#utility hats would be so penny's thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kitkatopinions · 3 years

Note

Mercury Black.

Mercury for the RWBY asks post! One of my favorites in the Villains Group!

My top three ships for the character

I’ve shipped some pretty weird things for Mercury via fan fiction, so this list is a little bit weird, but uh... Mercury/Yang could have such an interesting dynamic and relationship if Mercury gets redeemed and works hard to be better. Another fun one is Whitley/Mercury. I’m sorry lol, but while writing a fic with a mutual wherein Mercury and Whitley were forced to interact as Watts was living in Schnee Manor and using Jacques, and the two of them ran away from their abusers together and had to rely on each other to survive... I started kinda shipping these two! It only works in AU fics right now (and was less weird when I thought Whitley was fifteen and Mercury was sixteen/seventeen.) Also, I don’t hate Mercury/Emerald. I tend to see them more as siblings, but dang, there’s some good artwork that has made me start seeing the chemistry there.

My three least favorite ships for the character

Mercury/Oscar is... Not my favorite. XD They’d have older brother, younger brother energy only and that’s it. Nora/Mercury is something I don’t think would work at all. And Adam/Mercury... Ew, I mean, it’s kinda ew. But I literally had to look up a list of ships and go ‘I don’t hate that’ for a lot of them to find three I definitely don’t like. He’s pretty easy to ship with a lot of people!

My biggest criticism for the character

There isn’t enough of it. The character Mercury does have is pretty good, but he’s used so sparingly that I almost forget he’s a character at times. He should’ve had a bigger role in the story, they should’ve put more emphasis on his relationships with more than just Emerald, they shouldn’t have dropped him out of season eight before he could do anything. We need to know more about him and see him vulnerable and have him be relevant to the plot again, or he’s in danger of becoming boring.

My favorite thing about the character

I love his versatility. I already talked about him being easy to ship with a lot of people, but it’s more than that. The knowledge that he just goes with things even if they’re crazy (”I killed my dad and then this lady showed up talking about destiny and took me to a castle with a magic demon woman so here I am”) makes him a character that can be put into a lot of situations. You want to get him redeemed? Throw him into a situation where he’s with the right people and away from the wrong ones and his character naturally starts adjusting to fit that. You want him to be sad and whumped? Isolate him with someone like Tyrian or Watts and let him suffer. Want him to be a hero from the get go? If Ironwood or Qrow had found him instead of Cinder, he can be! He can go to Beacon or be in Atlas as the friend of Penny! He’d adjust to that! Want him to be a wildcard grayer scale character who isn’t on the heroes side or Salem’s side? If Roman and Neo had found him instead of Cinder, he can be that! He can view Roman as a father figure. He could’ve run away from home when he was younger, found Ren and Nora, and become attached to them. He could’ve been friends with Team SSSN if he’d been sent to Haven before moving to Beacon. He could’ve been found by Raven and the tribe and become attached to them. He’s a character you can put into almost any scenario on any side and it’d work!

A headcanon I have about them

In my headcanons, Mercury was raised isolated and didn’t go to school, so Emerald saying he’s socially awkward wasn’t a lie at all. Mercury can’t hold a real conversation with anyone outside of talking about plans and illegal action... And Emerald, who he doesn’t want to admit is his best friend. Also when he went to Beacon, he started getting interested in all kinds of hobbies and things he’d never heard about before. He liked going to the library because there were always kids reading and playing games that looked interesting. He loved checking out the booths at the Vytal Festival and trying foods and wondering what the hell cotton candy even was. Emerald was constantly rolling her eyes about it, but she secretly found it endearing and it made her feel a little less cynical herself.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

He needs to be involved. I don’t know why he constantly got shafted, but he should’ve had a proper second fight with Yang, he could’ve gotten dropped into Atlas with Watts instead of Tyrian (or along with Tyrian.) And I know this is a bit of an unpopular opinion, but I think Mercury should’ve been the one to start his redemption in season eight and Emerald should’ve been given time to work through her Cinder issues some and get redeemed maybe in season nine. Like I said, Mercury is versatile, he never had someone who he was committed to and believed in amongst Salem’s followers outside of Emerald, he didn’t care about the cause, and he’s deeply connected to the trauma of being abused by his father. Like many Merc fans, I think he should’ve gotten a wake up call when he saw Oscar getting abused, and tried to convince Emerald to leave with him, and I think Emerald should have said she had to stay and try to talk to Cinder about what she’d heard Oscar tell Hazel. Mercury is reluctant, but agrees, and he’s the one who starts escaping with Oscar. Yang’s frustration and hesitance in trusting him would be more personal, but at the same time, it wouldn’t be Penny’s murderer that everyone (and Penny!) is working with so easily, then, either.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Mercury (mythology) was the god of messengers, thieves, commerce, travelers, and trade. His predecessor in Greek mythology, Hermes, was a messenger of the gods and called ‘a divine trickster.’ If that sounds weird, it’s because it is. If that sounds like it fits more with Emerald, that’s because it does. Emerald, the thief, who steals from sales people and takes the reins in every deception and most conversations with other people, who carried out Cinder’s orders from Salem and was arguably one of the biggest contributors to the Fall of Beacon (messenger of gods,) who was the one to tell Salem why they’d failed in Haven, and then later was the one delivering Oscar back to the group and the first face Ironwood sees when he realizes he’s been tricked by Ruby’s group. Emerald could be argued as the messenger role here. I truly believe that they made Mercury based off of the god of Roman/Greek mythology only because he has special shoes. Mercury does connect to Hermes/Mercury as a guide to the dead, leading them to the Underworld. As an assassin, this is treated literally in the RWBY world, but he isn’t really utilized in that way! Other than murdering his abusive father, Mercury’s direct kill count is at one the same as Emerald (who is Penny’s murderer, period.) The only other connection is a very lose one - Hermes’ role as a boundary crosser reflects Mercury’s loose morals and his easy slide into villainy, but also his potential to cross over to another side at the drop of a hat as I already established. As I already said, I’d have Mercury either replace Tyrian when Watts goes to Atlas, or I’d have him join the two, and act as an assassin there, increasing his role of guiding the dead to the Underworld. And having him be the one to deliver Ozpin/Oscar makes him more of a messenger of the gods, but I would also give him some important information about Salem to deliver to Ozpin as well. And I’d also have Salem ask him and Emerald to tell her what had happened at Haven and have him play more of a role when Cinder went to talk to Raven in the mid seasons. I’d have Mercury used to deliver information from Cinder to Roman in the early seasons, and just over all increase his connections to the various big names around him and give him a lot of information. I might also have Watts add some sort of Iron Man/Shadow the Hedgehog sort of flight capabilities to his boots in the seventh and eighth season sort of like Penny’s flight abilities just to get the whole ‘winged shoes’ thing. But I’d make sure that his flight is sporadic and rough-around-the-edges, worse than Penny’s, and something he can’t always rely on or use for long. Idk, I just think that’d fit with his personality really well.

14 notes · View notes

dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

Text

Ship Repairs

This actually happened... mid-October, but somehow I never transferred this chat log, so HERE IT IS NOW. Alastor helps Sir Pentious repair his airship; they take a break in the middle for a picnic lunch and chatter about things like magic and personal boundaries and conquering Hell, you know, normal friend things.

Sir Pentious

Work on the airship continued, now with the benefit of having a giant tentacle monster loading crates into the creation. It was almost complete, with decor really being the finishing touches needed. Pentious would have time to work on mechanisms and making sure everything *there* was in tip top shape... And with Alastor here, it seemed things were taking no time at all.

Other than the fact when Pentious would demand various tools, he wouldn't call them by their actual names, but rather whatever he'd come up with, which likely made the entire cooperative experience much more infuriating.

But now it was a break for lunch! Tea, sandwiches and cuts of meat. Nothing overly sweet this time. There's some brandy on hand if necessary.

Alastor

On the bright side, Alastor was learning an entirely new vocabulary of made-up tool names. Learn something new every day, right?

"Now, I'm no engineer—but it looks to me like you're gonna be done here in just another few days, is that right?" In lieu of any sort of proper etiquette, he'd started spearing cuts of meat with one claw to eat.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious sips at his tea, watching Alastor with one opened eye. And at least fifteen others.

"YESs, THAT IS THE PLAN. SHOULD I BE ABLE TO KEEP TO SCHEDULE, BUT YOU KNOW. THINGSs COULD CHANGE AT A MOMENT'Ss NOTICE."

Alastor

"Of course! All schedules are tentative down here." He says so flippantly enough; but there's real nervousness buried beneath it. This ship was smashed twice in short sequence; there are, he has no doubt, overlords and other heavy hitters who must smell blood in the water.

He pushes his concerns down for the moment; he doesn't plan on leaving without addressing them. "Even so. Good to see this thing in almost working order again."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious has definitely *thought* about such things, but also.... He's been pleasantly distracted by Valera that he hasn't worked himself to second death trying to fix the airship.

"YES, WELL, THANKS ARE IN ORDER. IT HELPS TO HAVE MORE HANDS ON DECK! OR TENTACLES, AS IT WERE, HAHA."

Good to have them NOT ripping his ship apart, again.

Alastor

"Any time!" He half bows in acknowledgment of the thanks. "It's about time said tentacles did something *useful* around here, anyway."

Good to not be ripping the ship apart again.

Sir Pentious

He's going to take a sandwich and start biting... Just little bites. Mentlegen.

"OH? IS DESTROYING YOUR ENEMIES NOT USEFUL?"

Alastor

"I've never considered you an enemy." The answer's out before it occurs to Alastor that Sir Pentious was quite likely including *other* potential enemies among the pool of his monstrous friend's possible targets. "And barely anyone down here that I DO consider an enemy has hardware big enough to necessitate calling him out! So—no, not much use for him, really." SMOOTH RECOVERY. He's going to stuff half a sandwich in his mouth and hope Sir Pentious focuses on the latter half of his statement.

Sir Pentious

..... <:looking:744577544283750520>

He is Looking at you Alastor.

..... <:squint:548214854138200065>

"... *YES*, WELL. FOR SOMEONE YOU DO NOT CONSSSIDER AN ENEMY, YOU CERTAINLY HAVE A WAY OF TAKING THE STEAM OUT OF HIS ENGINES." Pentious two of those times are entirely your fault. (Maybe even three.)

Alastor

For the next thirty seconds Alastor's number one priority is pretending that didn't cut him to the bone. He arches an eyebrow. "Sometimes someone you don't consider an enemy aims a cannon with a barrel wider than you're tall at your face, and you find you don't have many options but to aim something bigger back."

Brandy sounds better than tea right about now. He's gonna snag that bottle and pour some out. "I could've dodged, I suppose. It would have made me look bad and the hotel would've taken the shot—but I COULD have." A shrug.

Sir Pentious

His tail curls a little more around their picnic area. He's so much longer now. Pentious closes his eyes, grinning just before sipping his tea.

"I WOULDN'T WANT YOU TO GO DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT, IF I AM BEING COMPLETELY FRANK! WHERE'SSSS THE FUN IN THAT? SSSTILL, YOU DEFENDING A HOTEL? YOUR *LUST* FOR ENTERTAINMENT REALLY DOES MAKE YOU UNPREDICTABLE. WHY, YOU COULD TURN HELL UPSIDE DOWN IF IT MEANT OBSERVING THE BUSINESS VENTURES OF A RATHER AMBITIOUS INSECT!"

This is a. Compliment? Or a drag? It's uncertain, but Penny is looking very smug about it.

Alastor

That's one crisis dodged. "MY lust for entertainment, you say! Right after saying you'd rather a fight with me be fun than easy! I think you've got a bit of entertainment lust yourself!"

He's gonna take it as a neutral statement of fact. "Ha! Maybe. I don't know about turning Hell *upside down,* though—I'm better at knocking things over than setting them back upright. Now, if anything around here is capable of turning Hell upside down..." He gestures in a way meant to take in the airship. "And not for any mere insect, either."

Sir Pentious

*PURRRRRRR*. That's such a loud Cobra purring. Look at him preening, as he brushes his hood over his shoulder, and holds his talons just below his chin... He is so pretty, look at him.

"YES, INDEED, ONLY A MAN OF MY CALIBER, A DEMON SUCH AS I HAS THE CAPABILITY, THE *DRIVE* TO CONQUER AND RULE ALL OF HELL! AND ONCE I FULLY CRACK THE CAPABILITIES OF INFERNAL ENERGIES, I WILL BE UNSTOPPABLE!"

Alastor

Alastor is Looking. A very pretty snake—and a *proud* snake, which just enhances the prettiness.

He's Looking too much. He's started leaning toward Sir Pent. He hastily leans back. "Now, what's this 'infernal energy' business you've been up to lately? Because it sounds to *me* like you're trying to tap into the same power source us magic users have been utilizing." He wiggles his fingers, *magic users*—alchemical and astrological symbols dance in red around his fingertips. "Is that about right?"

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious seems to be somewhat acclimated to Alastor leaning towards him--his own head is slowly leaning away, unconscious of his own actions therein. Personal space.

His claws wave away the symbols, and Pentious grins at him, "MORE OR LESS, YES. THERE IS A LOT OF ENERGY THAT COURSES THROUGH THE GROUND AND THE VERY AIR IN HELL. WHEN A NEW SINNER ARRIVES, THERE IS ALWAYS A FLUCTUATION IN THE AMOUNT OF INFERNAL ENERGY AT ANY TIME!! I HAVE COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT IT IS *TIED* TO SSSOULS, AND THAT THE EYES GROWING AROUND HELL (AT LEAST THE ONES I DIDN'T PUT THERE) ARE LOADED WITH INFERNAL ENERGY."

Alastor

Alastor certainly isn't unconscious of being leaned away from. He suppresses a wince. Right. That's something else he needs to bring up. And sooner rather than later.

But the self-consciousness only has a chance to last a couple of seconds as he's dragged back into the fantastical idea of channeling Hell's own energy through machinery.

"And YOU'VE figured out how to—what, convert that energy into electricity? Or just power machinery on the energy itself, unconverted?" Whichever Sir Pentious was doing, he'd certainly demonstrated the concept respectably enough to Alastor—channeling Alastor's own energy to power that absurdly big gun. "I can only imagine what kind of power you're going to have at your disposal once you've scaled that up! Turning manipulating the power of souls from a skill into a science... Why, who WOULDN'T you have the ability to overpower?" He's already busy mentally measuring up Sir Pentious's odds against Lucifer. No, probably not yet; but getting ever closer.

Sir Pentious

Oh, look at him. He's *preening* again. Every time he's praised and uplifted like this, he just looks like he's *so* proud of himself.

"OH, YES, UNFILTERED FOR NOW! BUT I WILL LIKELY WORK ON WAYS TO FILTER OUT THE IMPURITIES... IT IS SSSUCH AN ABUNDANT ENERGY SSOURCE THAT WHEN IT COLLIDESS WITH SOMETHING... MORE EYES ARE FORMED, AND THUS, MORE PATCHES OF ENERGY. OF COURSE, ONLY A DEMON SUCH AS *I* WOULD THINK TO UTILIZE IT!"

Alastor

"I certainly haven't seen anyone else trying!" Which is something, because plenty could have. *Alastor* could have—he himself works with that energy every day, it's the power behind his magic and even his machinery.

But Alastor has only ever used it as he's always used magic, tamed through his intent and his will. Like trying to move water from a river to a pond by cupping it in his hands—and here's Sir Pentious building a canal.

"How much have you looked into technology that's already powered by souls?" Alastor summons up his cane and holds it across their spread of food, microphone out. It rolls its eye as it tries to make eye contact with all of Sir Pentious's. "It works just like any other microphone—but it's not running on a battery, it's running on me. I couldn't begin to tell you how. The way I see it, either you already know that part and you can tell me—or you don't know, and studying it could give your research a boost."

Sir Pentious

Alastor's question has him looking over at the deerman with a bit of a squint. Ah, this topic... He'd attempted to keep his knowledge of this kind of thing on the *down-low*, but it didn't surprise him all that much that Alastor of all people would be more aware of it. Sir Pentious looks more closely at the cane, studying its singular eye, and he takes his hat off, holding the accessory close to it.

"IT IS RATHER A MIX OF THE TWO, ACTUALLY. I DO NOT FULLY UNDERSTAND IT, MYSELF, BUT I DO KNOW THAT OUR BODIES, THE STATES OF OUR SOULS AND MINDS HAVE AN IMPACT ON THE HELLSCAPE AROUND US, OR AT THE VERY LEAST, OUR *PERSONAL* HELLSCAPES."

The Hat is Looking at the Cane. .... Big grin!

Alastor

"Well, do you need another test subject to help you understand more? I'm connected to the cane, I can manipulate radios, I've got limited skill with some other machines... some of it's just broadcasting signals, but some of it's magic. Hell, I've got radio parts IN me—but you're going to have to take me on a couple more picnics before I agree to any dissections!" Look at him so eager to offer assistance, please let him help take over Hell, oh please, oh please— "I'm sure your research is miles beyond anything I'm built to do, but if there's anything I can naturally do more efficiently that you can copy—why reinvent the wheel?"

The cane winks at the hat. It's just a blink. There's no actual way to tell it's winking.

Sir Pentious

HMMMM. Pentious' tongue flicks, and he suddenly leans in VERY close. His hand reaches to grab Alastor's arm, and he begins inspecting him.

"YOU ARE A LITTLE *THIN* TO BE IMPALED WITH MY SIPHONING TOOL. IT WOULD GO RIGHT THROUGH YOU, BUT PERHAPSSSS I COULD WORK ON MAKING SOMETHING SSSMALLER." Another tongue flick, "YES, YES, LIKE A..." OH he's just going off on experimental mumbling. Mad Genius here.

The Hat is Looking Away.

Alastor

That arm is Sir Pentious's now, Alastor doesn't need it. It's safe to lean in now, right?

For the moment, Alastor forcefully swallows back the urge to fling out suggestions and questions, instead listening carefully with ears perked toward the mad genius mumbles.

Well, fine, maybe the cane didn't want to make eye contact. It looks away too.

Sir Pentious

Pentious doesn't lean back this time, though his hood opens up as he rambles on. Big and showy snake.

"HM HM! YESSS, I SHOULD LIKE TO RAM ALL KINDS OF THINGS INTO YOU, HA HA! FOR SCIENCE. FOR DISSSSCOVERY."

He smiles far above his eyes at Alastor. Sir Pentious was looking more in color than usual. This is one happy and energetic Cobra.

