I went on a late night drive yesterday and it was so much fun. The empty roads and clear skies make one of the best combination ever. Do you go on night drives or walk often? What makes you happy? What about night shower or baths?
Also I recently watched run on Netflix and it was a good one imo before that I watched The last black man in San Francisco. What kind of stuff do you watch or listen to??
I love watching it rain from the window of my room, especially when we have thunderstorms and lightning, it just makes it better.
Also I love horror and crime movies. Although I watch all genres but those are my favourite. Not a big reader but I try sometimes. If weather permits I go play tennis in the summer. So yea I’m just looking to chat with some interesting people and talk about interesting things or dumb things or whatever lol . You’re free to talk about anything . Everyone’s welcome

Are you looking forward to your next vacation? Whether it's a weekend getaway or a long-awaited trip abroad, traveling can be a stressful experience if you're not prepared. That's why we've compiled a list of 10 travel tips that will help you stay organized, save money, and make the most of your time away. From packing hacks and money-saving tips to insider advice on staying healthy while on the go, these tips are designed to help you get the most out of your next adventure. So sit back, relax, and let's get ready to embark on the stress-free vacation of your dreams!

Plan and research your trip ahead of time

Planning ahead is essential when it comes to traveling stress-free. Start by researching your destination and creating a rough itinerary. Look up the best places to eat, the must-see sights, and the activities you want to do. Once you have a general idea of what you want to do, create a daily schedule that includes time for relaxation and downtime. This will help you avoid feeling overwhelmed and stressed out during your trip.
Another important aspect of planning ahead is booking your travel arrangements early. This includes your flights, accommodations, and any activities or tours you want to do. By booking early, you can often save money on your travel expenses and avoid the stress of last-minute planning. Plus, having everything booked and organized ahead of time will give you peace of mind and allow you to focus on enjoying your trip.
When planning your trip, it's also a good idea to research local customs and traditions. This will help you avoid any cultural faux pas and show respect for the local culture. For example, in some countries, it's considered impolite to wear shoes inside homes or temples. By researching ahead of time, you can avoid accidentally offending locals and make a positive impression during your trip.

Choose the right accommodations

Choosing the right accommodations is crucial to having a stress-free vacation. Consider your options carefully and choose a place that fits your needs and budget. If you're looking for a luxurious experience, consider staying at a resort or hotel with plenty of amenities. If you're on a budget, consider staying at a hostel or Airbnb. These options can be a great way to save money and meet new people during your trip.
When choosing your accommodations, be sure to read reviews from other travelers. This will give you an idea of what to expect and help you avoid any unpleasant surprises. Look for reviews that mention cleanliness, safety, and location. These are all important factors to consider when choosing a place to stay.
Finally, consider the location of your accommodations. If you want to be close to the action, choose a place that's centrally located. If you prefer a quieter experience, choose a place that's away from the hustle and bustle. By choosing the right accommodations, you can ensure a comfortable and stress-free stay.

Pack light and smart

Packing can be one of the most stressful aspects of traveling. To avoid feeling overwhelmed, start by making a packing list. This will help you stay organized and ensure that you don't forget anything important. Be sure to pack light and only bring what you need. This will make it easier to navigate airports and public transportation and avoid hefty baggage fees.
When packing, consider using packing cubes or compression bags to save space and keep your belongings organized. Roll your clothes instead of folding them to maximize space in your luggage. And don't forget to pack a small bag for your personal items, such as your passport, wallet, and phone. This will keep your essentials within easy reach and help you avoid the stress of searching through your luggage for important items.
Another packing tip is to pack versatile clothing that can be mixed and matched. This will help you create multiple outfits with fewer pieces of clothing. And be sure to check the weather forecast for your destination before you pack. This will help you avoid packing unnecessary items and ensure that you're prepared for any weather conditions.

Keep important documents and valuables safe

Keeping your important documents and valuables safe is essential to having a stress-free vacation. Start by making copies of your passport, ID, and any other important documents. Keep the copies in a separate location from the originals, such as in your luggage or with a trusted friend or family member. This will ensure that you have a backup in case your documents are lost or stolen.
When traveling, it's also important to keep your valuables safe. Consider investing in a money belt or hidden pouch to keep your cash and credit cards secure. And never leave your valuables unattended in public places, such as beaches or cafes. Keep them locked up in your accommodations or carry them with you at all times.
Finally, consider purchasing travel insurance before your trip. This will provide you with peace of mind and financial protection in case of any unexpected emergencies or accidents.

Stay hydrated and healthy

Staying hydrated and healthy is crucial to having a stress-free vacation. Start by drinking plenty of water throughout your trip. This will help you avoid dehydration and fatigue, especially if you're traveling to a hot or humid destination.
Another important aspect of staying healthy is eating well. Try to eat a balanced diet that includes plenty of fruits and vegetables. And be sure to try the local cuisine, but be mindful of any dietary restrictions or food allergies.
When traveling, it's also important to get enough sleep. This will help you feel rested and energized during your trip. And don't forget to take breaks and rest when needed. This will help you avoid burnout and ensure that you enjoy your trip to the fullest.

Make a budget and stick to it

Making a budget and sticking to it is essential to having a stress-free vacation. Start by creating a rough estimate of your travel expenses, including flights, accommodations, food, and activities. Then, factor in any additional expenses, such as souvenirs or transportation.
Once you have a budget in place, stick to it as closely as possible. Avoid overspending on unnecessary items and look for ways to save money, such as cooking your own meals or using public transportation. And be sure to keep track of your expenses throughout your trip, so you can adjust your budget as needed.

Stay connected with loved ones back home

Staying connected with loved ones back home is important to having a stress-free vacation. Make sure to let your friends and family know where you'll be staying and how to reach you in case of an emergency. And consider using social media or messaging apps to stay in touch and share updates during your trip.
Another important aspect of staying connected is to have a backup plan in case of any unforeseen events. This may include having a trusted friend or family member who can help with any emergencies or unexpected situations.

Embrace local culture and customs

Embracing local culture and customs is a great way to have a stress-free vacation. Take the time to learn about the local customs and traditions, and try to respect them during your trip. This may include learning a few phrases in the local language or trying the local cuisine.
Another great way to embrace local culture is to participate in local activities and events. This may include attending a cultural festival or visiting a historical landmark. By immersing yourself in the local culture, you'll gain a deeper appreciation for your destination and make lasting memories.

Relax and enjoy the journey

Finally, remember to relax and enjoy the journey. Traveling can be stressful, but it can also be a rewarding and enriching experience. Take the time to appreciate the sights, sounds, and experiences of your destination. And don't forget to take breaks and rest when needed. By staying relaxed and present, you'll be able to enjoy your trip to the fullest.

Conclusion

Traveling can be stressful, but with the right preparation and mindset, it can also be a stress-free and enjoyable experience. By planning ahead, choosing the right accommodations, packing light and smart, keeping important documents and valuables safe, staying hydrated and healthy, making a budget and sticking to it, staying connected with loved ones back home, embracing local culture and customs, and relaxing and enjoying the journey, you can make your next vacation a stress-free and unforgettable experience. So go ahead, book that trip and get ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime!
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Totally new to this, would love critique on my first chapter. Give it to me real. I want to improve: this may just be a hobby but I love it!
What you see on Page One.

Read Seekers, until daytime fades to candlelight, For magic is found when ink breathes life to parchment, When bookbindings break and cradled words take flight. It’s the safety of cozying up near the warming hearth, And the rising steam from a wellworn mug It’s that smile when you turn the page in delight. 

