#UT HAT!HENRY

[redroyalblues]

EVERYBODY SHUT UP ABOUT ANYTHING THAT IS NOT THIS PICTURE

#UT HAT!HENRY #COWBOY HAT!ALEX #…BELOVEDS #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #red white & royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #aneesh sheth #rachel hilson #malcolm atobrah

[lostfirefly]

You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me (Ch.7)

Hello, kiddos! The idea for this fanfic came to me from a dream (again) I had about a month ago. Тhe main characters were Tom Cruise and Henry Cavill (don't ask me why), but with a light hand they have been replaced (sorry, guys). The main action of the dream took place somewhere in the sands. Аlthough this fanfic will feature Sir Crocodile and our beloved Buggy, the action shifts to the desert. No marines, ships etc. Sorry, not sorry :) The devil fruit's abilities are preserved. Catch the Mummy and Indiana Jones vibes :) I have no idea how many chapters there will be. Different titles and names from the original source material will be used to emphasise the general OP's vibe.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) 

And thank you to my dear @yujo-nishimura and @laurasoretta for believing in me :)

Description: Catherine, a librarian who is searching for the trail of her sister who went missing on an expedition. Notes in books and diaries lead her to Cairo. There she finds a retailer from an artifact shop who, in exchange for selling her a map and equipment, insists that Catherine take her along. They get into a little (or maybe a big) adventure.. 

Warnings: One light naughty joke (again). F words. Small tension. Adventures and fun are still here. Buggy x OC, Sir Crocodile x OC.

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Words: 2468

Note: Croco's hand reminds me of "a beehive".

The title is taken from «You've Got the Same Dream as Me» (Sonya Belousova & Giona Ostinelli) (One Piece, Netflix)

Taglist: @gingernut1314

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

• Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"I have to admit, it's really impressive", Catherine looked up at the high sand mountains floating in the sky. "Reminiscent of a sci-fi film where the mountains turned out to be waves. And here the sand mountains are floating somewhere.... Just wow! But I was more surprised to see a little deer wearing a pink hat, in the middle of the desert when we were driving here". 

"You don't see that in your library, do you?" Buggy came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm not even gonna argue with that", she didn't realize she'd put her hand on his. "Oh, sorry.. I-I didn't want to..". 

She moved her hand to the side. 

"Well, folks, I think we're here", Rika laid out the map on the ground. "But this is where the map says the trail ends". 

Catherine sat down on the ground and opened her diary. 

"Yes, according to the map the trail ends here. Bu-u-ut according to the diary, there's a way further. And... if you believe this magic compass and what it shows", she lay down on the sand and pointed the compass at the map, "we have to go somewhere that way... But why does the map end here?" 

"Maybe it's just my guess, but what if the coordinates in the diary are from Alabasta's book", Rika shrugged. "Maybe he got further than everyone else. And your sister just, I don't know, rewrote the whole thing". 

"God, I don't understand anything", Catherine rolled over onto her back. "Why would my sister want to come here? What are we even looking for?"

"I'm looking for treasure. That's all I want. And when I find it, I'll be king", Buggy walked over to Catherine and held out his hand to her, - Get up. 

"King of what? Of bars and booze? What are you going to do with that treasure? I'm sorry, but you don't look like the man who likes to invest", she took his hand, and he helped her up. 

"The first thing I'll do is buy you a private jet, so you can finally fly back to your home and get out of my life". 

"You know what? Shove your private jet up your a..".

"Catherine, is there anything else in the diary?" Rika asked, coming up behind her.

"What? Yeah.. One moment… There's some kind of drawing of a cliff or a hill. And there's some kind of entrance drawn here. Buggy, you've been here, haven't you? Where do we go now?"

"Honestly, this is the first time I've been to this side of the cave. I've never been able to find this way before. Let me see", Buggy's got the diary in his hand and ran his fingers along the lines. "Hey, Egyptian girl. What's written here?"

"Fuck you…", - Catherine took the diary and started reading. "Journey. cave.. Byp..  Oh! Listen!

To continue your journey just go through the cave, catching the trail which looks like a sky wave. It seems like the road is dark and bypassed, but a ray of light will show the trodden path."

"Fuck, I'm starting to hate everything Egyptian", Buggy rolled his eyes. "What does mean? It's just a bunch of words. You know, I think the Egyptians lived an even more boring life than you and their only entertainment was rhyming everything. Cat-bed, night-fight, greed-shit, Buggy-Muggy.. Oh, I like that!" 

Catherine covered his mouth with her hand. 

"Do me a favour, clown. Stop annoying me and give me a minute, ok?".

Meanwhile, Rika was studying the map. 

"Folks, the beam is clearly pointing forwards. I think we should follow its trail. And we need to go-o-o…", -she ran her fingers over the map, "tha-a-at way. To the cave".

"Well, my pies, I suggest we have to take a little walk, but first, let's get ready. We’ll figure it out on the spot!"

"Oh, of course! Going somewhere without a clear plan is your strong point, as I understand it", Catherine shouted after him without taking her eyes off the diaries.

"Shush, woman! You're with “The One and Only” Buggy the Clown. I don't need a plan". 

"Fuck, I have no idea what we're going to do", he muttered under his breathe, went to the car and took out a large bag.

"I think I have everything we need. We've got small axes, flashlights and matches, and some different shit. Rika, this is for you", he handed her one flashlight and a small axe, "and this is for you, Cathie-pie". 

"Matches? Are you serious? I mean.. Don't you want to give me something bigger? Are there any other weird people in these parts who ate the devil fruit? What if I’m attacked by some minotaur man? Or by a mantis man with daggers in its paws?"

"Well, then you’re out of luck", Buggy laughed, "and watch out for the rubber boy in the straw hat, in case he's out there too". 

He turned around and slowly walked away.

"I hate you", she muttered an exhale, cast her eyes around and glanced behind Buggy. "Wa-a-it. You're kidding, right?"

She rushed after him. 

⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭

They walked through a small gorge surrounded by soaring sandstone cliffs. With each step, the passage grew narrower and narrower, and the sun's rays penetrated it less and less. 

"God, because of your stupid jokes I think we're being followed", Catherine looked around.

"By whom? A big mantis? Or a minotaur?" Rika replied snidely, looking at the map.

"Can you stop mocking me? Maybe it's common for you to see such strange things every single day, that's not how I spend my free time in Loguetown!" she grabbed onto Buggy's arm. "Quiet! Stop. You hear that?"

"What are you talking about?" Rika asked in surprise, looking up from the map. 

"It's like water running. Can't you hear it?" Catherine tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. 

All three of them stopped. A light, cold wind blew through the gorge. It was so quiet inside that it seemed that if the rocks began to move, it could easily be heard. 

"There!" Catherine abruptly snapped out of her seat and ran in the direction of the sound. 

"Hey, Catherine, stop!" Buggy ran after her. 

As she ran through the narrow winding path, Catherine felt something grab her by the collar of her jeans and pull her backwards. 

"Are you out of your mind? Running off alone in the dark, not knowing where you're going. You don't know the local road. It could be anything. Holes or cliffs or God knows what", she heard Buggy's irritated voice behind her. He walked over to her and took his hand from her denim jacket.

"Fuck, Buggy. You can't scare me like that. Damn you and your chop chop shit. Don't you ever do that again!" 

"Don't do such stupid things again, you understand?" he grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her blue eyes intently. For a second Catherine thought she saw concern in his eyes.

"Why are you suddenly so worried? Are you afraid you won't find your gold without me?"

He grabbed her hand and moved to her face closer.

"Because I…I..  I’m... even you’re the most annoying person in the world.. I don't w-", he took a long time to find the words. "Because I don't want my guide to the gold to get killed somewhere along the way. Because I want to get to the treasure, go home, pick up the first girl in the bar and have a fun night with her". 

"W-why.. you sa-… Y-you're an asshole!!"

"Is everything ok?" Rika asked, approaching them and holding the map in her hand.

"Yes, totally", Catherine turned away and discreetly wiped away the tears that had appeared. "Are we on the right track?" 

"According to my thoughts.. yeah. According to the map.. probably, yeah", Rika scratched her head and turned on the flashlight. "But I don't see any water. Look, guys! There's a little path ahead and there are some words on the walls". 

"Wait.. To continue your journey just go through the cave, catching the trail which looks like a sky wave. It seems like the road is dark and bypassed, but a ray of light will show the trodden path. Those words were in the diary!"

Catherine began to run her hand along the walls, muttering words under her breath. She walked from side to side a few times with her hands on her head.

"Do you need help?" Buggy asked, watching Catherine walk back and forth.

"I don't need your help. If it were up to me, I wouldn't talk to you at all!"

"I guess, I missed something interesting", Rika looked at both of them questioningly.

"Ladies.. What did you say, Cathie-pie? A sky wave? I don't know anything about your spells, but that road over there looks like a wave, huh? - Buggy pointed to the torpid road.

"Right!… You’re not a fool, my friend. Light. Light. What's light got to do with it again?" Rika looked around. "Of all the light here, only those rays of sunlight that barely hit here". 

Catherine ran over to Buggy and started rummaging through his bag. 

"Honey, all you need is to ask", he smiled cheesily. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for a mirror. And I know you have it, stupid clown".

"I don’t even want to ask about the mirror", Rika shook her head. 

"Oh, found it! Now get your ass up, I need your help. You're tall. Stretch out your arm and try to catch a ray of sunlight on the mirror", Catherine stood with her back to him and moved closer, "Just a little more... and more".

"I bet you'd love to repeat that to me under different circumstances", Buggy grinned. 

"You’re disg…"

"Holy fuck!" Rika jumped up and ran to Catherine. 

A faint ray of sunlight fell on the mirror. A curved path of light, clearly repeating the undulating shape of the road, fell against the cave walls. 

" …The trail which looks like a sky wave", they whispered in unison. 

"Shall we go?" Rika asked. 

"Em... Ladies… Look at the map. Could you please explain what the fuck is this?" 

"Do you see that road appearing on the map, too?" Rika asked with surprise in her tone.

"Yes", Catherine struggled to find her words. 

"Thanks God", Rika said with a slight laugh. 

"If it means I'm one step closer to the treasure, then let’s go, ladies!" Buggy could hardly contain his joy. 

⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭

They walked for about 10 minutes before they reached the larger and looser part of the cave. 

"Turn on the flashlight, you can't see anything", Catherine asked Rika.

"Now, give me a second".

The small light from the flashlight illuminated the space. 

"Folks, we're either damn lucky or something else, but there seemed to be a torch... right there", Rika said, pointing the flashlight at a small object.

Buggy detached his hand and took the torch off the wall. 

"And you were complaining about me trusting you with matches. Your way out, my cotton candy!" he said, reattaching his hand back. 

Catherine growled, reached into her bag and pulled out matches. It was only on the third attempt that the torch was lit. Small paths of old stone could be seen all around. 

"God, it's like I'm in a fucking tomb", Catherine muttered under her breath. 

"Well, now where do we go?" Buggy asked in a whisper.

"Yes, now where do we go, princess?" a lower male voice suddenly came through. 

Buggy and Catherine raised their heads at the same time. 

"The beehive?!" Catherine asked with surprise in her voice.

"Crocodile?" Buggy's jaw dropped. 

"Why are you so surprised? By the way, you forgot to say hello to your friend!" he pointed the torch at Rika's face and put the hook to her throat. "It would be a shame to cut that pretty face". 

"Hey, beehive or whatever your name is, let her go!" Catherine was about to take two steps but felt Buggy gently pull her behind him.

