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watchtheworldargue · 4 years

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egg magazine, april 1990. interview with Michael Hutchence

transcription below :)

Michael Hutchence on Lower Broadway

By Hal Rubenstein \ Photography by Steven Meisel

Globe-hopping is hell on a wardrobe and hard on the feet. Sometimes you have to get out of the limo to spend your money.

Michael Hutchence rarely comes to New York without luggage monogrammed INXS or Max Q, so one would think that on a visit without portfolio, the last thing he'd want to do is add on more baggage. But given a free day, a book of tickets, and our offer to go anywhere to do anything, Hutchence got into the limo with an agenda we could hardly call a new sensation. What kept us from sulking was that he hadn't left the devil outside.

Michael: You think we can load this car up with Yamamoto, Comme des Garcons, and Armani by 6?

Hal: Driver, step on it. Down to Grand and make a left.

[The car turns onto Union Square West.]

Isn't there a club on the corner here?

The Underground.

That's the one that keeps surviving regardless of how many people get shot there. How many are they up to?

No one's quite sure.

Where are we now? I don't recognise this.

This strip of lower Broadway didn't exist last time you were here. Now it's like a mall-less town's Main Street.

And Tower Records is City Hall. Not bad. It's wild to see this much activity because people around the world now talk about New York in terms of decay, how New York is such a rude place, and we keep telling them, No, New Yorkers are quite friendly, we like it there. New Yorkers are just very honest. They don't have time to bullshit. I like New York because people are linked to each other. L.A. Is fun, but segregated. Here there is a metro, and a different philosophy of getting around so there's rich upon poor upon rich. The only thing I don't remember is how many homeless are asleep on Park Avenue and everywhere else. Or is it my imagination?

No, it's real. How come you choose to live in Hong Kong instead of Australia?

For about three years, I thought it didn't matter where I lived. But I kept passing through it again. I grew up there, from when I was four until twelve. My dad still lives there. It has great energy, like New York. And it's ten hours closer to the world than Australia is. If you travel a lot, it adds up.

[We enter the Yohji Yamamoto store.]

So austere. Do they go wild if you hand back anything wrinkled? Those clothes over there are good acid-house colors. Has acid house caught on here?

Not like in England.

That's 'cause New York has bad radio. Are these dogs always here? They must sleep in the shoes. Ooh, look at these here. Not very me, but very Star Trek. $500 for a T-shirt. I see. I'll buy six. No, twelve. Now, here is something very stagy. Ultraflouncy. I like that, but the general consensus might kill my career.

Is what you wear onstage the same as you wear off?

I sort of smush them all together. My favorite piece of clothing is a leather jacket I had made for me that says “Hutch” in chain mail on the back.

Did Michael Schmidt make it for you?

Yeah – how'd you know? He's great. He sort of looks like a beautiful snake. He loves all the Hollywood stuff, but he's so sincere when he talks about it. Almost makes me like it. Is there somewhere funkier we can go, like Yankel's House of Pile? I saw that on the way down.

If you want old clothes, we should go to Cheap Jack's.

[We head back up to Broadway and 13th Street. Several young ladies on the corner stare at Hutchence as he enters Cheap Jack's.]

Do you enjoy recognition?

Depends on where I am.

Like when you're out on your own. Shopping, for instance.

Shopping, yeah, 'cause I get discounts. And there is a definite bonus to recognition when I'm onstage.

It makes the night go faster. But I'm not an institution yet. Sometimes I think about how hard it must be for someone like Bob Hope to go for a stroll. I don't really get hassled. I can stand in the middle of a street in London, or even New York, and usually nothing happens. I don't think I have that distinctive of a face. I got recognized in Tangier once, going by in a taxi, very fast … from a distance … in a fog … during monsoon season. Just kidding. It's odd how once you are conscious of being watched, you stop being so self-conscious because you realize there's nothing you can do about it. Of course, nobody in Hong Kong gives a shit who I am.

Aren't people there freaking about the city's eventual realignment with China?

Thousands are leaving a year, but they're the ones who can afford to leave, to give Australia half a million to let them in, though a lot more are going to Vancouver or New Zealand instead because they've heard, and it's fairly true, about Australia's racism.

It's actually more like unconscious racism. There's a naivete to it that you might call charming if it wasn't so sick. See, most foreigners don't realize – because we refuse to believe it ourselves – that Australia is southern Asia. Australia is linked to England in everyone's minds.

Yet most Australians don't have the faintest idea why the Japanese tried to invade us during the Second World War, and can't understand why they might not have wanted any foreigners on the biggest island in the Asian paradise. If we had lost, my home would be covered in rice paddies by now. Australia would have been Japan's Great Plains, their grain barrel.

I've never met one Australian who knows that. We have it so easy in Australia. It's very easy to live there. Tougher than it was before, but that's because five years ago it was ridiculous. I used to live in a three-story, five-bedroom house. It cost me $20 a week.

Did you make that much playing music?

Nah, but so what, we were all on the dole. Everyone went on it. That's one of the reasons you have so many bands in Australia. It's cheap to live and collect, so all the bands go on it. You wouldn't even have to go pick up your employment check; they'd mail it to you or transfer it to your account. Ready cash. I guess because there is such an anti-authoritarian vibe in Australia that people are quite happy to accept government checks. “Aw, screw 'em” - that's the attitude. Lots of people accept four and five checks or even have jobs. It's very lax. That's why we're stuck with the tall-poppy syndrome.

Translation?

Don't be successful, don't rise above your mates, or you'll get chopped. It's weird. It's the don't-leave-the-pub way of life. I think people in America are generally happy for someone's good fortune; they know how to let themselves go. In Australia, they go, “Good, mate,” and don't ask a single question. There are no celebrations for a job well done. I'm still shocked at how Americans cheer you on when they like you. I know you don't fancy it anymore, but I like phrases like “dress for success.”

And that's why you're shopping here?

I love hideous ties. Girls love 'em. Dunno why. Its like red socks. Are the playing Richard Hell? I haven't heard this song in 20 years. God, you must hear better music in clothing stores than you do anywhere else in New York. All these baseball jackets are so cheap. You know what they pay for these in Australia? I should buy the whole lot, take them back. I'd never have to tour again. I could get 150 to 200 bucks just for the ratty ones. I think this is the first clothing store I've been in that wasn't playing videos.

Are videos big in Australia?

We've actually been involved in music video a whole lot longer than in America. Because we are so far away, the only way we've had to understand all this music flying around the world is through video. Since the '50s, even when it was only 10 minutes a week, Aussie tv has been showing music videos.

And we don't censor the way you guys do. The “Way of the World” single is a very serious song, but MTV is quite shy of the video, you should note – I say this diplomatically. They censor here for all the wrong reasons. Like it's okay to stare at Cher's crotch for four minutes, but it's hard to say something truthful about the state of the world.

Could it be because with a group that's become as wildly successful as INXS has, it's inevitable that favorable reaction always turns?

I don't think INXS has reached that point yet. Give us four more years. We've only recently become hip in England. At the beginning, they hated our guts.

Why?

'Cause we are Australians writing pop music, why else? They don't make much in England, apart from nice jumpers and Jaguars, and one of the few things they can claim some turf on is pop music. So, they're not happy when someone else does it. It's a standard trait of island people; they're very territorial.

But you guys are island people too.

Yeah, but we got a bigger island. Now, if we can just get rid of some competition from the expatriate colonies.

Isn't it enough already with this rivalry between Australia and England? L.A. And New York have settled their feud.

England still treats Australia like we're descendants of convicts. Well, I guess we are, aren't we? We're trying to get rid of them, but unfortunately, they're coming back with money and buying up half the country. Don't you resent the Japanese buying Rockefeller Center?

I resent the Rockefellers more.

[Having tried on everything and bought nothing, Hutchence decides against old clothes. We head down to If boutique.]

Armand Basi. Nice stuff. That Claude Montana is fabulous, but God, this stuff is expensive. We don't know anyone here for a discount, do we? My father used to design clothes for a shop in Hong Kong called Dynasty. Glitzy evening wear for too much money. One year, when we did our first tour, we bough ta lot of Sprouse, real colorful stuff, and we spent a fortune, especially when you consider it's disposable fashion. All it had to do was last a month. All the buttons fell off, it shrunk, seams opened up. We would have been more upset, but it made us homesick for the mother country. Disposable fashion is very English. The nice thing about it when it comes from there, however, is that even though the stuff falls apart, it's cheap.

Ah, I like this. Very sexy, very smart. Basi, right? I found the best underwear. I think it's called Nikos. Someone gave it to me last night. Well, that's a plug. No names, please. These pants might go with the Basi shirt. [Like Navy pants, they have over a dozen buttons instead of a fly.] Not good clubwear. Certainly not quick enough to please me.

Your choice of underwear would have to be very discreet.

And always clean. Maybe these pants come with a catheter. Should I ask the shopgirl? [He raises his arm to call her and, wincing, puts it down.]

Just realized a colostomy bag wouldn't hurt?

No. I think I have a cracked rib, from too much fun the other night at Inflation, this super club in Melbourne. Melbourne has some of the best clubs in the world. Great people. Amazing clubs. Sydney has nothing. Boring as hell. Nice place if you're a surfer. Really pretty, like L.A. But very corrupt, Sydney. Everyone is always paying everyone off. That's why you can't afford to do a club there. It's like, in order to get a club license, all the other nightclub owners have to agree to your having a license. And four people control the voting on that. Melbourne now has a club called Razor that is so exciting. It used to an automobile club, especially popular during the '50s, where people used to talk about their cars, you know, with photos of Mini-Minors making hairpin turns around corners. Like a racing club, I guess, except for slower cars. Razor gets the best people.

[He picks up a pair of huge, get-lost-in-the-rain-forest-and-survive black shoes and delights.]

Many people have shoe fetishes. I guess it's around the world actually, not just with Imelda. I think people are probably just jealous of her because they secretly wanted so many pair. But these are big, like size big. Are Americans getting larger feet, or do they just want more room? I always notice shoes when I'm here.

There's almost like a $100 tax on shoes in Australia. Like a pair that will cost you $50 here will cost you almost $200 in Australia. A pair of Levi's cost $100. I never buy furniture in Australia, either, and I have an obsession with furniture the way Americans love shoes. It's a shame I don't have an obsession with homes, too, since I have no place to put all the furniture. I have it stored all over the world.

Let me get the Basi shirt, and then I want to buy records. I would get them later, but I just remembered I have a friend coming in tonight for only one night. He and his father are trying to get down to Nicaragua. They're helping Ortega keep the Contras back. Good luck. What's so weird about their going is that these guys are publishing magnates in England. Entrepreneurs. They should be serious Thatcherites, but they just hate Thatcher. Real lefties.

If everyone is so vocal of their dislike of her, how come she's so strong?

The British love her because they love to be miserable; they love to complain. Thatcher's become irrepressible. She's finally showing signs of faltering, except she's winning by default, because no one wants to put Kinnock in, either. It's like your Dan Quayle. What an alternative.

Are Australians political?

It's compulsory to vote, if you want to call that political. Frankly, nobody particularly gives a fuck. That doesn't mean Australians are not aware people. I think they know more about what's going on in the rest of the world than the average American, but that's because they have to compensate for being in the middle of nowhere. They're more concerned about international politics, about the environment. Every time the Americans come into Sydney harbor with their nuclear ships and submarines, there's always 5,000 people telling them to fuck off.

But the hell with domestic politics?

Do you know anything about our system? It's built on a bickering sort of war. The front page is always about politicos throwing shit at each other, spending more time insulting each other than governing.

Mind you, they are really very good at it. It's a fine Australian tradition of political insult. Listening to parliament is hilarious - “Shut up, you bastard!” - and that's our prime minister, Bob Hawke. He's in the Guinness Book of World Records for having drunk a yard of beer in record time. He is actually a brilliant leader, a Rhodes scholar at Oxford, and he has done a bloody good job, considering the apathy he's up against. What he should be real pleased about its restoring pride in being Australian, particularly after all that nonsense when the governor general dismissed Prime Minister Whitlam in 1975.

How was that possible without the consent of the Australian parliament?

We're still a colony. I think a lot of us were cynical after that. They felt like puppets. Probably had something to do with the CIA. The good old CIA. I'm in their files, I found out. That they should waste their time on me. I'm listed as subversive, for my lyrics to “Guns in the Sky” and because I once threw condoms out to the audience in Northern Australia.

How is that subversive?

The more north you get in Australia, the more it is like the South in America. The man who ran Queensland, one of the biggest states in Australia, was this guy, Joh Peterson, who was in power for over 20 years. Peterson was this sort of South African leftover who arrived in Australia, and he made things illegal, like sex education, abortion, condoms to minors – you couldn't have the vending machines in clubs. [You can now.] Well, I slandered him, and so I got taken to court, where he was thrown out of office from the corruption uncovered during the proceedings.

Did that make you a hero down there?

Say what, mate? This is Australia, remember. Our heroes are bushrangers, outlaws, and sporting stars. If you're an athlete, you can get away with anything.

[Hutchence purchases the Basi shirts, and then we head to Tower Records at the corner. A street person approaches us.]

is this the official mugging committee?

Street person: “Ooh, ooh, here they come in their limo, straight from Saks Fifth Avenue. Board of directors, how you doing, moneys, you big-time decision makers. Uh-oh, who's you? You must be a rock man. Stand aside for the rock man.”

They always pick on me.

“I want to give you something, man. Some humility. But there's only enough for one.”

I don't care for some, but humility is something we can spread around.

“Hey man, this is for seriously. You will love this humility. No side effects, no speed. Say yes, and I can be back in an hour.”

[We go through the revolving door and right to the rock section; within three minutes, Max Q is playing on the system.]

