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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

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Sun Myung Moon’s fish business had plans to corner the shark fin trade

▲ Sharks that died after their fins were cut off.

Moonies Fishing Shows Little or No Profit—So Where Do They Get Their Money?

by Tim Sullivan (National Fisherman, September 1981 or a few years later)

Are the “Moonies” trying to take over the United States fishing industry, and are they succeeding? After following the activities of Sun Myung Moon and his Unification Church and related businesses for the past five years, these are two of the questions I am most frequently asked. My answers, most simply, are yes and no.

The Plans Going back to the beginning of Moon’s involvement with the industry in 1976, the record is quite clear: the Korean industrialist/evangelist would like very much to exploit the profit potentials of the fisheries. Outwardly, this intent came in an announcement from Stephen Baker, an advertising agent who had just completed a job of promoting Moon’s God Bless America Festival in Washington, D.C. In September 1976, Baker told The New York Times that Moon had purchased a fleet of seven trawlers and a fleet of trucks and “is going to make fish a staple” in the country. Baker said that with his advertising help, “We’ll make fish another Perdue chicken.” Later, he described this announcement as “premature,” which was partially accurate. There were, in fact, no trawlers and no fleet of trucks. Moon’s yacht New Hope and speedboat Flying Phoenix were making some waves in the New England rod-and-reel tuna fishery, and there was one truck to carry the fish around, but the major efforts were only in the planning stage.

Robert Brandyberry, a former Unification Church member, testified at a recent trial that he had attended a high-level church meeting in September 1976 at which Moon made fishing a major topic of discussion. Notes taken during the session indicated plans for marine enterprises centered in key areas of the country: Boston, New York, New Orleans and Florida, Los Angeles and Seattle. “We need to have all connected businesses within our organization,” Brandyberry wrote. “No competition because we use our own members.With worldwide network we can control business. All young men must go all over the world fishing.”

An internal church document, written on October 30, 1976, and obtained soon after, cited projected sales of $600,000 for the following year and profits of $86,000 but warned of problems involving the use of aliens and the poor corporate image of Tong II, the original Moon-related fish business. The document, signed by A. Richard Arnold, “director of marketing services,” stated: “We are building no foundation for the huge harvest of fish that Father (Moon) is planning to help restore the world.” “We must ‘crack’ the wholesale markets or fail in our mission. Every day we waste with no results is failing our fundraisers in the streets. Tong II’s business reputation is very bad. A new corporation can start a clean operation and quickly achieve bank credits that would be impossible as a division of Tong II.”

The Threat Reports of these pronouncements and plans were widely circulated in the industry and prompted a fear among many that the church, using the free labor of its members, its tax-exempt status, etc., could indeed “crack” the markets as Arnold had suggested and “control business” as Moon demanded. And Moon and his affiliates certainly had the resources with which to try. Only three days after the Arnold report was drafted, a new corporation—International Oceanic Enterprise, Inc.—was formed in Virginia. The company, doing business as International Seafood, began operating out of a plant on the Norfolk waterfront, and the church money began to flow.

Records of the Unification Church International show disbursements of $250,000 to International Seafood on November 7, 1976; $250,000 to International Oceanic on November 13; $150,000 on April 12, 1977; and $250,003 on July 5—a total of $2,400,003 during a 15-month period ending in February 1978. The latter-day expenditures during that time undoubtedly helped to fund both a new venture in boatbuilding and the acquisition of more than 700 acres of waterfront property in Bayou La Batre, Alabama, in early 1978. This purchase by International Oceanic also signaled the formation of a few more corporations: U.S. Marine to handle shipbuilding; Master Marine, also involved in boatbuilding; and One-Up, a hold company. Total expenditures: approximately $5 million. Other acquisitions related to fishing included a small lobster company in Gloucester, Massachusetts, purchased for $300,000, which was $100,000 over its market value.

The church also purchased an old milk factory in San Leandro, California, for an unknown quantity of money, named it Golden Gate Seafoods and began describing it as the secondary processing arm of a budding operation in Alaska. The Alaska operation, a small yet highly efficient processing facility, cost more than $7 million, according to former International Seafood employees who have since disassociated themselves from the operation. The church has dabbled in other fisheries, too, working the waters off Florida with a small fleet of boats pursuing kingfish for sale in a small store in Miami. They’ve acquired another shipyard in Mississippi. Most recently, they descended on Gloucester, Massachusetts, with a fleet of thirty 25’ boats built by Master Marine for use in the bluefin tuna fishery. This brings to over 60 the number of vessels now licensed in this one fishery and more are on the way. Those seven trawlers that ad man Baker spoke about back in 1976 finally do exist, along with several other large vessels around the country.

There is another international trading company known as Uniworld, and a trading company in Japan— Shiawasa Shoji. UCI has done other business in fish under a variety of little-known names like Fast Brothers, Father’s Fish Co., Happiness Seafoods and the Ginseng Co. The total capital outlay just for the most visible holdings exceeds $15 million, making the affiliated companies one of the largest seafood catching, processing and marketing networks in the country.

Former church members have verified private businessmen’s fears that the workers in many of the operations, being church members, either go unpaid or return their money to the church as a donation after the formal exercise of paying the help is completed.

That many of the various companies received start-up and operating monies from the tax-free holdings of the Unification Church International is fact, well documented in church records.

With extensive holdings on every coast and involvement in many of the major fisheries—from shrimp, scallops and Atlantic bluefin to Alaska bottomfish—it seems obvious that the inroads and power Moon sought have been achieved. No other operation in the country has shown such phenomenal growth in such a short time. By all appearances it is successful, but the appearances belie the reality.

Losses The Norfolk operation was a dismal failure, a drain on the corporate coffers rather than a source of income. Its various leaders suffered from a lack of experience in the industry. Products were packed in an inappropriate manner, there were some troubles with short weights, and big plans fell through on a number of attempts to corner the market on a variety of exotic seafood ranging from shrimp and squid to sharkfins (see National Fisherman December 1980, page 34).

▲ Shark fins

▲ Commercial shark fin categories: primary and secondary sets

Numerous efforts were made to attract business by paying the boats more than the prevailing rates and selling to wholesalers at lower-than-competitive prices, but this tactic gained few inroads.

In 1978, company officials admitted candidly that International was losing money, probably at a rate in excess of $250,000 per year. In 1979, International’s competitors estimated even greater losses, and in May 1979, the operation ceased, to the surprise of few. What was surprising was that only six months after the closure, International returned to spend $1.6 million to purchase the plant and surrounding waterfront property it had previously rented.

Shipbuilding In Bayou La Batre, Alabama, and Moss Point, Mississippi, the shipbuilding operations continue at the same slow pace the rest of the shipbuilding industry has experienced for the past two years. Master Marine’s production in 1979 was around a dozen vessels, and a comparable production from the combined facilities in Alabama and Mississippi was reported last year. “They’re getting by,” says a rival builder in Bayou La Batre, “but they’re not making any killing; no one is right now.”

The scene is markedly different than it was in 1978, when International, Master Marine, et al swooped down on the town to buy up the shipbuilding facilities and the 700 acres of waterfront property while announcing plans for expanding the shipbuilding operations and establishing fish plants and a marine academy. The shipbuilding has stagnated, and the 700 acres lay idle. There are no plants, no academy, and Moon’s affiliates are known not for their fishing involvement but for a youth center they opened for the community’s teenagers.

Costly Delays The operation in Kodiak, Alaska, too, is less extensive than expected. The fish plant is now in operation and handling a variety of locally-caught seafood, but the fleet of company-owned, company-built boats to supply the plant hasn’t materialized. There are many vessels, sporting names like Sunrise and Green Hope, the products of labor at the Master Marine yards, but repeated advertisements throughout the industry have failed to attract enough experienced skippers to handle the vessels in the often-treacherous waters of the Gulf of Alaska and the Bering Sea.

The plant, which has been operated by many of the same people who operated the Norfolk operations, also took three years to complete—double the original predictions—and costs rose accordingly, from an original estimate of $3 million to now over $7 million. “Perhaps it will yield profits some day, but there are some great costs to overcome,” says Mulk Prudent, an old hand in fish dealing who was hired to salvage the Norfolk operation and then worked selling product from the Alaska plant out of his office in Seattle.

In San Leandro, Golden Gate Seafoods also appears to have suffered because of the construction delays in Alaska, designated, as it was, to be the final processing arm of the Kodiak plant. The operation appears to be making some money handling the catches from vessels in the Oakland area, and costs have certainly been cut since the days of the late 1970s when Golden Gate, with no plant of its own, bought fish from the local boats, trucked it whole across the country to Norfolk for processing and then trucked it back to the West Coast for shipment to Japan. Golden Gate is also involved in a lawsuit in which a Moon-affiliated operation in Gloucester, Massachusetts, charges it did not pay for a shipment of squid that was packed and shipped last summer. “From the investigation we’ve done, we’d have to say they are no big money-maker,” says Anthony Bertolino, Gloucester attorney. He is trying to recover money allegedly lost by Capt. Joe and Sons, the Gloucester fish processor that actually packed the squid that is the focus of Moon affiliate A’s lawsuit against Moon affiliate B.

And, certainly, if there are profits, they are so modest that they could hardly be a source of funds with which to prop up the other operations. The most publicized and apparently successful operation is in Gloucester. There, International Seafood has a lobster company, while Uniworld trades in tuna, and the church itself has a fleet of 50 tuna boats, with Master Marine holding another 10. Cries that the “Moonies” are taking over the industry can be heard everywhere.

But, again, the appearances overshadow the reality. The profits, if there are any, are certainly not great and, most assuredly, aren’t the source of money for propping up Norfolk, Kodiak or the lesser holdings elsewhere. And none of Moon’s non-fishing operations in the country are known to be large enough to support the fishing enterprises, either.

Who Has the Money? The church itself could be the source, according to many. But Mose Durst, the president of the church, maintains that the reverse is true. Since the “Moonies” have downplayed begging and their flower and candle sales as a source of income, the businesses support the church, he says.

This seems doubtful, but anything is possible in the financial maze of the Unification Church, Unification Church International, International Oceanic, International Seafoods, One-Up, U.S. Marine Corporation, Master Marine, Fathers Fish, Fast Bros., [Ocean Enterprises of Alaska, Inc., International Seafoods of Alaska, Inc., Ocean Peace, Inc., Top Ocean, Inc.] etc., etc.

Where the money comes from remains a mystery.

____________________________________

A huge Moon Church scam in Japan is revealed

Moon extracted $500 million from Japanese female members

Moon church of Japan used members for profit, not religious purposes

Shark finning: The cruelest cuts

Moon owned Sushi Company, True World Foods, Linked to Whaling

The Dark Side of True World Foods

Sushi and Rev. Moon – Chicago Tribune

FDA cites Elk Grove True World Foods seafood plant for unsanitary conditions

Jack White and his crew of five in the ‘Green Hope’ drowned off Alaska

John Williams died in a tragic Ocean Church accident in 2003

Japanese Unification Church member froze to death

SEASPIRACY website

SEASPIRACY trailer (Netscape) Seaspiracy examines the global fishing industry, challenging notions of sustainable fishing and showing how human actions cause widespread environmental destruction.

#sharkfin soup #Sun Myung Moon #Ocean Church

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lightchildofthespring · 3 years

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The fantastic adventures of Takeru Takaishi

Chapter 4: Old friend

Summary: with no news from his henchmen, who had gone up the hill after the revolutionaries, the lord of Turtle Island has a conversation with the monk. The mysterious cleric sounds like a young man, but doesn’t act like one. The Goddess, the Devil, the Angel of Death, the Light stealer... the mystery behind Koushiro’s curse begins to be unveiled by his oldest friend.

Shigeo Yamanaka was very surprised by the visit of a member of the Order of the Nameless Monks that morning. They were the highest order in the hierarchy of the Church, having only the High Priestess above them, and they were said to be the most skilled warriors in the world. The one who entered his house unceremoniously had the voice of a young man, but something in his way of talking denounced more age and experience than that person should have.

The monk told him that the Goddess herself had given him the mission of helping Yamanaka destroy the revolutionaries on that island. Yamanaka wasn't sure he could trust that man, but to oppose a nameless monk could bring grave repercussions, such as losing his title of Lord of Turtle Island. Besides, sending his armed henchmen up the hill to hunt down the rebels would probably not cause too many losses, considering that the revolutionaries usually ran from battles they couldn't win. What caused him apprehension, though, was to be left alone in the mansion with that cleric who, not satisfied in sending away his henchmen, also ordered Yamanaka's employees to leave the place for the rest of the day.

Hours passed and the night fell. The smoke that had been seen on the hill earlier had already dissipated. Yet, there was no sign of anyone returning from that place. His men largely outnumbered the rebels, there should be no possibility that they could have lost. The noble kept telling himself that, attempting to remain calm. His men couldn't have been defeated! It was impossible!

But what if it wasn't? It became too hard to divert his mind from that possibility. He sent everybody there! Everybody! If the revolutionaries, by some miracle, killed them all, Yamanaka would be left without enforcers! Who would collect the taxes? Who would punish the insolent and ungrateful peasants? What about the servants? Who would keep them under control?

Then, a different and more visceral fear emerged. In the off chance that he lost all his henchmen, who would keep the Lord of Turtle Island safe? Those ignorant peasants would invade his property and steal his valuable possessions! Those brutes would threaten his life in exchange for richness they didn't deserve! The Yamanaka house had served the Empire for almost one thousand years, which was the same as serving the Goddess! How could he accept that the blessings received by his family, a true reward for their hard work and loyalty, could be tainted by simple-minded commoners who didn't know their place?

Yamanaka took a deep breath. There was nothing good at letting his imagination get wild. That cleric, a true messenger of the Goddess, had assured him that things would work out fine. Weren't the nameless monks known for being undefeatable? The noble had nothing to fear when a carrier of divine grace had vowed to protect him. Nevertheless, he was still standing in front of the large window of his living room, trying to spot anything suspicious in the dark. Without Yamanaka noticing it, the monk took the liberty to take two glasses of wine from a cabinet. He approached Yamanaka and offered him one of the glasses while taking a sip from the other.

“I thought monks weren't allowed to drink alcohol,” Yamanaka commented, astonished at the audacity of that man, who was treating himself to such expensive wine.

Shouldn't monks be frugal? Shouldn't they avoid earthly pleasures? That man was certainly a disgrace to the Church! Yamanaka wished he could see the other's face, which remained mostly covered by the cloak's hood, so that he could give the description to one of his friends in the court, who would certainly alert the High Priestess about the inadequacy of having such a disrespectful man as part of the Church's highest order!

The monk smirked, confusing Yamanaka. He couldn't imagine how anything he had said could have been perceived as funny.

“You seem like someone very knowledgeable on the matters of religion” the cleric told him. “How about I put that to a test? It'd help to pass the time, don't you agree?”

Yamanaka's annoyance dissolved as terror took over his being. He had heard stories about the ways the nameless monks tested people's faith through the centuries. In all those stories, he didn't remember about someone who had passed the test. The punishment for failing, as everybody knew, was excommunication. Was that monk really such a petty person, did that man have such a low soul, that he would get revenge over an innocent remark about wine? Especially when that cleric was the one in fault while Shigeo Yamanaka had never done anything wrong in his entire existence?

“Let's see...” the monk said. The amusement in his voice was undeniable, “what can you tell me about Justine the Great?”

Yamanaka relaxed. That should be the easiest question in the world. Maybe that cleric really just wanted to pass the time. Why did his imagination have to be that much of a burden?

“The first Empress was the mightiest warrior to ever live. She never lost a battle and conquered the entire Old Continent by the time she was 34 years old,” Yamanaka spoke with absolute confidence. “When she died, right after giving birth to her son Marius, it is said that pure white light rose from her body, marking her ascension to the Heavens. That consolidated the already popular belief that Justine was never an ordinary human, but a goddess incarnated. The only Goddess to ever bless our world!”

The monk laughed. Yamanaka was perplexed at the reaction. In the good old days, that lack of respect for the Goddess would demand death by fire!

“Such passion! Such faith! You remind me of myself when I was younger,” the monk told him.

“I am older than you!” Yamanaka stated. “In my very long life, I had never met anyone nearly as blasphemous as you, monk!”

“Is that so? How lucky must you be...” the cleric's voice suddenly became cold and low. Nervous, Yamanaka drank some of the wine that he had been offered.

“I had a blasphemous friend, once...” the monk said, gazing out of the window. “My sister and I rescued him from the sea, I remember he was too terrified to speak. We arranged a place for him at the Izumi farm, which was close to ours. Mr. and Mrs. Izumi were old and needed help... he said that he wanted to help people... back then, I believed in everything he said...”

“Why are you telling me about a random friend of yours?” Yamanaka inquired.

“Oh, my apologies...” the monk had irony in his voice, “is there something else you wish to discuss?”

“As a matter of fact, there is!” Yamanaka stated. “For instance, why hasn't any of my henchmen returned yet? How long could it take for them to hunt those damn rebels? You told me it would be an easy victory!”

“Your henchmen saw the Devil and ran away,” the monk informed. “They won't come to this place, but the revolutionaries will.”

“What did you just say?” Yamanaka believed that the other man had a strange sense of humor.

“You remind me of the Lord of Turtle Island we had when I was growing up, Shigeo...”

“Don't call me by my first name, young man!” Yamanaka scolded the other. “Does your insolence know no limits! This is definitely not the behavior I expect from a holy man!”

“When the plague came, that man didn't care about the people who were dying,” the monk continued his story, ignoring the other. “He hid behind the walls of his castle, praying that he could be spared...” his tone became increasingly darker, which sent chills down Yamanaka's spine, “I've always wondered what would have happened if at least he had tried to help... my parents... my sister... maybe they could've been saved. But that lord was a selfish pig who only had contempt for the people who served him. Just like you...”

“Now, that's enough!” Yamanaka roared. “I don't care about your rank! I'll denounce you to the Emperor himself! And the Emperor shall have the High Priestess excommunicate you! I'm from an important noble family and won't tolerate anyone disrespect-”

The monk took out a sword that had been concealed under his cloak and pointed it to the noble's direction. Yamanaka fell on his back. He hadn't let go of the glass of wine he had been holding, which had broken and was now cutting the palm of his hand.

Was he going to die? He had never seriously considered that anyone would have the nerve to spill the blood of a noble man like him. That was inconceivable! To kill a noble was to insult the Emperor! It was an insult to the Goddess herself! As a cleric, that man should know that better than anyone! Or did he think that, for being a nameless monk, he was entitled to disrupt the natural order of the world?

The monk approached him and put the tip of the sword on the old man's neck, who was shaking from the top of his head to his toes. He wanted to protest against the ignominy of it all. But, disgracefully, his self-preservation instinct seemed to have proven itself as stronger than his honor. Therefore, he begged:

“P-Please, don't k-kill me... I-I didn't mean to offend you in a-any way... I'll give you a-anything you w-want... I'll do a-anything...”

“Do you know what would be fun? What about we continue with our little test?” the assailant proposed in low voice. “Tell me about the Devil, Shigeo.”

Yamanaka knew that his life depended on him answering that right. Unfortunately, that knowledge only made him more anxious. All the things that he had learned about the subject were escaping his mind in great speed. Desperate, he tried to answer before he forgot what the question even was.

“T-The stealer of L-Light...” Yamanaka stuttered, “h-he t-tried to s-steal a s-soul from H-Heaven and g-got p-p-punished... c-cursed w-with i-infinite d-deaths...”

“That's the basic version of the story,” the monk commented. “The soul he tried to steal belonged to the kindest and sweetest person who had ever lived. When she was taken by the plague, I thought my life was over... but my friend...” he trembled, “he promised that he would help her... the next thing I knew, Justine herself was in front of me, and she told me...” a single tear was visible rolling down his cheek, “... she told me that my friend's sins had been so grave that it wasn't enough to just curse him. My sister, the one he had tried to rescue, was sent to the deepest dungeon in Hell. And the Goddess gave me the mission of purging Koushiro's soul until it's completely purified... I was to kill my best friend again and again, until his soul was saved... only then, she would release her... to save my sister, I have become the Angel of Death.”

At that point, Yamanaka was completely convinced that the cleric was out of his mind and lost hope that he could be able to reason with him.

“I believe the revolutionaries have arrived,” the monk announced, turning to the door of the living room. A muscular blond man and a woman with orange hair kicked the door open and entered the room, accompanied by five other people. They all were pointing their guns at Yamanaka, who was still on the floor, lying on his back. The blond man shot the monk twice. The bullets, however, stopped in midair. They turned incandescent and melted, never reaching their target.

“He really is invulnerable... just like Koushiro said...” the redhead woman murmured.

“I-Impossible!” another woman, with purple hair, exclaimed. She had a disturbed look on her face.

“What a lovely group you are,” the monk commented, bemused. “I don't feel like killing you tonight. It would be better to get out of my way.”

“You promised you would protect me!” Yamanaka shouted, desperate. “I did everything you told me to do, monk! You can't just leave me with those bandits!”

“Are you really that dense, Shigeo?” the monk asked, annoyed. “Were you paying attention to anything I said? I never intended to protect you! I simply used you to lure my friend to this place!”

The glass window behind the cleric and the noble was broken as six bullets, in sequence, were shot from the outside. The bullets were stopped by an invisible field surrounding the monk and, in a matter of seconds, they melted.

Astonished, Yamanaka watched as that strange man turned to the broken window, beaming. The monk took his hood off, allowing the wind to mess his large brown hair.

At the garden, outside the window, a man drenched in blood stood, still holding the shotgun.

“How many times did you die on your way here, Koushiro?” the monk inquired, jumping to the garden. “Honestly, you embarrass me at times. What was the big idea, anyway? You know you can't hurt me. Not physically, at least.”

“I was simply trying to get your attention,” Koushiro informed. “Sometimes, you can be so easily distracted...”

“You should know by now that nothing can distract me from you,” the other said, pointing his blade at Koushiro's direction. “Shall we dance, old friend?”

Koushiro looked at him with sadness and replied:

“What other choice do I have, Taichi?”

#the fantastic adventures of takeru takaishi #digimon #digimon adventure #au fic #koushiro izumi #I hope you guys like friends to enemies trope #izumi koushiro #yagami taichi #taichi yagami #sadly Takeru doesn't appear in this chapter #sort of #taishiro

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 5 years

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Touchy

Commission prompt: Jackothy (though if you want to add Rhys I won’t complain 👀): After having his face scarred, Jack realizes the only way he can see and feel his own face again is if he goes to see Tim. The other doppelgängers use tech which isn’t the same, who knows what they look like underneath? And Tim is... oddly ok with that (not at first tho; Jack was annoying. Still is but it’s oddly charming now) He spent his whole life being overlooked, and Jack focused solely on him is intense... basically Timtam gets a little too heated when Jack looks at and touches his face. Tim thirsts.

This is the first part of the commission :D Subsequent parts on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

Handsome Jack was many things.

A hero, in short, opener of vaults and defeater of monsters, and CEO of the most powerful company in the galaxy.

And the price of that power had been his face.

Sure, Jack tried to buy into his own propaganda as much as he expected his employees to, but he couldn’t really lie to himself, even if he desperately wanted to. The ironic fact that he’d fashioned himself a mask of his own face wasn’t lost on him, but denial was a powerful thing.

He was scarred, disfigured with an injury which refused any kind of correction be it medical, scientific, or bordering on alien technology. The mask had been the logical next-step to try to regain some semblance of what he’d lost, and for a time, the power and re-branding that came with seizing an empire for his own was a good distraction.

