want to go see my friends. I don’t want to celebrate alone.”

“I can help with that.” Duck kneels, rests the cool surface of his forehead against Indrid’s own. After a moment, he feels far more sober. And much braver.

“I don’t suppose there’s a way you could come with me? I like you so much and I want the others to get to know you too…”

“Gimme one sec. Uh, this might be kinda weird.” Duck sets his fingers into his eyes and mouth and pulls. There’s a hollow crunch and crack, and then the pumpkin splits and falls away. In its place is a round, human face with dark hair, a crooked smile, and beautiful, green eyes. 

“Oh” Indrid gasps. 

Duck smiles, “Don’t get too used to it, slim. Takes a lot of power to do this, so I can only pull it off now and then.” He looks down at his hands and the overalls he appeared in, “guess we’ll just tell ‘em my costume was a scarecrow or something. But, uh, how do we explain how we know each other?”

Indrid cautiously leans forward and kisses him. There’s a faint taste of smoke when the demon smiles into the kiss and slips his fingers into Indrid’s hair. 

“Perhaps we could introduce you as my boyfriend?”

Vines hug him close as Duck kisses him again and whispers, “Yeah, slim, let’s do that.”

[writermuses]

About Emirhan Halil

Age: 30

FC: Alperen Duymaz

Fears: Becoming a POW; slow, painful death

Height: 6'0

Role model(s): His brother, Yasin

Things they hate: Capitalism

They will love you if... you wait about 15 years to let him realize y'all have been in a relationship?

Favorite film(s): Kingsman, The Drop, and secretly Testament of Youth

Favorite tv show(s): Broadchurch or Happy Valley

Abdullah and Fadime Halil were newlyweds, young and in love. Abdullah felt lucky to finish university and to obtain a government job as an accountant. When the 1977 elections held no victor; however, he could feel the tensions rise in the city. One by one coworkers fled or disappeared or they asked him for money and favors. Arriving to work to find his desk in disarray and records missing, he called home and instructed Fadime to pack their bags. To his surprise she was quietly already doing so, a terrifying note left on the door. Abdullah, despite the lowly appearance of his job, had come across evidence that could sway support in a coup d’état. His choices were to lose his honor or his life; moreover, failure to decide fast enough would result in his and Fadime’s death.

The decision to seek asylum in the United States was not an easy one, but Abdullah had hoped he could find another accounting job in a big city. Having heard the great New York City immigration stories of old, he thought it would be a nice place to start his new life. It was a long process to be approved to leave Turkey and a longer process still to become U.S. citizens. Abdullah had tried and tried again to find a respectable job as an accountant, but no one would take him, prejudice and politics slammed door after door in his face. With family back home expecting him to pay their way to America too, he took a job as a cab driver and Fadime cleaned houses. After a few smart remarks, Abdullah wiggled his way into an accounting position for the cab company, giving it the opportunity to expand and for him to get the letters of reference he was lacking in his field so that he could get that ‘respectable’ job.

If there was one thing the immigrants never pictured it was a life lived paycheck to paycheck. With time it became more complicated with both of their parents crammed into their one bedroom apartment. While this provided Fadime and Abdullah with free childcare, by the time their third child was on the way, they had enough and Abdullah applied to jobs and pled with people to pass his name along. He did the taxes of people in the building, offered his services for minimal fees for the shops on their streets, and, then he got an unexpected call for a phone interview. The town of Cape Elizabeth, Maine was looking for an assessor and a friend of a friend had heard of him, a hardworking family man looking to get out of the big city. Naturally, they took the plunge.

Moving to Cape Elizabeth proved to be an absolute blessing. The government job provided them with temporary housing until they could buy a home on Abdullah’s new salary. That salary and the cost of living gave them a three level home where the grandparents took the basement, family time was shared in the center, and the upstairs rooms gave a master to Abdullah and Fadime, a soft pink room to their eldest child, Ayşe, a room off equal size and painted green to their middle child, Yasin, and a small nursery to their incoming boy, Emirhan. Unfortunately, life could not be so simple for the Halils and their extended family. On November 3rd, a heavy snow had fallen and as the ambulance took Fadime and Abdullah to the hospital for the birth of Emirhan, the crowded station wagon carrying all four of Emirhan’s grandparents and his two siblings lost control and crashed into the woods. The ambulance drove on, sending out a call for help as the stress sent the couple into further panic.