The Hat looks back at the cane, making a quizzical expression........

Alastor

Don't mind the brief burst of shocked static as Alastor processes the words that just came out of Sir Pentious's mouth. "... Well! You know me: high pain tolerance and far too curious for my own good! It sounds like an agonizingly good time! Call me over to ram whatever you'd like into me any time you want!"

... Is the hat looking at the cane again? It glances over to check—oh, yes, it is, look away, look away quick. ... Check again.

Sir Pentious

The hat is looking at Pentious now like B/. Penny is ignoring his sassy chapeau as he goes right back to preening.... Dainty claw taps to his hood.

"I SHALL CALL YOU OVER WHEN I HAVE SSSSPACE TO STRAP YOU DOWN TO A TABLE! NYA HA HAAAAAAA!!!"

Alastor

And just when the cane thought it was making some real progress with the hat.

"I'll be eagerly awaiting your call!" It's a date. Well, not a date, but close enough.

Oh, right, there's still food here, isn't there? Alastor nearly forgot. He's gonna grab another sandwich. "Say! While we're on the topic of ramming into each other's personal space..."

Smoothest conversational segue in Hell's history. Ladies and gentlemen, a professional radio host at work.

Sir Pentious

..... That segue is enough for Sir Pentious to realize he said something weird before, and he lights up like a pink light bulb.

"I DIDN'T MEAN THAT IN A *PERVERTED WAY*, ALASSSTOR!!!"

Alastor

"I didn't think you did! I know you m—I didn't mean it that way either!" Okay segue a little faster, Alastor. "It's about—I wanted to talk to you about Broadway."

Sir Pentious

He's already in full Pentious Pout as he replaces his hat on his head. Arms folded. Huff.

"ABOUT BROADWAY? WHAT ISS IT?? I DO NOT WANT TO GO AGAIN FOR A LITTLE WHILE, I HAVE A SCHEDULE TO KEEP TO!"

Alastor

Farewell, hat; cane hardly got to know thee.

"No, about last trip. There was—well." Don't tiptoe around the topic, remember, Sir Pentious prefers direct and plain. Alastor cuts out about five sentences of easing his way into the topic and plunges in. "You shoved me off of you." (And yes, it HAS been haunting him ever since.) "Now, believe it or not, I'm actually putting a little effort into being less of an irritation than usual. If my presence is getting on your nerves... just say so. Preferably before I've become so annoying that you feel the need to bodily push me away." A wan smile. "My goal is to AVOID reaching that point, see."

Sir Pentious

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. Pentious squints, trying to remember. So much happened that day...

"COME ON, MAN! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER THAT? COULD YOU BE MORE SPECIFIC???"

Apparently Broadway wasn't enough. Pentious may have smushed all of New York into Broadway. Even the restaurant was Broadway.

"I DO NOT RECALL DOING ANYTHING OF THE SSSORT!"

Alastor

"Oh, well! That's comforting." And also embarrassing, if it was such a not big deal that Sir Pentious doesn't even remember it. "During the musical. When we were leaning on each other. Not long after we were joking about... how much we don't like physical contact." Ah. "That was it. That was the hint to get off that I missed, wasn't it."

Sir Pentious

Pentious looks at him like he's speaking a different language, and he recalls everything going on at that point. These two having a laugh, and then Valera withdrawing and ignoring him suddenly.

He frowns, remembering her hand slipping out of his even though he had squeezed it lovingly. They'd talked about that after but it had hurt his feelings.

He waves Alastor off! "NO, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! IT WASN'T ABOUT THAT AT ALL!!! VALERA PULLED AWAY FROM ME AND I WAS AGITATED AFTER BECAUSE OF HER BEHAVIOR. WHEN THAT HAPPENED, I WAS NO LONGER IN THE MOOD FOR FRIVOLITY!!"

Alastor

“Oh!” He doesn’t quite heave a sigh of relief, but there’s a static hiss as he exhales. “Well, don’t I look a fool, all this time and it didn’t have a thing to do with me! But give me a little credit, here—how was I supposed to guess that you were shoving *me* because of *her*?”

Sir Pentious

"WELL I DIDN'T THINK IT TO BE SUCH A *BIG DEAL* THAT YOU WOULD HARBOR IT FOR WEEKS." He is Looking at you Alastor, like a man on the brink of Realizing Things.

Except he's Pentious, so he just remains on that brink.

Alastor

Alastor’s #1 survival skill is talking himself back from the brink. “Of course you wouldn’t think so! Not to put too fine a point on it, but at the moment I’m in a far more precarious position than you!” His smile is nearly a grimace. “YOU, after all, are not engaged in ongoing efforts to convince a man you messily backstabbed that you’re worth the risk of keeping around! You don’t have to wonder what little irritation might be the last thing he’s willing to stand out of you. You’ve got nothing to prove.”

He lets that thought linger for only a split second; and then hurries onward: “So my initial request still stands. Tell me if I’m going too far—on anything—BEFORE I’m past the point of no return. You have enough to resent me for. I’m trying not to add more.”

Sir Pentious

Alastor is also very good at just talking a lot, and Pentious is listening but also shifting his mouth from side to side. His hood flares out and he throws his arms up!

"WELL I DIDN'T TELL YOU BECAUSE IT WAS NOT A BIG DEAL TO ME!!! I MAKE A POINT OF BEING DIRECT, ALASSSTOR ! YOU ARE THE ONE WITH DIFFICULTIES ON THAT FRONT, NOT I!"

Alastor

“Clearly it wasn’t! So it’s—The request is for future reference. For situations where it DOES apply.”

Sir Pentious

"WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?? OF COURSE I WOULD TELL YOU!!"

He stretched out his bowtie, "I HAVE CLASS, AFTER ALL!"

Alastor

“Well, good! Glad that falls under your criteria for class, then.”

Mission accomplished, he supposes. On the other hand, he just tried to be about as direct as a bullet and on top of that spilled approximately 1/3 of his heart to Sir Pentious, and he’s not sure if any of it registered at all.

That’s fine. He’s got brandy.

Sir Pentious

Unfortunately, things always took a while to really register for Sir Pentious. He'd never had friends he could rely on, and even his previous partnership with Match had been, from his perspective, business. Although working together with someone so closely was different for Pentious, too... He was awkward and aggressive and questioning everything.

So he pours himself more tea and looks away, without turning his head... And thinks over the things Alastor has said to him. He was trying so, so hard to be appear trustworthy, and that made the snake's paranoid brain more suspicious!

Which sucked. He liked Alastor's company, which was why he didn't want this to all go belly up. His tail curls closer, now, sliding against the deer's backside. You now have a sofa.

"... ALASSSTOR. I *DO* RECOGNIZE YOUR EFFORT. CONTINUE TO BE UPFRONT WITH ME, I CANNOT PROMISSSE WHAT MY..." He gestures, vaguely, then points to his head with an ashamed expression.

"JUST! *BELIEVE* ME WHEN I SSSAY I WILL *TELL* YOU."

Alastor

He is IMMEDIATELY leaning back on that sofa oh hell yes he's been trying to avoid touching Sir Pentious too much and being able to lean back against him is bliss. It's like a hug, except minus any and all features that resemble a hug in the slightest.

He waves off Sir Pentious's embarrassed disclaimer. "That's all I ask for! I'd like you to notice it. I don't expect you to TRUST it. Getting you to trust it is my job." And a job that he takes zealously seriously. He had been allied with his own Sir Pentious fifteen years before abruptly betraying him; if it takes another fifteen years before this one is completely comfortable with him, it will be fully justified and worth the wait. "I believe you. And thank you."

Sir Pentious

C O m f Y.

Sir Pentious turns his head, idly fidgeting with his jacket. WELL NOW HE FELT AWKWARD. And sweaty. Why did he feel SWEATY he didn't SWEAT. Penny pouting...

He reaches for the brandy, pouring himself a glass!!!

Alastor

That was, in Alastor's opinion, quite enough time spent talking about things like trust and communication. It's high time for Alastor to move them on to another topic. He'd thought of one earlier, what was it?

"Oh! Before I forget again—to celebrate the ship repairs, I got a little housewarming gift!" He pauses. "... Shipwarming gift. Want it now, or should it wait until all the repairs are finished?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious turns his head RIGHT BACK to Alastor in interest. A present??? A present! His hood floops open as he brings a hand out in interest, "OH? A SHIPWARMING GIFT??? HOW THOUGHTFUL! WHAT ISS IT? I AM *DYING* TO KNOW! HAHA!!" That clearly took his mind off of the awkwardness of the previous conversation. Eager to get away from vulnerability, thy name is Sir Pentious.

Alastor

"So, right now it is!" Alastor kind of thought it might be. He opens up a portal in mid-air to reach through and rummage around until he finds and retrieves a simple paper bag with the top rolled shut. "Here. I suspect it's going to take a little explaining." But he'll give Sir Pentious a chance to see what it is first.

Inside the bag are five little pouches of cotton gauze dyed red, tied shut with two long loops of fabric so tightly they'd have to be cut open. Visible beneath the gauze is a second layer to the pouches, clearly made out of snakeskin (guess whose); and between the gauze and the semi-translucent snakeskin, it's probably too difficult to see any further inside. Each double bag is stuffed full with about as much material as could fit inside a typical cup of yogurt, and whatever's inside is slightly crunchy.

Sir Pentious

A paper bag causes a grimace to appear on the serpent's expression.... What, a packed lunch? Of course not, but with the ratty preparation, he's really going to have to be won over!

Though looking inside just raises *further* questions...... Is that his skin. Sir Pentious looks up at Alastor without turning his head up to follow, a kind of expression that reads *Alastor, what the fuck am I looking at?*

Alastor

"I didn't have time to gift wrap it," he says dryly.

He scoots closer to explain the gift. (Note that he doesn't scoot AWAY from Sir Pentious's tail. He just sort of scoots around the perimeter of the picnic so he can keep leaning on the tail.) "I thought that—well, this poor ship got knocked outta the sky twice in short succession, it couldn't hurt for you to have a little bonus protection! Not extra armor—you've got that handled—but something to designed to repel more... MAGICAL assaults. So! You've got yourself the typical crystals and herbs, all bundled up in snakeskin—snakeskin is WONDERFUL for protection work, and no magical ingredients are ever stronger than ones DIRECTLY connected to the person they're meant to protect—plus a tiny portable radio in each one—got those from the dollar store!—to ensure they remain connected to their power source."

Look at him beaming. He's so proud of himself. "Just hang one up by whatever you consider the main entrance, and arrange the other four around the ship against the inside of the hull to form as close to a pentagram as you can, and they'll do the rest! Of course, a few little bags can't knock out every hex, curse, and spell—but they'll make it a damn sight harder for them to get through!"

Sir Pentious

He's listening to Alastor, occasionally tilting his head and plucking up once of the little bags to examine it. Very odd to see his own skin used for something like this... Usually he just burnt it. But he does like the fact that he was given something so specific... Alastor really wanted him to build his ship, and, considering it was an Alastor that blew it up *every time*, this would have to be a good ward!

"WHY ISS SSNAKE SSKIN GOOD FOR THESE THINGSSSS IN PARTICULAR?"

Local inventor specializes in machines, not hoodoo or whatever this was. He probably would enjoy studying it.

Alastor

"Why, bits of snakes are good for a whole slew of things! Snakes are some of the most inherently magical creatures you'll find. Venom for cursing and crossing, blood for poisoning—naturally, you can use venom for poisoning as well, but there's no magic needed for that, hah!—and snakeskin, it's something that a snake sheds off from time to time to be symbolically reborn; so it's good for magic tied to symbolic rebirths—like rebuilding your ship, here—or good luck—'shedding off' old, bad luck, see—and on and on. And ANY skin or hide or leather is good for protection, since that's what a skin is FOR, but between snakes' natural magic and the connection you'd have to the skin, under the circumstances this snakeskin is going to work better for you than, say, cow hide."

He's rambling, but it's a very excited rambling. He's rarely asked about his magic, and when he is it's rarely by somebody he'd really really like to share that info with.

"So I'm afraid the explanation isn't something simple you can find with a microscope—no chemical reactions or analyses of tensile strength involved. In my experience, most of magic is... you know how humans look human in the living world, but in death their souls takes on traits that metaphorically suit them. Spin a web of lies and see yourself reborn as a spider, that sort of thing. It's no different here: you've got something's physical form, and then you've got the traits that metaphorically suit it—and it's the metaphors in that object's 'soul' that hold power in magic."

Sir Pentious

Alastor most assuredly knew all about these sorts of things... and honestly! Sir Pentious couldn't hide the grin that was spreading over his features. Listen to this man go off--there were very few in Hell who prattled on with such excitement about their craft. Alastor, of course, and himself! Of course, there were likely *others*, but Sir Pentious frankly didn't have much patience to listen to much other than what he deemed to be interesting and good work. Yes, indeed, if it didn't pique the serpent's interest, did it really count as work at all?

No, apparently. So his own shed skin was most exceptionally effective! He couldn't do any scientific examinations, though, and that news brought his grin down a little as he went back to examining the contents. And then... Sir Pentious reached into his coat to withdraw a pair of glasses. They had multiple rows of magnifying lenses upon them, and he put them on, leaning his head back so that he could get a better look. Alastor had JUST SAID he couldn't find anything under a microscope, but apparently, Sir Pentious wanted to see for himself!!!

"I WAS REBORN IN HELL AS A SSSNAKE COVERED IN EYESSS. IN LIFE, I MUCH ENJOYED SSERPENTSS, BUT IT MIGHT BE MORE TO DO WITH THE KIND OF PERSSSSON I AM, HMM? SSSOMEONE WHO SSTRIKESS WITH CERTAINTY, *DEVOURING* ALL WHO UNDERESsssssTIMATE ME!" Big grins, his eyes all glowing red as he flicks his glasses--with the way he's looking at Alastor, it kind of looks like he has eight eyes, now that the lenses are all resting in different places. Eldritch Grin!

Alastor

Oh, look at that smile! It's nearly enough to make Alastor's heart start beating again. "Could be. Or perhaps it's both! Honestly, I bet there are more factors than we can dream of that decide our shapes down here. Maybe you were fated to become a snake the minute you named yourself serpent-ious!"

And here was Alastor thinking Sir Pentious couldn't squeeze on any more eyes. What a look. "Now, how many optometrists did you burglarize to make that thing?"

Sir Pentious

Clearly, that assertation sits well with him. Look at that smile.

Though the question that's posed gets another wide grin out of the serpent!

"OH, THESE? OH, YOU KNOW." A hand gesture, "BUT MOSTLY I TRY TO MAKE MY OWN MATERIALSSS, IF I CAN! THE LESS I HAVE TO INTERACT WITH THE DENIZENSS OF HELL, THE BETTER! UNLESS I AM BLOWING THEM TO BITS!"

Alastor

"You want something done right, you've got to do it yourself!" (How much meat is left? He's gonna snag some more. Yum.) "Where ARE you doing your materials fabrication these days, anyway? Can't be all aboard your ship, but I don't know what your current territory look like."

Sir Pentious

He makes a bit of a *face*, and puts the little baggies back inside the main baggie, before picking up his mug of brandy... "I HAVE TWO FACTORIES TO MY NAME, WHICH IS REALLY A GODDAMN SHAME. I INTENDED TO TAKE MORE TERRITORY AFTER THE LATESssssT EXTERMINATION, BUT EFFORTSSS WERE THWARTED BY THAT HARLOT--" he looks around like he just fucking saw a ghost--"CYCLOPS WITCH AND ANGEL DUST ATTACKED ME! I HADN'T EXPECTED HER TO HAVE SO MANY EXPLOSIVESSSS ON HAND. ALAS." Sip.

Alastor

"That IS a shame." Only two. Good grief. It's amazing Sir Pentious gets anything done at all, although Alastor doubts he'd appreciate hearing so.

He saw the fight with the harlot cyclops witch on the news. In his opinion, Sir Pentious shouldn't have had any trouble with her or with Angel Dust. The fact that he did... well. Alastor can't very well blame Sir Pentious for that, can he? "Maybe next extermination you ought to venture further from downtown and snap up the suburban industrial zones? I expect the turf's less hotly contested out there." He huffs. "But you've probably thought of that." Unlike Alastor, who hasn't had to think about this in half a century and even back then the extent of his involvement in the strategy was deciding how he'd like to crush his assigned target.

Sir Pentious

Looks like he's about to INTERJECT but then. Bingo. Sir Pentious nods, a little solemnly, looking pretty tired. "YES, EXACTLY, I *HAVE* THOUGHT OF THAT. BUT NEXT TIME I WILL BE MORE SSSUCCESSFUL! I WILL *DOMINATE* ANYONE WHO GOES UP AGAINSSST ME!"

He wiggles the bag around with quite the smile, "I HAVE ADDED PROTECTION, AFTER ALL!!!"

Alastor

Alastor beams. "That you do!" The best he can create without bargaining with nobility for a little extra oomph—and if he did that, the strength of the defenses would be tied to another demon's will, not to Alastor's.

"I'd say you have added firepower, too, if you want it; but, well—if you're ever going to call me into battle, it's only going to be a surprise to everyone first time. I'd think it ought to be the kind of surprise saved for a... special occasion."

Sir Pentious

"MM--" He's actually just drinking straight from the bottle. Old times,. Should they even be drinking while about to get back to working with power tools?

Oh well.

"YESSS, INDEED A SSSPECIAL OCCASION! PERHAPSSSS THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH!"....... He's immediately looking. Uncertain, as he can't exactly remember when that was.

"OR SOMETHING ELSE,"

Alastor

No, it's probably not a smart idea for Sir Pentious to be chugging the bottle before getting back to work. Therefore, Alastor will have to help him be responsible—by slinging an arm over Sir Pentious's shoulders, taking the bottle from him, and chugging it himself.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a special occasion like, 'When you take on whoever's got the most turf once you've worked your way up the ladder.' But, hey! No reason you can't schedule that fight for your deathday!"

Sir Pentious

*DRUNKEN DEMONS WITH POWER TOOLS. THERE ARE NO BRAIN CELLS LEFT.* Pentious doesn't lean away or out of the friendly embrace this time, beaming even if he's a little embarrassed.

"OH IS *THAT* WHAT YOU MEANT? THAT'SSSS NOT A SSSPECIAL OCCASION, THAT'SSS JUST BUSINESS!!"

Alastor

What's the worst that can happen to them? A hospital trip or two? Pshh.