He’d tried. Oh how he’d tried.

Every day that he looked in the mirror, mask or no, it bothered him just a little bit more until he couldn’t just ignore it. The mask began to overwrite his memories of his true features, making him panic in need of removal, only to have his ruined, panicked face stare back at him from the bathroom mirror.

The mask functioned as his face, but it just wasn’t. And without it, he still didn’t look like himself; not as he truly remembered. The damage his face had sustained did more than just wound his vanity. The deep fissure of old scar tissue bothered him sometimes if he stubbornly left the mask on for too long, and without that technologically-superior second-skin, he was almost totally blind in his left eye. Forgetting his face made him fear he was forgetting himself, and Handsome Jack the CEO of Hyperion wasn’t afraid of anything.

The logical next-step to quell the fear of ignominy was quite clear.

“Rhysie?” Jack spoke up, startling his personal assistant from whatever he’d been doing at his desk as he looked at the younger man. “Call up Timothy for me, would ya kitten? It’s about time for a quality-check. Make sure he’s still on-brand. And by on-brand, I mean me. Heh, get it? Because he’s me; Mr. Hyperion.”

Rhys gave Jack a depreciating moue. “If you’re going to say something about him being on you, or you being on me, or vice-versa, don’t bother. You’ve made that joke before,” Rhys snarked back, the snort Jack gave making the PA grin despite himself. “Get some new material, first.”

“Look at you, thinkin’ you’ve got me figured out,” Jack teased. “What color underwear am I wearing today, cupcake?”

“I’m surprised you even know about underwear, Jack.”

Two for two. It made the CEO genuinely grin.

Rhys was a good little assistant. Even if his creepy fanboy-gazes had eventually stopped after a few months of working for him, he still blushed when Jack brazenly flirted with him, though the older man never took it too far. Rhys was efficient, and despite Jack’s teasing, he did know the older man better than any past secretary or other idiot that couldn’t carry out Jack’s iron will the way he wanted.

Jack had gone through… a lot of personal assistants. The ones that had nervous breakdowns were one thing. The incompetant ones he certainly didn’t miss, but a couple had at least been amusing until Jack had had to airlock them.

And then came Rhys. The younger man wasn’t just good at his job, but he was one of a very few people to act normal around the older man despite his obvious hero-worship; to tease him back and roll his eyes at Jack’s too-sweet coffee-orders, and laugh at his dirty jokes, or come right back with ones to challenge them.

Jack knew it said a lot about him that he enjoyed an (ex)-creepy fanboy as the one to handle the personal details of his day, but he also felt just a little bolstered by the fact that Rhys still flushed pink sometimes over some of his more creative innuendos, despite the back-talk and rolled eyes. It reminded him that even after years of wearing the mask-- of no one seeing his true face- that he could still make a pretty, leggy PA blush. Despite the fact his face wasn’t exactly a face.

He was insecure. He was vain.

He knew he was vain, but the choice to rebrand himself after the branding-incident was wrought from insecurity above anything else, and he lied to himself about that as well. He changed his name to reflect what he wanted to believe: Handsome Jack. That he came into this world good-looking-- and so help him god- he wouldn’t let current-circumstances let anyone forget that fact.

Reminding himself, however, was where Tim came in.

“Tim is still on Elpis finishing that… thing,” Rhys informed with a slight, distasteful raise of his pouty lips. “When did you want me to set it up?”

“That thing,” Jack began, ignoring Rhys’ question to grin a little, “is going to make me even more stinkin’ rich than I already am, kiddo.” Rhys gave him a further-displeased look. “Oh come on, you liked the idea of eternal youth.”

“Spreading some Shuggurath-derived wrinkle cream on your face isn’t the same thing as eternal youth, Jack.”

The CEO didn’t miss a beat, and didn’t allow himself to dwell on the subtext Rhys didn’t even know he was on to. “It won’t just be the face, kitten. My scientists are gonna make it work on everything.” The regenerative-properties the creatures had were promising, according to the eggheads in R&D. Jack shot him a smirk. “Balls, too.”

“Gross.”

“What, you some too-good-for-nice-smooth-balls type?” Jack gave an exaggerated look over his desk. “You?”

Rhys put his face in his flesh hand. “I’m more disturbed by the fact you’ve got Tim out there milking them, Jack.”

“I was just being nice saying that.” Jack’s grin grew. “He’s not milking them for the compound so much as--”

“Aaaaand file that under things I definitely do not need to know about before lunch,” Rhys quickly interrupted, ignoring the older man’s grin and murmuring about ‘protein’ strands and regenerative ‘slimes’. “When do you want me to have him come up once it’s done?”

Jack knew exactly when he wanted Tim here: after-hours in private once Rhys had already left for the day.

He needed this. He needed it badly and couldn’t hold off any longer.

It had been over a month since Jack’s last ‘quality check’, and while Tim submitted to them without issue, too many not-between-missions-checks might raise the double’s suspicions as to what Jack was really doing. Looking at photos of the double were one thing (and good to help him hold out against the fear of losing himself in his mind’s eye), but it wasn’t the same as touching the planes of your ‘own’ face.

Good thing Tim was on a relatively-safe job collecting samples from the otherwise-dangerous creatures; Jack would be able to look and feel to his heart’s content under the guise of genuine quality-control when he knew there wasn’t a threat at all.

“That job’s almost finished though, right?” Jack asked conversationally. “Day after tomorrow? Did Timtams send you an update?”

Rhys’ lips pulled thin. “Yes. And he sent pictures, too.” Pictures Rhys honestly didn’t need to see, though Tim’s comments on each one were funny at least. The one the annoyed-double had sent of himself covered in… Well, Rhys wasn’t sure Shugguraths had entrails, but the caption of ‘Hyperion Beauty Cream coming to a store near you!’ made the image amusing at least.

It was still a gross assignment though.

Jack grinned at Rhys’ sour look. “Heh, neat. Send those to my comm, wouldja sugarplum?”

“If you have nightmares, it’s not my fault,” Rhys warned as he did as Jack asked. “There. Sent. Ew.”

“You could always send me some nicer pictures to give me sweet dreams, Rhysie,” Jack purred, teasing a bit even as his heart rate spiked at his PA’s words. Rhys just rolled his eyes with a little blush and a muttered “buy me dinner first” which made Jack relax a bit through a smirk.

There was no way Rhys could know what was going on in Jack’s head-- his words were coincidence was all, and Jack knew he was getting paranoid again- but the promise of his double’s return from Elpis was a relief that kept his worries carefully contained.

No one knew what was going on in his head. No one knew that Handsome Jack-- most powerful man in the whole goddamn galaxy who put the word ‘handsome’ into his own name- suffered from poor self-image. And no one would, as far as Jack could help it.

Hell, no one would believe that at any rate, either, which Jack was immensely grateful to his PR team about.

He was just tired. Stressed. Seeing Tim would help matters. Feeling him would help a lot more.

The taunting nightmares were keeping him from restful sleep; looking into a dream-mirror to pull off his mask only for nothing to be beneath it but a horrifying blankness, and in the dream (and sometimes still once awake) Jack really couldn’t recall what his face had once looked like. Putting his actual hands on his double would soothe his psyche a great deal, the tactile-sensation further embedding the shape and feel and perfection of Tim’s own face back into Jack’s subconscious.

Rhys set up the meeting, and now all Jack had to do was wait.

It hadn’t been easy to not watch the clock, or to keep his foot from tapping anxiously under his desk days later, but once Rhys had packed up-- asking multiple times if Jack would like him to stay- the CEO was pacing the space behind his big desk waiting for Tim’s return.

Elpis loomed outside the large window, it’s pink glimmer lending an ethereal-quality to Jack’s office as Rhys got the main-lights as he’d left. Only the light on Jack’s desk remained on, the rest of the office bathed in Elpis’ glow. To think he’d once wanted to crack the proto-planet like egg, only for it to be key to his recovery.

The Shuggurath research was extremely promising. That the creatures could generate other creatures-- not that Rathyds were particularly useful themselves; moon-Rakks, Jack called them- lead down some very interesting paths.

Rathyds shared a few qualities with the Shuggaraths that spawned them, but genetically they were different creatures. Shuggaraths bred just like anything else to create more Shuggaraths, but the fact they were capable of creating a second, unique animal held implications which got Jack very excited indeed.

The skin that was scarred by Eridian-technology refused any attempts to change it, while minor nicks and cuts that Jack got while shaving around the thing healed back up just fine. By his own observations (and tests several techs did before he airlocked them for what they saw) his normal skin was fine and unaffected by the depth of the brand, while the scar itself was… different.

Genetically different, but still a part of him.

Jack believed that the weird moon-dwelling animals were key to healing his face. Whatever protein or enzyme or slimey bits that they contained might be able to rewrite the damaged cells and reverse the scarring, or at the very least, minimize it to not need the mask anymore. The ugly, bulbous creatures created much more elegantly-designed animals somehow, and if that was possible, then maybe it could be applied to himself as well.

He could be normal again. Be handsome again, without the necessary moniker.

Until that happened though, Jack had Tim to get by, and he was antsy as ever to see the younger man.

“Did you forget to pay the power bill?”

Jack spun around on his heel, a grin on his face even though he’d been taken by surprise from hopeful, antsy thoughts. “Timmy! There’s my favorite double! Flip ‘em back on, wouldja kiddo?”

Tim rolled his eyes, but he had a smile on his face as he did just that, and crossed the office towards Jack’s desk. His mission had gone well, and he’d brought back more than enough samples to last quite some time. The confidence he felt over it was all over his face; especially from the lack of injury he’d come back with this time. “I think you’re gonna be impressed.”

“That so?” Jack said with a raise of his brow, impatience over wanting to get his hands on the other man’s face kept carefully tramped down. “How’s that gorgeous face, kiddo?”

“I’m more worried about my jacket,” Tim responded with a sour look. There had been… a lot of slime. “Did Rhys show you the pictures?”

“Not the ones I wanted to see,” Jack said with an implicit smirk, forcing himself to walk slowly towards the double as Tim climbed the steps to the dais Jack’s desk was on. His eagerness wasn’t something he wanted to showcase.

“Of Rhys, or of me?” Tim joked right back, grinning at Jack’s surprised bark of laughter.

“Cute, Timtam. Real cute.” Tim smirked unapologetically, and Jack knew well the mischievous look on the double’s face. So Tim was in a playful mood, then. The mission must’ve gone very well indeed. That was beyond excellent. “You feel free to send me whatever pics you feel like, handsome. I’m a big fan of close-ups.” The smile on Jack’s face was genuine, even if he was dying to get his hands on the body double. “Remind me to give you a raise, too.”

“Add that to the extra vacation days you also said you’d give me.”

Jack grinned as they stood before one-another. Tim was giving him a doubtful, accusing tilt of the head, and Jack’s fingers itched so badly to rove over Tim’s face that he didn’t even bother teasing the younger man. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He raised his hands to Tim’s face, the double patiently waiting for Jack to remove the mask himself. It was something the older man insisted upon-- part of the nightmare he badly needed to address- to remove the mask and find no damage beneath. “Echo Rhysie about it. Now let’s see that gorgeous face.”

Jack tried to keep his fingers steady as he reached for the double’s face, and Tim waited far more eagerly than he wanted to appear.

Tim didn’t necessarily care for these ‘brand-checks’ at first. Jack already demanded most of his time, and what little free time he did have, he didn’t want to waste on his boss making sure he still “looked right”.

Pfft, as if Tim wasn’t a professional.

Tim wasn’t exactly vain himself, but he did take pride in his acting skills, and no one was a better Jack than him. That was just a fact. Because there were no other Jacks like him. None who’d undergone extensive plastic surgery, modulator-implants, and actually fought side-by-side with the CEO before he was the CEO. Tim might not have been much pre-surgery, but Jack had seen his potential, and Tim had risen to all expectations. And he was proud of that.

None of the other doubles knew Jack the way Tim did, either, not to mention actually looked like him. The others used tech which was fully reversible. What he did was an art, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter.

So needing to be checked if he was ‘on-brand’ was insulting to his professionalism at first, and annoying at best, even if it was always the same. Jack’s scrutiny had made him uncomfortable, as if Tim could lose everything he’d managed to gain after being overlooked for so long in his life. And Tim hadn’t liked it.

He liked it now.

Jack had nice hands. He’d know. It wasn’t an awful thing to be so casually handled by him, and regardless of how long he’d known Jack now, the intense focus of such a powerful man always got his heart beating just a bit faster.

Jack’s hands were expert in the removal of Tim’s own mask, the CEO undoing the clasps before setting the material down on his desk. His attention came back to Tim, and at that moment the double watched him carefully for the change that would occur in the older man during the reveal.

Jack was… different during these checks, but not necessarily in a bad way.

He always took a moment after the mask was fully removed-- eyes darting about Tim’s face as if to check that everything was still there- before a sort of almost relief settled into the older man’s eyes. And then came Tim’s favorite part: the quirk of Jack’s lips as the man cupped both his cheeks in his large, warm hands, and firmly brushed his thumbs over Tim’s cheeks.

Tim used to blush heavily when Jack had first started demanding these checks. The intensity of the CEO’s focus had made poor Tim go entirely red in the face, and he had trouble meeting Jack’s eyes the first few times. Jack’s hands were always surprisingly gentle if not firm on him, the inspection a lot more like a full face massage than anything else. The touches and traces of fingers and thumbs over the bridge of his nose, under his left eye, the bottom of his cheeks, all made Tim want.

They hadn’t at first, though. Tim was observant, and the simple fact alone that Jack wanted to inspect under the mask-- where no one else ever saw anyways so what would it matter if he had some blemish or something?- made him think.

Tim wondered sometimes if Jack ever forgot that he knew what the CEO really looked like under the mask, or if he thought Tim might be repelled by it, and thus hid what Tim suspected were the true reasons for checking. The double had his own suspicions on what Jack was really doing.

He’d been there when Jack had been branded. It made an impression on him for multiple reasons: the way Jack handled the pain; the visceral reaction to seeing-- essentially- himself be branded, skin ruined and blistered. The way Jack was still somehow strong after the fact and overcame it all. Yeah, Tim had changed his entire being into someone else, but it had been more or less voluntary, and wholly expected. What Jack went through…

Well.

Tim had been there for it and he still couldn’t imagine going through that himself. Not without totally breaking. Him and Jack maybe butted heads sometimes but he admired the hell out of the older man, and even a bit more than that.

It was part of the reason he submitted to these examinations. There was something pitiful and desperate and utterly human in the way Jack’s thumbs sometimes slid up his cheekbones, palms sliding down to turn his chin this way and that between his big hands. Jack might’ve poked fun about telling him not to break Jack’s investment in ‘his’ face, but there was something a little too real behind his concern. It made Tim ache for the Jack he knew right before the man was betrayed. He knew what the scarring looked like, but such superficial things, ironically, didn’t matter to the double.

Tim tilted his head as Jack’s thumb slid down the side of his neck, hoping the older man wouldn’t register the hard thump of his heart, and then Jack breathed out in clear relief before letting Tim go. He tried to hide his disappointment that it was over already.

Tim’s voice wasn’t as confident as he would’ve preferred, but he kept the excited tremor from it, at least. “Everything still in one piece?” he joked as Jack looked at him a few moments more.

The CEO raised a brow, cocky-smile back in place. “Why, got something more interesting to show me, Timtam?” He waggled his brows in what was clear tease as Tim rolled his eyes.

“I only got a little electrocuted, and nowhere interesting,” the double replied.

Jack didn’t miss the slight pinkness to Tim’s actual cheeks (the sight was going to be in his dreams tonight for its rareness, that much he was certain) but the older man didn’t comment on it. “Interesting for you, or interesting for me?” He gave the double a wink.

Tim felt his heart thump hard in his chest, deciding to play a little with the older man in lieu of getting to truly indulge; Jack flirted with everyone. It didn’t mean it was real, or that he meant it. Tim still liked it, though. “I’m not stripping to let you find out. It’s cold in here.”

Jack snorted and retrieved the mask from his desk. “You can always send me pictures. Don’t forget about that!” Jack handed the mask back to Tim. He never liked putting the mask back on the double himself, and Tim never questioned it. It was something he preferred to watch Tim do; something his subconscious would have to reconcile as an active choice to cover his unharmed face.

“There would have to be pictures for me to even send,” Tim muttered as he put things back in place.

“I like your thinking, pumpkin! Let me know if you need any inspiration.”

Tim snorted but left on his way as Jack shooed him out.

The CEO collapsed into his chair once the office was again left in Elpis’ pink glow. He felt more relaxed than he had all month, and with the relief of Tim’s visit finally washed over him, he knew he was going to get a very good night’s sleep indeed.

He wasn’t even mad that he didn’t have any dirty dreams that night, instead happy to sleep like the dead.

He’d need to take advantage of all the rest he could get now, before the shame of his true face caught back up to him again.

Chapter 2 will be found at my ao3 :)

kofi | ao3 | commission ‘info’

#jackothy #rhackothy #handsome jack #timothy lawrence #borderlands fanfic #rhys the company man #rhack #rhys #fanfic #my fic #i keep getting carried away im having a super fun time and like i know the first part is a lot of exposition but bare with me! :D #WOOOOO :D hehehe my ot3 <3 <3 <3 THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT

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fahadsahib786 · 4 years

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Rich Dad Poor Dad Summary

lick the below link to buy this book

Rich Dad Poor Dad Book

“There is a difference between being poor and being broke. Broke is temporary. Poor is eternal.”

“Money comes and goes, but if you have the education about how money works, you gain power over it and can begin building wealth.”

“People’s lives are forever controlled by two emotions: fear and greed.”

“So many people say, ‘Oh, I’m not interested in money.’ Yet they’ll work at a job for eight hours a day.”

“Thinking that a job makes you secure is lying to yourself.”

“Intelligence solves problems and produces money.”

“You must know the difference between an asset and a liability, and buy assets.”

An asset puts money in your pocket. A liability takes money out of your pocket.

“Illiteracy, both in words and numbers, is the foundation of financial struggle.”

“Money often makes obvious our tragic human flaws, putting a spotlight on what we don’t know.”

“Cash flow tells the story of how a person handles money.”

“Most people don’t understand why they struggle financially because they don’t understand cash flow.”

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“The number-one expense for most people is taxes.”

Higher incomes cause higher taxes. This is known as “bracket creep.”

“More money seldom solves someone’s money problems.”

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“A person can be highly educated, professionally successful, and financially illiterate.”

“Many financial problems are caused by trying to keep up with the Joneses.”

Once you understand the difference between assets and liabilities, concentrate your efforts on buying income-generating assets.

“The problem with simply working harder is that each of these three levels takes a greater share of your increased efforts. You need to learn how to have your increased efforts benefit you and your family directly.”

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“The rich buy assets. The poor only have expenses. The middle class buy liabilities they think are assets.”

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“The rich focus on their asset columns while everyone else focuses on their income statements.”

“Financial struggle is often directly the result of people working all their lives for someone else.”

“The mistake in becoming what you study is that too many people forget to mind their own business. They spend their lives minding someone else’s business and making that person rich.”

“To become financially secure, a person needs to mind their own business.”

“Financial struggle is often the result of people working all their lives for someone else.”

“The primary reason the majority of the poor and middle class are fiscally conservative—which means, ‘I can’t afford to take risks’—is that they have no financial foundation.”

“One of the main reasons net worth is not accurate is simply because, the moment you begin selling your assets, you are taxed for any gains.”

“A new car loses nearly 25 percent of the price you pay for it the moment you drive it off the lot.”

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Kiyosaki says he owns business that do not require his presence. “If I have to work there, it’s not a business. It becomes my job.”

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According to Kiyosaki, real assets fall into the following categories:

Stocks

Bonds

Income-generating real estate

Notes (IOUs)

Royalties from intellectual property such as music, scripts, and patents

Anything else that has value, produces income or appreciates, and has a ready market

“For people who hate real estate, they shouldn’t buy it.”

Kiyosaki generally holds real estate for less than seven years.

Start minding your own business. Keep your daytime job, but start buying real assets, not liabilities.

When Kiyosaki says mind your own business, he means building and keeping your asset column strong. Once a dollar goes into it, never let it come out.

“The best thing about money is that it works 24 hours a day and can work for generations.”

“An important distinction is that rich people buy luxuries last, while the poor and middle class tend to buy luxuries first.”

“A true luxury is a reward for investing in and developing a real asset.”

Kiyosaki’s rich dad did not see Robin Hood as a hero. He called Robin Hood a crook.

“If you work for money, you give the power to your employer. If money works for you, you keep the power and control it.”

“Each dollar in my asset column was a great employee, working hard to make more employees and buy the boss a new Porsche.”

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Kiyosaki reminds people that financial IQ is made up of knowledge from four broad areas of expertise:

Accounting

Investing

Understanding markets

The law

“A corporation earns, spends everything it can, and is taxed on anything that is left. It’s one of the biggest legal tax loopholes that the rich use.”

“Garret Sutton’s books on corporations provide wonderful insight into the power of personal corporations.”

“Often in the real world, it’s not the smart who get ahead, but the bold.”

Kiyosaki sees one thing in common in all of us, himself included. We all have tremendous potential, and we all are blessed with gifts. Yet the one thing that holds all of us back is some degree of self-doubt.

In Kiyosaki’s personal experience, your financial genius requires both technical knowledges as well as courage.

Kiyosaki always encourages adult students to look at games as reflecting back to them what they know and what they need to learn.

“Games reflect behavior. They are instant feedback systems.”

“Financial intelligence is simply having more options.”

“The single most powerful asset we all have is our mind. If it is trained well, it can create enormous wealth.”

“The world is always handing you opportunities of a lifetime, every day of your life, but all too often we fail to see them.”

Richard uses two main vehicles to achieve financial growth: real estate and small-cap stocks.

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“Simple math and common sense are all you need to do well financially.”

“The problem with ‘secure’ investments is that they are often sanitized, that is, made so safe that the gains are less.”

“It is not gambling if you know what you’re doing. It is gambling if you’re just throwing money into a deal and praying.”

“Most people never get wealthy simply because they are not trained financially to recognize opportunities right in front of them.”

“Great opportunities are not seen with your eyes. They are seen with your mind.”

“You want to know a little about a lot” was rich dad’s suggestion.

“Job is an acronym for ‘Just Over Broke.’”

“Look down the road at what skills they want to acquire before choosing a specific profession and before getting trapped in the Rat Race.”

“Education is more valuable than money, in the long run.”

“The reason so many talented people are poor is because they focus on building a better hamburger and know little to nothing about business systems.”

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The main management skills needed for success are:

Management of cash flow

Management of systems

Management of people

“The most important specialized skills are sales and marketing.”

“To be truly rich, we need to be able to give as well as to receive.”

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There are five main reasons why financially literate people may still not develop abundant asset columns that could produce a large cash flow. The five reasons are:

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Cynicism

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Bad habits

Arrogance

“For most people, the reason they don’t win financially is because the pain of losing money is far greater than the joy of being rich.”

“Failure inspires winners. Failure defeats losers.”

“Real estate is a powerful investment tool for anyone seeking financial independence or freedom.”

“A great property manager is key to success in real estate.”

The most common form of laziness is staying busy.

“Rich dad believed that the words ‘I can’t afford it’ shut down your brain. ‘How can I afford it?’ opens up possibilities, excitement, and dreams.”

“Whenever you find yourself avoiding something you know you should be doing, then the only thing to ask yourself is, ‘What’s in it for me?’ Be a little greedy. It’s the best cure for laziness.”