That cool little quote thing before a chapter starts that gives you background.

West of the Citadel Clouds, Bordering Mountain Pines and fickle Seashine Lies the renowned Port Cardica Where sailors sing and blight-born orphans dream. 

Chapter 1
A Slip Away from Death
Like most boys, Jake chose snoring in the pews over memorizing the Church’s proverbs. A clear mistake, he realized, as the Pastor's warning that “prayer follows danger” proved true. Hanging precipitously from the cliff’s edge, Jake recited every Creed he could remember in a futile attempt to appease any watching Gods.
“Prosper in his light, heathentry outside his sight,” he prayed, feet kicking in a desperate search for better footing.
It was a stowaways’ stanza, a tenet meant to share wisdom in ways the thickest of Port Cardica’s orphan dockboys could understand but, like most doctrine, its religious meaning was lost in translation.
Instead, the impoverished boys interpreted it as a practical warning to keep their heads down. Everyone knew the city’s Nobles revered the Book and claimed their prosperity was proof of Gods’ favor. Of course, beggars knew better: one downward glance at them revealed the decay fueling Cardica’s burgeoning wealth. Still, the poor learned to philosophize quietly. Someone was to blame for the hoveltowns, bird droppings, and penetrating seafood stink, and it better not be you.
For his part, Jake blamed himself. If he’d scaled the cliff wall with just a bit more care and a bit less haste he’d never have slipped. Instead he’d been forced to violently slow his descent, bruising bones and trading skin for friction on the vertical slope. It wasn’t a graceful maneuver by any means, but it beat falling hundreds of feet into the freezing current below. Thankfully, years as a guttersnipe had honed his reflexes – his gangly arms lacked the strength of a Swordsquire or the coordination of a Majpupil, but his daily dance with starvation demanded nimble fingers and quick wit.
That experience wasn’t paying off. As Jake shuffled his feet around to find better purchase, his hands slipped on the accruing condensation from the ongoing manastorm. His grip flagged, then failed, and he had neither the magic nor the strength to escape the weight of gravity.
“It isn't written, it isn’t written” Jake recited frantically as he began to plummet. The other dockboys would laugh at his superstition, but he didn’t care. Many claimed the Creeds were lucky, and Jake desperately needed some luck. Instinctively he spread his arms out as wide as possible, hoping to extend his reach and grip onto something.
By some miracle, It worked. The resounding sound of cloth ripping accompanied Jake as he slammed into the stone cliff, teetering to a stop. He hung like a rag doll, held up only by the hem of his matted, brown tunic; the cheap weavings had snagged and torn on an outcropping of stone.
“Aughhh” he mumbled.
He had survived, but everything hurt. Looking down to inspect the damage, Jake saw that his calloused hands were raw and pebbled, but a quick flex confirmed he hadn’t broken any fingerbones. Breathing a sigh of relief, he gasped at the telltale sting every kicked streetrat knew so well.
“Po-Poet’s hand,” Jake swore.
He grabbed the cliff wall to stabilize himself and, seeing as it had worked so far, continued reciting the few Creeds he could remember. A minute passed before he was able to think clearly, but slowly Jake got his breathing under control and continued his self-assessment.
Overall, he felt like things couldn’t have gone much worse. His cracked ribs hurt and continuing the heist would only exacerbate the damage, leading to scarring or permanent hobbling. Jake had seen many dockbeggars with similar injuries from fights or beatings, unable to walk straight without being plagued by the stitchers cough.
For this reason alone, Jake briefly considered giving up. He quickly dismissed the idea – it might be madness to continue climbing in his condition, but he’d come too far to back out now. He’d planned this heist for months, obsessively pathing his break-in while waiting for a night when security would be light. In retrospect, he’d been a fool; his overly cautious preparations left no possibility for a second attempt before his 15th birthday.
No, despite his injury tonight was still his best hope to successfully steal a Scriptors’ Grimoire before Binding Day. Failure would mean enslavement as a Ruddite or worse, full Automation. He’d just have to trust the windy weather to mute his movements and the harvest moons to light his way.
So, teeth chattering with cold and fear, Jake resumed the ascent. His ribs sang in agony as he put one hand in front of the other, slowly turning small divots into handholds, footholds and leverage. Each bouldering movement made him wince, but over the years he’d honed the art of turning sweat and grit into capillary action. He’d had no other choice; richmen shared a passion for building impenetrable estates, forcing thieves to develop an unshaking hand at scaling them.
Five painstaking minutes of climbing later and Jake regained his original position. Salty sweat matted his brow and stinged his eyes but he persevered. He blinked slowly to clear his vision and shuffled his feet left over right, shivering his way across an inch-wide protrusion. Just a few meters above him stood the lip of the granite outcropping and access to the marble fortress built upon it. Jake tasted copper as he bit the inside of his cheek in anticipation – If the heist went well he’d finally change his destiny and be able to swear upon the Sermon’s Book on his own terms.
But first he had to finish the climb. He knew the manor’s sentries rotated hourly, eyes glued to the sky as they watched for flyingmen and attacks from above. He also knew that all these guards would be literate, but none especially gifted. After all, no one powerful enough to be a Writer would stand watch over another man's fortune. The chartered Maji Wordlings, on the other hand, could easily detect Jake if he hadn’t planned for them in advance. He chose tonight because it was the season’s Lenting, meaning the majority of Maji would be in communion until the sun rose.
“What is written” a gruff voice proclaimed, startling Jake.
It was muffled by the wind, so it took him a moment to realize it was coming from directly above him. Jake craned his neck and peered up; to his horror he could see the silhouette of a guard's shadow on the cliff wall.
Petrified, Jake hugged his body to the cold granite, hoping the darkness of the windy night would hide his form. His entire plan hung on the simple thesis that in a world of magidetectors and magflight, no one would expect an unbound to scale the walls. Great in theory, but what if a guard just happened to look down?
“Is Foretold and Forbidden,” another voice chanted, completing the customary greeting. “All safe on the watch?”
“All is safe and silent, as usual,” the first man grunted.
“Don’t sound so upset,” the second laughed. ”We chose this job because it’s easy, remember? No more treading through the mud, no more war with those blasted barren beasts and their infernal warlocks.”
“That’s true, althou..”
The men’s voices were swept up in the wind as they paced further down the stone perimeter. They hadn’t seen him, but, just to be safe, Jake stayed low until he could no longer hear the stamping of metal-toed boots on stone. Then, fingers white and aching in trepidation, he waited another 30 seconds.
Finishing his count, Jake peaked over the edge. It took all the courage he had earned as a thief and every bit of boldness he had learned as a beggar, but he managed it.
The coast was clear.
Jake carefully pulled himself over the ledge before falling into a crouch. He looked around and exhaled painfully, releasing a breath he had not realized he was holding.
In front of him lay an outdoor walkway culminating in a rippling fountain circumscribed by five basalt pillars of progressively increasing height. Everflowing torches adorned each of the columns and burned despite the rain, casting rings of golden light throughout the open atrium. At the foot of the fountain rose a gold-leafed speaker's lectern, a pure white sculpture of the Sermon Book chiseled open upon it.
Jake stared openmouthed at the power radiating from the fountain before abruptly coming to his senses. Without a doubt this artifact was a Magisma, an extremely expensive construct meant to amplify its controller’s magic. Leaving it outside was a casual display of wealth and power meant to shock and impress, but Jake didn’t have time for that.
Instead Jake blended into the shadows cast by the monument as he sneaked his way across the grounds. After passing the walkway the torchlight dimmed considerably, forcing him to hobble his way in the dark. A bright flash startled him, but the acid smell of tobacco that accompanied it indicated the guards he’d seen earlier were smoking to pass the time. Realizing they were distracted, Jake sped up and almost tripped on the jutting crystals of an emerald rock garden. Embarrassed, he paused to listen for anyone approaching.
Everything was quiet except for the constant pitter, patter and hiss of rain from the manastorm. It seemed his home-invasion had so far gone unnoticed, but the hair on Jake’s neck rose. An unsettling feeling of being watched set in and every few seconds he reflexively looked over his shoulder.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he made it to the Manor wall. Keeping to the shadows, Jake hid behind the tallest thing he could find; a towering yellow flower with leaves the size of platters that he had never seen before. Staying low, he muddied his knees and toes on the damp ground, but thankfully the foliage protected him from the rain. As his eyes adjusted to less light, Jake noticed all sorts of exotic fruits surrounding him; blood red berries in the shape of teardrops levitated inches off the ground, while turquoise bubbles floated up from vibrant greenery, collapsing quickly into little orange stones that looked remarkably like candy. Jake’s belly growled at the idea of tasting these treats, but he dismissed his urges. Stanzas warned that “those who leave riches unread become starving men” but Jake knew hunger well. He would jeopardize his mission by eating something that might make him sick tonight.
Instead, he focused on gaining entry to the manor. Searching his surroundings, Jake located the iron front doors about 6 meters to his right. They were guarded by life-like statues on either side, one a Korai of the Poet, hand outstretched in greeting, the other a two headed wolf, with both snarling maws crying out to the moons. The door itself was blacked with age and inscribed by a massive oval spellwork that glinted in the light cast by a hanging lantern.
Listening closely, Jake groaned at the buzz of silverscripting coming from the insignia. Every thief knew that spellworks grew more powerful over time, and anything audible would be too powerful for any Unbound to lockpick.