"Look, clown, she's got character, but no brains at all. Well, you and she are alike in that", Crocodile grinned. 

"Shut your mouth!" Buggy hissed.

"You heard him, honey, he told me to shut my mouth", he said to Rika. "Funny, isn't it?" 

"Very funny, my love!" she laughed, and Crocodile lowered his hook. "God, you've found me at last, I was tired of listening to their lovemaking all the way". 

She turned to Crocodile, put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. 

"First of all, you're a bitch. Second of all, what I just saw is ew", Catherine's face twisted. "I just don't understand one thing. Why all this?"

"Why? Thanks to your sister, we found out about the coordinates in the diary. But since we didn't have the diary, we had to wait for you. She knew you'd get worried and go looking for her. I just didn't think you'd be dumb enough to believe the first girl you met and take her with you. Okay, that clown, his brains never worked", Crocodile lit a cigar.

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Catherine bellowed, clutching Buggy's arm.

"Geez, that's nice, she's sticking up for him. Isn't that sweet, dear?" Crocodile asked Rika, stroking her cheek. 

"Please spare me from this. I've suffered enough already", she replied with a chuckle and took the cigarette from his hands. 

"Blah, blah, it's like I'm back in kindergarten. And frankly speaking, you're like a villain in a stupid movie, sitting there and telling me everything. But you stole the book, what the hell else do you want", Catherine asked. 

"See, here's the thing. A book without a compass and a map isn't very useful. Unfortunately. Those two things are. They're marvellous. They'll lead me to the treasure", Crocodile took two big steps towards Catherine.

Buggy instinctively took two steps back, nudging her. 

"Well then, take your map and compass, go look for your treasure. But let her go", Buggy nodded at Catherine.

"No, no, no, I need her. Her sister is good at reading maps, but not so good at ancient languages. Your girlfriend is good at it. And I could use you too. You've got the same dream as me, clown. But you stole something that belongs to me". 

"Factually, it doesn't belong to anyone", Buggy grinned. 

"The fact is, I have everything I need now. Compass, book, map, key. Your girlfriend. Oh, and I've got a surprise for her. Two, actually. Laura, darling! Where are you?" Crocodile sat down on the sand and took a drag on his cigar. "Do you recognize them?"

"Brown-haired bitch!" Catherine's eyes widened. "And.. Jules?" 

#one piece #buggy the clown #sir crocodile #buggy x oc #sir crocodile x oc #oc fanfiction #oc character #buggy the clown x oc #sir crocodile one piece #buggy live action #one piece live action #buggy one piece #adventure time #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy x reader #buggy x female reader #buggy x you #buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown x reader #buggy fic #one piece buggy #buggy the pirate #op buggy #opla buggy #buggy the clown x reader #one piece au

[zehecatl]

rec post for @f-eef that got too long for its own good, and is now just. a general rec post i guess

(as of writing, today is the steam summer sale! writing this before that goes live, so no guarantee everything on here is on sale, but! most of these are older games, so it’s likely. keep them in mind~)

- Iconoclasts my absolute favourite game, ever (along with OFF, but shh), if you check out one game from this list, let it be this one. it’s a genuinely almost flawless package, with gorgeous pixel art, fun gameplay, a really good story, and a cast of characters i just. adore. it’s so so so good, and three years later, i’m still not over it

- The Binding of Isaac so there’s this genre called roguelikes, wherein the whole gimmick is that, when you die, you gotta start from the Very Beginning; and the ‘point’ is getting better and better at the game, until you win! it’s super easy to just, play a few runs (they generally don’t last that long!), and then go on with your day, so it’s a really fun game to just waste time in, if you just wanna chill with some game. and, in my personal opinion, Isaac is the best roguelike game, with so much stuff to unlock, a whole slew of items to play with, and so much content it’s kind of unreal. i definitely think the DLCs are worth picking up, but it’s mostly for more content than like. actually being necessary

- Terraria it’s minecraft, but 2D. unlike MC, it’s got a bit of guidance, which i personally prefer, with bosses to fight and such. an absolutely BLAST with other people too

- A Hat in Time a 3D platformer, ala Mario, that’s just. super charming. it’s also really fun to play. i haven’t actually played the DLC’s, since i played it way back, but i’ve heard good things about Nyakuza Metro, which does look super slick, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- Slime Rancher you are a slime rancher. you ranch slimes. it’s honestly just wholesome as hell, and just exudes happy vibes. mostly for running around and collecting slimes, ngl

- The Messenger really funky retro game, wherein you play a ninja on a mission. it’s primary draw is definitely in its gameplay, but there’s a surprising amount of story for this kind of genre? i honestly really just like this one. it’s neat

- Underhero you play as a cute minion, who kind of like. managed to kill the hero. and whoops, guess you’re doing his job now? it’s got that undertale vibe, though i’d say it’s less polished than it. HOWEVER, it’s absolutely lovely and it’s climax is REALLY good

- Hatoful Boyfriend bird dating sim. trust me. the ‘secret’ finale route is just. *chef’s kiss* fantastic

- Night in the Woods if you don’t mind having a very poignant sad time, oh my god, i could not recommend NITW more. it perfectly captures that period when you’re done with school, and suddenly your whole life is stretching before you, and you feel so so fucking lost, and overwhelmed and pained with it. it’s just. so good. a sadness worth experiencing 

- Shovel Knight another retro game! this one is, pretty much, the king of the genre, and for very good reasons. the first one (shovel of hope) doesn’t have much story, but the latter ones really add on it. they’re honestly just, really solid games! with funky knight characters!!!

- Hyper Light Drifter man, it’s just a masterpiece. everything about it is perfect. it’s been like, five years, and it’s still one of the very best indie games

- Tell Me Why it’s currently free for june! and it’s a story game! plus, if you like the genre, the devs got the ‘Life Is Strange’ serie(s) to delve into!

- Cat Quest honestly, i just really like this little game. the gameplay is SO much fun, and everything else is just. really charming :’)

- Yoku’s Island Express metroidvania, where you play as a dung-beetle post officer, and the gimmick is that it’s pinball-y! it’s really fun, and very cute and just an all around good time :)

- Owlboy you play as an owl boy! named Otus! and you can fly around, and there’s GORGEOUS pixel graphics, and a neat story, and just. the BEST cast of characters. it’s delightful

- Yuppie Psycho + Count Lucanor just gonna bundle these two together, because they’re both REALLY GOOD. YP is the newer one, and is therefore probably ‘the better one’, but i like them both a ton! they’re 2D horror, but i wouldn’t say they’re that spooky? though that might just be because they’re pixel games! you explore spooky place, and weird stuff happens around you. just a really fun time :)

- Angels of Death my FAVOURITE rpgmaker game, it’s main draw is, a 100%, the main characters and the relationship that develops between them. i just love it a whole lot, and it’s got that lil’ tinge of horror that i, personally, fucking adore. there’s actually an anime based on this, but i haven’t seen it myself!

- Celeste curve ball! it’s a 2D platformer! it’s really good, got a ton of accessibility features, and has like. the tightest gameplay- and, on top of that, surprisingly emotional story! 

- Bastion putting Bastion here, because it’s actually the only one i’ve properly played, but you could probably buy any of the Supergiant Games, and come out satisfied. Bastion is the oldest of the bunch, and is definitely a bit less polished for it, but i personally adore it; the gameplay probably hasn’t aged that well, but i think the story and presentation more than makes up for it

- The Darkside Detective funny point and click adventure, with great wit, and a pair of characters i kind of simply adore. it’s main draw is definitely its humour

- Littlewood very wholesome and chill farming game, that feels more like an RPG than something like stardew valley- i’d not recommend it over SV, but if you want more of SV, Littlewood might scratch that itch!

- Pony Island + The Hex absolutely adore both of these, though if i had to rec only one, it’d probably be Pony Island? they’ve both got that undertale-off vibe, though Pony Island definitely leans harder into it. very interesting plays, both of them

- Oxenfree another horror-ish game! primarily story-focused, but oh boy, what a story! i’m a BIG fan of this game, and the sequel was recently announced too! definitely worth a look if you like ghost shenanigans

- Creature in the Well wasn’t a 100% sure if i should rec this, but beside the finale boss, i really enjoyed my time with this! it’s this weird pinball inspired hack and slash, with some amazing vibes

- Kindergarten 1 + 2 they’re just fun little games okay. the 2nd is much more fleshed out, but the 1st one is really fun too

- the Henry Stickmin collection I JUST... LIKE THESE GAMES A LOT... i think you can find the old versions somewhere on the internet, if you wanna check them out first? idk, they’re fun!

- LIMBO + INSIDE personally, i like INSIDE more, but both of these are classics, and also they’re made by a danish team, and i like them a WHOLE LOT

- The Final Station i could not tell you why i like this game as much as i do, but oh my god. i love this game? it’s got a dying world, neat pixel graphics, big zombie apocalypse vibes, and a weird little story

- Year Walk i love Year Walk :)

- Smile For Me if you liked undertale’s lovely cast of characters, oh boy, you’d likely LOVE this game! it’s really, really, fantastic, and the epilogue (not in the actual game lol) hit me right in the feels

- Pikuniku just a fun little game! there’s not really much there, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a wonderful little play, one of those games that just sets out to give you a good time, and absolutely success. i like it a lot :’)

- A Short Hike wonderful game, where it’s more about exploring the island than actively finishing the game. it’s real wonderful

- ULTRAKILL ANOTHER CURVEBALL! no idea if you like FPS, but oh my god. ULTRAKILL is so fucking good. just an absolute blast to play. there’s a demo to check out, and i’d definitely recommend it, because if it’s a genre you might like, you’ll love this one (OH also it’s in early access, which means it’s not finished yet! personally, i don’t mind that, especially considering this is more gameplay focused, but ya’ know!)

- My Friend Pedro it’s honestly just really fun to play, and sometimes i still think about the implied lore, and go all !!!!

- Little Misfortune another point and click! this one is pretty short, and is set within the same universe as their other game, Fran Bow, which is much bigger, but idk. i like this one. it’s dark cute

- This Strange Realm of Mine i honestly dunno how to explain this one, because it’s kind of weird and a bit odd, but i really like it, in all its weird poetic glory. it’s neat!

- Donut County you’re a terrible racoon who’s ruined the whole city with holes. it’s great and i love it

- OneShot another ‘gives me undertale vibes’, though this one was in development before UT, if i recall correctly! it’s so good, and it’s got some fantastic meta bits, and i love Niko. i love Niko so much

- Inmost gorgeous vaguely spooky game with a neat story... my favourite genre

- Sayonara Wild Hearts i’d call this more of a spectacle than anything else, but oh my god. what a spectacle it is! the OST is amazing, everything about it just hits right, and even if you suck at the gameplay (which i did), it really doesn’t matter, in my opinion? it’s just great all around!

#ze.txt #the sale likely just went live so #steam sale #hope there's something here to your taste feef! #i honestly haven't been playing any 'real' games in. A WHILE? so all of these are older-ish #and there's a bunch of good new games out there! #but here's my little rec post of older games :') #that i have. actually played #i think inmost is the only one i never finished? plus TECHNICALLY oneshot since it got a BIG update after i played it but shhhh #also TECHNICALLY also ultrakill but that's in ea so it doesn't count okay #i just love ultrakill so much. i had to rec it. I HAD TO #also keep in mind some of these probably require a mouse!! i know ultrakill DEF does #but you might have one?? i usually play on my big pc so i. would not know #oh also DST does have a single player version which is very good also

[the-original-b]

Archangel Chapter 11: Talent Scouting

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 3 of 9 (Previous Chapter | The Beginning)

Word Count: c. 2,600

Summary: Khai pressures Krueger to contain a rapidly deteriorating state of affairs.