Richard has found that many people use arrogance to try to hide their own ignorance.

“There is gold everywhere. Most people are not trained to see it.”

“To find million-dollar ‘deals of a lifetime’ requires us to call on our financial genius.”

A reason or a purpose is a combination of ‘wants’ and ‘don’t wants.’”

“Most people simply buy investments rather than first investing in learning about investing.”

Richard believes one of the hardest things about wealth-building is to be true to yourself and to be willing to not go along with the crowd.

“The rich know that savings are only used to create more money, not to pay bills.”

“The sophisticated investor’s first question is: ‘How fast do I get my money back?’”

If Richard could leave one single idea with you, it is that idea. Whenever you feel short or in need of something, give what you want first and it will come back in buckets.

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In the world of accounting, there are three different types of income:

Ordinary earned

Portfolio

Passive

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#richdadpoordad

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fandomn00blr · 4 years

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Fly Away, Chapter 14 Excerpt

[Long post alert! Under a cut. Also, CW for a flashback to when Fenris and his mother and sister were being sold to Danarius’ slave handler. Ugly things being said and done by ugly people.]

[Just posted this with the rest of the chapter on AO3...post-DA2, they’ve just fought off some raiders, one of Danarius’ former slavers among them, at Brandel’s Reach. Oh, and Fenris and Hawke share dreams because...umm...magic?]

...

The man’s tongue darted in and out of his mouth, across his lips, like a snake, as he eyed them huddled together in the cell. The dark-haired elven boy, his sister, small and trembling and clinging to him, and the elven woman, presumably their mother, standing defensively in front of them both. All three of them had had their hair cropped short by some kind of butcher with a dull blade.

“My boss isn’t interested in an entire family,” he sneered, turning back to the slave dealer who’d brought him in to investigate his stock. “Got his own breeding program going and he’s very selective, as you know. But if the boy is as strong as you say he is, perhaps he’ll be willing to buy all three of them off of you. For a discount, of course.”

“It’s already a good price for three! And the girl has rare features for a knife-ear from this part of the world. Do you see her red hair? She’ll be of breeding age in a few years…”

“And of unknown pedigree. Danarius likes to know what he’s getting.”

“Fine. I’ll knock off 10%. Since the man is a member of the Magisterium.”

“20%.”

“15. And that’s my final offer. Anything less and I’ll be losing on this sale. The boy did a lot of damage in transport after one of my idiot brutes tried to have his way with his mother. Very protective of her and the little one when provoked.”

“Sounds like you have a personnel problem. Why would my boss need to pay for your lack of control over your own employees?”

“Fine. 20%,” the other man grumbled. “Don’t know why I let you push me around me like this. Used to be the other way around when we were boys.”

“Because business is terrible for you lately and your employees apparently can't keep themselves from manhandling your product?”

“Not my fault certain bleeding heart members of our society are beginning to take issue with slavery.”

“No? Seems like if you at least made a show of treating them a bit better, like my boss does, people might be a little less inclined to support abolition.”

“You’d have to start paying full price if I’m to start treating these knife-ears like beloved household pets the way Danarius does.”

“Just the pretty ones.” His tongue darted out across a hideous smile and back into his mouth.

The slave dealer rolled his eyes and shoved a set of keys into the other man’s hands. “Take them and go. Don’t try to separate them until you’re off of my property, though. They’ve cost me enough already!”

...

Fenris’ eyes flashed open, his lyrium fully ablaze. His heart was racing, and every muscle in his body was tense and felt ready to explode. He needed to flee. To run away. To fight if he had to. An all-too-familiar feeling. But something he hadn’t experienced like this for some time. Not since that last time Hawke and he had both been dreaming about Anders, anyway.

He realized something was keeping him shackled to the spot where he was lying. Warm. Heavy. Wrapped tightly around his arm. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see what kind of magic held him here, reliving these awful memories now, after searching for years in vain for answers about his past.

But the shackles moved, and they made a kind of whimpering noise as he shirked away from them, and they had a face, he realized, as he finally allowed himself a glance, lit up in bluish white by his glowing markings.

And a name.

“Marian,” he whispered, the sound of it washing over him like a calming incantation as he realized where and who he was outside of the Fade. He suddenly felt much less inclined to flee, allowing what remained of her touch to wash over him as well. She was safe and she was something solid anchoring him here, in this reality. He reached down to grasp her hand. She was something he could actually hold onto.

“We need to free them…” she muttered.

“Who?”

“The boy, and his sister, and his mother…they can’t be taken to Danarius. He’s a monster!”

Fenris suddenly remembered with great detail what had disturbed his sleep, while she was apparently still half in the Fade reliving his lost memories.

“It has been dealt with,” he said, slowly intertwining his fingers with hers, hoping to wake her more gently than he had awoken, or reassure her enough that she might just fall back into a more peaceful slumber, free from his nightmares.

“But the little boy...he looks just like --”

“Yes.”

Her eyes finally opened, and she was looking right at him. To his relief, he didn’t see pity or fear. Just a dawning realization.

Safe. Solid...

And then, rage.

“I’m so glad you got to kill them...” she snarled through clenched teeth, remembering Hadriana, Danarius, the snakelike slaver he’d slain just a few hours ago, and so many others they’d hunted down together in Kirkwall. She squeezed his hand. Hard...and he watched as her other hand flexed into a fist at her side.

“You helped.” He squeezed her back.

The ferocity in her face vanished almost as quickly as it had revealed itself. “Only a little…”

...

#dragon age #my writing #fly away #cw slavery #fenris #hawke #fenhawke #post-DA2 #Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence #flashback dreams #LF Hawke

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meghanpage · 5 years

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You’ll be my king, and I’ll be your castle

Pairing: Juliantina

Words: 7155

Also on AO3

---

Juliana paced in front of Valentina’s house, wracking her brain for a way to get inside. Talking to the police hadn’t helped, and neither had calling out to the man who had blown by them so easily. She kept her eyes trained on the entrance, waiting for another opportunity to reach Valentina.

As she watched, the massive door opened again and released a flurry of activity. Her heart leapt into her throat as two EMTs wheeled out a stretcher, a figure laying on top. But it wasn’t the girl she was trying so desperately to see – although she couldn’t see his face, the person was definitely a man, with short, sandy hair and a stocky build. Julian sighed in relief as they loaded him into an ambulance, only for her heart to stop dead as she saw what was behind him.

“No. No, no, no, no.” Two police officers exited the house, carrying between them what was unmistakably a black body bag. Juliana felt numb as her very worst fear seemed to be coming true in front of her eyes. “Valentina.”

In her anguish, she almost missed the crackle of the nearby police officer’s radio. “Make way for the body that just went out. It’s of Servando Armenta, the cartel boss.”

The breath left Juliana in a rush, and she covered her face with her hands as her heart kick-started again. The voice over the radio continued, “The Carvajal women are okay. All the injured are cartel members and one employee of the house.”

Breathing heavily, Juliana rubbed a sleeve over her face, wiping away the tears that had sprung in her eyes. Valentina was okay. She placed a hand over her heart, feeling it pound under her fingers as it tried to regain its normal rhythm.

The officer in front of her responded to the radio and gestured for Juliana to move away from the crime scene. She complied, but only moved back far enough to slump against the wall ringing the property. There was no way she was going to step outside into the road and risk being shut out. Not until she had seen Valentina.

Inside the house, Valentina stood staring at the door that Jacobo had been carried through. While she was glad he had conceded to the EMTs’ request to lay on the stretcher, it also made her mind spin with worry. The last time she had seen someone she cared about carried into an ambulance, he had never come back. What if Jacobo…?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hand on her arm. She recoiled from the touch, only to turn and find the familiar face of Johny there.

“Perdón, perdón,” he murmured, taking his hand away. “Are you okay?”

“I- I…” Valentina tried to tell him she was fine - she had managed to calm down from her panic attack, and she wasn’t injured - but she couldn’t get the words out. She felt as tears began to run down her face again, and her body began to shake with sobs.

Immediately Lucía and Chivis rushed to her, guiding her to sit between them on the couch. Chivis tucked Valentina into her side, while Lucía put one hand on Valentina’s shoulder and one on her thigh. Johny crouched in front of them and put his hand over top of Lucía’s, offering his own support.

“What’s it like outside?” Lucía asked him softly.

“The police seem to have everything under control,” he assured her. “I saw them taking all the cartel members away, and they’re taking everyone’s statement who was here.”

He rubbed his thumb soothingly over Lucía’s hand, and she gave him a sad smile. They turned their attention back to Valentina, until Johny spoke up again.

“Although, one odd thing was there was a girl out there. She definitely wasn’t with the police, but she was trying to get in. She tried to say she was Valentina’s friend.”

Valentina looked up at this. “A girl was trying to get in?” She unfolded from Chivis’ arms, grabbing hold of Johny’s shoulder, her eyes wide and desperate. “What did she look like?”

Johny looked between Lucía and Chivis in surprise. “Bueno , she was the same age as you but a little shorter, with dark hair and a red sweater…”

Valentina bolted upright, almost knocking Johny over from where he was kneeling in front of her. “Juliana…” she breathed.

She started towards the door, but Johny leapt up and caught her wrist before she could get far. “Wait, where are you going? You shouldn’t leave the house.”

“But Juliana is out there! I need to see her!” She tugged her arm, trying to free herself from Johny’s hold. “Let me go! Juliana!” When Johny wouldn’t release her, she turned her face towards the door, crying out for the other girl.

Johny looked at the two women on the couch, taken aback at Valentina’s reaction. After a split second’s hesitation, Lucía stood and made for the front entrance, determined to get Valentina what she needed.

From her spot near the wall, Juliana heard a shout from the house that sounded suspiciously like her name. She took a few steps forward, listening closely, and heard another shout - it was her name, and in Valentina’s voice.

“Val?” she called out, coming closer to the house. Then again, louder, as her feet picked up speed: “Valentina?”

A police officer caught her before she could get too far, but she struggled against his hold. She called out again for Valentina just as a woman stepped through the doorway. Juliana recognized her from the covers of gossip magazines as Lucía Borges, Valentina’s step-mother. She came down the front steps, waving away the officer holding Juliana. Juliana shook the officer off, hurrying towards Lucía.

“Eres Juliana , ¿verdad? ”

“Sí, sí, soy Juliana,” she confirmed almost desperately.

As Lucía was about to speak again, there were more raised voices from inside the house, and a figure burst into the foyer.

Without even making the conscious decision to move, Juliana found herself sprinting forward, towards the girl she had been aching to see. Her lungs burned as she gave voice to her desire. “Valentina!!”

Valentina responded in kind, flying through the foyer towards her. “Juliana!!”

They came together hard, the impact spinning them around, but neither cared as they clung to each other for dear life.

“Juliana!” Valentina sobbed, squeezing impossibly tighter as she tucked her head into the crook of Juliana’s neck. “You’re here.”

Juliana wrapped her hands around the back of Valentina’s head, pressing her to her. “I’m here. Oh Val, Val, Val.” She chanted her name like a mantra as her own tears finally fell, uninhibited, into Valentina’s hair.

Briefly she pulled back, her eyes searching as she ran her hands over Valentina’s arms. “¿Estás bien? Did they hurt you?”

Val shook her head quickly, her voiced choked. “No, no.”

Juliana let out a heavy breath and pulled Valentina back in. Overcome, she pressed messy kisses all over Valentina’s face - her forehead, her chin, her cheeks - before finally bringing their lips together. The kiss was sloppy, too frantic and full of emotion to be soft or sweet. But when they finally slowed to a stop, their foreheads resting together, they each felt a modicum of relief settle within them.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught their attention, and they both became aware of the world around them again. They were standing just outside the front door, with Lucía a few feet away, watching them with soft eyes.

“Perhaps we should go inside?” she suggested with a small smile.

“Right, claro,” Juliana agreed, blushing slightly at the thought of causing a scene in front of a stranger.

She turned towards the door, her arms still around Valentina, entirely unwilling to let go. As they took a step forward, Valentina staggered, her knees turned to jelly at the relief of having Juliana in her arms. Juliana caught her with soothing hands and supported her back through the door.

Standing just inside the foyer were Johny and Chivis, who had begun to chase Valentina after she broke away. Johny looked rather awkward after witnessing the girls’ reunion, but he rallied himself quickly, guiding everyone back into the main living space. Juliana and Valentina settled on the cushioned bench in front of the fire feature, while everyone else moved towards the table, thinking it best to give the two girls some space.

Juliana took a moment to just look at Valentina, stroking her hair and tucking it behind her ears. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but she didn’t look physically injured. Still, Juliana couldn’t keep herself from checking.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt? When I called I could see someone was threatening you. I rushed to your house…”

“You were here when those cartel men were here?” Valentina looked stricken as fresh, panicked tears sprung in her eyes. “You could have been hurt! You could have been shot!”

“No, no, I’m fine, I swear,” Juliana rushed to reassure her. “Shh, tranquila. No me duele. The police protected me.”

Valentina folded herself into Juliana, clinging to her waist as she cried. She tucked her head close to Juliana’s chest, her ear against her heart, reassuring herself with its steady beat.

Stroking Valentina’s hair, Juliana let herself find solace in the simple, repetitive action. Valentina was warm and soft against her, her breath bathing Juliana’s neck. It was almost a miracle to be here, to have Valentina alive and in her arms.

“Val,” she murmured, cupping her cheek. “Mírame, por favor.”

Valentina nuzzled closer for a moment, pressing her nose to the join of Juliana’s shoulder, before lifting her head to meet Juliana’s gaze.

“I wanted to apologize, for what I said earlier. For fighting with you.” Juliana sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers twining themselves through Valentina’s hair. “When I think how that could have been the last conversation I had with you…”

Valentina squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. ��Don’t even say that.”

Juliana twisted her lips, trying to keep her tears at bay. She rubbed her thumb over the corner of Valentina’s eye, prompting her to look at her again

“I don’t want to lose you, Val,” she said, her throat tight. “It was stupid of me to say those things, especially when you were the one already dealing with so much. I don’t want to be apart from you. Perdóname, perdóname.. .”

Valentina looked at her with such tenderness that Juliana felt breathless. “Sí, claro que sí, Juls. I’ll always forgive you. I don’t want to lose you either.”

Even as a tear broke through her defenses and trailed down her cheek, Juliana couldn’t help but let out a wet laugh. Valentina echoed the sound as she took Juliana’s hands in hers, using them to pull her closer. They traded short, sweet kisses, then wrapped their arms around each other, both craving the simple comfort of being held.

At that moment there was the hurried clicking of high heels on the hardwood floor, and Eva appeared in the foyer. “Where’s my baby sis-” She broke off when her eyes found Valentina, and saw in whose arms she was sitting.

“What is she doing here?” Her voice rang out accusingly through the room. Juliana and Valentina sprang apart, startled. Eva’s tear-stained face was now pinched in anger. “I told the staff this girl was not allowed on our property!”

The others looked up in confusion, before following Eva’s recriminating finger to Juliana. She had instinctively put her body in front of Valentina, and was looking back at Eva with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. Valentina sat behind her, wide-eyed, clutching onto Juliana’s shirt as her breath came in short gasps.

Lucía stepped towards Eva, subtly interjecting herself between her and the girls. “Who, Valentina’s friend? She was here when the police took the narcos away, she came to check on Vale.”

Eva turned her ire towards Lucía. “No sabes nada. She isn’t here to check on Vale, she’s here to take advantage of the situation, when Valentina’s vulnerable…” she accused, her voice rising with every word.

“Basta.” Juliana spoke up from where she was sitting. Squaring her shoulders, she looked Eva in the eye. “I know you think I’m just trying to seduce your sister, and that you won’t really believe anything I say, but I swear I really care about her. All I wanted was to see that she was okay. But if me being here is going to cause trouble, I’ll leave.”

Juliana had barely finished her sentence before Valentina was clutching onto her desperately. “No, no, you can’t leave! Te necesito. Don’t go!”

Juliana turned to her, running soothing hands up and down her arms. “Tranquila, Val, tranquila. It would only be for a little while. This is a time for family, you should be with your hermana.”

But the thought of being separated from Juliana, even for a little while, only filled Valentina with dread. She felt like suddenly she couldn’t get enough oxygen, like she was gasping for air. Her grip on Juliana turned white-knuckled as the room began to spin around her.

Juliana held Valentina’s shoulders as she panted for breath. Her face had lost all color, and she twisted handfuls of Juliana’s sweater in her fists, as if she was afraid she would be ripped away at any moment.

“Val?” Valentina’s wide eyes slid over Juliana’s, unable to focus on her gaze. “Val, ¿qué pasa? ”

Valentina shook her head. “No, no, I… don’t…” she stuttered.

Desperately, Juliana looked over to Lucía. “¿Qué le pasa a ella? ”

Lucía rushed over. “She’s having another panic attack.” She knelt down in front of Valentina and squeezed her knees. “Valentina, can you focus on me? I need you to breathe, querida.”

Valentina simply shook her head again, her gaze darting this way and that. Tears were spilling freely down her cheeks, and she had begun to tremble.

Terrified, Juliana acted on instinct. She pulled Valentina close, pressing them together, trapping Valentina’s grasping fists between them. “Val, baby, breath with me.” She took one exaggerated breath, then another, hoping her movements would broadcast to Valentina’s body. “In, and out. That’s it. Despacio. In, and out.”

Gradually, Valentina’s breathing began to even out, and the racing of her heart slowed. She slumped against Juliana, boneless, and buried her face in her neck.

Lucía stood on shaky legs and turned to Eva as she walked back towards Johny. “I think that after that, even you can see that Juliana is good for Valentina right now.

Johny helped Lucía take a seat at the table on the other side of the room. As she put her head in her hands, he sat next to her, leaning close and murmuring in her ear.

Eva simply stood for a moment, speechless, before crossing to sit on the couch. She watched as her sister curled into Juliana, who petted her hair and whispered reassurances into her ear.

After a moment, Valentina felt well enough to sit up slightly. She pressed a whisper of a kiss against Juliana’s lips, before letting her forehead rest against Juliana’s.

“Lo siento te asusté,” Juliana whispered. “I won’t go unless you want me to.”

“What if I never want you to go?”

Juliana felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes at the sentiment. Trying to brush it off with humor, she asked. “Are you sure you won’t get tired of me?”

“No, nunca,” Valentina muttered fiercely. All Juliana could do was hug her closer, hiding a watery smile in her hair.

After a moment of quiet, Eva stood and slowly approached the two girls. She nodded towards the space beside Valentina, asking permission to sit. Juliana glanced at her warily, then looked to Valentina. Valentina gave her a small nod, so she looked away, but kept a careful hold of Valentina’s hand. Only then did Valentina stretch out her free hand to Eva.

Eva settled on the cushion next to her, cautiously placing a hand on Valentina’s shoulder. She glanced past her to Juliana, who was studiously looking in the other direction, but quickly refocused her attention on Valentina. She wanted to talk to Valentina about her unhealthy feelings towards the other girl, but Lucía, damn her, was right. Trying to separate them right now would only cause Valentina more panic. Instead, she did her best to ignore the presence on the other side of her sister and gave Valentina’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Are you okay, hermanita? I was so worried about you, I was terrified you would get hurt.”

Valentina nodded, but sniffled as she began to tear up again. She pressed her ear to her shoulder, giving Eva a beseeching look. “Eva…”

Eva held out her arms, and Valentina fell into them, muffling her tears in Eva’s shoulder. Watching from the corner of her eye, Juliana tried to release Valentina’s hand, to give her freedom to be with her sister, but Valentina only clung on tighter.

Valentina let herself cry for a moment, before pulling back, wiping her face with her free hand. “Estoy bien, Eva. None of the men hurt me. But I was so scared…”

“Even so, mi niña was very brave,” Chivis spoke up as she left the corner where Lucia and Johny were. She came to stand in front of Valentina, putting a hand on her cheek. “Even after Armenta made so many threats against all of us, she pushed his arm aside so Jacobo could get a shot.”

“¿Qué? ” exclaimed Eva. Juliana looked at Valentina in shock as well. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

Valentina concentrated on taking deep breaths. The memories were all still so fresh, threatening to spill over and drown her. “He was going to hurt Jacobo. No sé... He was holding on to me, so I just did it without thinking…”

Juliana clutched her hand in both of hers, trying to take comfort as much as give it. The thought of the cartel boss manhandling Valentina, putting her directly in the line of fire, sent ice through her veins.

Chivis moved her hand over Valentina’s hair, smoothing it away from her face. “She helped save all of our lives,” she said softly.

Valentina looked up at her with tearful eyes, then threw her arms around Chivis’s waist, pressing her face into her stomach.

"Chivis, I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this," she sobbed.

"Mi niña," Chivis crooned, petting Valentina's head. "I'm just so glad nothing happened to you."

She hugged Valentina close to her, then pulled back slightly. "Do you want something to eat? I could make you un bocadillo, to keep your strength up…"

"No, no te preocupes por mi." Valentina shook her head. She pushed her away slightly, realizing she was keeping her from her own family. "You should go to your esposo! Go find Tiberio and rest for a moment, okay?"

Chivis looked reluctant, glancing between Eva and Juliana. But she knew the two women would be able to care for Valentina, so she gave her one last squeeze before letting her go.

"If you need anything, just call for me and I'll come," she told her with a pat to her cheek. Valentina gave her a watery smile and a nod.

Chivis slowly made her way out of the room, looking back several times before closing the front door quietly behind her.

Once she had gone, Eva turned back to Valentina, running her fingers through the length of her hair. “Vale, I can’t believe you would do something so dangerous. I’m just so glad you weren’t hurt. Estaba muy preocupado. I wish I could have done something.”

Valentina looked at her with a bittersweet smile. “There was nothing you could do, Eva.”

Eva looked almost guilty for a split second, before her face cleared and she simply put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Valentina leaned into it, closing her eyes.

Now that Juliana wasn’t so worried about Valentina’s immediate safety, she saw that Valentina’s face was pale and drawn; she looked exhausted. She squeezed her hand to get her attention.

“Vale, will you be okay if I go get you a glass of water?” When Valentina hesitated, she reassured. “I’ll be right back. Lo prometo.”

The promise made Valentina smile slightly, and she nodded her head. Juliana stood reluctantly, even though she had been the one to suggest she go. The prospect of letting go of Valentina made her feel almost bereft. She hadn’t realized just how viscerally comforting holding Valentina had been until she was about to let go. Her fingers lingered on Valentina’s wrist before she finally made herself release her hand and walk towards the kitchen.

Once she rounded the corner, she heard the soft tones of Eva and Valentina’s voices start up. She was glad she had been able to give them their alone time. Even though they had fought, Juliana could only imagine that her big sister would be a solace to Valentina after what she had been through. To give them a little extra time, she poured herself a glass of water, drinking it before refilling the glass and carrying it out to Valentina.

As she reached the end of the hall back to the foyer, she took a moment to look at the scene. Valentina had leaned against Eva, who had put her arm around her shoulders. She had begun to cry again, and Eva was speaking to her in a low, reassuring tone.

“Everything is over, I’m here to take care of you. You’re not alone.”

Juliana made to cross back over to them, wanting to offer her own comfort to Valentina, when two figures rushed past her through the foyer. She was alarmed for a moment, before she heard Valentina cry out to one of them.

“Guille!”

Her brother quickly knelt in front of her, and she threw her hands around his neck. The woman accompanying him knelt next to Guille, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Deciding it was best to not interrupt Valentina’s reunion, Juliana hung back in the hallway.