That's good, somebody knows it's out.

[Hutchence buys albums by Ciccone Youth, Camper Van Beethoven, Soul II Soul, Grace Jones, Shakespear's Sister, Jesus and Mary Chain, and Suicidal Tendencies. As he is paying for them, he spots a postcard stand that features a picture of him.]

Holy shit. When did they take this thing? What a bizarre likeness. I hardly know this guy. This is not an approved photo. [He gets the attention of a young lady behind the counter.] Excuse me, please, this is not an approved photo. It's a pirate. Do you know where you get these from?

Salesgirl: “No idea.”

Can you find out?

“Why, do you want to buy a lot of them?”

See, I told you no one recognizes me.

[We walk outside and the street person comes up to him again.]

Street person: “I know who you are.”

Who am I?

“You are someone who's gonna give me a lot of money.”

How much you want?

“Just give me one of those bills, thank you. Now I'm officially your biggest fan. Just tell me what you want to buy.”

I must be dressed for success.

#inxs #michael hutchence #egg magazine #salesgirl's answers are perfect lol why would she know that hutch #maybe these pants come with a catheter #what kinda pants......#long post #tagging that in case read more doesn't work on mobile idk #collection

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drunknihilist · 3 years

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How’s My Life? I don’t know I Never Really Had One.

I was born in 1990, from 93 to 98 I was raised middle class in the country. Anything I wanted my dad bought it for me because he worked at Goodyear. My mother turned my word upside down from 98 to 2002 when she told me he wasn’t my real father and she was divorcing him. She wound up cheating on him and moving me in with an alcoholic former marine that locked me in a walk in closet for 4 years and for 3 of them when he wasn’t beating me I was his boyfriend and he never worked.

If I chewed my fingernails he beat me. If I didn't turn the light switch off before I left a room he beat me. If he caught me trying to sneak food out of the fridge he beat me. He shattered a flashlight over my head for bringing home a bad report card in front of my mother. He gave me a handjob with my pants on while my mom was sitting in front of me a few times and even though she looked me in my eyes she didn't say a word just kept watching television. He made me read porn magazines and watch pornographic films with him since I was 9 years old. He would make me hold his cock when he went to the bathroom to take a piss. I would wake up to him in the middle of the night having sex with me so I start sticking objects inside of myself thinking that if I stretched out the area that maybe I would be able to handle it more easier. There were even times where I would feel unusually tired between 5-7 in the evening which was around the same time he was taking me on these gun shooting trips with a man named George Reynolds and I have my suspicions that he was giving me drugs and letting him have sex with me when I was passed out. He stuck loaded guns to my head threatening to kill me if I told any of my teachers about it. So I was kept in solitary confinement and fed one or two meals a day to keep me alive so they could get my SSI check in the mail to buy beer with it.

I spent my 8th grade year living at my grandmothers house away from all the abuse and I actually made the honor roll. So my mom leaves him and meets my little brothers dad and talks me into moving in with her again and I spend 03 to 06 repeatedly getting grounded while his family bullied and beat me so they could get my SSI check in the mail and buy more beer with it. To make matters worse when we had to move out of a place in west logan his daughters left my belongings on the property after they moved their stuff out and the property owner threw all of my stuff in the garbage. The only thing I had to my name was the clothes on my back and I didn't even know that it happened until my mother called me and told me about it.

Then I told my grandmother I had enough and I want to move in with her she welcomed me with open arms. I actually went to the dentist for once because my mother never took me in the past ten years and I figured out I had 11 cavities in my mouth. I didn’t know how to interact socially around people so the friends that I did manage to make became a second family to me. So from 06 to 08 I was more focused having a social life and having two short term relationships than I was on my school work so I barely even graduated high school.

A woman that I wanted to marry that I spent 9 months with off and on and I lost my virginity to told me to meet her across town so that she could go back to my grandmothers house to meet my uncle in the basement for a quickie out of revenge for me breaking up with her multiple times and only got caught because my step sister walked in on the two of them so I spent the end of 08 to 2010 getting a lot of casual encounters out of my system trying to forget about her but nothing made me feel better.

From 2010 to 2012 I tried to get a job but I have had such an emotionless thousand yard stare that it was like trying to give a job interview to a robot. So when nobody would hire me a friend of mine named David was paying me a little bit of money working and training me as an contractor plus I also got a second job because a man name Charles who was running a business in the back of his place said that he needed a second locksmith. My grandmother kept getting sick so I began to spend more time taking care of her than I was showing up where I needed to be. David replaced me with another coworker and they ended up opening their own business and Charles ended up relocating out of state.

Here I am 22 years old I’m broke and I have to be a caregiver to my grandmother. Boy I could really use a friend, but as months went by nobody called me, texted me, came by the house. It got to where I was so depressed I checked myself into a mental health facility for a week to try to cope with my situation. Then when I got home I decided I love my grandmother dearly but I need to leave this town. I ended up leaving early in the morning to catch a bus and my grandmother talked to me on the phone thinking that I was a son of a bitch and she doesn't have anyone that's going to take care of her. So I had family who lived in a different state that took me in and I got a job working as a telemarketer. My uncle back home ends his own life and none of my family is helping my grandmother with emotional support so I have to move back for over half a year. I go back out of state again and another uncle gets me a job working as a maintenance man. However he cannot stop his addiction to pain pills so whenever he got done blowing his paycheck he was always wanting me to give him most of mine. Then one day I put my foot down and said I’m not doing this for you anymore and he told lies to my boss and got me fired.

I got a job working as a caregiver under the table for a lady who lived across the street from me because all of her family was thousands of miles away. So 400 dollars a month was a lot better to me than nothing. And at this point I was taking turns being a caregiver for my neighbor, grandmother and the aunt I was living with. My aunt has MS and I had two cousins that were in their mid to late 30's that never lifted a finger to do dishes or clean house I was stuck doing all the house work for free and whenever I am not in Logan and I'm back home I'm still expected to do it.

I have to regularly travel back and forth to my grandmothers house because whenever I call her she says she doesn’t eat for days sometimes because even though my mom lives in the house directly behind her she cannot come over and cook 2-3 times a day. It’s not like my mother works because now that she is single she keeps my little brother in the house just like she did to me most of my life while she plays games and spends his SSI money. I can barely afford to put shoes on my feet and my grandmothers pet cat sat on top of a new laptop and soaked it in piss and she said that it was my fault because I didn't lock the door when I went to sleep. So I went back home and didn't wanna talk to her for a few weeks out of anger.

My real father comes back into my life in 2017 and a year later he actually gets me a job working with him for the mayor of a small town near Columbus renovating rental properties. I find out mom cheated on him with the man that worked at Goodyear. The mayor pays me 200 dollars for a week of work and I thought if this is the rate I’m starting out I’m just gonna move up here. So I worked with him for over a month but I was still calling my grandmother twice a week just to see how she is doing. I try to call one day I never got an answer so then I tried again the next day and a nurse answers the phone and tells me she almost died.

I told my father I need to go back and be with her so when I got back my mother said she was gonna pay me 50 bucks to help my grandmother get situated inside of a nursing home facility. I said ok when I get done with this dad can just pick me up and take me back when all of this is finished. Not only was I lied to but my grandmother fell and fractured one of her bones and had to lay starving in her own piss and shit for 3 days before any of my family bothered to come over and check on her. She only spent one day in the nursing home before she started crying and screaming she wanted to go home. I wound up having to spend 2 months living at her house again changing her depends cooking all her meals the whole nine yards. Funny thing was when me my aunt and my mom went to pick her back up from the nursing home they had a good laugh after making the comment that they should have just let the crabby old bitch walk back home with her depends around her ankles holding onto a walker.

Here I am 30 years old all of my teeth are rotten and I don’t have any money for a dentist. I have never been able to stay on one job long enough to even know the first thing about paying income taxes because my aunt and my grandmother take turns crying over the phone that nobody is taking care of them. I would rather sleep under a bridge than go on welfare. I have never owned a car or got a stimulus check. I have never had my own place and I have never owned a smartphone. And all my family can do is sit around and laugh at me when I'm not around and call me a loser, meanwhile their kids are going to college and are living out on their own, but if it was any of them dealing with this they would have put my grandmother away a long time ago. It’s like as long as she is my problem they don’t have to deal with her but the minute they hear she’s too sick to eat or doesn’t feel well they would be the same people to jump on the phone yelling, “WHY HAVENT YOU MADE HER NOTHING TO EAT!” I am not a danger to myself or anyone around me.

My father has not been back to see me or even call me because every single time he shows up my family asks him if he has any money, I have no friends and I have anxiety attacks that keep me from sleeping at night because I know I’m going to die homeless under a bridge because I’m at that age that nobody is going to want to hire me anymore. I do little jobs here and there so I can buy some vodka and cranberry juice so it’s easier to go to sleep at night. For the past two weeks yet again here I am at my grandmothers house. She goes through 3 pairs of pants a day because of bladder problems I have to change her depends 7-8 times a day. I have to comb her hair take her phone calls do her cooking. Sometimes I don’t sleep for 2 days straight just so I can sleep on the third day to be up early enough to help her to the bathroom.

Again I’m 30 years old but it’s like I spent 17 years of my life in jail for a crime that I didn’t commit. And I told my grandmothers caseworker back when I was 23 years old that people I've tried to talk to over the years have told me that I can get paid for the work that I'm doing with her and all she said to me was that I would interfere with the income she was getting from the government so she can't do it. My mom doesn't own a car and she lied about being disabled so she could live off of her children’s SSI and my grandmother doesn't know how to read or write and has never owned a car but got pregnant 8 times so she could live off their SSI and my grandfather could use it to get drunk with. My family does like the remind me though that because I don't believe in God that I'm going to go to hell. Scientists have long since proven that dinosaurs existed millions of years before humans. I finally understood that the enlightenment that the Buddha was talking about was actually another word for nihilism. I suppose I understand letting go of material possessions and not causing suffering to other living creatures. Nihilism for me is like Buddhism except I am still a meat eater. I think people who are vegan do not understand that if these animals were not in such a demand that they are then they would go away just like the rest of the other species we've had a hand in wiping out as we let our population grow larger and larger.

I love my 84yo grandmother very much and she tells me she loves me and my mother has not told me she loved me in over 22 years. And I'd like to think that I'm finally going to be free to be by myself and make my own choices for once by the time that my grandmother is dead. But I know all that is going to happen is I'm going to be one of those 40yo men that stand on the street begging people for spare change. Till one day a cousin of mine is gone drive up in a new car laughing at me telling me I should have went to college. It's February 2021, I got a birthday coming up in 4 month, I have never been to jail one day in my life, I have no criminal record of any kind. I've just always been this dog that gets is chain tugged on and I bark.

The only thing that the world has taught me is people only have time for you as long as it is convenient for them and even when they appear genuine I always wonder if everything coming out of their mouth is a fucking lie. I have fantasies about picking up the pieces that Hitler left behind after he shot himself in the head only I do not believe in a master race. I feel betrayed by my own empathy for other human beings, I don't care what color they are, they are destructive selfish semi evolved primates that are too brainwashed by their own bullshit to accept the fact that money is their God. And just because there are children across America dying in the hospital from cancer that doesn't mean that when they die they got a heaven to go to.

After all those days trapped in my room when I was a child barely even weighing 90 pounds I never thought for one minute I was gonna grow up to be a loser. Lol if any of my family read this they would just say that if I was so damn miserable why didn't I just get out? Oh cool so that means you're gonna move her into your house? No??? Does that mean you're gonna help her with all of her daily activities so she doesn't cry to me on the phone every couple of days that she's not getting any help and all her home heath aides do is do dishes and sit on their ass? No??? Ok then what kind of Christmas card did you pick out for me this year? Whoever said we were getting you one, you need to get a job you damn loser. And it's actually worse now because they stopped all of her home heath aides last year because my mother gave her bed bugs and she didn't want to say anything about it.

I feel like a human trafficking victim with stockholm syndrome but when I look up what a caregiver is it actually says work without pay right in the description so it's not like I can take anyone for lost wages. I've never even got a present for my birthday party or for Christmas since I was 7 years old and the only time I do is when my grandmother gives me some money so I can put some new shoes on my feet or get a new coat to wear.

But I'm a man I'm not supposed to talk about my feelings I need to suck it up.

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cybernightwanderer · 4 years

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30 years old trapped living with my mom in quarantine.

So basicly if you saw my last post, or didnt doesnt matter. According to my mother ( of three - me, and two older brothers ) i owe her my life, while my brothers dont. ( Because she raised me LOL ) According to my mother i have to serve her and financialy contribute/support her my whole life, even if it means i wont be able to gather for my own house or life. My mom controls my money. My life. And tries to control how i act, dress, or look overall, what i like, what dreams i can , and cannot have. If i can leave a emotionally and physical harming job or not. If i get to have a roof over my head or not. And this is how : - I had a dept i had to pay, and its fully payed of, and since she is my mother ofc i dont have “ receits “ of what i payed her. But its simply a matter of memory and math,and checking my contracts of the three largest jobs i worked ( 2 years and half each ) i payed her every month between 150-210 every month. ( i started paying before that, i mean i even quit school because she pushed my into depression because of it ) I would also pay my own medical buills, transportation, food, etc. My own shit basicly. If i do confront her claiming that i already payed her, she will either : Invalidate , deny that i payed her, or payed her enought. And that i dont have proof. Threaten me to kick me off the house, to beat me, to leave me on the road etc, shes not very creative, its always the same. And that if i already payed her my dept, that i still have to pay 200 to stay home for food and gast and shit THAT I USE, or she will kick me out. ( and of i dont have money to sustain myself because of this ) However gas, light and water, cable its expenses i already pay half by half with her wich sums about to 50 euros per month ( wich also includes her OWN cellphone bill ) So she demands me paying that. PAYING food ( that i already do if you do the math , specially because i can spend a whole month eating just cereal or not eating at all ) So i pay her 200 a month ( aside if i owe her something i will also pay, but now i refuse her attempts of lending me money, because i always run out of money half way into the month. ( note she will get offended if i do not accept her offer to lend me money because she is “ concerned for my health “ LOL ) So making an easier note i pay for : - Half of the bills - gas, light , water, cable , and half of her phone ( she forces me , and threatens me if i try to refuse ) - This sums up to 50 euros. - The right to be in my mothers house , the right to eat the food she buys. - This sums up to 150 euros. Aside from this i pay with whats left of my money : - Transportation - 40 euros. - My own cellphone bill. like 20 euros.