"Well, can't it be both? Business is business, sure—but on the day that, say, for example... old blockhead takes a tumble? I'm going to consider that a *very special* business transaction."

He's not getting pushed away. That's good. That means they're back closer to where Alastor hopes they'd be. Right?

Or maybe it means Sir Pentious is only willing to let Alastor drape around him like this when he's too drunk to think clearly.

That thought alone is nearly enough to make Alastor withdraw completely.

No, not this time. He's already here, he'll enjoy it. But in the future—no getting closer to Sir Pentious AFTER he starts drinking. Once the bottles are open, Sir Pentious can close the distance himself, or else it won't get closed at all.

Sir Pentious

He's not that drunk yet! Of course, Alastor wouldn't know how Pentious felt without the booze nearby.

He himself enjoyed drinking around Alastor--wasn't that proof of trust, of friendship? It was probably not great to go off of Pentious' standards... He didn't really have friends.

"OHH, YESSS. INDEED, THAT *WOULD* RATHER BE A SSSPECIAL OCCASION, HHEE HEE HEE!!" He clacks his talons together with glee.

Alastor

"I thought so!" Oh, Alastor can hear his scream now... "But! I'll leave the details to you. I may have many skills, but warfare strategy isn't among them."

Sir Pentious

"MMM, I SUPPOSE NOT. BUT THAT MIGHT BE WHY YOUR BRAND OF CHAOSSS HAS BEEN SSO EFFECTIVE." Pentious gestures, "YOU SHOWED UP ONE DAY AND NOW EVERYONE ISS TERRIFIED OF YOU."

Alastor

"Amazing, isn't it! I haven't caused that kind of devastation in decades and ninety-nine percent of the population is still too scared to talk to me! Ha!" He shrugs one shoulder, "Still, it's what you say it is—chaos. It's not what one would call a firm foundation for empire-building, is it?"

Sir Pentious

"RATHER LIKE A BIG EXPLOSION WITH NO FOLLOW UP, YOU'RE RIGHT." He makes grabby hands for the bottle again, "LIKE A WRECKING BALL! I DO SO LIKE THOSE MACHINESSSS."

Alastor

He's gonna take another swig before passing the bottle back. "A wrecking ball, hah! How apt. Clears the playing field for something new to be built, but doesn't do the construction itself."

Sir Pentious

Pentious points at Alastor, nodding as he takes the bottle and just holds it, "EXACTLY! THAT'SSSS YOU. BLOW THEM OUT OF THE WATER AND I'LL DO THE REST!"

Alastor

Hand on his chest and smiling widely even by his standards, "With pleasure!"

It's where he was always happiest: blowing them out of the water and watching Sir Pentious do the rest.

Sir Pentious

That tail is slithering closer. You're gonna get a snake hug, you've no choice in the matter. Pentious leans back against his own body, taking another few gulps of brandy before he laughs, "OH, FUCK. WE'RE SSSUPPOSED TO BE WORKING AFTER THIS."

Alastor

Oh no, whatever will he do, it seems he has no choice but to be embraced in a coil of pure friendship.

Alastor huffs. "Maybe we should extend the break." He probably shouldn't be giving orders to an eldritch abomination while tipsy, things tend to get disconcertingly non-Euclidean when he does that. Then he brightens a bit and reaches over to poke the paper sack. "We don't have to be sober to place these, do we?"

Sir Pentious

The mere *suggestion* gets him beaming into full on LAUGHING.

"OH PROBABLY NOT!! BUT I LIKELY WILL NOT REMEMBER WHERE I'VE PLACED THEM, DEPENDING ON HOW FAR WE GO!"

Alastor

"Well, you probably won't *need* to know where they are once they're placed—but still. You never know." He ruminates on this a moment longer. "Well—unless you can think of a better way to pass the time, maybe we ought to just sleep it off and then get back to work."

Sir Pentious

"SSSLEEPING IT OFF IS THE *INTELLIGENT* THING TO DO. BUT I AM NOT YET AT THE POINT WHERE I WANT TO SSSLEEP, SSSO YOU ARE SSTUCK HERE WITH ME A LITTLE LONGER, ALASSSSTOR!" Yes, as if that's not exactly what Alastor wants at this point, but Pentious is somehow still clueless. To him, this is what friends are just like! He broke all kinds of social etiquette rules when he was alive, after all.

Another swig from the bottle, and he hands it back. "THERE'S SSTILL SSSOME SANDWICHESSS TO WORK ON."

Alastor

"I'm not budging." He is being coiled around, he wouldn't leave for the world. If the hotel catches fire right now he'll teleport in a newspaper and start browsing the job listings.

Another swig for him. "I didn't want to hoard them!" He says, and then immediately grabs three, now that he's being encouraged.

Sir Pentious

Prrr Prrr prrrr. Alastor likes his food!! It's not really *cooking* but Pentious always put work into it regardless. Picnic fair was his favorite.

He leans on Alastor, and splays his hand open as he reaches towards the sky.

"HELL *WILL* BE MINE. I CAN ASSURE YOU OF THAT. NOTHING WILL TAKE THAT GOAL FROM ME, ALASSSTOR. THAT ISS A *PROMISE.*"

Alastor

He has to swallow quickly to reply. (He'd stacked two sandwiches on top of each other to bite.) "I know it will. It's just a matter of time."

And he truly believes it. Not that Sir Pentious WILL—there's too much that's uncertain, too many people that will be doing everything in their power to stop him—but that Sir Pentious CAN. He's the only person in Hell that Alastor believes can. And he's going to see it happen or get exterminated trying.

#hissandvinegar #chat log

4 notes · View notes

someguynamedstevewrites · 5 years

Text

Unwanted House Guest: Valentine’s Run - Part 1

Based on characters created by @tamarinfrog (a.k.a. @searching-for-bananaflies , a.k.a. @cafe-cardamari , a.k.a. @bottledupcomic , a.k.a. OH MY GOD Tammy, just how many more blogs do you have!? I mean, I’m not one to talk, but...)

And the video games Splatoon, Splatoon 2, and Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion by Nintendo.

——————————

A brief primer on Unwanted House Guest:

Began this Fanfiction series back in the Fall of 2015.

Multiple entries in the series were submitted to Tammy’s blogs for posting.

Feel free to search Tammy’s blogs for “Unwanted House Guest” for previous entries in the series.

Now on with the story!

——————————

“YOU WANT HOW MUCH!?”

Arnick shouted from nearly the top of his lungs. Every Inkling and Octoling in Inkopolis Square turned to look at the small bench near the lobby entrance for Turf Wars. There, everyone saw a tall, lanky, Inkling male with purple tentacles wearing a replica hero jacket and with a Legendary Cap on his head. It was an older cap with some sewn on patches and a hole to let the Inkling’s tentacles out through the top of the hat. Upon recognizing who it was, about a third of the people turned back to minding their own business because they were rather accustomed to the ear-splitting din that Arnick Stilton was known for.

“You heard me, chum,” Murch shot back, “100,000 G! Take it or leave it.”

Arnick was gritting his teeth, clenching his fists, and looking like his hat was going to pop off his head. The 21-year old Inkling had been searching for months for a very particular item. He regularly browsed through Annie’s Online Shop, checked every retail store daily since Squiddoween, and constantly asked about it from the local (shady) “gear specialist”: Murch. After going for so long without any luck, Arnick even went so far as to try and craft it himself, but couldn’t get the ability chunks necessary to finish it.

Now it was being held ransom by a puny little one-eyed street urchin.

“You have any idea how hard it was to find this thing, chum?” Murch continued with a small hint of indignity, “Spyke had to ask somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody whose cousin’s sister-in-law’s brother’s uncle happened to have one tucked away in a box at a garage sale out in Calamari County!”

“Yeah, right...” Arnick said in about a 50/50 split between disbelief and sarcasm. He grabbed his iSquid and opened up the app for his bank account. His winnings had increased since Team Toxic’s recent entrance into the highest level of professional Turf War. This was a great honor as they were now being matched up against the most experienced players; some of who had been engaging in Turf Wars for decades. But Arnick still had rent, utility bills, credit card payments, grocery expenses, and other debts that needed paying.

Doing a quick check of his bank balance, Arnick saw that he had exactly 567,902 G in the bank, but by Arnick’s calculations, only 50,000 G of that would be considered “available”. Sure, Arnick had the 100,000 G in his bank account, but if he spent it now, one or more of the payments Arnick had scheduled to go through could bounce. This would lead to a Non-Sufficient Fund (NSF) fee from the bank, and a whole new level of headache that Arnick did not want to deal with. (Especially since Tetrox gave him enough of a headache anyway. Arnick couldn’t count the number of times she’d swiped his credit cards to buy ridiculous things online).

“Hey,” Murch called up to the tall, penny-pinching grouch, “you want this or not?”

“Yes of course I want it, you pipsqueak!” Arnick said with frustration in his voice (which was nothing new), “Is there any way I can pick it up tomorrow?”

“No can do, chum,” Murch said with a shake of his head, “I’m a busy guy here and gear like this is hot stuff! If you don’t buy this, I’m going to have to trash it.”

“WHAT!? You said it yourself this thing was difficult to get, and you’re going to throw it away just like that!?” questioned Arnick.

“Look, chum, I only got so much inventory space here,” Murch said gesturing to his case sitting on the bench behind him, “I can hold this for you up until midnight tonight, but after that, this gear is gone.”

Murch then raised his solitary eyebrow as he took a peak at the precious gear in the case. “Still,” he said, “why would an uptight guy like you want this bo-“

“SSHHHHHHHHHUSH!”

Arnick hissed, almost shoving his hand over Murch’s mouth to keep him quiet. He then looked around him, cautiously, to see if anyone had seen or heard anything. Everyone in the Square was either staring at or side-eyeing Arnick, but mostly because his outbursts were giving them a scare. No matter how many times Arnick blew his top, the folks that inhabited Inkopolis Square would still jump from his outbursts. (Many of them were getting rather tired of it.)

“What was that for, chum!?” Asked an annoyed Murch.

“I don’t want anyone finding out I’m getting this, you dimwit!” Arnick pleaded.

“Why wouldn’t you-“ Murch’s single eye popped wide open as it hit him. He then slowly turned towards Arnick with a big, smug smile on his face. His eye now had a look to it as if it was saying “I see what you did there”. Arnick had seen that look before and dreaded what was coming.

“Ohhhhhh,” Murch said with a sneaky smile, “this is a gift for someone, isn’t it?”

“Your point?” Arnick snapped back, feeling rather annoyed.

“You sly sea dog!” Murch said while giving a small elbow jab to Arnick’s leg, “Don’t you worry about a thing! Your secret’s safe with me.” His gesture was meant to be a knowing jab to the ribs, but given Murch’s height, Arnick’s leg was the best he could reach.

Arnick looked left, then right, then left again. By now, the eyes of the square were no longer on him and Murch. Arnick guessed that everyone was likely thinking: “OH MY COD! WHAT WA- Oh it’s just Arnick! False Alarm!” before going back to whatever it was they were doing. (He was right too.) In a quiet voice, Arnick responded with, “It had better be safe, or so help me, if this gets out...”

“Relax, chum!” Murch said with a smile, “all I need is that 100,000 G and you won’t hear a peep out of me!”

Arnick growled to himself. He absolutely hated the idea of having an overdraft fee affecting his credit score. But at the same time, he had been searching for this gear for so long that he just couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. His mind raced through possible solutions when suddenly the hour changed and the new Turf War maps were announced by Inkopolis’ latest shining stars: Off the Hook. The volume on the large Jumbo-Tron size TV in the square cranked itself up for the news segment.

“Y’all check this out!” the energetic Pygmy Inkling named Pearl called out over the airwaves, “Our sponsor Grizzco is now hiring for Salmon Runs!” She then looked over to her co-host, the Octoling named Marina, who was looking into the camera with a big smile.

“Big Money? Big Prizes? I love it!” The cheerful Octoling expertly said after reading it from the teleprompter. Arnick was certain this was an obscure reference to something. He also wagered that line was written by his old nemesis: “that guy named Steve”. Arnick recalled Steve saying something about how he was taking on some additional work responsibilities at the Turf War League the two of them bickered (and it was always bickering). Arnick didn’t have the foggiest idea what the reference was to, but he didn’t care...

...he just got a brilliant idea.

Turning to Murch, Arnick smiled unusually wide. “100,000 G by midnight!? No problem!” Arnick said confidently, “Hang on to it and I’ll be back with your money in no time.”

“Alright,” Murch nodded, “But remember, when I say midnight, I mean Midnight! If you ain’t here by 12:00 on the dot, then this...” Murch hesitated when Arnick gave him the stink eye (while still smiling, no less) to remind him to keep this under wraps, “...gear goes bye-bye.”

Arnick gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and a toothy grin that almost sparkled. “Smoke me a kipper, I’ll be back for breakfast!” Arnick said assuredly before spinning around and marching towards the Salmon Run Office.

Murch called out, “YOU DO KNOW IT WILL BE TOO LATE BY THEN, RIGHT!?”

Arnick turned around and hollered back, “IT’S A FIGURE OF SPEECH!”

To Be Continued...

#Arnick #Murch #Splatoon #Fanfiction #Unwanted House Guest

47 notes · View notes

diningpageantry · 6 years

Text

Roarin’ 20s

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866697

Word Count: 2732

Summary: At Watford's 1920s themed Halloween Party, a few questionable choices are made. There's one unexpected, yet welcomed, result of teenage drinking. (POV Simon)

Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 11: Time

(Bonus art because I had to draw Baz in the pinstripe suit I’d mentioned)

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have dressed like Jack from Titanic.

Overall, there’s a number of reasons why. First, I look extremely dressed down compared to everyone else in this vamped-up overplaying for a student-run party. I don’t know how they managed to allow this to happen. Although, I doubt teachers really care to stop the majority of the student population taking over the courtyard and White Chapel for Halloween night. Especially not with the Humdrum off ruining the rest of the Magickal world.

Second, I think I picked the wrong time period, as Penny ended up lecturing me over the moment she saw this getup.

“1909, Simon! Some of the most powerful Mages in the world died on that trip! And that wasn’t even really close to the 20s!”

“Well, why didn’t they just make the boat not sink, then?”

“Because it would’ve revealed too much to the Normals, Simon. Merlin and Morgana, you’d think they’d see the entire ship levitate.”

Despite her tutting, I’m still standing here with straight ironed hair (don’t ask how I got a straight iron) and a half unbuttoned shirt with suspenders and trousers that sort of make me look like a 1800s beggar more than a 1990’s heartthrob. Thank Merlin for whatever kids snuck in the alcohol, because I’m nursing my second drink and I could give less of a fuck about the fact that I’m not really fitting this year’s theme. Instead, I’m thinking about things that I could theoretically do now without being tied down to Agatha.

It’s funny, because she’s in sight right now, seeming more out of place than ever, despite being properly dressed. She’s all set up like a flapper girl, all down to the single-feather headband and frilly bottom of her dress. She looks like a costuming department put that together for her.

I remember watching The Great Gatsby with her one year (she has a thing for DiCaprio), and looking at her now, she looks spot on like Daisy.

Wonder if I’ll have to sit across a pond with her and Baz living a posh life together with a bullshit green light blinking on my dock ‘til I’m finally shot dead.

Now I think of it, maybe I probably picked the wrong DiCaprio to come as...

Penny cuts my pool-death-daydreams short with a nudge of her elbow against my side. She’s got a big fur (“Faux fur! I wouldn’t dare use real fur!”) coat and one of those super smooth hats, which doesn’t quite accommodate her hair, even in a bun. There’s spirals of brown sticking out around the edges.

“How much have you had to drink?” she questions, narrowing her eyebrows at my drink as she adjusts her glasses. I just hold up two fingers, shrugging as I sway to the remixed obscure trap-jazz music. She just squints at me, seeming to try to decide whether or not to scold me before sighing and going to get her own drink.

It’s relatively boring; nothing’s really “happening”; drunk teens and dancing, mostly, until he decides to grace us with his presence.

Of all people, I’ve never known Baz Pitch to go to a student party, and in actual costume nonetheless. But, despite, that, here he is now, and in full getup.

I take back everything I’ve said about him looking like a vampire ever. Tonight, right now, he looks like nothing but an old-school gangster. Head to toe pinstripe tailored outfit, stuffy to the t and all color coordinated. Hell, he’s even got a pocket watch tucked from the part of his waistcoat. Part of me refuses to believe he just had that lying around, but another part of me has full trust that this is something he’s had hidden in his closet that I just haven’t seen and it’s driving me absolutely mad.

His head’s tipped up, his slicked, black hair staying set into place. The nerve of this prick, too; he’s got a cigarette dangling from his upturned lips, eyes shifting from side to side as he makes his way through the crowd of students.

Mind you, I’m using “makes his way” lightly; he’s practically parting a sea. Everyone in the bloody bottom floor of the chapel turns to get an eyeful of this arse. Fucking hell, he even gives a few people one of his long, cold stares just for safekeeping. Once he makes it to me, though, he just scans over me and gives me a bored look before opening his mouth for an expected taunt. “Not surprised you can’t count your years, Snow.”

I try not to step back, keeping my chin high as I keep a leveled eye. “Seems like you never take a second from being a villain, hm?”

His lip curls up into a smirk as he takes the cigarette from his mouth, tapping it onto my feet. “Pity, you’re even worthless in your fantasy dress-ups too. Couldn’t even survive some cold water.” He reaches around me, not breaking eye contact as he grabs one of the drinks. He pops its top, raising an eyebrow to me before coolly strolling off.

I exhale slowly, letting my chest deflate as blood rushes back through my limbs. “Tosser,” I grumble into my drink, taking a long sip as Penny stares at me for a minute.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” I respond quickly, maybe sounding a bit too defensive. I should finish this drink off.

“What was what?” She blinks at me incredulously, her mouth hanging open before she laughs. “Shit, I thought either of you was about to pounce each other, and I’m not quite sure whether it was to fistfight or to snog.”

I scoff, slamming back the rest of my drink before immediately turning for another. “I am not going to snog Baz,” I say aloud, maybe more for myself. No, wait, no not for myself; I already know I’m not going to snog Baz. Why in the world would I snog Baz?

I don’t dwell on that too long, opening my next drink and starting on it as I push myself into the crowd to dance.