Krueger stepped through the glass doors of the Sixth Avenue office—dressed in a commando sweater and dark jeans with classy shoes under his pea coat—and headed towards the conference room.

Danielle straightened up behind her desk as she noticed him walk past her. “They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Krueger,” she said.

He thanked her with a nod and proceeded down the hallway, past Khai’s old office which CJ Silvio now worked out of, and entered the conference room to join her and Everett to discuss their next steps after the events at Pharaohs a few days ago. Visible on a computer monitor at the end of the table was Hayden.

“Gentlemen, Miss Khai.” he greeted them. “Is Mr. Desmoulins joining us?”

“We’re ironing out the connection now,” Khai noted. She wore a dark suit with a white blouse and black peep toe pumps. “It’s one thing to set up a video call, but another entirely to set one up with him.”

“The man lives in military grade encryption,” Everett added. Today he wore a conservative blue suit with a pale gray shirt underneath.

“It’s how he’s stayed invisible for so long…” she added sotto voce. She tapped a few more keys on the laptop Hayden’s face was on. “Got it,” she said, turning the device toward the other men in the room. “Brandon, can you hear us now?”

“Loud and clear,” Brandon voice confirmed through the speakers.

“Perfect. In the room you can see I’m here with Mr. Krueger and Henry Everett. Also joining us via teleconference is Mr. Hayden.”

“Hey, everyone.”

“Greetings,” Hayden said. “Good to see you’re all well.” He folded his arms atop the desk he sat behind.

“Same to you, sir.” Khai said, sitting down and facing the laptop. Krueger and Everett took their places standing behind her. “Have you heard any updates from Dana and Charles?”

“No, and that’s what concerns me. Karin’s seen a steady increase in the Dragon Tears’ popularity in her territory, but she and I have been in regular contact; and Herman’s reported no problems in his area. The others have had their hands full for months, and now that I haven’t heard from them since last week the rest of us are more than a little concerned.”

“That bad?”

“It isn’t just the drugs, it’s the problems they invite. Police budgets have been slashed nationwide, and the hardest-hit cities have turned to the private sector to compensate.”

“Castle Security Solutions,” Krueger noted. “I’ve seen a news story on them the other day.”

“It’s no coincidence they’re expanding while the Dragon Tears become more popular,” Khai noted.

“Are you suggesting they’re connected, Miss Khai?” Hayden queried.

“I’m saying there may be a causality, sir; that somebody stands to profit from the expanse of one or both of the two forces choking the Partners today.”

“I agree,” Everett added. “And thanks to Krueger, I think we know who.” He looked at the monitor. “Mr. Desmoulins?”

“Special Agent Peter Cross,” Brandon said. “Born August 14th 1966, UT San Antonio class of ’88. Eight years with the FBI, then transferred to the DEA in ’96. He spent three years there, then moved to ATF. He changed hats a third time and joined the CIA in 2002, after which the records stop.”

Krueger arched his brow. “The United States Government?” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot.

“We don’t know that for sure, but it does make sense,” Brandon mused. “If the CIA is sponsoring an effort to destroy the Partners, they’d want somebody like Cross at the tip of the spear.”

“Not their wheelhouse,” Khai commented. “That’s more the FBI’s job.”

“Also doesn’t make sense that his story stops after his start with the CIA,” Everett noted, his hand on his chin. “I get the feeling there’s more to this Peter Cross than the records show.”

“Especially since the buyer named him,” Krueger added, just loud enough for the others to hear.  He leaned on the back of a chair to Khai’s left. “Is it possible he’s changed sides, started working for another criminal organization?”

“Possible, but not likely; the only other major player in the region is the Company,” Khai said. “And after the ordeal with Osiris, they’re hardly on my radar these days.”

“Mine either,” Hayden said. He brought his knuckles to his lip as he looked away from the camera, breaking eye contact as he considered the new information. “Do we know if Cross is operating in the Tri-State?”

“I found an office in Long Island City,” Brandon said. “Registered to a Rook Capital. He’s listed as Operations Manager.”

Krueger and Khai shot each other looks.

“Then I think that’s where we should start,” Hayden concluded. “Mr. Krueger, head to the Rook Capital office tonight.” Hayden lowered his hand again. “Surveil the building and report back what you find”

“Understood,” Krueger said.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Brandon suggested, “I think I have a better idea. I wrote a script that clones a computer’s internal drive and writes it to another location. I call it the Intruder.”

“The one used at Miles Orham’s cabin?”

“The very same. I think we can use it again here, but we’ll need an access point for it to work.”

Hayden nodded. “I agree,” he said. “That is a better idea. Mr. Krueger, if you can gain entry to the office and upload Mr. Desmoulins’ program into their server room, I believe we’ll gather all the information we need.”

“I’ll get it done, Mr. Hayden,” Krueger said with a nod.

“Excellent. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made more sense of the data.” He reached for something off-camera. “Good day.” His visage disappeared immediately afterward, and the four remaining people on the conference call shared a moment of silence.

“I’ll make the needed modifications to the Intruder,” Brandon finally said. “Krueger, can you come by later today to pick up the drive?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get the address from you while I’m there as well.”

“Awesome. Let me know when you’re on the way. Mr. Everett, Liz, take care.” And just like that, Brandon Desmoulins disconnected from the conference, and Khai shut her laptop before turning to face the two other men in the room with her.

“Well,” she said.

“It sounds self-explanatory to me,” Everett said. “We plant the Intruder, wait for it to do its job, and decide our next steps after we analyze the data.”

“We might run out of time before then.”

Everett shot her an inquisitive look.

“Rook Capital… Rook, the chess piece.”

“Castle,” Everett concluded. “The private contractors?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I caught it too,” Krueger added. “It can’t be coincidence that Cross is part of their office in Queens, he has to be connected to the private contractors coming up in cities across the country.”

“All the evidence points to that,” Khai said. “And if all is as it seems then there’s no time to delay here…” She stood up from her seat, adjusting her glasses. “We have to kill him.”

“Liz,” Everett said, raising a hand to chest-level. “You’re talking about killing a possible U.S. Government agent. That’s a sure-fire way of drawing attention that we cannot afford.”

“It’s also the only way we can guarantee avoiding the same thing that’s happening to Dana and Charles right now, and to stop whatever’s brewing from destroying the whole organization…” She took a breath, placing her hands on her hips and shutting her eyes. She opened them again and met Krueger’s gaze. “Milo, go see CJ in the armory.”

“Liz,” Krueger began.

She started toward her desk at the head of the conference room, by the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “It won’t be easy, but if you can get in and out before they know what happened, I think we can slip the noose before they get a chance to tighten it.” She took a seat and woke her desktop computer.

“Liz, I was ordered—”

“It’ll be tight, but there’s a safe house in Sunnyside, on 40th Street. You can lie low there while things settle down—”

“Liz..!” He got her attention.

Khai looked away from the monitor to face him.

“That isn’t the job,” he specified. “You heard Mr. Hayden, this is strictly an infiltration assignment.”

“I did,” she said, “but it may be too late to do anything about whatever facts we dig up by the time we analyze them all. We need to solve the problem before it becomes one.”

“And I agree with you there,” Krueger said, leaving his place at the table to approach her. “But this is different—you’re talking about having me remove a possible Federal Agent.” He stopped barely two feet from the edge of her desk, then placed his hands onto the desk top. “A long time ago I stood right here in front of your predecessor, and promised to kill him in his sleep if he ever ordered me to do something I’m not comfortable with.”

Khai didn’t take her eyes from his, even as she leaned back into the chair and uncrossed her legs. She wasn’t even aware of the distance she tried to create between them until she blinked, realizing what she was actually feeling wasn’t shock, but fear.

“I don’t want to have to revisit that threat.” Krueger finally said. He maintained his flat tone, deadly serious. “Least of all to you… but if I have to, I will.” He straightened his posture again, looking down at her. “I was issued an order, Liz. And I don’t intend to deviate from it.” Krueger turned on his heel and headed toward the exit, his hands in his coat pockets. On his way out of the office he acknowledged Danielle again and passed through the glass doors to the elevator down to Sixth Avenue.

Everett shuffled uncomfortably after Krueger left. “That wasn’t something I should have been in the room for. Sorry, Liz.”

“No, you’re fine,” she reassured him. “Really…” She let a quiet sigh escape her lips. “You know, that’s the closest thing to a fight he and I have had in the almost two years we’ve been together… I was always nervous about that, but now I think I was scared of the wrong thing.”

Everett followed her eyes darting across the top of her desk. He noticed her reach for a pen and absentmindedly tap its point on an old post-it note. He’d seen that look on her face before, and could practically see the gears turning in her head as she worked through what must have been a problem she’d revisited and resolved dozens of times already. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she declared, trying to convince herself more than him. “Yeah, it’s just… easy to forget who he is sometimes.”

“A good-hearted man?”

Khai looked up at him and, after a brief pause, exhaled. She shut her eyes and put the pen back down, then brought her hand back up to remove her glasses and rest them by the pen. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and first finger then pinched the bridge of her nose before allowing her hand to slide down her face to her mouth as she opened her eyes again, staring ahead blankly.

Everett looked over his shoulder to the conference table and headed over to retrieve a chair which he placed in front of Khai’s desk. “Don’t tell me,” he began, sitting down. “You’re considering ending your relationship with him; you’re listing the pros and cons in your head and trying to come up with any good reason to let him go on your own terms before you’re forced to make that choice.”

Khai quietly laughed and shook her head. “That obvious, huh?”

“You may as well be an open book,” he returned, smirking.

Khai relaxed her smile and brought both her hands together, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. She shut her eyes again and placed her face into her palms, exhaling slowly. She interlaced her fingers again, looking over her knuckles at him.

“And now, you’re realizing he’s not only the best thing to happen to the Branch, but also to you.”

Khai nodded. “I know,” she said. “And as much as I try to rationalize and poke holes in the pros, I can’t find a single reason to make it worth breaking up with him in the end.” She dropped her hands and turned her head to look him in the eye. “But I’m scared, Henry,” she admitted. “I hesitated even bringing him to the Brooklynite that night. I didn’t think I’d fall for him…” She shrugged. “But I did. A kind, charming, good-looking guy with a tragic past; I didn’t stand a chance,” she laughed. “I ignored my doubts and let myself get closer to him. No matter how many times I think I made a mistake with him, then realize I didn’t, I still feel like I’m going to screw this up somehow. And that terrifies me.”

Everett gave a half-suppressed chuckle as he considered his next words. “Forty years ago, I think I heard those same words come out of your father’s mouth when he tried to talk himself out of proposing to your mother.”

Khai laughed again. “I guess the apple plopped straight down,” she jested. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he was the smartest person I knew. Then I chastised him for not being able to see the obvious choice,” he added with a smirk. “You inherited his brilliant mind, Liz. The two of you work through problems the same way—you consider all the approaches, all the variables, and by the time you reach your solution you realize you knew the right answer from the beginning.” He shrugged. “This is no different. I think you made your decision before we even started talking about this.”

Khai opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but stopped herself when she realized he was right. Sure Krueger caught her off guard with his parting words, but he said what he did because of who he was and—more importantly—who he wasn’t. Khai rested her cheek in her hand as she considered Krueger, weighing his numerous good qualities against his few bad ones. She tried to justify splitting with him in light of any hypothetical and actual threats to their relationship, and a soft smile washed over her face as she realized she couldn’t.