- Food sometimes - 50 euros every two weeks,( wich she also eats, for example if i buy lactose free yogurts like 10 , she will drink 5. If i buy smooth cookies ( because i have three broken teeth ) she will eat more than half , if not the whole packadge. If i eat cereal , or barely eat she will constantly yell and chase me down to eat something. So lets say i dont have much money and i dont wanna spend the leftover money i have on food, because i might need something else, she will not leave me alone. Yet i already pay for food costs on the general 200 montly bill, yet if i do not pay for my own food at the supermarquet or even eat the food she bought she will make my life a living hell for two weeks or more. Meaning its a vicious cicle and it has no end, its always looping. -Mecial bills - for my hernias back and legg pain, depression, anxiety and respiratory alergies. - wich leads up to 50-80 euros , if i dont go to medical apointments ( wich i dont anymore, that would be more 180 euros ) And medical buills in general, i tend to have a lot of teeth infections because i cannot afford going to the dentist, so im always buying antibiotics or painkillers to “ hold on “ , and can never go to an actual apointment. -My own living supplies, if i need clothes, shoes or wtv. And living in my mothers house : - I have no privacy or personal space, meaning she will enter my room, after knocking , most of the times not even knocking, even if i say no SHE WILL enter. At least 10 times or more, half ot the times to yell or complain at me. Usualy between 14 - 21 . Meaning if i wanna do an art project : recordings, painting time lapses and shit, BASICLY BE IN MY OWN ROOM i have to ask for permission and explain why lol. And still she wont respect it. - If i dont wax either my face or leggs or something , she will spend at least half an hour everyday telling me how bad it looks and how shamefull it is. Either in public or in private ( its humiliating ). The same goes to : - If i wear certain clothes or makeup - im either dressing badly and she wont allow me to go out to the grocery store with her, and will pressure me ( force me and yell at me ) if i dont. If i overdress, she will also shame me. I mean she just humiliates me and makes me feel bad overall for any decision on my own life basicly. Specially little things. - She will treat me badly for two weeks or more ( like a tantrum ) i dont do things exacly like she orders , like if i dont do my bed ( i mean im depressed and just want to die, and she makes my life harder than it is to a point i can barely get out of bed sometimes ) she will get in my room 5 to 6 times and yell everyday for not making my bed, or my room not being tidy. Up until 3 years ago , she would come up to my room and organize my display shelf the way she wanted and yell at me for complaining about it. Like i have certain arts and crafts pastel paste in one tiny pink basquet, pendants in a green one and glus and stuff in a blue one. She would come up and take everything out and put it in a trash. It took a lotttt, and i do mean a lot of daily arguments, head heat for her to stop messing with my display cabnet. - At the age of 28(?) i did my first two piercings, she spent a whole week shaming me and telling me how ugly it made me look and that i ruined my face. Even tho its something i had always dreamed of, and she never allowed me to. - Like i said before i buy my own clothes, and sometimes i sell the old ones. She will take the ones i wanna sell, for herlsef because she needs them and i have no right to sell them. I mean, if its mine, if i bought it, and i wanna sell it, so use the money to buy something difrent, then its mine right? She either will “ borrow “ clothes without permission , when she does ask permission i have to tell yes because, you know, she will unleash hell. The only thing i ask her is to leave the things where she found it after using it because while working i dont have much time before leaving for looking for them. And after a while of not asking for permission i notice, a lot of clothes go missing. She later on, keeps the clothes for weeks or even a month, and then claims its hers , or just forgets where she put it ( she lost already a few pieces of mine, specialy my favourite tshirt ) And if i ask for them , she will yell at me for acusing her LOL. For example. Early last month she has the tendancy to force me to wash my clothes with hers. I usualy refuse because she will stupidly charge me for it, or confuse my clothes with hers. So i always do my laundry separate. She hates it when i do it btw. Recently there was a major fight, she almost kicked me ouf ot the house/car in the midle of the highway.

She has a black V neck BODY ( note a full body shirt ) in black with layered strippes. I have a black turtle neck crop top size S also with the black layered stripes( meaning its a really short shirt, its impossible to mistake ) But NOTE , one is a turtle neck crop top , the other is a V neck BODY, i mean, theres no way you can confuse them , specialy if you put the in a HANGER FFS. I usualy wear it to work, because, well. Well.. what can i say my coworkers are fuckers and cant handle personal style. So i tend to tone it down a bit, already get humiliated for too many things on a daily basis at work, dont need more. And the shirt went missing for two weeks after i brought it home after washing and put it in a hanger. I have it also in two other colors in yellow and pink. So i spent looking for it an hour or two , because i knew i had put it there. I didnt even dare to ask her, and she came up to me and asked me what i was looking for. And i showed her the pink and yellow one, and told her. She said SHE NEVER SAW THAT SHIRT OR ANYTHING LIKE IT. I mean....if you have one “like “ it , you could at least check no? Well lets just say this shit ended badly after i found ou my shirt was HIDDEN in her room. I came home with my washed laundry, she trew everything on the ground and stepped all over the wash clothes humiliating me and calling me names... SO yeah FUN. Carrying on. My mom always had the tendancy to go in my room and trought my things. What can i do.. Anyway , this is all for now.

#self #toughts #fear #pain #depression #anxiety #suicide #end my fucking life #end my existence #end my pain #end my life #end my misery #abuse #trauma #toxic #manipulative #toxic family #toxic behavior #toxic mother

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menswearmusings · 4 years

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Do Yourself a Favor and Get a Decent Tie Rack From Dapper Woodworks—A Free Product Review

I don’t wear a tie everyday, and I don’t have a ton of ties, but the storage solution I had for the roughly 20 ties I do have was annoying and lame. Buying a better tie rack just wasn’t a high priority for me, and thus, my ties hung on a roughly $12 hanging contraption from T.J. Maxx. It made me very, very sad.

My sad T.J.Maxx tie rack.

Enter Dapper Woodworks. The man behind the company, Justin Trewitt, has been at this for two years as a side job to help create some supplemental income for his family while simultaneously engaging his interests in woodworking and menswear. As with many business ideas, his started when he wanted a way to store his pocket squares, so he just made his own. He realized perhaps other men facing the same situation would be interested in such a product, and soon he was selling on Etsy. His product selections now include shoe horns, coat hooks, collar stay organizers, the aforementioned pocket square organizers and of course, tie racks.

Justin asked me whether I would like to have one of his custom-made tie racks in order to give my impressions and give an honest review of it (note my free product policy here. TL;DR I keep my opinions honest and don’t accept free stuff in exchange for positive coverage). I measured my closet, and since he does custom-sized racks in addition to the standard stock sizes, asked for a 20-inch rack, which he told me stores 37 ties—way more than I currently have, so I’ve got room to grow. Since it was a custom size, I got to choose the wood, peg metal and whether it had the optional top shelf. Ultimately, I picked walnut with brass pegs, with the top shelf included, which I figured might help a little bit with dust, but also provide a nice spot to store a couple belts, silk knots, collar stays and whatever else.

He set to work immediately, posting progress images on his Instagram. Within about a week, he’d finished it and was ready to s—oh no! He messaged me to say he’d accidentally made it 18 inches long, not 20. Being super apologetic, he remade the 20 inch one within a few days, and it was on its way to me.

For this type of product, it’s very simple to determine whether it’s great: Is it real hard wood, not composite? Yes. Is it sturdily constructed? Yes. Are the cuts on the wood smooth, without jagged edges? Yes. The joints are fitly joined together, the stain is even, the pegs are secure and perfectly spaced. And he’s also put the next level of fit and finish into the installation aspect. On the back are keyhole slots, just as you’d find on any professionally made wooden shelf. Included in the box is a mounting guide, but instead of a flimsy piece of paper, it’s a full-length piece of wood with holes drilled in it at the exact spacing of the keyholes. Leveling it is a breeze, the three-dimensional wood taking the uncertainty out of whether or not a piece of paper was perfectly flat against the wall.

You could probably find all of those aspects in a mass produced, ugly tie rack from Container Store for less money, just as you can also get a mass produced, cheap tie from The Tie Bar for less money than a Drake’s tie, and it’ll accomplish the utilitarian aspect of the product. But what DW is doing is vastly superior in almost every aspect: it’s much more aesthetically pleasing; you can choose from half a dozen beautiful wood grains and multiple peg styles; you know who is making it and that you’re supporting him provide for his family; and now, even better, he has begun donating a portion of every month’s sales to a nonprofit that provides education, food and medical care for children in need.

In all, it’s an excellent product befitting a fine tie collection, the pedigree of which is sterling.

That said, the price seemed really high to me, especially at first. The standard 18-inch wide tie rack starts at $140 without the shelf, and $190 with.

But, like, a single Drake’s tie is $150. On sale, you can maybe score it for $75.

This $200 tie rack holds 37 ties.

Given how sad and lame most tie storage solutions are, it’s an absolute no-brainer for someone who has a collection of beautiful ties, and who also would like to store their clothing in a way that isn’t sad. That is, if you’re trying to use wide-shouldered hangers, decent garment bags, and shoe trees in your shoes, a tie rack makes perfect sense.

My recommendation

Measure your own space and get a rack that makes sense. The 18-inch will likely fit most spaces and holds enough ties for most guys, I’d guess. I 100% recommend the top shelf. It keeps dust off the ties and is a useful spot to put things like his lapel pins or belts or artwork. I love the walnut finish, and the brass pegs make it feel masculine. Use code MM10 for 10% off.

So there’s my review: the solid hardwood Dapper Woodworks tie rack is an excellent product that gives me immense pleasure, and which exceeded my expectations in how easily Justin makes the mounting aspect. The quality is very high, being profesionally built and using materials I am confident putting my finely made ties on.

I temporarily installed the rack for the photoshoot below, because getting this rack actually inspired me to do a DIY renovation on my real closet, but I didn’t have time to get that finished before the deadline to publish this review.

I asked Justin a few questions about his background, the origin of Dapper Woodworks and what he plans next. You can check it out in full below.

GET 10% OFF YOUR DAPPER WOODWORKS ORDER USING CODE MM10!

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)

Menswear Musings: What do you do for your day job?

Justin Trewitt: I’ve been working for my family’s company for the past 5 1/2 years in Plano, Tx. We do financial planning for individuals and we also just started doing business brokerage so helping people buy and sell businesses. I started in customer service, but now I do a lot of behind the scenes preparation for client meetings. Basically lots of staring at a computer screen and Excel spreadsheets.

MM: How long have you been doing DW?

JW: I started Dapper Woodworks in November of 2017 so just over 2 years now. We had just decided for my wife to quit teaching to be a stay at home mom with our first son so I wanted to find a way to create a little extra income for our family.

MM: What got you started making these tie racks?

JW: Well I got into woodworking when my wife and I bought our house a few years ago. We didn’t have a lot of furniture so I just learned how to make some! I have also been into menswear after learning to dress better in college. When I began thinking of side hustles I decided that I wanted to combine my woodworking hobby with my passion for menswear, and that’s how Dapper Woodworks began. My first product was a pocket square rack that I made for myself out of cheap wood because I couldn’t find a good way to store my collection. I figured surely I wasn’t the only one with this problem so I made an Etsy store and put it up for sale. I knew I needed more products so I made a few tie racks out of some scrap wood and hardware. It took over a month before the first order, and then people began requesting custom sizes and woods and it’s just taken off from there!

MM: Have you had a big response?

JW: The response has been way bigger than I could have ever imagined! When I began I was going to be happy with a sale or two every month. We are 2 years in now, and I just counted that we’ve sent over 400 items all over the world which is just crazy to me! I think people really enjoy them because there aren’t any good options to display your ties or accessories in a beautiful way. When you invest a lot of money into your tie or pocket square collection you might as well display it on a rack that has the same level of craftsmanship. I believe people really enjoy the custom aspect because each product is unique and is made their specifications

MM: How big is your personal tie collection and what’re you favorite ties and why?

JW: I’m in the process of redoing my collection, and filling it with higher quality ties that reflect the quality of my products. I had a bunch of cheaper ties for my previous job that I got rid of so I still trying to fill my smallest rack that holds 21 ties. My first nice tie was my Kent Wang grenadine which I absolutely recommend to anyone starting a collection. The cool part about being in the menswear space is meeting other brands, and several tie makers that are running a side business like me. I’ve got a couple of really great grenadine and shantung ties from H.N. White in England. A beautiful brown cashmere tie from Oxford Rowe. Also this incredible 7 fold tie from Shawn Christopher who is the only brand I know that makes his own ties instead of having them manufactured.

MM: What’s the most gratifying thing about this business for you?

JW: Beside being able to provide for my family this business has helped pay for my wife and I to go on 2 mission trips to plant churches in Tanzania. We needed to raise all of our own funds, and had lots of other expenses such as doctors visits, vaccines, and passports and this business helped cover all extra expenses. Also we have just partnered with our friend’s ministry Twelve21, and a portion of each month’s sales will be going toward sponsoring a child that will provide an education, food, and medical care. It’s just been really neat to trust God through this whole process, and see where he has taken us!