There’s a lot of things I’m no good at, and sadly, dancing’s near the top of that list (next to talking and existing). Right now, though, I don’t care. I’m dancing with someone in the year below who urged me over, so I don’t think I really have to care anymore. The glow of the party lights and the thump of music in my feet drag my thoughts away.

Someone taps my shoulder as I pull myself away, catching my breath. It’s Sophie, a girl from our year, who’s holding a scarf and grinning at me. “Simon..?” She drags, smiling like she’s got some secret to share. Except there’s a scarf in her hands.

“What’s up, Soph?” I ask, leaning against the table. I finished my third drink not too long ago.

She flutters her eyelashes at me, offering the bandanna. “We may be playing seven minutes in heaven and I know you and Agatha broke up, so…”

Am I thinking? No. Absolutely not. I’m grabbing the bandanna, shrugging and saying “Why not?” as I tie it on myself. I don’t even gauge Sophie’s reaction, I just go for it and spread my arms out. “Lead me to my fate.”

I hear her giggle. “Alright,” she says somewhat weirdly (alright, maybe I should’ve thought about this).

Definitely should’ve thought of this, because now she’s pushing me forward, where I bump into people occasionally before I’m walked into what’s definitely a utilities closet, nudging into someone else before the door shuts.

It’s dark as shit. I can’t see anything, but I can definitely feel. I feel the beat of the music outside, I feel the swirling of my brain (if I could see, I’d be looking sideways). I feel the hands of someone against mine, their fingertips brushing against me.

Their breath is soft against the muffled outside of the party, coming out in soft puffs by me.

I sort of instinctively think ‘she’, but I’m not quite sure. The way their breath’s hitting me, I think they’re taller than me (and I don’t know too many tall girls in the school. Granted, there’s roughly three, but still…) They’re definitely drinking too; I can smell it on their breath. Fermented, like cider, but their scent's mixed with something so familiar, so everyday that I can’t even pin it down. It makes me feel like I’m back in my bedroom.

Their hands close around my wrists as I tumble towards them, knees wobbling and heart racing. This was probably a shit idea. I should’ve probably said no, but I can’t care too much right now, and I actually want this right now. My arms grasp out and feel the fabric of a suit. I think my mind might be playing tricks on me now because I’m grabbing the suit jackets and yanking whoever this is closer. The thought of Baz flashes through my brain, but I try to will it away. It’s just a suit jacket; there was plenty of people wearing suits.

Now, I usually think of myself as a straight man. I think. Or, really, I don’t think. I’ve never snogged a bloke before, but the breath near my forehead’s driving me nuts and there’s something in my bloodstream telling me to not think and just go for it.

Who knows, maybe I’m not straight.

I slam my lips forward gracelessly and start kissing and oh, definitely not a girl. My hands rest on the smooth dress shirt and I feel slight muscle over a masculine chest.

He presses back against me, stumbling us back towards the back of the closet wall as his arms drape over my shoulders. I break back, feeling his breath on my face as I open my eyes to still find darkness. I wish I could see. I wish I could know why this feels right. Part of my mind is filling in Baz's features as my fingertips graze the skin of this bloke's face, but I'm nearly sure I'm imagining it. I try not to dwell on why I'd be imagining me kissing Baz, though; his face just sticks in my mind.

While my hand presses to his cheek, I find that he’s still got his blindfold on. I leave it, a little too scared to cross that intimacy line (suppose I’ll find out before he does, when the door opens for us again).

There’s not much of a pause, though, because he’s going at it again, snogging the breath out of me as his hands travel. They push aside the fabric of my mostly undone shirt, straining the bottom few buttons. Long, bony hands trailing against my skin and flattening against my chest. Without hesitation, I press forward, hands pushing into his hair and kissing him with every ounce I can really give right now.

This feels right. This feels so, inexplicably right. I push my hands into his hair, letting myself grip it lightly. Soft, slightly gelled down strands running through my fingers as I urge his head closer. This even smells right; he smells so comforting; like a candle I’ve had burning next to me for years. He tastes lightly of cigarettes, and he’s much cooler than Agatha ever was, but it doesn’t matter. He’s all I want right now.

A hand cups his jaw while the other stays locked in his hair, tugging at the strands and urging him onwards.

Neither of us tread anywhere below the belt. Seems too risky, too stupid. I’ve been drinking too much (who knows how much he’s had) and it’s not worth being that stupid. Fuck it, if it works out well, we won’t really stop after this. I don’t fancy myself as a romantic, but I also don’t fancy myself as someone to snog the life out of someone just to leave them.

As our lips part, his resting against my jawline, there’s a rattling knock to the door, giving us a few seconds to break apart before it swing open. The soft, changing lights of the party filtering into the small room and gives everything a harsh glow.

And there he is. Alll six feet (give or take) of him; slicked back hair, pinstripe suit, cheekbones to kill.

Tyrannus Basilton fucking Grimm-Pitch.

I stand slack-jawed, leaning against the wall we’d just been up against as he slowly lifts his blindfold off, staring at me with an expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him; guilt, and maybe a little fear.

He’s not angry, though. He’s nowhere near angry, but in the falter of his stone-cold persona lies this scared teen that looks away the moment we lock eyes. Before I can even form a coherent word, he’s pushing past whoever’s holding the door.

By the time I gather my thoughts to follow him, he’s mostly nudged out of the room and ends up slamming the doors open to the courtyard.

It’s frigid when I get there. Most people migrated to pack into the Chapel, but Baz isn’t interested in mingling. He’s going in whatever direction the crowd’s not, making me push through clusters of people as I shout his name.

It takes a solid distance for us to stop, hanging at least five yards apart from each other as he whips around, staring at me with wet cheeks. I feel my magick bubble and spill, working as an almost fog between us; I want him closer. I want to know what he’s thinking.

I can only really figure out one thing to ask right now.

“Did you know it was me?”

His jaw sets, arms crossing defensively over his chest as he stiffens. “Of course I did.” His voice cracks mid sentence. “I always know its you; I can feel your magick from a mile away.”

“Then why didn’t you stop?”

He huffs, laughing so bittersweet that I step forward on impulse. I want something that I’m not even sure about. “You’re so fucking thick, Snow,” he grumbles.

“You could’ve stopped me, Baz. I--we--”

He just stares silently as his arms drop, exposing his chest and his heart; exposing more of himself to me than I could’ve ever imagined. He’s so vulnerable, so weak. It's like he wants me to do something. Kiss him or kill him, he looks like he’d stop neither.

“That felt right,” I say, heart hammering in my chest. What the fuck did I drink? “That felt really really right, Baz.” Cross that, I don't think it's anything I drank.

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean, Snow.”

I swallow, eyes locked on his as I exhale slowly, trying to keep myself steady. “A lot of things don’t make sense to me,” I start, deserving me a cocked brow. I close my eyes, trying to continue. “There’s a lot that I’m clueless on, and there’s a lot that I just ignore, but Baz, that’s something that felt right. And I don’t really know every word I’m saying right now, and I don’t drink a lot so I’m feeling a little fucked up, but I’m still absolutely sure that that was right.”

As I speak, the ground in front of me crunches in a slow, hesitant manner. It stops just short of where I'm standing, the sound of Baz’s breath and the smell of home clinging to him as he stands. I dare myself to open my eyes, taking a moment to look up to him and swallowing any type of pride I’ve got left.

His cheeks are still streaked, jaw clenched shut, but lip quivering in the slightest. “Say that again,” he whispers after a minute, his hands stuck to his sides. I reach out, looping my fingers around his as I stare up.

“This was right.”

He lets out a shaky breath, looking down to me and taking what feels like an eternity to hold my hand back. “You need to get to bed and sleep this off.”

“I’m not going to sleep off feelings,” I huff.

“I know,” he utters back, causing my breath to catch as his hand lifts and pushes a stand of my straightened hair behind my ear. He leans in halfway, waiting for me to react as he whispers “Can’t sleep off mine either.”

Without hesitation, I close the distance.

264 notes · View notes

sigmonwalker1-blog · 6 years

Text

Kotaku

To Kill a Mockingbird has been actually voted the best motivational publication of perpetuity, defeating the Holy bible right into 2nd place. When you build up a reasonable number of meals products (particularly ones with photos) you might locate Foodish decreases a little bit when switching over in between days (at least on apple iphone 3G), I don't know if the complication would become worse the more you utilized this, however that is actually not really any sort of slower in comparison to the majority of applications get along my slow-moving phone. I have means way too many images near the sunshine that I definitely wish maintaining the sun away, therefore this helps me! Deceptive manuals get drawn offline quickly yet usually re-emerge under a various title, cover, as well as writer's label. If you've still received Underworld pegged as that laddish 'beer, lager' band off Trainspotting, it is actually opportunity to acquaint on your own along with their timeless 4th cd. In-game food actually gives you experience points in the direction of the ability that determines your general wellness degree - therefore attempt to eat meals as usually as possible. Merely entertaining, http://azillata-atermeszet.info/ , and I neglected all about exactly what guide is actually definitely approximately. I will observed this manual prominently featured at numerous outlets (mayhap Oprah was actually currently recommending it as deserving charge), therefore when I found a copy at a resell purchase 'fitty' pennies, I thought some inadequate fool on the market somehow handled to verify they recognize much less concerning the market value from a dollar in comparison to I do. This was actually both sweet and also slick, even if the book wasted, I might possibly discharge this on ebay and also manage to in fact make some money out of the bargain. But I am convinced the harm done by manuals like this-like The Secret, The Celestine Prophecy, and everything ever written by the overdue PHYSICIAN Wayne Dyer (or, for that issue, just about anything he may ever prefer to route off past the tomb)- is far above the little good they may achieve. And you are welcome to whack me over the head along with a leather-bound copy of War and also Unity, yet I am actually such a fool for amazing book deals with! To be truthful, I postponed analysis this for a long opportunity, assuming I would not appreciate that as I do not ordinarily check out Inspirational. Unrestricted analysis: Get access to over 600,000 manuals including crowning achievements like The Lord of the Rings triumvirate, the Harry Potter set, Diary from a Frail Little one publications, Flash Boys: An Exchange Rebellion, Water for Elephants, Oh Myyy! I presume the brand-new fad in publications where everyone of the personalities is an asshole might be the way to go if you are writing a manual that you desire to have the planet through tornado along with. I knew this publication was Christian Fiction so I made certain that at the end the male would certainly reconcile with The lord yet I failed to assume the book to be preachy as well as therefore maudlin. This visibly toggles on its own off in settings, as well as other Nexus 6 owners have actually possessed the very same problem for fairly time right now. The article examines the shift in diet patterns because of urbanicity (disorders that are certain to metropolitan vs. non-urban regions), environment change, as well as the globalization of the food market. Do not spend your amount of money acquiring this manual if you truly desire to be mentally enhanced. I'll inform you right now, I liked this publication, but if that doesn't gain grip through many, I'll experience nourished that this is actually risk-free and valued on my shelf. The Line - The author has actually sought that no quotes be actually made use of up until guide is actually published overdue July. Markham kept a close, family-like like connection along with the Kipsigis guy who was her bestfriend in childhood years, as well as she mingled with the likes of Karen Blixen (aka Isak Dinesen, writer of Out of Africa), Denys Finch Hatton (an aficionado of both Blixen and also Markham-Dinesen left Markham out of her publication), the various times gotten married to Idina Sackville (Nancy Mitford's design for The Bolter in her publication The Interest from Affection) and the future (if quick) Master Edward VIII. http://azillata-atermeszet.info/ helps with ideal practices, but is actually additionally developed to intervene before things begin to get negative. Enlightened at Oxford as well as Harvard, she is the author of 5 manuals and has gained a lot of awards, consisting of Britain's Foreign Contributor from the Year 5 times, along with the Prix Bayeux-Calvados, Europe's most respected honor for war contributors. I found myself completely encircled in the tale and also not able to put the book down until I had actually completed. Each hat will certainly come during 2 amount of times throughout the year, too. I aren't sure if you ever viewed the flick or even read through the book, but I envision you like Ellie because film. On the internet native information is effective for short-form accounts, however if a label wishes to cut much deeper as well as develop a comprehensive story, the print publication is actually the excellent medium. I think this is actually primarily of scholastic passion and also this would really be quite tough and also rather complex job to administer that as aspect of your booking strategy.

As the sea liner of communism sinks under the weight from its personal gigantic incompetence (a good idea, yet the captain was drunk and also the staff were actually sticky-fingered rascals), you jump crazy, clamber on to the only available watercraft (commercialism) merely to discover that there's a gigantic tiger aboard which will definitely eat you unless you Oh eventually I obtain this. I read this a couple of years ago as well as this was meant to become all about The lord. Though this is actually ski run isn't however open, Doha Event Urban area has actually introduced a monthlong collection from destinations for children 5-12 years of ages. Emotionally manipulative books that experience as if the author set out with a plan to tug at my soul strands - that would certainly be actually As much as I as if a great love story, I would not call myself an intimate. Many diet prepare for weight-loss that are actually created by nutritionists and wellness specialists are actually accordinged to 1200 fats daily. Apple's Health app tracks your steps just alright, however that's horrendous at really showing any type of valuable details. The Sunshine is Additionally a Star through Nicola Yoon ended up being a splendid unpleasant surprise as I go through the book! I'll Give You the Sunlight supplies an actual present-day check out affection and also relationships. Likewise I am going to only quickly point out that while I perform presume that creating a comments on doctor helped self-destruction is crucial and also it's a subject matter that is worthy of dialogue, I do not think that this was actually the most effective or very most productive method to deal with that. General I think it carried out a lot more injury in comparison to great to use this as a story gadget in a book that's marketed as a love story.

1 note · View note

bluedreamcarts · 3 years

Text

The Uses of Electronics Recycling

R2 certification In this article we will try to understand the fundamentals behind electronics recycling. People like to buy different types of electronic gadgets as their source of entertainment. The rising demand of these gadgets has increased the market of electronics as well as the number of appliances rapidly.

It has also got a great environmental impact. So, in order to save the environment, the process of recycling is carried out. When the people want to discard their old equipments in order to buy new appliances, then electronics recycling comes into the picture.

Where Did It All Start?

In the past, no one had any idea of electronics recycling. So, they hardly got rid of their old electronic products. Later on it was noticed by engineers that electronic products have a range of expensive elements. Thus the idea of recycling originated in its modern form. With re-use these objects save the earth from global warming. When the product's life cycle comes to an end, it is discarded as electronic waste which is also called e-waste. A million tons of e-waste is discarded worldwide every year.

Electronic items are usually made with elements such as lead, cadmium, brominates, fire retardants and plastics. So, the people are encouraged through different modes to recycle their electronic waste. Electronics recycling is an environmentally friendly program because the re-use of materials helps curb the pollution and lessens the need to excavation for the metals used in electronics.

What All Is Recycled?

R2 certification A variety of electronic materials are recycled like televisions, cell phones, audio and video players and computer equipments such as monitor, printers, scanners, keyboards and mice. Additionally, telephones, fax machines, microwaves, small kitchen appliances, vacuums, hair styling appliances, exercise equipments, fans, electronic toys, digital cameras etc. can also be recycled. But the certain electronic devices such as televisions, computers and other large appliances will be banned soon from recycling because they contain harmful materials which can cause damage to the environment. There are several alternatives to give items for electronics recycling such as repair shops, electronics producers, local drop-off centers and retailers.

In the recycling process, the device is separated manually or mechanically into individual components and some pieces are saved which can be re-used. The rest of the components are broken down. Electronics recycling is a very complicated process as devices are made of many different materials. This process is sometimes dangerous because some devices often contain unsafe material such as mercury which needs to be handled with care.

One important point to note regarding electronics recycling is that not all of the material gets recycled. Say even if 80 percent of the material is recycled and re-used, then rest of the unusable material ends up in a landfill. This is certainly an environmental hazard but still it is better than not recycling at all.

To conclude it can be said that electronics recycling is certainly an important method to save the environment and goes a long way to ensure that our future generations are safe.

How does electronics recycling help? One cell phone can contaminate one hundred fifty-eight gallons of water? Two and a half ounces of oil are used to make one ink-jet cartridge, and in 2004 the number of ink-jet cartridges thrown away, if stacked end-to-end, would circle the earth? In short, electronics recycling helps not only you, but everyone around you. It's one of those things where what you do personally actually helps others.

Electronics recycling has been ramped up via rapid technology change, low initial cost, and planned obsolescence. This makes for a fast-growing surplus of electronic waste around the world. Electronic waste is a "rapidly expanding" problem. Technical solutions are available, but in most cases a bundle of prerequisites such as legal framework, a collection system, logistics, and other services need to be implemented before application of that technical solution. Whether its been applied or not, electronics recycling, in the present, helps.

In America, an estimated seventy percent of heavy metals in landfills comes from discarded electronics, while electronic waste represents only two percent of America's trash in landfills. The EPA says that unwanted electronics totaled two million tons in 2005 and that discarded electronics represented five to six times as much weight as recycled electronics - hats off to electronics recycling! So it makes sense when the Consumer Electronics Association estimates that U.S. households spend an average of fourteen hundred dollars annually on an average of twenty-four electronic items, leading to speculations of millions of tons of valuable metals in desk drawers. Relative to this, the U.S. National Safety Council estimates that seventy-five percent of all personal computers ever sold are dust collectors - surplus electronics. Moving on to mobile phones, seven percent of cell phone owners still throw away their old ones. That's a large market for electronics recycling on a national level.

R2 certification The importance of electronics recycling is evident when taking a closer look at electronic waste. Up to thirty-eight separate chemical elements are incorporated in electronic waste. Many of the plastics used in electronic equipment contain flame retardants. These are typically halogens added to the plastic resin, making the plastics difficult to recycle. Because the flame retardants are additives, they easily leach off the material in hot weather. This causes a problem because when disposed of, electronic waste is normally left outside and the flame retardants leach into the soil. Recorded levels are ninety-three times higher than soil with no contact with electronic waste. The unsustainability of discarding electronics and computer technology is a great reason to advocate electronics recycling or re-using electronic waste.

If you would like to help us with America's, and the world's, electronics recycling problem, we promise to help you by clearing out some space in your home, and saving you some money at tax time. It won't cost you a penny to do what is right as we can show you how to do all of this utilizing free shipping. In other words your recycled items will be picked up at your doorstep for free. You will also have available to you a Tax Deductible Donation Acknowledgment that will be filled with an amount you believe the electronics you just donated are worth. This can be used to claim on your taxes at the end of the year. Electronics recycling, or I should say recycling in general, is politically right these days, affording us this special opportunity.