Guille clutched Valentina to him. He rocked her slightly for a moment, then took her hands in his own. “¿Estas bien? ”

“Yes… I’m okay,” she told him. Tears flooded her eyes again, and her voice grew tight. Sitting between her siblings, she thought about how lucky she was to make it out of the hostage situation alive. “I thought I wouldn’t see you guys again.”

“Don’t say that,” Eva denied immediately, her hand running over Valentina’s hair in comfort.

Guille clutched Valentina’s hands tighter, looking her in the eyes. “The most important thing is that you’re okay.”

Valentina nodded, struggling to calm her breathing. Guille rubbed his thumbs over her fingers, his brow furrowing.

“I wish it had been me instead,” he sighed, “to go through all that.”

Valentina shook her head, not even wanting to think about the possibility. She leaned her forehead against Guille’s temple, reassuring herself with the physical touch. Guille pulled her close into another hug, and she sunk gratefully into his arms.

“Ya pasó,” Eva murmured. “ Ya pasó.”

Juliana felt a warm squeeze in her chest as she watched. This was what family was meant to be: someone to protect you when you were in danger, to hold you when you were upset. It made her so grateful to have Valentina. She thought back to how Valentina had dropped everything to be with her while her mom was in the hospital, how she always tried to cheer her up and have fun and just be together.

Juliana was interrupted from her vigil by a short rap on the door, followed swiftly by a familiar detective.

“Officer Montilla.”

He came up short as he saw her, his eyebrow raised. “Señorita Valdes. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Juliana crossed her arms. “I came to be with Valentina after what she went through today.”

Montilla didn’t say anything, just inclined his head neutrally. “I need to speak with Señora Borges. Do you know where she is?”

“I think she’s still in the main room. Ven.” Juliana walked back through the foyer, letting Montilla follow behind her.

As they entered the space, Montilla immediately spotted Lucía and crossed over to her. She and Johny stood to greet him, and they began talking in low, serious tones.

This left Juliana standing alone, and she hesitated for a moment. Now that Valentina’s siblings were both here, should she leave? Should she follow her own advice from earlier and let Valentina have time with her family?

But the sound of Valentina’s watery voice calling her name interrupted her thoughts. “Juls?”

She turned to find Valentina’s hand outstretched to her, and any hesitation immediately fled from her mind. Stepping over to her, she took Valentina’s hand and settled close to her side.

“I finally have that water for you,” she said a little shyly, cognizant of Valentina’s family watching her.

“Gracias.” Valentina took it from her, a smile turning the corner of her lips up. She took a small sip before settling her head on Juliana’s shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips.

Guille watched their interactions with the faintest of smiles. “I can guess this must be Juliana.”

“Sí,” Valentina confirmed, her smile growing wider. She turned her face into Juliana’s shoulder, hiding the faint blush on her cheeks.

Guille shared her grin before offering his hand to Juliana. “Hi, I’m Guille.”

“Mucho gusto,” Juliana murmured as she shook his hand, her own cheeks flushing. She knew that Guille was accepting of their relationship, but she still couldn’t shake the awkwardness of meeting him. She had thought they would have some more time before they were introduced, and she certainly hadn’t expected to do so under these circumstances.

“And this is my novia, Renata,” Guille said, looking back at the woman at his shoulder. She reached around him to shake Juliana’s hand as well.

“Hola. ¿Cómo estás? ”

“Bien, gracias,” Juliana replied automatically.

Renata tilted her head with a wry smile, like she could tell that wasn’t entirely true, but would let it be for now. “It’s really nice to meet you. Guille told me he’s never seen Valentina happier than when she met you.”

Juliana’s flush spread all the way to the tips of her ears. She tried to look at Valentina, but she just hid her face in Juliana’s hair.

“It’s true,” Guille said with a quick laugh. Earnestly, he told her, “I’m glad you came here to be with Valentina.”

Juliana thought she caught sight of Eva making a sour face out of the corner of her eye, but the expression was gone as soon as it came. Eva saw of Officer Montilla finishing up with Lucía and Johny and quickly stood, wanting to catch him before he left. “I’m going to speak with Officer Montilla, and then with our staff, about how such a thing could happen.”

Valentina sat up, looking after her sister. “No, Eva, it wasn’t their fault…” she whimpered, but Eva just kept walking.

Before Valentina could bury herself back in Juliana’s embrace, Guille put his hand on her knee to catch her attention. “I know you may not want to go back through it, pero… what did happen?”

Her breath hitched, and she looked at Guille with apprehension in her eyes. The terror was still there, just beneath the surface, barely held at bay by the presence of those she loved.

Guille squeezed her knee, then moved to take Eva’s spot on the bench beside her. With an arm around her shoulders, he reassured, “There’s no danger anymore. It’s okay.”

For the most part, Valentina knew that was true, but she couldn’t stop from turning the worst case scenarios over and over in the back of her mind. Armenta was dead, and the narcos who were in the house were all arrested, but she knew there must be more. What if they decided to seek vengeance for their jefe ’s death? What if they decided this wasn’t over?

Valentina pressed her face into Juliana’s shoulder, taking shelter in her safe space. She concentrated on breathing deeply, inhaling Juliana’s sweet, familiar scent. There was no one there now, she told herself as she took strength from the soothing smell. She couldn’t just leave her brother in the dark, letting him fear the worst.

Taking a steadying breath, she emerged from her hiding place, but kept herself tucked close to Juliana’s side. She started at the beginning, when a strange man had tapped at her car window with the muzzle of his gun.

As Valentina spoke, Juliana’s horror grew and grew. The awful threats the cartel boss made against all three women made her stomach twist, and she was struck again at how close she had come to losing the girl beside her.

As difficult as it was to hear, Juliana could tell it was just as difficult for Valentina to tell. Her sentences were choppy, her voice tight with tears, and she had to pause several times to wipe them from her face as they fell. Juliana did the only thing she could think of - the only thing she wanted to do - and held Valentina close.

When she had finished telling her story, Renata reached over to place a hand on Valentina’s arm. “Val, it’s terrible what you’re telling us. Please stop thinking about it. It’s over.”

But to Valentina, nothing felt further from the truth. Surely Armenta hadn’t brought his entire gang. There were more of them out there, ready to do harm. “But what if they come back?”

The question sent a lance through Juliana’s heart. The first night after the hurricane, when she and Lupita has finally outrun El Chino’s old gang, she had barely been able to sleep for fear the men would find them at any moment. The fear had been bone deep, and she ached to think that Valentina was going through the same thing. She threaded their fingers together, bringing the back of Valentina’s hand to her lips.

“No, no,” Guille told Valentina. “No one’s coming back.”

“But it could happen,” Valentina argued. She glanced between her brother and his girlfriend, trying to understand why they couldn’t see the danger. “They’ll seek revenge!”

“No, Valentina, listen to me -”

“Guille, we’re alone in the house -”

“Val.” Juliana interrupted them from speaking over each other. Valentina turned to her with tears pricking her eyes. She cupped Valentina’s cheek, warmth spreading through her when she leaned into the touch. “It’s okay that you’re scared. But the policía are still around, and your security is on high alert now.”

Guille nodded. “She’s right. There’s security in the house. Now you need to rest. Why don’t you go upstairs? You and Juliana can distract yourselves, watch some movies, talk, and detach for a bit from all of this.”

Valentina looked over at Juliana, looking unsure for a moment. Juliana’s heart clenched. She had damaged their relationship so that Valentina felt like she couldn’t automatically seek comfort from her. She ran gentle fingers down Valentina’s arm, trying to reassure her without words that she was there for her.

Valentina sighed almost imperceptibly. With a nod, she gave Guille a deep hug, then stood, taking Juliana’s take to lead her after her. They quietly climbed the stairs to Valentina’s room.

“Open or closed?” asked Juliana as they entered the room, gesturing towards the door.

Valentina shifted nervously. “Closed, por favor. But -” she blurted as Juliana moved to acquiesce, “not all the way.” She flushed, feeling stupid for being so hesitant. She wanted some privacy, to separate herself from the rest of the world for a moment, but she was still worried she might miss the sound of something wrong downstairs if she did so.

For a moment after closing the door, both girls stood in silence, unsure how to act. Finally, Juliana stepped forward, tentatively taking Valentina’s hand. Valentina immediately gripped her hand back, and Juliana felt relieved. She stepped closer, until she could feel the heat from Valentina’s body. Her hands automatically settled on Valentina’s hips, and she rested their foreheads together, breathing in Valentina’s unique scent.

Valentina took Juliana’s wrists in her hands, drawing her arms around her body. A hum escaped her lips as their bodies finally connected. She couldn’t help but feel at home in this girl’s arm, their breaths mingling and eyelashes fluttering against each other. Inexorably, their lips came together. The kiss was deep and slow as they explored every inch of each other’s mouths. Its languid rhythm was a salve to their souls, calming their troubled hearts. When they finally drew back, they were breathless, but with contentment instead of fear.

Valentina nuzzled against Juliana’s cheek, letting out a giggle. “You’re so sweet.”

A flush lit up Juliana’s cheeks at the double entendre, but she couldn’t help but smile as Valentina’s giggle morphed into a full laugh. She moved to sit at the side of Valentina’s bed, patting the space beside her in invitation. Instead, Valentina flopped onto the ground, leaning against the bedframe and with her legs straight out, letting her feet loll to the side.

With a laugh, Juliana adjusted her position until the was laying on her stomach on the bed. She hung her head over the side so it would be even with Valentina’s “Should we do what your hermano suggested? Watch a movie or something?”

Valentina shook her head, huffing out a breath. “I’m not in the mood for movies or games. I just want to be with you,” she told her softly.

A smile crept across Juliana’s face. She reached out to run her fingers through Valentina’s hair, gently pushing it out of her beautiful blue eyes.

Movement at the doorway caused both girls to spin towards it, but it was only Chivis, carrying a steaming mug. She took in Valentina sitting on the floor and put down the mug, crossing over to her side.

"Mi niña, go to bed. You need to rest.”

Valentina glanced towards Juliana, unable to hide the apprehension in her eyes. Awake, she could control her thoughts, try to distract herself from memories. But who knew what terrors her dreams might bring?

She shook her head. “No. I… I can’t yet.”

“Necesitas dormir,” Chivis wheedled with her.

“No, no.” Valentina shook her head harder. “Estoy bien.”

A dog’s bark cut through the silence of the night outside Valentina’s window. She jerked ramrod straight, her hand reflexively seeking Juliana’s.

“Did you hear that?”

Chivis quickly moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her hand on Valentina’s shoulder. “Yes, but everything’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“Maybe we should ask -”

Chivis tried to smile at her reassuringly. “It’s just Max barking.”

“I think it’s a good idea to check,” Juliana said with a frown. It would be easy for security to see if there was danger, and it would go miles to assuaging Valentina’s fears. Why was Chivis fighting against it? “Why doesn’t security just go out and look?”

Valentina turned to her almost desperately. “Sí, someone should check. Will you ask Fabricio to take his men out and look around?” she asked Chivis.

Chivis looked like she would argue, but between Juliana’s hard look and Valentina’s pleading eyes, she nodded. She hurried from the room, leaving it in tense silence.

Turning onto her knees, Valentina clutched Juliana’s hand in both of hers. “Juls, what if it’s them? What if they came back?”

Juliana’s brow creased in sympathy. She tried to think of the best way to comfort her without being dismissive. “Oye. Your security team are here. They’re going to check and make sure there isn’t any threat. Mira.” She clambered off the bed and crouched next to Valentina, never letting go of her hands. “We need to try to stay calm for now. ¿Puedes respirar conmigo? ”

Valentina’s words caught in her throat, but she nodded. She forced herself to focus on Juliana’s voice as she counted out breaths, and she felt the vice on her chest begin to loosen.

They heard footsteps approaching in the hallway, and Valentina’s heart jumped back into her throat. Chivis appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Fabricio.

“¿Pues? ” Juliana asked when Valentina wasn’t able to get anything out.

“The property is secure, señoritas . Max was only barking at a raccoon on the wall,” Fabricio assured them.

The breath left Valentina in a rush, and she slumped against Juliana. Juliana put an arm around her, letting out a sigh of her own. She hadn’t been truly afraid of the narcos returning, but it was a relief to hear anyways.

With a nod, Fabricio turned and left. Chivis picked the mug up from the dresser and knelt down to press it into Valentina’s hands.

“See, mi niña? The house is well guarded and they’re not coming back.”

She and Juliana helped Valentina to get up off the floor and sit on the bed, even as she argued.

“Chivis, no entiendes. Maybe they will!”

Chivis tried to hush Valentina, but Juliana spoke over her.

“Val,” she said gently. “Your security just showed they will protect you and go check on anything that worries you. Can you trust them to keep you safe for tonight?”

Valentina looked between them, sniffling slightly. Finally, she nodded.

Juliana pulled her into a hug, tucking her head into her shoulder. “Gracias,” she murmured in Valentina’s ear. “I know your men would thank you for trusting them.”

Valentina nodded into her neck, cupping the warmth of her mug against her stomach. Gently, she unfolded herself from Juliana’s hold, turning to Chivis. “Gracias for asking security to check the property. And for the drink.”

Chivis smiled kindly at her. “De nada, mi niña. You should sleep now.”

Valentina attempted a weak eye roll. “Only if you do too.”

“Bien, bien.” She regarded her tenderly for a moment, before exiting back into the hall and closing the door behind her.

Juliana leaned her face into Valentina’s hair. “Do you want to lock it after her, just in case?” she attempted to joke. She was rewarded with a shaky giggle and a nod, and quickly got up to do just that.

When she returned to the bed, she gestured for Valentina to lay down, then crawled up beside her. She laid down carefully, positioning herself close enough to feel the heat from Valentina’s body, but not quite close enough to touch.

Valentina immediately eliminated the space and rolled closer, resting her arm over Juliana’s hip. She brushed the backs of her fingers lightly over Juliana’s chin, watching as she shivered.

“Juliana?”

“¿Aja? "

“Gracias.”

“¿Por qué? ”

“For being here.” She shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “No sé. I’m just grateful I have more time with you.”

Juliana gave her a crooked smile. “Yo también.”

They fell into silence, their fingers tracing meaningless patterns into each other’s skin. But Juliana could see that Valentina’s gaze still looked far away, a slight crease marring her brow.

“¿Qué tal? ”

“Hm?” Valentina said, seeming to snap back to the moment. “No, nothing.”

Juliana looked at her knowingly. “You were a thousand miles away. Are you still scared?”

“I…” Valentina sighed. “Un poco. It’s just… I still can’t believe I made it out alive.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Juliana pulled her closer, pressing kisses to her eyelids to stop them from falling.

“I’m so happy you did. I can’t imagine the world without you in it,” Juliana told her. “But you’re safe right now. That’s what we should focus on. We’re here together.”

Valentina couldn’t help but smile. She wriggled impossibly closer in Juliana’s arms, kissing her sweetly.

“When things would get rough with my papá, you know how I used to calm myself?” Juliana asked when she pulled back. Valentina shook her head. “I would tell myself stories. Stories about how I would get out of there and what kind of life I would build for myself.”

Valentina settled her head into her pillow. It pained her to think about a younger Juliana, and how hard her life must have been like with a father like hers. She was so glad that she had made it out of that situation, and into her life. “Did you ever imagine something like this happening?”

“¿Como qué? ” Juliana could tell she didn’t mean the hostage situation.

“Como … being with someone like me.”

The thought made Juliana’s chest flutter. “Mmm… la neta, no. But I never really imagined romance. I didn’t have the best model to base it on. But now… you’ve helped me learn how to be loved.” She hesitated, struggling to get the words out. “And how to… love someone else.”

Valentina smiled crookedly, pushing on her stomach lightly. “You didn’t need me to teach you that. You have so much love in you.”

Juliana shrugged, her cheeks pinking. She was entirely at a loss for how to respond, so instead she changed the subject. “Do you want me to tell you a story? To get your mind off things?”

“Me gustaria eso,” Valentina whispered.

Clearing her throat, Juliana shifted on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. With Valentina’s soft blue eyes on her, she was nervous; she had never been particularly eloquent. But for Valentina, she would try.

“A ver …” she said, trying to think of what to say. It had been a while since she had used the coping mechanism, since she had allowed herself to indulge in daydreaming. “Bueno, when I get into fashion school,” she started, making Valentina smile, “the first thing I want to design is a dress for you, to repay you for the one you bought me. And then we have to find the fanciest dance club in the city so we can both wear our dresses, and you can show me how good you’ve gotten…”

She continued on in a hushed voice, letting the fantasy spin out. As Valentina listened, she got lost in Juliana’s voice, its low, soothing lilt reaching into her chest and loosening the knot of worry there. Her limbs relaxed into the bed, and she found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open.

After the third or fourth time she found herself blinking hard to keep herself awake, Juliana reached out to cup her cheek, rubbing her thumb over her temple.

“Go to sleep,” she whispered. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Valentina hummed, a sleepy smile stealing over her face. “Yo sé.” She snuggled closer to Juliana, tucking her head under her chin.

“Dulces sueños.” Juliana wrapped her arms around her, intertwining their legs. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Valentina sighed into Juliana’s collarbone, finally giving in to the pull of slumber. In the safety of Juliana’s arms, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

#amar a muerte #juliantina #juliana valdes #valentina carvajal #fanfiction #my work

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caterinaprimrose · 6 years

Text

Metamorphosis (Pt. 1)

(Wanna read pt2?)

Outside of a Legal Documentation shop in the heart of Boralus, Caterina Primrose stood in front of the towering frame of Cazneaux Reigns. He’d just opened his construction company not forty eight hours prior. Having come to congratulate her dear friend and even shed some of her own news, the young beauty spoke up at him with rivaling strength.

"Do you remember just this past weekend I took a trip to the mainland to judge a talent show? Well, I also sat down in a court room with his grace, Magistrate Theodore Bennas and Lady Falconeye. She has signed over the deeds to her barony.” The actress just drops into the air, no grand build up or suspense dangled in front of his nose. It was just out there, said, existing, waiting to be reacted to. Actress turned into a Baroness. A noblewoman.

His bushy blond brows perk up, creating many rolls across his forehead. "Oh-ho shit! She just up and gave you her whole barony? Has she gone mad?" He pauses for a moment, squinting, "Have you gone mad? Controlling however much land she has with all of those titles and new employees and citizens to watch over..." he shakes his head with a low chuckle.

She watched him like a hawk, eyes flicking all over his face as he spoke. It was as foreign to her as it was to him. It was unbelievable, truly. Caterina Primrose had been born impoverished on the very streets they walk. She fought tooth and nail for everything she’d had. She sold herself, cheated, lied, manipulated, she ruined lives to be secure and spoiled - and suddenly this land, this title was given to her. Gifted.

This changes things.

A lot.

“Madness or no, it’s mine, the papers have been signed. She wishes to focus on her family and business, she has no time to look after her late husband’s land. I plan to hold an election of town officials. A council of sorts to actively run the barony when I am not present. I've a lot of work to do on the area, however. It's called Southport, it is settled on the river split between Westfall and Stranglethorn. You know, right along the Gold Cape of the Eastern Kingdoms. The river leads directly into Stormwind Harbor. It's something I'll be able to industrialize quite well." She pauses, inhaling slowly through her nose, her chest rises. The air was cold as blue eyes wander lucidly off him and into the thoughts of responsibilities gained with that flick of her signature. "I'll have a big estate built into the mountains all to myself, for a time. That is until I proclaim a husband and children, whom will safely live in its halls and never know hunger nor want."

"Sounds like it. Do you have any plans or thought into how you'd like it to look like? I don't mean to make it seem as if you -must- hire me, but that would -certainly- be an impressive creation to add onto my company's bare resume."

Caterina's smile grows at his inquiry, and how could it not? "Mister Reigns, as much as I would love to see you in present in my barony, even just shortly, it wouldn't be the financially wisest decision. Hudson would do it for free. I have to see the place, first, but I know that I want marble floors. I want a big window over looking my city. I want...Mm.." She hums softly. "I want a theatre. I want it somewhere in Southport City, I plan to enrich them with art and culture. It's already a wealthier barony. We've got cattle ranches and mining to the west and fertile farming grounds as well as logging to the east." She let her hands lift, gesturing one side to the other. And the large river in the center for trade. Then two small villages on either side of the river - Seastone Bay, and Rich Port."

“But you're -truly- trusting a -shipping- company, over experienced architects and Kul'tiran engineers and construction workers? You'll truly choose -free- labor over -paid- labor? I'm certain it sounds -fantastic-! A -steal-. But, as the famous saying goes, you get what you pay for. And you are no fool. Surely you're expecting to get the quality as high as the price the -shipping- company is offering."

“Come now, Mister Hudson wouldn't see the work done poorly. Especially if he wishes to take my hand." Her smile faded at the mention of that, eyes losing some light and brow twitching slightly. "Besides, Mister Hudson is an -investor-. It isn't the men -shipping- whom construct. He has professionals whom do the work for him. And isn't it just the same, Mister Reigns? You're an arms dealer hiring construction workers. I see little difference."

Cazneaux squints some at her first comment with a short-lived chuckle. He eventually shakes his head at her final comment. "-That-, my love, is where you're mistaken. I've lived on this planet for thirty seven years. I've done things that would put me on the chopping block before I hit double digits. I've seen monsters that live in the Great Sea that would make the Titans shiver. I've done jobs you'd -laugh- if you saw me do. I've been an arms dealer for -one- year of my life. The other thirty six I've been many things. So no, I'm not an 'arms dealer hiring construction workers', I'm an experienced opportunistic man who turns small jobs into big jobs, and started out eating scum off the side of the street to eating gourmet meals every night. I sell weapons that level camps to villages, and I now have the ability to erect creations that would -laugh- in the face of such destructive tools. You see, when I put my money into a business, I put my -all- into that business. Arms dealing, I sell to the Alliance and neutral forces. I sell to third parties. I sell to various agencies and companies down to nobility and commoners. This has my -name- on it, and I intend to make sure my name holds weight. -This- is a shipping company hiring some people to create buildings. Meanwhile -I- am putting my name and professionals to work. Ultimately, it -is- your barony, and I will respect your choices with no tainted blood. But I hope you see my point.”

The actress inhales softly, chest rising. "Cazneaux, you know I respect and admire all that you do but I'm a high maintenance woman. I spare no expense, I spend much more than I have. And do you know where I get most of that coin from?" She perks a brow, "And how do you think that I'm suppose to convince him to spend thousands of gold for your company's services when he has the resources to get these things at a much lower rate through his own architectural means? It simply doesn't make sense. -I- surely don't have that kind of coin. That's King's money."

The man shakes his head some as she finishes speaking. "We haven't spoken officially on -any- of my pricing. But as I said. Your choice. May his little team grant you all of your wishes, even if he -is- intending on taking it for himself in the end."

She purses her lips, plucking the insult he threw and tasting it bitter upon her tongue. "Well they are -my- lands and I plan for him to know that. He will not sway me into handing it over to him. And I want that thought -rectified- in everyone's minds. They'll know that they're mine legally and his by association." She seemed to be winding up, tight. Her body language had shifted, a tone of bubbling anger turning her red.

Cazneaux's head lifts some as she speaks. His perceptive gaze catching the non-verbal communication her body was telling him, whether or not she wished to convey it. "And his by association, do you mean you've some sort of contract that states whatever is yours, he'll have some sort of influence over?" "No - we're signing a prenuptial agreement." She brings her fingers up to either side of her head, fingers pushing back at blond strands. "What's his is his and what's mine is mine and while, yes, he'd technically be a Baron - by law, they’re -my- lands. If he and I divorced he'd get no part of it what so ever. I have final say."