2023: Post #146 Watched May 27th On the Radiance Films LE Blu-ray (Spine 10) IMDB Directed by: Alain Cavalier Written by: Alain Cavalier, Patrick Bouchitey, Etienne Chicot, Bernard Crombey, Xavier Saint-Macary TSPDT: 15,002
97 minutes. Although this shares humor with something silly like The Hangover, this is also a movie that sneaks up and presents an underrepresented side of masculinity in all of its imperfect yet sincere glory.
It’s an interesting mix because I don’t think it tries to be any one type of movie. In a lot of ways it is fully unique. It’s a road trip movie by design, but it’s such a pleasure to watch and doesn’t have a lot of the existential ennui of so many within the genre. I was not expecting it to be so funny and charming. I think what DirectoWriter Cavalier captured was very magical and deserves to be much more well known and discussed.
Even the basic premise of two guys going on this road trip and picking up two hitchhikers could have gone very wrong. I had seen The Hitchhiker recently, so I know how these could turn out. But Cavalier made a film without severe consequences. The four leads get into fights that were as funny as anything in Sideways, goof around and tell dirty jokes which is mainly what made me think of The Hangover, and also share some quiet real moments that don’t often get depicted in movies about adult men.
They are all written as very human. We see a man who is caught between a job and a partner. He had a difficult time telling his boss no so ends up missing commitments they have made together. We see another man visit his kid. It seems he has lost custody and the son is with his ex and her new beau. He is childish throughout the entire film, and also childish in the way he approaches meeting his ex, but mixed in with this immaturity is an honest pain that he suppresses until it seeps out.
I don’t want this to read as a post that says how difficult it is to be a man. I hope that’s not coming through. What impressed me so much about Le Plein de Super, however, is that very very writers/directors capture the nuances of being an imperfect, goofy guy that is trying in their own way. I think this did it exceedingly well and I found it to be a funny and surprisingly sweet, sincere movie that I hope gets a lot of attention.

Blackwater Bay. 200 AC OST - See the Fire in Your Eyes (Moving Camps) Hymnal
Willem stood on the rocky shores, his weary eyes fixated on the devastating aftermath that lay before him. The acrid stench of burnt flesh mingled with the briny scent of the sea, assaulting his senses and leaving an indelible mark upon his weary soul. The once pristine waters, now tainted with the remnants of a great battle, lapped ominously against the scarred shoreline. The morning mist cloaked the beach, lending an eerie ambiance to the desolation that stretched as far as his aged eyes could see. Swollen and charred corpses dotted the shore, their broken forms a grotesque tapestry of twisted limbs and contorted expressions frozen in eternal agony. Each lifeless body told a tale of valor and despair, of dreams cut short and promises unfulfilled.
Amongst the fallen, Willem's gaze fell upon a young soldier, barely a man, his visage marred by the cruel hand of war. A splintered beam lay upon him, wrapped in the fraying salted ropes of rigging. He had a rusting bit of armor on. It likely was polished before his doom. This boy was a knight. The knight's eyes, once filled with hope and determination, stared lifelessly into the endless expanse of the heavens above. Willem felt a pang of sorrow deep within his chest.
"I do not believe that she has condemned us to destruction."
A mournful wind whispered through the rigging and ropes strewn across the beach, a haunting chorus that accompanied the tragic tableau. On the wind he heard Ser Ilyn Crakehall's reply. Every face he looked upon, swollen and charred, every lightless eye. The remnants of destroyed ships, mere fragments of their former glory, served as a solemn reminder of the carnage that had taken place upon the waters. The sea, once a source of life and sustenance, now offered naught but a final resting place for the fallen, claiming their battered forms as its own. The surf and tide were awash with the aftermath.
As Willem treaded along the shoreline, his weathered boots sinking into the sand, he couldn't help but reflect upon his own life. His once unyielding sense of honor had been tarnished by the relentless march of time, battles fought and comrades lost. Deeds done. The weight of regret settled upon his weary shoulders, his footsteps echoing with a melancholic cadence.
He had unironically warned a member of the Kingsguard of the impending destruction, a dire premonition that had fallen upon deaf ears. The bitterness of that moment still lingered, a bitter taste upon his tongue. Willem had seen the fire in his dreams, and had felt the impending doom like a weight upon his very soul, and yet his warnings had been dismissed as the ramblings of an old knight lost in his own sorrow.
Now, as he walked amidst the aftermath, Willem couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. The battles fought and lives lost seemed but a tragic cycle, an unending dance of death and despair. Yet, amidst the ashes souls, timber, sail, and fallen heroes, a flicker of purpose ignited within his weathered heart. He would not let his tarnished honor define his final days. Perhaps, in this desolate landscape of broken dreams, he could find redemption, a chance to restore a glimmer of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
With each step, Willem carried the weight of the fallen upon his shoulders, their unfulfilled dreams and shattered lives etched deep within his soul. The somber melody of his footsteps, accompanied by the mournful dirge of the wind, became a requiem for the fallen, a testament to the fragility of life and the indomitable spirit that resided within the human heart.
The sun began to pierce through the heavy clouds, casting its feeble light upon the battlefield of land and sea, Willem raised his gaze. He would not falter in the face of despair . He would honor the fallen, fight for the dreams that had been lost, and see the fire in his own eyes once more.
As Willem continued his solemn march along the shore, he became aware of a somber congregation of smallfolk. Their presence was a stark reminder that the devastation wrought by war extended far beyond the fallen warriors and into the lives of the innocent. Scavengers, driven by desperation and survival, scoured the wreckage for any semblance of value, their actions a heartbreaking testament to the harsh realities of a world torn asunder. Some scavengers, their faces etched with weariness and sorrow, delicately pulled the lifeless bodies from the tangled flotsam and shattered remnants of once-proud ships. Their hands moved with a reverence born of necessity, for even in death, these fallen souls deserved a modicum of dignity. It was a bittersweet sight, as the scavengers toiled, both driven by the instinct to survive and burdened by the weight of their macabre task.
But amidst the scavengers, Willem's gaze settled upon a group of holyfolk, figures draped in somber robes that denoted their sacred calling. The Silent Sisters, their veiled faces concealing both their grief and their dedication, moved with solemn grace. They tended to the fallen, preparing them for their final journey, cleansing their bodies, and whispering prayers for their departed souls.
Nearby, septas and septons stood in prayerful contemplation, their voices carrying the weight of solace and hope. They offered words of comfort to those gathered, soothing the wounds of loss and lending strength to the weary hearts of the bereaved. The solemnity of their presence added a touch of divinity to the desolate shore, reminding all who witnessed their devotion that even in the darkest of times, faith could still be found.
Willem approached the holyfolk. He watched as they carefully arranged the lifeless bodies upon wooden pyres, creating a solemn assembly of kindling for the flames of farewell. The scent of incense mingled with the acrid remnants of battle, offering a brief respite from the harsh realities that surrounded them.
Moved by a sense of duty and the remnants of his tarnished honor, Willem approached one of the holyfolk, his voice low and filled with quiet resolve. "How may I assist you in this solemn task, sister?" he asked, his weary eyes meeting hers with a flicker of recognition, but then determination.
The sister, her eyes lined with sorrow, offered a faint smile of gratitude. "Your presence alone is a comfort, good knight," she replied, her voice laden with weariness and resilience. "If you would lend a hand in preparing the pyres, it would be a kindness to both the fallen and those left behind." She spoke quickly, but her voice was kept low - reverence was key here.
And so, Willem joined the holyfolk, his weathered hands embracing the weighty responsibility of bidding farewell to the fallen. Together, they placed the bodies upon the pyres, their movements guided by a delicate balance of reverence and practicality. The flickering light of the approaching flames danced upon their faces, a gentle caress of warmth that seemed to offer solace even in the face of tragedy.
Pyres were set ablaze and Willem felt a profound sense of purpose fill his weary heart. He had not witnessed the battle upon the bay, but in this solemn moment, amidst the scavengers and the holyfolk, he became an unwitting witness to the aftermath, a bearer of witness to the cost of war. And in this act of service, he found a flicker of redemption for his tarnished honor, a chance to ease the suffering of others and breathe life into the embers of hope that still glimmered within him.
Together, they stood, smallfolk and knight, united in their shared sorrow and the collective determination to honor the fallen. As the smoke rose skyward, carrying the souls of the departed to realms unknown, Willem's gaze remained fixed upon the flames, his heart heavy with the weight of the fallen and the resolute desire to see the fire in their eyes burn bright once more.