“There’s a reason you invited him to dinner that night, Liz” Everett concluded, leaning forward. “Remember that.”

~~

Krueger headed down Sixth Avenue and crossed at 51st Street to head toward the garage where he parked his car. He slowed after he made it across the street, then sighed as he stopped in his tracks. He stood off to one side to let others pass him as he slid his hands into his coat pockets and stared absentmindedly into the sky, re-playing his meeting with Khai, Everett, Brandon, and Hayden in his head over and again as he considered the information. After a while he fished into his coat pocket to find his mobile phone. “Ich werde es bereuen,” he said to himself as he dialed the number when he found it in his list of contacts.

“Mr. Krueger!” CJ Silvio’s voice on the other end answered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need something precise and powerful.” he said. “Last-minute.”

“How powerful are we talking?”

“Hole-puncher.”

“Uh…” Silvio shuffled audibly on the other end. “I think I can put a list together. Rifles or handguns?”

“The latter. The quieter the better.”

“Oh, well that narrows it down… I’ll have to see if we have any of those left in the armory.”

“Meet me there in thirty minutes.” Krueger ended the call and headed for the garage on 51st to his car.

(Masterlist | Chapter 12)

#fiction #original work #original content #original fiction #prose #story #creative writing #drama #crime story

[sketchingcookie]

Chara is an animatronic built by William Afton to help him lure children easier, they are a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Chara has an illusion disk placed on the horn on their left side of the head, this is where the party hat would be place. They serve as an illusion to assure the kids that it’s all safe to go into the back room and to encourage them that it will be fun! In reality Chara is far from an actual child, they are a murder weapon in a mass genocide of innocent souls.

Side Note: In this universe the children killed possess human souls with their specific human trait of Perseverance, Bravery, Justice, Patience, Kindness, Integrity and Determination.

Chara possesses a knife that is kept hidden inside their right “sleeve” which they take out only when they are in the back room with Afton. When in the back room they show their true form of a faded doll looking animatronic, freaks out the kiddies a bit more just for kicks. Chara uses their scary face when in the back room as well, again to freak out the kids more than what they already are. They also use their speaker on their chest to make disturbing noises or used to mimic the voices of children’s parents or guardian to lure into the back room as well, this speaker is also used for their voice.

Frisk is an animatronic built by Henry to prevent Chara and Aftons actions, their design is based off Chara’s model but shorter and the illusion disk party hat being on their right side. Frisk will stop at nothing to keep both monster and human children safe from the murderous hands of these killers. Frisk also helps the night guard during the night against the animatronics as well as Chara. They are the true pacifist, well they are supposed to be...

There is a downfall to Frisks design, due to the fact that they are based off Chara they are easily influenced by them. This means that if Frisk is not watched and taken care of they might turn on the night guard and the children with Chara’s ideals. It is the night guards job to keep Frisk on the right path and to not let them be influenced by the demon child.

Frisks appearance is very close to Chara, but their scary face is a bit different, Frisk doesn’t possesses any animatronic eyeballs and instead has a dark void of black eye sockets. This is due to the fact Henry ran out of parts to build them, it isn’t much of importance since they have sensors and hearing to guide them.

Side Note: Both Chara and Frisk possess a human soul of determination to be built, this is another reason Frisk can be easily influenced by Chara.

Side Side Note: If either Frisk or Chara’s party hats are taken off the illusion is broken and both of their true forms are revealed, a design flaw in a sense but it gives Frisk and advantage to stop Chara during the day since they would need to go to the back room to be fixed and won’t be able to come till the next day. Chara can also do this to Frisk though so it’s a high stakes game of capture the flag.

Sans and Papyrus can’t be left out! They were recently hired to take care of new recruits and have some night shifts, they both accidentally destroyed the phone guys cassette tapes and needs to instruct the new security guard live via telephone. They give you commentary on your shift and information about the animatronics you need, though this information isn’t correct all the time so you need to be careful about that.

Papyrus is more upbeat and energetic at his job than sans is, but they both are entertaining none the less. Frisk really enjoys their company while being in the office with you, though san’s puns irritate you a bit after hours of them nonstop.

Side Note: Gaster exists in this universe as well but he is a shadow version of himself, similar to shadow Freddy and Bonnie. Gaster helps sans and Papyrus by giving them advice to give to you, Papyrus isn’t aware of this but sans is a little more aware but still confused about it. Gaster also visits the night guard and Frisk at times but only Frisk can sense him.

This was made for an UT x Fnaf crossover contest on Undertale amino

#undertale #sans #papyrus #art #sans the skeleton #undertale fan art #undertale sans #gaster #Frisk #frisk undertale #chara undertale #chara #william afton #fnaf #five nights at freddy's

[diviinitatis]

@amsterdamns / x

'Never’ is his answer, one he leaves unspoken, smiling not because he’s humored, but because he has nothing else to do. He’s found himself doing that an awful lot. Doing things without reason. Out of boredom. Some things were as small and harmless as smiling or tapping his foot on the hardwood of his apartment - but small things intensified into him going for runs on the trails in the late evenings not to stay in shape or get some air, but for him to just fucking run instead, run until his lungs screamed, burning, ribs ached, abdomen tensed painfully, and heartbeat raced violently in his ears. Becsuse running in the middle of the night was better than being slouched over in the corner of a bar, barely twenty one, waiting to get kicked out or have his brother called.

It almost scared him, really, genuinely, just how far he’d sunk.

Seven years ago, he couldn’t see himself there. Seven years ago, when he was barely fourteen years old, he was thinking about what college he’d choose, what major he’d go into, and how hard he would brag if he got an acceptance letter. Thinking about stupid teenage romance and what he was gonna eat for dinner the next night. Thinking about hat he was gonna do with Vlad when next weekend rolled around, and just how long he could hold off his homework. But things happened. Things changed. And with every passing year - thoughts switched from his future to his present, entirely focused on just surviving. It was silly. He was supposed to be fifteen, supposed to sixteen. When he was seventeen, he wasn’t supposed to be looking over his shoulder so often, he wasn’t supposed to back off when his friends tried to get close and he wasn’t supposed to try finding another way out, just in case.

And Henry had told himself, again and again and again that Joss had it worse, so much worse, and that he couldn’t get upset at what was ‘essentially nothing’ compared to Joss’s various plights. But that didn’t help. Didn’t change a damn thing. There were still nights where he laid in bed, completely still, wanting nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs and tell fourteen year old Henry to stop what he was fucking doing and leave Bathory. He still cared about Vlad, he really did - they’d been best friends for the longest time, Henry knew that - - -

But when the nighttime terrors creeped in slowly and settled in beneath his eyelids, stealing hours and hours of peaceful sleep, when Henry needed someone to blame for everything, a villain to put on a pedestal and silently scream at - Vlad had been creeping closer and closer to the spotlight.

It’s only when he moves to speak that he realizes he’s been holding his breath for one too many moments past what was comfortable.

❛ I wouldn’t call it wonderful. ❜   A chuckle punctuates the statement but there’s something else nestled in beside it. The memories were blobs of paint on a canvas. He couldn’t tell if they were meant to be flowers or blood splatters anymore. His psychiatrist had told him that the brain sometimes forcefully removed memories, removed trauma to protect itself. That it was a defense mechanism. It was meant to protect him. But he’d rather know what was on the canvas.

And at this point, he’s near entirely forgotten the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

❛ Don’t need one. ❜  Is his response, and it’s a lie. A big, stupid lie, because he wants one. From D'Ablo, and from so many more people. He wanted an apology from everyone who helped him become the only McMillan who never amounted to anything.   ❛ What’d you not succeed at? ❜   His tone is, at best, humorous, until he adds in a slightly more serious voice, one that’s almost unsure, one that falters ever slightly,   ❛ - Killing us? ❜

D’Ablo didn’t give off the impression that he was particularly receptive to the negative emotions of others, but that was intentional. He didn’t expect Henry to be happy to see him-- D’Ablo certainly wouldn’t be--and the bitterness was, quite frankly, welcome. When he left Elysia, his name stopped meaning anything. He wasn’t encountered with scowls or trembling when he introduced himself to strangers anymore, just some questioning stares and hesitation that lasted mere moments, before they spoke to him as if he were another average man in their average lives. A stranger whose name they would forget the moment they separated, if they hadn’t forgotten already. 

No, the anger, the bitterness, was familiar.

Then we can disagree on that. Who wouldn’t want to forget? D’Ablo wanted that insufferable replay of his fall from grace erased from his memory. He didn’t have the energy to argue about that, though. That was another thing-- his energy levels had plummeted after his banishment. He stopped getting into so many fights and arguments, and he hated it. So much time had passed, and he still wasn’t used to feeling exhausted all the time. He missed the energy that burned through him throughout his presidency. The fire was gone, and he just wanted to forget about what had extinguished it.

No apology expected. Good. D’Ablo saw no reason for one. But at the question, he regarded Henry with an even stare. At becoming the Pravus, he said plainly. I didn’t care about you. A human, a drudge-- there was nothing I could gain from your existence. There still isn’t, by the way. The moment you left Bathory, you lost all significance. I didn’t have any opinion of you. I barely knew your name. Your death would’ve been collateral damage.

#|| D'Ablo; Verse 006 ( POST CANON ) #amsterdamns #he's so nice to henry i mean wow :) #|| D'Ablo; IC

[halfusek]

So who do you think the Searcher Boss is? He has a fedora so he must be important.

I’d love for them to be important as they 1) Have a hat that could point at them having some sense of their personality, 2) Are a secret boss, 3) Trigger a flashback when defeated which is needed in order to get the scythe, 4) Are effing HUGE.

Let’s try to put anyone on their place, at least as for the character we know the names of

Characters we can cross out for obvious reasons: Henry (duh), Thomas, Allison (both Tom and Allison seem to have been following Henry at least since Chapter 2 if that one image with Boris’ feet stending next to the puddle left after Sammy is anything to trust), Susie (she’s still alive and well), Norman (the game doesn’t even require us to kill him to fight the searcher so it couldn’t be his searcher form, if he even has one), Sammy (he’s been killed and we can only assume how much time has passed, so he could be a searcher however we’ve seen his searcher form in Chapter 5 that just looks different)

Other characters:

Joey: he’s either not in the studio at all (as in there is no “story” version of him) or he’s the Ink Demon or some unknown entity doing shit in the shadows

Wally: strong evidence for him being Boris, but I guess he does mention that he has a hat in his audiolog. But that’s literally it dfnvkjd

Jack: proved to be a swollen searcher with a hat, there’s really nothing to support this or against, there’s however a miner searcher (searchers? as we fight more of them in Chapter 5), sooo probably different hats mean different people overall

Johnny: this boy in the organ bro, there’s literally nothing else about him except for some file names but they aren’t even hinting at the searcher boss so

Lacie: we don’t really know her fate but if she has a connection to anything it’s a crying lost one, bendy animatronic or the butcher gang, so again - lack of any arguments

Grant: similiar to Lacie, he could be a lost one (specifically the one banging their head on the wall as it seems ut of their mind like him and also there is a picture of a book in his chapter 3 office and there is one book in the room the lost one is in) or a butcher gang member, buuuut we have a heavy implication about him transforming into Something on his Chapter 4 tape so that’s that

Shawn: similiar to Lacie and Grant, HOWEVER, he is not even CLOSE to any lost ones, just the butcher gang and... the searcher boss + this is literally his area, the heavenly toys, it would make sense for him to be the boss

Bertrum: big

#conclusion: id place my bet on shawn or bertie or a tots different character #also bertie could possibly be just possessing the ride at the time of the fight so maybe he has other forms #bendy and the ink machine #halfpost #halfask

[der-leiermann]

Duke of Enghien

“That was worse than a crime, that was a mistake.”

