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Claire and Sydney parallels... Claire and Carmy parallels...
How about Claire and Pete? The parallels between these two. How one is celebrated but the other is looked down upon.
Both are normal people with regular jobs, but one is seen through a romantic filter while the other is bland, annoying, overeager, and not up to par to keep up with them.
And it's all connected to sexism (Yes, I'm going there).
Someone like Natalie having a normal, boring partner is seen as the ultimate miss, and her loving, stable husband is reduced to a loser who's too eager to bond with his in-laws.
But Claire is the cute, "sweet girl next door" normal. She's the one true love that swoops in and saves a doomed individual. Beautiful ER doctor whose job is a million times more stressful than running a restaurant, but who even cares? Richie wants her with Carmy because he sees them as a fix-it for his own failed marriage. But it doesn't work like that. Even if she was his true love, it's not her job to fix anyone. She can't help Carmy in the ways that therapy and Al-anon could. But guess what, the hit of dopamine you get from liking someone works faster than therapy, so he is never seen attending after they get together. Richie famously doesn't get better until he does the work himself, without his ex, years after they divorce.
To bring it back to Pete. He and Natalie work together. He is affectionate, kind, loving, supportive, and understanding of her crazy family. He exposed her to an environment where healthy communication is encouraged. Everything Claire is set up to be. But since he's a man in a nurturing role, and since he's Natalie's significant other, he is the butt of the joke. While no one is rallying for Natalie to dump him, and they respect her choice to be with him, no one is thrilled Natalie married someone who doesn't fit into their environment. Never mind that he wasn't freaked out by Donna crashing her car into their house, that he chose to attend family functions even without her to show he cares, or that he was 100% on board when Natalie joined the Bear. Because what's there to "fix" about Natalie? She's not the addict or the sad, panic attack prone youngest. Natalie is the glass middle child who stayed to see her older brother fall apart, who was heavily abused by her crazy mom. But she turned out "fine" so everything is fair game.
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mittwoch-addams · 9 months
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‘Irreplaceable’: meet the Matildas’ other bonafide superstar
Ellie Carpenter, one of the world’s best footballers, was playing in the biggest game of her career when her knee gave way. One year on she’s chasing an even bigger prize – a home World Cup.
It’s the biggest game of her life but Ellie Carpenter is being carried off on a ­stretcher. The replay is a sickening sight, causing groans among the 32,000-strong crowd. Her left knee has buckled beneath her, leaving the 22-year-old thumping the ground in agony. Her Women’s Champions League final is over and maybe so much more.
Waves of pain from her ruptured ACL make it hard for the young Australian to think clearly as she is lifted off the field after only 13 minutes playing for her club Lyon against Barcelona in Turin on May 21 last year. And yet, at this moment, she is focusing harder than she has ever thought before. The girl from Cowra, the former child prodigy of Australian soccer, wipes the tears from her eyes and stares straight up at the sky as if in a trance.
“Count,” she tells herself as her ­stretcher makes its way out of the ­stadium to the applause of the sympathetic crowd. “Count the months.”
“I was thinking, ‘Oh shit, what month is it?’ Carpenter recalls. “It’s usually a 12-month recovery [from an ACL injury] and I needed to count the months until I could play again. So in my head I was going like ‘June, July, August’ and then I’m like ‘YES, YES, YES, I’ll make it. I’ll recover in time for our World Cup.”
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Almost exactly 12 months later Carpenter, now 23, bounces into a cafe in central Lyon, France, with her blonde hair in a bun, wearing a T-shirt and shorts and a grin on her face. It’s a wet spring day, but the sun is rising again for Carpenter after a horror year. She is back on the field, playing again for Olympique Lyonnais, the best women’s team in the world. Off the field, she is happy and in love. She has bought a house just outside Lyon with her ­partner and teammate, Danielle van de Donk, one of the best footballers on the planet, who also plays for the Netherlands national team. 
If the rapid-fire ticket sales are any guide, Carpenter may be underestimating the reception that awaits her and the Matildas. 
The World Cup, to run from July 20 to August 20, jointly hosted by Australia and New Zealand, will see an estimated 83,000 watch Australia’s opening match against Ireland at Sydney’s Accor Stadium – more than double the Matildas’ previous highest attendance of 36,000. The opening match was moved from the 42,500-seat Sydney Football Stadium to the 83,000-seat Stadium Australia (known as Accor Stadium for sponsorship purposes) to meet the surging demand for tickets. At least 1.5 million people are expected to attend the games in Australia and New Zealand with an estimated worldwide audience of two billion. FIFA predicts the World Cup will encourage up to 400,000 girls to take up soccer in Australia.
“It’s crazy now, women’s football,” says ­Carpenter. “I’ve seen it go from here to here,” she says, moving her hands towards the sky.
Marketing surveys show the Matildas have overtaken the men’s Wallabies rugby union team in popularity, something that would once have seemed unthinkable for a team that only formed in 1978 and for years had to play on substandard ovals. The small crowds that came to watch them play in those days were mostly family and friends. 
“It’s incredible to see where this team has come from to be one of our biggest sporting brands … so many players have paved the way for this moment,” says Heather Garriock, who played 130 games for the Matildas between 1999 and 2011.
Ellie Carpenter's FIFA World Cup mission
For years Matildas players were paid a pittance, having to hold down second jobs while playing for the national team. In the early days one player recalled how a teammate called the coach before an international match to say she would be late because her shift at Woolies didn’t finish until 5.30pm. In the lead-up to the 2000 Sydney Olympics, the Matildas were so desperate to secure sponsorship and public support that 12 of them posed naked for a calendar to get attention. Fast-forward to today and the Matildas are a household name, and Kerr is ­arguably the most recognisable Australian sports star in the world. In May, wearing a sharp black suit, she carried the Australian flag into Westminster Abbey for the coronation of King Charles III.
But it will take more than Kerr’s soccer ­royalty for the Matildas to realise their dream of winning a home World Cup.
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On a cold spring evening in London on the eve of the coronation, Kerr is playing to script, slamming the winning goal for her team Chelsea against Liverpool with just minutes to go. As she leaves the ground I ask her what she thinks about having Carpenter back with the Matildas for the World Cup. “Ellie is one of the best players in the world,” says Kerr, who ­described Carpenter as “irreplaceable” when she injured her ACL last year. “We’ve missed her and she’s a great personality to have on the team … I’m feeling good, I’m feeling excited [about the World Cup].”
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A few days later, Carpenter is sprinting up the right wing, weaving the ball around her teammates during morning training near the Parc Olympique Lyonnais stadium on the outskirts of Lyon. It is just over two months since she made her comeback from her injury and the previous weekend she was one of the team’s best players in their 3-0 win over Dijon.
She calls out to her teammates in French and jokes with them in French, but if she makes a mistake on the field, the word “shit” rings out across the ground in an Aussie twang.
Her bilingual world in Lyon, a French foodie capital crammed with UNESCO World Heritage sites, is a reminder of just how many lives Carpenter has squeezed into her 23 years. “It all started here,” she says, pointing to a tattoo on her ankle that shows the outline of Cowra, her hometown of 12,500 people in the Central West of NSW. “It’s like one main street, two sets of traffic lights, a place where we knew everyone and everyone knew the Carpenters.”
Looking back, Carpenter’s unlikely rise from the streets of Cowra to international soccer star was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because she lived the real-life sporting fairy-tale. This was the tale in which a determined young country girl becomes a prodigy of the game, shattering every barrier in her path to find herself playing for Australia at the age of just 15 and then at the age of 16 at the 2016 Rio Olympics, the youngest ever female footballer in the world to compete in an Olympics.
The curse was that she was so good, so early, that she was a kid playing among adults, being thrust into the spotlight ahead of her time, ­before she was ready and before she had time to grow up. “I hated it sometimes,” she says. “I was always the youngest. People would say, oh, you’re the youngest ever Olympian or you’re the youngest ever to score a goal, the youngest this, the youngest that. I was playing with ­people who were 10 or 15 years older than me and you had to mature very quickly. It was hard with the pressure, the spotlight, the critics … I wasn’t prepared for that at the time.
“I’ve been in the public eye since I was 15 and now people think I’m 30 but I’m still just 23, one of the youngest in the team.” 
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Belinda Carpenter still scratches her head about how her daughter fell in love with soccer. “She was highly energetic, she never sat still but she did all sports – a bit of athletics, AFL, soccer, cricket, even triathlon, cheerleading and trapeze,” she says. Belinda and her then husband Scott, who were Physical Education teachers in Cowra, encouraged Carpenter and her older brother Jeremy to dabble in any activity that took their fancy. “Ellie also did ballet, so she would play ­football in the morning and then go to ballet with muddy knees under those pink stockings,” Belinda recalls. 
“I think I always knew I would be a sportsperson, because ever since I could walk I was running,” says Carpenter. “I think I could have done any sport really because I was also good at swimming and athletics. I was a tomboy. I didn’t really have a normal childhood. I never went to parties like other girls, I just wanted to play sports.”
She played soccer from an early age but her path as a serious player began by accident when, at the age of about seven, she watched her brother Jeremy train with the NSW country soccer team. “I was just on the sidelines waiting for him, juggling the ball on my own, when the coach came up and said that I could join their next session. I was the only girl and the boys were much older than me. I don’t ­remember this but apparently I was, like, really good, smashing all the boys.”
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Belinda and Scott decided to give both Ellie and Jeremy the chance to compete in competitions across the state. This required a brutal schedule of long drives for training and games. “Honestly I can’t believe they did that for me,” Carpenter says. “From Cowra we used to drive to Canberra every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, which was more than two hours there and back, and then sometimes we would play in Sydney which was four hours there and back on the same day. I would spend so much time in the car, doing my homework or making up quizzes and things just to pass the time.”
By the time Carpenter was 12, it was clear that she had a natural talent that could no longer be nurtured from Cowra. So Belinda quit her job and moved with both the children to Sydney so they could attend Westfield Sports High School in Sydney’s west, which had a specialist sports program.