For some reason, I can't have "Read" in the title so I had to make CubbonReads to CubbonBookClub. For those who don't know about it : https://www.instagram.com/cubbonreads/
We could go to some bookstore or library and give each a book to read over cubbon park. If the weather doesn't allow it maybe we can catchup on tea/coffee/hot chocolate and read our favorite books in a cozy Cafe? (am new to Bangalore so maybe you can show me some cool places around too)
I would have written a section of more about me or more about you but this is a lazy Sunday and the fun is to unravel things about each other, right?

I'm sure many people have dealt with a rude coworker who doesn't want to confirm if they've done their job properly many times before, for me this was one of the rarely moments where I was left thinking "WTF that's not my job, it's your job to clean this, I'm only asking you a simple question here." Only for them to continue to not respond with a proper answer.
So this happened yesterday afternoon, while I was at work and I'm still annoyed by the entitlement behavior of this dishwasher, especially when I was being very nice about it and cause I needed clean cups to serve drinks to our customers on my floor.
Cast: Me/Dragon_Crystal= myself, Karen=dishwasher, Caddie= my coworker, No Show or NS= coworker who didn't show up for work, and Joy= Manager who I reported Karen to.
It had been a bit of an eventful day, a bit of a rush here and there with drinks and it didn't help that NS didn't bother showing up for work and Caddie was forced to set up the floor by herself, luckily two former Caddie turned Bayhost was working the same floor and assisted her with setting up. I didn't start until 9:30 but when I got there, I started working right away and around noon Caddie decided to start doing carts, so the dishwashers can wash the dirty dishes and clean the cups for when we needed more for the rest of our shift.
First round was ok, I was handing everything just fine and wasn't having too much difficulty, second round was getting a bit harder but the Bayhosts were helping out by running their own bar drinks and also helping me out when they got the chance. Caddie eventually finished and drinks slowed down for a bit, I asked about if there were extra clean cups, since we were down to just 6 stacks and will be low if there is another rush.
Caddie: I think I saw them washing the cups, but they were just sitting next to the dish pit, so I wasn't sure if they were just drying them or not maybe give them 5 more minutes to dry off a bit.
Me: ok I'll go check in 5 minutes.
I ended up doing other things and by the time I realized it, we were now down to maybe 3 stacks left and so I headed downstairs to get said cups, only to see stacks of cups seemingly still dirty and unwashed. I'll mention now that we normally place the clean stacks over by a stairwell just outside of the kitchen to indicate there clean cups, I have made the mistake of grabbing dirty cups before and was forced to bring them back down. So I decided to ask Karen if they were washed or not.
Me: excuse me Karen, are those cups washed yet?
Karen: (pulls her earphone out) hum what?
Me: (points to stacks of cups) are those cups washed yet?
Karen: hum I don't know. Maybe?
Me: (confused) I thought you were going to wash them.
Karen asks a different dishwasher and he asks how many do we need washed, which I again mentioned "I thought you were washing them, Caddie sa-" Karen grabs a cup from the stack and sniffs it, before just shoving it into my face saying "smell." I literally had to lean back or get hit in the face with the cup, Karen proceeded to grab more cups, smell them and shove them in my face repeatedly saying "Smell." Until I just backed off and gently pushing away the cups and saying "can you please wash them for me, we really need some clean cups right now."
About 30 minutes later we did get a stack of clean cups, which we were happy to receive, but there was a rush of drinks happening right than and cause it was very very hot day. We barely finished stacking said cups before we ran out and I had to bring down the now empty racks back to the dish pit for the dirty cups to be stacked, before bring up a new clean stack indicated by the soaked ones now placed in the stairwell.
This rush happened for almost 3 hours and we quickly ran out of clean cups again, so I went back downstairs to get fresh ones only to again see stacks of cups just sitting next to the dish pit, I'm looking at them debating if their clean or not.
Karen: their clean.
Me: are you sure their clean.
Karen: (waves me away) yes yes go take them.
I'm hesitant cause the stacks weren't wet or show signs of wetness as though they've been washed, but we needed cups too, so I bring them up and sure enough 90% of them were still sticky or still had soda syrup stuck to them, Caddie and I sorted through the "clean" ones and putting the dirty ones back on the stack to be washed again. When I started pushing it out of the elevator Karen saw me and asked "what no good?"
Me: some of these are still dirty.
Karen: no I washed them, they clean, I washed them.
Before again grabbing the cup, sniffing it and again shoving it into my face to "smell" for myself, I again leaned away from her and walked away to find a manager to let them know that Karen wasn't doing her job properly. I get to the Hub (managers office) and went over to Joy (not her real name) since the other managers were looking over some schedules and I didn't want to bother them.
Joy: hey what's wrong.
Me: Karen the dishwasher hasn't been washing the cups.
Joy: (confused) what do you mean.
Me: earlier Caddie told me she thought she saw them washing the cups, so she decided to come back upstairs to wait for them to dry off, but when I came down to get them. They weren't where their supposed to be if cleaned, than when I asked Karen myself, she acted like she didn't know if they were clean or not and instead grabbed the cup sniffed them and just pushed it into my face expecting me to smell it.
Joy: why would she do that? She's supposed to know if their washed or not, I'll go speak with her, thanks for letting me know.
I'm not sure if Joy spoke to Karen yet, cause it was the end of my shift, but I sure hope Karen starts actually doing her job properly cause she's been there longer than I have and knows during the summer we run out of clean cups easily, cause of the hot weather and the customers will demand extra drinks to stay hydrated.
Tl;dr Entitled dishwasher pushes dirty cup into my face and wants me to smell it, than claims she washed the other cups, when she didn't, ends up getting reported.