The one who said this was not just anyone, but one of Napoleon’s most important ministers, the “Ministre de la Police” Joseph Fouché, feared by everyone.

By summoning a whole army of informers, he had succeeded in uncovering a conspiracy around the generals Cadoudal, Pichegru and Moreau, who were involved in an assassination attempt on Napoleon.

But Napoleon’s vindictiveness was not yet satisfied with the conviction of the traitors. Rather, he looked for another victim to send a widely visible signal to the loyal followers of the Bourbons.

He found it in the young Duke of Enghien, Louis Antoine Henri de Bourbon-Conde, who lived near the French border in Ettenheim near Baden. Politically insignificant, however, he was an ardent supporter of the Bourbons and fought as an officer in the army of emigrants against the National Guard of the still young republic.

Thus, on the night of 14 to 15 March 1803, a group of the gendarmerie, accompanied by 300 Dragons, sneaked across the border to kidnap the Duke and bring him to France to accuse him of treason.

The papers found in his possession clearly proved that the Bourbons recruited conspirators against Napoléon. The First Consul reacted with unbridled rage: “Why don’t they carry weapons against me? Instead, they send out muggers, blow Paris up, kill innocent people. For this they shall weep bloody tears.”

The duke was brought before a military tribunal after only a few days. He himself declared that he had sworn irreconcilable hatred to Napoleon and would use every opportunity to fight revolutionary France.

But he firmly rejected the accusations of having participated in a conspiracy against the life of the First Consul. Nevertheless, he was sentenced to death and executed the very next day.

From the point of view of foreign policy, this was a serious mistake because the European states, especially Baden and Prussia, saw themselves threatened in their state sovereignty.

Domestically, however, Napoleon knew that broad sections of the population were behind him, who were still loyal to the young republic. Moreover, all other royalist conspiracies were nipped in the bud.

#napoleon bonaparte #napoleon #history #europe #culture

[unsettlingshortstories]

Casting the Runes

M.R. James (1911)

April 15th, 190_

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

I am,

Yours faithfully,

_______Secretary.

April 18th

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

Believe me (ut supra).

April 20th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, Mr Karswell was an astute man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what did Mr Timms say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good heavens! what's the matter?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not? that is exactly his name."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[happyhearthooligan]

Master List Nov Edition 2019

(1/2)

Welp, I did say Nov’s Master List was going to take a while, but it wasn’t expected to take this long... Anyways, enjoy!

This half contains AU-centric headcanons (excluding Classic Undertale)

The second half contains Classic Undertale, Multiple AU headcanons, other headcanons (mostly of different AUs) and franstastic-idea's other posts

franstastic-ideas - November Content

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Wraithtale

Nov 4 - WT Frisk using her big-boned human as a pillow to relax on

Nov 14

What does ratty Rosalyn look like?

When you mentioned Rosalyn's appearance 

Nov 16

What’s the context for WT Muffet’s huge family?

Does Sans have a chicken in wraithtale?

Nov 17

Did the adults at the time know that Rosalyn was abusing Sans?

How does WT gaster feel about Henrietta?

Nov 20 - Would WTSans consider joining a sumo competition?

Nov 21

Personal head cannon for Rosalyn's appearance

Rosalyn’s appearance is pretty much a Ganguro Girl

Nov 22 - How does Henri react to Rosalyn’s presence?

Nov 25 - I’ve been thinking about WT Sans lately. Specifically his hair.

Nov 30 - Is WT Papyrus a better cook than his UT Counterpart?

Cryptolozoologist Frisk

Nov 17 - What does Gaster have to say about “anime is real”?

Nov 18 - Anime is Real Gang(?) shenanigan hcs?

Nov 19 - How is Sans during this anime is human history bonanza?

Convergence

Nov 1 - US Sans and UT Papyrus on a cooking show

Nov 2 - Do you think that UT Sans would be better at cooking?

Nov 3

If frisk got possessed by an evil spirit

If a Bitty Frisk came to the houses of each skelebro

Frisk from the Bitty AU coming to the skeletons

Shenanigans Bitty Frisk would get into with the boys 

Overbearing Mother Hen Sans?

If someone stepped on Bitty Frisk

Are there any other canon characters that live there with them?

Nov 4

About that yandere convergence AU

Mother Hen vs "Mother Hen?" 

Nov 5

How tall are the papyruses and sanses? Do any them have jobs?

How would Frisk react if there were too many skeletons?

What gifts do the skeleton boys give on Frisk’s birthday?

Nov 6

How do the skelebaes find time to spend with Frisk?

Planet Boned

Mr. Clumsy McDumsy Rad Mad Scientist Lad’s time in the void?

How would the skellies finally get Frisk out of Henri’s grasp?

Nov 17 - Do Ink and Error ever visit the convergence au?

Nov 18 - A potential obligatory beach episode

Nov 19

Beach shenanigans convergence au

Do the skeleton boys have cars or rides?

I don’t think Mettaton could squeeze Frisk into a swimsuit... 

Skellies reaction to Metta yelling for Frisk, waving a swimsuit?

Nov 26

UT Papyrus and US Sans have a cooking contest…

How old are the skeleton boys and Frisk in human years? 

Keepers of the Ruins

Nov 4 - Keeper of the Ruins AU is so cuuute!!

Nov 5 - Do the others ever pick Flowey up and run around with him?

Nov 6 - Can we have more shy kid Sans with Frisk?

Nov 16 - Can you go into more detail about Bravery and Sans? 

Swapfell Lamias

Nov 17 - “So Lamia Sans abducts Frisk and takes her to his nest”...

Nov 19

May I humbly askef you for more SF Lamia hcs for Frans?

Oh, wait.... What if, lets say, bitty lamias?

Cleaved

Nov 27

I'm imagining an AU like Convergence…

The Cleaved AU could become very similar to Convergence

Cleaved Continued

Nov 28 - Yandere cleaved AU

Nov 30 - May I have some frantastically amazing cleaved HCs

Wraithtale Swap

Nov 4

What if WT Swap Frisk is hurt outside the mountain's boundaries?

Is there a hunt for the WT Swap wraiths now?

Nov 5

What are WT Swap Frisk's actions towards Sans' flirtations?

What happened after WT Swap Chara stopped beating Pap?

Nov 6

More about WT swap Sans refusal on hats

Does Rosalyn exist in the WT Swap?

Nov 14

I don't think Rosalyn should be included in WT Swap

What do WT Swap Papara do whenever they hang out?

WS Sans having a bully can either work out or not at all

Nov 16 - What would WT Swap Sans do to be Frisk's boyfriend?

Nov 17 - Does WT Swap Papyrus go too fast in relationships as well?

Nov 18

How’s Kris in WT swap???

If WS Toriel found out about Kris’ homelessness…

Nov 24 - If WS Kris is homeless and Toriel finds out…

Nov 27

If WS Frisk moved with Sans, would he dote on her all the time?

Does WT Swap Sans try to forcefully take Frisk back to his home?

Pure Underfell

Nov 1 - What started UF Sans’ underwear collection?

Nov 3

How was Asriel when it came to making friends?

Does Asriel have a Strong Superiority Complex?

Edge and Fell's relationship 

The last thing Papyrus ever wants to do is hurt Chara

Nov 4

What's the relationship between their Papyrus and Undyne?

What would Sans do to get back at his brother?

Why did Papyrus join the Royal Guard to begin with?

Nov 5

Does Asriel pick on Chara in part because of his feelings?

What were Asriel and Chara doing that lead to her dying?

Is Flowey nicer because he feels bad about killing Chara?

Did Flowey help Frisk in part because she resembled Chara ?

Are the skelebros able to tell that they found Chara’s body?

Nov 6 - Was UF Sans still friends with UF Toriel?

Nov 14

UF Sans sympathizes greatly with UF Chara

A lot of things Papyrus did were actually to look after Sans

Nov 15

UF Papara's first time cuddling! I demand it!

If rumors were spread that Sans and Chara were having an affair…

How was Papyrus in the early stages of his relationship with Chara?

What were the thoughts of the Underground after learning the truth?

What did Papyrus do upon learning the truth behind Chara’s death?

Nov 16

Would Toriel and Asgore be hostile to anyone dating Chara?

What kind of dates would UF papara go to?

Do Asgore and Toriel also dislike Papyrus for his treatment of Asriel?

What if Frisk confessed first to FellSans?

Does Chara every try to talk to Pap about Asriel?

Nov 17

Toriel and Asgore took forgive and forget just a bit too literal

Did Frisk still agree to act as their ambassador?

Nov 19

How would Chara react to Papyrus confessing to her?

Do Toriel and Asgore see Sans "taking Chara away" as well?

Nov 21

Would UF Papyrus get Chara a small animal?

So UF Chara likes small animals? Could I get her...

Actually, Chara doesn’t live with the royal family

Nov 22

Would Flowey ever reset if it meant avoiding Toriel and Asgore?

Can we have happily married life Papara scenes?

UF Papyrus and his own Annoying dog stories? Please!

Head cannons for UF Papyrus and the Royal family's interactions?

Nov 23 

Would Asgore & Toriel coax Frisk & Chara into trying other people?

How would the talk about the arranged dates go?

How did Asgore & Toriel find out about Chara’s relation with Pap?

If Royal family dinner is like that Shrek 2 scene then who’s Donkey?

Nov 24

What reason would Asgore & Toriel give when visiting Pap’s house?

Married life Papara parents edition?

Does Frisk ever worry that Sans might end up leaving her one day?

Drama between the royal family and the bone brothers

Nov 25 - Can we take a peek on UF (Frans/Papara) children?

Nov 26 - How would Edge handle it if Red actually DID die?

Nov 28 - Toriel & Asgore taking Chara in for personal gain revealed…

Nov 29 - Can I haz sum UF sick days HCs cuz I’m a little sick

Pure Underswap

Nov 1 - Do you think that Papyrus is the older brother?

Nov 2

Do you think Pap would at least try to convince US Chara to wear the shirt?

Would Frisk collapse from exhaustion from spending time with Sans?

Nov 5 - In the swap verses, who has the kitten sneeze?

Nov 20 - Would Pap get Chara a shirt related to bees or honey?

Nov 22 - Hypothetical scenario: US Frisk is drinking an energy drink…

Pure Swapfell

Nov 17

Swapfell sick days fluff

Swapfell, but the skeletons are sick headcanons?

Nov 18

Would Swapfell!Frisk’s death be similar to Fell!Frisk’s death?

Swapfell papara/frans headcanons?

Nov 24 - Do SF Asriel & Chara have a better relationship than in UF?

Nov 25

Can we get some Swapfell head cannons?

Does Asriel feel jealous when Chara spends time with Papyrus?

SF Chasriel hcs? and maybe a little SFChara too?

How does Pap respond to Asriel's jealousy towards him?

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Meep

#Master List #franstastic-ideas Master List #Haven't finished final inspection yet

[lethe-rpg]

Henrietta Kenton was born to Emmett and Alma (Jones) Kenton on a chilly March morning in Iowa in 1962. She was born and raised American, and that is the only allegiance she has ever known, never having left the continent of North America nor leaving the country of the United States. Henri was a happy, curious little girl who got into mischief wherever she went. Being an only child, with parents who worked multiple jobs to keep the bills paid, she was lonely and acted out sometimes, but made imaginary friends wherever she went to fill the void. It hurt her parents, but they loved her unyieldingly. Therefore, she would always look back at her life and say it was a happy childhood. Even after her mother died, which she bore witness to, her father was there for her and they kept each other upright in the darkest of times. Surprisingly enough, her father’s deteriorating health hurt more than the stabbing of her mother, though these tragedies were a decade apart. Maybe because it was slower, hurt more, and was fresher in her mind, but losing her father was the hardest thing that Henri ever had to face in her life because truthfully he was her best friend.