#Computer #computer repair #repair #recylcing

0 notes

serpentshomestead · 7 years

Text

Four Sharp Pointy Things You Need at the Homestead

So, as I begin this blog, I wanted to start out with something fairly basic. I know, I said to myself, I will talk about my go-to-knife! Then before I knew it, I had a list of all manner of sharp and (usually) pointy. These are all things I consider basic indispensible tools, but I detail why, and if it doesn’t fit your needs, than you don’t need it! this is just a guideline, so don’t take it as absolute truth.

#1 : A Good Utility/Pocketknife

This was where this post began. If I had to pick my most important tool on the homestead, this would be probably my top choice, much like how if you ask me my top choice in magical tool, it would be my black-handled witch’s knife. Now, a good knife doesn’t have to be a specific brand, or cost hundreds of dollars. I personally have a Buck 110, but I inherited it from my Pappy and didn’t pay a penny for it. What you want in a good pocketknife for the homestead can be found in cheaper pocketknives. You want a knife that has a good edge and will hold it, this knife will get a lot of varied use and abuse and you probably won’t have the time to be sharpening it at the drop of a hat. These are not the sewing scissors that get ruined when someone uses them to cut paper. You want it to be portable, whether for you that means a fixed blade you wear on a belt or around your neck, or a folding knife you keep in your pocket, boot, or purse. Utility knives are used for everything from cutting the twine on straw bales to gutting wild game, or cutting twigs for snares. You want them with you, that’s why you need to make sure your utility knife is legal in your state, laws for knives vary, and you want to make sure that you are not accidentally carrying a concealed weapon without a permit.

#2: The Axe and/or Hatchet

No, these aren’t the same things, and depending on your lifestyle, you may need both, just one, or none at all. An axe is meant to be wielded two-handed, a hatchet one. Axes also balance the weight differently, but this is less important. Axes are often used for big jobs like splitting firewood, felling trees, and hewing lumber. If you don’t use a smoker or burn wood for heat, then you may not need an axe. A hatchet is meant for smaller, more versatile jobs, like that annoying branch on the apricot tree that just isn’t of any use, or to dispatch the cranky old rooster for the pot. Either way, A chopping tool is a necessity somewhere and sooner or later on the homestead.I advise against a straight-handled axe or hatchet, you want one with a gentle curve to the body of the handle This helps provide better balance as well as absorb some of the force of the chopping upon impact, allowing you to use it longer before your arms protest.

#3: Paring Knife

If the utility knife is the must-have outside on the hoomestead, the paring knife is the must-have for the kitchen. Yes, here are those fancy chef knife sets with all the fancy knives, but those are expensive, and really, this is meant to be a basic guide. The paring knife is the general use-all in the kitchen. Mine is generally always out on the counter, or in the dish drainer, waiting to be taken up. This gets used for everything from chopping vegetables, to peeling fruits, deveining shrimp, trimming excess fat, and more. You want a paring knife that is comfortable in the hand. You also want to make sure that it is not too big. A good paring knife is 3-4 inches, no more. You also want one that has a gentle curve to it. Another option is a steel buttcap, which can be used to smash garlic, or other little forceful tasks that crop up in the kitchen.

#4: Boning Knife:

If you are homesteading seriously, you will probably at some point, be processing meat. This could be anything from small game birds and chickens, to freshly-caught fish or even sides of beef. When processing meat you need a sharp boning knife. The average boning knife is 5-7″ and may be either very flexible, or flexible, but somewhat stiff. A boning knife for fish or poultry should be flexible, while beef, venison and pork is better with a slightly stiffer (but still flexible) blade. Boning knifes are vary narrow and taper to a fine point to cut thin and get in very small areas of a carcass. It may be straight, or curve upward, depending on use and what is comfortable for you. I prefer a straight boning knife, personally.

So that is my collection of four sharp and pointy things that are necessities on the homestead. Of course, this is my personal list, and your needs may vary, but I think it is a good place to start if you are wondering about what kind of things you might need outside and inside your home when trying to become more self-sufficient.

#tools #knives

18 notes · View notes

steverogersnotebook · 7 years

Photo

I commissioned this wonderful art from @yawpkatsi to go with my very first fanfic, my first Stucky fic, and it’s worth every penny. Seriously, commission this artist!!

LOOK AT THE DETAILS*

From two very different points in Steve’s life. Sam’s panel = from Sam’s POV and Steve’s panel = from Steve’s Unsent Letters two parts of my Correspondence series. *Details are listed below the cut if you want to read snippets of my fic.

Correspondence m/m | f/m [series comprised of the following]: * STEVE’S UNSENT LETTERS m/m * BUCKY’S JOURNAL m/m * SAM’S POINT OF VIEW f/m

[SAM’S POINT OF VIEW]

Steve opened the box the rest of the way, there was some newsprint on top; the headlines from Europe and New York regarding the death of Captain America (AKA Steve Rogers) “I’m a character and a parenthetical reference, how do you like that?” his sarcasm not quite hitting it.

“Steve – “

“No, Sam, this – It’s fine;” he placed the papers gently on the floor next to the box lid. The next thing was a dress cap. He touched it gently – hesitantly before finally picking it up and running his finger across the bill. He breathed in systematically before turning it over, looking at the tag inside. “Bucky’s.” was all he said, the lump in his throat much more a permanent resident. I had to turn away – it was too personal, it hit home.

I don’t know how long we both sat in our reverie, could have been literally forever or mere moments. I fought back some sour thoughts that at least his friend was still around – but then I remembered that his loss wasn’t equal to mine and mine wasn’t equal to his. He’s still lost “Bucky”. Possibly permanently, we don’t know the state of James Barnes today or what it will be tomorrow. SO I clawed down the thoughts with the reminder that everyone’s loss is as big to them as it needs to be and can’t be compared to the next guy’s loss. Besides, how can you overlook the fact that in spite of our losses, we’ve found each other as friends?

So much so that we seemed to be in synch; as I was turning back, he was setting the cap on top of the papers with care and tenderness. He pulled out a few – ok more than a few – military tactical books; some art books; a handful of very fat sketchbooks. I’d love to get a look at those; I know he draws sometimes, but that seems to be a piece of himself he’s been neglecting.

The little pieces were no less emotional than the papers and the hat. A knife; “Morita.” He smiled. “I guess I never got it back to him-and he didn’t get a chance to swipe it back.” There was a button; “I was supposed to sew this onto Dernier’s coat. I learned sewing/repair work from ma. I enjoyed it-but time –” he stopped, rubbing the button sort of roughly with his thumb. The next out was a shell casing. He turned it around and around before saying anything. I was vaguely sure it was trench art but I was curious. He grinned; a true smile; “It’s kind of rough, but look. Fallsworth was showing off his skills.” As I took a closer look, I saw an unmistakable Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant Barnes; facing away from one another overlooking the field.

“Doesn’t look all that rough to me.” I meant it, it was beautiful.

“He’d done some really detailed ones and he was threatening to toss this one into the fire. He was rushed, and we had been drinking and telling tales, he wasn’t too happy with it. Bucky swiped it from him to see it and handed it to me. “I’m keeping that, Steve.” He said. “Like hell you are, pal, it’s mine.” And I put it into a pocket of my utility belt. I was really going to give it back to him. It was –”, his smile faded, “well, it was the night before Bucky fell.”

It never occurred to me to stop him, he was moving through the box methodically and he was sharing history – whether with me or with the space of the room I don’t know.

He bent down, laying the shell casing and button next to the other trinkets, paused before picking up the next item. A leather pouch tied with leather lacing and an ornate hair comb on top. He swiped at his eyes.

“Peggy?” I guessed.

His head almost imperceptibly shook side-to-side; “this was supposed to go home to Bucky’s ma. I’d promised him “in case”. He had found the hair comb in one of the little towns and he was going to send it to Rebecca – his sister. The pouch has a bible and notes to his family. Photos, I think, oh and a couple of drawings of us in the trenches.”

He laid them all aside, probably going to look at them in private, maybe not – he might opt to hold onto them for Barnes.

He knelt by the box, looking tired, and small even as he repacked everything with the care he’d given them all when he’d taken them out. He put the lid on the box before rising. He looked like he was unable to proceed. “I can move the box if you tell me where to put it.”

“Oh! No, Sam. I’ve got it but thank you. It’s heavy with those books – you took a beating last night – I’ll do it.” His sigh seemed heavier than the box.

[...]

“I have been writing letters to Bucky since ’43. At first they were intended to be mailed but, “top secret experiment…”.” he pointed to himself, “so nothing I mailed ever went anywhere, some was returned to me even; So…” he exhaled, “I stopped sending it. But I kept writing. I’d still intended to send them to him at some point – then I didn’t even give them to him when we were together. They became like a diary or a journal. I still do it, but now I have plans that one day, if he’s willing, he’ll see them.”

[STEVE’S UNSENT LETTERS]

Bucky,

I’m leaving this note where you can find it. I’ll be back later.

After talking with Dr. P and considering everything we’re about to do together, I decided to give you these letters, all of them. Even though Dr. P said I could keep the current ones as my continuing journal, I think I’ll feel better baring all of my soul than only pieces of it.

There’s a box in the closet where you’ll find the rest.

I love you!

* * *

When I came home, much earlier than I’d planned, I saw him sitting on the floor in the bedroom just outside the closet, and he was surrounded by things. The box was open and trinkets and his mother’s bible were sitting in the lid. The rest was spread all around him as he poured over pages and pages. He looked beautiful, sitting cross-legged resting his back against the wall, his jeans hiked up on one leg, and his tee shirt dusted with damp spots. I saw him take the hem and wipe at his eyes, which explained the spots. When he dropped the hem of his shirt his eyes met mine and a deep knowing was in the air.

“I’m sorry, I’ll –” I moved to leave and he interrupted me.

“No Steve, don’t go.” He held out his hand and patted the spot next to him. “Don’t go.”

“I didn’t plan to be back before you were finished but I wasn’t really up to being out.” I grabbed the box of tissues and handed them to him as I lowered myself to the floor next to him.

“Why would you leave and not share this with me?” Bucky looked as puzzled as he sounded.

“Embarrassed.” I looked at my hands, my fingers, my jeans. “I wrote some personal shit. It was intended to be read far away from me.”

“I can’t believe this,” he picked up one of the first letters, “is from then. From you and from then. This one,” he picked up another, “before Erskine and Stark messed with a perfectly beautiful man.”

I watched his fingers trace the lines of the words on that page and press a photo from the letter to his chest.

I blushed, feeling slightly unsure of myself, but happy to be reminded he’d ‘loved me when’, “I’m still him.”

“No, you’re not, not any more than I'm still this guy. But he’s in there.” He hooked his arm around mine. “This is a lot. A lot of history that I don’t feel entitled to. It’s so much bigger than me.”

“No, it’s all about you; about how I always felt about you. That is our history.” I told him as I rested my head on his shoulder.

“If you insist.” He smiled reluctantly, waving the page he’d been reading when he noticed me, “I’m only about half-done.”

He settled back into reading while I sat beside him. Occasionally he’d bring his free hand up to scratch my scalp or rub my neck. I wondered, in the silence, how my words were coming across and sometimes I struggled to remember what I wrote. I peeked a few times, and more than a few times I peeked at his face to see him tearing up, or smiling, or frowning at something.

“Really?” he asked when he got to the last page, “You really want me to have all of this? Your heart and soul was poured out onto these pages.”

“Yes Buck. They started out as letters to you, look, postmarks and everything. I mailed these and they were returned, but they’re all yours.”

“I can’t believe these were intercepted, how maddening. I waited for letters from you. I worried when I didn’t get any.” He gathered up the stack of war-era letters and held them to his heart before holding them out between us, “These could have saved me a lot of worry. But at least you had them so they were kept safe. It was a dry, dry spell but mail call finally came.” I reached across him and grabbed up his hat and settled it askew on his head. “This made me weep, finding this in that box.”

He looked at me, and for a second, just a quick moment he looked like the years and the things he’d been through hadn’t ever happened. Like the day before he shipped out.

“What’s that look for?” he asked, removing the hat and running his fingers over the brim.

“Déjà vu.” I smiled. “Another time, and another you.”

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #commission my fave artist #you won't be sorry #unless tears of joy make you angry #the details!!!#the colors!!!#my bbys

176 notes · View notes

aeternallis · 8 years

Text

Title: Of Alter Egos and Personas

Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Pairing: Nikiforov Viktor x Katsuki Yuuri Rating: T Summary: 'Eros only exists on the ice; outside of it, merely a figment of their imagination.'

Yuuri finds out the hard way that the fallibility of his relationship with Viktor is, perilously, but one step behind his happiness and contentment.

Post!series / One-shot / Character introspection

AO3

After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.' - Spock (Star Trek)

A couple of blocks from the Fontanka River is a handsome apartment complex that Yuuri has had his eye on for a while. The units were clean and newly renovated with polished, mahogany flooring and model heaters, a full kitchen and living room, as well as a washing machine and dryer. The rent was about 67,000 rubles every month, including all utilities, with the exception of internet. Pets were allowed, and there was a huge park right next to it where Makkachin could run around and get his daily exercise.

It wasn't too far from Viktor's home rink, and along the way, there were a lot of restaurants and eateries that Yuuri was particularly curious to try. There was also a bus stop nearby, as well as a gym, which would especially be useful for when the winter months descend on them, and he won't be able to jog outside due to the danger of slipping on black ice.

All in all, it was the perfect place for him and Viktor.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he scrolled through his phone to see the various screenshots of the available rooms, his eyes thoughtful. The living room was spacious, and the kitchen came with a new refrigerator and working stove, he observed, his mouth stretching in an uneasy smile. The bedroom window had a wonderful view of the area; the Yuletide lights will look marvelous, once they lit up the night. He couldn't ask for a better deal than this, wouldn't know if he could even find one anywhere else.

His gaze became unreadable for a moment, before he abruptly looked away from the phone, staring at the large fountain in front of him instead.

There weren't that many people in the park today, the light caress of the wind playing with his hair as he took in the scenery with heartfelt appreciation. It was September, and the leaves on the trees displayed a brilliant, orange color, and the scent of wet grass after a hearty rainfall made the landscape look like a sort of faerieland, the way the moisture made the greenery shimmer and twinkle. It was quiet, with only the birds and occasional squirrels darting about, a passerby periodically walking past him nonchalantly.

If he could, he wouldn't have minded staying in this place for awhile longer, breathing in the clean air, drifting off to sleep in soothing unconsciousness, surrounded by greenery.

It was a timely distraction, one he was utterly grateful for, if only for a moment, a chance for his mind to wander away from the grueling muck of his thoughts while his thumb hovered over his phone, unable to scroll any further, his fingers lightly shaking in apprehension, building up since the idea first presented itself. He took off his glasses and set them to the side, leaning back against the bench as he took a deep breath, lifting his head towards the drifting clouds while his eyes darkened with unease, his heart pounding in his chest.

The coffee in his hand forgotten, he dazedly placed it to the side right next to his glasses, biting his lip in contemplation.

He couldn't help but chuckle, a hint of cynicism coating his voice. Leave it to him to tarnish the admiration he'd felt; maybe tomorrow, he could actually enjoy walking around the park without getting too dramatic. But he's been pushing it off for too long now, denying himself, as he had always done, the time to mull over it, to turn the subject inside his head this way and that, inspecting every facet of the intention until he's divulged into any and all possibilities, covering all his bases. Thinking about it now, facing the truth was never the hard part, but what came after it.

It wasn't that he didn't want to live with Viktor, because on the contrary, he's never been so sure of anything else in his life, at least that's what he believed, but this. The conviction laid inside his stomach like a dead weight, sure of its place. Nevertheless, the reality was never so simple, and it's not a matter of wanting or not wanting, not anymore...or if it was ever even like that in the first place.

But it would be ridiculously cruel to himself, and though it may not be worth mentioning, to this lovely park as well, should he choose now of all times to lie to himself, the question burning in his mind, as if it were searing itself to the very confines of his memory, unable to outrun the words, glowing like a funeral pyre while he ran for his life inside his brain.

Could he live with Viktor? Does he have the strength and patience to do it?

For all the love he felt towards the man...for all the admiration and esteem and respect and reverence he felt for him...for the many years he spent idolizing him like a god, though he had always known to himself that he would eventually question whether he loved the figure on the posters more or the imperfection of him, for all of those things...could he do it?

Without warning, a dam burst inside of him, the flood waters rushing in to fill his lungs to the brim.

Viktor was lazy half the time, relying on Yuuri to make all their meals. He never takes out the garbage or cleans the bathroom, or sweeps the floors. His tastes were inexplicably grandiose, too much for him to take at times. He lived like a blockbuster celebrity, the paparazzi always hot on his trails like little chicks. He was often a tad bit too forward on those occasions when professionalism was more appropriate, and he had an annoying tendency to spout out private details about their life together to the media.

When he was drunk, he tended to fall asleep loudly, snoring the night away, which would often keep him up all night. His whining was incessant when he would catch him in a foul mood, which happened rarely, but when it does happen...

He was mercilessly blunt, even when he knew how much his words could pierce Yuuri's heart like a thousand daggers, as if it were digging into the caverns of his vitality to drain out all his blood, much more than his sometimes cold eyes ever could. For someone like him who grew up understanding that the slightest difference in a person's glance can mean either approval or disappointment, had been taught all his life how to read the social cues of a rigid, Japanese, high-context society, candor and straightforwardness were his natural enemies.

Viktor felt things too passionately at times, and it would be a lie if he didn't feel that some part of him was afraid that one day, Viktor's ardent love for him could become hate, smoldering just as intensely. And like a cycle that never ended, turning one after another at a dizzying speed, he speculated whether it would have been better to admire him from afar all that they have been through, rather than feel and know and relish that impassioned gaze on him many a time.

Of course, he wasn't without his own faults either. He was just as imperfect...hideously so.

'Would Eros care about something like this?' he asked himself, bringing a finger to his lips, his eyes narrowing at nowhere in particular. But even as he begged the question, he couldn't but shake his head internally, knowing decisively that the query that sprouted out of the oblivion inside his head had already answered itself.

Eros would care more about the persuasion--the seduction--leading to the current prospect, rather than the end result--no, no...that was the wrong word. Rather...the continuity of it, long after the initial hurdle of ensnaring the target has been achieved.

After all, Eros existed solely for the chase of his lovers...right?