MM: Any new products you’re working on that you

JW: Besides the tie racks and pocket square racks, our shoe horns have been very popular this year. I’ve also introduced a few smaller items like our collar stay organizers and cedar blocks. But going into 2020 I’m hoping to add some new tools to the shop and start making some valet trays, and maybe some shoe racks. I’m always trying to think of new items that are menswear and woodworking related, and if you ever have any suggestions just let me know.

Read more at Menswear Musings

#dapper woodworks #Menswear Musings Recommends #product review #tie rack

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snarkybluechristian · 5 years

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Hazbin Hotel: When Sir Pentious Met the First Egg Boi

In the warming English month of March 1870, Toulouse watched under the door while the guards who brought him his daily bread walked away.

The orphaned, 15-year-old French immigrant had few joys left in his world. He was not going to let the workhouse take his last bit of happiness away.

When Toulouse was sure the guards had left, he picked up his cup of water and his daily gruel and walked over to the spot where the sun was coming through the window in his isolation cell where he had been since the day before when he was locked up for his most recent escape attempt.

Solitary confinement was lonely, but it was preferable to having to watch his back constantly around the other maniacs who lived in the workhouse’s mental wing.

Toulouse set the water and the gruel next to him while he pulled the treasures that he had managed to hide from the workhouse staff out of the pocket of the pants and from underneath the shirt that made up his uniform.

First, Toulouse took off his mother’s rosary and began to pray. His mother would always wear the rosary whether she was working in the fields of their farm at home or taking their family to their local church.

His mother was the one who taught him how to pray and how to read their French-translated Bible. She was the one who always had hope even during their family’s downfall. She was the one who gave him that rosary before she died in that workhouse’s hospice wing.

When Toulouse finished praying, he opened his father’s silver pocket watch to see the photograph of him and his parents inside. It was a precious item. His father bought it during a time of brief prosperity in their fortunes and had the family come together for the picture when a photographer visited their town.

His father was proud of his pocket watch. He had worked hard to earn it as his family had worked hard to keep their farm going and as Toulouse had worked to cope with his slowness. He was proud of all of that, but especially of his son. His father gave him the pocket watch before he died and showed him how to maintain it to be sure it stayed clean and kept accurate time. Even though the farm and his parents were gone, Toulouse kept that duty religiously.

Toulouse cranked the watch, and when he was sure it was ready, he set it down so that their family photo was facing him so he could have a visual reminder that he was not alone.

“Bon ciel, maman et papa!” (“Enjoy heaven, mom and dad!”) Toulouse said before he took a gulp of his gruel and a sip of his water.

Then finally, Toulouse picked up his last treasure, a wind-up monkey. It was his tenth birthday present his father bought for him from a travelling tinkerer that came to their village. Its paint had faded and it was nowhere near as shiny as it once was, but Toulouse still loved it. In the workhouse, it was the only thing that kept him entertained.

Toulouse wound the monkey up and quickly set it on the ground, but nothing happened. He tried winding the toy up again, but nothing happened.

“Non,” Toulouse said almost in tears as he held the toy in the sunlight and sipped some water. “Ne casses pas. S'il te plaît …” (No, don’t break. Please.)

Toulouse turned the gear again and again and again, but nothing worked. He eventually shoved the toy back in his pocket and started crying into the gruel he sipped.

Unfortunately, that was when Toulouse heard some men coming his way. He put all his treasures away, started eating and drinking like nothing was wrong, and waited for them to leave, but instead, Toulouse heard his door being unlocked and saw it being opened.

The workhouse supervisor, a man Toulouse had come to detest, was standing there in his nice clothes and well-fed, middle-aged body.

“‘Ere ya go,” the man said gleefully in his cockney accent that Toulouse could only remember as a result of his restored memories since at the time he still didn’t understand English. “Here’s the sad little troublemaker.”

The man quickly stepped out of the way allowing two men in white coats with a white straitjacket walk in.

Toulouse didn’t know what the device was, but he didn’t like it.

“Non, s'il vous plaît …” Toulouse mumbled. (No, please…)

“What was that?” one of the guards asked.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” the supervisor replied. “He’s a mentally deficient frog.”

“Non!” Toulouse yelled as the men closed in on top of him and started forcing him into their restraints. “Non! Non! Non! Non! Dieu! Aide-moi! S'il te plaît !” (No! God! Help me! Please!)

“Quiet down, ya frog!” the supervisor yelled as they finished restraining him. “This is for your own good!”

Toulouse couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying as they pushed him out of his cell and started walking him towards the courtyard.

Toulouse did not know what was happening, but he was sure that he didn’t want to go where they wanted him to. So, he kicked backwards against one of the men in white coats as hard as he could and took off without looking behind him as soon as the other guard let go.

“Hey! Get back here, you witless frog!” the supervisor yelled as loudly as he could while the other man in the white coat tried to help up his colleague.

Toulouse ran through the bleak halls, down the stairs, and into the courtyard as quickly as his feet would carry him. Surprisingly, everyone stayed out of his way and only stared at him like a maniac. It was just as well. Toulouse had to escape.

All the images passed like blurs to his frightened eyes. His mind didn’t stop to consider what he saw for even a second. Toulouse couldn’t afford to. That was, until he saw him, the man who would become Sir Pentious.

As he was running through the courtyard, Toulouse saw someone weird, a type of person he had never seen before. The man had brown skin, long black hair, and piercing steel-brown eyes. He was dressed in the fine clothes of an upper-class gentleman. A black coat, a black- and white-striped tie, a black top hat, black pants, black shoes, and holding a black cane. He stood out among the poor and white people Touloue was used to seeing.

He was a curious enough sight that the teen momentarily forgot about his escape…

“There, you are, you little bastard!” one of the men in white coats yelled before tackling the poor child to the ground.

“Arretez! Laissez-moi! S'il vous plaît!” Toulouse yelled from the ground. (Stop it! Just leave me alone! Please!)

“Oi, what’s this?” the supervisor said with a twisted smile as he picked up Toulouse’s pocket watch from the ground and opened it. “Oh, this was yours? Wasn’t it?”

Toulouse’s face flushed with despair despite not understanding the guard’s words.

“C’est le mien,” Toulouse said from the ground. “ C'était un cadeau de mon père.” (That’s mine. That was a gift from my father.)

“Quiet!” the other guard yelled at his unfortunate prisoner.

“I say,” the guard said crouching down and holding up the watch sadistically in front of the poor teenager’s face. “Why would you hold out on us like this, Number 22? You know damn well that personal possessions are forbidden. I’ll be keeping this.”

Toulouse couldn’t understand the words but even he knew what it meant when his supervisor put the silver watch in his pocket.

“Non!” Toulouse yelled trying to lunge himself towards him before being stopped by the other guard.

“That’s enough out of you, ya stupid twit!” the other man said as he and his colleague forced Toulouse back to his feet and forced him to walk forward towards their prison wagon.

“Non! Non! Non! Dieu! Maman! Papa! M’aidez! S'il vous plait!” Toulouse yelled desperately with tears falling down his face. “M’AIDEZ!” (No! No! No! God! Mom! Dad! Help me! Please! HELP ME!)

“HALT!” an unfamiliar voice screamed in the background.

Toulouse and the men turned around to see the unfamiliar man in fancy clothes marching towards them.

“Mr. Pendleton, what’s the meaning of this?!” the supervisor yelled running to catch up with him.

“I’ve made up my mind,” the future Sir Pentious said calmly. “I want this boy to be my assistant.”

“Mr. Pendleton, you can’t be serious,” the supervisor replied upon catching up. “The child is an imbecile. You don’t want him.”

“Yes, I do,” the fancy-dressed man replied sternly. “The child is not that slow. He is only acting like this because he’s afraid.”

“The child is quite slow, sir,” the supervisor said callously. “I’ve worked with his sort for years. You should have seen him when his mother was dying from the fever here a month ago. He cried over her and spoke to her like a child would. He’s reluctant to interact with anyone and slow to learn anything. The sanitorium is the best thing for him.”

“Hardly,” the strange man replied. “Those prisons aren’t suitable for an animal, much less a vulnerable child. You can’t tell me otherwise. I’ve read the reports from the undercover journalists.”

“Uh,” one guard said nervously. “You know how those reporters like to make up fake news…”

“It isn’t fake,” the strange man interrupted without breaking his intense stare. “Now, hand the boy over to me. I’ll give him employment and a better life than you quacks possibly could.”

“Uh, sir,” the supervisor chimed in. “This is hardly proper. The boy needs to go to the doctors…”

“Tell me. How much money is the asylum giving you to send them the boy?” the strange man interrupted again. “I know they get a certain amount from the government whenever they receive a new patient. How big a cut are they giving you?”

The supervisor fell silent.

Toulouse didn’t understand the words, but somehow, he knew that this man was fighting for him. Nevertheless, Toulouse refused to give him anything but an occasional glance. The man’s intimidating eyes scared him.

“Mr. Pendleton, your accusations are outlandish!” the supervisor yelled angrily. “I must ask you to leave at once!”

“How does 200 pounds sound?” the strange man replied.

The supervisor’s demeanor completely changed.

He smiled and looked around the courtyard to be sure he wasn’t being watched before he replied, “I’ll take it.”

“Good,” the strange man replied taking a check book out of his pocket, writing a quick check, tearing it out, and handing it to the supervisor.

The supervisor’s eyes grew bigger as he took the check, looked it over, and replied, “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Pendleton. Guards, let the boy go.”

The two guards quickly undid the straps of Toulouse’s straitjacket and pulled the restraint off him before backing away.

Toulouse moved his arms around in relief and in confusion at what had just transpired. He looked at the strange man for a second, then looked at the open courtyard gate, and then at the pocket where the supervisor had placed his father’s pocket watch.

“Cheerio, Number 22,” the supervisor said placing his hand on Toulouse’s shoulder. “Be a good boy for your new master, eh?”

The teenager knew it was time to act. Before the supervisor could react, he grabbed the pocket watch from his pocket, but unfortunately, the supervisor grabbed his wrist. Toulouse tried pulling his thin wrist away from the man without any luck.

“You little ungrateful…” the supervisor muttered angrily before the strange man placed his hand on his.

“Mr. Smith, I must ask you not to assault my employee in this manner,” the strange man said firmly. “If you wish to continue, I will have to alert the authorities.”

“Get your hands off me, you…” the supervisor replied impulsively before he remembered who he was talking to.

The strange man gave the supervisor a quick glare before he smirked and asked, “Are you planning on finishing that sentence or would you rather return the only possession you haven’t sold on the black market to my assistant and call it a day?”

The supervisor visibly flushed before he released Toulouse’s hand prompting the strange man to do the same.

Toulouse wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he looked the pocket watch over in his hands, looked at the open gate, turned to the supervisor, and muttered, “Adieu, pute.” (Farewell, c***.)

Toulouse turned around and walked as quickly as he could to the open gate.

“What the devil does that mean?” the supervisor asked.

The strange man only replied, “Good day to you, sir,” before he walked briskly to catch up with his confused new assistant.

Toulouse barely noticed the man walking behind him. He looked around at the streets and the open skies that he had not seen since he came there with his mother. A few tears of relief and grief came down his face before he took his first free step into the streets of London.

“Garçon, comment vous vous appelez?” Toulouse heard the strange man ask as he put his hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving. (Boy, what is your name?)

Toulouse turned around in shock as the man took his hand off his shoulder. That was the first time he had heard any Englishman speak French.

“Garçon, je vous pose un question,” the strange man said. (Boy, I am asking you a question.)

“Uh, Edouard Boyce de Toulouse, monsieur,” Toulouse replied nervously avoiding eye contact.

“Oh?” the strange man replied with a softer expression. “Je m’appelle Sai Edward Pendleton. Je suis un Edouard aussi. Alors, je vous appelerai Toulouse et vous m’appellerez patron pour éviter toute confusion. D’accord?”

(Oh? My name is Sai Edward Pendleton. I’m an Edouard, too. So, I will call you Toulouse and you will call me boss to avoid confusion. Okay?)

“Patron?” Toulouse asked in visible confusion. (Boss?)

“Oui, maintenant, vous travaillez pour moi,” Mr. Pendleton said before turning to walk down the street in the opposite direction. “Suivez-moi.” (Yes, you are working for me now. Follow me.)

Toulouse looked around the street nervously for a moment while tears involuntarily fell down his thin cheeks. He found that he could not move from his spot as his entire body shook with fear.

This man had saved his life, but he still didn’t trust him. Toulouse had learned not to trust anyone. For all he knew, this Pendleton man could be worse than the workhouse.

On the other hand, Toulouse had no job, no family, and nowhere to go. Did he really have a choice?

Toulouse found himself feeling overwhelmed by it all. He didn’t know what to do and didn’t have either of his parents to guide him. He tried to make himself pray as he started hyperventilating and letting the tears fall more freely.

But then, Toulouse felt a gloved hand gently grab his hand and start pulling him behind him. Toulouse looked up to see his patron guiding him to his large navy-blue carriage parked up the road.

“Toulouse, ne pleurez jamais devant vos ennemis,” his patron said firmly. “Cachez vos larmes jusqu'à ce que vous soyez hors de danger. Ne les laissez pas vous voir pleurer. Cela leur dit seulement qu'ils ont remporté une victoire. Ne vous inquiétez pas maintenant. Personne ne vous blessera plus.”

(Toulouse, never cry in front of your enemies. Hide your tears until you’re out of danger. Do not let them see you cry. That only tells them that they have won a victory. Don’t worry now. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.)