In 1991, shortly after New Years, Henri woke up in a wooden box in pitch darkness. After clawing her way out–and without bleeding, though she broke skin–she breathed in the icy air but felt no cold. It was January so of course the temperatures were barely above zero, but she wasn’t shaking though she was in a dress, which she couldn’t recognize because of the darkness and the dirt smeared all over. However, Henri was smart and had always been good at thinking on her feet. She moved westward, never having seen the ocean before. If she had a second chance at life, she was going to make the most of it, and she did just that for almost thirty years, not thinking twice about what the hell had happened to her or how she was alive when she vaguely remembered being… hit by a car? Or a train? Or was that bright flash the whites of someone’s disastrous eyes, ready to slay her? She couldn’t say. Because she soon realized she didn’t have to sleep, Henri studied, worked multiple jobs and earned a criminology degree. She had been too grief-stricken before because of her father’s death, too numb or frightful or poor, there were always excuses, but the New Henrietta could conquer anything.

One of the bucket list items Henri checked off in her second go at life was serving in the army. She served alongside Tilda Ballantine, who she got close to. They shared secrets about their families, their insecurities, and Tilda even mentioned her home town in Washington state where supernaturals could run amok. ‘If you ever need a break from the staring, glaring eyes Henri, you’re welcome to Lethe,’ she’d said. But that was years ago. Henri recently got a text about Tilda and Naomi’s kid, but because that phone had been in a storage locker for months while Henri was visiting Stonehenge, she didn’t see it until August. Frantically, she gathered her gear and set out for Lethe to visit her friend. What was supposed to be a week-long trip turned into something she never could have imagined: her father wasn’t dead but was a vampire, more alive than she in fact was, living from the sustenance of blood! Apparently vampires existed, and Henri was something called a lich, and oh she wanted to learn more, wanted to study species at the library, and eventually realized she should get a job. It didn’t take long for her to move in with her father, as if nothing had ever happened, as they caught up on their lives. She is currently trying to become a police woman, thanks to her years of criminal justice in school. Her mother’s death shook her all those years ago and got her interested in justice, so she decided to put her degree to good use while she could, and help supernaturals in any way she could. She was no longer alone, and while she wasn’t empty before, she felt full now. There was always the mystery of the Riverborn to be solved, which she took upon herself to crack the case wide open, ever the hard-worker. Named after Henrietta Lacks, whose cells helped create the polio vaccine, Henrietta Kenton wanted to do just as good as her namesake, and now in a town of supernatural she had a reason to live and continue on; no longer for selfish reasons, but to make something good in this world and to fix some wrongs that were in her reach. Whatever she could do to help, whoever, whatever, however, she wanted to.

#henri kenton #retired

[shannrussell-blog1]

Are you interested in getting out and exploring Far North Queensland with your 4wd? Read on and I’ll share some of my favourite driving destinations in the Sunshine State!

Without a doubt, one of the best parts of driving holidays is meeting good Aussie characters along the way. The area that best typifies this from my travels is the stretch of road between Townsville and Mt Isa in Far North Queensland. I spent about six months straight in this region as a 20-year-old, working for a geophysics company searching for gold and copper.

1. Townsville

Burdekin River in the dry season

I remember the first time I flew into Townsville – I was blown away at how big it was. I had thought it would be a town of only 10,000 people or so, but in reality, it is a bustling metropolis of 185,000 people! There are great hotels, motels, and bed and breakfasts along The Strand, a long stretch of road running along the foreshore. The foreshore precinct is very clean and tidy, as are the beaches, but be careful when swimming as there are plenty of stinging jellyfish that inhabit the waters.

The nightlife is pretty wild due to the high student and tourist population, and there are plenty of pubs to quench your thirst. But for me, the real adventure starts when you make your way out of town along the Flinders Highway.

About 115km out of Townsville you will cross the Burdekin River – an amazing site in full flood.

2. Charters Towers

Shortly after crossing the Burdekin, you reach Charters Towers. It really starts to feel like station country now as the main street is dominated by dusty red ‘Cruiser traybacks and hats. Big hats. There is probably not much to explore around the town, but it’s a pleasant place and there are several nice pubs like The Enterprise, situated at the intersection of Gill Street and the train line. Of course, the advantage of being in station country is the steak, glorious steak!

Doyathinktheysauras…?

3. Hughenden

Next stop after Charters Towers is Hughenden. Situated approximately 385km from Townsville, Hughenden is probably a good spot to stop for the night. It’s an interesting town with a nice main street and an interesting history dating back to the time of famous cattleman, Ernest Henry, who is generally considered to have opened up the district after taking the first pastoral lease in the area. Take the time to walk up the main street and check out the dinosaur fossils. Apparently, the most famous was the ‘Doyathinktheysauras’!

Also located on the main street, and something I can personally recommend is FJ Holden’s Cafe. They do a mean burger and have some great 1950s memorabilia.

4. Richmond

Just down the road, and next stop on the tour is Richmond. It’s just 115km away, and now you will start to notice the terrain flatten out a bit and become less scrubby. If you’re feeling sad about leaving behind the dinosaurs at Hughenden, you needn’t worry as Richmond has a statue of its own!

He didn’t eat enough at lunch

Richmond is a great town with some real characters. Spend an afternoon or evening at the Federal Hotel, with its wide sweeping veranda and huge front bar, and meet the locals. Or perhaps wander down to the Mud Hut – another pub oozing character. Both have accommodation and meals, and at genuine 1970s prices too!

If you’re interested in fossicking, there are some areas north of town on the Richmond to Woolgar Road that locals talk about as being prospective.

The sign on the road from Richmond to Woolgar… Confusing, much?

But if you’re heading out that way, make sure you take a GPS or map as this is the sign you are confronted with on your way out of town (pictured left).

The photo looks a bit strange because it’s taken at night, but you can see that there are plenty of places to get lost out there. At the time this photo was taken, I was part of a four-man geophysics team headed to Woolgar Goldmine. I don’t know why we were travelling through the night, but I remember being glad to arrive at the camp.

5. Cloncurry

When you’ve finished exploring Richmond, hit the road for Julia Creek and Cloncurry.

This is an example of the type of country you can find if you want to go exploring the back roads of the region.

Cloncurry is approximately 285km from Richmond with Julia Creek roughly half way in between, however, it’s mainly just an old staging post and today there are only a few shops and a stock and station agent. Cloncurry however, is a different kettle of fish with a nightlife you wouldn’t believe…

The town was founded in 1876 after the discovery of Copper by Ernest Henry and was laid out by the same surveyor who had laid down the plans for Hughenden. The discovery of copper caused a rush of people to the area. Henry described this in a letter to his mother: “When I first made the discovery of copper in this district there was not a white man within a hundred miles and great tracts of country lay in every direction, unpopulated save by a few tribes of savages. At the present moment, it would be difficult to find a patch of available land that has not been secured by squatters.” The exploration work carried out by these early pioneers led to the discovery of the Great Australian Mine and the town thrived. These days the miners still pile into the pubs in the evenings to quench a hard earned thirst, and there are three to choose from. My personal favourite is The Post Office. Good cheap meals with great service and atmosphere. Most pubs seem to have a healthy number of backpackers working behind the bar which seems to add something to the feel of the place.

One of the entrants in the ute muster.

If you are lucky enough to be in town in early August you are in for a treat as the annual Cloncurry Merry Muster is held. There is entertainment for the whole family with concerts, street parades, a ute muster and of course the rodeo action.

Accommodation in the town is abundant, and I would highly recommend the Wagon Wheel Motel, which also has excellent meals. The main street has a Woolworths and a variety of speciality shops to stock up on supplies. Contact the Wagon Wheel Motel on 07 4742 1866 or email them at [email protected].

From Cloncurry, you can either keep heading west to Mt Isa and beyond or take the road south to Winton and the Stockman’s Hall of Fame at Longreach. The interior of Far North Queensland has some amazing scenery and fantastic stories to tell, all built on a rich history of early pioneering, cattle, copper and gold. The people you meet along the way are truly salt of the earth; I can’t wait to go back!

The post 5 Top Spots on the Road to Mount Isa appeared first on Snowys Blog.

[hollyhark]

old CWU notes and outtakes Part I!

I thought I could fit all this into one post... haha. More to come! This stuff isn’t magical or fascinating so much as funny, so keep that in mind if you want to see the dark underbelly that is MADAM JEDI and other scrapped and rough content!!

~

From a doc beautifully entitled “Kylo Ren Master Notes, Updated 1-4-15” (one of about 10 CWU ‘master notes’ docs I kept throughout the year, behold my organization skills, including labeling this doc with the wrong year. This doc was 37 pages long! It picks up with notes on what became the second chapter of Life Sentence):

Begin with Hux meeting UT-5278. Hux is worried about the bite mark on his neck, annoyed that Ren placed it in the highest spot possible, so that it peeks out, just a bit, over his collar. Hux knows he's partially to blame for egging Ren on by pulling his hair. He's pleased when Uta mentions that UT-5278 is honored to the point of being a bit flustered since she's been given an audience with Hux, though he worries that someone who can complete this task will need nerves of steel. He's pulled UT-5278′s file and has reviewed it prior to the meeting. According to the file, she was abandoned as a baby and selected from a FO orphanage for trooper training because of her obedience and intelligence. Uta's note: “UT-5278 would have been an officer if she'd been born to an upstanding FO family.” Under misc. notes Uta has also noted that she allowed UT-5278 to personally eject a fellow trooper who tried to sexually assault her into space. Hux remembers giving Uta clearance to allow this punishment; he didn't realize that incident involved the same candidate Uta is volunteering for this suicide mission. The troops started calling her Airlock after that, affectionately. UT-5278 is not what Hux expected, but she remains calm in his presence and he thinks she just might do, though he is second-guessing his own judgment thanks to Ren's eerie warning. He does think that something about UT-5278's face suggests a sort of trusting innocence that the Resistance will arrogantly assume only they can appreciate and nurture; she looks young and could pass for a teenager, though her profile lists her age as 26. He assigns her a code name that she can also use as her “name” when mixing among the Resistance: Pella. On Hux's home planet it's a common name for girls that translates roughly to 'innocent flower.' He asks her if she's completely confident that she will not be actually swayed toward the Resistance the way that Finn was, including a threat about how bad it will be for her if they find out she has. She tells him confidently that one of the reasons she wants this job is that she would like to kill Finn herself for what he's done to the stormtroopers.

Hux runs across Ren in the hall and Ren is cold to him and now seems disinterested in the merit of Hux's plan to infiltrate the Resistance. He is carrying a bag full of what sounds like clanking metal parts. Ren reaches into it at one point, pulls out Hux's hat and shoves it into his hand, saying 'You dropped this.' Hux is enraged by this. He asks 'what else have you got in that bag?' and Ren says 'it's none of your concern' and storms off.