"So, if you gain nothing, why marry him?" He chuckles lightly, putting his hands up to mock surrender, "Not tryin' to shit on the man. I don't know him personally. But he never striked me as the down to earth, romantic type."

She just looks at him for a long moment, her tongue slipping over her teeth slow. "Because I enjoy this life far too much."

"And so that's it? You're going to allow him to dominate your life, plant his seed within you, and you birth his child out of fear? Didn't you -just- mention being able to keep your property if you divorced him? Now you're speaking as if that's not even an option. So, what is it, Caterina Primrose? Are you afraid of Braxton Hudson, or are you -not-? Are you going to continue to compare yourself to him, or are you going to focus on yourself and bolster your -own- wealth through your hard work and absolutely -brilliant- people skills and word-smithing? The charm and charisma you have is capable of winning people over that that man would -never- be able to. You are powerful. Incredibly so. Yet you speak as if you're but a mere -ant- in comparison to him, and I think that's bullshit. Simply because he has businesses under his employ, does not mean that he is more powerful than you. If having the ability to make someone disappear or be killed is what makes someone powerful, then there are -far- more powerful men in this city than he. If it is coin, then there are -far- more powerful men and women in this city than he. If it is reputation, then you are still -incredibly- powerful in comparison to him." The man shakes his head some with a light chuckle, "I suppose the stereotype of artists being their harshest critics is true."

pt 2

@mister-reigns

@braxtonhudson

@moriayamina

#to be continued #pt 2 coming #Wyrmrest Accord #roleplays #alliance #Caterina Primrose #cazneaux reigns #mister-reigns #kul tiras #hudson shipping company

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basicirra-blog · 5 years

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Detailed Guidance To Recordkeeping Rule

I have filled and destroyed holes and put gopher/mole pellets down hole 1st. Also tried D-con pellets but holes cam back in another place. These interviews are amazing, and there is NO holding back. There you have some of the situations where you will be faced with some challenges but have no fear for every challenge has a solution. Of course, we still needed to find a solution to our healthcare problem. …Our neighbor has a large property and encountered the same problem. Death claims and retirement benefit claims probably would be the easiest in which to determine whether a loss has taken place or not. Now that we have some real claims history to report, a Liberty HealthShare review makes more sense. Cases involving more complicated removal procedures will be captured on the Log because they will require medical treatment such as prescription drugs or stitches or will involve restricted work or days away from work. 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Since Massachusetts has only 3 major payers, all regional, formularies have been relatively easy to manage. Ensuring that utilities have strong incentives for managing their increasing energy efficiency. With conventional swinging doors, cold air rushes out when opened while hot air gets in while revolving doors have a minimal effect on the air temperature, reducing the need for energy-hogging air conditioners. While any full-day kindergarten program would work through school districts, preschool incorporates a larger set of quality community providers. A work restriction that is made for another reason, such as to meet reduced production demands, is not a recordable restricted work case. The tincture you would have to carry around and depending on the quality of the cap, canadian pharmacy online 24 it could leak out into your pocket. 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The value of the coin increases even further and when the time’s right, the first round of investors cash out, leaving the second wave with a worthless coin. Nikki Rose, from Southern Labrador, and Ian Power of St. John’s were the first to enter Canopy Growth’s Tweed location, becoming the first two customers in the country’s history. Something to think about! I think you need to call the police. Just make sure you follow the instructions about what type of ID is required, how much it’ll cost, etc. All the information you need is listed below. I am not sure after reviewing all the reviews if I should use the product even if I do receive the product.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

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#1yrago Disney will pivot Epcot away from its "sponsored content" model

Epcot Center (now "Epcot") is a weird stepchild among Disney themeparks; it started as a kind of ghastly parody of Walt Disney's plan to build a totally controlled domed company town on the enormous tract of central Florida land that is Walt Disney World, and became a cash-cow-oriented park whose radical break with themepark design norms was a blessing and a curse.

The history of Disney is a kind of push-pull between people who wanted to play around with technology and entertainment and people who wanted to make sure the company was profitable, historically represented as "Walt people" and "Roy people." Walt went to enormous lengths to push the company toward a free-spending, technology-centered, gold-plated model of themepark design in which money was spent to "plus" the "guest"-facing elements even if only a few would notice.

The nominal theory behind this was that customers would subliminally pick up on this expensive detail (historically accurate hand-stitching on the robots in the Hall of the Presidents' costumes, for example), and it would contribute to an overall sense of excellence in the product.

But it's also fair to say that the artists and craftspeople who created the themed environments derived job satisfaction from their "plussing" exercises. It feels good to make beautiful things, and when the Walt people were ascendant, there was a lot of scope for the company's favored artists to express and stretch themselves.

It's tempting to see the artists as the soul of the parks and the bean-counters as their nemeses, and there's a lot of truth to this. But Walt's aesthetic priorities weren't big on democratic fundamentals (evidence of this is easy to find, starting with the disastrous animator's strike in which Walt nearly destroyed the company by refusing to expand the say that his workers would get over their labor). Like a lot of auteurs, he was a control freak who could lose all sense of proportion.

Enter EPCOT, the Experimental Prototype City of Tomorrow, which Walt wanted to place in his Florida property -- a property that was incorporated as its own special economic zone, with control over zoning, planning, and other regulation, up to and including the power to site a private nuclear plant to keep the power flowing.

EPCOT was to be a themepark and a functional city, with employees in place of citizens, whose employment contracts would overrule both the Bill of Rights and state and federal labor laws. Like Henry Ford's disastrous Brazilian company town Fordlandia, Walt could use his city to dictate behavior, dress, and living arrangements, on the job and off.

Famously, Walt demanded conditions of his employees that he would not tolerate. Walt swore like a sailor, smoked himself to death, and sported a natty trademark mustache. Disney "castmembers" were required to be clean of lip and vocabulary and smoke-free.

Walt died in 1966, and EPCOT was transformed into Walt Disney World (tip to successors: always name your betrayals of the dead founder's vision after the dead founder as a way of claiming legitimacy!). Nine years later, Walt Disney World's Disneyland-esque Magic Kingdom got a new themepark neighbor: EPCOT Center (later Epcot Center, later still, Epcot).

Disney parks have always financed themselves with a certain amount of corporate sponsorship. It would be ridiculous to claim that Walt had any animus towards this model: the plans for corporate sponsorship are literally in the first-ever document describing Disneyland.

But EPCOT Center ("Epcot" from here on in) took this to another level. It was the themepark version of those vanity magazines you could find in the lobby of Florida tourist hotels, a rack of things that looked like familiar objects, but, on closer inspection, turned out to be artifacts from a parallel universe in which the whole world was dominated by a single industrial giant: like a World's Fair with better sight-line management.

While Disneyland and the Magic Kingdom were both designed so that wanderers could always see something new to do from where they were standing, creating a kind of momentum that drew you through the space, Epcot's Future World was composed of "pavilions" -- literal enclosed buildings, each at the end of its own meandering track from which the sightlines were carefully managed, using landscape elements and other tricks to ensure that when you were standing on Monsanto or GM's doorstep, you wouldn't be distracted by Exxon or Nestle's pavilion.

Each pavilion hosted a mix of elements: rides, shows, interactive exhibits, restaurants, etc, all themed to the sponsor's tastes and budget. This fine-grained, deep-pocketed sponsorship model was a huge boon to Disney, which was reeling from a hostile takeover attempt a few years earlier.

Future World also sported two "Communicore" -- long trade-show buildings where companies with less money (or less confidence) could place more cautious bets, placing booths that were reminiscent of a pop-up presence at Comdex or CES. If the Pavilions were vanity magazines, Communicore let sponsors get their toes wet with some custom brochure work from Imagineering.

The other half of Epcot was no less sponsor-oriented: the World Showcase was a collection of national pavilions (another World's Fair stalwart), hand-sold to the tourism ministries of countries that were investing heavily in "soft power" diplomacy. The original World Showcase countries are a who's-who of economic anxiety and pride: think of Norway, recently transformed from the sick man of Europe to a wealthy power through the discovery of North Sea oil -- the only Nordic country to buy into the Epcot pitch.

The resulting park was...OK. Sometimes, the rides and shows were amazing, and even when they weren't, they could still be charming. World Showcase ended the stricture on booze sales, giving grownups a break from the Mormon-dry environs of the Magic Kingdom. Constraint isn't the enemy of art, it can also be its handmaiden, and at their best, the Imagineers involved did stupendous things.

But it hasn't aged well. Epcot is a leg-breaker, which long, long walks (on punishing, unshaded walkways that bake in the Florida heat, even with the late-added misters that only increase the unbearable humidity) and corporate sponsors whose enthusiasm for maintenance and upgrades has visibly waned.

There's been a decades-long effort to make Epcot more like the Magic Kingdom, upping the density, reducing the degree of sponsor control (and visibility), making cash investments out of Disney's own coffers. As the revenues from Disney's cable cash-cows (ESPN, notably) have dropped off a cliff, the themeparks are looking like the next growth frontier for the company, and the new upper-management enthusiasm for themed location-based entertainment is manifesting in some stonking huge investments in rides, many of which are coming to Epcot.

Epcot will always struggle, I fear. The deliberate isolation of its show-buildings can't be readily overcome, short of some major surgery. But the move to place successful showstopper rides from other parks in Epcot will certainly improve its image.

However, there's another possibility for Epcot, given all those huge, empty spaces: make it a lab for live, interactive, between-the-rides spontaneous entertainments -- mini-games, ARGs, etc -- that will keep people out of the ride queues and give them something to do that's not standing in lines or slogging between them. Epcot's already had some great experiments in this direction, but there hasn't been much noise about them lately (all the live interactivity action seems to be directed at the live-in Star Wars resort.

As queues at Disney Parks lengthen, building showstopper rides just makes them longer -- it's a Red Queen's Race -- but upping the density of personal, handmade entertainments can solve the problem.

https://boingboing.net/2017/07/16/red-queens-futurism.html

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antoine-roquentin · 6 years

Link

At some point during the fighting in Libya a few years ago, Nato planes attacked pro-Gaddafi forces near an oilfield in the north-east. A number of smart bombs hit a storage facility belonging to the oil company for which I worked. The facility contained thousands of barrels of chemicals, worth millions of dollars, which are used in the process of drilling for oil. Most of the barrels were destroyed outright but a good number remained intact. Exposed to the extreme heat of the explosion and subsequent fires, the chemicals inside the surviving barrels were altered permanently. At around the same time, as the fighting in and around the field intensified, Libyan employees of my company (the expats having cut and run a long time ago) worked frantically to move high explosives and detonators used in the oil extraction process to a safe location so that none of the various factions involved in the conflict could get their hands on them. For some reason, the employees made the decision to leave the live explosives in the bunker and take the detonators – the piece of kit they judged most useful to any would-be bombers. In their haste, they left the bunker compound gates open and the door to the bunker unlocked.

Since the attack on Gaddafi and its aftermath, the Libyans working for my company had got used to having to act on their own initiative, often in danger and under extreme pressure as the fighting took hold of the country. But then, during a lull in hostilities, the employees responsible for dealing with the chemicals and explosives decided it was time to update HQ on what had happened. They also had a more serious problem on their hands. As well as using chemicals and explosives, oil companies deploy radioactive materials in their quest for oil. Nuclear probes are inserted into potential wells in order to determine whether they are suitable candidates for further exploration. These probes also happen to be the perfect size to use as the core of a dirty bomb. As a consequence, in all jurisdictions in which they are used they are heavily regulated. But in Libya there was no longer any regulation. My company’s store of nuclear materials was kept in a bunker designed to withstand the force of a massive explosion and was normally heavily protected by specially trained troops. Now the bunker lay completely unguarded. It seemed that the warring factions hadn’t yet discovered its existence but the employees believed that it was only a matter of time before this bunker, too, was overrun and plundered. What should they do to make the materials safe? Should they try and smuggle them out of the country? Should they keep them in the bunker and pour concrete over them? As the compliance lawyer with responsibility for the region, I was invited to join a conference call to discuss these questions, along with the operations manager for the oilfield and the regional head of security, an ex-special forces officer on secondment to London from US HQ.

Also on the call was the new country manager for Libya. While operations managers – the people who deal with the practicalities of getting the oil out of the ground – work out in the field, the country manager sits in the city, near the seat of decision-making power over the award of contracts. In companies like mine, country managers are powerful people, as much imperial proconsul or colonial governor as businessman. They can run the business in their countries as they wish. The only thing that matters is that they return a profit. The country manager for Libya was a company high-flier, who was sent in to Tripoli as soon as Gaddafi had fallen in the expectation of rich pickings, and who now spent his days shuttling from one hotel to another in fear of assassination. It was clear that he hadn’t had any involvement in the matters under discussion and he remained silent as the rest of us trawled through possible solutions to the various problems.

Sitting in a bland conference room in London, listening to disembodied voices relaying facts over the phone, it felt as though we were participating in some crisis simulation exercise. Almost casually, we came to some conclusions: the barrels of chemicals could stay where they were. Nothing could be done with the remaining stock. There was nothing we could do about the explosives either. In the fog of war, people make strange decisions and at least the detonators had been removed and were under company control. It was the best we could hope for. We decided that the risks of smuggling the nuclear materials out of the country and into Egypt were too great and that the employees should bury them somewhere in the Libyan desert.

Then, as the call drew to an end, the country manager spoke up. ‘I want to talk about something,’ he said. ‘I want to talk about the theft of company property.’ He was angry. One of the employees had taken advantage of the chaotic conditions to steal a number of company trucks. ‘And now that it is more stable over here,’ the country manager continued, ‘he’s holding the trucks to ransom. He’s refusing to give them back. His tribe wants money for them. They might attack our base.’ He told us that he had personally been out into the desert to bargain with the employee and his tribe. Negotiations were ongoing, but he insisted he was going to solve the problem. ‘I call the ball,’ he said. He was convinced that this misconduct was only the tip of the iceberg. ‘I want you to come and see what is going on here,’ he told me. ‘I want you to come and look into matters. They need it.’ After the call, he made an official request for a compliance audit – a review of the fraud and corruption risk in a country – for Libya, and coming from a well-connected hi-pot, his request went to the top of the organisation. The company, worried that it might be losing more money than it should be, in a market so bad that the smallest profit would be considered a miracle, agreed with him and sent me to Libya.

I flew into Tripoli in the first week of Ramadan. As I walked through the baggage collection hall looking for my luggage, the first thing I noticed were the groups of sub-Saharan Africans being shepherded through the airport by North African minders. After an hour of searching, it became clear that my luggage wasn’t going to turn up, so I made my way to arrivals, where I was collected by a driver and a security contractor employed by our company – a former NCO in a Scottish infantry regiment who served in Iraq and Afghanistan before becoming a corporate mercenary. He was hired to act as a bodyguard for expats but his only remaining client, he told me, was the country manager. ‘But now he never leaves his hotel room when he’s here and spends as much time out of the country as he can.’

We drove to the contractor’s quarters, a small, dusty lock-up in the suburbs. Sitting outside at a camping table, he gave me a neat PowerPoint presentation on his laptop about the security situation in Libya. ‘Frankly speaking,’ he said, ‘it’s a bit shit.’ Libya was dangerous. Tripoli was dangerous – not as dangerous as Benghazi but still dangerous. Random, lethal violence was to be expected. There were no police officers, no official law enforcement of any kind – only tribal militia, who ruled the roost. He told me to be careful of ambushes while being driven around the city.

‘What should I do if I get ambushed?’ I asked.

‘Well, standard operating procedure in the army is to shoot your way out. Don’t be static. Push on, fight back.’ I pointed out to him that I was an unarmed middle-aged lawyer who would be sitting in the back of a rickety saloon car when the moment came. He shrugged. ‘As I say, it’s a bit shit.’

After the briefing, we went on to my hotel, which is used by diplomats, journalists and those on (mostly oil-related) business. At one end of the driveway that swept past the hotel entrance, there was a traffic barrier operated by armed guards. No such obstacle existed at the other end. Men in various degrees of military dress stood outside the entrance, smoking or talking together in the lobby. I was greeted by the receptionist, who spoke in a broad Dublin accent. He (and his identical twin, also on duty at reception) was a young Irishman with a Libyan father who had decided to come and experience the free Libya and was now wishing he hadn’t. Then I headed for my company’s office. The car that took me there, like most of the others in Tripoli, had small cubes of sponge stuck to its doors to prevent bumps while driving on roads that were no longer policed and where traffic rules were now purely a matter of convention rather than enforceable norms. As we drove along the Corniche, the deep blue of the Mediterranean on one side, I noticed that most of the old traffic rules were still being obeyed. In an environment in which robbery, kidnap and death were commonplace, people still seemed to want to give way at roundabouts.

My company’s offices were in one of a cluster of tall tower blocks overlooking the sea, a once prestigious address. The tower blocks were set in a deserted concrete courtyard. The entrance lobby’s cool, airy silence was a contrast to the intense heat and white light of the afternoon outside. I took the lift up and was let into the office, where I was shown into an empty room with a desk. I spoke with the first of the people who had been asked to come for interview. As with every compliance audit, on my list of interviewees were those exposed to higher than usual risk of corruption – including members of the sales team, anyone in a leadership role, and anyone who had contact with government or public officials. I also talked to those who were in a position to prevent corruption or spot it if it occurred, such as members of the finance department or human resources. Some of the employees had made great efforts to attend. One of the sales directors had come from Benghazi, and the various operations managers – those who were in charge of actually drilling for oil in the field – had travelled in from their desert bases and rigs.

At first, the interviews followed a script in which I asked a list of set questions relevant to the interviewee’s role. But soon, picking up on a remark or an answer, I would take the opportunity to broaden the conversation. Formality would dissipate and people would start to talk more generally about the company and the wider environment in which they lived and worked. Some common themes emerged. No matter whether they were for or against Gaddafi (and it soon became apparent which side someone was on), most people thought that having him back would be better than the current situation. There were shootings and kidnappings. House break-ins were rife and everyone had a Kalashnikov at home for defence against burglars. One woman I spoke to had just returned to work after having her teeth knocked out with the butt of a gun in a robbery. A man told me that a range of weapons from handguns to SAM-7 surface-to-air missiles were openly for sale in the street just a few minutes’ walk away from the office. But there was one thing that united the pro and anti-Gaddafi factions in the office: their hatred of the country manager. Echoing the security contractor, they told me that he rarely appeared in the office and never visited the oilfields. He was arrogant, incompetent and a coward.

I asked several of the interviewees about the theft of trucks by the employee and got a story very different from the one given by the country manager. They told me that in the middle of the fighting, the employee, rather than let the assets of a company for which he had worked for many years be stolen or destroyed, had decided he would drive a number of the company’s vehicles to a safe location and hide them, with the intention of returning them when the situation became more stable. As soon as the country manager arrived he made a big show of going out into the desert to demand the return of the trucks. But the employee had refused to return them without a reward.

‘What did he want in return for the trucks?’ I asked one of the interviewees.

‘He wanted a certificate of thanks for his behaviour.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Yes. And the country manager wouldn’t give it to him.’

‘But he would have given all of the trucks back if we had given him a certificate?’

‘Yes. The country manager refused and told him he was in breach of the code of conduct.’ I could see why the country manager had taken to changing hotels on a regular basis.

In a series of calls and emails over the first few days of my visit, the country manager gave me the slip, making various excuses as to why he hadn’t been around to speak to me. Finally I arranged to meet him in the lobby of my hotel: we were to go for dinner at a restaurant close to the magnificent Arch of Marcus Aurelius. As we sat at a table outside, making small talk and waiting for the call to prayer to end the day’s fast, it occurred to me that the company couldn’t have made a more inappropriate match than this one between the country manager and the failed state of Libya. A dapper, American-educated corporate droid, he was a prisoner of management speak: he had ‘reached out to’ employees, he told me; they hadn’t ‘embraced the new reality’. He didn’t seem able to adjust to the fact that he was operating in a warzone, dealing with people who were suffering, many of whom had demonstrated great loyalty to a company that abandoned them at the first sign of trouble. He was keen to tell me that he was now close to resolving the truck issue. ‘You can’t trust these people,’ he told me. ‘They just don’t get it.’ Then his phone rang. ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to take it.’ This hunted, scared individual suddenly inflated with pride as he talked. After a few minutes, the call ended.

‘That was the CEO. He wants me to head up a new project team when I get out of this fucking place.’ Somewhere in the city there was the crack of a rifle, sounding like a cheap firework set off in the street. And his face said: if I get out of this place.

The next morning, I was sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for my car to the office when a man approached me. He was dusty and tired and wearing shabby street clothes. He introduced himself and immediately handed me a memory stick. His name was Ahmed and he told me that Yusuf, one of the operations managers I had met and whom I recalled as a physically huge but softly spoken man, coated with the grime of the oilfield yard, was muscling in and taking over the business in Libya.

‘He’s very well connected. He’s close to some of the tribal sheikhs. He’s also a gangster. There’s no doubt. He’s controlling many of the suppliers. It’s all on the USB.’ And then Ahmed made a plea for complete confidentiality. The consequences in this broken state of being revealed as an informant could be dire.

Later that day, in between interviews, I read the contents of the USB. There was clear proof that Yusuf had been buying up local firms that supply to the oil business and then putting contracts in place on extremely favourable terms between them and my company. In his own, admittedly criminal way, in predicting that eventually, despite all appearances, the oil market would pick up, Yusuf was showing more confidence in the prospects for Libya than the company’s senior leadership. They saw it as a basket case but Yusuf, like the best hedge-fund managers, was playing the long game with his investments and had picked the very best time to pull off this kind of scam, now that monitoring of the goings-on in the business in Libya had all but ended. Many of the company’s transactions had to be performed manually in Tripoli rather than through the centralised electronic finance systems in the US or UK. This meant that there was no longer the usual intense oversight of where money came from and went to. Instead there were numerous opportunities for an unscrupulous employee to make hay while the country detached itself from the world.

That evening, just before midnight, I was driven to British Home Stores in downtown Tripoli to buy some new clothes, since my luggage still hadn’t turned up. When we arrived, the driver sat in the car with the engine running while the security contractor stood at the shop entrance. I had ten minutes to go around the deserted aisles putting socks, pants and shirts into my basket. ‘Any longer,’ the contractor said, pointing to the shop assistants, ‘and their mates could be over to pick you up.’ But the two women at the counter seemed completely uninterested in my supermarket sweep. They didn’t lift their chins off their hands as I shopped, and they took payment from me with as much curiosity as if I were buying clothes on a Saturday afternoon in Oxford Street.

The next day, one of my scheduled meetings was with the oilfield operations manager who had been on the call a few weeks earlier. We worked our way through the scheduled questions and answers and then he said: ‘Can I ask for your opinion on the chemicals?’ He reminded me of the story of the damaged barrels in the warehouse and I expected him to ask for compliance advice regarding their disposal, as he had done with the explosives and the radioactive materials. But instead the conversation took an unexpected turn.