Toulouse stopped crying but found he could only say, “Oui, patron. Merci.” (Yes, boss. Thank you.)

“De rien,” the patron said finally stopping in front of the carriage, letting go of his hand, and opening the door. “Ascendez s'il vous plaît.” (You’re welcome. Get in if you please.)

Toulouse climbed in without another thought while Pendleton gave some instructions to his valet. Something in the man’s tone reassured him. Somehow, he knew he understood what he was feeling.

Toulouse looked around the carriage’s interior in absolute wonder. The inside was as blue as the outside. The seats were made of soft leather that covered the whole interior. The teen couldn’t help but run his fingers over the upholstery. Toulouse had seen carriages many times, but he had never ridden inside of one before. Neither had his parents.

His thoughts were interrupted when his patron climbed inside the carriage, shut the door, and sat on the seat opposite him.

About a moment later, the carriage started moving. Toulouse looked out the windows on either side and watched the world move around them.

For a moment, Toulouse forgot that his boss was even there and pulled his wind-up monkey out of his pocket. In the light coming through the windows, he attempted to wind the toy again but only breathed out a sigh of disappointment.

“Toulouse?” Pendleton asked causing the boy reflexively shove the toy back in his pocket. “ Quel âge avez-vous?” (Toulouse? How old are you?)

“Quel est le jour du mois?” Toulouse replied. (What is the day of the month?)

“ Le 14e de mars,” Pendleton replied. (The 14th of March.)

“Alors, j’ai 15 ans,” Toulouse replied. “Mon anniversaire était le 8eme.” (So, I’m 15. My birthday was on the 8th.)

Pendleton looked at his new assistant thoughtfully and said, “Mon anniversaire était l’11eme. J’ai 30 ans.” (My birthday was on the 11th. I’m 30.)

“Bon anniversaire,” Toulouse muttered under his breath while staring out the window. (Happy Birthday)

“Toulouse,” the future Sir Pentious said in an authoritative tone Toulouse would come to recognize. “ Quand vous parlez avec quelqu'un, vous devez les regarder aux yeux. Maintenant, regardez-moi aux yeux et répétez-vous clairement.”

(Toulouse, when you speak with someone, you must look them in the eyes. Now, look me in the eyes and repeat yourself clearly.)

Toulouse hesitated to look his new boss in the eyes. That was something he couldn’t do most of the times with his own parents, much less complete strangers.

“Maintenant, Toulouse,” his boss repeated. (Now, Toulouse)

Toulouse reluctantly looked his patron in the eyes and said more clearly, “Bon anniversaire.” (Happy Birthday.)

“Bon,” his boss replied. “Merci. Bon anniversaire à vous aussi.” (Good. Thank you. Happy Birthday to you, too.)

Toulouse looked away again nervously without responding.

His patron sighed and said, “We are going to have to work very hard on your social skills, young man. They are very underdeveloped.”

Toulouse, not understanding his patron’s words, continued looking out the window until the carriage came to a sudden stop.

“Bon, nous avons arrivé,” Pendleton said in incorrect French. (Good, we have arrived.)

“ Où’est-ce que nous sommes arrivés, monsieur le patron ?” Toulouse said shyly correcting his boss’s French. (Where have we arrived, Mr. Boss?)

“Nous sommes au magasin de vêtements pour hommes,” his patron said opening the carriage door and climbing out in front of his assistant. “Nous allons acheter de nouveaux vêtements pour vous.”

(We are at the men’s clothing store. We are going to buy some new clothes for you.)

Toulouse didn’t move from his seat but asked, “Pourquoi?” (Why?)

“Parce qu'à partir d'aujourd'hui, vous serez mon assistant,” Pendleton responded. “Vous ne pouvez plus vous habiller comme un homme pauvre.” (Because starting today, you will be my assistant. You cannot dress like a poor man anymore.)

“Mais je suis un pauvre fermier,” Toulouse protested. “J’ai pas d’argent.” (But I’m a poor farmer. I don’t have any money.)

“Vous étiez un pauvre fermier,” the future Sir Pentious said looking his assistant in the eyes. “Maintenant, vous êtes l'assistant d'un riche inventeur. J'ai besoin de vous habiller comme ça. Ne vous inquiétez pas. Je paierai tout. Considérez-le comme votre cadeau d'anniversaire. Maintenant, allons-y, Toulouse.”

(You were a poor farmer. Now, you are the assistant of a wealthy inventor. I need to dress you like it. Don’t worry. I will pay for everything. Consider it your birthday present. Now, let’s go, Toulouse.)

“Oui, monsieur,” Toulouse replied quietly as he exited the carriage. (Yes, sir.)

“Par ici,” his patron said opening the door allowing Toulouse to enter in front of him. (Right this way.)

Toulouse stepped inside and could not believe his eyes. Before him was a large store with rows of gentleman’s clothing as far as the eye could see. On one wall were tuxedos. On another wall were day outfits. On another wall were shoes. On another wall were hats.

The teen had never even set foot in a clothing store before. In his village in Normandy, all clothing was hand-made or bought from a seamstress like his mother.

Toulouse’s eyes were bulging and he was smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh, mon Dieu, (Oh, my God,)” Toulouse whispered to himself before he stepped out of the doorway and up to the clothing to get a closer look ignoring the shocked expressions of the other gentlemen.

Toulouse walked up to a row of dinner jackets and allowed his fingers to run over the smooth texture of the fabric.

“C’est si doux,” Toulouse muttered happily to himself still oblivious to the offended whispers of other gentlemen in the store as he enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on the soft fabric. “Comment est le tissu si doux?” (It’s so soft. How is the fabric this soft?)

Suddenly, his right hand was grabbed by Pendleton who said, “Qu’est-ce que vous faites, Toulouse? Vous ne pouvez pas simplement toucher des vêtements comme ça quand vous êtes au magasin. C’est impoli. Maintenant, allez. Nous allons trouver le propriétaire du magasin et vous mettre dans de meilleurs vêtements afin que vous puissiez sortir de cet uniforme hideuse. Cela sonne-t-il pour vous?”

(What are you doing, Toulouse? You cannot just touch clothing like that when you’re in the store. That’s impolite. Now, come on. Let’s find the store owner and get you into some better clothes so that we can get you out of that hideous uniform. Does that sound good to you?)

“Oui, monsieur,” Toulouse replied happily walking ahead of his boss to look at more clothes. (Yes, sir.)

“Regardez mes yeux et répétez ça encore une fois s'il vous plaît,” Pendleton said patiently placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him from walking away. (Look at my eyes and say that again please.)

Toulouse looked in his boss’s eyes in poorly concealed annoyance and said, “Oui, monsieur.” (Yes, sir.)

The teen could not understand for the life of him why his boss insisted on so much eye contact when nobody else did. He felt the flutter of annoyance come through him, but his fear managed to suppress it from expressing itself any further.

“Bon,” his boss said letting go of his shoulder and gently nudging him away from the clothes with a hand on his lower back. “Rappelez, Toulouse, vous utilisez vos yeux pour dire à quelqu'un que vous écoutez. ”

(Good. Remember, Toulouse, you use your eyes to tell someone that you’re listening.)

“Hello! Hello! Hello, Mr. Sai Pendleton!” a lively voice said from across the room. “Long time, no see. Who’s that you got there with you?”

A fancily-clad tailor wearing a white-collared shirt and matching brown vest and trousers that matched his thinning hair and eager eyes came up to the pair of them and excitedly shook Pendleton’s hand.

“Ah, Mr. James,” the future Sir Pentious replied cordially. “You’re just the man I wanted to see. This young man here is my new assistant, Toulouse. He desperately needs a new wardrobe.”

“I can see that,” James said looking at the poor teen’s clothes in absolute disgust causing the latter to fidget uncomfortably. “Where on earth did you find this robin? He’s an absolute mess.”

“He’s a French immigrant fresh from the workhouse.”

“Explains the ragged clothes. We got our work cut out for us. That’s for sure. So, what did you have in mind for him?”

“Well…”

Toulouse didn’t listen to the rest of their conversation.

His wandering mind fell upon a large sign that was advertising hats. Recognizing the letters but not knowing what the word they spelled meant or how to even pronounce it, he went closer to investigate.

Toulouse had loved reading and studying letters ever since he was a small child learning the alphabet from his mother. He learned more in his country school though he struggled to function in the classroom with the other children his age, but he always preferred reading at home with his parents from the newspaper, from his father’s books, or from his mother’s Bible.

Sadly, most of the books were sold when his father died. The workhouse supervisor sold the few that were left leaving Toulouse with nothing to read for the time he was locked away with the other lunatics. His eyes were starving for letters to read again, even if the words they made were not written in his native language.

The sign was written in gold leaf on a black background. The letters were pretty, but the word they spelled was strange. It was one letter off from ‘chat,’ the French word for cat, so Toulouse tried pronouncing it that way out loud, despite his cultural inability to pronounce the H sound.

“‘At?” Toulouse read out loud trying to figure out what the word could possibly mean. “‘At? ‘At? ‘At?”

“Hat,” Toulouse heard his patron correct from behind him. “Le mot est hat.” (Hat. The word is hat.)

“‘At?” Toulouse struggled to say.

“Hat,” Pendleton said more slowly.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est ?” Toulouse asked. (What is that?)

« C’est l’anglais pour le chapeau, » Pendleton replied. « Pouvez-vous lire? »

(It’s English for hat. Can you read?)

“Oui,” Toulouse said nodding towards his boss.

“Pouvez-vous écrire?” Pendleton asked raising his eyebrow. (Can you write?)

“Un peu,” Toulouse said looking away. (A little bit)

“Intéressant,” Pendleton said placing his hand on Toulouse’s back and gently nudging him forward as they headed to the back of the store. “Ce qui me sauve un peu de travail…”

(Interesting. That saves me some work…)

“Comment?” Toulouse interrupted standing in place and confusedly looking back at his patron. (What?)

“Je vous expliquerai plus tard,” Sir Pentious said nudging his young assistant forward so that they could get back to the dressing area in a timely manner. “Maintenant, il est temps pour le tailleur de prendre vos mesures afin que nous puissions vous acheter de nouveaux vêtements. D’accord ?”

(I will explain later. Now, it’s time for the tailor to take your measurements so that we can buy you some new clothes. Okay?)

“D’accord,” Toulouse agreed nervously as the pair made their way behind the curtain into a room with a platform surrounded by mirrors.

Toulouse looked around in amazement. He had never seen that many mirrors in one place. It was strange and kind of unnerving.

“Toulouse, marchez sur la plate-forme s'il vous plait,” Pendleton said from behind jarring Toulouse from his thoughts. (Toulouse, step on the platform please.)

Toulouse quickly obeyed his patron’s orders and stepped on the platform in the middle of the room surrounded by all the mirrors.

“Bon, maintenant, restez immobile,” Pendleton said nodding to the tailor who stepped on the platform and began using a measuring tape to get his measurements.

Toulouse understood what was happening. His mother would do the same thing whenever she sewed him some new clothes.

“Good Lord,” the tailor said in amazement while measuring the teen’s skinny torso. “The lad is nothing but skin and bones, Mr. Pendleton.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the future snake demon replied in disgust while the tailor continued working. “I’ve read all about how the ones in power treat their inmates in these so-called ‘charitable institutions.’ They ration all their daily meals so that they’re always hungry. Then, if they step out of line in any way, they’re starved as discipline. That’s what happened to this unfortunate young man here.”

“Absolutely mad, those places are,” the tailor said writing down his last measurements. “Anyway, we’ve got the clothes you want, the only problem is that they’re goin’ to be loose on him.”

“Toulouse will be eating food from my table,” Pendleton reassured. “He’ll be filling out his clothes before too long.”

“You’re a noble man, you are, takin’ the lad in like this,” the tailor said stepping off the platform to fetch Toulouse’s new clothes from the other room. “Your father would be proud.”

Pendleton smiled slightly before his new assistant interrupted him with a question, “Patron, que se passe-t-il maintenant? Où va-t-il?” (Boss, what’s happening now? Where’s he going?)

“Il va chercher vos nouveaux vêtements,” the future Sir Pentious said patiently to his future minion. « Soyez patient, Toulouse. » (He’s going to fetch your new clothes. Be patient, Toulouse.)

Toulouse nodded while sitting down where he was standing and looking at his face in the mirror. His face looked much thinner than it was when he had left France, much dirtier, too.

“Toulouse, comment savez-vous lire ? ” Pendleton suddenly asked him. (Toulouse, how do you know how to read?)

« Il y avait une école dans mon village, monsieur, » Toulouse said without looking back at his boss. « Ma mère lirait le Bible avec moi et mon père avait plusieurs livres aussi. »

(There was a school in my village, sir. My mother would read the Bible with me and my father had many other books, too.)

“Hmmm…Intéressant,” Pendleton replied just as James walked back in boxes of clothes. (Hmmm…Interesting.)

“Here, we go,” the tailor said setting his boxes down on the platform. “Alright, then, lad. Stand up and let’s get you dressed.”

Toulouse looked at his boss for a translation. When the future Sir Pentious translated the request, the teen’s face contorted in fear.

Toulouse’s memories immediately returned what happened at the workhouse the day his mother finally succumbed to the fever. He was dragged to a washroom, stripped of his clothes, forced into a bathtub of cold water, held down, and scrubbed from head to toe.

Toulouse would hide his mother’s rosary and his father’s pocket watch in his mouth and his wind-up monkey in his fist whenever the workers came to check on him and his mother, so he had the items on hand when all this was happening. In that cold bathtub, he kept his mouth and his fist shut tight while the frightening hands of strangers scrubbed his entire body.