Dark Sky always worked great for for me in central London, reliably giving me rain notifications, but I've struggled to find anything comparable since - Apple Weather seems a lot less reliable, for example.
I have Carrot premium, and I was using Meteogroup until this weekend, but just switched to Foreca following this suggestion:
https://www.reddit.com/CARROTweathecomments/13l0jpf/carrot_weather_v511_now_available/jksx7tt/
I'm wondering whether it's worth upgrading to ultra for the server side notifications, or if there's not going to be a source that's accurate enough for me here?

How wind resistant is the outpost 2 tent. Can it be used in the cascades? If the weather does turn bad will this tent hood up or am I better off with something stronger? It’s currently 50% off on MH’s website.

Previous
If I were to guess, I’d imagine they took Andrew to Boss Harold before anyone else and the rumors around Golgotha seemed to support this supposition; the Bosses enjoyed their personal retribution away from the eyes of citizens, maybe it was talking or maybe more, and although there were whispers of the boy being strung up on the wall or maybe he’d be violated in the stocks for all to see, I imagined that the council I held with Boss Harold might’ve had something to do with that never materializing. When I was allowed to the boy’s cell, it was dark, and his face was bruised and the bandaging I’d applied to his severed wrist had been removed probably for amusement. The room was small and there were no windows and only a single doorway let out into the hallway which contained other cells and further, near the exit, there was the office of wall men. The guard that’d let me in locked the door behind me and Andrew sat on a metallic cot without cushioning, and he stared at the grimy floor through swollen eyes.
“Hello,” he said. And I was taken aback by the comment because he spoke it as quickly as he might passing a person in the street. He'd been through so much that the word was abrupt, skittish. I nodded and moved to him, reaching for his arm where he’d been nearly fatally wounded. It was infected. Without fighting me, he allowed me to tend to it without even a question; I wiped it and applied salve. Once it was cleaned and rewrapped and only after I’d settled on the cot beside him, he spoke again, “I heard stories about the cells, but I never thought they’d smell.”
I withdrew a handful of antibiotics, and he took them without putting them to his mouth. “You should have them,” I said, “You might lose the whole arm if not.”
“I might lose my life.”
“Maybe not,” I offered a grim smile and water with for the pills. “You’re alive still.”
“How much longer though?” He took the medicine and grimaced hard. The boy looked older than he was. “It smells like blood here. I can smell the people that’ve been here before.”
I patted him on the back and removed myself from the cell and he did not call after me, not even to ask for the return of his hand and I hoped that I could stave off whatever tortures the Bosses might have in store for him.
It’d been two days since I’d returned with Dave and Andrew and quickly after our arrival, I’d tried departing from the man and hoped he’d drop whatever revenge he believed I could assist him with, but it was to no avail for he attended everywhere with me since our return to Golgotha. Although he’d not been allowed to enter the cells alongside me, he was waiting for me outside as I stepped through the wall men’s office and into the noonday sun; I deftly plucked a pre-rolled cigarette from my pocket and tried at lighting it but before I’d even gotten the chance, he was there at the stoop of the office, pestering, “We should go somewhere quiet,” he said.
“What do you take me for exactly?” I asked while maintaining eye contact with the flame off a match.
“You’re capable enough. You could be a hero. I’d do it with you. We could scrounge up a handful of people and change things. We really could.” Dave was casting sidelong glances at those that passed us in the dirt street just off the stoop, but nary one seemed to care about our conversation.
“Leave it.”
“I won’t.”
I sighed.
He put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
Felina’s was a structure partially built from ancient shipping containers directly in the heart of the hydroponics towers in the center of town; the chicken shit smell from the base of the towers came with nauseating stagnation and could make a passerby sick, but upon entering Felina’s, the smell subsided and was replaced with the smell of body sweat. The older barwoman stood behind the counter and me and Dave took up on the far corner where we sat around an old card table, using crates as chairs; no one else was there—the smell of the hydro towers probably had some hand in that.
Dave took in close to me so that I could feel the moisture off his breath, “I’ve been talking to a few others over at the towers and they feel the same way I feel—but with you—well without you I don’t think I’d want to do it.”
“No, please go on without me,” I slanted my body across the table to push my face away from Dave’s; with me positioned with my back against the wall, I spied Felina beyond the counter, arms across her chest and watching us with an air of suspicion. She came to our table, slowly with her club foot and upon reaching us, she used our table for mild support with her big hands and greeted us without excitement.
Dave asked for water and her gaze shifted to me and I dismissed her, and we were alone till she limped back over with a pitcher and glass and Dave drank it greedily while Felina watched on from beyond the counter—her eyes suspicious but pretty blue too. She kept the haft from a dismembered axe behind the counter and was known to throttle unruly patrons with it.
Although some might have called Felina’s a bar, it was just short of it because of the rarity of spirits—besides, it was the upstairs brothel portion that the establishment owed to its popularity. Anyone might brave the smell from the street for companionship and if the noises from the rusted overhead support beams were anything to measure, the clientele was content indeed. A man descended from the stairs by the bar, gave a brief nod to Felina then to us and disappeared through the front door; a waft of the outside air rushed in, and Dave scrunched his nose.
“It’s a funny thing, I’ve passed by here all the time, but I don’t think I’ve been inside since before—” he paused, “Well, since before anyway.” He took a drink of water and rubbed his palms against his cheeks. “I know someone that works underground and could get us some gunpowder.”
I merely laughed at this. “Gunpowder, huh?”
“Well sure. The Bosses have reserves in the basements. We could blow them sky high.”
“More likely that you’d blow your hands off.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you?”
I thought, “Could you promise no one would die?”
Dave seemed baffled at the question. “Who cares?”
“These things hardly ever happen quietly—or without collateral. How’s this? Could you promise that no innocents get caught in stray fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are as ill prepared as I’d imagined.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The meek are intended to inherit, but many will die before all that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I wish you’d leave it be.”
Another patron stumbled down the stairs, a scrawny tall man with a thin beard came charging into the chamber without clothes and a voice followed him, crying loudly, “Sonofabitch tried choking me!” A pair of arms and legs came stumbling down after—the source of the cries. There was a topless woman, a belt secured around one of her wrists and a pink mark around her throat. The naked man protested and put up his hands as the woman swung the arm with the belt and whipped at him with it, striking across the forearm he’d shielded himself with.
Felina moved carefully from around the counter, raised the haft, then brought it down across the man’s back. He stumbled to his knees, pleading. The barwoman raised the weapon once more and the sound was like wood against wood as it met the man’s head and his body was taken to the ground completely, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. The two women lifted the man out the door and Felina spat through the opening. Outside wind came again and Dave scrunched his nose once more before the door shut. The topless woman removed the belt from around her wrist, tossed it to the floor, then secured an arm across her chest before hurrying upstairs.
“So, gunpowder?” I asked Dave.
He nodded and took another drink of water while eyeing Felina as she took herself back to the counter and stowed the makeshift club into whatever place she kept it. “Yeah.”
“Go for it then and leave me out of it.” I fiddled with my thumbs across the table. “I’ll even make you a deal for when you come running to me for help later. If you blow your fingers off, I’ll try and help you find them. How’s about that?”
“I’ll wear you down.”
Another gust of wind came from the far door and I half expected to see the man that’d been removed there in the doorway, standing on his feet and ready for another round of punishment, but there was no one there in the hollow spot; as my gaze drifted from person-face level, I saw a medium sized mutt there in gray fur, pushing the door in with its nose and then sliding the rest of its starved body through—each of its yellowy sad eyes peered in and I could not tell the breed but Dave lifted himself from his seat and Felina went to the dog too.