‘We’ve been approached by the authorities in the east of the country,’ he said. ‘They would like to buy the chemicals to use for drilling for water.’ He explained that there was a desperate need to repair infrastructure and restore running water to areas that had been ruined by the fighting. ‘The company won’t allow us to use the chemicals that survive the attack to drill for oil. They no longer meet our quality standards. But the Libyan authorities would be happy to buy them from us. They’re not proud.’ And here was the bit that made it all worthwhile. ‘They will pay us millions of dollars for stock that we will otherwise throw away.’ He showed me photos of the damaged chemicals and the letters requesting the deal from the authorities. ‘We need this deal,’ he told me. ‘We haven’t had any significant revenue for years.’ This would mean that at least some people would keep their jobs for a little while longer. A draft contract had already been drawn up and legal approval had been given. He showed me the approvals from the commercial lawyers and a chain of emails from our leaders showing their desperation to screw some profit out of this situation. But the authorities were running out of patience. They had a window in which they had to get drilling and if we couldn’t help them they would need to find someone who could. So time was of the essence and all that was lacking was the compliance seal of approval.

Over the next few days, I went over the areas of possible risk created by the opportunity – legal, commercial, reputational. The operations manager called daily, asking whether I had made my decision, reminding me that the clock was ticking. I spoke with our commercial lawyers and with finance. I made sure that the chemicals actually existed and I got assurances that there really were functioning authorities in the east of Libya. My training and experience had made me very sensitive to the signs of fraud and corruption and I was confident that I’d covered off those avenues. But I was still very uneasy with the deal. Then I realised I might have missed the most important risk factor of all. I got hold of the names of the chemicals and rang a senior company chemist to ask him to carry out an analysis of each of them to make sure they couldn’t be used as chemical weapons. The analysis came back: all clear. None of them, either alone or in combination, could be used in chemical weapons.

I let the operations manager know that he could go ahead. He was delighted. ‘This is really going to make a big difference to the bottom line for my business,’ he told me. It also meant that he would get his bonus and lots of kudos for having the winner’s mindset: he would keep his job for at least the next quarter or so. I was relieved too. The pressure had been building, and for me to have turned the transaction down at the last minute would have provoked a shitstorm in the region and even higher up the chain. As promised, the operations manager sent me the confirmation documents with the various legal restrictions and covenants that the authority had agreed to abide by regarding its use of the chemicals. In a matter of days, the sale was completed. We had sold countless barrels of useless chemicals to the Libyan water board for a huge profit. The perfect deal.

During the remainder of my time in Libya, Ahmed continued to provide me with evidence about Yusuf’s acquisition of suppliers. It was so compelling that, as a first step, I blocked the suppliers in the central accounting system. This meant that no matter how hard Yusuf tried, his supply companies couldn’t receive any significant payment from my company. I concluded the compliance audit and left Libya. My bag was waiting for me when I arrived at Tripoli Airport. As soon as I picked it up from the airline desk in departures, it was seized by a man wearing an old police jacket and grubby suit trousers. He took me to a small room at one side of the departures hall and ordered me to unpack every single item onto a large table in front of him. Everything was covered in dust. When I finished he told me to repack it. I checked my luggage in and made my way once again past the gangs of sub-Saharan Africans travelling from misery into misery, past the stall selling tatty Free Libya merchandise, to the plane.

Then the oil price collapsed. It was already bad but now the price of a barrel had really tanked. There was a lot of talk about permanent structural change in the industry. Firms like mine fired thousands of employees in a matter of weeks. I made sure that Ahmed was put on a protected list of essential employees as his reward for doing the right thing. Somehow, the Libyan senior managers, Yusuf included, found out about this almost as soon as it happened. I received a series of increasingly desperate emails from Ahmed. He knew what was about to happen and thought that I had betrayed him. The emails stopped abruptly when he was fired. When I raised Ahmed’s case with a senior HR manager, I was told that it was unfortunate but that, given the state of the market, it was a matter of only a few weeks before all the employees on the protected list were going to be fired anyway. Any concern for Ahmed got lost in the huge wave of redundancies that the low oil price brought.

I went ahead anyway and presented the allegations against Yusuf to senior management. Despite the evidence, they didn’t find them convincing and the matter was closed with no further action taken. The supply companies that were the subject of the investigation were unblocked in the system. In the rapid restructuring of the company in Libya in response to the manically deteriorating market conditions and worsening violence, Yusuf was promoted, along with the operations manager who had arranged the sale of the damaged barrels to the water authorities. This was to fill the gap created by the departure of the detested country manager, who had managed to get out of Libya with a plum posting to a new project back at US HQ. Not long after I left Tripoli, a large car bomb was left outside my hotel, driven through the entrance, which was undefended by bollards. Thankfully, it was defused.

Eventually I caught up with the regional head of security about the sale of the chemicals. ‘They didn’t want the chemicals you fucking idiot,’ he said. ‘They wanted the barrels.’ He was sure the whole deal was a scam, that one of a number of groups – tribal, terrorist or government – was tapping available sources for the basic ingredients to make their weapon of choice, the barrel bomb. There was no proof of this. I had done all I could to verify that the deal was genuine but in my heart of hearts I knew that it smelled. The regional head of security just found it bleakly funny that one of the most advanced weapons in the world – a laser-guided bomb – had spawned hundreds of the crudest airborne weapons possible, responsible for so much indiscriminate killing. But there was a silver lining. ‘Look, we made a few million bucks. With Brent Crude at sub-$40 a barrel for the foreseeable future and Libya eating itself alive, that’s an awesome result,’ he said. ‘As long as the company logo doesn’t appear on a report by CNN, no one is going to give a shit about where those barrels end up.’ And, as it turned out, he was right.

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billyagogo · 4 years

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Gun sales are soaring. And it's not just conservatives stocking up

New Post has been published on https://newsprofixpro.com/moxie/2020/10/30/gun-sales-are-soaring-and-its-not-just-conservatives-stocking-up/

Gun sales are soaring. And it's not just conservatives stocking up

Bill Roney was steaming.

The owner of the largest gun store in Santa Fe, N.M., had more customers clamoring for firearms than ever before — but he was running out of guns and bullets to sell to them.

“You’re telling me you’re not receiving ammunition — not a single round?” he badgered a supplier on the phone who had just informed him that everything was out of stock. “Now I don’t want to be grumpy, but I also want my business to continue.”

Firearm stores around the country are in the same situation, with largely barren shelves and gun racks that have been nearly cleaned out.

Americans have purchased almost 17 million guns so far in 2020, more than in any other single full year on record, according to Small Arms Analytics & Forecasting, a research firm that tracks firearms.

Higher-than-average gun sales have long been a common feature of presidential election years, as American as brightly colored yard signs and nonstop political advertisements on television.

But this year’s buying spree is different — and not just because it’s bigger.

In previous election years, sales spikes were believed to be driven almost entirely by longtime gun owners who worried that a Democratic president might impose new restrictions on firearms.

This time, the sales appear to be driven by fears of societal instability, and gun shop owners and trade groups say the customer base is much broader, including large numbers of Black Americans, women and people who identify as politically liberal.

“People are uneasy,” said Jay Winton, who works at Roney’s Santa Fe shop, the Outdoorsman, which is out of stock of many varieties of weapons and ammunition, as well as accessories such as gun safes.

“They’re concerned about the long-term path of the country,” he said. “And just like they were hoarding toilet paper, they’re hoarding guns and ammo.”

Left-leaning retirees have been coming through the doors in droves, waiting in lines alongside ranchers and overlooking the blue Trump-Pence posters that hang near the hunting rifles.

Winton said many are like the older couple that recently came in to buy a gun for the first time.

“They were self-described Berkeley liberals who said they were preparing for the coming societal collapse,” he said.

Adding to the ammo shortage is Inez Russell, a writer in Santa Fe, who said she was worried about right-wing militias that have staged protests around the state.

“Either side feels like if their side loses, the country is coming to an end,” she said. “And one side has more guns than the other.”

Lately, Russell has been doing more target shooting and working on her gun-loading skills.

“I find shooting very calming because you have to really concentrate and be in the moment,” she said. “It is very satisfying to have control in such a tumultuous world.”

The COVID-19 pandemic, economic uncertainty and a summer of civil unrest in response to police killings of unarmed Black people have raised national anxieties like no time in recent memory, said Florida State University sociologist Benjamin Dowd-Arrow, who studies gun owners.

Nationally, homicides have surged during the pandemic, climbing 15% in the first half of 2020, according to the FBI. The reasons are unclear, although some observers speculate that it may have to do with the shaky economy or with officers pulling back from their duties because of greater community distrust in police.

Concerns over a chaotic election and the specter of political violence have only further fueled gun sales, with people on the left and the right worried about the months to come.

“We’ve created a powder keg of people who are afraid for different reasons,” Dowd-Arrow said. “When people feel that they can become victimized, they want to protect themselves.”

The FBI performed 28.8 million background checks on people seeking to buy firearms and accessories in the first nine months of 2020 — more than the annual total for any previous year. The total for all of last year was 28.3 million.

Early in the pandemic, factory shutdowns interrupted supply chains for gun makers, but manufacturing quickly resumed to pre-pandemic levels, said Mark Oliva, a spokesman for the National Shooting Sports Foundation, a trade association for the firearms and ammunition industries.

Now, he said, “this is an issue of overwhelming demand.”

His organization recently surveyed firearm retailers and found that an estimated 40% of customers nationally this year were first-time gun buyers, up from an average of 24% in recent years.

Black Americans bought guns at a rate 58% higher than in previous years — the largest increase for any demographic group.

At Los Ranchos Gun Shop in Los Ranchos de Albuquerque, a community of farmland and stately adobe homes set along the Rio Grande, it’s become common for people to walk in and say, “I’ve never owned a gun before,” said store owner Mark Abramson.

Most new clients say they want a gun for self-defense. Abramson said his store has seen an increase in women and people of color. Some Asian Americans have told him they were afraid of being targeted in racially motivated attacks after President Trump repeatedly blamed China for spreading the coronavirus to the rest of the world.

Abramson, who considers himself a liberal, said he sees more gun sales as a natural consequence of heightened political tensions, which he believes have been exacerbated by the news media. He and his employees have talked about the need to defend their store from looting should violence break out after the election.

“If you’re fomenting fear and violence at the very extremes, there’s a point where people take up arms,” Abramson said.

There are other reasons people are buying guns, he said.

When the government was offering federal unemployment insurance subsidies to people who lost work because of the pandemic, many people were earning more than they were when they had jobs.

“There was a lot of people with a lot of extra cash,” he said.

And there’s crime. Albuquerque has some of the highest rates of property and violent crime in the nation, although homicides have decreased slightly this year.

“A lot of people feel they cannot rely on the police,” Abramson said.

He said he fields about 75 calls a day from people looking for products that he usually sells but hasn’t been able to keep in stock lately.

On a recent morning, a man named Jason stopped by on his way to work looking for ammo. He was in luck.

There was one box of bullets left for his AR-15-style rifle. He was surprised to see that the package of 20 bullets was available for just $11 as opposed to the $20 or $30 being charged online.

“There’s been so much price gouging,” he said.

The man, who declined to give his last name because he did not want his employer to know that he owns a gun, said he had been into firearms for a few years.

“But I’m not a gun nut,” he said. “I’m not a Republican or anything.”

He said several of his friends who never were gun owners bought firearms for the first time this year.

“Everyone is scared,” he said. “On all sides.”

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steezyd324 · 6 years

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highstakesend

High Stakes, Joint Ventures

13 applicants want to be Davis’ next commercial cannabis retailer. Who will stake their claim?

Drew Jensen

Sitting cozy at a coffee shop, drinking their beer, someone ponders the possibility of smoking a joint the following year, instead of sipping the drink they currently hold in their hand. Marijuana is taking over both our train of thought in California, and soon our local shops. Research about quality control is being done on campuses throughout the state, and more people charged with DUIs are now serving sentences because of marijuana than liquor, with a stint in jail lasting between 4 and 180 days in California. On a positive note though, home growers and connoisseurs are now turning hobbies into businesses. In some cases, all of these aspects are working together to create something far more complex than the initial venture.

In the case of Delta of Venus, a café on B Street just a few blocks from campus, some of its previous employees have split off from their jobs to create an establishment in Davis and outward in Yolo County known as The People’s Kush. They are currently working on teaming up with their old employer, Delta of Venus, to use the back of its property as a tangible dispensary outlet. No longer will booze be sold at this spot. Instead, a space will be allotted for cannabis sales and consumption would be allowed on the patio of the café.

The People’s Kush has promoted through business cards and labeled lighters at Delta of Venus for some time, and this would be a big step forward in their plans for the future. They pride themselves in quality control, stating “we believe in clear, consistent labeling so that consumers can understand the anticipated strength and effects of a dosage.” Lori Ajax, the head of the state’s Cannabis Control Bureau, says “California’s 2018 testing requirements are some of the strictest in the U.S. At the minimum, marijuana businesses will have mandatory microbiological screenings, foreign matter inspections, residual solvent tests, and pesticide, chemical, and metal screenings.”

According to a resident, Conner Berken, who lives on B Street directly adjacent to Delta of Venus, cannabis is “easier [to buy since legalization] in the sense that I can now go whenever the store is open and am no longer reliant on someone’s else’s schedule to deliver it to me or when I can pick it up. It has got more expensive but also cheaper as well because there are more options [despite the] taxes.” In regards to the taxes, Berken relays his forgiving opinion that the “government needs a profit so taxes are okay. It’s a sin’ tax like cigarettes and gas.”

When asked about whether he would choose a store, such as the possibility of a dispensary next door at Delta of Venus, or a car delivery service, Berken states, “If I lived in a town where stores were an option I would choose a store because I can visually see and smell the product before I buy it where a delivery I’m limited to and relying on pictures and text descriptions.” The People’s Kush currently nets $20,000 in sales every month. Conner, however, does a light amount of growing on his own, as do many people in California. He explains, “I grow my own but am limited on the number of total plants as well as plants that are in flowering. [I prefer] clones sold in stores.”

As a viticulture major, he sees the potential for the two (wine and cannabis) to intersect, similarly to how Delta of Venus and The People’s Kush desire to open what is defined as a ‘mixed use’ store selling both coffee and cannabis, both stimulants and depressants, while still remaining a common ground for exhibiting art and nightly entertainment. Berken elaborates that, “Weed will now be competing agriculturally as far as land used with vineyards. But I think there are weird laws and regulations banning the two to be sold together? Or maybe,” Berken continues, “it’s just consumed together at the same event. Regardless once the laws relax a bit more I’d love to see weed food pairings with even normal wine as well. But infusing weed into wine is the dream and combining the right strain with variety and style of wine is crucial.”

When looking more into whether Delta of Venus plans to actually infuse weed into its coffee or food servings, they have not made a decision yet, but for now cannabis sales will replace alcohol sales at their store, in a restricted section in the back. And to answer Berken’s speculation that weed and wine laws must relax a bit, the wait is almost over.

According to Madison Margolin’s article Legal Weed Wine Is Finally Coming to California in 2018 in Vine Pair magazine, she discusses how people have started speculating about and looking deeper into the concept of weed wine, seeing that in places like Sonoma and the rest of the coastline and farmlands are home to much of wine country and cannabis farms people occupy. For example, Rebel Coast Winery has widened its outlook for 2018 and plans to release a weed-infused wine. Surprisingly though, so far it seems, that where this is one there is not the other, so the psychoactive THC component will be recognizable in their Sauvignon Blanc, but no alcohol will be present. Cross -fading, as some people say they’re doing when drinking kava or feeling multiple sensations at once, will not occur, yet.

The wine will be released not in vineyards but in cannabis dispensaries like the ones opening up in Davis. The wine Rebel Coast offers will feature 4 mgs of THC per glass, enough for a microdose and mild psychoactive effect. For those who are over 21, a bottle can be ordered online for $59.99 and delivered directly to you — one more way cannabis is now being shipped and delivered, in addition to the home locations and dispensaries.

Each of these dispensaries, including places like Rebel Coast, get their marijuana from cultivators who live on farms everywhere from California to Colorado. For example, as Washington Post pointed to in their article I Grow Pot in California for a living. I’m worried about legalization, many marijuana farmers with and without permits in California and elsewhere see the pros and cons of legalization in 2018. Of course, delivery — medical and recreational — has become automated and more seem less. But many sides to the story exists behind the farmers themselves, whether a person sits by themselves at home growing the legal ounce of weed permitted per person or whether a team of individuals collaborate together to run a farm.

According to Chiah Rodriguez, owner of a collective of small farms in Mendocino County called Mendocino Generations, he has upheld a legacy of marijuana cultivation, growing since 1976. Of course back then everything was sold via the black market. His relatives “learned never to speak of what [their] father did. We lived a simple life in times when only growing a few plants could sustain us”, said the daughter.

In the past, before legalization in January of 2018, oftentimes low flying helicopters searched for patches of marijuana fields, which led families of cannabis farmers to find solace in shade away from the eyes of drug prosecutors. The chance of going to jail from growing remained incredibly high, yet the reward and profit outweighed the risk for Rodriguez.

Rodriguez hid his crops around blackberry bushes and platforms within the trees. However, now he looks forward to hiding no longer in the shadows of California with the passing of the Adult Use of Marijuana Act on January 1st. In spite of this progress and optimism, he still holds back hope with fear big businesses seeking only to capitalize on the trade will “wipe out small farmers like me.”

Like the alcohol prohibition did not keep citizens from providing and drinking, neither did the era of marijuana prohibition stop people from growing and consuming cannabis. Only now, one needs a permit and the government taxes small farmers like Rodriguez more heavily. Although California will likely yield “$1 billion in tax revenue,” according to the Washington Post and tech billionaires who invest in the industry stands to profit highly, small farmers will lose some of their demand and importance. But as consumers, people should not overlook the legacy of those who paved the way before legalization and continued forward thinking protest against prohibition.

Before all of the venture capitalists and everyday growers of 2018, there were the freethinking baby boomer and ‘60s children who rebelled against control and invested in plots of land with which to grow the crop that will soon yield more cash than any other. Growers like Rodriguez are one of the many reasons we see cannabis in our dispensaries today, and the four dispensaries picked to open and be apart of Davis’ community will choose strains from different farms or their own farms with which to provide the plants that people will buy.

In addition to Delta of Venus Café, some of the other applicants for Davis’ prime spot in a college town include River City Phoenix, who plans to plant down on 1100 West Chile’s Road, which proposes to “service both walk-in customers and express order customers.” Timothy Schindler or Kind Farma put in an application for a spot in 1111 Richards Blvd, a convenient location next to Olive Dr. market, the gas station, RedRum Burger, Dutch Bros, Rocknasium, In n Out, as well as the I-80 freeway, but hopefully people will refrain from smoking outside the shop and getting behind the wheel.

Supposing the site is established, Richards Blvd might be a hub and microcosm of all the activity, restaurants, and ongoing of Davis, but for now remains just a pit stop for freeway travelers before venturing into Downtown Davis. The construction and installment of the necessary amenities, including installation of foolproof safes and glass displays, will not likely bother neighbors as fewer people live around Richards then Downtown.

Unlike some, Schindler is more in the business side of cannabis, as a business class member of the California Cannabis Industry Association (CCIA). Fluent in multiple languages, he can “communicate and develop relationships with the diverse community of Yolo County.” He also promises or at least will try to save 5% of Kind Farma’s “gross medical sales and donate it to the City of Davis,” not including the taxes already taken out.

Manna Roots’ Tracy Dewit applies as well for a mixed-use permit. Interestingly, Dewit states that, “the smell of cannabis may be in the air, but professional grade carbon filters, odor neutralizes, and air purifiers shall be used to neutralize that air.”

In an architectural drawing of Manna Roots, as proposed, the building looks like a humble house, suitable for the farmer Dewit who has been cultivating plants legal or otherwise for the past ten years with her high school sweetheart and has lived in Davis for upwards of 20 years. Another valuable asset of Manna Roots is that Dewit and her crew plan to mutually work on B2B (business to business) sales and development with other cannabis merchant partners.

In a note from her friend, Joe Krovoza praises her efforts and work and importantly noted she will be “open and receptive to local sensitivities that must be considered as cannabis moves from its medical status in California to recreational use,” and he writes that “Tracy’s work with the local community to secure acceptance of her proposed location on D-streets demonstrates her consideration of local concerns.”

As a mom of a child on her way to University of Colorado in Boulder, “a perfect fit for my daughter’s outdoor life style and business interest,” Dewitt is obviously worried about how the legalization of marijuana might effect her daughter, in ways such as the “unwanted high.” Instead of avoiding the issue, she has taken the approach of informing herself on the trade, cultivation, and consumption of marijuana and started a business platform of her own to safely distribute, but not necessarily promote marijuana for all.

Funny enough, the mom and mind behind Manna Roots was distinctly aware of being in a small town and raising two other little boys in middle school, in addition to her daughter. People talk, and she recognized other moms might “defriend” her or not allow their sons over because she’s a “drug dealer.” Dewit comically just smiles at these comments and has made the best of making friends and not enemies in a community pushing towards cannabis reform, progression, research, and acceptance. She even hinted at a heavy topic, “I have come full circle on this arc [that] cannabis is a fantastic alternative to some pharmaceuticals and may assist the U.S with recovering from the opioid epidemic that plagues so many, including a loved one of mine.” With regards to Lori Ajax, as before mentioned, Dewit replies, “I am very pleased with the job that [she] has done on MAURCS, but the hand of the written law can only reach far, [instead requiring] things to evolve around and involve social change.”

With Manna Roots, Dewit mainly wants to “bring cannabis use out of the dark and into the light as a safe and effective remedy for pain, as a social alternative to wine or beer, to be used responsibly and respectfully in moderation without fear of ridicule or stereotypes.” In the end we have to see that everyone in society, from growers and dispensers to consumers, all have their own individual stories which makes the town come together and profit indefinitely.

Nowadays stopping by one of these dispensaries will be just as simple as going to the pharmacy, a walk in, evaluation of product, and quick transaction and walk away. The decision however for many lies in whether to go to the pharmacy or dispensary. Everyone has a certain vice or remedy and must learn what works for them. As Anna Fells of the New York Times put in her article “Can Nicotine Be Good for You”, she talks of a doctor who sees a patient who refrains from any psychoactive drugs but chews 40 pieces of nicotine’s gum per day, excessive for some, but “although doctors are trained to focus on prescription medications, there are and have always been nonprescription ‘remedies’ for psychiatric conditions. And,” Fells continues, “people’s preference for one type of substance over another can give a glimpse into their systems and even their brain chemistry.”

For example, Fells states, “if a patient tells me he falls asleep on cocaine, I wonder if he might have attention deficit disorder. A patient who smokes marijuana to calm down before important business meetings leads me in the direction of social phobia or other anxiety disorders [and people who take the anesthetic ketamine] might be depressed [since it works as an antidepressant]” and the list of both medicating and self medicating goes back and forth.

As far as granting medical marijuana cards and prescribing pharmaceuticals in recent years goes, the abuse of the prescription pill portion has skyrocketed with approximately 443,900 people dying this past year because of overdose of simple anxiety medication and sleep aids. “275,000 were due to some error […] 130,000 were caused by unintentional misuse, such as taking the drug more frequently than prescribed. Nearly 40,000 deaths were attributed to an adverse reaction to a drug that was properly prescribed and taken,” according to Bryan Hubbard.

However, with legalization of marijuana and more research going into the subject across UC campuses and other universities, and news from Dr. Frank D’Ambrosia, a spokesman for cannabis policy reform, people have revealed positive evidence that smoking should not only be legalized, but promoted in order to stop the pharmaceutical abuse problem in America. According to said studies by D’Ambrosia, with a daily dose of a gram of marijuana, 73.7% of people reduce the intake of possibly lethal pharmaceuticals.