Yuuri let out a long, tired sigh, hanging his head. Therein lies his problem, alas. Eros only existed on the ice; outside of it, merely a figment of their imagination.

"A penny for your thoughts?" a voice came from out of nowhere, sounding amused. Yuuri stared at the figure standing before him, while he felt something bump itself on his knee. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down just in time to see Makkachin gazing up at him, his dark eyes filled with glee and excitement, his tongue hanging out, the perfect picture of an obedient and well-behaved dog.

Yuuri let out a small smile, ruffling the big oaf's mane, placing a small kiss on the top of the animal's head. "I feel like I would be the one owing you something if I spill my heart out right now."

Viktor laughed out loud, his voice utterly goofy. "Then in which case, this one's on the house," he replied back cheerfully, making sure to take the other man's glasses and cup of coffee and moving it away as he sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"What's on your mind?" the silver-haired man asked more gently this time, coaxing him.

"...that you can be a handful at times, for one."

Viktor snickered at the sassy tone of his lover's voice, finding his lack of hesitation in saying what's going on inside his brain refreshing...and somewhat surprising. "For someone such as myself who lives to surprise the audience, unfortunately I have some unoriginal material too."

It was Yuuri's turn to laugh at that point, bringing a hand to stifle his giggles as Makkachin wagged his tail, blissfully happy at the sight at seeing his humans delighted and content. Receiving such an answer like that, Yuuri wondered to himself how he could not at least give it a try, for its own sake. There was no harm in it, after all.

Even if the setting was all wrong; he had gained a couple of pounds (it's so hard to lose weight during the autumn months), his hair was a mess, his lips were chapped, and currently, he wore a puffy jacket and beanie hat to keep out the cold. He looked like an overstuffed rice cake, if he were honest to himself, but he was willing to summon the ice inside his mind and recreate the world Eros lived in...if only to make up for his lack of confidence.

The next words that came out of his mouth were uttered in a somewhat breathless manner, a slight lilt to it that never failed to entice anyone who heard it, like a siren hypnotizing the sailors on a ship.

"There's an apartment building I was looking at close to the river..." he began, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dilated, his voice both shy and bold at the same time. It was Eros at one of his more vulnerable moments (just the right amount of equivocation was in and of itself a weapon), but the temptation he played at was, as always, present. "I think it would be perfect for us..."

At this, Viktor couldn't help but grin widely, his eyes narrowing, intrigued...and cautious.

The other man smiled, pleased with himself. For Eros, as Yuuri knew all too well, was nevermore excited for the chase than when the potential lover's response roamed in the realm of the unknown.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

#YOI #Yuri!!! on Ice #Viktuuri #fanfiction #Post!series #Yuuri Katsuki #viktor nikiforov #viktor x yuuri

3 notes · View notes

nh935 · 5 years

Text

The Adventures of Solaire, Part II: Rewards and Consequences

The Incredible yet Accurate Adventures of the Dread Pirate Captain Solaire Ravenheart

Otherwise known as

The Adventures of Solaire

Part II

Rewards and Consequences

Now that Solaire has been reborn from the ashes of his family mansion, I want to take a moment to relate to you his first action he took in his noble quest to save River Ravenheart.

Close to six in the morning, Solaire sailed the Forlorn Rose into the port city of Snaz Snen and, after noticing that the docks were almost completely abandoned, anchored his ship next to a modest merchant ship with a lamp still burning in the windows. This, he figured, was just as good a place as any to begin raising the money he would need to arrange his face-to-face meeting with Weiss. After placing down a large plank of wood to act as a bridge, he boarded said ship just as an individual made their way out of the captain’s quarters.

“Ah!” this newcomer with blonde mutton chops exclaimed, “You must be Capgras DuMonte!”

Solaire tilted his head back and raised an eyebrow. “Yeessss…”

“George Fontaine!” He reached forward and began vigorously shaking his hand. “Pleasure to begin this business venture with you, sir, truly a great honor!”

Solaire allowed his hand to be moved before staring at the freshly-shaken appendage like a chef inspecting a suspicious fish, prompting a very awkward silence.

After a minute or so of this had passed, George cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’m sure you’re a busy man, so let’s get down to the payment.”

Solaire’s head shot up. “Payment?”

“Yep!” He gestured Solaire forward into the captain’s quarters. There, in the center of the room, was a large sack filled to the brim with coins.

“500 gold, just like we agreed” George chirped. “Quite a bit of money. Whole family’s savings, right there. Not a penny left in the bank. Worries the missus a bit. I tell her not to worry, but you know how wives are. If she wasn’t worried about this, she’s worrying about the children falling ill or my mother getting older. I keep telling her, we’ll make it all back in spades with this venture, guaranteed, but it never helps. Glad I can talk to a businessman like you, eh?”

Solaire ignored him and moved forward to the bag, running his fingers through some of the coins.

“So!” George moved up and clasped him on the back. “What do you say?”

Solaire turned around and unloaded a small hand pistol into the man’s gut.

Once George hit the ground, Solaire moved behind the bag and shoved, throwing his shoulder into the weight of it to drag it along the ground. He struggled with it a bit once he got to the railing, having to lift it up and over to place it onto the gangplank, spilling several coins into the ocean below. Once there, more shoving commenced until the bag was securely laying on the deck of the Forlorn Rose.

Behind him, Solaire heard a gargling “Please…”

It was George. The wretch had found enough strength to crawl onto the deck and up on the gangplank, leaving a long streak of crimson blood behind. He was on the wood now, arm outstretched to Solaire in a desperate plea.

Solaire reached forward…

George’s eyes lit up with hope.

...and pulled the gangplank back, dropping George into the icy ocean below.

I’d like you to remember this incident, as it will set the tone of this adventure going forward.

***

But now I beg your forgiveness, dear reader, for I must take you on a brief journey away from this fascinating man, even though I have just told you all about his family tree, his noble quest, the burning of his past, and the manner of madness you can expect from him afterwards. Yes, we know of Solaire, but we know nothing of the others that will soon populate the story afterwards, and Mr. Weiss will become very important soon. Nowhere near as interesting, but important nonetheless. So let us depart from Mr. Ravenheart, tunelessly humming “Drunken Sailor”, and travel 800 nautical miles North-Eastward, to the monolithic beauty that is the Emperor.

Of the various locations Solaire will visit in the pages ahead, few exist now as anything more than memory and the occasional piece of driftwood, but the Emperor is a rare exception. A lucky thing, too; it’s a true grandeur and a marvel to behold. A large steel ship painted white and trimmed in black, the Emperor floats on the waves despite being the size of a small city. At that mass, sails alone are insufficient, so instead it propels itself via “steam engine”, pumping in sea water to be boiled in large cauldrons heated with burning coals, then takes the steam inside of an intricate system of pipes so that it may move a massive set of propellers underwater. The black soot that is the waste product of this process is expelled through smoke stacks the size of castle towers, making it a sight so huge and strange that one could be forgiven for thinking that some massive sea-born monster, and not a ship, was out in the distance.

That exterior, though, hides a gilded interior, full of gold and silk and all the finer things in life. At the time of Solaire’s visit, the Emperor was designed to be a floating casino resort, containing four levels of slot machines and card tables for all amounts of wealth, a large buffet-style dining hall constantly filled with the richest of foods, 2,000 rooms for guest habitation, and a huge ballroom with a massive band of 64 string instrument players, 30 brass members, 27 woodwind players, fifteen percussion members, and eight dolophone players (which I suspect to be a form of embezzlement from the conductor. I have no knowledge of such an instrument, and as a bard, I am inclined to trust my own authority on the subject.) But despite this size, no small details were spared. Each room had gold-leafed crowning, carved frescos, painted friezes, a tasteful arrangement of exotic plants, and more details besides, in relation to the function of the room.

This floating palace was the vision of one Mr. Weiss, pronounced in the old Eswein accent as “Mr. Vice”. He lived up to the name, too. Weiss had been the son of the senior Weiss Edgars, who controlled the large and profitable theive’s guild on the major import/export city of Snaz Snen. Junior Weiss was uninterested in most of the activities of the guild, preferring to spend his time womanizing, drinking, and ingesting all manner of illicit substances. The only piece of his father’s business that held his attention was the gambling rings the guild ran on the side. They were fascinating affairs. Weiss watched dice roll after dice roll, calculating odds and adding together wins and losses. They were driven by math, Weiss realized, so that no matter how lucky a hot streak was, the house would still come out on top. No temperamental thieves needed, and no muddling authority to worry about. Just simple numbers and disgusting amounts of cash.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Weiss applied his mind into the creation of more ingenious gambling machines, and if his patents are any indication, Weiss was quite intelligent. He created the first slot mechanisms, and combined the invention with a clever application of psychology to construct the first slot machines, perfect temptresses that lured in the unsuspecting with low buy-ins and utilized small winning payouts with the promise of large jackpots until the player became hopelessly addicted to pulling the small lever. He made the roulette wheel, the perfect arbiter of randomness, designed dice games with higher payouts but lower chances to win, added decks into decks to frustrate card-counting, and dozens more additions aside. Soon, the casinos were raking in more money in one night than a master thief could make in a year.

Which is when Weiss had a new vision: a ship. A massive ship, more like a luxury island, in which members of all economic brackets could climb aboard and sail away for a week, or a month, or longer, enjoying a vacation free of all the stresses awaiting them on shore. A perfect retreat. But it would require entertainment, which is why it would also be filled to the brim with gambling pastimes. A perfect captive audience. Even those not interested would eventually cave to boredom. And Weiss would slip in his numbing, addictive number games into every member aboard. When they were dropped off, they’d owe far more money than they ever paid for their ticket, and Weiss would be there every day, captaining this ferry of sin and its damned passengers.

I apologize again, but I wanted to give you an appreciation of the perfect application of sinister design that Weiss had set up before Solaire starts to systematically smash it. It makes the next several parts far more entertaining to read.

***

Weiss was currently seated in the top lounge, enjoying the company. He was an equal-opportunity corrupter, so the ship was divided up into four main levels, each catering to a different economic class bracket. The top level was only for the highest spenders, aristocrats and politicians, those who could casually withdraw hundreds of gold coins from their pockets. As such, it was his favorite company to keep.

At the moment, he was talking to the Dinan ambassador to Archone, with one arm around a gorgeous woman and another on a bottle of artisan beer (an oxymoron if I ever heard one). He was small, only five foot two (well, five feet even, but we’ll be polite and ignore the platform bottoms of his shoes), but he made up for it in pure personality. Weiss was an animated man, using his arms as much as his hands when he talked and waggling his eyebrows so frequently one might worry they were about to fly off. He was dressed, as always, very dapperly; in a velvet red suit accented in gold thread, a top hat of similar style and color perched atop a head of white hair. His cane was seated by his side.

Weiss laughed. “And so, zat’s vhen I said to him…”

A loud buzzing interrupted him, coming from the brass pipe attached to the wall on his left. It was the ship’s internal communication system, a series of pipes he designed that contained and amplified sound waves so that any important communication could be delivered at anytime, anywhere on the ship.

He glared at it annoyed.

It stopped buzzing for a second, then began buzzing again.

Weiss sighed. “Excuse me for a second, but I musht attend to zis.”

He walked over to the vibrating pipe, dragged it down to mouth level, and asked “Vhat is it?”

“Um, we’ve got someone who asking to purchase a ticket for the current voyage” the voice on the other line said.

Weiss eyebrows knit together in annoyance.“You called me about a shtowaway?”

“No sir. He’s outside the ship.”

“...vhat?”

“He’s currently sailing alongside us, calling out to the crew that he wants to purchase a ticket.”

“But ve are 500 miles away from land.”

“Yes sir.”

Weiss rubbed his eyes. “Has he identified himself?”

“Hold on.” A brief moment passed. “He says his name is ‘Solaire Ravenheart.’”

“Ravenheart…” Weiss muttered. His memory was photographic, so it only took him a second to recall the name and the man. Yes, youngest of the line. He’d been here once or twice, top deck, too, but each time he looked mostly bored and uninterested. In all honesty, he got more use out of the free bar than any gambling table. He’d never shown up again, and Weiss had written the man off as a lost cause.

“Sir?”

“Does he know vhat ticket he vants to purchase?”

“Month long ticket, top deck.”

“Does he have ze 500 gold?”

“He claims he does.”

Weiss thought for a moment. This was highly irregular. No doubt there were some fishier motives at play. But at the same time, holding a Ravenheart in one’s pocket was far from a bad thing…

“Let him aboard. After you collect payment.” Weiss began to walk away, then paused. “And tie up his schip to tow behind us. Claim confenience, record as collateral.”

“Yes sir.”

Weiss shook his head and walked back over to his two companions. “Apologies for ze interruption. Vhere vere ve?”

“You were in the middle of telling us about meeting the Baron of Oskus, babe” the pretty blonde said.

“Ah yes! So, zere I was, worsht hangofer I hafe efer had, sittink on my own tophat of all zings! And the Baron was zere, layink on ze craps table, so I turned to him and said…”

The brass pipe vibrated again.

Weiss’ smile went tight. “I turned to him and said…”

The pipe gave another vibration, only louder.

“One moment.” He stomped over to the pipe. “VHAT?!”

“Um, sorry sir,” the voice stammered, “but it doesn’t look like he has all of it.”

“All of vhat?”

“The gold. It’s close. 487, I think. He says a few pieces fell overboard.”

“Jusht let him on!”

“Alright. Also, there’s blood…”

“Lishten to me.” Weiss drew the pipe down lower so that he could lean over it, as if trying to intimidate the brass instrument, “I. Don’t. Care. Gife him ze ticket, tow his schip, and deal wis any problems yourself. If I hear one more call about zis man, I will demote you from whatefer position you hafe now to boiler fuel, UNDERSHTOOD?”

“Y-yes sir!”

Weiss rolled his eyes and turned back to his two companions. “Perhaps we schould retire to a prifate room, no?”

Solaire walked about the ship, taking in every detail he could. He’d been here twice with his father during a few fruitless attempts to connect with his son, and Solaire had found it boring each time. Too civilized. Solaire hadn’t been able to understand how these paper cards and ivory dice were supposed to get the blood flowing. In a tavern, sure, where you were cheating and he was cheating and everyone was just waiting to catch someone cheating so that they could start a brawl. But not here, where even the sharp corners were blunted down so that no one could hurt themselves and besmirch the memory of their vacation.

But then again, now he was here for a reason. Weiss had consigned the large payment for River, which means that he knew something. Or had something written down. And seeing as he couldn’t just walk up and ask him, he had to spend some time figuring out how to get that information. And yes, finding that ship with the gold was a good omen. He needed to rob someone to get aboard and in a position to talk to Weiss, as most of his wealth was now buried in the ground. Finding a mark that easy had to be a sign that fate was smiling at him right now. But that was no excuse to get sloppy.

Every detail mattered, he thought. He kept his eyes and ears wide, watching the customers, the servants, the large, eight-foot tall, thin and golden clockwork automatons with long blades for arms watching the crowd (those weren’t there last time, were they?), smelling the food, observing the crew, listening to the “SCHINK, clack, clack, clack, *tink*, DING! Clatterclatterclatterclatterclatter” of a nearby slot machine.

Solaire stopped. Had he heard that right?

He walked over to another slot machine, being played by another woman, listening closely to the mechanism inside.

She dropped a coin inside and pulled the large lever, spinning the little symbols inside. “SCHINK”. She pulled the lever again, stopping the spinning symbols. “Clack, clack, clack.” No symbols matched.

Solaire waited as she pulled out another coin.

Lever. “SCHINK!” Lever again. “Clack, clack, clack *tink*” The symbols matched this time, prompting a “DING!” and the “clatterclatterclatterclatter” of falling coins. She yelped for joy and scooped up her winnings, rushing off to another section of the ship.

Solaire approached the slot machine. So, he had heard that right. There was a tink. A familiar tink, at that.

Back when he was younger, his parents deluged him with tutor after tutor, under the claim that they needed to educate him, when in reality they were really just trying to keep him busy so that they didn’t have to deal with him. Part of that process was trying to find something the young lad was interested enough in to keep him sitting still for more than five minutes. For a while, they found that he was interested in mechanical systems, particularly locksmithing, but they soon realized Solaire was far more interested in figuring out how to bypass such locks than making more.

It was a bit too late, as they found that out after a nearby temple had him arrested for breaking into their mausoleum, and by that point, the damage had been done. Solaire had never forgotten about what he learned and locks would forever be his easy to persuade friends.

Now, Solaire knew that there were two types of locks. One was the tumble lock, the classic configuration that required a specially-cut key to move the small pins that kept the lock from moving. They required a skilled hand and a small piece of metal to manipulate open. But the other kind, combination locks, were made with spinning disks that, when properly aligned, would catch on a small bar and remove it, allowing the door to swing open. All you needed to open those was a well-tuned ear to hear the sound of the disk catching.

A sound that was a very particular tink.

Solaire moved around to the face of the machine, looking it over. A familiar, childish emotion, that of troublemaking curiosity, washed over him.

If that was the case, then the way these slot machines worked was to spin the symbols so fast that they landed on a random configuration. If all three disks lined up to the same notch (and, by extension, the three symbols outside), the machine would be able to open up a door inside and dispense coins. If not, the machine’s attempt to open the door would be thwarted and remain closed. No coins. So if you could make sure all the disks spun together, and introduce some friction into the machine so that, when it got to the matching notches, it didn’t have enough momentum to overcome the divots…

Solaire walked over to the large buffet table, scanning the tables until he arrived at the end, where the desserts and drinks were kept. Past the cakes, the cream, the iced cream, the puddings… aha! Sugar. Plain and simple sugar. Solaire took two of the cups nearby and filled them both up with sugar. Then he moved over to the tea station and placed just a tiny bit of boiling water in one. Stirring it with a spoon, he managed to mix it into a thick and sticky sludge. Then he came back to the slot machine.

No one had touched it, which meant that the symbols were still in their winning position. Taking the spoon out, he carefully poured the concrete-like mixture into the spaces in between each symbol cylinder. After ensuring there were no bubbles of air between the cylinders, Solaire blew on the mixture with his mouth, watching it dry quickly in the hot air of the enclosed gaming area. Then he took the cup of dry sugar and poured it into the open display window. With the cylinders together and the grains placed into the spinning mass, Solaire put a coin in and pulled the handle.

There was a grinding sound as the gears attempted to chew through the foreign material. The symbols shook and vibrated, then began to rotate slowly, chugging along with the determination only a machine can muster. It took nearly three minutes for the slots to rotate around once, and once they did so, there was a *tink* as the three matching symbols returned to their former spot on the display and stopped, followed by a loud DING! and the clatter of coins.