“No dogs,” stated the woman.
Dave, the indomitable sweetheart that he was knelt to the dog’s face and touched its snout; it licked his hand and Dave said to Felina, “He’s not mine, but have you got some water for him?”
“No dogs inside. I don’t like repeating it.”
“Fair enough,” said Dave, “I don’t know who he—” he froze and then examined the rear of the dog before petting the dog on the head, “She belongs to, but I’ll take her outside. Just. Please some water, won’t you?”
The barwoman first drummed her fingers against her leg then went to the counter and I noticed Dave flinch as she reached under there, but she came back with a bowl and he took it and ushered the dog out; as he exited, he called to me, and I sighed and moved with him.
Remaining in the street was the man that’d been tossed out, face up, half-opened eyes, and flies buzzed about, and I touched him with my foot, but he didn’t move. Blood leaked from his ears. “Dead,” I said.
Dave took the dog from the body around to the side of the building and the feces smell was strong with the hydro towers, but he sat the water down and the dog went at it quickly, without restraint and spilt half before the man went to steady it with his hand; he knelt by the dog and pushed a shoulder against the wall of the brothel.
“There you go,” I told him, “You’ve found someone dumb enough and maybe loyal enough to follow through with your little gunpowder plan. Strap a handful of dynamite to him and watch him go boom in the Boss’s faces.” I genuinely did try it as a joke.
“You can be very mean,” said Dave.
Once the bowl was dry besides dog spit, he returned it to Felina, reentering briefly, and it was just me and the dog and the dog looked up at me and I turned away while its voice whined in the back of its throat and I took a piece of hardtack from my pocket and tossed it on the ground—the dog went after it, assuredly snapping up dirt in the process. Then the creature made a dry and throaty sound from swallowing too quickly, but moments after the thick cracker was gone. It licked my hand gently, and I scratched its chin and Dave returned and upon seeing me with the dog, he gave me a look and then brought himself to the height of the dog in a hunker.
“Hey there,” he said to it, “Someone’s beat you up pretty bad, huh?” It was true; scars stood out in places where the dog had no fur.
In response, the weathered mutt hoisted its forepaws onto his knees and pushed its nose into his.
“Yeah, girl,” he took one of the dog’s ears between his forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently and the animal looked up, sad eyed, “What’s a good name for you?”
“Dog-meat?” I proposed.
Dave shook his head. “What sort of sick joke is that?” but he was smiling, “No. I’ll come up with something to call her. Isn’t that right?” He asked the dog, massaging the face of the animal with his thumbs; the dog stared dumbly at him. “Maybe a Beth or a Patty might suit you. How do you like them?”
The dog licked his face but couldn’t speak.
“Well,” I said, “It’s a shame it got you, you’ll pick a person name for it and that’s strange. Why not call her Mary if you want a person name?”
“Bah,” said Dave, rising to a full stand; momentarily, even with the other folks passing us in the street, he took a moment to see the dead man we’d passed on our way out of Felina’s and for a moment he remained quiet. “I’ll come to you again Harlan. Maybe when I’ve got more of a plan. I only hope you’ll listen to the stuff I’ve said about it. I really do. I really hope you’ll be on the right side of this thing.”
“Sides are overrated.”
Dave put a hand on my shoulder, “Of course,” he nodded, “Whatever you say.”
He left with his new friend—the dog following him traced from left to right close behind Dave and I watched him take off and around the nearest hydro tower and I was alone on the street and evening wouldn’t be far away, so I took to home while staring at my moving feet and speaking to no one. A few people along the way tried nodding at me or saying a small greeting here or there, but I was absorbed in my own head, and nothing took me from it once I got going. Maybe that was one of the reasons I enjoyed the wastes; there were no pretenses out there and with the constant thought of death there was no other thing to think about than each passing moment. I could not shut my thoughts up. I could ramble more about the motivations of a scavver, but I don’t think I should—leave that for someone that cares.
Upon taking the catwalks where I could look out on a swatch of Golgotha with the sun beating down and the constant hum of people going about their business, I was frozen on the railing and wishing I’d taken my own life and wishing that Dave had not found me out there; maybe if I was faster or smarter or better in whatever way that mattered.
I pushed into the door into my small abode and cool blood pushed through my body on seeing the robed girl there on my mattress, holding a shotgun with its barrel angled directly at me; she donned a flowy mess of dresses and kept her head wrapped in garb so that only her eyes shone through, but her arms stuck from the mess of cloth and I could see they were skinny with long scab marks like a blade had drawn across the flesh.
“Harlan?” asked the girl.
“Is that mine?” I nodded at the pump-shotgun in her hands. The slowness of the world was gone, and I could think again; if things were different, I’d have been a dead man, but it was unloaded, and I knew it.
“It was hanging on the wall—I don’t know how to use the thing anyway. I don’t know what I was doing with it,” she said, “You just scared me, and I didn’t know who you might’ve been.”
“This is my place.”
She laid the shotgun on the bed and unwrapped her face; it was Gemma, “You were with Andrew.”
“I was.”
“You said he was dead.”
I brought in air slowly through my nose. “I did.”
“You lied.”
I nodded, letting the air come out.
“Why?”
“I needed to find you.”
“But you found us both then, I guess.”
“Not on purpose.” A thought occurred to me, “Does you father know where you are right now?”
She shook her head; although rest had done her good, there was still a fair amount of fatigue present on her. “I snuck out.”
“Would’a though you learned your lesson on that front.”
“Is Andrew okay? No one will tell me anything about it.”
“He’s locked up right now, but he is alive. For how long? I don’t know. I figured your pop paid a visit to him already—wouldn’t you know about that?”
She shook her head again. “Woo,” Gemma slumped onto the side of my mattress and gathered the robes around her, “I’m feeling faint.”
I moved to the bed and gathered the shotgun, putting it back on the hooks in the wall. “You shouldn’t break into people’s homes.”
Cupping her brow in a hand so that I could only see her mouth and the bottom of her nose, she said, “I just needed to know he was alive. These past days I’ve been so worried about him. I knew you told me he was dead, but I knew you were a liar too. So, I had bad thoughts about what might’ve happened to him out there. If what happened to me was anything to go off.” Her voice broke for a moment and then she pulled her hand from her face and blinked a few sudden times. “I just.”
“I get it. You love the boy.”
She nodded without looking at me.
“So, beg your dad to let him go.”
“Everyone’s so mad at him. It’s funny that everyone’s so mad at him, but it was my idea, and they all treat me like a darling little flower. Like I couldn’t have been the one with the idea of running away. I had more reason to run than he ever did.”
“You should leave.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t you see that’s what I’ve been saying? Judge all you like. Call me rich all you like, but I can tell you this: I don’t feel like it.” Gemma grabbed the edge of the bed as her head wavered on her shoulders. “Dizzy spells are awful.” She shook her head. “Like no sickness ever.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Help me.”
“I’ve already tried convincing them not to kill him.” Taking a pause, I thought to add, “And I personally saw to his injuries. Please go and leave me be.”
“Oh, but you’ve asked for it,” she said, “You put yourself in the business of it.”
“Look. All’s I wanted was to save you if I could and get the water running again. That’s it. Now go.” I put my arm up to wave her out the door and she stood to make her way there, catching herself on the frame, then out on the catwalk railing before turning and looking at me over her shoulder.
“Bastard.” she said.
“Yes.” The door shut between us, and I took myself to sitting on the bed’s edge and reminiscing over how Dave reminded me so much of Jackson. Jackson was a real tough one; whatever happened he always kept a cool head (so I reckon him and Dave would be different in that way) and the idea of being a hero was so big for him. It’s a curious thought: whether Dave would have such ideas if hadn’t been for the tragic loss of his family.