Hux is called to communicate with Snoke-- alone. He reports his plan, says he's met with a candidate and that he sees no reason not to proceed with it according to his design. Snoke is approving of the plan as well, and even gives Hux a rare compliment for coming up with it. Still unsettled, Hux says 'Ren had some concerns.' As soon as it's out he feels a kind of guilty panic for having betrayed Ren to Snoke when Ren appeared to be going against Snoke's wishes to warn Hux-- but he can't think about that now, here, with Snoke staring down at him, seeing him. Snoke blinks, which Hux can't even remember him doing before, though possibly he's just never paid this much attention to Snoke's every tension before. Snoke explains that Ren's concerns stem from meditation, which can be useful but also confusing for an undisciplined trainee like Ren. He says that too much attachment to certain things can cause false alarm visions, and he will be training Ren to drop those attachments so that he will see more clearly in the future. Hux feels exposed: he's the attachment Ren will learn to discard. Is Ren really so attached to him?

**

Notes re: the final sex scene in this part:

They both last a long time, maybe a little too long; Hux is close but can't quite finish, until (perhaps) Ren prompts him to say the name Ben. Afterward, Hux clings to Ren, they talk about Henry, etc. Hux is annoyed at first, but then he tells Ren about how Henry tried to comfort and help him, saying that he would go with Hux to tell his father what had happened/was happening if he wanted him to, and Hux allowed Henry to see him cry, to hug him and tell him it would be okay, but then rejected him and his proposal when he pulled away. He talks about how it was a pointless fight: even with one ally, they were still two people up against an unstoppable shitstorm of greater authority, and the boys who attacked Hux knew that even if Hux told his father what they’d done to him they might be reprimanded or even punished but not expelled or otherwise inconvenienced, because if they were word would get around that this had happened to the headmaster’s (right word?) son and Brendol Sr. wouldn’t want that, so the boys were protected and getting Henry involved would only make things worse & make Henry a target as well. Ren says, confused, as if he’s read something in Hux’s memories but can’t interpret it, ‘Did you kill him? Henry, I mean?’ Hux says no, but that’s not true. He did, the other day. Henry was a governor on one of the planets that was destroyed.

At some point Hux steps on a tiny shard of glass in the bathroom, one that Ren missed when he cleaned up the bits of mirror. It seems like a sign not to trust his earlier concerns: Ren is sloppy, after all. Hux has his terrible dream about being betrayed and exposed by Ren, and Ren wakes him from it, angry. Hux says 'must you spy on my dreams?' and Ren says 'yes. That was the loudest dream I've ever heard. I couldn't ignore it.' Then turns his back, puts on his robe, and says, angrily, 'I wouldn't do that.'

**

From the same doc, some of my first Snoke Notes:

Snoke is a Force user who ‘defeated death’ but in order to do so he must occasionally possess a powerful young host, once he has used up the body he’s currently in. This one is dying, and his episodes of possessing Kylo are like ‘practice,’ fusing his persona with Kylo’s so that eventually Kylo will be weakened and confused enough to be willing give Snoke his body, which is the only way Snoke can make it work longterm (completely erasing the prior owner of the body)

Snoke did the whole stunt with Hux because he knew Kylo would only bring himself to a low enough place to want to allow Snoke to take over his body if Kylo was convinced that he killed Hux, who was the strongest point of Light in Kylo’s body at that point. (Whereas if Snoke had arranged for Hux’s death at anyone else’s hands, Kylo would have been moved toward the Light in grief)

**

from same doc, lol:

Potential Titles: Ceasefire [editor’s note: BOLDED IN ORIGINAL!], The High Road, Detour to [Location], The Treaty at [Location]

**

from the same doc, the earliest description of Ceasefire:

He is training with Snoke, locked in a lightless soundless chamber when he senses a disturbance in the Force: Hux has been captured by some rebel faction that is more radical than Leia's Resistance, splintering from the First Order itself. They were able to entice Hux to make himself vulnerable by suggesting that Kylo Ren needed his assistance (as they remembered him fetching Ren personally last time). Ren leaves the chamber and searches for Snoke, needing his counsel on how to best ignore the pull to help Hux. But Snoke has disappeared, and with him goes Kylo's food and water supply. He knows this is a test and holds out for as long as he can, but finally he pilots an old shuttle away from the planet and goes to the nearest space station to recuperate, telling himself that he will simply secure sustenance and return. But he cannot resist the temptation to save Hux from torment (despite what he knows about Anakin Skywalker's downfall, and the feeling that this could be a trap), so he justifies his rescue mission as something Snoke would want: after all, losing Hux to this rebel faction would be a huge blow to the First Order (when in reality he's already sensed the truth: that Snoke is behind this splinter faction, testing him by torturing Hux).

Ren infiltrates the splinter group's base and massacres them before rescuing Hux, who is starving and badly hurt. When he first sees Ren, Hux says ‘Have they sent you to finish me off? That’s a clever touch.’ [en: also bolded in original :B] Ren takes him to a safehouse (a cottage on a rocky island on a rainy planet, a special, Force-protected place where the Skywalker family used to vacation, now closed up and dusty with disuse). Ren tells Hux that he's awaiting orders from Snoke, not mentioning that Snoke disappeared from his training suddenly and completely. When Ren heals Hux's wounds he reaches for a cut that splits the left side of his bottom lip and Hux says no, leave it. He wants it as a reminder. (Later, Kylo reflects that he wants to kiss and suck on that little scar more than he's ever wanted anything in his entire life.)

**

my first note about the narrative structure of this part, I think! (“is weird” haha):

Kylo's thought process is weird, such as when he's trying to justify bringing sick Hux some hot soup, feeling like he can't believe he's doing THIS instead of his training, but he tells himself that he must take care of the leader of the First Order because he was once chosen by Snoke to lead, just as Kylo was. Kylo thinks 'we need him,' and then:

Mental adjustment: Snoke needs his General. Kylo needs to serve Snoke's wishes. Especially now, in this unbearable silence.

**

From the same doc, I read this a billion times before posting it:

Ren asks Hux to speak his name because he feels like a he needs a powerful talisman to help him choose-- to help him fight this, he wants to fight this, he can't do it, he must-- the Light, or the Dark. He needs a sign from Hux.

"Tell me your name. Your first name."

Hux's eyebrows twitch. "You know my first name."

"Yes, but. Say it, I want you to tell me."

Hux hesitates. He's always hated this name, maybe even more than Kylo came to hate the one his parents gave him.

“Tell me,” Kylo says. “Please.”

“Elan, it's-- Elan.” Hux pronounces his first name with a soft bite of indignance, as if he's still not sure he wants to give up the secret syllables that he's already passed from his palms and into Kylo's. General Elan Bartram Hux's name is on all his First Order documentation, easy enough for anyone to look up. But out loud, offered up for Kylo to hear, it's a tiny, sacred thing, quivering and alive. Hux presses his lips together when they shake. Kylo can't wait any longer to put his mouth on that little scar.

**

First part of my initial description of Under the Ruins:

This is the fic about the fall of the First Order. Ren and Hux are both imprisoned, on the same planet but at opposite ends. Rey is counseling Ren, who is being tormented by Snoke. Ren is questioned about how Snoke possessed him and seduced him, and he feels like he's reliving it, re-traumatized and at times regressing. It's hard for him to look into his mother's eyes and they mostly keep apart at first. Ren wants comfort, though not from Leia or Rey; he feels immense guilt every time he looks at them and tries to fight their familial connection. He wants Hux, who can't see him and wouldn't even if he could.

[…]

The POV is split, and Ren attempts to get the traumatized Hux to speak to him again, first by writing letters about how Snoke introduced himself and indoctrinated him. Hux doesn't answer the first five. After the sixth, he sends a short reply indicating that he knows what Ren is plotting (he mentioned going away and promised to come back, in a coded fashion): “Give Supreme Leader my regards.” Ren is both jarred by this and heartened. Hux still has his sense of humor after all. Finn demands to know what this means, and Ren makes up a story saying that Hux thinks he’s still working for Snoke and trying to hurt him, that Hux is paranoid. In fact, this information from Finn is what tips Rey off; she says ‘let’s see how this plays out,’ planning to follow Ren if he tries to go alone. She doesn’t tell Finn this part, knowing he will want to come. To Rey, this seems like a fight that the remaining Solo and Skywalker must face alone.

**

[Pretty sure I typed this part on my phone while riding the trolley after work:]

Hux kills an attacker in prison

He feels amazing, his hands dirty now

Gets put in solitary, reeling

While there, Kylo reaches out through the Force

This is how they initially reconnect, just before Kylo goes after Snoke

**

The rest of this doc is a hot mess of stuff that was changed, but this made me laugh because I remember being really excited about this idea:

HUX RECONNECTS WITH HIS MOTHER!! Maybe after the book?

**

Here’s the scrapped MADAM JEDI scene I’ve referenced before:

Rey goes to see Hux to ask him if he would be open to having a visit from Ren (post defeat of Snoke, when Ren has that cred to lend)

Hux has a daily walk on the track on the roof of the Tower. He’s always there alone, as he’s an isolated prisoner, and he walks slowly and smokes cigarettes while the guards stand near the door to the roof stairs. Rey comes to stand at the edge of the Tower with him.

“He asks about you,” Rey says. “And when he’s not asking, he’s thinking about you, always. It’s exhausting. He’s-- Got a rather obsessive personality.”

Hux says nothing.

“Do you think seeing you would bring him some kind of closure?” Rey asks.

Hux gives her a disbelieving stare. Her gaze is steely, unmovable Jedi stone. Obnoxious.

“There’s no closure for us,” Hux says, looking toward the mountains again. “Not on this planet. Not in this life.”

“So,” Rey says, sharply, “You don’t want me to bend over backward to bring him here? Well, that’s a relief. Just say so and you won’t see or hear from me on this or any other subject ever again. That would suit me fine.”

She’s getting worked up a bit, which Hux enjoys. He opens his mouth to give her what she’s looking for: a verbal denial that he wants to see Ren. Permission to leave the subject closed.

He doesn’t say it. She’s in his mind anyway, seeing the truth. Having her there-- It doesn’t feel like it did when Ren read his thoughts. This feels like a blithe, almost glib intrusion, like it’s too easy for her and not because he’s made it that way.

“Well,” she says. “It appears you have some interest.”

“It’s not going to bring anybody closure,” Hux says. “But I suppose it would be amusing. To see him.”

“He might break down. He’s very-- You would have to be kind to him.”

Hux turns to her, his mouth falling open. She actually blanches a bit, the corner of her mouth quirking, one shoulder lifting.

“Please?” she says, suddenly girlish again.

“The last time I saw him he was trying to kill me,” Hux says. “But I’m expected to be kind?”

“You know it wasn’t him who wanted you dead. He wasn’t trying to kill you, the last time-- He was saving you.”

“By bringing me to you people, where he would have impunity and I would be locked away? Well, typical Ren, it all worked out swimmingly for him and I’m--”

“He’s very unhappy,” Rey says, tightly. “You don’t understand what he’s been through. I thought maybe-- But you don’t.”

“Look.” Hux throws the stub of his cigarette over the edge of the building. His favorite part of the day: his one tiny chance to say ‘fuck you’ to the surrounding environment. “If you’re worried about me stomping on Ren’s delicate feelings-- if they’re that fucking delicate --maybe don’t bring him to me.”

“You’re the only one-- He needs your forgiveness. The rest of us can’t forgive him the way you can.”

“Because you haven’t had his hands around your throat?”

“No, because we’re still angry about the things he’s done. You-- You’re indifferent. There’s only the one thing you’re angry about.”

“The trying to kill me bit, yeah.”

“No.” Rey says this sharply, and she’s got that steely look when Hux turns to her again. “That’s not why you’re angry with him, really, is it?”