His worst fear was having his few remaining possessions pried away from him, so Toulouse held in his urge to scream when he felt their terrible rough hands violating him and kept his eyes shut tight so that he wouldn’t have to see them. He wouldn’t scream until later that night when he was finally locked away with the other lunatics.

Noticing his assistant’s distress, Pendleton asked, « Toulouse, aimeriez-vous vous déshabiller et vous habiller ? » (Toulouse, would you like to undress and dress yourself?)

Having brought himself back to reality, Toulouse nodded his head shyly.

“D’accord,” the future Sir Pentious said calmly holding out his hand. “Voulez-vous que je tienne vos choses pour vous pendant que vous changez vos vêtements ? »

(Okay. Would you like me to hold your things for you while you change your clothes?)

Toulouse clutched the items in his pockets, took a tentative yet determined step back, looked his patron defensively in the eyes, and shook his head vigorously.

Pendleton sighed as his face settled into a disappointed yet understanding smile.

Then he replied, “OK, alors. Changez vos vêtements et dites-nous quand vous avez terminé ou si vous avez besoin d’aide. »

(Ok, then. Change your clothes and tell us when you have finished or if you need help.)

Toulouse nodded before Pendleton gestured to the tailor and said, “Come on, James. He wants to change his clothes without an audience.”

“Is there something wrong with him?” James asked as he followed Pendleton out. “What was that all about?”

“Cruel treatment from that workhouse, I suspect,” the future snake demon replied sadly. “He doesn’t trust me with his possessions. He’s probably learned not to trust anyone because of that place. No wonder. They sold almost all of his and his mother’s possessions…”

Only when Toulouse saw his patron shut the curtain behind him did he open the boxes. His eyes grew wide in wonder.

The clothes before him were made of the soft, rich, ornately-decorated fabric that Toulouse had only seen in passing as a poor man. They were nothing like the clothes he was wearing or any of the clothes he had ever worn in France. Yet here they were: white dress shirts, black dress coats, black overcoats, differently-colored pants, silky vests with intricate patterns embroidered into them, black boots, clean knickers, clean pairs of socks, silky ties, a black top hat… It felt too good to be true.

Toulouse gazed at the clothing in disbelief for a minute as he ran his fingers over them to feel the texture of the different fabrics and the different materials.

“Toulouse?” his master’s voice called interrupting his thoughts. “Avez-vous fini? Nous voulons voir.”

(Toulouse? Are you done yet? We want to see.)

Toulouse snapped back to reality and replied, “Une minute, patron!” before he scrambled to take his clothes off. (One minute, boss!)

Toulouse pulled his things out of his prison coat, set the items on the floor, and started undressing. After completely disrobing, he pulled on a fresh pair of nickers, a pair of brown- and black-striped pants, a white dress shirt, a yellow vest, fresh black socks, black boots, a black coat, and a tie that he tied around his neck like an ascot for good measure.

“Êtes-vous prêt, Toulouse?” his patron called again. (Are you ready, Toulouse?)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse responded putting the black top hot on as a final touch.

Pendleton and James came in to look at Toulouse. They paused and studied his appearance before giving pleased smiles.

“My, my,” James said stepping on the platform to fix Toulouse’s outfit. “Say what you will about this boy, but he has good taste, Pendleton.”

“Indeed, he has,” Pendleton agreed following behind him. “We just need to make a few minor adjustments.”

Toulouse stepped back fearfully before his patron held up his hand in a halting motion and said, “Ne vous inquiétez pas, Toulouse. Nous ajustons seulement votre tenue.”

(Don’t worry, Toulouse. We are only adjusting your outfit.)

Toulouse made himself stand still as James tucked his shirt into his pants and the future Sir Pentious tied his tie for him.

Once they had finished, Pendleton smiled and said, “Voilà. Beaucoup mieux.” (That’s it. Much better.)

He and the tailor looked around the assistant to see how his clothes fit.

“You were right about the clothes being loose on him,” Pendleton said rubbing his chin. “But I don’t think it should be a big issue. Once he starts gaining some weight, I know he’ll fill the clothes out. I’ll take the lot.”

“Glad to hear ya say that, sir,” James said as he started picking up boxes to take up front. “Shall he exit in those clothes he’s wearing?”

“Oh, God, yes,” the future snake demon said. “Burn that uniform in your fireplace. No poor man should ever suffer those clothes.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” James said flashing a smile before turning away to continue his work. “If you need me, I’ll be out there.”

Pendleton nodded his head and turned back to his assistant who was hanging his rosary on his neck and stuffing his other things in his pants’ pocket.

Toulouse had hardly finished putting his things away when he noticed his patron adjusting the rosary around his neck.

“Patron?” Toulouse asked with a start of surprise as Pendleton placed the cross of the necklace underneath Toulouse’s new shirt.

“Vous devez cacher votre chapelet, Toulouse, » Pendleton said calmly. « Il y a beaucoup de protestants intolérants à Londres. »

(You must hide your rosary, Toulouse. There are many intolerant protestants in London.)

« Oh, mon Dieu, » Toulouse replied fearfully feeling the rosary underneath his shirt. (Oh, my God.)

Noticing his fear, the future Sir Pentious used his hand to move his assistant’s chin so that he was looking at his eyes and said, “Ne vous inquiétez pas, mon garçon. Je peux vous protéger. D’accord?”

(Don’t worry, my boy. I can protect you. Okay?)

Toulouse nodded his head as his patron stepped back, unbuttoned his coat revealing his own silver vest, pulled out a pocket watch of his own, and said, “Maintenant, regardez-moi. Voyez-vous cette montre de poche?” (Now, watch me. You see this pocket watch?)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse replied confusedly.

“Vous voyez comment je place ma montre de poche dans ma poche de gilet? » the future snake demon said while slowly showing Toulouse how to arrange the chain through the button holes and from pockets of his vest. “Je veux que vous fassiez la même chose avec la vôtre. Un gentleman ne voyage jamais sans une montre de poche, et une belle comme la vôtre devrait être porté avec fierté. »

(You see how I place my pocket watch in my vest pocket? I want you to do the same thing with yours. A gentleman never travels without his pocket watch, and a beautiful one like yours should be worn with pride.)

“Mais c'est cassé. La montre de poche est tombée de ma poche quand ces monstres m'ont attaqué, » Toulouse complained. (But it's broken. The pocket watch fell out of my pocket when those monsters tackled me.)

“Ne vous inquiétez pas,” his patron replied. « Nous pouvons le réparer plus tard. Mais pour l'instant, vous devez apprendre à porter votre montre de poche comme un gentleman. »

(Don’t worry. We can repair it later. But for now, you need to learn how to wear your pocket watch like a gentleman.)

Toulouse pulled his pocket watch out of his pocket and imitated his patron as he showed him how to tie his pocket watch through the buttons of his vest. It was easier than it looked, so the job was done in no time.

Toulouse looked down and smiled as his patron said, “Bien fait. Maintenant, vous ressemblez un gentleman. Maintenant, si vous voulez m'excuser, je dois payer pour les vêtements.”

(Well done. Now, you look like a gentleman. Now, if you would excuse me, I must go pay for the clothes.)

Before Toulouse could look back up, Pendleton had left the dressing area.

Toulouse continued looking over his new clothes in the mirror in disbelief. He felt like a prince, a king, or a noble from France’s past or a lucky peasant from one of the fairy tales his parents told him as a child. God had looked down on him with favor at last. He almost couldn’t comprehend it all. It was too good to be true.

“Toulouse, allons-y!” Pendleton called from outside the dressing room snapping him back to reality.

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse replied before he dashed off the platform and out of the dressing room to the main area where his patron was.

To his amazement, Toulouse found that the other customers stopped giving him weird looks though he did still hear some whispering.

His mother was right. There was power in having a good appearance.

“Thank you for your help, James,” Pendleton said shaking his old friend’s hand.

“Don’t mention it, Sai,” James replied. “Please let me know if you need any help with him. The lad may be a bit slow and nervous, but I can tell he has a good head on his shoulders. Say, why don’t I ask my wife to work with him? She speaks French, you know. She teaches it to her students.”

“That is very generous, but I think I can manage him. I will need teaching materials, though…”

“Say no more. I’ll see what the missus can do.”

“Thank you very much,” Pendleton said before letting go of James’ hand and turning to his assistant. “Toulouse, rentrons à la maison.” (Let’s go home, Toulouse.)

Toulouse nodded to his patron before James interrupted, “Sai, you know you can return to the church any time. I know you’ve had it hard since the loss of your father, but it might be good for you, for him, too. I mean, he does need to work on his English.”

Pendleton glanced back at his friend and at his new servant before replying, “You might have a point. I suppose Toulouse could learn a great deal from just listening. We’ll be there.”

“Oh, you don’t know how happy that makes me and your father, too,” James said before Pendleton smiled warmly, nodded his head, and headed out the door with Toulouse in tow.

Toulouse climbed into the carriage followed by his patron after he had a short word with the valet. Then, they were off.

Neither of them said a word. Toulouse leaned against the soft leathery upholstery of his seat to look out one window while his patron sat there looking out the other. The steady motion of the horses riding on top of the cobblestone road relaxed the teen, and before he knew it, he had fallen fast asleep.

The next thing Toulouse remembered was his boss gently shaking his shoulder to wake him up.

“Toulouse, réveillez-vous,” the future Sir Pentious said. « Nous sommes à la maison. »

(Wake up, Toulouse. We’re home.)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse said groggily getting up and climbing out of the carriage to an awesome sight.

The mansion was a three-story brick home with flowered-vines growing along the walls. It was the type of place that the child had heard of in books but could have never dreamed was possible in real life.

His weary eyes opened wide as they took in the marvelous sight from the top of the roof to the end of the courtyard that met the cobblestone road. Toulouse was so amazed that he hardly even noticed the servants trying their best to avoid running into him.

“Toulouse,” his patron said finally getting the excited teen’s attention. “Allons à l'intérieur pour que je puisse vous montrer votre chambre. Vous avez besoin de vous nettoyer avant le dîner. »

(Toulouse, let’s go inside so that I can show you to your room. You need to clean yourself before dinner.)

Toulouse’s face twisted in confusion as he said, “Ma chambre? J'ai ma propre chambre?”

(My room? I have my own room?)

“Oui,” the future snake demon replied with a warm smile. “Suivez-moi.” (Yes, follow me.)

Toulouse quickly rushed to follow his boss as a gentle middle-aged man at the door opened the door to allow them to both enter.

“Good evening, sir,” the man at the door said. “The purchases you made are heading to the guest room as you ordered. Speaking of which, are we having a guest tonight?”

“Not exactly,” Pendleton replied gesturing towards the teenager following right behind him. “This boy is my new assistant, Toulouse.”

“You found him quickly,” the man at the door said bowing his head slightly. “Nice to have you with us, young man.”

Not understanding his words, Toulouse only bowed back. The man could do nothing except look back at his boss in confusion.

“Oh, the boy is French and cannot speak English,” Pendleton said. “Not yet anyway. You will have to excuse him for not responding properly.”

“That is quite alright, sir,” the man at the door replied. “Bienvenue, Toulouse.” (Welcome, Toulouse.)

“Bienvenue,” Toulouse repeated mindlessly while admiring the doorman’s shiny shoes.

“Regardez aux yeux, Toulouse,” Pendleton said. « Rappelez ? » (Look at the eyes, Toulouse. Remember?)

“Oh,” Toulouse said quickly looking at the man’s eyes. “Merci, monsieur.” (Oh, thank you, sir.)

« Bon, » Pendleton said with an approving nod before turning back to his servant. “Thank you, Jeffrey. You can take your dinner now. We’ll have ours in about an hour. I think we can handle ourselves until then. Toulouse, suivez-moi.”

Toulouse turned around and followed his boss inside the manor. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The home was brightly lit in the receding light. That was the first thing Toulouse noticed.

He looked up to see a brightly lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling. From there, he saw the white wood-paneled walls and looked down to see the white-tiled floor that reflected it. It was overwhelmingly beautiful.

“Toulouse!” his patron called from midway up the stairs in front of him. “Venez-vous?” (Toulouse, are you coming?)

“Oui, monsieur le patron,” Toulouse said walking quickly up the stairs to join his boss.

The walk continued silently until they reached the top of the stairs and Toulouse beheld a family portrait that stopped him in his tracks.

In the portrait was a brown-haired and brown-eyed English gentleman and standing next to him was a smiling Indian woman wearing a brightly-colored sari. Then, standing under them was their child, a mixed-race boy wearing traditional Indian clothing of his own.

Toulouse stepped closer to the painting studying the little boy’s face. Upon closer inspection, the child had his new patron’s face and distinct snake-like eyes.

“Aimez-vous la peinture ?” the future Sir Pentious asked from behind him. (Do you like the painting?)

Toulouse turned around suddenly, looked shyly at the floor in embarrassment, and said, “Oui, patron.”

Toulouse wanted to ask his patron about the portrait, but he struggled to build up the courage to.

The future snake demon tilted Toulouse’s face up so that it was facing his and said, “Si vous êtes curieux de savoir quelque chose, vous devriez poser une question, Toulouse.”

(If you are curious about something, you must ask a question, Toulouse.)

Intimidated by the second instance of such physical contact that evening, Toulouse shook his head out of his new patron’s grip and found the courage to ask, “Patron, c’est une peinture de votre famille?”

(Boss, is that a painting of your family?)

“Oui,” his patron responded sadly.

That sadness prompted Toulouse to ask, “Où est votre famille?” (Where is your family?)

“Dans le ciel, comme le vôtre, » his patron responded sadly without looking at him as he continued walking down the hallway. “Maintenant, suivez-moi. Votre chambre n’est pas loin d’ici.”

(In heaven, like yours. Now, follow me. Your room is not far from here.)