More research will look into all of these substances, especially aiming at the schedule I drug of cannabis in 2018. As addressed by Campus Counsel of UC Davis, “Prop 64 did not contain provisions allocating funding for research regarding [its] implantation and effects [as] most possession, distribution, and cultivation […still remains or is done] illegally under federal law.”

On the flip side, with a DEA Schedule I license and proper “packaging and disposal” as well, research at UC Davis can and will be conducted. Research on animal test cases can be conducted to, supposing the researcher contacts either the Institutional Review Board or Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee. The research must then be submitted to and approved by the Research Advisory Panel of California. In spite of the roadblocks, research remains important and will lead to insightful discoveries. Some research that can more easily be done, says Campus Counsel, are “human observational studies in which the research subjects use marijuana, but the researchers do not procure the marijuana,” as well “environmental impact studies, policy or legal studies looking at economic, social, political or other issues, and research involving parts of the plant excluded from the definition of marijuana by the CSA.”

However, this incoming and pending research begets another piece of inquiry. While pieces on how cannabis leads people away from abusing opioids informs some, it misleads others, as research tends to do. Some people are inclined towards prescription pills in such a way that a daily micro-dose of marijuana, and the right strain for them, might lead them away from the pills they exploited to self-medicate for entirely different problems, including cancer, depression, anxiety, and the sort. All of these, a pill cannot help in the long run, but instead the pill itself acts as a gateway to escape the present moment. In much the same way, a fallacy presents itself when your Uber driver turns to you in the car and says, “Oh, you have bipolar disorder. You should smoke some weed. It always helps me.”

Part of the brain wants to agree with this statement, based off of D’Ambrosia’s evidence of this curing so much else, or at least preventing people from escaping life’s pain with dangerous pills instead. But, for individuals with certain inclinations, this is the case of knowing the lesser of two evils. For people with bipolar disorder I (a diagnosis of bipolar disorder I requires a previous bout of psychosis), taking prescription pills often alleviates mood instability and irrational thought patterns, or what others term psychotic thinking leading to a break of psychosis. And while prescriptions alleviate pain in their case, they are also more susceptible to forego their prescriptions in order to ‘mentally’ disconnect in other ways, some of the ways including smoking tobacco and the more psychoactive cannabis. In this case, marijuana actually acts in much the same way overdosing on pharmaceutical pills do for ordinary people, a drug that can exacerbate effects and lead to dangerous driving, risk taking behavior, and the full spectrum of euphoria to dysphoria and suicide.

The following is a collective cautionary story to depict the dangers of both benzodiazepines (more particularly Xanax) and psychoactive drugs (in this instance, cannabis). For some people, who neither mix pills with alcohol or who have brain chemistry which reacts well to marijuana, read no further. But some are better off with exercise and good nutrition, avoiding both all together unless they desire to go down a rabbit hole.

For Trevor Gerard, the journey through the tragic, often little discussed side of Xanax and marijuana all started in sophomore year at Davis High School, when he was diagnosed with severe participation and social anxiety, and prescribed Xanax in a minute dosage. All addictions start small, the first little hit, bump, pop. At this time, the rapper Lil Xan did not exist, social media did not promote ‘benzos’ as popular. But soon, like cigarettes in the 1960s, people would send out videos of themselves taking bars of Xanax as routinely as a hobbie on Instagram with a simple click and record.

Gerard became absorbed in the culture before it surfaced major news coverage when influential rapper Lil Peep died of overdose (with traces of fentanyl) in late 2017. In junior year, he played up his anxiety and increased his dosage, showing up to class one day on “6 mg of Xanax and I was all messed up. But I faked being sick at the nurses office to go home.” When Gerard returned home, he “took more xanax, drank,” and continued in a form of perpetual self medication and self destruction. He took 2 mg more, which accumulated 10 mg in his system. His “tolerance had been high” and he had yet to black out from all of it, but in a short time he made a decision, like so many other teens coping with substances across the world, which would delete all modes of rational thought and send him over the edge.

He drank “three shots of Jamison whiskey which is what messed it all up for me. Next thing I know I had not even stepped out on the street in front of my house, when the police arrested me.” From feint memory, it turns out he jumped into his neighbor’s yard before going out on the street and attempted to “break into his house, either due to paranoia of being at home or to rob something.” The neighbor had pulled a gun on him and called the cops, who proceeded to throw him most literally and forcefully into the cop car, lights fading and blurring as the car crept to the station, two strangers in the front. In what seemed like a moment’s time, he found himself in a detox cell “and I fell into a Xanax coma type thing.”

Waking up the next day in the cell, Gerard “was convinced I was in jail for just a few hours.” But a few hours for him was one of the biggest scares for his friends and family, as “everybody told me I was in detox for a whole day and never moved. I didn’t believe them till they served us breakfast in jail, then I realized I’ve been in jail for a day and nobody knew where I was.” Sadly, for many who black out only to find themselves in a jail cell or 51/50 hold at a mental hospital, the police department and faculty have trouble reaching immediate family for some time.

Gerard “was finally able to call my mom and get a lawyer on the second day of being locked up.” But his stay in the uncomfortable, jarring darkness of mere toilet and bed without any sheets to keep him warm had just begun, lasting another 3 days and nights. Although this might be a captivating story to tell close friends around a campfire and was able to get his “charges dropped from burglary to criminal trespassing and criminal mischief”, he warns others not to allow Xanax to “mess you over hard.”

Later that year, Gerard visited both his psychiatrist and went in for therapy, something he hesitantly agreed to on the recommendation of family members. After disclosing his entire story, the therapist and psychiatrist both agreed Xanax would obviously not be the best road to go down in the future.

With research coming from the Minnesota Department of Health and other sources about how marijuana intake can decrease people’s addictive tendencies to lean on and abuse opioids, the psychiatrist prescribed Gerard CBD oil, which he drank in tea. It soothed his nerves and helped with his depression. He began regarding marijuana as a cure all and stopped taking Xanax altogether. He smoked with his friends on the weekends and by himself in his room on weekdays, steadily increasing the amount.

Gerard and his girlfriend at the time were now eighteen and hanging out together at her place in Woodland. He smoked cigarettes with her mostly, but today she decided to purchase a new pipe from the local smoke shop for him.

They met up in the park nearby and smoked some marijuana his friend had given him, not knowing the vendor. In fact, his friend had picked it up off the street and the marijuana was most likely not completely pure, containing traces of anything as lethal as PCP in small amounts. Gerard and his girlfriend sat in his car when, before smoking, she said, “I met someone while you were away on your trip with your family. I’m breaking up with you, I’m sorry.” A silence followed when she said, “You should smoke, it will help you.”

They smoked and soon he opened up to her about how hard the last few years have been with his parents splitting up, his time in jail from the Xanax incident and coma, and about all the memories he had of her. Gerard, driving her back home, despite the fact that marijuana was currently illegal and proposition 64 has not yet been passed, dropped her off at her place and arrived safely back home, “driving better than I do when I’m sober.” Instead of absorbing the information about the break up, he ignored the negative feelings and emotions and smoked 2 bottles, or approximately 12 g of marijuana all in the night.

Having previously been diagnosed with rapid cycling bipolar disorder in addition to anxiety, he often used marijuana to cope with the effects of the medication he took for it, which included a mood stabilizer lithium and antipsychotic risperidol which he hasn’t been taking. Every time he smoked before all it would do is further stabilize his mood. This time however, whether due to the cannabis coming from a source that could not promise quality control or something else, he began having slight schizophrenic thoughts and both auditory and visual hallucinations.

Locked in his room, subconsciously sulking over the break up, he idly pulled up YouTube and distracted himself with cat videos, Planet Earth clips, music videos, and the sort. Nothing particularly unusual to note, until he pulled up another music video, with lyrics. “Subliminal messages seemed to override my mind, saying I was the devil, and then I pulled up other music videos I had watched before, where images showed up which had not been there before.”

For example, “I thought in a blink 182 music video, I was being subliminally proposed to and marrying the love of my life,” Gerard explained. He spent the entire night listening to music his ex-girlfriend and him used to listen to, and was fully enraptured by everything in his little room. Gerard woke up in a sort of half sleep trance in the morning, not feeling like he fully went to sleep at all.

He planned to go over to Kira’s house and explain to her that they should stay together, but instead ended up “waking up” mid-drive from his “trancelike, half psychotic, cannabis and stress-induced” state to find himself driving his car. Terrified, irritable, and paranoid of all the drivers around him, he veered over to the right, presses hard on the gas pedal, and totaled his car at a road block. “Something switched,” he described “in his brain and I went into an overwhelming sober yet psychotic state and jumped into the back of my car.”

The police were on their way and soon he was handcuffed and place in a holding cell before being shuffled into jail for four days, for the second time. Yelling the whole time he was in there, not eating, and barely sleeping, he was offered medication and a phone call, but refused both incoherently. Declared innocent with a plead of insanity, the judge and his parents were finally able to locate and put him in a mental hospital, where he remained for thirty days.

The cannabis cleared from his system and medication for Bipolar I brought him back to stability and he was released, having gained forty pounds in the mental hospital and a new perspective on drugs in general, both recreational and pharmaceutical.

Gerard was able to finish out high school and now goes to college at UC Davis in his freshman year. He stays away from most vices now besides the occasional cigarette, as even alcohol reminds him of the time he mixed it with Xanax and it sent him into a coma. In the end, he realized that a person must be careful when mixing two dangerous substances, and that any substance for a given person can be dangerous in time.

The price some can pay for marijuana is incredible, and not the 50% taxes, in this case. According to a study by Julio Arboleda-Florez, “29% [of criminals and mental patients] had a diagnosis of ‘psychosis’ and 35% had a diagnosis of substance abuse [of which includes cannabis].” In summation, people are more likely to go to a prison and/or a mental hospital under psychosis. And of these people, 27% smoke marijuana, according to a report on cannabis-induced psychosis gathered by MDs Ruby S. Grewal and Tony P. George. In 2017 alone, upwards of 455,000 emergency room visits involved marijuana related incidents. Whether or not a person remains mentally susceptible to this tendency towards psychosis from smoking depends on their genetic make-up.

Like anything else in the market, it comes down to the individual, what works for every person’s specific brain. Everyone these days has a cocktail of drugs and it depends on their internal chemistry, not whichever chemical is currently being promoted. Also, the legalization of marijuana might eventually actually keep people out of jail and mental hospitals because of stricter enforcement of quality control. On the streets, an estimated 24% of marijuana samples contained PCP, according to Melanie Barker, a licensed clinical social worker with a Master’s in Public Health. Referred to as angel dust, PCP is responsible for producing an extra hallucinogenic kick in an already psychoactive drug, cannabis, that drives some into behavior which would otherwise be classified as rapid cycling bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. Dealers lace cannabis with PCP to unsuspecting clientele, which usually leads to a euphoric experience and heightened perception. The crash, however, oftentimes leads to drastic psychotic events.

The crash sometimes can be literal. As Mike Spies of Newsweek comments, some people have cases of such severe anxiety and paranoia after smoking particularly potent cannabis that they experience everything from as minor as fearing driving alone to delusionally thinking “colleagues are cannibals who plan” to eat them, in certain cases. Whether the original paranoia stems from past post traumatic stress or elsewhere remains to be seen, but for each individual who experiences the disphoric side to marijuana, they might eventually be scared off from the drug for good. No matter how many people it has and will help, certain individuals do not have the chemistry suited to, or are not inclined towards, this particular strain of drug.

After all, marijuana, with all of its pain numbing and psychoactive remedies, also remains a depressant. For those who are clinically depressed, their parents might steer their children away from marijuana, as Mike Spies alludes to in his article Inside the Tortured Mind of Eddie Ray Routh, that Routh’s Parent’s already feared “he was going to kill him. Because that’s what he wanted.” In the war, he attested to being in charge of clearing “the land of corpses,” a horrifying and trauma inducing task. Marijuana can sometimes swing life upwards, but can also increase feelings of isolation, which further attributes to delusion, paranoia, and depression. Not all cases turn out as badly as the American Sniper Routh’s, but marijuana — while recreational and fun for most — is a schedule I drug for, in the cases of the few, good reason, according to Davis police as set by the Drug Enforcement Administration.

As it turns out, Routh had suffered from “a series of psychotic breaks” two years before he committed a crime, but was misdiagnosed. With better psychiatrists, therapists, and self awareness, people will further understand if this particular weed sits well with us and prevent devastating outcomes.

Ideas/Introduction Questions:

-people who are opposed and for medical marijuana

-difference in quality control vs recreational and medical city officials

-how often you have to renew license is it same as alcohol

-is there going to be a limit to how many in Davis, if so how many and based on what criteria out of the 13 applicants

-medical ($100 per card) vs recreational (heavily taxed)

-micro-dosing

-weed maps

-how much will these shops be selling it for

-People’s Kush

-Anxiety and depression worse, counter effect of anti-depressant

-What is cup

oConditional Use Permit

-Applicants and how they intend to use it/how many allowed in Davis

o5 Point Management

oDelta of Venus Dispensary

Collaboration with People’s Kush

“We will be using the granny flat at 120 B St., as a dispensary showroom floor, delivery, dispatch, and administrative office. To facilitate this, we propose constructing a fence, gate, repaving portions of the parking lot adding two additional spaces, restoring the rear unit, installing security systems. We are applying for a license to sell Recreational and medical cannabis at a storefront, and to use the property to facilitate the delivery of medical cananbis.”

Over half of current People's Kush employees which are currently or were formerly employed at Delta of Venus and are thus already cafe-cross-trained..

Will smoking on the patio be permitted?

People’s Kush number (530) 302-5661

•The People’s Kush delivers medical cannabis to authorized patients in Davis and Yolo County.

•A collective non-profit organization run by and for the benefit of workers and patients; believe that marijuana, as a psychoactive substance, is sensitive to things like the love given to the soil it grows in; “call us superstitious, but we also think that when happy hands touch to grow it, trim it, and deliver it, it somehow makes our weed danker. That’s why we focus not just on a great delivery, but also making sure every stage of production – from soil to smoke – is done with ‘happy hands’ that is ethically, for the benefit of all involved, and with respect to the environment.”

•Interested in setting an example for the broader cannabis service industry, both as a business and as long-time residents of Davis; want a $22 an hour living wage for every cannabis worker in our County, because nobody should have to work and live in poverty

•Believe in regulations that require lab testing, so that potency and properties are known.

•“We believe in clear, consistent labeling so that consumers can understand the anticipated strength and effects of a dosage.”

oQuality control

•Think that the time of marijuana as a grey industry has passed. For the sake of the workers whose employers do not feel compelled to follow state labor or safety laws, for the sake of the environment under such stewardship, for the sake of the powerless among us upon whom the weight of our laws unevenly and harshly falls, and, for the sake of patients who deserve consistent access to medicine without fear or stigma: it’s time to embrace in the open what has always been a part of our community.

•“We, the workers who have provided you with dank bud and excellent service in this industry for many decades are ready to step forward into the light and share our craft… Welcome, friends, to our new project, The People’s Kush.”

oQuestions?

I heard about you through seeing some of your labeled lighters and business cards at Delta of Venus, and am excited to hear about your possible collaboration with Delta of Venus, pending application approval

How will this joint venture improve sales and business long term

Where does People’s Kush (and all dispensaries) get weed from (homegrown or bought), is it grown locally by the company? If so, how many different strains do you grow and how much can you grow? How difficult was it to get it off the ground running?

Do you deliver by car and will this be your first tangible dispensary (the collaboration with Delta of Venus) where a person can see what they are buying first hand?

I understand each strain of weed had drastically different potency levels. Also, even within the same batch of edibles, gummies, etc. each one has varying strength. How do you all at People’s Kush manage this and make sure each one is quality controlled/regulated. Does it have to be approved by some outlet, similar to how food retailers have to be approved by the FDA.

Thank you for answering my questions, I look forward to all the future has in store for your company, and let me know if there are any other people I can contact about cannabis research and cultivation in Davis and Yolo County.

oAll Good Wellness, Benefit Corporation

oCalifornia Grown, Inc.

oDavis Cannabis Company

oDavis Cannabis Collective

oF Street Dispensary

oThe Good People Farms, B Street and 3rd Street

oGreenbar

oKind Farma

oRiver City Phoenix

oManna Roots

Negatives of Marijuana

Marijuana laced with PCP is making a dangerous comeback in the US and the psychosis it generates in users is causing an increase in admissions to emergency rooms and psychiatric facilities.

PCP (Phencyclidine) was developed in the 1950’s as a surgical anesthetic. Its official use in humans was discontinued in 1965 as patients frequently became agitated, delusional and irrational following its use as an anesthetic. Known as angel dust, KJ (Kristal Joint), illy, wet and many other slang drug terms, it became a recreational drug with a bad reputation.

Because regular unlaced marijuana has been actively cultivated over the years to contain more and more of its active ingredient, THC, today’s weed is much more potent than the varieties available in the 1960s.

The result is a sharp rise in the number of teenagers and preteens being treated at emergency rooms or entering drug treatment as a result of using a highly potent type of marijuana. In 2009 it was 376,467 emergency room visits due to marijuana and in 2011 it was 455,668.

“The stereotypes of marijuana smoking are way out of date,” said Michael Dennis, a research psychologist in Bloomington, Ill. “The kids we see are not only smoking stronger stuff at a younger age but their pattern of use might be three to six blunts — the equivalent of three or four joints each — just for themselves, in a day. That’s got nothing to do with what Mom or Dad did in high school. It might as well be a different drug.”

Add PCP to this stronger marijuana and it truly creates psychosis in smokers and they frequently end up in a psychiatric facility – especially in a state like Florida where the Baker Act demands that people who are mentally out of control be confined.

What are the effects of smoking “wet weed”?

PCP laced marijuana can create combinations of these destructive conditions:

• severe hallucinations

• impaired motor coordination

• extreme anxiety

• depression

• disorientation

• paranoia

• aggressive behavior and violence

• seizures

• memory loss

• respiratory arrest

• comas and/or death

Not exactly what the user was expecting from a “recreational drug.”

In 2003 the story of a young man was reported who committed murder after smoking wet marijuana and was unable to recall the events of that night. He experienced drug induced amnesia – one of the factors that caused medical use of PCP as an anesthetic to be banned.

He received 25 years in prison for something he could not recall doing. He didn’t know that the joint he was smoking was “wet” and capable of creating auditory hallucinations demanding that he do an act he would never consider when not influenced by the drug.

In another tale of smoking laced marijuana the result was a severe panic attack This person could not feel any part of his body, he had auditory and visual hallucinations, he felt he could not breathe and he had a powerful sense of overwhelming doom and death. He still had negative effects months after the incident.

What do psychiatric receiving units do with people who come in out of control on marijuana?

UF Health Shands Psychiatric Hospital (Formerly known as Shands Vista ) is a Baker Act receiving facility in Gainesville, FL. Their website states that side effects of regular, unlaced marijuana include panic, paranoia or acute psychosis. They go on to state that marijuana is often cut with hallucinogens and smoking this type can lead to extreme hyperactivity, physical violence, heart attack, seizures, stroke or cardiac arrest.

Their treatment includes giving the patient benzodiazepines, psychoactive drugs like Xanax, Valium, and Ativan, which themselves can cause brain damage.

Since no psychiatric drug as been shown to be effective with marijuana addiction or laced marijuana , doctors in psychiatric facilities more or less experiment with various sedatives, antidepressants and prescription drugs in trying to calm down a violent patient who is high on PCP.

Jeff Deeney, a social worker and freelance writer from Philadelphia, wrote about the rising use of PCP wet weed in his city in 2011.

He described dealers on the street calling out “wet, wet, wet” looking for customers who wanted a high that included hallucinations and who, not infrequently, got a psychotic episode as well.

Deeney wrote, “By morning light, some of them will be strapped to gurneys in inpatient psych units, wards of the city’s Crisis Response Centers—psychiatric emergency rooms acting as triage units for the homicidal and suicidal.”

Users are mostly in their teens and twenties. One named Nelly said “I got tired of weed and for a minute wet was cool, it was something new, it was a good way to escape.”

He wasn’t counting on the dissociative effects of wet weed which far exceeded those of high-grade designer marijuana. He’d have long conversations with inanimate objects that had come to life. Even when not high on the drug he’d have hallucinations with voices talking to him. “I heard voices, they would tell me to do things I didn’t want to do, commit crimes, hurt people, stuff like that.”

According to wet users an overdose makes body temperature go very high with a sensation of burning up. Many strip off clothing. The stories of naked PCP fueled users fighting off the police with the strength of 10 men are not overly exaggerated. A Philly policeman said “That stuff about Superman strength is for real, believe me,” he says. “I’ve seen people jump out of two story windows…people really do crazy stuff on PCP when we encounter them.”

Dr. John McCafferty was the Inpatient Director at Einstein Hospital’s psychiatric unit that serves the neighborhoods in Philadelphia where wet use is soaring. He got an involuntary commitment, at least once a week.

He said other types of addicts get stabilized quickly but wet users can be catatonic for days.

“PCP users can be so psychotic when they’re brought in that they can’t provide any history. . . Some PCP users are transferred to the psych unit from the trauma unit, where they had pins put in their legs because they jumped out a window. Some complain of chest pains days after arriving, and when we do an X-ray we find broken ribs. PCP is also an anesthetic, so other injuries often aren’t discovered until after it wears off.”

Nelly eventually stopped using wet weed. But then, instead of smoking marijuana with PCP, he took psychiatric medication “in order to stabilize his mood.” He may be quieter but he’s still taking dangerous drugs – probably for the rest of his life unless he encounters a real drug rehab program to help him quit his medications.

Having to choose between addiction to PCP marijuana or addiction to psychiatric drugs is a choice young people should not have to make.

http://voices.yahoo.com/wet-weed-dangers-marijuana-laced-pcp-338844.html

http://www.drugs-forum.com/forum/showthread.php?t=139184

http://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/drugfacts/drug-related-hospital-emergency-room-visits

http://www.samhsa.gov/data/2k13/DAWN127/sr127-DAWN-highlights.htm

http://www.drugfree.org/join-together/addiction/report-high-potency-marijuana

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21524266 2011

https://ufhealth.org/marijuana-intoxication

http://www.medicinenet.com/marijuana/page6.htm#what_are_the_treatments_for_marijuana_abuse_and_addiction

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2011/04/22/pcp-the-new-rise-of-a-drug-that-turns-teens-crazy.html

Cannabis: scientists call for action amid mental health concerns

Warning reflects growing consensus that frequent use of the drug raises the risk of psychotic disorders in vulnerable people

Ian Sample Science editor

@iansample

Fri 15 Apr 2016 09.35 EDT

Last modified on Tue 28 Nov 2017 18.05 EST

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A woman blows rings with marijuana smoke during an event in in Denver, Colorado. Photograph: Mark Leffingwell/Reuters

The risks of heavy cannabis for mental health are serious enough to warrant global public health campaigns, according to international drugs experts who said young people were particularly vulnerable.

What are the true risks of taking cannabis?

The warning from scientists in the UK, US, Europe and Australia reflects a growing consensus that frequent use of the drug can increase the risk of psychosis in vulnerable people, and comes as the UN prepares to convene a special session on the global drugs problem for the first time since 1998. The meeting in New York next week aims to unify countries in their efforts to tackle issues around illicit drug use.

How harmful is cannabis? – podcast

While the vast majority of people who smoke cannabis will not develop psychotic disorders, those who do can have their lives ruined. Psychosis is defined by hallucinations, delusions and irrational behaviour, and while most patients recover from the episodes, some go on to develop schizophrenia. The risk is higher among patients who continue with heavy cannabis use.