The shotgun sat on there on the wall, and I took it and looked over it, putting the stock in my left hand then my right and laid it across my legs; the woven strap on it had gone thin so that the place I’d once worn it over my shoulder was mostly threadbare. I moved to the cabinet by the sink where I kept a few essentials and in the very back there was an old box of shells—it was a surprise they still seemed good, but with old ammo you never could tell, and the shells were just as likely to fire true as they might be to never send pellets from the barrel. I took a knife and began whittling into a shell I’d plucked from the box. Pellets spilled between my feet as I sat on the bed and they rolled across the floor and then I found the gunpowder and rose again, sprinkling it onto the cabinet top into a neat pile. Dave said he had a fella’ he knew that worked in the underground—the sort of person that could get him all the gunpowder he needed. Was he familiar with its destructive force; had he ever fired a gun? He promised me no one innocent would die and I knew that was a lie and there’s surely a piece of him that knew it was a lie just as well.
It was just then as I took a forefinger and thumb and pinched up a bit from the gunpowder splat that I remembered a thing that Jackson told me all the time when he thought none of the others were listening. The gunpowder rained from my fingertips as I rubbed them together and I sniffed the place where they’d become sooty, taking in a smell I’d not smelled in a long time. Jackson would say, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure that he don’t become a monster.” It wouldn’t be for a long time—after I’d visited the libraries in Alexandria or Babylon (take your preference)—till I realized it was a quote that Jackson stole from some guy named Neet-chee. It seemed like a good thing to adhere to, and it was certainly something I wasn’t good at keeping with and if I couldn’t then there was little certainty that Dave would keep to it either. Maybe I had become a monster; morally dubious anyway.
Jackson was a hero, and he was dead as was Sibylle as was Billy as was John and all of them. We’d tried heroing and it got all of us dead. Almost all of us.
I hung the shotgun on the wall and left it there and swept the gunpowder into the floor with a flat palm where the pellets were and chucked the box of old shells into the cabinet again.
Ringing of bells came from the hall of the Bosses and it was time for a display. Denizens gathered in the front square by the gates and awaited while they trotted out Andrew; perhaps the words I’d passed to Boss Harold rang hollow after all. The Bosses were there just as always, drinking their wine on the platform, and Maron was out front with his wall men in the semicircle of gathered Golgotha residents. Of the population, only a hundred or two gathered for this poor boy’s execution. The guards had, at some point after my departure, removed the bandage on his empty wrist and he looked more sickly in the face than before and his cheeks were swollen and he wept, seemingly not from the terror of it but from the skin around his eyes having been so damaged; tears came through swelled eyelids and a wall man kept him by the elbow and Maron marched to the boy and lifted the boy’s face with his hand to look into it and maybe he whispered something to him.
I weaved through the crowd, moving to the steps that led to the stage where the Bosses stood with their foods and wines and their plenty and upon approach, I was stopped by a wall men, but upon catching Boss Harold’s eye, he told the guard to let me through and I took the stairs and from the platform, I could see over the crowd—Dave was far in the rear of those gathered, totally disconnected from the others for he hunkered by a set of crates, patting the head of the dog we’d found just earlier in the day. For a moment, I wished I was there with him and not on the stage at all.
“Dear boy!” Boss Harold shouted at me over the excited jeers of the others, “It’s so good to see you again. You are quite the hero, and it’s always good to be in the company of those.”
I nodded at him and within a flash, he’d slammed his cup of wine into my hand, telling me to drink, and only moments passed before his own cup was replaced by a nearby servant. “We spoke about this?” I tried.
His face was red, and I could just make out the miniscule veins vibrant along the corners of his nose; the man was far gone drunk. “That boy’s been a thorn in my side for too long, so I know you understand it when I say that he needs punishment. I took all that you said into account,” his words slurred, and the sweet sick came off him in a breath of hot air when he pulled me in, resting his ear on my shoulder. “Nobody dies today, but ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’,” the Boss paused. “You’re not a father yourself, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah! Then you might not be familiar with that proverb required in bringing a child up in this world.” Boss Harold laughed. “I’d never take my sweet Gemma out in the square like this, but God there’s been times I’ve wanted it. ‘Spare the rod’.” He repeated. “But we’ve something a fair bit more interesting than a rod for that boy.” Boss Harold swayed on his feet and took the fist containing his cup of wine, pointing with his index finger at the open place by the wall where Maron and Andrew and the wall men were. “Speaking of!” Boss Harold was giddy, and he took a magnificent gulp from his cup, throwing his head far back. “You’re a learned man, yes?”
“What?”
“You know how to read? Maron said something about your reading. That’s a rare quality! I’d love to talk about books with you sometime. I’ve my own personal collection.”
The wall men stripped Andrew of his clothes then threw them to the ground and a gasp escaped the audience and the boy shouted and Maron moved to a nearby bucket and reached into the mouth of the container, coming back to a full stand; a whip was coiled around his arm. The Bosses didn’t even look on. The punishment was for the benefit of Boss Harold, and not even he looked on. He jabbered on about how he’d like to speak with me over an old philosophy called Objectivism then he went on about how he’d learned long ago the greatest achievement of man was his own happiness and I listened to the drunk man and when the whip broke skin the first time, I’m sure Andrew felt every bit.
Blood exploded in violent dew off his back and the crack of the whip struck the boy till he couldn’t stand and then several times more. Splatter reached onlookers each time Maron lifted the whip over his head, and it was only once the boy stopped moving that the Boss Sheriff swaggered over to inspect him; Andrew had fallen face down and Maron took his boot to the boy’s side so that the boy rolled onto his back and seconds passed without movement and even Boss Harold quit with his talking. The prone body just lay there and for a moment Andrew looked like the body I’d seen earlier out front of Felina’s. Then the boy spasmed and gasped air and Maron shouted about how he was still alive before giving the toe of his boot to Andrew’s ribs.
“What a show,” said the Bosses—what a show indeed.
The crowd dispersed in clumps, taking back to their jobs or leisure and I left the platform only after agreeing that Objectivism sounded good and Boss Harold laughed and stumbled in pivoting to take on in conversation with the other Bosses and I briefly imagined giving him a nudge, so he’d fall off the stage, but refrained from doing so.
When I met the boy lying in the dirt there, there was me and Dave moved in too and Maron had taken to his station where there was a table by sandbags, and he was engrossed in a game of solitaire; it seemed the man was totally unfazed by the justice he’d dealt. There was a time when that body could’ve been a hero and yet there he was, poisoned.
I called out to the Boss Sheriff, “Ain’t you going to put him back to his cell?”
Without even looking over, Maron swept his mustache with his fingers and waved me off, “Harold was real clear on letting the boy out of custody once it was done.” He lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head while looking at the cards on the table then he laughed. “He’s a free man. I’ve heard that was your meddlin’ that did it.”
I moved to the boy and snatched up the clothes they ripped from him and Dave, not saying a word with his new mutt by his side, helped me to return some dignity to the boy.
We took him to my small apartment and washed him and tended over him while he lay in my bed.
Gemma came soon after Andrew had been draped in a sheet—she was there in disguise as she’d been earlier and upon me opening the doorway, she began to ask me if the boy was with me. I merely stepped aside, and she rushed to Andrew’s side; if he was aware of her presence, there was no way to tell.
“They killed him.” She’d taken to her knees to be nearer his level. “Oh. Oh, he’s dead.” She touched him and he shivered at the touch. Gemma removed the wrappings of cloth around her head and looked at her sweetie closer and she put a hand to her mouth. “They took his hand!”
“No,” said Dave, “He’s going to live.” The man looked to me and I shrugged. “Yeah,” his voice didn’t sound sure, “He’ll live.”
I moved to the catwalk and Dave came with me, the dog following behind him—the timid mutt looked over the edge of the catwalk to the city below then stepped away and returned to my room. When Dave took up beside me, leaning over the railing, and the sun hit his face just so, he looked exactly like Jackson and maybe that was why when he raised eyebrows then cut his eyes at me with a question—the question was everything and I finally nodded.
Previous
RoyalRoad
Neovel