It was a big school in a big city, a culture shock for a country girl. “It was a huge change, I became this small fish in a big sea,” she says. Not long afterwards, her parents divorced, a time which she describes as difficult and sad.
The following year, aged 13, ­Carpenter went to watch the Matildas play in Sydney. “I think there was a maximum of 1000 people there but I watched the national team play and I was like, ‘Oh, sick, I want to be that.’ Then two years later, I was on that team. It was crazy.”
Carpenter’s precocious talent turned heads in the soccer world at that time, and things ­unfolded quickly. She broke into the “Mini-­Matildas” under-17 team at the age of 14, and when she turned 15 signed her first professional contract with the then W-League club Western Sydney Wanderers. The coach was so impressed with her that she didn’t even need to trial for the team.
Carpenter’s ambition was such that although she began her career as a midfielder, she volunteered to be a defender when the Mini-Matildas said they needed defenders only because she didn’t want to be cut from the squad. “I was like, I want to be in the team so I will play wherever.”
In March 2016, when she was still just 15, Carpenter made her debut for the senior Matildas, playing in a 9-0 victory over Vietnam. 
Not long afterwards, she was playing for Australia in the Rio Olympics, the first of the string of “youngest ever” firsts that she would soon tire of. “Obviously I was so young – I think I was the youngest in that team by five years,” she recalls. “So I guess I was kind of on my own. Some players were 30 years old and some of them were a bit like, ‘Who is this 15-year-old who has come into the team?’ and some people don’t want you there because you might take their spot. So some didn’t like me being there, but you’ve just gotta keep going.”
After the Rio Olympics, Heather Garriock, who was then coaching, says she noticed that the 16-year-old Carpenter was struggling. “I could see that she wasn’t doing well with the massive comedown after the hype of the ­Olympic Games. So, you know, I just put my arm around her – and since then I’ve always put my arm around her and taken her under my wing. She just wanted to be the best and to get better every day.
“She is so driven to win and yet she’s got such a nice nature, a very humble kind of girl who will always give you her time.”
Carpenter says she was forced to grow up quickly, but with the help of people like ­Garriock she eventually found her rhythm and adapted to the ever-growing public glare of being a Matilda. “I think it took me a couple of years, until I was about 17, to come out as Ellie,” she says.
In Year 10 Carpenter dropped out of school to pursue her dream of being a full-time ­footballer. “She wasn’t at school very much anyway,” says Belinda of her daughter’s busy soccer schedule. “I just told her, ‘Go do it, ­because if it fails and you don’t get to where you want to go in soccer, we will go back and figure out the education route’.”
When Carpenter was 17 she was pursued by the US National Women’s Soccer League team Portland Thorns, in Oregon on the US west coast. She signed with them but, in those days, women were not allowed to play until they turned 18. The club was so keen for her to play that she signed a contract literally on her 18th birthday, and played the following week, racking up yet another series of “youngest evers”. “That’s why I was the youngest ever player and the youngest ever person to score a goal in the NWSL at that stage,” she says.
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Carpenter says life in the US was a shock ­“because it was so different to Australia”. ­Belinda recalls that her daughter would often ­FaceTime her during dinner just to have a ­companion to speak with. “Until she found her feet I would often hang out with her on the phone while she was having dinner at a restaurant or something when she didn’t ­really know anybody.
“Even though Ellie is really outgoing, with a wicked sense of humour, I think she is also a bit guarded about who she lets in.”
Even so, Carpenter says she enjoyed her two years in Portland where she regularly played in front of crowds of 20,000. By this stage she had become a fixture of the Matildas team, playing in the 2019 World Cup in France where they made it to the round of 16 and then the 2020 Tokyo Olympics where the Matildas made it to the semi-finals.
By the time she turned 20, Carpenter was being pursued by the strongest women’s team in the world, Olympique Lyonnais. She recalls the moment she learned that Lyon wanted to recruit her. “I was like, ‘Are you serious?’ It was Lyon and I was like, ‘Are you sure they want me?’ I mean, if Lyon calls, you go to them ­wherever you are because they are the best in the world.” This is no exaggeration – the team has won eight Champions League finals in the past 12 years, including five in a row between 2015 and 2020. 
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But Carpenter’s arrival in 2020 wasn’t so easy. “It was the time of the Covid pandemic so the city was shut. I didn’t know anyone, and I didn’t know French,” she says. So she began her life anew yet again, throwing herself into French lessons and making friends at her new club. She impressed local fans by trying to speak French at press conferences, albeit with an Aussie twang. She also fell in love with Lyon itself. “I love it, it’s beautiful – not as nice as ­Sydney, but it’s still beautiful.” As soon as she arrived, she also saw why her new team kept winning championships. The ­fitness, the training, the skills were next-level, even for Carpenter. “She called me up and said, ‘Um, Mum, these players are really, really good’,” recalls Belinda. Initially she found it hard to break into her new team, and she won her first European Championship with Lyon in 2020 without taking to the field when she was on the team as an unused sub.
“I don’t think many people understand what it really takes to be a football player,” says Carpenter’s teammate and partner Danielle van de Donk. “You win trophies and everyone thinks it is a high but no one really knows about the lows.” Van de Donk, who has been going out with Carpenter for about two years, says she has the rare ability to lift the team’s morale ­single-handedly. “She is the most energetic person I know, she is very, very positive, and off the pitch she just brings a different kind of energy to the room – even when she was injured the coaches were saying to her, ‘Bring your energy to the team, we need it’,” says van de Donk. “She is already a star but she is just going to get bigger and bigger. She is only 23.”
Van de Donk says she’s attracted to ­Carpenter because they are “similar people in life”, adding: “It’s kind of wild, she is from ­Australia, I’m from the Netherlands and we are buying a house in Lyon – it’s very cool.’’
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After that tricky start at Lyon, Carpenter ­became a regular in the team – until the 13-minute mark of last year’s Champions League final. “It was just sickening to watch her go down,” recalls Belinda, who was watching the game live in the middle of the night from her home in Wamberal on the NSW Central Coast. “I actually said when I watched it, ‘She does not go down and she does not stay down’.”
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Carpenter’s injury came in two parts. The first came when she was tackling an opponent near the corner post and her left knee twisted in the tackle. Carpenter hobbled off in obvious pain. But she was desperate to come back on, and tested the injured knee in front of the team’s medical staff. “I remember being on the sideline and they were testing me and I was like, ‘Is it strong, can you feel my ACL?’ And they were like, ‘Yeah I think it’s fine, so you want to go back on?’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah, it’s the Championship Final.’ So I ran back on and then I was like, ‘Oh, something’s not right’.”
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Back in Wamberal, Belinda was horrified to see her daughter run back onto the pitch. “We were like, ‘No, no, no, don’t do it’,” she recalls.
Moments after returning to the field ­Carpenter moved to intercept a long pass. But as soon as she changed direction her knee gave way completely, severing her ACL and sending her to the ground.
Van de Donk, who was watching from the sidelines as a substitute, had torn her own ACL as a teenager and knew what lay ahead. “I saw her go down and instantly I knew it was wrong,” she recalls. “It was horrible to watch.” 
But once Carpenter counted the months and realised she could still potentially play in the World Cup in Australia, her mood lifted. Lyon won the match 3-1, giving Carpenter her second championship medal and yet another first as the only Australian to win two Champions League medals. After the match, despite having her injured leg in a splint, Carpenter joined her teammates in the celebrations on the field, swinging precariously on her crutches and then hopping on her one good leg as she held up the Champions League cup. She then flew back to Lyon with the team and continued the celebrations. “I was in so much pain, so I just took lots of painkillers but we went to a restaurant and partied in Lyon drinking champagne until 5am.”
The next morning Carpenter woke with a hangover to the bad news she had feared. She needed a full knee reconstruction and would be out of the game for up to a year. Recalls Belinda: “The first thing she said to me on the phone was, ‘I’m getting an operation, I’m going to get better and I’m going to play in the World Cup’. It was all about the World Cup.”
That has been Carpenter’s singular goal ever since. In those early months after her injury when she could not run, she followed her rehab plan like it was Holy Writ – long hours in the gym keeping the muscles working followed by swimming, physio, massage and the hardest task of all: patience.
“I had to learn a lot about patience because I am impatient,” she says. “When I finally was able to take my first jump again I actually cried with happiness.” At times Carpenter wondered whether she would be the same player when she returned, but mostly she says she kept her mental demons at bay.
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“It was a long journey for her and she was a bit insecure in the beginning, she struggled for about three weeks,” says van de Donk. “But after that she was OK, she just powered through – and now I think she’s much stronger than she was.” Carpenter, for her part, puts a gloss on the whole saga, saying she believes it gave her a much-needed break from the game she’d been playing almost non-stop since she was a child.
Today, Carpenter’s football routine is very full-time. She goes into the club from around 9am to 4pm most days to do a mixture of ­training, gym, recovery and sponsorship work. Then she plays on weekends, often travelling. She works with a nutritionist and also a ­psychologist. She estimates she gets one day properly off each month. Such is the profile of the team in Lyon that she now gets recognised in the street, and after three years here she says she is now fluent in French.
“Ellie has always known the path that she wanted and she has just followed it ­completely. That is pretty incredible for a 23-year-old,” says former Matildas player ­Garriock. “She is already one of the world’s best players and her energy and leadership are crucial for the World Cup. She has achieved things at 23 that others wouldn’t achieve in their whole career. I have no doubt that she will be the captain of the Matildas in the ­future. She has all the leadership qualities and the big game experience.” 
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Carpenter is now on the home stretch of her quest, hoping to stay in form and avoid ­injury until the World Cup begins in three weeks.
Although she loves playing for Lyon, she says there’s nothing like going home to play with the Matildas. “It’s like going back to your family,” she says with a grin. “We’ve all known each other for years. Everyone is so close. We can all laugh at ourselves and we look after each other. It’s such a good, strong group. I don’t know how to ­explain it but I have a special passion when I play for the Matildas, it’s unique. For me, this World Cup is the top of the top, it’s probably the best thing I will ever experience.”