Public health warnings over cannabis have been extremely limited because the drug is illegal in most countries, and there are uncertainties over whether it really contributes to mental illness. But many researchers now believe the evidence for harm is strong enough to issue clear warnings.

“It’s not sensible to wait for absolute proof that cannabis is a component cause of psychosis,” said Sir Robin Murray, professor of psychiatric research at King’s College London. “There’s already ample evidence to warrant public education around the risks of heavy use of cannabis, particularly the high-potency varieties. For many reasons, we should have public warnings.”

More young people are in treatment for cannabis use than any other drug

Primary drug of use, thousands, 2014-15

Cannabis

Alcohol

Amphetamines

Cocaine

Ecstasy

NPS

Solvents

Heroin

Crack

Other opiates

Methadone

Other

Guardian graphic | Source: Public Health England. Young people: aged 9-17. NPS: New psychoactive substances

The researchers are keen not to exaggerate the risks. In the language of the business, cannabis alone is neither necessary nor sufficient to cause psychosis. But the drug inflicts a clear burden on the vulnerable. Estimates suggest that deterring heavy use of cannabis could prevent 8-24% of psychosis cases handled by treatment centres, depending on the area. In London alone, where the most common form of cannabis is high-potency skunk, avoiding heavy use could avert many hundreds of cases of psychosis every year.

What are the true risks of taking cannabis?

In the US, cannabis is becoming stronger and more popular. Over the past 20 years, the strength of cannabis seized by the Drug Enforcement Administration has increased from 4%-12% THC. Meanwhile, the number of users rose from 14.5 million to 22.2 million in the seven years to 2014.

Coinciding with the upwards trend, young people’s perceptions of the risks of cannabis have fallen, a consequence perhaps of the public discussion over legalisation and fewer restrictions for medicinal uses, according to the US government’s National Institute on Drug Abuse (Nida).

“It is important to educate the public about this now,” said Nora Volkow, director of Nida. “Kids who start using drugs in their teen years may never know their full potential. This is also true in relation to the risk for psychosis. The risk is significantly higher for people who begin using marijuana during adolescence. And unfortunately at this point, most people don’t know their genetic risk for psychosis or addiction.”

Rise in Skunk among cannabis seizures

Skunk as a percentage of cannabis seizures

Year

1999/00

2004/05

2007/08

020

Guardian graphic | Source: Public Health England. Home Office stopped collecting data after 2008

In the UK, cannabis is the most popular illegal drug, and according to Public Health England data, more young people enter treatment centres for help with cannabis than any other drug, alcohol included. The number of under-18s in treatment for cannabis rose from 9,000 in 2006 to 13,400 in 2015. The drug now accounts for three-quarters of young people receiving help in specialist drugs centres. The most common age group is 15- to 16-year-olds.

The Guardian view on UK drug laws: high time to challenge a failing prohibition

The reasons for the upward trend are unclear. As hard drugs fall in popularity, clinical services may simply pull in more cannabis users. But the rise in young people in treatment may be linked to skunk, a potent form of cannabis that has taken over the market and edged out the traditional, weaker resins.

Skunk and other strong forms of cannabis now dominate the illicit drugs markets in many countries. From 1999-2008, the cannabis market in England transformed from 15%-81% skunk. In 2008, skunk confiscated from the street contained on average 15% of the high-inducing substance THC (delta-9 tetrahydrocannabinol), three times the level found in resin seized that year. The Home Office has not recorded cannabis potency since.

“There is no doubt that high-potency cannabis, such as skunk, causes more problems than traditional cannabis, or hash,” Murray told the Guardian. “This is the case for dependence, but especially for psychosis.”

Ian Hamilton, a mental health lecturer at the University of York, said more detailed monitoring of cannabis use is crucial to ensure that information given out is credible and useful. Most research on cannabis, particularly the major studies that have informed policy, are based on older low-potency cannabis resin, he points out. “In effect, we have a mass population experiment going on where people are exposed to higher potency forms of cannabis, but we don’t fully understand what the short- or long-term risks are,” he said.

Young people seeking treatment for cannabis use peaks at age 15 to 16

Thousands, 2014-15

Under 13

13 to 14

14 to 15

15 to 16

16 to 17

17 to 18

Guardian graphic | Source: Public Health England. Young people: aged 9-17

In Australia, a 2013 study found nearly half of the cannabis confiscated on the streets contained more than 15% THC. Prof Wayne Hall, director of the Centre for Youth Substance Abuse Research at the University of Queensland, said that while most people can use cannabis without putting themselves at risk of psychosis, there is still a need for public education.

LEARN MORE

“We want public health messages because, for those who develop the illness, it can be devastating. It can transform people’s lives for the worse,” he said. “People are not going to develop psychosis from having a couple of joints at a party. It’s getting involved in daily use that seems to be the riskiest pattern of behaviour: we’re talking about people who smoke every day and throughout the day.”

The evidence that cannabis can cause psychosis is not 100% conclusive. It is still possible that people who are prone to psychosis are simply more likely to use the drug. The catch is that absolute proof of causality cannot be obtained. The harm caused by cigarettes was easy to confirm: paint tobacco tar on mice and watch the tumours form. You can give cannabis to animals and watch what happens, but you cannot recognise a psychotic mouse. Nor can scientists order thousands of teenagers to smoke pot every day and compare them to a control group that abstained 10 years later.

“When you’re faced with a situation where you cannot determine causality, my personal opinion is why not take the safer route rather than the riskier one, and then figure out ways to minimise harm?” said Amir Englund, a cannabis researcher at King’s College London.

4,000 more young people are seeking treatment for cannabis use than in 2005

Thousands

2005/06

2006/07

2007/08

2008/09

2009/10

2010/11

2011/12

2012/13

2013/14

2014/15

Guardian graphic | Source: Public Health England. Young people: aged 9-17

In the 1960s, cannabis in the Netherlands had less than 3% THC, but today high potency strains average 20%. Jim van Os, professor of psychiatry at Maastricht University medical centre, said public health messages are now justified. He believes people should be deterred from using cannabis before the age of 18, warned off the stronger forms, and urged not to use cannabis alone or to cope with life’s problems.

Public health campaigns can easily fail though. To prevent a single case of schizophrenia, several thousand heavy cannabis smokers would probably have to quit. That could change with better understanding of who is most at risk. “Once we really understand what it is about cannabis that increases some people’s risk, and in what context, we can maybe start to identify people more highly at risk, and targeted campaigns are likely to be much more effective,” said Suzi Gage, senior research associate at Bristol University.

As with any campaign, credibility is everything. “There is an issue of getting a message through to those who are vulnerable without causing alarm, being overly sensationalist and thus being ignored,” said Dr Wendy Swift, of the National Drug and Alcohol Research Center at the University of New South Wales. “There is good evidence that cannabis use, particularly early onset and frequent use when young, can cause problems on a number of fronts into young adulthood. This to me is the group we need to get our messages through to the most, along with those who have a family history of mental illness or have mental health problems themselves.”

A government spokesperson said its position on cannabis was clear. “We must prevent drug use in our communities and help people who are dependent to recover, while ensuring our drugs laws are enforced. There is clear scientific and medical evidence that cannabis is a harmful drug which can damage people’s mental and physical health, and harms communities.”

Since you’re here …

… we have a small favour to ask. More people are reading the Guardian than ever but advertising revenues across the media are falling fast. And unlike many news organisations, we haven’t put up a paywall – we want to keep our journalism as open as we can. So you can see why we need to ask for your help. The Guardian’s independent, investigative journalism takes a lot of time, money and hard work to produce. But we do it because we believe our perspective matters – because it might well be your perspective, too.

I appreciate there not being a paywall: it is more democratic for the media to be available for all and not a commodity to be purchased by a few. I’m happy to make a contribution so others with less means still have access to information.

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If everyone who reads our reporting, who likes it, helps fund it, our future would be much more secure. For as little as $1, you can support the Guardian – and it only takes a minute. Thank you.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 years

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Disney will pivot Epcot away from its "sponsored content" model

Walt died in 1968, and EPCOT was transformed into Walt Disney World (tip to successors: always name your betrayals of the dead founder's vision after the dead founder as a way of claiming legitimacy!). Nine years later, Walt Disney World's Disneyland-esque Magic Kingdom got a new themepark neighbor: EPCOT Center (later Epcot Center, later still, Epcot).

As queues at Disney Parks lengthen, building showstopper rides just makes them longer -- it's a Red Queen's Race -- but upping the density of personal, handmade entertainments can solve the problem.

https://boingboing.net/2017/07/16/red-queens-futurism.html

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gokul2181 · 4 years

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Amber Heard accuses Johnny Depp of throwing bottles like 'grenades' | English Movie News

New Post has been published on https://jordarnews.in/amber-heard-accuses-johnny-depp-of-throwing-bottles-like-grenades-english-movie-news/

Amber Heard accuses Johnny Depp of throwing bottles like 'grenades' | English Movie News

Amber Heard alleged in a British court on Wednesday that ex-husband Johnny Depp threw “30 or so bottles” at her as if they were “grenades or bombs” during a drunken and frenzied assault in Australia in March 2015 that also saw him accidentally sever part of his finger.

Taking the witness box for a third day at the High Court in London during Depp’s libel case against a British tabloid, the actress refuted his allegation that it was she who lost her temper and that she had injured him.

Heard has described her stay in Australia with Depp as akin to a “three-day hostage situation,” during which Depp was “completely out of his mind and out of control” following a binge on drugs and alcohol. Heard has said that she feared for her life while at the rented property on Australia’s Gold Coast during a visit while Depp was filming the latest “Pirates of the Caribbean” film. The incident is central to The Sun’s labeling of Depp in an April 2018 article as a “wife-beater.” The publication’s defense relies on 14 allegations made by Heard of violence by Depp between 2013 and 2016, in settings as varied as the rented house in Australia, his private island in the Bahamas and a private jet.

Depp, 57, denies abusing Heard and claims she was the aggressor during their tempestuous relationship. He was present once again to hear Heard’s testimony. He is suing the publisher, and its executive editor, Dan Wootton, over the article.

Depp’s lawyer, Eleanor Laws, said Heard had worked herself “into a rage” during her stay in Australia and that she had a habit of just “losing it.”

Heard, 34, said she got “angry at times but not into a rage that would cause me to throw anything at him.”

She acknowledged that she broke one bottle during their second evening together in Australia, testifying that it happened as they argued about the scale of Depp’s drinking.

“I regret I did that,” said Heard, who also claimed that Depp often credited her for saving him by trying to get him clean and sober.

After she smashed the bottle, Heard alleges that Depp, fueled by alcohol and drugs, started throwing bottles, full enough that they broke a window behind her.

“He started picking them up one by one and throwing them like grenades or bombs,” she said. “One after the other after the other, in my direction, and I felt glass breaking behind me.”

She said he threw all the bottles that were within reach, bar one “celebratory magnum-sized bottle of wine.”

“I would be shocked if Johnny remembers any of this himself, but I was there,” Heard said.

Heard also denied severing the tip of Depp’s finger during the alleged bottle-throwing or putting out a cigarette on his cheek during the incident. She said it was something that Depp used to do to himself.

“I was standing right in front of him,” Heard said. “It was deliberate.”

Heard said Depp “screamed” at her while stubbing the cigarette on his cheek that he couldn’t feel the pain. She testified that Depp was high on cocaine and MDMA at the time, as well as drunk.

Depp’s lawyer, Laws, also accused Heard of lying about an alleged incident of domestic violence in Los Angeles in December 2015, which Heard has described in written testimony as “one of the worst and most violent nights” of the couple’s relationship.

In her testimony, Heard alleged that Depp slapped her and pulled out clumps of her hair while dragging her through their apartment, then repeatedly punched her in the head.

Laws said medical notes made by a nurse, Erin Boerum, who saw Heard shortly after the alleged incident, didn’t note any bruises, just bleeding on her lip. The lawyer suggested the bleeding resulted from Heard biting her lip.

“Of course not,” Heard responded. “I had two black eyes, a broken nose, a broken rib …. I had bruises all over my body.”

Depp’s lawyer also played a short clip of Heard’s appearance on James Corden’s ‘The Late Late Show’ the day after the alleged 2015 incident. Laws said the footage showed no injuries on Heard.

“I had tons of injuries,” Heard said, adding that makeup had covered them up.

Melanie Inglessis, Heard’s makeup artist, told the court that she camouflaged the injuries with concealer ahead of the model-actor’s appearance on the show. Inglessis said the concealer was “very effective” at covering up the bruises “because, to my recollection, they were not that dark or that inflamed. … I don’t remember having trouble covering them”.

The makeup artist confirmed that she attended the London court hearing involuntarily via video link from Los Angeles.

During the first nine days of case testimony at the High Court, judge Andrew Nicol heard from Depp and from several current or former employees who backed his version of events. In his testimony, Depp said he was the one being abused by Heard and that she had a history of being violent against him.

In written testimony released to the court, Heard said that at various times during her and Depp’s relationship she endured “punching, slapping, kicking, head-butting and choking.” She said some incidents were “so severe” she was “afraid he was going to kill me, either intentionally or just by losing control and going too far.” She said he blamed his actions on “a self-created third party” that he referred to as “the monster.”

Depp and Heard met on the set of the film ‘The Rum Diary’, released in 2011. They married in Los Angeles in February 2015. Heard filed for divorce the following year, and it was finalized in 2017.

Thursday is expected to be Heard’s final day of testimony.

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#accuses #Amber #bottles #Depp #English #grenades #Heard #Johnny #Movie #News #throwing

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inhumansforever · 6 years

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Secret Warriors #10 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

The Warriors continue their battle against Mr. Sinister, offered up by the creative team of Mathew Rosenberg, Javier Garrón, Will Robinson and Israel Silva. Quick recap and review following the jump.

The last issue ended in a rather terrifying cliffhanger as it was revealed that the Inhuman children Sinister and The Dark Beast abducted had been transformed into living bombs. The boy the Warriors had returned home was detonated... The Warriors were able to escape thanks to Magik’s teleportation powers, but we have to assume the kid and his family were all killed. And two other kids also detonated, likely killing themselves and their families as well. Which is freaking horrifying! Furthermore, it has all resulted in the Secret Warriors being suspected terrorists sought out by the authorities…

The investigators have tracked the children back to the secret laboratory The Dark Best had used. There, the authorities found all sorts of scientific equipment - all of which could be traced back to the Ennilux Corporation, a conglomerate founded, led and staffed by Inhumans. This has left Ennilux looking extremely suspect and the local police in Venice converge on the Ennilux headquarters to make arrests, seize assets and investigate its involvement. And all of this had been in accordance to Karnak’s plan.

Ennilux had made the equipment that Sinister and the Dark Beast used and Karnak made sure that the authorities could track it back to them. Furthermore, Karnak has arranged an intricate plan of asset re-allocation hiding the majority of the company’s corporate holdings. Backed into a corner, Ahura, the current chief executive officer of Ennilux, is forced to go along with Karnak’s plan, authorizing the remainder of the assets to be transferred into the dummy fronts and extra-jurisdictional banks. Karnak promises that doing so will act to save the company.

Which it does. Unfortunately for Ahura and the others, Karnak’s plan did not make allowances for the company’s employees and all of them are arrested… except for Karnak whom it would appear has arranged things so that he has complete control over Ennilux.

Meanwhile, back on New Attilan, The Warriors are recovering from the terrible ordeal of the kid they had saved blowing up. Led by Iso, the forces of New Attilan has succeeded in rounding up the remainder of the children Sinister had abducted and now have them in healing pods to ensure their safety and undo whatever it was that had done to make them into bombs. Iso chides the Warriors for their poor decisions, suggesting that it would have been wiser to have the kids checked out before sending them home.

Many of The Inhumans of New Attilan do not appear to be too happy with the Secret Warriors. The Warriors had led the charge to liberate New Attilan at the end of the Secret Empire ordeal, but now their actions have left The Inhumans suspects in a string of terrorist bombings. On top of that, Naja and Grid are still quite bitter toward Inferno for his abandoning them at the beginning of the Secret Empire takeover.

Magik doesn’t have much interest in the affairs of The Inhumans, but she still feels responsible in that The Dark Beast had escaped custody on her watch. She’s committed to making things right by ensuring that both the Beast and Mr. Sinister face justice for their terrible acts. To this end, Magik gathers up Inferno and the two teleport to Venice to try to confront Karnak… also she ‘accidentally’ take the television remote with her…

The two don’t find Karnak in Venice but do encounter Ahura, who is in the midst of allowing Karnak to transfer holdings in the effort to save the company (he doesn’t yet realize that Karnak is going to betray him). A quick skirmish arises between Ahura, Inferno and Magik when Ahura refuses them access to Karnak. The Italian police are closing in and Magik and Inferno realize they are not going to get the answers they seek. As they leave, however, Ahura does offer Inferno a clue, noting that Mr. Sinister may be found at a specific abandoned Shield facility in the states.

The two return to New Attilan where they are once more admonished by Iso. Inferno has had enough and storms off. Ms. Marvel is concerned for him and wants to go talk with him, but Quake dissuades her, suggesting that Inferno just needs time to cool off. Some time later, Ms. Marvel brings lunch to Inferno’s quarters. She discovers that Quake is there and that the two had just had a role in the hey. Ms. Marvel is kind of heartbroken and leaves in a huff. Inferno is a bit confused by this and Quake explains that Ms. Marvel has had a bit of a crush on him and is likely jealous and saddened to see that he has hooked up with Quake instead.

Quake then proceeds to make it very clear to Inferno that their getting together was merely a hook-up and not anything more. She’s rather harsh in making this clear, so harsh that it appears Quake may be overcompensating - preventing herself from getting close to someone for fear of losing them the way she has lost so many others she has been close to in the past. Of course this goes right over Inferno’s head and he is left hurt and angry by it all.

Meanwhile, Moon Girl reveals that this whole time she has left Karnak’s son, Leer, in the care of her pal, Devil Dinosaur… who it turns out is the best babysitter ever.

With Magik’s aide, Moon Girl recovers Leer and Devil D, bringing them both back to New Attilan.

Still stewing over Quake’s comments, Inferno comes out to say hello to Leer. Leer feels partially responsible for Sinister having abdusted Inferno’s niece, Ariella. Of course none of this is Leer’s fault, but he feels that had Sinister been able to utilize Leer’s genome to unlock the secrets of Terrigenesis then Sinister would not need Ariella as a bargaining chip and none of this would have happened.

Inferno tries to convince Leer not to blame himself. Leer explains that what Sinister truly needs to fulfill his goal is a sample of Terrigen, the crystalline substance that triggers transformation in Inhumans. Furthermore, Leer recounts a riddle his father used to tell him about how the Inhumans would bow before Terrigen when they knelt before the royal throne.

It’s not a particularly difficult riddle and even Inferno is able to figure it out. In short, a Terrigen Crystal has been hidden inside the Throne of Attilan. Desperate to save his niece, Inferno makes the rash decision to obtain the crystal, steal a ship and head to Sinister’s secret lair, hoping that he might trade the crystal in exchange for his nieces’ freedom. And it is with this gamble that the issue comes to a close, to be continued with the next installment.

Although substantially lower in the action department, this is another thrilling installment of Secret Warriors, with lots of plot twists, some terrific laughs and a great deal of fun and interesting character development.

All that has unfolded has been an intricate chess match between Karnak and Sinister with everyone else, from the Warriors to Ahura, Leer and Ariella, even the Dark Beast, made to be mere chess pieces, pawns, knights and rooks. What the end game is, how the final gambit resolves is yet to be seen. And once more I’m left at the end of the issue very much looking forward to the next one.

As deduced by Moon Girl, Karnak’s goal is the recreation of a means for Terrigenesis... a way to offer his people a new future. Apparently to achieve this goal Karnak has needed to steal the Enillux Corporation and all its holdings, leaving poor Ahura to twist. One would think that with his psychic abilities Ahura might have foreseen Karnak’s betrayal. As it stands, it looks as though Ahura is out at Ennilux.

Mr. Sinister’s goal, as we learn from Leer, is to unlock the secrets of Terrigenesis. Sinister’s purpose has always been the advancement of the Mutant genome and perhaps he is hoping that there might be something in the mutagenic properties of Terrigen that will further facilitate Mutant evolution. Whatever the case, Leer may be much more like his father than he lets on. He plays up being all innocent and naive, but I’m starting to suspect that he may be as much a manipulator as his father. He all but spells out to Inferno what it is that Sinister wants and how Inferno can get it to him.

Anyways, let get into the juiciest part of the issue… Daisy and Dante totally hook up! Wha!?!

Wow, that was fast (figuratively and literally). Nine issues of rather subtle hints the two were into one another and them *boom* before you know the two have knocked the preverbal boots. Must admit I did not see that coming (ahem).

Daisy is rather forward in letting Dante know that their getting together was simply a means of stress-relief and not to read more into it. Daisy’s being so harsh with him leaves me feeling that she is actually trying to protect herself.

Everyone who Daisy has cared for has been taken away from her, and the prospect of being in a romantic relationship is likely very daunting to her. Understandably, she doesn’t want to get hurt again so she keeps a distance by pushing Dante away. Of course this is not how the mind nor heart actually works, but people often act irrationally when trying to protect themselves from emotional hardship.

Unfortunately, Dante is an impulsive guy who doesn’t always think things through. Daisy’s efforts to protect herself are kind of overt, but it flies over Dante’s head and he just reacts to base insult of feeling rejected. Which is understandable… Dante’s in a pretty anxious place. He is so worried about his niece that it’s difficult for him to be mindful of the bigger picture. And this also helps to explain how he could be so dense over why seeing him together with Daisy might be hurtful for Kamala.

My fellow Ms. Marvel fans are likely to object to the idea that Kamala could have had a crush on Dante. Kamala doesn’t want to date anyone. She’s rather traditional in her attitudes toward romance, seeing it as something that should be waited on. Yet that doesn’t preclude her from having passing fancies on cute boys. She’s crushed pretty heavily on Kamran, and Kareem after that. Tall dark and handsome is definitely her type and Dante very much fits the bill. Of course he’s too old for her and I doubt Kamala had any real interest in the two getting together, but that certainly doesn’t stop her from feeling hurt when seeing he has been with someone else… especially when that someone else is Daisy, someone who has very much been Kamala’s opposite in terms of attitudes and values. That must really sting.

I’m kind of a sucker for these soap opera style tropes. Matt Rosenberg has such a great feel for these character and knack for dialogue. It all becomes fun, funny and totally engrossing.

Not to be outdone by the writing, Javier Garrón’s illustration continues to impress. The action scenes at the Enniulx headquarters are especially cool. And I love the wall art Enilux has chosen to hang up in their foyer. ‘Hey, you know what would really bring the room alive... a big ol' group portrait of The Celestials.’ This is a great touch.

Garrón’s use of exaggerated facial contortions to relay emotion and add punchlines to the jokes just kills me. I didn’t think Daisy’s look of exasperation toward Kamala in the previous issue could be topped, but Lunella’s reaction to Daisy and Dante’s hook-up is just priceless.

Once again, I’m totally looking forward to the next issue and another terrific job by Rosenberg, Garrón and company. Highly recommended. Four and a half out of five Lockjaws.

#Secret Warriors #spoilers #Mathew Rosenberg #Javier Garrón #Wil Robinson #Israel Silva #Inhumans #review

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