Soliare put one of the coins in and, while waiting for the slots to finish a second tortured journey, took off his top hat and scooped the coins inside. Once he was finished, there was another DING! Followed by more coins. Solaire repeated. He won again. Repeat. Win. Repeat. Win.

By this time, a small crowd had gathered around the suspiciously lucky man. While they watched and murmured to themselves, one of the clockwork automatons raised his head and walked over to the machine. With a set of whirring, clicking steps, he pushed his way through the crowd to get to the man now placing the coins in his pockets.

“PASSENGER” it croaked, “YOU HAVE BEEN WITNESSED TAMPERING WITH CASINO EQUIPMENT AND WINNING A STATISTICALLY UNLIKELY NUMBER OF TIMES. PLEASE FORFEIT THOSE WINNINGS AND COME WITH ME.”

Solaire turned about calmly to face the giant metal contraption. “Ah, well you see, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”

The deck went quiet in expectation. Even the automaton clicked a little softer.

Solaire reached into his hat and threw a handful of coins at the thing.

There was immediate chaos. The passengers began clambering over each other, trying to grab the valuable coins out of the air. The automaton tried to make his way through into the center, shouting “GUESTS, PLEASE STOP. THOSE WINNINGS DO NOT BELONG TO YOU.” The few people who weren’t watching the scene unfold were watching now, witnessing the long, spindly robot try to delicately shove people aside with its large bladed arms.

And Solaire ran, hat of coins cradled in his arms.

An alarm bell began to sound. “ALL PASSENGERS AND NON SECURITY CREW” the robots began to call at once “PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR QUARTERS. WE WILL DEAL WITH THIS SHORTLY AND APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR INCONVENIENCE.” As they repeated the announcement over and over, they moved towards Solaire, moving in a not quite a run but not quite a walk towards the fleeing noble.

Solaire gritted his teeth and fumbled inside his coat for the pistols stored there. For a brief moment, his fingers brushed against the Ivory River, but he decided against it; the ammunition for that gun was rare and who knows when he would be able to acquire more. Instead, he grabbed the regular flintlock revolver and aimed it at the lead robot.

“Apologize for this, you metal bastard” he growled and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the side of its chest and bounced off with a resounding “PING!”

“WE APOLOGIZE THAT YOUR ESCAPE IS FUTILE.”

Solaire grimaced and shot again.

This time it PINGed off the top of its shiny head.

“PLEASE COME WITH US SO THAT YOU MAY BE DETAINED AND/OR EXECUTED, DEPENDING ON THE NATURE OF YOUR CRIME. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE THIS MAY CAUSE.”

Solaire took a deep breath, raised the gun one more time, and closed an eye as he lined the barrel with his open eye.

This time, the bullet landed in the center of the lead robot’s head, causing a smash of glass as it entered the lense set there.

“WE APOLOGIZE, BUT THIS UNIT IS BLIND.” The automaton tried to take another step and placed its long leg right onto a small cart filled with dirty dishes. The cart shot forward, causing the robot to fall backwards onto the robot immediately behind it. It, in turn, toppled over too, knocking into another nearby unit, and pretty soon the first formation of nine were spinning around and falling over, like tops losing speed.

People were screaming now, panickedly running this way and that. Another formation of robots appeared over the mass of their fallen brethren. Solaire muttered a soft curse and weaved through the crowd. After pushing his way past a group of dashing tourists, he managed to get to a section of exposed deck free from people and break into a full-on sprint.

“Halt thief!”

A mass suddenly hit Solaire in the back, causing him to fall forwards and spill the golden coins all over the deck. The mass stayed there and pointed a blade that Solaire could feel on the back of his neck. “This is Emperor security, and you are under arrest for the theft of- holy shit!”

Solaire managed to squirm his way around to face his attacker. It was a man, a muscled one, at that, with short black hair and fair skin, dressed in red and brown leathers. He was pointing a hooked sword at Solaire’s neck, a matching one gripped in the other hand, but his eyes were looking at the mass of spilled coins splayed out across the floor.

He was sitting directly on his chest, which meant that Solaire couldn’t get his arms up off the ground. Time to improvise.

“Hey, you!” he called out to the man on top of him.

He looked down to Solaire.

“You help me get out of here, and I’ll split that 50/50 with you.” Solaire said.

“It’s my job to catch you,” the man replied, but Solaire could detect the waver in his voice.

“Your job worth that much?” he asked.

The man licked his lips, then stood up and offered Solaire a hand. Solaire grabbed it and they stood just in time to watch one formation of robots approach from behind, and one in front.

“You get the ones in the back, I get the ones in the front?” the man asked.

“Sounds good” Solaire replied, readying his pistol.

A chorus of gunshots rang out on the deck as both men unloaded their guns onto the opposing force. Solaire aimed at his group and fired. The first PINGed, the second PANGed, but the third found a weak hinge at the knee, toppling one over and watching it become speared by the footsteps of its companions. Solaire lined up a fourth shot that entered the chest of another one right where the heart would be, causing the machine’s movements to become slow and jerky until it stopped marching all together. He aimed once more at the still approaching forms and…

*click*

The gun was empty.

He turned around to see how his new found friend was doing. The man was swinging from banister to banister, using the hook on his sword to hurl himself through the air while the other hand aimed a large pepperbox-looking pistol at the automatons, chipping them away with hit-and-run tactics.

In one smooth motion, Solaire grabbed the hat, scooped a majority of the spilled coins back into it, and ran into a nearby staircase before either the oncoming robots or his ally could stop him.

Down the stairs he went, down to the second deck, the sanctioned area of the well-to-do working class of the ship. As silently as he could, he cracked open the door of the staircase and peered out.

The hallway was completely empty. Every door was closed and not a soul was in sight.

Solaire crouched down, minimizing his frame and doing his best to silence the sounds of his movements. He slinked down the halway, trying each door knob until the third one proved to be unlocked as he steathfully slipped inside.

Inside contained the trappings of a well-furnished tavern room. Two beds with clean sheets were placed in the center of the room, as well as a writing desk and a comfortable chair. And, because this is the Emperor and the Emperor was the epitome of luxury, nearby in a little alcove was a flushing toilet, and two basins with a pipe that dispensed flowing water with the turn of a handle, one basin sized for hands and the other sized for whole bodies. A large and slightly overweight gentleman was using the hand-sized one, humming something to himself. He was dressed in a tweed suit jacket and pants in a lovely shade of dark green, with a bowler hat on top as well. His face was soft and baby-like, despite the ginger whiskers growing out of his face, and around his neck was a carved wooden necklace in the shape of a shell.

He turned, saw Solaire, and gasped.

Solaire pointed his pistol at him. “Don’t. Make. A. Sound.”

The man raised his hands up over his head, spied the still-running tap, and shut it off before returning his hands to the position of surrender.

There was a knocking at the door.

Solaire moved over to the bed furthest away from the door, keeping his hat of coins gripped tight the whole time. Once he was there, he whispered “Answer it, and make sure to tell them that there’s no one in here but you.”

The man nodded and moved towards the door, arms still raised.

“Put you hands down!” Solaire hissed.

He did so and opened it wide as Solaire ducked behind the mattress.

“Hello? Yes? Whatever is the matter?” the man stammered.

A crew member in a dark blue sailor’s coat did a polite bow. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but a fugitive has been spotted on the ship. We’re doing a check of the rooms to make sure he isn’t hiding in any of them.”

The man began to sweat. “Well he isn’t here. No one here. Except me, of course! Just me. Myself. Alone. No need to check.”

Solaire put his palm over his face in his hiding spot.

The crewman arched an eyebrow. “Sir, is everything alright?”

“Yes, fine, why wouldn’t it be fine?”

“Could I just quickly check?” the crewman asked, attempting to step inside.

The man blocked his entry. “Now now now now there’s no need for that.”

The two began an awkward struggle over entryway. “Sir, let me through!” the crewman declared through gritted teeth.

“Please, sir, if you would just understand” the man babbled, “I-I-I am a man of privacy. I value, I-I…”

“This is for your own safety sir!”

“I-I… I… I-AHCHOO!”

The man in the tweed suit let forth an enormous sneeze. As he did, a massive cloud of sparkling green, pink, and yellow smoke filled the room and the hallway beyond, filling the area in a hazy mass of glittering smoke, obscuring vision.

Solaire blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

He shook his head; no time to think. Gripping the hat tight, he ran past the two men, both of whom had backed away from the door in the confusing incident. As he did, he bumped past the crewman, who called out “HEY! He’s over here!”

“Where the blazes is over here?!” an unseen voice responded.

Solaire bolted towards a staircase further down the hall, slamming the door open and leaping up the stairs two at a time until he reached the top deck. Barreling into it, he burst through. He was at the tail end of the ship, mere feet away from the Forlorn Rose and freedom.

A door suddenly opened in front of him and a short man in red stepped out, smiling and saying something to someone inside. “I’m schure zat I will be back in jusht a second…”

There was no time to react. Solaire collided with the small man at top speed. Both figures spun through the air as the gold coins went everywhere, flying into the sky before raining back down with the sound of high-pitched clattering.

Weiss rubbed his head. “Vhat on…” He turned to Solaire. “Ze Ravenheart?!”

Solaire reached for his pistol, but all he felt were coins. He scrambled around, trying to find the familiar shape of the handle without taking his eyes off of Weiss.

There was a tap on his shoulder.

Solaire turned around just in time to see a fist the size of his face rushing straight towards him.

The blow knocked him backwards. His vision was blurred, his ears were filled with ringing, and he could feel blood trickling down his nose. Unable to think, much less move, he collapsed onto the deck floor, helpless to do anything but watch the fuzzy play unfold in front of him.

“Ah,” the foggy short red figure said in a muffled voice, “zank you Aushtin.”

A humongous white shape with… shark teeth? No that couldn’t be right… grinned. “No problem, boss.” He stared down to Solaire. “Nighty nighty now.”

With no strength to do anything else, Solaire complied.

#series #short_story #the adventures of Solaire #fantasy #steampunk #adventure #pirate

0 notes

corpasa · 5 years

Text

Online Education and Coding: 5 Websites to Learn Coding for Free

The following is a guest post by Colin Simpson, a project management professional with experience in the IT industry. If you would like to submit a guest post, please contact us.

“Coding is not for everyone!” Said no one ever in the modern world. Gone are the days when coding was considered to be only for a few nerds who could spend endless hours in front of a computer screen. Today, coding is a fundamental life skill that helps freelancers, marketers, and entrepreneurs excel at what they are doing.

Coding for yourself is empowering. It allows you to transform your idea into reality. If you are a blogger, coding can help you create an intuitive blog. If you are an entrepreneur, coding can help you with your product idea. Also, coding is one of the popular Education Trends that will Shape the 2019-2020 Academic Year.

Why should you learn to code?

You must be thinking, why learn to code when there are programmers you can hire?

Well, when you code for yourself, you can reduce your dependence on others and execute your idea exactly like it is in your head. The added cost advantage can be a cherry on the top.

For many of us, having the basic programming knowledge will mean that any developer cannot fool you into thinking that an idea is impossible to convert into a program. When you know how to code, you can work on your vision without relying on anyone else.

Why are online methods a great way to learn coding?

The internet has been a great facilitator and has changed every aspect of our life- from shopping to entertainment. Similarly, when we think of education, online learning has completely revolutionized the domain. Anyone can learn using the internet without thinking about the distance, time or language barrier.

When we think of coding, there cannot be a better way to learn coding than the internet. For the instructors too, teaching coding via the internet is really easy. They can provide real-time support and relatable examples by using technology and connectivity, without any trouble of setting up and maintaining physical infrastructure. This way, a lot of resources and time get saved and teachers can concentrate on teaching, instead of other aspects.

Many companies prefer hiring developers who have learned programming on their own or via online learning. We also prefer such candidates and it helped us to become the top app development company in San Diego.

5 Websites to Learn Coding for Free

In the age of the internet, all you need to learn coding is just a reliable internet connection and a laptop. The rest you can discover and try on your own. Here are 5 amazing resources you can use to learn coding without spending even a single penny:

1. Code.org

One of the biggest coding resources on the internet, the website offers detailed guides and tutorials on how to code.

Code.org is really popular among amateur coders and aspirants who want to learn coding. This is because of the presence of several tutorials, applications and guides that are offered by Code.org partners, making the website a large repository of learning resources. Being a non-profit initiative, code.org aims to promote the concept of code learning among school and college-going children.

One can learn how to develop games for school children, JavaScript programming and a lot of other exciting things.

Apart from self-paced tutorials, the website also conducts specific lessons in the form of lectures by famous programmers and instructors for easy learning.

2. Codeacademy

Codeacademy has been used by more than 45 million people all over the globe to learn coding. An educational company that believes in making programming more engaging, Codeacademy offers useful courses in HTML, CSS, SQL, JavaScript, C++, Python, among other courses.

One can learn several technical aspects associated with coding through self-paced courses on a wide range of programming languages.

3. MIT Open Courseware

MIT Open Courseware is ideal for someone who has already cleared the basic stages and wants to learn advanced concepts. An initiative of Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Open Courseware gives you a chance to take up language-specific courses on C++, MatLab, Java and other programming languages.

One can also learn more about programming concepts and other innovative technologies using the Open Courseware website.

4. Khan Academy

Khan Academy was developed by an educator, Salman Khan in 2006 and is one of the most genuine free eLearning platforms. There are several dedicated courses and video tutorials on the platform that can help you in learning how to code, how to create webpages with HTML, CSS.

A special program on the website, ‘Hour of Code’ also teaches students more about computer science and programming.

Students can share their learnings with other students and this kind of shared learning model creates more engagement. Apart from instructor-led courses, there are several specialized courses and learning material that you can utilize to create your own extensive code learning repository.

5. Web Fundamentals

A project by Google for web developers, Web Fundamentals has a large number of free resources like tutorials, guides and walkthroughs to learn the nuances of HTML5 coding. Being an open-source platform, one can use the HTML5 code to learn several aspects of advanced coding and programming.

Recommended for someone with basic programming knowledge, this website can serve as a useful resource if you want to refine your skills, grow as a programmer and achieve bigger things with your coding knowledge.

Wrapping Up

Learning to code is no longer an expensive ordeal. The online medium is quite an affordable way to learn coding. Anyone from a school-going kid to an adult can grasp coding fundamentals and use them to his/her benefit by learning to code online. Coding can be especially a useful skill if you plan to launch your own startup or wish to make a career in the STEM industry.

As it is said, a little extra knowledge is never harmful. So, you should not shy away from donning your learning hats and start learning to code, right away!

Author’s Bio: Colin Simpson is a competent project management professional with rich experience in the IT industry. He is currently working as a project manager at BlueKite Apps. Over the years, he has worked with startups and business owners to transform their ideas into digital solutions, and that experience has helped him to start writing on various aspects of the IT industry. You can find Colin on LinkedIn at: https://www.linkedin.com/in/iamcolinsimpson/

Reference herein to any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, does not constitute or imply an endorsement, recommendation, or favoring by Touro College.

The post Online Education and Coding: 5 Websites to Learn Coding for Free appeared first on Online Education Blog of Touro College.

Online Education and Coding: 5 Websites to Learn Coding for Free published first on https://medium.com/@DLBusinessNow

0 notes

sempiternalsandpitturtle · 5 years

Text

What does a copywriter do?

Copywriter, content writer. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to? Not necessarily. So what makes them different? It’s all about the intent.

A professional copywriter basically pitches your brand to a target audience. They promote or sell a product or an idea directly through some type of creative campaign. These could be ads on the subway, social media or in a magazine, a commercial for TV, a direct marketing email and so on.

A content writer, on the other hand, creates copy (mostly for the web) that provides deeper context for what your brand does. The goal is to generate top-of-funnel interest and establish a sense of authority that will lead prospects deeper into the buyer journey.

Copywriting conveys an impression, whereas content writing tends to be more in-depth and explanatory. This Snickers commercial is copywriting:

youtube

This online guide to brewing beer is content writing:

One might say that copywriting is “sexier” but perhaps a bit superficial compared to content writing.

This isn’t to rag on copywriting for being “shallow,” or conversely, to say that content writing can’t be downright compelling. We’ve all seen enough commercials and read our share of listicle content to know that’s just not true.

Not to mention, they play for the same team: your business. Content marketers and copywriters frequently collaborate, and as the lines between the physical and digital become increasingly blurred, so do the lines between their work.

Let’s discuss.

But first, a quick note about copyright law

Skip ahead if you already understand the difference between “copywrite” and “copyright.”

And if you don’t, rest assured, you’re not the first to make this mistake. They are homophones, after all.

When content is copyrighted (as opposed to copywritten), it is protected as an author’s original expression, meaning it cannot be reproduced, published or sold without permission. More simply, copyright law is how content creators protect ownership of the things they make. This includes written copy and even emails that have been sent, but also visual and audio content.

Once a copyright expires (70 years after the death of the author), the content enters the public domain, meaning no one has exclusive property rights.

And, for the sake of complete clarity, copyediting refers to the practice of editing written copy to improve readability, style consistency and overall content quality.

With that out of the way, we can move on.

Where copywriters belong on a content marketing team

Let’s begin by listing off the typical content marketing team dynamic (click here for the long version):

Strategy: Define content marketing’s role in your bigger business objective (domain of marketing directors and content strategists);

Ideation and execution: Translate those objectives into a creative vision and roadmap for execution (creative directors, project managers, content writers, managing editors);

Production: Create and revise the actual content (content writers, copy editors, designers, project managers);

Promotion: Share your content via email campaigns and social posts (social media strategists, content writers).

Finally, this process circles back around to the strategists, who perform analysis to determine how that content is performing.

Executive buy-in is essential to the success of any #contentmarketing plan. We’re helping you answer all the common questions and we’re sharing our tips for making a business case for content marketing. https://t.co/Bgk143hOGX

— Castleford Media (@castlefordmedia) June 27, 2019

Where copywriting and content writing converge

Historically, copywriters didn’t necessarily have a role in the above dynamic. But that’s drastically changed over the past few years as the content marketing agency model has matured.

In the old days, content marketing was treated like “the poor man’s copywriting” or pigeonholed into the realm of B2B marketing. It was entirely removed from copywriting. Organisations paid huge premiums to advertising agencies for access to a junior or senior copywriter – or they would commission freelance copywriters for a pretty penny.