So how far can Carpenter and the Matildas go in this World Cup?
“We’ve never seen an Australian team like this,” says Garriock. “This core group of players like Ellie Carpenter, Sam Kerr and Caitlin Foord have played together in World Cups and big tournaments since they were 16 years old. They are in their prime and this is their moment. It is written for them.”
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hauntnowpod · 1 month
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Hey ghouls,
It's Monday again, which means it's time for our 4th and final cast announcement for season three.
May we present... 
The inimitable Marnie Warner, who is back as Eulalie's sister, Parker. What would this haunting even be without the sibling drama?!! Marnie Warner is a Chicago based theater and voice actor. You can hear her in podcasts across all genres, including Hit the Bricks, H.G. Wells Has His Regrets, Morland P.I, Where the Stars Fell, and Two Flat Earthers Kidnap a Freemanson. When not doing theater-type things, she’s probably reading, going out for breakfast, or looking at cats on the internet. For more information, visit her website at marniewarner.carrd.co/
Mihai Matei joins us this season as Cemetery Ghost and Poltergeist 4. Mihai is a London based VA whose hobbies include DnD, games and cycling. Find Mihai on Twitter @MihaiMateiVA
Natalie Hunter, returns as one of the voices of The Apartment! Natalie Hunter is a voice actor, singer, and screenwriter, and works as a research administrator by day. She is passionate about storytelling, the ocean, her cat Luna, and coffee. Find Natalie online at nataliehunter.carrd.co
Nick Mercer joins the haunting as FF House Ghost 1 and FF House. Nick Mercer is a voice actor and audiobook narrator with an incredibly versatile narration style, ranging from “friendly, positive guy next door” and “intelligent, articulate professional.” His background prior to voiceover includes Theatrical Performance, Music Production, Sales, and Education. Nick lives in North DFW with his beautiful – and genius – wife Corrie , their daughter Zoey, and their two dogs, Maisie and Loki. When he’s not firefighting or performing voiceovers, Nick loves watching anime, playing D&D, and platinuming FromSoft titles.  Find Nick online at NickMercerVO.com
Paul H. Rollins is back as Nick, the gruff brute-squad member of You Haint Seen Nothin' Yet. Paul is a musician, aerosol artist, and cat caretaker with a M.S. in Microbiology.
Ray O'Hare joins us this season as Bill, McMansion, and Longfellow's ghost. (Oooh, there's that morbid Victorian poetry, huh?) Ray has over 20 years of professional stage experience, and as a voice actor has appeared in video games, animation and audio drama. He lives in the Boston area with his wife and daughter, and past jobs include toy demonstrator for FAO Schwarz, historical reenactor, and graveyard tour guide.
Roanna Cruz joins us this season as Poltergeist 5! Roanna is a bilingual Filipino American voice actor based in Los Angeles. Whether it's a commercial, animation, game, or audio drama, she just loves collaborating on productions and having fun in the recording booth! To learn more about her, visit RCruzVO.com.
Sian Luxford joins us this season as Professor 1! Sian Luxford is an actor based in Sydney, Australia. After working in screen acting for over two decades, Sian decided to take the leap into voice acting in 2023, and quickly fell in love with it. Sian is thrilled to be joining the amazing cast of The Way We Haunt Now. Find Sian online at sianluxford.com
Sneha Kumar joins us as E. Drawing Ghost 3 and the Airport Gate Attendant. Sneha Kumar is a voice actor who has been in the field since 2018. She mostly focuses on character work, but is always interested in diving into other areas of voiceover work. Along with being a voice actor, she is also a singer, self-taught dancer, a cosplayer, and currently attends Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) for sound design. She is very excited to be a part of the cast and deliver a wonderful performance! Find Sneha online at https://skumarvoice30.wixsite.com/sneha-kumar
We're so delighted Tal Minear is returning as Myrtle, who's GOING to make the rest of You Haint Seen Nothin' Yet think about the consequences of their actions, dammit! Tal is a SoCal based voice actor, sound designer, and fiction podcast producer. They're the creator of Re: Dracula, Sidequesting, What Will Be Here?, and several other productions that can be found hiding under rugs and around corners. Tal can be heard in audio fiction shows such as Tales of the Echowood, Mayfair Watcher's Society, Deconstructive Criticism, and more. Find them online at talminear.com
Tarek Esaw joins the haunting this season as Poltergeist 3! Tarek Esaw is an Arkansas-based voice actor with a background in theatre. When they are not drowning in schoolwork or struggling at their 9-5, you can catch them at a D&D session or binging horror movies. Their voice can now be heard in the audiodramas Among the Stars and Bones as Hudson Desha, Tales From the Fringes of Reality as Sparrow, and the upcoming animated pilot Myths in Manhattan as both Julius and Pour. Find them on Twitter: @TarekEsawVO
Tim Lowe is back as our weird and wonderful radio host, Jon Harker, who, hmmm.... no.... spoilers. You'll just have to listen to find out. Tim is a podcaster and voice actor who has appeared in numerous shows. He regularly hosts Minds at Yeerk and has made several guest appearances on shows such as Judging Book Covers and Panelology. He has appeared in a variety of shows such as The Lafresian Chronicles, Tunnels, and Haunted Hell House of Horrors. He can be found on Twitter @Remobware which he will be more than happy to explain if you tweet at him.
Trenton Butt joins us this season as E. Drawing Ghost 1. Trenton Butt is a twenty-one year old voice actor, finishing their final year of college while also pursuing voiceover at the same time. They have been featured in various award-winning video games, indie animations, and trending podcasts, as well as being a published author. When not in the booth, they can be found either bothering their dog Letty, or playing video games. Find Trenton online at trentonbuttvoices.com
And that's it, folks. That's our slate of ghosts, ghouls, haunted humans, and show-within-a-show characters for season three.
I'm pretty sure this cast is the best one there is to be found in the void, and I can't wait to show you what we've created... sometime this month. 
Yours ghoulishly,
Courtney
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atotc-weekly · 5 months
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Book the Third—The Track of a Storm
[X] Chapter IX. The Game Made
While Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoining dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust. That honest tradesman’s manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he changed the leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those limbs, and were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. Lorry’s eye caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring the hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character.
“Jerry,” said Mr. Lorry. “Come here.”
Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in advance of him.
“What have you been, besides a messenger?”
After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, “Agicultooral character.”
“My mind misgives me much,” said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a forefinger at him, “that you have used the respectable and great house of Tellson’s as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description. If you have, don’t expect me to befriend you when you get back to England. If you have, don’t expect me to keep your secret. Tellson’s shall not be imposed upon.”
“I hope, sir,” pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, “that a gentleman like yourself wot I’ve had the honour of odd jobbing till I’m grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos so—I don’t say it is, but even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if it wos, it wouldn’t, even then, be all o’ one side. There’d be two sides to it. There might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas where a honest tradesman don’t pick up his fardens—fardens! no, nor yet his half fardens—half fardens! no, nor yet his quarter—a banking away like smoke at Tellson’s, and a cocking their medical eyes at that tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own carriages—ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that ’ud be imposing, too, on Tellson’s. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. And here’s Mrs. Cruncher, or leastways wos in the Old England times, and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppin’ again the business to that degree as is ruinating—stark ruinating! Whereas them medical doctors’ wives don’t flop—catch ’em at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly have one without t’other? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all awaricious and all in it), a man wouldn’t get much by it, even if it wos so. And wot little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. He’d never have no good of it; he’d want all along to be out of the line, if he, could see his way out, being once in—even if it wos so.”
“Ugh!” cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless, “I am shocked at the sight of you.”
“Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir,” pursued Mr. Cruncher, “even if it wos so, which I don’t say it is—”
“Don’t prevaricate,” said Mr. Lorry.
“No, I will not, sir,” returned Mr. Crunches as if nothing were further from his thoughts or practice—“which I don’t say it is—wot I would humbly offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your heels is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, which I still don’t say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let that there boy keep his father’s place, and take care of his mother; don’t blow upon that boy’s father—do not do it, sir—and let that father go into the line of the reg’lar diggin’, and make amends for what he would have undug—if it wos so—by diggin’ of ’em in with a will, and with conwictions respectin’ the futur’ keepin’ of ’em safe. That, Mr. Lorry,” said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, “is wot I would respectfully offer to you, sir. A man don’t see all this here a goin’ on dreadful round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me, plentiful enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly that, without havin’ his serious thoughts of things. And these here would be mine, if it wos so, entreatin’ of you fur to bear in mind that wot I said just now, I up and said in the good cause when I might have kep’ it back.”
“That at least is true,” said Mr. Lorry. “Say no more now. It may be that I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and repent in action—not in words. I want no more words.”
Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned from the dark room. “Adieu, Mr. Barsad,” said the former; “our arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me.”
He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done?
“Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have ensured access to him, once.”
Mr. Lorry’s countenance fell.
“It is all I could do,” said Carton. “To propose too much, would be to put this man’s head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness of the position. There is no help for it.”
“But access to him,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it should go ill before the Tribunal, will not save him.”
“I never said it would.”
Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of his second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears fell.
“You are a good man and a true friend,” said Carton, in an altered voice. “Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow more, if you were my father. You are free from that misfortune, however.”
Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr. Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it.
“To return to poor Darnay,” said Carton. “Don’t tell Her of this interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him. She might think it was contrived, in case of the worse, to convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence.”
Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evidently understood it.
“She might think a thousand things,” Carton said, “and any of them would only add to her trouble. Don’t speak of me to her. As I said to you when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night.”
“I am going now, directly.”
“I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance on you. How does she look?”
“Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.”
“Ah!”
It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh—almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry’s eyes to Carton’s face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of his foot.
“I forgot it,” he said.
Mr. Lorry’s eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having the expression of prisoners’ faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of that expression.
“And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?” said Carton, turning to him.
“Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go.”
They were both silent.
“Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?” said Carton, wistfully.
“I am in my seventy-eighth year.”
“You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?”
“I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy.”
“See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss you when you leave it empty!”