Toulouse nodded and obediently followed behind him. He and his new patron had more in common than he thought.

As Toulouse followed his boss past several rooms, his eyes wandered around and marveled at the sheer size and beauty of the house around him.

That wonder disappeared however when Toulouse began noticing some rather disturbing paintings on the walls.

These paintings were from a culture that Toulouse had barely even heard of. He knew that much. One painting had a dark-skinned man playing a flute to charm a cobra in a basket. Another had a woman in strange clothing sitting on top of water with…four arms?

The paintings only got more bizarre and fantastic from there. One painting had an almost completely naked boy surrounded by large snakes. Another had a group of men walking into a serpent’s mouth. Yet another one had a blue man with four arms sitting on a throne of snakes with a well-dressed woman by his side.

The last painting stopped Toulouse in his tracks for a moment before he fearfully caught up to his patron.

His patron smiled and asked, “Aimez-vous mes peintures?” (Do you like my paintings?)

“C’est fantastique, les peintures,” Toulouse replied nervously. « Vous aimez bien les serpents. »

(The paintings are fantastic. You really like snakes.)

The future Sir Pentious smiled and said, “Dans l'hindouisme, le serpent symbolise le karma, l'idée que tous les hommes récoltent ce qu'ils sèment dans cette vie et dans la suivante. C’est une des raisons pour laquelles j’aime les serpents. »

(In Hinduism, the snake symbolizes karma, the idea that all men reap what they sow in this life and in the next. It’s one of the reasons I love snakes.)

“Oui, monsieur le patron,” Toulouse answered politely pretending to not be freaked out by what he just said.

“Et voilà,” Pendleton said stopping in front of an opened door. “Voilà votre chambre.” (And here we are. Here’s your room.)

Toulouse looked inside to an amazing sight. The room was bigger than his home in France had been.

The room was simple but elegant. It had a queen-sized bed with a white bedside table beside it, a mysterious white door to the left of it, a large wardrobe on the opposite wall that the maid was putting his new clothes in, a chestnut desk between the windows on the right, a vanity next to the door on the left, and a white leather chair besides the window in the corner. The walls had white paneling and two large windows looking over the garden outside.

A large smile came across Toulouse’s face as he admired his new room.

“Vous aimez bien votre chambre ? » Pendleton asked his assistant. (Do you like your room?)

“Oui, monsieur le patron,” Toulouse answered remembering to look his patron in the eyes. “Merci.”

Toulouse happily set his broken monkey toy on the bedside table to show that he was all moved in.

“De rien,” Pendleton replied opening the white door leading to a bathroom. “Venez. Vous avez besoin de nettoyer.”

(You’re welcome. Come. You need to clean.)

Toulouse looked at his patron in confusion but unquestioningly obeyed him. The future Sir Pentious brought Toulouse into his own full bathroom. The floor had white tiles. There was dark green wallpaper on the walls, a sink on the left wall with a toilet next to it and a mirror above it, a large tub in the middle of the room that Toulouse tried to ignore, and a big window looking into the garden. The sink had a small brush on it and other products that Toulouse didn’t recognize. The tub had some products of the same caliber.

Toulouse knew very well how the tub worked, but the other items had him confused. In France, the toilet was the outhouse, and the sink was a wash basin. In the workhouse, the toilets were the chamber pots and sinks were practically nonexistent.

“Êtes-vous confus, Toulouse?” Pendleton asked with some slight amusement behind his voice. (Are you confused, Toulouse?)

Toulouse nodded honestly and replied, “Je n'ai jamais vu ces choses avant. » (I have never seen these things before.)

“Eh bien, permettez-moi de vous montrer comment les utiliser, » the future snake demon said as he pulled the chain that flushed the toilet causing Toulouse to step backwards in surprise. (Well then, allow me to show you how to use them.)

Pendleton demonstrated how everything worked. When he was done, Toulouse nodded to show that he understood, picked up a small washcloth, lathered it with soap, and started lathering the sink.

“Toulouse, qu’est-ce que vous faites ? » his patron asked. (Toulouse, what are you doing?)

“Nettoyer comme vous m'avez dit, » Toulouse replied confusedly. (Cleaning, like you told me to.)

« Oh, » Pendleton replied embarrassedly facepalming. « Pardonnez-moi. J'ai mal parlé. Quel est le mot qui signifie pour vous nettoyer ? » (Forgive me. I misspoke. What is the word that means to clean yourself?)

« Uh, se laver? » Toulouse replied. (Uh, se laver/to wash oneself?)

“Oui, c’est le mot correct, » the future Sir Pentious said in relief. “Je veux que vous vous lavez dans la baignoire. » (Yes, that’s the right word. I want you to wash yourself in the bathtub.)

Toulouse’s face flashed in a brief panic as he thought back to the cold bath he was given at the workhouse and replied in increasing panic, “Un bain? Je ne veux pas que vous me lavez. Ne me touchez pas, s'il vous plaît… » (A bath ? I don’t want you to wash me. Don’t touch me please…)

“Toulouse…” his patron tried to interrupt.

“Pas encore, pas encore, pas encore, » Toulouse started repeating to himself as he began crying and threw his hat on the floor. (Not again!)

“Toulouse…” his patron patiently tried to interrupt again before his assistant’s whispers grew into agonizing shouts of pain.

“PAS ENCORE! PAS ENCORE! PAS ENCORE ! PAS ENCORE ! » Toulouse yelled repeatedly as he started pacing around and flapping his hands repetitively like a bird.

The future Sir Pentious stood and watched in stunned silence as he witnessed his assistant melt down for the first time. His eyes watched him in frightened confusion as he clearly struggled to figure out what to do.

Toulouse’s cries quickly became unintelligible sobs that could be heard throughout the house. All the fear he had been bottling up inside came out in a torrential flood. His clothes started feeling uncomfortable, so he took off his coat and dropped it on the ground. He pulled the pocket watch out of his pocket and clung onto it for dear life while still flapping his other hand.

As he kept pacing around and flapping his hand in a frenzy, the maid who had just finished hanging up his clothes came into the doorway, peaked in fearfully, and cried out, “Good God! He’s as mad as a hatter! Master, shall I fetch a policeman?!”

“No!” Pendleton replied quickly. “That is unnecessary. He isn’t mad. I can handle this, Celeste. Now, go downstairs and join your husband for dinner please. We need some time alone.”

Celeste quickly exited the room and started heading downstairs.

Once she was gone, the future Sir Pentious yelled, “TOULOUSE!”

The shout was loud enough to make Toulouse stop in his tracks and stop crying for a moment.

After visibly hesitating for a moment, Pendleton said, “Toulouse, dites-moi cinq choses que vous pouvez voir maintenant. » (Toulouse, tell me five things you can see right now.)

“Mais, patron…” Toulouse began in confusion. (But, boss…)

“Maintenant, Toulouse,” Pendleton interrupted gently but firmly. “Cinq choses que vous pouvez voir. »

(Now, Toulouse. Five things you can see.)

“Uh,” Toulouse said as he wiped his tears and started looking around. “Uh, vous…le miroir…l'évier…la toilette…le bain…” (Uh, uh, you…the mirror…the sink…the toilet…the bath…)

“Bon,” his patron interrupted looking for another idea. “Maintenant…quatre choses que vous pouvez toucher. » (Good. Now…four things that you can touch.)

“Mon montre de poche,” Toulouse said running his fingers over his father’s broken pocket watch with his hand before running his fingers over his vest. “Mon gilet, oh…” (My pocket watch, my vest, oh…)

Toulouse sat down on the ground, pulled off his shoes and socks, let his warm feet touch the cold floor, and said, “Le sol…Et…uh…” (The ground…and uh…)

Before Toulouse could think of another response, his patron turned on the faucet in the bathtub, calmly grabbed Toulouse’s hand, and pulled him towards the running water.

“Patron!” Toulouse cried out in a panic as his patron stoically placed his hand under the running water. “Non! Non! Non…Attendez. C’est pas froid.” (Boss! No! No! No…Wait. It’s not cold.)

“Si,” the future snake demon said gently. “Je ne vais pas vous laver dans un bain froid. Vous allez vous laver dans un bain où vous contrôlez la température de l’eau. Est-ce que vous comprennez ? »

(Yes, I am not going to bathe you in a cold bath. You are going to wash yourself in a bath where you control the temperature of the water. Do you understand?)

Toulouse nodded timidly in embarrassment and said, “Oui, patron. Pardonnez-moi.” (Yes, boss. I’m sorry.)

“Bon, maintenant, vous vous lavez pendant que je me prépare pour le dîner, » Pendleton said before he turned to leave Toulouse to his bath.(Good, now, you bathe while I prepare myself for dinner.)

Before the patron could leave however, Toulouse pulled back his boss by the sleeve of his coat and said, “Patron, attendez...” (Boss, wait…)

Pendleton reflexively brushed his hand off him before he replied, “Oui, Toulouse?”

Toulouse untied his tie, pulled the rosary out from under his shirt, untied his pocket watch, and said, “Voulez-vous mettre mes choses sur la table de chevet s'il vous plaît?” (Would you put my things on the bedside table please?)

The future Sir Pentious paused in surprise for a second before he took the things from Toulouse’s hand and exited the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut, Toulouse finished stripping off his clothes and took his bath. He cleaned off all the dirt that had accumulated on his body since he had received that icy cold bath back in the workhouse. The warm water was comforting and relaxing, just like the baths he would take at home. It was heaven.

Eventually, Toulouse’s relaxation was interrupted by a knock on his bathroom door.

“Toulouse,” a feminine voice said. “I’ve laid out your clothes for dinner.”

Toulouse didn’t understand the woman’s words, but he understood that it was time for him to leave the bathtub. He unplugged the stopper to let the water drain and found a towel to dry himself off with.

As he dried himself off, Toulouse couldn’t help but stare in fascination as the water left the drain. He continued to stare until the water was all gone. It was amazing. He had never seen plumbing like that in action.

Toulouse excitedly used the bathroom and afterwards used the sink just to watch the same thing before reluctantly realizing he had to leave the bathroom or risk getting in trouble with his boss.

The teenager finished drying himself off and left the bathroom. Upon exiting, he noticed the clothes laid out for him on his bed. It was a tuxedo.

Toulouse looked at the strange outfit curiously. It was something that only the very rich wore in storybooks. He had never seen such an outfit in real life even when wandering the streets of London with his mother. It was another surreal element to what had been the most bizarre day of his life.

After staring at the fine clothing for another moment, Toulouse began getting himself dressed. He pulled on his underwear and then the black pants.

Toulouse was about to put on the white shirt when he remembered his rosary and walked over to the bedside table to get it so that he could wear it under his shirt.

To his horror, once he got there, there was his rosary sitting where it was supposed to be, but his pocket watch was missing. Toulouse looked on the bed and saw that his wind-up monkey was gone, too.

The teen’s heart immediately quickened his pace in a panic as he put the rosary on around his neck. His breath grew shallow and the tears began falling as he anxiously started looking around his room for his items in a frenzy that grew more desperate every minute.

Toulouse pulled out the drawers of his bedside table, pulled the sheets and blankets off his bed, pulled out the drawers of his vanity, looked under his bed, pulled all the clothes out of his wardrobe, cleaned out his linen drawers, and even checked the bathroom again. He could find nothing besides his rosary.

At this point, Toulouse’s silent tears turned to loud sobs. He sat on the edge of his bed and continued sobbing loudly.

His patron had lied to him. He had stolen the last of his possessions and sold them. Toulouse just knew it. All this was too good to be true.

That realization made Toulouse sob even louder as he allowed his head to droop and rest in his hands. His cries were interrupted when he heard the door creak and looked up to see the maid from before.

She looked around the room in shock and said, “What have you done, young man?”

Toulouse didn’t understand her words, but his cries gave way to anger at her and at her evil boss.

To express that anger, Toulouse picked up a pillow from the floor, threw it at the door, and yelled, “Laissez-moi tranquille!” (Leave me alone!)

The maid yelped in horror, shut the door before the pillow even reached it, and yelled, “Oh, my God! The lad’s gone bloody mad!” before he heard her running down the hall.

Toulouse still couldn’t understand her words, but he realized he needed to leave before his master returned.

He pulled on his socks and a pair of dress shoes, picked up one of his fancy coats from off the floor, stuffed one of his white shirts in its pocket, opened the window of his bedroom, and ran onto the roof with the coat and shirt carried under his arm in a bundle.

But before Toulouse could reach the edge, he heard his patron call out his name.

“TOULOUSE!” his boss called from the windowsill. “Que faites-vous ? Venez-ici ! »

(TOULOUSE! What are you doing? Come here!)

Toulouse turned around to see his patron looking very displeased, but he was too angry to be afraid.

“NON !” Toulouse retorted angrily with tears streaming down his face as he walked back over to where his patron was standing. “Vous êtes un monstre ! Je ne peux pas croire que je vous faisais confiance ! Toutes les belles choses que vous avez fait pour moi était juste un acte ! Vous êtes un menteur et un voleur comme ces salauds qui m’enfermaient ! Ces choses étaient tout ce que j’avais de ma famille et vous les avez emmenés ! Maintenant, il ne me reste plus rien ! Je vous déteste ! Je pars! »

(NO! You’re a monster! I can’t believe I trusted you! All the nice things you did for me was just an act! You are a liar and a thief like those bastards who locked me away! Those things were all I had left of my family and you took them! Now, I have nothing left! I hate you! I’m leaving!)

After a moment of tense silence, Pendleton responded calmly, “Toulouse, dites- moi cinq choses que vous pouvez voir maintenant. » (Toulouse, tell me five things you can see now.)