Only Ayşe and Yasin had survived the crash, but the trauma of sitting in a freezing car with blood and death of their love ones haunted them. Ayşe, who was nearly ten, suffered from night terrors. Yasin, at age six, began to act out or refused to speak at all, and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason behind his extreme mood swings. While Abdullah continued to work, Fadime stayed at home, caring for the children to the best of her ability, and pouring as much hope and love into Emirhan as possible. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, a happy baby. She had tried to have him made aware of his grandparents by wrapping him in their clothes and telling him stories, but once he could crawl he seemed to roam around too much for such things. Fadime packed up the rooms and left little of their memories out, which seemed to help Ayşe and Yasin. Then, Emirhan began to talk and the family was given a great shock.

Despite Ayşe and Yasin speaking solely English, Emirhan’s first words were in Turkish. He would walk to the shelf and touch the pictures and say “Merhaba dede!” or “Seni özledik”. While some parents may have found that sweet, the Halils were staunch Turkish Muslims that believed in Jinn and the Evil Eye. They feared for their son and put talismans in his room and Qu’ran verses in the common areas of the home. As he grew up and became more curious, Emirhan stumbled across the boxes of his grandparents belongings and found himself fascinated by them. He snuck item after item back to his room. Where he found stories and communication in the objects, relaying that to his family had concerning responses. For example, he brought up Dede’s watch and the inscription on the back, a verse about love and how it had been recited at Fadime and Abdullah’s wedding. They were surprised to hear it, but then more concerned when Emirhan looked to his siblings and said Dede wanted Ayşe and Yasin to carry love and happiness in their lives too. Was it wisdom or a curse?

They hoped their son was observant and intuitive, but they scolded him when these things happened in public to strangers. Emirhan learned slowly to keep his psychometry to himself, his own parents refusing to believe it, despite the evidence. The Halil children went through school and were considered to be odd. This led to different lifestyle choices and interests for each of the children, but also increased the bond between them, despite their age differences. However, Emirhan remained the sort of odd child out. Regardless of people believing in Heaven or Hell, ghosts and demons, a spirit world or intuition, Emirhan believed in what he saw or heard and always trusted his gut. In the end, that decision, despite his decision to not discuss his belief in psychometry (once he could put a word to the skill) would save lives and put others at peace.

With no fear of death and little interest in spending an excessive amount of money or time in school, Emirhan chose to be a mortician. However, to prevent being a burden on his father, who was already paying for the tuition of his older siblings, he chose to do so in the military. The idea alone terrified Abdullah and Fadime, but they let him go because they knew he was too strong willed to be told no. With their consent, he enlisted in the United States Navy, completing his training at Fort Lee, Virginia in 2011 before finding out he would immediately be sent to Afghanistan. Emirhan was fluent in Turkish and English, understood Arabic and could read it, and he was competent in Spanish, which he had taken in high school. Knowing he would be going to the Middle East encouraged him to learn Pashto and Dari, two similar languages, and to perfect his Arabic.

On paper, the job description was this: In a small unit of two or three Hospital Corpsmen and with volunteer security or local support, Emirhan would search areas for hasty or unmarked graves, unburied dead, personal effects, and identification media. They would also prepare, preserve, and ship the remains. This meant that he would frequently be in danger and then travel out of Afghanistan to Germany, Korea, or Puerto Rico, depending on the circumstances of his findings. In most cases, his trips were back to Germany and the remains made the next trip without him. As a result, Emirhan decided, after a couple of years of living on the Ramstein Air Base when he wasn’t in Afghanistan, he decided to rent a flat in Frankfurt.