“A solitary old bachelor,” answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. “There is nobody to weep for me.”
“How can you say that? Wouldn’t She weep for you? Wouldn’t her child?”
“Yes, yes, thank God. I didn’t quite mean what I said.”
“It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?”
“Surely, surely.”
“If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, ‘I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!’ your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?”
“You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.”
Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a few moments, said:
“I should like to ask you:—Does your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat at your mother’s knee, seem days of very long ago?”
Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered:
“Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.”
“I understand the feeling!” exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. “And you are the better for it?”
“I hope so.”
Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with his outer coat; “But you,” said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, “you are young.”
“Yes,” said Carton. “I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.”
“And of me, I am sure,” said Mr. Lorry. “Are you going out?”
“I’ll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don’t be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?”
“Yes, unhappily.”
“I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.”
Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry’s destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. “She came out here,” he said, looking about him, “turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.”
It was ten o’clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door.
“Good night, citizen,” said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively.
“Good night, citizen.”
“How goes the Republic?”
“You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!”
“Do you often go to see him—”
“Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?”
“Never.”
“Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself, citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!”
As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away.
“But you are not English,” said the wood-sawyer, “though you wear English dress?”
“Yes,” said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder.
“You speak like a Frenchman.”
“I am an old student here.”
“Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.”
“Good night, citizen.”
“But go and see that droll dog,” the little man persisted, calling after him. “And take a pipe with you!”
Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets—much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror—he stopped at a chemist’s shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man.
Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. “Whew!” the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. “Hi! hi! hi!”
Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said:
“For you, citizen?”
“For me.”
“You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?”
“Perfectly.”
Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. “There is nothing more to do,” said he, glancing upward at the moon, “until to-morrow. I can’t sleep.”
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father’s grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”
In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow’s victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow’s and to-morrow’s, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship’s anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.
With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.
Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.
“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”
Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death’s dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.—“Like me.”
A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, “I am the resurrection and the life.”
Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.
The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep—whom many fell away from in dread—pressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.
When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.
Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.
Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer.
Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, before bending forward with a strained attention.
Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.
To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor.
The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?
“Openly, President.”
“By whom?”
“Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.”
“Good.”
“Thérèse Defarge, his wife.”
“Good.”
“Alexandre Manette, physician.”
A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.
“President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of my child!”
“Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.”
Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and with warmth resumed.
“If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child herself, you would have no duty but to sacrifice her. Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!”
Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, with his eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew closer to him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, and restored the usual hand to his mouth.
Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of his being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, and of his having been a mere boy in the Doctor’s service, and of the release, and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its work.
“You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?”
“I believe so.”
Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: “You were one of the best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannonier that day there, and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!”
It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, “I defy that bell!” wherein she was likewise much commended.
“Inform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, citizen.”
“I knew,” said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; “I knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. He knew himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount to the cell, with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a gaoler. I examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone has been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the President.”
“Let it be read.”
In a dead silence and stillness—the prisoner under trial looking lovingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude at her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his from his feasting wife, and all the other eyes there intent upon the Doctor, who saw none of them—the paper was read, as follows.
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themaradwrites · 10 months
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Meet the OC: Beck Kendall
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Fandom: Original Series (Best Evidence)
Series link: Wattpad
Name: Rebecca Anne Kendall
Nickname: Beck, Josh will also wind up calling her Squirrel
Birthdate: 23 March 1978
Face Claim: Keri Russell
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Height: 5'6" / 167cm
Occupation: Digital Forensicist, freelance.
Partner: Josh Tanner (by the end of Best Evidence)
Family: Mother (No contact), Sister (Daniella/Dani), Niece (Sydney/Syd), Brother-In-Law (Oliver/Oli)
Kids: Mackenzie Tanner (Adopted - eventually)
Keep reading
Bio:
Rebecca Kendall was raised in a single parent house with her younger sister, Daniella (Dani), by their emotionally manipulative mother. Their mother, a former law student, was convinced by their father to drop out of law school to take care of the kids. When Beck was 3 and Dani was a newborn, he left for a younger woman. She’s always blamed her kids for this and tried to use them to reclaim what she views as her former glory.
That attitude made Dani the rockstar child - always had better grades, was one of the popular kids, wound up marrying a rich lawyer, owns a house, and has a kid. Beck was the black sheep - did poorly in school, couldn’t keep friends, “emotional”, lives in an apartment, works freelance, doesn’t have a lot of money, and has no plans for kids. Dani has always been her biggest supporter and best friend.
Beck has always enjoyed video and computer games. As soon as she was old enough to get a job, she started saving up to buy her own computer. She thought her mother would be furious when she found out, instead she bought Dani a computer, staring smugly at Beck when Dani opened her present. Dani let Beck play with it whenever their mother wasn’t around. A few months into owning it, after downloading a virus along with No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom, Dani came to Beck for help. It was then that Beck realized how much she loved working with computers - she also helped Dani understand she loved computer programming. While Beck was busy figuring out what happened and how to fix it, Dani wanted to know how everything worked. 
When it came time to apply for post-secondary education, Beck applied to the local college for their computer science course, and moved out to attend as soon as she graduated.
When Beck was old enough, she started to look into why she was the way she was. In her 20s, was diagnosed with ADHD, something her mother claims doesn’t exist and constantly gaslights her on. “You don’t need medication, you’re just lazy” and the like.
Beck has since gone no contact with her mother, though Dani still speaks to her at holidays and birthdays.
In her spare time, she plays video games, reads, hangs out at the Royal Ontario Museum, and enjoys fandom.
After gaining experience in her field, she decided freelance work would be better suited to her and worked with her brother-in-law to set up a freelance business doing digital forensic investigations for various private and public businesses.
She works just enough to make enough money to afford the equipment she needs and her apartment in Burlington. When her brother-in-law, Oliver, recommends her for a job, things take a turn….
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Taglist: @munstysmind @residentdormouse @starryeyes2000 @mrsmungus @bi-ologistofthehills @bamboo72498
Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
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rehfan · 1 year
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So here’s a sneak peek into my
Joe Quinn x Older!Fem!Reader fic
that’s currently in the works…
“Do Not Disturb”
(This teaser may change as the work is a WIP, but this bit’s part one/chapter one…)
**My work is MINE. Do not copy/steal/publish this to any other site please**
Warnings: None in this bit really, unless you don’t like to fly. Reader is AFAB and/or Fem and is assumed to be 15-20 years older than present-day Joe.
IF YOU DON’T LIKE RPF… please do not engage. Just scroll away.
And if you want to be tagged, let me know!
*************************
Your company had to send you to the Australian supplier in person. They were overdue for a quality control inspection and a series of meetings and it was a matter of urgency that the Vice President of Quality Control head down there and shake hands, inspect parts, and in general make nice, if only to calm down the president of the company and his CFO.
You were excited. It was your first trip “down under” and even though the flights would be grueling to get through, you had a whole four weeks to get the job done and maybe even enjoy the sights. Plus, it would be a relief to get out of Boston’s winter and into Sydney’s sunshine.
Your hotel was nice too: huge pool, beautiful spa, three different restaurants, the company really went all out. You sighed and rolled your neck as you waited in the queue to board at Boston airport. Your business class seat would have to do until you could get to LAX and the first class seat that was awaiting you there: a private seat the airline called a “pod” all your own with a seat that reclined all the way down so you could lay flat and sleep over the Pacific. At least, that’s what you were told. All in all, it was good to be a VP of QC.
Boston to LAX had a stop over in Salt Lake City, an opportunity to refuel with no need for you to deboard. The standard cattle call of Boston people off and then Salt Lake City people on again made you squirm in your seat. You hated the anxiety of having to arrive at the airport. But once you were on the flight and buckled in, the anxiety was replaced with impatience and it didn’t quite leave until you found yourself at your final destination. There was no fear of flying, you just wished someone had invented teleportation already.
And the LAX to Sydney portion of travel was going to be the longest flight you had ever been on: fifteen hours in total. You had brought your tablet in order to get some work done on the way, but you had a few e-novels and some games on it as well, especially useful when your head was buzzing with facts, figures, problems, and more ideas. You also had headphones and music to escape the doldrums. Gum for your ears popping, lotion for your hands, and an extra bottle of water armed you against the trip in general, what with all the recirculated air on board. Flights didn’t bother you; boredom did.
LAX was busy and huge. You took refuge in the first class lounge reserved for members of the airline’s membership club and sighed with relief as the barman served you a bloody mary. It may be a working holiday, but it was a holiday, goddamn it, and you were not about to take one second for granted.
Soon enough, your flight was announced and you made your way to the gate and prepared to queue up when called to do so. People of all walks of life surrounded you, shuffling bags, talking to one another, waiting as patiently as possible, faces composed as studies in boredom.
You boarded the flight and the gangway poured you into the first class section. The flight attendant glanced at your ticket and showed you to your solitary window seat. The man opposite the aisle from you glanced up at you shyly as you approached, almost as if he were terrified of you and afraid to stare. He was young and handsome, his curly hair and dark eyes striking you first. He seemed a bit familiar if you were honest, but you really didn’t give it too much thought. You gave him a gentle smile and, not really knowing him - as well as judging yourself to be far too old to possibly be on his radar - you promptly turned back to your business.
The attendant helped you load your larger carryon in the compartment above you as you set your smaller tote bag in the seat and took off your coat, balling it up and placing it in the upper compartment as well. After all, once you crossed the equator, you really wouldn’t need the coat until the flight back. Your vibrant emerald green dress underneath came to just above the knee, but was made of a soft stretchy faux-velvet material. It flattered your figure nicely. Your black knee-high boots had a bit of a heel and matched the wide belt snugged just underneath your breasts in an Empire waist. You knew it looked a bit 1960s Star Trek meets Christmas party, but you felt cute. And most of all, you were comfortable.