She sends the rest into his head, to salt the wound perhaps:

You hate him for making you care about something beyond yourself. About him, namely.

“Just go,” Hux says, sneering and waving her away. “Bring Ren back with your or don’t. I have little say in the matter at the end of the day, I suspect. Just another act in the Skywalker family drama, me as scenery onstage.”

“You’re very dramatic,” Rey says with a sniff. “You remind me of him in that way, actually.”

“Get lost,” Hux says, and, when she stares him down like she’s thinking about pitching him over the edge of the Tower, “Please, Madam Jedi.”

**

IMPORTANT RANDOM NOTE:

At one point, Hux sadly remarks that they’ll never shower together again.

**

((And then there are six more pages of Finn/Rey, Pella-centric and other Kylux fic ideas lol, I haven’t forgotten these but I forgot they were originally in this doc. I’m gonna stop here for the night, since this doc is already six pages long in Word! More soon~~))

#cwu verse #notes & outtakes

[bloglumfia]

Shopping For Wholesale Backpacks and Their Employs

When buying new rucksack, whether it be for hiking, hiking, walk running or any other experience, two companies that should be considered are Osprey and Gregory. Osprey rucksacks function good design and are well-known for durability. Gregory bags are noted for great fit and comfort. The firms have an astonishing number of similarities, however, many variations as well.

You want to choose a pack that not merely matches effectively and is an excellent price, but a pack from a company that operates ethically and supports great causes. Equally Osprey Packs and Gregory Pile Products, as they are technically named, were created by teenage boys whose first pack was created for themselves. Henry Pfotenhauer of Osprey needed a pack that suit precisely so produced his own.

John Gregory produced his first package for a Child Look project. Both organizations became out of a love for the outdoors and for comfortable, well-fitting packs. And nowadays their Osprey Backpacks reveal these characteristics. A company's prices is seen in the agencies it supports. Equally Gregory and Osprey help great causes.

Gregory helps only domestic business related to outdoor sports and wellness, while Osprey helps equally domestic and international organizations related to wellness, outdoor sports, and development. A few of the global companies it helps will be the East Meets West Basis and The Himalayan Wellness Exchange.

Salt Pond City, UT could be the picked area for Gregory's headquarters, while Cortez, CO is wherever Osprey hangs their hat. Both places are well suited for uplifting designers to create good bags, as well as for testers to try them. In addition to domestic practices, equally businesses have overseas manufacturing facilities. They strategy them differently, at least in the direction they are presented to the public.

[maxwellyjordan]

Friday round-up

Last night the Supreme Court halted the execution of a Buddhist prisoner, Patrick Murphy, pending review of Murphy’s challenge to Texas’ refusal to allow a Buddhist priest to join him in the execution chamber. Amy Howe has this blog’s coverage. At Bloomberg, Greg Stohr reports that “[[t]he order marked an abrupt shift for the court, which last month voted 5-4 to let Alabama execute a Muslim man without his imam.” Robert Barnes reports for The Washington Post that “[t]he court’s conservatives were criticized by liberals and religious conservatives for that decision.” Kevin Daley reports at The Daily Caller that “Justices Clarence Thomas and Neil Gorsuch dissented from Thursday’s 7-2 decision[, and] Justice Brett Kavanaugh wrote a brief separate statement concurring with the majority.”

At Bloomberg Law, Kimberly Robinson reports that after Wednesday’s oral argument in Kisor v. Wilkie, in which the Supreme Court was asked to reconsider precedents that require courts to defer to a federal agency’s reasonable interpretation of its own regulations, the “justices appear primed to curtail administrative agencies’ regulatory power, but the court’s ultimate decision could lead to a much bigger conservative target: overturning the oft-maligned Chevron doctrine.” At The Daily Signal, Elizabeth Slattery argues that “it’s time for the court to correct its mistake and make clear that judges—not agency officials —say what the law is.” William Goren analyzes the argument at Understanding the ADA.

For The Economist, Steven Mazie reports that during oral argument in this week’s two partisan-gerrymandering cases, Rucho v. Common Cause and Lamone v. Benisek, “[n]o justices spoke up in favour of politicians warping district lines to entrench their own power,” “[b]ut it was uncertain, after more than two hours of oral arguments, whether a majority of the justices will decide that even ghastly gerrymanders violate America’s constitution.” At the Election Law Blog, Richard Pildes notes that “several Justices raised questions about whether partisan-gerrymandering challenges implicitly appeal in one way or another to a baseline of proportional representation (PR),” but Pildes points out that “political scientists have long understood that a system of single-member districting, such as we use for Congress, should not be expected to produce PR.”

In an op-ed for The Washington Post, Stephen Bright weighs in on Flowers v. Mississippi, which asks whether a prosecutor’s repeated use of peremptory challenges to remove black people from the jury pool violated the Constitution, arguing that “[p]eople will stop recognizing courts as fair, legitimate and credible if such discrimination continues,” and that “[e]nding it must be one of the highest priorities of criminal justice reform.” At Justia’s Verdict blog, Dorf asserts that Thomas’ rare question during last week’s oral argument in the case “implied a view that is rather strongly at odds with a position that [Thomas] and other conservative justices have staked out—namely, that the Constitution forbids all government consideration of race, even if employed to counteract prior race discrimination.”

Briefly:

Kevin Daley reports for The Daily Caller that “[t]he Supreme Court has turned down two bids to halt the Trump administration’s ban on bump stocks, an accessory that increases a semiautomatic rifle’s rate of fire.”

At his eponymous blog, Michael Dorf uses the court’s recent cert grant in Ramos v. Louisiana, which asks whether the Sixth Amendment guarantee of a unanimous jury in a criminal case applies to the states, as an occasion to consider “[w]hat accounts for the long dormancy of incorporation cases and their recent revival.”

The latest episode of the Heritage Foundation’s SCOTUS 101 podcast focuses on “the oral argument in the partisan gerrymandering and agency deference cases and a victory for moose hunters in Alaska.”

At The Christian Science Monitor, Henry Gass looks at how Chief Justice John Roberts is fulfilling his role as “the court’s new ideological center, or ‘swing vote’ when justices are deadlocked.”

We rely on our readers to send us links for our round-up. If you have or know of a recent (published in the last two or three days) article, post, podcast, or op-ed relating to the Supreme Court that you’d like us to consider for inclusion in the round-up, please send it to roundup [at] scotusblog.com. Thank you!

The post Friday round-up appeared first on SCOTUSblog.

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#law #justice

[titheguerrero]

The Big Bang Theory of Health Care Since 1967

Hold on to your hat: it all comes together now. Looking at events in our nation's capital, in a strange fever dream, The Big Bang Theory just came to me, No, call it the Big Fecal-Bang Theory, as I read about how our national leadership proceeds from one inanity to the next. But when it comes to health care, and wiping out the safety net using false premises, inanity kills. So this is worth writing. But to see how it all ties together, we have to go back over half a century. Where else can you read about the hidden connections between Hollywood, health insurance in the US of A, Really Bad Tax Cuts, Wisconsin cheese-eaters, opiate addiction and Really Bad Logic? We will conclude with the antics over the past year of Senator Ron Johnson of Wisconsin in the annals of health care. But to pull it together we have to back to just over fifty years ago. Take a walk back to 1967. That year two events occurred involving two major characters of the day. Hollywood! The first was the ascent of an actor named Ronald Reagan, perhaps our first media-celebrity politician, to his first term as California governor\. Some time later, eyeing higher office, he was insisting government-is-the-problem-not-the-solution. A mantra carried through ever-bigger megaphones until we arrived at the present day s-house. California, of course, as a whole is now far less likely to throw up right wing politicians onto the national stage. (Rep. Issa is leaving it as we speak.) But our great expanse of red fly-over country still belches forth people like Paul Ryan and Ron Johnson to bollix up health care and pretty much everything else. The second event worth recalling from 1967 is the grand Oscar-winning Mike Nichols and Buck Henry collaboration, The Graduate.  Forget about the stars. They're still in the news for all sorts of things. Remember Mr. McGuire? Until our current president trumped him with a potty-mouthed single-word viral epithet, Mr. McGuire was the single-word champ, with his fatherly diatribe to Dustin Hoffman on the future: plastics. (The actor, Walter Brooke, who was among other things a big Thomas Jefferson enthusiast, was reportedly so enthused by his role that he remained forever wistful about his own failure to invest in plastics. Starting in 1968, though, many more did take the fictitious Mc. McGuire's advice, earning tidy sums in life imitating art.) Show biz carrying over into the public square: Nothing New. A decade or so later and now far from Hollywood, another family, that of today's Senator Ron Johnson saw the same writing on the wall. They launched a company in Wisconsin now called Pacur. A bit off-subject to explore just how much credit this good midwestern businessman-turned-politician can take for single-handedly pumping up a company that specialized in plastic extrusions. But by 2016-2017, Johnson had done just that in spades. And now according to multiple sources he allegedly uses the recent tax-cut legislation to win all sorts of special concessions for plastics from the GOP leadership in exchange for pushing that legislation forward. (See the cheesemen's connection with each other and the alt-right here and here.) Simultaneously in 2016-2017, according to the reliably right wing organ Washington Examiner, Johnson was already now making a prefatory argument about Medicaid and how it might be responsible for the opiate crisis. That this took my breath away is what, in the event you're still reading, prompted the screed I'm now writing. So first the boys from Wisconsin enact a bodacious and totally not needed nay harmful tax cut, favoring the wealthy. But long before its success was assured the cheese boys were preparing the ground for the dismantling of Medicaid. First you create a deficit by handing out tax breaks to rich friends. And donors. Then you produce the "evidence" for where the resulting deficit can be addressed, on the backs of poor patients. That this evidence is specious is almost beside the point. It appeals to the Base, if that's still big enough (it is until November 2018 proves it isn't) to make a difference in pushing through the proverbial Drowning-of-the-Baby-in-the-Bathtub. But the striking logic used by Johnson allows us to conclude with observations on the multiple fallacies of reasoning commonly committed by the increasingly extreme proponents of this grand new idea of repealing the twentieth century. Brings us right down to today--January 17, 2018--and the hearings Ron Johnson held on the vestiges of the Affordable Care Act and Medicaid expansion. Allegedly they were "trying to link Medicaid expansion to the opioid abuse epidemic." The notion--now soundly disproved, if such things mattered, by actual evidence--that decent health insurance gave more people access to prescription drugs, including opiates, and was therefore harmful as an unintended consequence, is as laughable as is climate change denial. But why should that stop them when "it's just common sense." (I paraphrase.) The new line of attack on Medicaid is like so many other demagogic reasoning-off-the-skids coming from extremists of every ilk. They suffer from so many logical fallacies it's hard to know where to start. (But a good place is here, at UT El Paso.) The argument-from-pathos: "trust your gut." The similar biases of Confirmation and Availability, that allow for these right wingers' selective use of "evidence" that seems to bolster their view: "more people with addiction have Medicaid that those who don't." Say what? See also: the Big Lie Technique. Over-generalization. The Post Hoc Propter Hoc Fallacy, famous ever since the Hippocratic writings. This last one is key: "Disco caused AIDS." Or, more to the point, as a thought experiment, imagine what could be next when your parents and grandparents stand to lose some or all of their Medicare coverage. Analogous to what the boys of the GOP are doing with Medicaid--a cheap shot and easier target than Medicare. "Evidence is now showing that addiction to death is far more common among people who have Medicare. Death is bad. Let's gut Medicare." The people don't count. What counts? Plastics! Article source:Health Care Renewal