But if they wanted web content marketing, they had a number of cost-effective options:

Create content in house;

Pay freelancers ad hoc to fill content needs;

Outsource content creation to a third-party agency writer.

And yes, these same options are still available. However, the expectations for the end product have dramatically evolved.

Why? Because SEO.

Search engines are getting smarter by the day so they can populate SERPs with web content that aptly corresponds to what they think the user is searching for. This means content has to be good. Really good.

More than that, though, it means content has to be exceptionally well-promoted on the web and through digital channels (e.g. email) that have traditionally been considered the domain of the content writer.

Enter copywriting.

So we ask again: What does a copywriter do for content marketing?

A writer who’s wearing his or her content marketing hat will attempt to create something that is informative and has direct utility to the reader. That’s why you’ll see a lot of how-to blog posts, listicles (“10 ways the cloud saves your business money” or “A comprehensive to-do list for the first-time homebuyer”), etc. The SEO element is always top of mind here, too, so there’s keyword research to consider: What terms map to the subject matter you’re trying to become an authority on? Who’s getting the most backlinks on their website, and why?

With content writing, you also want to be mindful of the types of questions the audience is asking. Don’t be afraid to create long-form content that hits all the major points of a given topic.

When that writer puts on his or her copywriting hat, on the other hand, he or she thinks more promotionally.The aim shifts to creating a message that is concise, powerful and, in a sense, irrefutable. The copywriter creates pithy one-liners and laconic imagery that convey brand identity and values; not 1,000-word blog posts that position a brand as a thought leader on a particular subject.

Content writing lures interest. Copywriting commands action. You need to do both in a modern content marketing campaign.

In this sense, copywriting and content marketing are more like skills than roles. An effective content writer knows when to think like a copywriter, and vice versa. Both need to understand brand identity as they write in order to create a tone of voice that will convey brand values and resonate with the target audience.

More simply, promotional copy is a type of content that plays a specific role in a content marketing strategy.

Let’s look at an example

A whitepaper about how cloud-based CRM saves money calls for the content marketing mindset. It will be long, informative, useful and will rely on trusted sources and well-developed arguments to make the point.

But say you want to do a paid ad campaign on Facebook to promote that whitepaper. Maybe you orchestrate a “Things that cost more per month than your new cloud-based CRM” campaign. Each ad can depict a monthly cost estimate of an activity for comparison such as refilling your gas tank, doggy daycare, grocery shopping, etc. This is copywriting used in content marketing.

Another example is email marketing, which has the highest ROI of any content marketing channel. You’re soliciting a direct action on the part of the recipient. Traditionally, this was the role of the “direct marketing copywriter”. It still requires direct marketing copy, and for that matter, direct response marketing (following up to emails with other content to pull a lead deeper into the funnel).

The only difference is that these conversations are often deeply integrated into a larger web content marketing campaign that is spearheaded by an in-house content marketing team or a third-party content marketing agency.

In other words, content marketing has adopted copywriting into its processes.

When #copywriting is done right it woos your site's 2 most important audiences: search engines and prospects. Companies with value-adding copy rank and they convert. https://t.co/B6vkcAxrK3

— Castleford Media (@castlefordmedia) June 7, 2019

Case in point, the Content Marketing Institute identified these as the top-four most commonly leveraged types of B2B content:

Social media posts (94 percent).

Case studies (73 percent).

Pre-produced videos (72 percent).

eBooks and whitepapers (71 percent).

Numbers one and three err on the side of copywriting, whereas two and four very clearly qualify as content writing. Again, all of them have a place in a content marketing strategy.

Do you need a copywriter who can write content, or vice versa?

The job functions of “content writer” and “copywriter” are now often used interchangeably. You may have even come across the job title “digital copywriter” or “SEO copywriter” which, upon closer inspection, basically describe a content writer who maybe has some copywriting responsibilities.

Conversely, a “content writer” posting might request experience writing email copy, Twitter copy, and quite possibly even sales copy. You may even hear of advertisers tasked with “SEO copywriting”.

My point? A career in content writing will invariably lead to copywriting experience, and vice versa. Because content writers need copywriters, and copywriters need content writers. The trick is finding someone who can do both. A professional copywriter or content writer will typically have a bachelor’s degree in English, literature, journalism or creative writing, but they don’t necessarily have to. A strong writer’s portfolio speaks for itself. More specifically, look for writers who have hands-on experience, and who can demonstrate an ability to adopt, or even patent, client voice.

And, sure, you’ll certainly still find old-school ad agencies that do TV commercials, YouTube ads and billboards for big-name brands. This is the domain of the advertising copywriter. They might be freelance or in-house, but more often will work for an agency. Either way, the most competitive candidates for this role typically have a master’s degree in business or communication. But again, paper isn’t a substitute for experience or for talent. Not to mention, your business might not be in a place where it needs to spend several million gold doubloons on a video series produced by the most elite advertisers in the country.

Agency vs. in-house vs. freelancing: Is one option best?

Copywriting

You may be able to find freelance copywriters who charge much less than an established agency writer working at a reputable firm. However, this is a classic case of “you get what you pay for” – especially considering many freelance content writers will call themselves copywriters because they believe the title sounds more distinguished.

Remember, copywriting is a particular type of content writing, and not all freelancers will necessarily make that distinction. If you do go with a freelancer, just make sure you very clearly outline the types of projects they’ll work on and that you adequately review their portfolio and qualifications.

Hiring in-house may make sense in some contexts, but agencies and freelancers will usually be the more cost-effective option.

Content writing

Content writing used to be significantly cheaper than copywriting. It was easier to game Google in the early days of the web. Stuffing rehashed news articles with keywords was the go-to SEO strategy for many brands circa 2008.

And unlike copywritten ads that were meant to be more heavily promoted through paid channels (magazines, YouTube ads, commercials on TV or streaming services, etc.), organic web content could be posted and promoted cheaply. Up until the early 2010s, content writers really just needed Microsoft Word and a search engine to do their jobs.

Today, you can still find freelance content writers with low rates (one cent per word, in some cases). But the web is saturated with marketing content. Creating content that will rank organically on search engines and build trust among the right people requires perfect synchronisation between strategists and creatives, which is hard to achieve with a cobbled-together team of freelancers.

An agency will likely charge more than freelancers, but typically much less than it would cost to create an in-house content marketing team from scratch. It would also focus on results-driven content creation as opposed to content for the sake of content.

Just as importantly, content marketing agencies have already begun offering copywriting services.

Because at the end of the day, the evolution of the digital world is clearly leading to a dynamic where content writing and copywriting both have their place in the grander universe that is the internet.

You can get a lot more bang for your buck working with an agency with staff writers who understand that.

from http://bit.ly/2XJj1NS

#content marketing

0 notes

nataliehegert · 6 years

Link

Sometimes a work of art, developed over years, can become premonitory in unexpected and unsettling ways. When sculptor Cody Arnall began work on the installation Who’s Got a Price on Their Head? in August 2016, he could not have predicted the election of Donald Trump, the escalating tensions with the nascent nuclear power of North Korea, and the rise of aggressive, hateful rhetoric in our nation’s highest office. Just a week after Arnall’s installation opened at LHUCA in Lubbock, in January 2018, people in Hawaii were ducking and covering and saying goodbye to their loved ones, believing that their lives were about to end by ballistic missile. It was a false alarm, but nuclear annihilation suddenly felt like a very real and imminent threat, yet again.

Arnall’s installation incorporates footage of the 1946 Baker Shot nuclear test in the Bikini Atoll, an event of extreme power and carnage. The film, sourced from the WPA archives, is projected onto a six-foot-tall wooden fence at the back of the gallery, providing a background of unimaginable — yet familiar — violence. Arnall’s grandfather, Robert E. Arnall, was assigned as a telegrapher in the Bikini Atoll, and was witness to the event.

“As a kid I remember being afraid of him,” Arnall tells me, sitting at his kitchen table in the house he and his wife, artist Lindsey Maestri, just bought in Lubbock. He soberly related the abuse his father suffered at the hands of his grandfather, and the lineage of paternal aggression passed down from father to son. In his work, Arnall is interested in exploring “shared histories,” finding common ground in personal stories and the culture at large. “Finding that link between family history and that aggressive American mentality,” he says, serves as “a way to communicate to viewers these larger global issues going on right now.”

Fear, aggression, dominance, and denial — the underlying conditions of some American lives — may be hereditary, Arnall suggests. “That’s the stuff that I’m really interested in,” he tells me, “that tension and potential for deception and aggression. And that’s coming into my work right now.”

Lately, Arnall has been collecting debris on walks with his dog, Ralph. “Lubbock is so windy, there’s shit everywhere,” he chuckles. Arnall is 34 years old, with russet hair that he often keeps under a cycling cap. He moved to Lubbock in 2016 to take a position teaching sculpture at Texas Tech University. He is originally from Tulsa.

He shows me a sculpture in progress in his studio at TTU, where he has been vacuum-forming plastic into an ambiguous cloud form, which will incorporate the collected debris and hold audiovisual elements. He sifts through a pile of detritus on a table and hands me a bit of mangled metal. There’s a spoon bent into the shape of a taco and beer cans that have been crushed repeatedly by the trash trucks clamoring through Lubbock’s alleys, flattened like pennies on a train track. Plastic bits, bright and faded, wires and coathangers, and trimmer line in every color.

There are two different kinds of sculptors: those who start with an idea and then gather materials that best express that idea, and those who start from a specific material. Arnall is definitely in the former camp. “I have no material allegiance,” he says emphatically. “The body of work that I had going into graduate school was all based out of steel, and I really loved that material. Then of course you get broken down in grad school, you don’t have a lot of money, and so I started experimenting like crazy.” His studio became “a pile of materials and objects” where he would build these “crazy arrangements,” in a kind of three-dimensional sketching.

“As a sculptor I’m very specific about the materials I collect: what they mean, what they communicate, how they’re arranged,” he says. No one material holds more importance than any other. In addition to more conventional sculpture materials like wood, concrete, and steel, Arnall favors utilitarian things that are generally overlooked for their ordinariness — brooms, buckets, pillows, lamps. His use of zip ties to construct and connect his sculptures became something of a signature over the years. To him the zip tie represents the way he works: immediate, honest, efficient — “like a handyman,” he says. And with a nod to the everyday American reality and “the idea that fakery is all around us,” as he puts it, he utilizes materials known for their artificiality — Formica, Astroturf, fake flowers.

In his MFA thesis exhibition at Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, in 2010 — cheekily titled This Doorknob is on the Ceiling — the detailed materials lists of each sculpture doubled as titles. A title like Filing Cabinets, Fish Tank, Fluorescent Fixtures, Fluorescent Bulbs, Lamp, Light bulb, Linoleum Flooring, Electrical Receptacles, Electrical Wiring, Paint, Sawdust, Wood Glue (2010) demystifies the process of making the sculpture. “I want people to know [what’s in the sculpture],” he reflects. “It comes from being an educator.” Naming each material lays bare the quotidian contents of his sculptures and allows the viewer to approach it with their own connections to the individual materials. “I’ll never say ‘mixed media,’” he scoffs.

The combinations of objects in these early sculptures are striking, strange, and sometimes downright funny. Baseball Helmets, Parking Cone, Shoe Laces (2010) takes on a kind of Charlie Brown-like anthropomorphism. And the heady mixture of Americana that is Igloo Cooler, Baseball Helmet, Ketchup Bottles, Corncob Holders, Plastic Bathroom Cups (2010) can be, absurdly, “worn as hat.” The casting of material objects in his sculptures also makes reference to art history, with a wink. They are definitely Duchampian — snow shovels make an appearance — while, perched atop an upended filing cabinet, an empty fish tank also hints at Hirst and even Koons.

Arnall has looked to the YBAs for inspiration (on seeing Sarah Lucas’ work for the first time, he says, “I was like, ‘You can do that?’”), and the influence of earlier British artists like Richard Deacon and Tony Cragg appears in the movement and flow of forms in Arnall’s work. He also names Jessica Stockholder, Terence Koh, Ann Hamilton, and David Altmejd as key figures he’s looked to repeatedly. Of equal, or maybe more, importance, however, are artists closer to home, with whom Arnall has shared a close connection. “I’m more influenced by my friends than famous artists,” he acknowledges, pointing to friends, teachers, and studio mates like Christopher M. Lavery, Mike Calway-Fagen, Kyle Triplett, and David Carpenter.

In 2014 or 2015, Arnall’s work rounded a corner. After a short stint in Houston post-grad school, he was living in Kentucky working as a preparator and technician at Murray State University, while commuting to Nashville to teach at Vanderbilt University. “At that time, doing all that time driving, you think about things more,” he says. Moving on from collections of disparate objects that revel in randomness, in this recent work the objects are imbued with more personal significance.

In The Elevated Section of the Christopher Columbus Transcontinental Highway (2014), a form built out of traffic cones, tar, carpet padding, and zip ties is suspended by thick boat ropes from a wooden framework over a thin strip of blue sand. A recording of seagulls plays from a speaker nearby. The work references a time in Arnall’s life while living in Baton Rouge when he would regularly drive along Interstate 10 the two hours to Lake Charles, Louisiana to visit his ailing great-grandmother. “Travel [had] started to rub itself off in my work, and I had time to think about my great-grandmother and her death,” he says, “and think about connecting these things together: travel, traffic, water, death.” It was “the first time that I’d really bitten off a whole bunch of thinking and tried to make work about it and try to tie all these things together, materially.”

It’s Lonely Out Here (2015) speaks to his experience living in an isolated farmhouse outside of Murray, with no internet, and a flip phone serving as his only communication to the outside world. “Across the road was a pond, with frogs and other wild life,” he explains, “[and there was] a lot of coyotes in the area.” The installation alludes to this landscape with bundles of salvaged wood arranged like thick grasses, around a wooden door laying flat on its side and containing a spotlighted coyote pelt. A recreation of the Sputnik satellite is mounted to the wall behind it, as a reference to the historic launch of global communications. It’s hooked up to an old speaker, playing a recording of his grandmother’s old dog that had “a fucked-up bark.” “[I was] five miles out from a town of 10,000,” he explains. “It was dark. You don’t know what you’re hearing.”

“I changed a lot during this time,” he says. “How I live my life, how I think about things. I use the coyote as a symbol of that change.” The coyote, of course, has a rich significance in American culture and history. For Joseph Beuys, the coyote operated as a stand-in for the United States in his famous performance I like America, and America likes me, performed in 1974 at the height of the Vietnam War. Beuys’ shamanistic performance was billed as an attempt to heal the sick spirit of America.

In Arnall’s work, too, animals appear as signifiers of American trauma and aggression. In Who’s Got a Price on Their Head (2017), a pit bull eviscerates a cat — a violent tableau inspired by a real-life experience. For Arnall, it’s significant that this pit bull, an American Pit Bull Terrier, is a distinctly American breed.

“I don’t know, I’m an American mutt, just like anyone,” he shrugs when I ask about his ancestry and how that might figure into his work. He told me the name Arnall was first recorded in America in 1685. A great-great-grandfather was a Confederate Captain, in Mississippi, in the Civil War, a fact that makes him “uneasy.” On the other hand, he can also trace his ancestry to Cherokee Indians displaced on the Trail of Tears.

Arnall has a vivid memory of staying over at his maternal grandfather’s house, who had come back into his life after a long absence, and opening the door to a room filled with Cherokee objects and artifacts. “I had no idea, no idea,” he shakes his head. “All this stuff has been lost. I don’t know why.”

In his work, Arnall tries to come to terms with the long history of American traditions of erasure and violence, through links to his own family. “I came to it from a personal place,” he says of the installation of the murderous pit bull and exploding A-bomb. “I don’t feel comfortable coming right out and making a political piece; I don’t feel like I have that voice,” Arnall admits. “I’m more interested in the immediate spark of this personal family history, and asking questions — like an anthropologist — about this particular culture that we’re involved in, its history, and how that develops.”

“America has an incredibly violent past,” he continues. “From the beginning of the history of the Americas, it is incredibly violent. A lot of my work has to deal with death and inevitability.” He leans back in his chair, delivering his philosophy with an impassioned directness. “It’s human nature. Everything exists at the demise of something else. Organisms feed off other organisms to live,” he explains. “It’s so ingrained in life, in biology — it’s part of us — but it just gets worse when you have a brain and can strategize. The history of humankind builds off of this incredibly violent thing, that is life on planet Earth.”

This violence comes to an apex with the development of nuclear weaponry, a scourge — with, again, a uniquely American past — that the world is still trying to suppress. “We’re in an interesting time right now,” he says. “It’s not that long ago that [the first detonation of a nuclear bomb] Trinity happened, and by the time we were babies they were still testing nuclear bombs in our backyard.” He brings out his laptop and starts up a video piece by Isao Hashimoto that visualizes the history of nuclear explosions from 1945 to 1998. There have been over 2,000 nuclear bombs exploded on the planet in that time, over half of which were detonated by the United States.

In Arnall’s most recent work, he traveled to the Trinity site in New Mexico, just a few hours’ drive from Lubbock. The site of the first nuclear explosion is open to visitors only two days a year, and it’s a strangely touristy experience. Arnall set up a camera and recorded visitors interacting with the simple stone monument that marks ground zero for the first A-bomb, the point when, in July 1945, scholars argue that the world entered the Anthropocene era. The fourteen-minute video offers a mesmerizing and disturbing document of tourists posing and smiling with the monument and strolling around in the irradiated desert with their dogs and children in tow.

“I know that people interact with monuments in really weird ways,” Arnall says. “It’s like they don’t understand how this thing changed everything and we entered a new era.” It’s an era where the threat of nuclear annihilation, the potential for a catastrophic war, for millions of people to die instantly is ever present, to the point that it’s become entirely normalized. As American as apple pie.

Two months ago, an historic détente was reached — one that none of us could have likely anticipated. North Korean leader Kim Jong-un stepped across the border to South Korea, shaking hands with South Korean president Moon Jae-in. Redemption, and even healing, as Beuys suggested, may be possible.

“That tension is still there,” Arnall warns when I asked him his thoughts on the developing situation with North Korea. The dismantling of North Korea’s nuclear program may be imminent. But it may still blow up in our faces. It’s a legitimate fear to have. The pit bull was unleashed with that first detonation, and we’ll likely spend the rest of human history trying to rein him in.

Feature Posted on 7/2/2018

#Highlights #feature #interview

0 notes