The first class seat pod that your office had booked was everything you wanted and more: the privacy of being in a seat next to no one with a curved wall in front and behind to guard you against most prying eyes, a seat that when fully extended lay completely flat (as advertised, thank heaven), pillow and blanket in a hollow space next to the footwell. Your tote bag found a home down there as well. A shelf ran under the window along your right as you sat, containing a compartment whose lid popped up at the press of a button. It contained storage space enough for your smaller items as well as a charging station. You plugged in your phone, set it on airplane mode, and closed the lid, intent on ignoring it no matter what. You set out your tablet, pulling it from the tote, attaching the keyboard to it, and setting it aside.
In front of you a 17 inch touch-screen monitor glowed with the airline’s logo and some options for functions splayed across its width. You flicked through them curiously and saw it gave options for viewing the journey’s travel map, movies, music, electronic magazine articles, and something called ‘communication’. Curious, you selected this and it popped up what appeared to be a texting communication app. The word “seat” was highlighted. Its purpose dawned on you: because the first class seats were very private, there was no way to speak to fellow travelers without disturbing other people in the section. So this app allowed you to send direct messages to the people in your party should you want to talk to them. Very clever, really.
You glanced over at the young man across the way and caught him peeking over at you again. Again, you smiled and he returned it and nodded, pulling his head back behind his partial pod wall, his ears pink with an embarrassment that you found flattering. He had piqued your curiosity. You looked at his seat number above him and, as the plane was still busy loading more passengers for economy class, you knew you had time.
Tentatively, you typed:
If you keep staring at me, the flight attendants might think you’re in love. What should I tell them if they ask?
You didn’t hesitate hitting the “send” button. If anything, he might laugh. And what harm is there in making a beautiful young man laugh?
You saw a right hand with a single silver ring on it press the touch screen in his pod. You couldn’t see his face or the screen itself, but he was definitely receiving your message and reading its contents. You leaned out just that bit more and waited for his reaction.
His face reappeared and he smiled, laughing softly and shaking his head. Both his hands shot out now as he typed on the screen keyboard.
His message came back to you:
Tell them to mind their own business.
And another:
And who says I’m not in love?
************************
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trailblazey · 1 year
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august and sydney (infodump under the cut lol)
28 years old, August is a graduate assistant for the kmmb while he is in grad school, which he decides to attend a few years into his career as an assistant band director at a local high school. perceived as an upright perfectionist, August tends to take himself a bit too seriously and be a control freak. this affects how the members of both the kmmb and of his old employer school see him; he is not the most approachable, but he doesn't really want to be approached anyways
aside from the kmmb, August works with the flute choir and gives private lessons for oboe/flute/piccolo.
he lives in the suburbs with his fiance, sydney, who works as a vet tech. together they have three dogs (that are more so syd's babies)
the two of them have been together since August was 21 and in his senior year of undergrad where he met sydney on spring break via a dating app and originally just intended to keep syd as a hook up, but sydney kept in touch with August and they met again that summer after August graduated and began an exclusive relationship.
sometime the next year, syd moves in with august after being able to score a job in his city after finishing his vets associates. soon after that, August has his top surgery and the long recovery process that syd helps him with. :)
august is very insecure about his gender, and despite being essentially completely medically transitioned and well passing, hes insecure about his mannerisms, voice, interests, etc. he calls it a "guilty pleasure" but he enjoys wellness such as yoga, skin care, and whatever stuff like that. he likes feeling like everything is in order.
sydney is a little younger than August: about 26 years old. he's very goofy and charming, lighting up every room he walks in. aside from his veterinary studies, work, and his and augusts dogs, he likes staying home and playing video games, loving his leisure time since his job can tend to have long days.
fun fact but these two were actually originally just Sims i made based off my sims for first play of Sims 2 back in uhh the spring scratches head. i just got too attached to august and his boyfriend cyd roseland point and laugh
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kyndaris · 1 year
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PAX AUS! PAX AUS! PAX AUS!
PAX Australia. For years, I’d dream of attending and mingling with famous guests such as the Outside Xtra and Outside Xbox teams, becoming their friends because of the parasocial relationship I had developed from watching them on the screen. Unfortunately for most of those years, time and money had been against me.
When finally I put my foot down and declared to the world that I would finally head down to Melbourne for the convention, COVID hit and I was left adrift along the seas of broken dreams.
That is, until 2022.
With COVID-19 firmly in the rear-view mirror (at least for most individuals), game developers, nerds and pop-culture fans flocked to the Melbourne Convention Centre located on the southern bank of the Yarra River on the second weekend of October. Eager to celebrate the impact of the gaming industry on their lives and mingle with like-minded individuals in world where such interests still remain relatively niche.
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But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let’s start on Friday.
Although the doors of the Melbourne Convention Centre had opened to fans, my journey began in Sydney as I prepared for the flight down. At the domestic terminal, waiting for my plane, I caught sight of fellow nerds. One group were Dungeons and Dragons enthusiasts, with a member of their party sporting a Swoleregard shirt. A man seated not too far from me, with his partner, wore a Star Wars shirt.
Of course, not everyone on my flight down to Melbourne were heading down for PAX.
Still, the excitement was palpable.
It helped that I was not the only nerd going down on Friday.
When I arrived in Melbourne, I headed for the hotel I was staying at. After the brief shower that enveloped the Skybus, the sun broke through and I trekked twenty or so minutes to the Oak Premier Hotel next to the Southbank DFO. Never before had I booked such an aptly located set of accommodations for myself. 
And what a view!
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Of course, by the time I had settled at the hotel, it was late afternoon.
Still, there was plenty to see and explore in Melbourne and out I set, forgoing a proper lunch as I picked up my badges for the next two days and shopped around for merchandise in and around Melbourne proper - I ended up at Critical Hit again - picking up a Phantom Kid nenderoid!
Thankfully, I was not quite alone on my trip down to PAX Australia, even if my friend, bleachpanda, was occupied with a new full-time 9-5 job back in Sydney.
Bleachpanda, I hope you read this and realise the shenanigans you would have missed (and the food!). Not to mention, of course, how much cheaper the accommodations would have been if we had shared it between the two of us!
Yes, dear readers, I had a dinner date with two fellow high school classmates that I’d not seen in many a year. One had moved to Melbourne during the COVID-19 outbreak. The other had fallen backwards into video game marketing and was helping out at the Sega booth as it tried to tout the amazing Sonic Frontiers.
We ate at Half Acre, catching up on each other’s lives (mostly me with their lives and they with mine) and made plans to enjoy a Saturday at the convention centre hobnobbing with fellow nerds and gamers and pop-culture enthusiasts. I learned about their partying 20s and how they had slowly learned to settle down and enjoy quiet suburban life. One friend in particular had been particular...lascivious during her high school days and it was surprising to see that she had certainly matured over the years.
In fact, she surprised me with a diagnosis of autism that helped explain her behaviour of blunt comments and inability to deal with plans going awry. How did it explain her erratic and seemingly impulsive displays back during high school? Because she had planned it so.
As we caught up, we talked late into the night. They even stopped by my hotel room before we went out again, hunting for a place to enjoy a drink or two. Being a non-drinker, I settled for a sweet mocktail that was right up my alley.
Saturday dawned bright and early. On my elevator down, I encountered a man that recognised the lanyard around my neck. ‘PAX?’ he asked. At my nod, he told me that he had been the one to organise the event and that he was heading back to Sydney for a meeting or some such. His name, I never quite got. Google tells me it might be Paul Curryer but a search on Images doesn’t quite match the visage of the person I met.
Regardless, my first day at PAX had me arrive early until the appointed time that they allowed all those that had gathered in the waiting hall to swarm into the expo proper. As soon as I did, I glanced around at all the indie games on display. A few caught my eye - not always for the best of reasons. One, of course, looked like it was a clone of Age of Empires. Several seemed to be town manager simulators. Even more were visual novels with a sliding scale of quality art.
But the one that had me stop for a second look was Cuisineer.
I didn’t get to play it but it certainly seemed intriguing by my standards.
After a quick gander, I managed to locate the Sega booth and my high school friend. Lining up, I participated in a speed test - performing less than satisfactory in my first and only attempt. Unfortunately, there would be no Sonic sunglasses for me to sport.
Still, there were so many others things on display: Final Fantasy XIV, of course, and a myriad of elite PC set-ups. PAX Australia also had an entire hall devoted to board games. One in which I scoured for games to bring home. Unfortunately, travelling solo and having split from the high school friend that wasn’t serving as exhibitor, meant that I had no-one to compete with in regards to Catan or Ticket to Ride.
Next time, though, it will hopefully be different. After all, I’ll drag bleachpanda with me. One way or another. That or maybe I’ll perhaps have got myself a significant other to humour my wild tastes.
In the end, I wound up partaking of a few panels (with one involving video game writing) and enjoying music from the Invictus Quartet, before being unceremoniously taken out for an early dinner at Munich. 
So ended my first day at PAX.
Sunday also proved to be a sunny day. But after witnessing what had been offered on the expo floor, I actually headed back out to the city of Melbourne. My destination? ACMI.
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There, I got to enjoy playing through Cult of the Lamb with no line to fight with because most of the gamers were at PAX.
After roaming through the streets of Melbourne, stopping again at Critical Hit, I enjoyed an especially nice Italian meal before watching the casual attendees play through rounds and rounds of Just Dance. And though I did think of going up and dancing through a song, inhibitions forgotten, I chickened out at the last minute. 
And as the appointed hour neared for the end of PAX, I dragged myself up to the Kookaburra Theatre for a trivia contest featuring the hosts of ABC Gamer and Kotaku’s own Ruby Innes as they battled it out for supremacy. Spoilers: It was a draw because Dan had a very strange way of tallying up the scores.
If anyone asks, Rad and Ruby clearly won.
Am I being held hostage as I say that? Perhaps. But you wouldn’t like Rad when she’s angry. Oh no.
All in all, PAX Australia was a fun diversion for the weekend.
Was it worth the flights, price of admission and the accommodation? Probably not - given that most of the big studios were missing - and yet I can’t say I regret it. Going down to Melbourne is a treat. And it helped reconnect me with a few people that I might not have done so if I had remained in Sydney.
Will there be a PAX Australia 2023?