So aside from clouds, V Rising has no weather. I think some weather effects would be great, like rain allowing you to move about in the day, fog reducing vision for all mobs and players (PVP), weird weather for the more xotic zones like the Cursed forest and Gloomhaven.
Any other ideas?

The other day I went on a 7 mile 2,400 elevation gain hike the other day and I was sweating 5 minutes into the hike(70 degrees and in the shade, beautiful weather. I was sweating for a decent chunk of the hike and I took my shirt off to cool off and I notice that my skin felt very cold, yet I still felt hot.
I have this in cold weather too where i get home and have skin so cold Its numb but I don't feel cold. I notice this more in high fat areas like my belly than elsewhere. Have any of you had this?
By the way I am 28m 5'9 205. Idk my body fat percentage but my belly is 44.5 inches around and I have 24.5 inch thighs so probably not great.
Down from 230 so that is a plus.

I’m currently away so I won’t be training for a few weeks, but once I’m home I think it’s going to be 30-35 C (86-95 F) as that’s typical weather in the summer for us. What is a decent amount of exercise for a horse? Is there anything I can do to make the work easier on my horse? Any tips for this weather? We have access to an outdoor arena and trails that fortunately are all covered by trees.

Is this an example of delayed gratification? We have been having warmer-than-usual weather all week, with it being over 90 on Thursday and Friday. Saturday was in the low 60's so it felt cold by comparison. I wore shorts even though I was a little chilly when I went out to walk my dogs because I have been sweating all week. I figured I would only be chilly at first (small annoyance), but then I would warm up during the walk (a desirable outcome), but probably not sweat (big annoyance, an undesirable outcome.) I was right. So is this an example of delayed gratification?

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In this informative article, we will explore the reasons behind the immense popularity of Ghana Passion Twists and how ExpressBeautyOnline has played a vital role in making this trend accessible to all.

Versatility and Style:

One of the primary reasons Ghana Passion Twists have taken the haircare world by storm is their incredible versatility and undeniable style. Whether you prefer a classic and elegant look or a bold and edgy statement, Ghana Passion Twists can be tailored to suit your personal style and preference. From long and flowing twists to chic updos and creative braided styles, the options are virtually limitless. ExpressBeautyOnline showcases a plethora of Ghana Passion Twist hairstyles, providing inspiration and step-by-step tutorials to help individuals achieve the desired look with ease.

Protective Benefits:

In addition to their aesthetic appeal, Ghana Passion Twists offer excellent protective benefits for natural hair. These twists act as a barrier between your delicate strands and external factors such as harsh weather, friction, and excessive manipulation. By keeping your hair tucked away and minimizing exposure to damaging elements, Ghana Passion Twists help prevent breakage, retain moisture, and promote healthy hair growth. ExpressBeautyOnline emphasizes the importance of protective styling and educates users on how to properly care for their Ghana Passion Twists to maintain the health and integrity of their natural hair.

Low Maintenance:

Busy individuals and those looking for a low-maintenance hairstyle have gravitated towards Ghana Passion Twists. Once installed, these twists require minimal daily upkeep, allowing for effortless styling and reduced styling time. ExpressBeautyOnline provides tips and tricks for maintaining Ghana Passion Twists, such as protecting the twists while sleeping, moisturizing the scalp, and addressing any potential frizz. By following these guidelines, individuals can enjoy their Ghana Passion Twists for an extended period without compromising the health of their hair.

Empowerment and Accessibility:

ExpressBeautyOnline has played a pivotal role in making Ghana Passion Twists accessible to individuals of all skill levels. The platform provides step-by-step tutorials, product recommendations, and a supportive community that fosters learning and creativity. ExpressBeautyOnline empowers individuals to take control of their hair journey, encouraging experimentation and self-expression. By democratizing the hairstyling process, ExpressBeautyOnline has allowed individuals to achieve salon-quality results without the need for professional assistance.

Fashion-forward and Trendsetting:

Ghana Passion Twists have garnered attention not only within the natural hair community but also in the fashion and beauty industries as a whole. Celebrities, influencers, and fashion-forward individuals have embraced this trend, showcasing stunning Ghana Passion Twist hairstyles on red carpets, social media platforms, and runways. ExpressBeautyOnline keeps pace with the latest trends and offers a curated collection of Ghana Passion Twist hairstyles, ensuring users stay ahead of the fashion curve and have access to the most stylish and sought-after looks.

Conclusion

ExpressBeautyOnline has established itself as a trailblazer in the beauty and haircare industry, and the popularity of Ghana Passion Twists is a testament to its impact. The versatility, protective benefits, low maintenance, and trendsetting appeal of Ghana Passion Twists have made them the hottest hair trend of the year. With ExpressBeautyOnline's guidance and resources, individuals can confidently embrace this trend, experiment with various styles, and make a statement with their Ghana Passion Twists.

I bought the latest one through a parallel importer because the camera hardware is spectacular. It takes great photos, but the geotagging on the photos is consistently off by a few kms every time. Do any other users have this issue? I had an option to log into Google Services from unboxing, and downloaded Maps from Google Play. When I start Maps, it starts in the further away location, then catches up to where I am, and my weather app is spot on location wise. It's just the camera app that's not checking location properly. Cheers.

Any reason I’m unable to get this dragon?? Been breeding for it in the coop breeding cave using Sun and Polarion for about a week now and I feel like I’ve gotten just about everything except those two dragons. Is there some sort of restriction on them like time or weather or am I just unlucky?