Given the significantly higher rates of PTSD in his field, the military morticians were given longer and more regular periods of leave. Emirhan regularly uses these breaks to attend funerals in the states, leaving letters on the graves of those that have passed, to be found by the families. Passing on what he is given has largely been his way of coping with the terror of the world he lives in, but he does still have moments of overwhelming empathy that have impacted his personal life. From shaking a blind date’s hand and brushing against a bracelet that belonged to her mother, Emir could find himself catching flashes of a person’s personal life or the sorrow of a grandmother long gone. Other times he could be carefully moving through an antique store where his date had insisted they visit so he could get a second chair or more lamps, his fingers could brush the keys of a piano and he could be overwhelmingly compelled to sit and play. Then, despite never having training, if he indulged the urge the tune would come out. His partners had always, eventually, come to the conclusion that he was emotionally unstable or weird.

Despite the difficulties of his job, his interests, and the conflicts with his faith, Emirhan explored the world with hope and optimism. From learning Spanish guitar in Catalonia to praying in the Hagia Sophia before exploring the streets his parents grew up on in Turkey, traveling on the Lattice opened his eyes. Emirhan believes there is a delicate balance of cruelty and love in the world and that through travel, the balance can be tipped for good. While you may see him pausing awkwardly while exploring a museum, crying when he picks up items that spilled out of a stranger’s purse, or rubbing his temple as he tries to recall something he’d just said in a language he doesn’t actually know, Emirhan prides himself in his life having purpose.

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2023-07-03

There's situations but I'm handling it and everything will be fine

Listening: Missed the latest song from We Kill Cowboys, Pink Codeine. I love We Kill Cowboys but they do most of their music live and release albums almost never, and even when I still lived in South Africa they mostly play around Cape Town, so I have not heard much of their new shit barring what lands up online.

They changed labels to Mongrel Records recently. Mongrel handles a lot of the heavy rock stuff around ZA, some good bands including Acid Magus, Springbok Nude Girls, All This For Nothing, and Ruff Majik.

Reading: Kaiju Preservation Society, sci-fi fluff from Scalzi. A guy down on his luck during The COVID gets recruited to go along as grunt labour on a scientific expedition to parallel universe Greenland, where there are giant kaiju roaming around in tropical forest.

Very loose spec bio that is nonetheless fun to read about, Kaiju are giant nuclear-powered walking biomes covered in various parasites, commensalists, and mutualists that scour the nearby area for food and give some to the Kaiju in exchange for mobility and protection. Like if mycorhizzal fungi were wolves.

At its best it is a light workplace comedy on a research base, and a moderate action romp. There is a story but it's not anything special. It is fun that our Protagonist has a literature masters and is there mostly to move heavy objects. I enjoy the feeling behind scientific expedition living and I'm still a little bitter about not getting on the Antarctic expedition so I enjoy reading stories about similar environments.

Very much "I wrote this in COVID when all I could think about was COVID and I wanted to imagine a guy for whom pretty much everything goes okay." I enjoyed it enough, with modern sci-fi style snark and snappy one liners.

Watching: Nothing, fell behind on the Fast and Furious watch because it's hard to write about #4, since it's just #1 again.

Also assembling a bunch of Ikea furniture, I have a home office desk now and more than the bare minimum space to stash clothing. In a month or two I'll also have a desktop computer, but that's future me problems.

Making: Made bread as part of what will hopefully be an ongoing project to improve my breadmaking. I can almost always make something vaguely serviceable but it's always pretty random whether I can get bread to behave the way I want it to.

Playing: Also very little, did another bonus level or two in Terra Nil. The challenges are much more interesting in the bonus levels, they force you to consider some much longer view tasks like "leave enough low lying soil intact for wetlands" and "manage river access for your cleanup" but still not too challenging on normal mode.

Tools and Equipment: When I was choosing a kettle I insisted on one that had a minimum boil volume of no more than 500ml, the one my parents have has a rated minimum of 800ml which is positively wasteful when I mostly boil a single cup for tea. Anyway the one I got has a 250ml minimum boil which is so good. You can do one cup of tea and drain it basically dry. Winning. Great for my sense of accomplishment.