You betcha! And Bleachpanda...you’re coming with me!
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aceofbrains · 2 years
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hayden christensen. thirty-one. cis male. he/him. demisexual & capricorn. ☾゚ is that sacha mercer behind the mask? whenever i see the neurosurgeon at paris regional hospital in pigalle, i think of no surprises by radiohead. rumor has it they are individualistic & disciplined, but neurotic & sanctimonious can be their fatal flaws. what their neighbors in paris call them is the prodigy.
full bio is here.
♥ ˚⊹ BASIC INFORMATION
FULL NAME: Sacha Brooks Mercer. NICKNAME(S): Sash. PREFERRED NAME(S): Sacha. BIRTH DATE: January 17th. AGE: 31. ZODIAC: Capricorn. GENDER: Cis male. PRONOUNS: He/Him. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual. LIVING CONDITIONS: Townhouse in Paris.
♥ ˚⊹ BACKGROUND
PLACE OF BIRTH: Summerlin, Nevada. HOMETOWN: Paris, France. EDUCATION LEVEL: PhD in Neuroscience. FATHER: Adrien Mercer (deceased as of 2004). MOTHER: Sydney Coolidge (whereabouts unknown). SIBLING(S): Lionel Mercer, 25. CHILDREN: None.
♥ ˚⊹ OCCUPATION & INCOME
PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Attending neurosurgeon. SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: None. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: He loves it more than anything else. SPENDING HABITS: Essentials. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: Old notes his mother would write in his lunchbox for school.
♥ ˚⊹ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS
FACE CLAIM: Hayden Christensen. EYE COLOR: Blue. HAIR COLOR: Blond. HEIGHT: 6′0. WEIGHT: 155lbs. BUILD: Average. TATTOOS: N/A. PIERCINGS: N/A. MARKS/SCARS: N/A. NOTABLE FEATURES: N/A. USUAL EXPRESSION: Annoyed. CLOTHING STYLE: Casual daywear; sweaters, slacks, boots, and a wristwatch. JEWELRY: None. ALLERGIES: None. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: N/A.
♥ ˚⊹ PSYCHOLOGY
JUNG TYPE: INTJ. ENNEAGRAM TYPE: 1 [Reformer] MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good. TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic. MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: N/A. OBSESSION(S): Work, keeping his little brother in line. ADDICTION(S): N/A. DRUG USE: N/A. ALCOHOL USE: Drinks occasionally. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: No.
♥ ˚⊹ MANNERISMS
SPEECH STYLE: Casual. ACCENT: American. HOBBIES: Biking & Cooking. HABITS: Flipping coins to make a decision, stepping over cracks in the sidewalk, clocking in five minutes early. NERVOUS TICKS: Chewing on inner cheeks until they bleed, tapping any surface, pacing, running hands through his hair. POSITIVE TRAITS: Sympathetic, Hardworking, Brilliant, & Self-reliant. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Awkward, Dissonant, Presumptuous, & Repressed. SENSE OF HUMOR: N/A.
♥ ˚⊹ FAVORITES
ACTIVITY: Biking around town. ANIMAL: Dog. BEVERAGE: Black coffee. COLOR: Green. FOOD: Soupe à l'oignon. BOOK: Dragonlance series. FLOWER: N/A. GEM: N/A. HOLIDAY: Christmas. MOVIE: The Imitation Game. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: Bike. SCENERY: Sunrises over hills. SCENT: Fresh linen. SPORT: Soccer. WEATHER: Springtime. VACATION DESTINATION: Freetown, Sierra Leone.
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renaissanceclassics · 1 month
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A Tale of Two Cities - Book 3: Part 39
In 45 parts.
The Game Made
CHAPTER IX. The Game Made
While Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoining dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust.
That honest tradesman’s manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he changed the leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those limbs, and were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. Lorry’s eye caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring the hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character.
“Jerry,” said Mr. Lorry. “Come here.”
Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in advance of him.
“What have you been, besides a messenger?”
After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, “Agicultooral character.”
“My mind misgives me much,” said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a forefinger at him, “that you have used the respectable and great house of Tellson’s as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description. If you have, don’t expect me to befriend you when you get back to England. If you have, don’t expect me to keep your secret. Tellson’s shall not be imposed upon.”
“I hope, sir,” pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, “that a gentleman like yourself wot I’ve had the honour of odd jobbing till I’m grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos so—I don’t say it is, but even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if it wos, it wouldn’t, even then, be all o’ one side. There’d be two sides to it. There might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas where a honest tradesman don’t pick up his fardens—fardens! no, nor yet his half fardens—half fardens! no, nor yet his quarter—a banking away like smoke at Tellson’s, and a cocking their medical eyes at that tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own carriages—ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that ’ud be imposing, too, on Tellson’s. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. And here’s Mrs. Cruncher, or leastways wos in the Old England times, and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppin’ again the business to that degree as is ruinating—stark ruinating! Whereas them medical doctors’ wives don’t flop—catch ’em at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly have one without t’other? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all awaricious and all in it), a man wouldn’t get much by it, even if it wos so. And wot little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. He’d never have no good of it; he’d want all along to be out of the line, if he, could see his way out, being once in—even if it wos so.”
“Ugh!” cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless, “I am shocked at the sight of you.”
“Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir,” pursued Mr. Cruncher, “even if it wos so, which I don’t say it is—”
“Don’t prevaricate,” said Mr. Lorry.
“No, I will not, sir,” returned Mr. Crunches as if nothing were further from his thoughts or practice—“which I don’t say it is—wot I would humbly offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your heels is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, which I still don’t say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let that there boy keep his father’s place, and take care of his mother; don’t blow upon that boy’s father—do not do it, sir—and let that father go into the line of the reg’lar diggin’, and make amends for what he would have undug—if it wos so—by diggin’ of ’em in with a will, and with conwictions respectin’ the futur’ keepin’ of ’em safe. That, Mr. Lorry,” said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, “is wot I would respectfully offer to you, sir. A man don’t see all this here a goin’ on dreadful round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me, plentiful enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly that, without havin’ his serious thoughts of things. And these here would be mine, if it wos so, entreatin’ of you fur to bear in mind that wot I said just now, I up and said in the good cause when I might have kep’ it back.”
“That at least is true,” said Mr. Lorry. “Say no more now. It may be that I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and repent in action—not in words. I want no more words.”
Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned from the dark room. “Adieu, Mr. Barsad,” said the former; “our arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me.”
He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done?
“Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have ensured access to him, once.”
Mr. Lorry’s countenance fell.
“It is all I could do,” said Carton. “To propose too much, would be to put this man’s head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness of the position. There is no help for it.”
“But access to him,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it should go ill before the Tribunal, will not save him.”
“I never said it would.”
Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of his second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears fell.
“You are a good man and a true friend,” said Carton, in an altered voice. “Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow more, if you were my father. You are free from that misfortune, however.”
Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr. Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it.
“To return to poor Darnay,” said Carton. “Don’t tell Her of this interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him. She might think it was contrived, in case of the worse, to convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence.”
Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evidently understood it.
“She might think a thousand things,” Carton said, “and any of them would only add to her trouble. Don’t speak of me to her. As I said to you when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night.”
“I am going now, directly.”
“I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance on you. How does she look?”
“Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.”
“Ah!”
It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh—almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry’s eyes to Carton’s face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of his foot.
“I forgot it,” he said.
Mr. Lorry’s eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having the expression of prisoners’ faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of that expression.
“And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?” said Carton, turning to him.
“Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go.”
They were both silent.
“Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?” said Carton, wistfully.
“I am in my seventy-eighth year.”
“You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?”
“I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy.”
“See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss you when you leave it empty!”
“A solitary old bachelor,” answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. “There is nobody to weep for me.”
“How can you say that? Wouldn’t She weep for you? Wouldn’t her child?”
“Yes, yes, thank God. I didn’t quite mean what I said.”
“It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?”
“Surely, surely.”
“If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, ‘I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!’ your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?”
“You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.”
Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a few moments, said:
“I should like to ask you:—Does your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat at your mother’s knee, seem days of very long ago?”
Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered:
“Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.”
“I understand the feeling!” exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. “And you are the better for it?”
“I hope so.”
Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with his outer coat; “But you,” said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, “you are young.”
“Yes,” said Carton. “I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.”
“And of me, I am sure,” said Mr. Lorry. “Are you going out?”
“I’ll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don’t be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?”
“Yes, unhappily.”
“I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.”
Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry’s destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. “She came out here,” he said, looking about him, “turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.”
It was ten o’clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door.
“Good night, citizen,” said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively.
“Good night, citizen.”
“How goes the Republic?”
“You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!”
“Do you often go to see him—”
“Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?”
“Never.”
“Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself, citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!”
As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away.
“But you are not English,” said the wood-sawyer, “though you wear English dress?”
“Yes,” said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder.
“You speak like a Frenchman.”
“I am an old student here.”
“Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.”
“Good night, citizen.”
“But go and see that droll dog,” the little man persisted, calling after him. “And take a pipe with you!”
Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets—much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror—he stopped at a chemist’s shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man.
Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. “Whew!” the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. “Hi! hi! hi!”
Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said:
“For you, citizen?”
“For me.”
“You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?”
“Perfectly.”
Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. “There is nothing more to do,” said he, glancing upward at the moon, “until to-morrow. I can’t sleep.”
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father’s grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”
In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow’s victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow’s and to-morrow’s, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship’s anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.
With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.
Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.
“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”
Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death’s dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.—“Like me.”
A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, “I am the resurrection and the life.”
Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.
The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep—whom many fell away from in dread—pressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.
When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.
Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.
Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer.
Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, before bending forward with a strained attention.
Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.
To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor.
The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?
“Openly, President.”
“By whom?”
“Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.”
“Good.”
“Thérèse Defarge, his wife.”
“Good.”
“Alexandre Manette, physician.”
A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.
“President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of my child!”
“Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.”
Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and with warmth resumed.
“If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child herself, you would have no duty but to sacrifice her. Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!”
Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, with his eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew closer to him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, and restored the usual hand to his mouth.
Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of his being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, and of his having been a mere boy in the Doctor’s service, and of the release, and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its work.
“You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?”
“I believe so.”
Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: “You were one of the best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannonier that day there, and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!”
It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, “I defy that bell!” wherein she was likewise much commended.
“Inform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, citizen.”
“I knew,” said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; “I knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. He knew himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount to the cell, with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a gaoler. I examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone has been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the President.”
“Let it be read.”
In a dead silence and stillness—the prisoner under trial looking lovingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude at her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his from his feasting wife, and all the other eyes there intent upon the Doctor, who saw none of them—the paper was read, as follows.
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catchtraining · 7 months
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RCG Courses: Path to Legal Employment in NSW's Gambling Outlets!
The RCG Course in Sydney trains individuals to be conscientious, lawful, and considerate of the social implications of gambling. Read on to know more!
In New South Wales (NSW), Australia's gambling industry thrives as a major part of the local economy, offering numerous job opportunities. However, working in the legal gambling outlets in NSW is not as straightforward as simply applying for a job. In order to uphold ethical standards and comply with the legal requirements, an aspiring employee must go through the Responsible Gambling Services (RGS) and/or Responsible Conduct of Gambling course. This educational tool or RCG Course Sydney is aimed at training individuals to be conscientious, lawful, and considerate of the social implications of gambling.
Understanding Responsible Gambling
Responsible gambling is an overarching concept that takes into consideration various aspects of the gambling business, including legal compliance, ethical behaviour, consumer protection, and public welfare. It recognises the importance of maintaining a balance between the entertainment aspects of gambling and its potential negative consequences on individuals and society.
What is the Responsible Gambling Services Course?
The Responsible Gambling Services (RGS) course in NSW is designed to equip employees working within the gambling industry with the knowledge and skills required to perform their roles responsibly. The course covers everything from understanding gambling laws and regulations to identifying problematic gambling behaviour and learning how to intervene appropriately.
Here's a more detailed look at what this course covers:
1. Legal Framework
Understanding the specific laws and regulations governing gambling in NSW is essential. The course provides insight into the legal obligations of employees and employers, ensuring that operations remain within the bounds of the law.
2. Ethical Considerations
The RGS course emphasises the importance of integrity, transparency, and responsibility in all aspects of the gambling business. It teaches prospective employees how to conduct themselves professionally, respecting both company policies and societal norms.
3. Problem Gambling and Intervention
Gambling can lead to addiction and financial hardships for some individuals. The course teaches how to recognise the signs of problem gambling and how to provide assistance, including referring customers to support services when necessary.
4. Community Awareness and Communication Skills
Engaging with the community and maintaining open communication with patrons is a vital aspect of responsible gambling. The course equips learners with the skills to communicate effectively and foster positive relationships with patrons and the broader community.
Who Should Take the Course?
The RGS course is a legal requirement for those looking to work in gambling venues in NSW, including casinos, clubs, hotels, and other licensed establishments. Whether you are a gaming attendant, supervisor, or seeking a managerial position, this course is an essential step in your career progression.
Conclusion: A Commitment to Excellence
Undertaking the Responsible Gambling Services course is not merely a matter of fulfilling legal requirements. It represents a commitment to excellence, ethical behaviour, and community well-being. By equipping employees with the right tools and knowledge, it contributes to a healthier, more transparent, and conscientious gambling industry in NSW.
For those interested in a career in this thriving sector, the RCG Course Sydney is the gateway to working in legal gambling outlets in NSW. It provides an essential foundation and instils a sense of purpose and responsibility that transcends mere job training, emphasising a holistic approach to one of the most dynamic and complex industries in the region.
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vigiltrainingclgnsw · 2 years
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Aged Caretaker - Why It's A Rewarding Career and What the Caretaker Does
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When you think of an aged caretaker, you may imagine someone who spends their days in a nursing home, caring for the elderly in their community and providing them with food, water, and basic medical assistance. But what does an aged caretaker do? Why is it such a rewarding career? What kind of person becomes an aged caretaker? Aged caretakers typically work in nursing homes and other institutions that serve the elderly or chronically ill populations. There are plenty of things to take into consideration when deciding whether or not to take aged care course, this job would be right for you. So let’s discuss what the job entails and why it's such an important role in society today.
The Role of the Caretaker
When someone enters the later stages of their life, it can be hard for them to live independently or with minimal help. Aged caretakers are professionals who specialise in providing necessary assistance such as general care and support, medical monitoring, meal preparation, grooming needs and more. In doing so, they enable people to have a better quality of life than they would otherwise. However, an aged caretaker must be well qualified to take up the job and aged care course online is a good option if you’re considering becoming a caretaker for the elderly.
What Does A Typical Day Involve For The Aged Care Worker?
For a typical day, an aged care worker may visit an elderly person to check in on them, eat breakfast with them, and help with chores or daily activities that they're unable to do themselves. They might also spend time playing board games, reading books, watching TV or just taking some much needed company.
An aged care worker might work 12 hours per day in shifts (six hours of work, six hours off), or they might be at their assigned location all day but break up their workload into hourly increments.
How Much Does An Aged Care Worker Earn In Australia?
Care workers with more experience may earn up to AU$40,000 per year. However, this number is subject to change depending on the level of care required for individual clients. For example, if you work in an aged care facility that only needs someone at night time then you can be paid around AU$20 per hour (depending on qualifications). Some aged care facilities will pay their employees a salary as well as an hourly rate. You'll also receive benefits such as annual leave and superannuation from the government, which is used to fund your retirement.
Key Responsibilities of the Aged Care Worker
An aged care worker spends their days attending to those in need. They assist the residents with their physical, psychological, and social needs. This includes helping with daily tasks like eating or bathing as well as providing assistance with health issues such as medication reminders.
The best way to learn more about what it is like to be an aged care worker is by enrolling in an aged care course Sydney and get certified to secure a good position in reputed aged care facilities.
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galaxydrcaming · 2 years
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Look who just woke up- is that ALISHA BOE? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s NORA REID from THE WILDS. I heard he is 25 and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a PILES OF BOOKS STACKED EVERYWHERE, WINDSWEPT BEACH WITH A LONELY FIRE, EYES FILLED WITH CONCERN WATCHING EVERYONE impression. They’re known to be quite QUIET, but have a tendency to be BLUNT on their bad days.
Gender/Pronouns
Cis-female and she/her
How long have they been in Sydney?
She has lived here for 2 years in real time and all her life in fake life.
Job
Nora is currently a student at Sydney Technical College and whilst reluctantly at first due to her struggles with interacting with others, she does tutor.
Which suburb do they live in?
She lives over in CBD
Memories of their real life :
Nora grew up alongside her twin, Rachel in New York and though it's never said, she was rather gifted with words and languages, easily picking up on them when her parents played games at dinner time. With her sister finding a love in Diving, she was okay in sitting on the bleachers with a book in her hand and cheering her on, but despite her being the younger twin, Nora did everything possible to always protect Rachel, including agreeing releasing her from the hospital when she was dealing with an eating disorder. 
During this same time, she started making time to focus on her studies, and attended some courses at the local college where she met Quinn and his uniqueness easily caught her attention, the two quickly becoming close and developing feelings for the other, but due to the indirect influence of Rachel, she stopped their blooming relationship and shortly after, Quinn died from a frat hazing accident, a thing that has left her feeling sad and lost at the moment, but still determined to protect the person she loves the most, her sister.
What was their fake life like?
Her fake life was a quiet time, and not as different as her real life where she did still stick to the sidelines, a book or notebook of sorts in her hands, but that's also how she likes it, being around so many people, especially unfamiliar ones, was a strange and overwhelming feeling.
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wolfstarhaven · 2 years
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Hii, can you please recommend any wolfstar au where Remus or sirius is famous or going to be famous
Hello love! Thank you for your ask. I hope some of these fics might be new to you! Enjoy🌸
The Player's Secret, by WrappedUp (52k)
Remus Lupin is a successful documentary filmmaker who is assigned to make a fly-on-the-wall documentary featuring Sirius Black - one of the world's most brilliant footballers - as he competes in the European Championship. All does not go smoothly.
General theme/feeling: fame and pressure, coming out, mentions of suicidal thoughts, on the whole not that dark tho!, happy ending.
Dress up in You, by MsKingBean89 (88k)
Sirius attends a charity rock gig organised by his best friend's girlfriend, and the tall, quiet bassist catches his eye...
General theme/feeling: band!au, famous!remus, angst, pining, dark themes!, themes of abuse, themes of depression and suicidal thoughts, happy ending.
all my cards are here, by haey1 (112k)
Marauders Band AU - When the Marauders kick out their bassist, they ask local bartender Remus Lupin to step in. As the band gains success, Remus must navigate his new friendship with Sirius under the public eye.
General theme/feeling: fame, some angst but not that dark, themes of homophobia and internalised homophobia, happy ending.
Sweater Weather, lumosinlove (156k)
Remus works for the Gryffindor Lions as a physical trainer, and has been half in love with Sirius Black, the Lions' heartthrob captain, for a while now, but he never expected Sirius to return the feelings. Read if you like cute nicknames, slow burn, and pining. Yep. That's it.
General themes/feeling: fame and pressure, forced coming out, found family, pretty fluffy, looots of ice hockey, smutty, happy ending.
Currents, by lunchbucket (109k)
Remus Lupin and Sirius Black arrive in Sydney to compete in the Summer Olympics, both intent on making these games a better experience than the last. The two swimmers have a tumultuous history and intense rivalry, but can America’s golden boy and Great Britain’s notorious bad boy put their past behind them and find some common ground?
General themes/feelings: a touch of enemies-to-lovers, pretty smutty, secret relationship, paparazzi, kinda fluffy, hilarious James, lovely nature-vibes, happy ending.
Finest in Fairford, by bluepeony (5k)
Remus Lupin's job in a Fairford coffee shop is always uneventful, until an exotic new customer begins leaving messages with his tips.
General themes/feeling: coffee shop!au, fluff, writer!Sirius, Remus is a fangirl.
The Most Brilliant Idea, or How Sirius Black Accidentally became a Romance Novelist, by nothingeverlost (9k)
In which Sirius has a Brilliant Idea, Remus is gainfully employed, James is clueless and Lily is always right.
(PS. Sirius is famous under a pseudonym)
General themes/feeling: comedy, fluff, oblivious!sirius.
Turn On My Charm, by Bethanlovescoffee (17k)
Sirius Black is a YouTube phenomenon. A YouTube phenomenon who develops a crush on his video editor.
General themes/feeling: fluff, blackmail, forced coming out, happy ending.
real life has no appeal, orphaned account (8k)
In which Remus is Lily's roommate and Sirius, James and Peter break into places. A YouTuber!au!
General themes/feelings: texting fic, fluff, comedy.
Lots of love, Elliot🌸
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❀ lilybeht-Julia ❀
❀ Yhelizheavethiiyha-Yuliya Anastasiya ❀
Hiya! My name is Yhelizheavethiiyhea-Yuliya Anastasiya & Thank you so much for visiting my page!. I’ve decided to try this sort of thing out. I’ll introduce myself, hobbies and stuff. Then I’ll talk about where I’m from, background and such, so yeah! I'm Yhelizheavethiiyhea-Yuliya, but most people call me Lilybeth or Lily! I'm a Student from Moscow Russia & Welcome to my account!
Well as you already know my name is Lilybeth. I live in Various Cities (London, Moscow, San Vito lo Capo, Sydney, Paris, New York City). I'm originally born & raised in Moscow, Russia, but moved around a lot because of my Parents Job, finally settling down when Dad left the Military and Moved to the UK where I spent most of my life growing up, and yes, I still have an accent on me! I am a fully-fledged in the closet pansexual-lesbian. My pronouns are She/Her. I’m still in school, Im a Senior in High School. For hobbies I often play the guitar, play video games like Call of duty, Kerbal Space program and Forza 7, I read books, my favorite is the Red Queen. I also write songs and listen to music quite often! I’m also Captain of the swim team here in school, as well as in the national team back in Russia!
I was born in Moscow, Russia, on the 13th of October, 2006! My Parent's both live Moscow & are both extremely smart! But I go visit them quite regularly, before Covid 19 happened. I have been to many places all over the world! Very cultured and well-versed in different languages and cultures, as well as intelligent in many different matters, Legally, Politically, Religiously, & Economically speaking of course!
I am a very active woman who loves life. I am constantly going on new adventures and have the inclination to push the envelope. I am a lover of music and enjoy many events; concerts, theatre, opera, etc. Trying out new restaurants is one of the joys of my life. I've been fortunate to have traveled extensively, I'm currently studying Mechanical-Astronautical Engineering, Astrophysics & Astrodynamics! I also earned my way into the Commandant list. Officially an Olympic & World-Champion Swimmer & Water Polo. I am equally comfortable roughing it in the wild as I am attending a black tie event.
I am a woman of class and it is reflected in how I present myself on a daily basis. Love and affection are very important to me and I believe in treating my partner as I would want to be treated. I have to be able to trust anyone I am involved with. I always speak the truth and expect the same back. Intelligence is a great asset in a man I would be interested in. Intelligence and a sense of humour. Kindness is a must!!! If you kick dogs, I am not interested. I would definitely need someone who could keep up with me. I am a woman of many interests. Don't misunderstand; a man who knows how to properly chill at home is also a winner. Knowing how to do dinner in is a definite asset.
I am a woman of many interests and always welcome new things to experience. I am a woman who is young at heart and always have been. Cooking and entertaining are my passions. I enjoy it all; cocktail parties to dinner parties. Whomever I am with, friendship is paramount. I believe to establish any type of relationship, you must be friends first. I am easy to talk to and a very good listener.
I love country and 80’s music, going for long walks on the beach, camping, road trips, BBQs with family and friends, doing things with friends and I like to do crafts! I’m a very down to earth woman and know what he likes and don’t like. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I go all out for it, I like going to the movies and seeing different types of movies, I’m looking for friends and if it turns out to be something more I’m open to that. I don’t want games and I know how to treat a girl! I love horror movies and literature, I'm a bit of a science geek, and A.I. fascinates the hell out of me. Also love Formula 1, Motogp, Football (both soccer & rugby) Love Murder Mysteries, love going to the beach & I love to bake/Cook stuff also!
I am looking for girls, yes, hoping to find my forever girl on here, (chatting first, then we'll see where it leads :wink: so, if you are single, and looking for love on here too, please message me, I may be broken and fragile at the moment, but I promise I'm worth it.........
Yes, I'm a lesbian, technically, I'm a pansexual-lesbian, meaning I'm only looking for women, but I don't care about your age or your looks, but only interested in what your insides look like i.e, personality, heart and intelligence etc I do want to get married, not sure about having kids yet, birth or adoption, not sure if I'd be a good mother. Plus I don't see me ir my ideal partner (hopefully you) slowing down enough to enjoy our kids as much as I would like.
I have a huge crush on Melissa Benoist, the actress that plays Supergirl on TV right now, and Katie McGrath who plays Lena Luthor alongside Melissa on Supergirl. Katie was also Morgana on The Adventures of Merlin. Only citing them so you get a further idea of what types of women I'm attracted to!
I said before, My parents are in the Russian Military, My mother is a Top-Level Engineer in the Air-Force & My Father is an Admiral in the Navy, I grew up with 7 brothers, 3 Step-Brothers, 3 Step-sisters & 3 Mum (My father was married before my Mum) Grew up being My parents favourite since I was the youngest/Golden child lol
I'm living alone, love dancing, cooking & baking yummy food, watching tv, binge watching shows until early hours in the morning on weekends, talking, long walks in woods hanging out with friends and my “British family”. Really hope to find someone to bring home to them! PLEASE do not send random friend requests without speaking first; you wouldn't go into a supermarket and grab someones arse; so why do it here. They will without exception be deleted.
I have a big heart, and tend to help those in need whenever I can. I am honest and trustworthy, and very loyal. Which shouldn't be saying much but it seems like people don't respect one another these days. I am a great catch! Please feel free to ask me any question you may have or send your contact details because I don't get on here all the time. 
Appreciate you finding time to read my profile
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Okay the last post got me thinking so now yall gotta suffer with me.
Payday Gang but its who gets to go to the cookout/what they doin (Joy isnt included cause I main them so yeah, Joy's hosting)
Dallas- Yes. Honestly I feel like Dallas makes killer burgers so like he's cooking.
Wolf- Yeah, he's chill. He brings drinks.
Hoxton- Seems like a dick upon first glance but he seems really nice. Broke him out of jail and one of his lines was "Joy! I'm glad you could make it!" (Somethin like that, clover was screaming in the background). So yeah, he's allowed in. I think he also would bring drinks.
Chains- Yeah! He's also helping cook, since I feel like he's sort of the middle man between the people with no spice tolerance and Jiro.
Sokol- Absolutely he can. He sets up a game of street hockey and fucking floors everyone.
Dragan- Mans looked at Joy and rly said "You're getting a bit pudgy." I didnt take offense but also fuck you man. He can have a plate but I'm not talking to him
Bonnie- Honestly she was one of the first people to be invited. I think she brings like super high quality drinks and motts apple juice.
Jimmy- Also one of the first people invited. He contemplates bringing drugs but bakes instead and brings cupcakes or smth. Are they laced? Fuck around and find out.
Sydney- Helped plan it! She decorated the safehouse and set everything up.
Clover- She's part of the group of people who didnt originally want to go but saw how much effort was put into it and just went "mmmnyeh alright" and showed up. Brought napkins and silverware. It sounds like slacking but fr she came through when no one else did.
Houston- Bro listen I owe him. I think he brings beers and maybe like. Mac n cheese. Its rly good and everyone is all "Hey Houston good job" but he's sweating cause its just like six boxes of kraft mac.
Jacket- Also another one of the first people invited. He brings a box of casettes for the music. If anyone argues with his song choices I will physically fight them.
Rust- He wasn't gonna go but Jimmy was so fuckin annoying abt it that he just gave in and went. He also wasnt gonna bring anything but just grabbed a bottle of whiskey and called it good.
Wick- I would die for this man. I firmly believes he cooks in his spare time to destress after heists so yeah. He's one of those people that everyone thinks he cooks really bad but then he brings food and all of a sudden he's making lunch for the crew every other day.
Sangres- Yes he's invited this man is a true bro. I know its kinda stereotypical but trust me, Mexican family members actually do bring tequila and some sort of Mexican food, probably homemade tacos, to big gatherings. Sangres is also a really good cook but his spice tolerance is fucked so all of his food is really spicy.
Jiro- How could I not let my own father attend the cookout?? Jiro brings sake and some sort of Japanese dish. He's a lot like Sangres; makes really good but f u c k i n g s p i c y food.
Bodhi- Yes. This man goes all out and fucking brings a whole Costco supply of food.
Duke- This is the kind of guy I'd want at a party. He brings really fucking good alcohol but is also the designated driver. V v responsible, only small amounts of alcohol at a time.
Scarface- I dont know a lot abt this guy but he seems aight. This guy's a wild card atm so when i figure it out ill get back to you.
Bain- Literally got invited mid-heist becuase adhd is a bitch. Whether or not he actually shows is debatable, but I think he'd bring some pothead concotion like noodle sandwiches or some shit.
Vlad- YEAAAAAH! I love Vlad, honestly, he's awesome. I think this guy really plays into the Russian stereotype for shits and giggles and fuckin bring vodka and potatoes.
Locke- *stares motherfuckerdly* Youre on thin ice, fuckwad. I dont have a set reason for my hatred towards Locke, I just really dont like his vibes. I'll let him in but like Dragan, I wont talk to him.
The Butler- :D absolutely! I dont know what he would bring but honestly he could bring lsd and id trust him w my drink.
Ethan and Hila: No, yall mean ;-;
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