« Je me fiche de votre stupide jeu ! Je m’enfuis! » Toulouse replied only inches away from his boss’s face. (I don’t give a damn about your stupid game! I’m running away!)

“Si vous jouez le stupide jeu, vous pouvez partir sans aucune objection, » the future snake demon replied firmly. « Maintenant, revenez à l’intérieur.” (If you play the stupid game, you can leave without any objection. Now, come inside.)

Toulouse glared at him, but he reluctantly climbed back into the room, sighed, started looking around, and said with his undisguised teenage snark, “D’accord. Uh…Mes doigts, mon estomac, mes chaussures…” (Okay. Uh…my fingers, my stomach, my shoes…)

“Voilà!” the patron said revealing the items in his hands.

Toulouse couldn’t believe his eyes. There was his pocket watch and his wind-up monkey.

His patron opened the pocket watch to reveal that the gears were working normally again and handed the item to his assistant. Then, he walked to the bedside table, cranked up the monkey, and let it skip around on the flat surface.

« J’ai pris votre montre de poche et votre singe à mon atelier pour me faire réparer, » his patron explained placing a hand on his assistant’s bare shoulder. « Les réparations n’étaient pas quelque chose de trop difficile heureusement. Juste des engrenages lâches et des mécanismes rouillés. Je voulais vous les rendre, Toulouse. Je comprends la raison pour laquelle vous ne me faites pas confiance encore mais je vous assure que vous n’avez plus besoin d’avoir peur de moi.”

(I took your pocket watch and your monkey to my workshop to fix them. The repairs weren’t anything of too much difficulty thankfully. Just some loose gears and some rusted mechanisms. I always planned on returning them to you, Toulouse. I understand why you don’t trust me yet, but I assure you don’t need to be afraid of me.)

Toulouse felt the happy tears running down his face.

He turned around, dropped his bundle on the floor, gave his boss a kiss on each cheek, gave him a hug, and said, “Merci beaucoup, monsieur le patron! Je suis tellement désolé pour faire le désordre et ne pas vous faire confiance. Pardonnez-moi. »

(Thank you so much, Mr. Boss! I am so sorry for making the mess and not trusting you. Please forgive me.)

The future Sir Pentious stood there in shock for a second before he allowed himself to pat the teen’s bare back and replied awkwardly, “De rien. Mais pourriez-vous vous habiller s’il vous plaît ? C’est contre le protocole d’embrasser quelqu’un sans vêtements. »

(You’re welcome. But could you get dressed please? It’s against protocol to hug someone without clothes on.)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse said happily picking up the white shirt he had stuffed into the coat pocket from the floor. « Je nettoierai ma chambre aussi. » (Yes, boss. I will clean my room, too.)

« Ne vous inquiétez pas pour ça, Toulouse, » Pendleton said. « Je demanderai à une domestique de le faire. Pour nous, c’est l’heure du dîner. Maintenant, finissez de vous habiller pour que nous puissions manger. »

(Don’t worry about it, Toulouse. I will ask a maid to do it. For us, it’s dinnertime. Now, finish getting dressed so we can eat.)

Toulouse finished getting dressed while his boss found Celeste and asked her to clean his room.

“Master Pendleton, I don’t know why you are keeping this boy around,” Celeste replied less than pleased as she entered the room and started picking clothes off the floor. “He’s mad as a loon.”

“I told you, Celeste,” Pendleton replied. “Toulouse is not mad. He’s just a scared farm boy who doesn’t know how to behave in polite society. He’ll learn.”

Celeste sighed and said, “You’re just like your father, giving chances to even the most unpromising among us. I hope for your sake he works out.”

“Oh, he will,” Pendleton replied as Toulouse finished putting on his dinner jacket and started tying his bow tie in the mirror not understanding a word of their conversation. “I have a way of telling about these things you know.”

“If you say so, sir,” Celeste replied skeptically while the future snake demon examined his young charge’s clothes.

“Bien fait, Toulouse,” Pendleton replied while flashing a genuinely impressed smile. « Maintenant, suivez-moi à la table de dîner. » (Well done, Toulouse. Now, follow me to the dinner table.)

Toulouse looked back at Celeste, nervously stepped in front of his patron, and asked, “Patron, comment dit-on merci en anglais?” (Boss, how do you say thank you in English?)

The future snake demon looked at Toulouse curiously and replied, “On dit ‘thank you.’” (They say ‘thank you.’)

Toulouse then looked back at Celeste and called, “Madame Celeste?”

Celeste stopped her work to look at him and he said with a heavy French accent, “T’ank you!” before he nodded his head and walked into the hallway.

Celeste smiled and said, “You might have picked a promising one after all, Master Pendleton.”

The future Sir Pentious replied with a smile before he turned his assistant into the hallway and said, “Toulouse, suivez-moi.” (Toulouse, follow me.)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse replied briskly following behind him as he headed down the hallway now lit up with oil lamps.

They walked down the grand staircase and down a long corridor before they reached the dining room. The room was large and brightly lit up with a grand crystal chandelier and the fading light of day coming in through the windows. There were many chairs, but the two chairs at the end of the table next to the large blazing fireplace were the ones with food next to them.

Toulouse looked around the room and especially at the food in wonder. On the table, two hot bowls of soup were waiting. Toulouse hadn’t eaten a warm meal in months. It was enough to bring him to tears.

Before anyone could stop him, Toulouse dashed towards a bowl, picked it up, inhaled it delicious aroma, and began drinking from it.

“TOULOUSE, QUE FAITES-VOUS?!” Pendleton yelled as he grabbed the bowl away from his assistant and placed it on the table. “Vous n’êtes pas un animal ! Si vous voulez survivre dans la société polie, vous devez me laisser vous enseigner comment se comporter… »

(TOULOUSE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! You are not an animal! If you want to survive in polite society, you must let me teach you how to behave…)

“Il y a des règles pour manger ? (There are rules for eating?)” Toulouse asked wiping his chin with his sleeve and looking at his patron in confusion as he pulled out a chair and gestured for him to sit down.

“Dans la société polie, il y a des règles pour tout, Toulouse, » the future Sir Pentious replied as he sat his assistant down in the chair and pushed him closer to the table before walking over to the chair at the end of the table next to him and seating himself. “Si l’une de ces règles est brisée, vous serez immédiatement rejeté par tout le monde. C’est pourquoi je vais vous enseigner ces règles moi-même afin que vous vous adaptera avec les riches et les puissants quand j’ai besoin de vous. Maintenant, regardez-moi. Je vais vous montrer comment manger de la soupe et tous nos autres plats correctement. D’accord ?»

(In polite society, there are rules for everything, Toulouse. If one of these rules are broken, you will be rejected by everyone immediately. That’s why I am going to teach you these rules myself so that you will fit in with the rich and powerful when I need you. Now, watch me. I am going to show you how to eat soup and all our other dishes properly. Okay?)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse said picking up a spoon to eat the soup just like his patron.

Toulouse followed his master’s example for the rest of the evening, but eating food like a rich man was exhausting.

After the first course, there was another course and another course and another course. The food was delicious and filling, but learning how to eat like a rich man was dull and tedious. Every movement and motion had precise rules that were agonizingly boring. It was all Toulouse could do to stay awake.

The poor teenager was leaning back in his chair and on the verge of falling asleep when his patron finally stopped lecturing him and said, “Toulouse, voulez-vous le dessert?” (Toulouse, do you want dessert?)

Toulouse suddenly snapped back to life, sat up in his chair, and said, “Le dessert? Vraiment?” (Dessert? Really?)

“Oui,” Sir Pendleton said as his servants cleared away the dishes in front of him onto a cart and placed a plate of English toffee cheesecake in front of him.

“T’ank you!” Toulouse said to his servers as he had every other time that they had cleared the table and placed new dishes in front of him. “Oh, mon Dieu.” (Oh, my God.)

Toulouse couldn’t believe his eyes. The cheesecake with the toffee crumbled on top of it was something he had never seen. At least, not in a long time.

The last time Toulouse had an honest-to-God dessert was when the neighbors baked him and his mother a bunch of meringues before they left for London. Before that, his mother would bake all the time. He would help her. His father would, too. The result was always worth it.

Toulouse closed his eyes and let the smell of the cake fill his nostrils and bring back more memories that brought tears to his eyes as he thanked God for this wonderful food.

“Toulouse?” his patron asked bemusedly interrupting his thoughts. “Tout va bien?” (Toulouse? Are you okay?)

Toulouse opened his eyes and happily said, “Oui, monsieur le patron. Merci beaucoup!”

“De rien…” the future Sir Pentious replied looking askance before he took a bite of his cake and took a sip of his tea. (You’re welcome…)

Toulouse ate quietly for a while without his boss’s interruption. He took his time with every bite so that he could make the meal last for as long as possible. Every bite was divine to the underweight teen. So much so that Toulouse was sad when the pastry was all gone and he was drinking his tea.

“Toulouse,” his patron said suddenly interrupting the teen’s thoughts. “Aimez-vous votre nouvelle maison ?” (Toulouse, do you like your new home?)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse replied with a smile. “C’est une belle maison. » (Yes, boss. It’s a beautiful house.)

« Merci, » Pendleton replied. « Je suis heureux de partager cette maison avec vous, mais je sais que vous vous demandez ce que je vous ai embauché pour faire. »

(Thank you. I am happy to share my home with you, but I know you are wondering what I have hired you to do.)

“Si, vous êtes un riche inventeur et je suis votre assistante, » Toulouse replied before taking a sip of his tea. « Je rappelle. » (No, you are a rich inventor and I am your assistant. I remember.)

« Ce n’est qu’un de vos emplois, » Pendleton confessed. « Il y a un autre. Je me veux aider changer le monde. » (That is only one of your jobs. There is one other. I want you to help me change the world.)

When Toulouse gave Pendleton a surprised and shocked look, he began to elaborate.

“Toulouse, vous et moi, nous comprenons ce monde,” the future Sir Pentious replied. «Nous comprenons ses préjugés et sa haine envers quiconque est différent pour quelque raison que ce soit. Le monde dans lequel nous vivons appartient aux sangsues et aux prédateurs. Les humains qui veulent tout abuser et ceux qui sont faibles. Les gens bons et justes comme le tailleur M. James sont surpassés par les cruels et les méchants. Ils travaillent dur pour faire du monde un endroit meilleur et ils font de bons progrès, mais ils doivent se battre dur pour faire ce progrès. S’ils ne sont pas assez forts pour continuer, ils finiront par céder au désespoir, comme mon père… »

(Toulouse, you and I understand this world. We understand its prejudices and its hatred towards those who are different for any reason. The world we live in belongs to leeches and predators. Humans who want to just want to abuse it and anyone who’s weak. Good and righteous men like the tailor Mr. James are outnumbered by the cruel and the wicked. They work hard to make the world a better place and they make some good progress, but they have to fight hard to make this progress. If they aren’t strong enough to keep going, they give into despair, like my father did…)

Pendleton’s face trailed off for a second as a tear came out of the corner of his eye that he quickly tried to conceal.

“Patron ?” Toulouse interrupted sympathetically.

“Mais nous allons changer ce monde,” Pendleton said more seriously. “Nous allons faire de ce monde un endroit où de bons hommes peuvent réussir contre les corrompus. Pour ce faire, j’ai besoin d’aide. C’est pour ça que je vais vous rendre fort, comme un serpent, comme moi. En ce moment, vous êtes faible comme un œuf, mais bientôt, vous serez assez fort pour faire ce travail. Alors, qu’est que vous pensez ?»

(But we are going to change the world. We are going to make this world a place where good men can succeed against the corrupt. I need help to do that. That is why I am going to make you strong, like a serpent, like me. Right now, you are as weak as an egg, but soon, you’ll be strong enough to do this work. So, what do you think?)

Toulouse wasted no time in replying. He was hanging on his patron’s every word. Toulouse had spent his childhood reading about the heroes of the Bible and the heroes in his books who stood up for justice. He wanted to be a hero just like them. He wanted to stop bad people like the ones in the workhouse. He wanted to change the world.

“Je veux vous aider, patron,” Toulouse replied sincerely. « Je veux changer le monde aussi. »

(I want to help you. I want to change the world, too.)

“Excellent,” the future Sir Pentious replied with a sincere smile before quickly checking his pocket watch and getting up from his chair signaling Toulouse to get up and start following him. “Oh, I’d better be getting you to sleep. Toulouse, c’est l’heure d’aller dormir. À partir de demain matin, je vais commencer à vous enseigner comment lire, écrire et parler en anglais et comment se comporter dans la société polie afin que vous puissiez m’aider plus efficacement. Est-ce que vous comprenez, Toulouse ? »

(Toulouse, it’s time to go to sleep. Starting tomorrow morning, I am going to begin teaching you how to read, write, and speak in English and how to behave in polite society so that you can help me more effectively? Do you understand, Toulouse?)

“Oui, patron,” Toulouse said excitedly following his new patron back through the house. “Je suis prêt à changer le monde.” (Yes, boss. I am ready to change the world.)

“Bon,” the future snake demon said barely concealing a yawn.

The pair were silent until they passed Toulouse’s bedroom. Pendleton opened the door to the now-cleaned room, turned on the oil lamp within, and gestured for his new assistant to go in.

“Bonne nuit, Toulouse,” his patron said as Toulouse entered the room and started untying the bow around his neck. “Rappelez de vous brosser les dents.”

(Goodnight, Toulouse. Remember to brush your teeth.)

Toulouse looked confusedly at his boss as he finished untying his bow and laid it and the crucifix on the bedside table and asked, “Brossez les dents? Que cela signifie-t-il ?”

(Brush your teeth? What does that mean?)

The future Sir Pentious looked back at Toulouse, facepalmed at his ignorance for the first time, and muttered to himself, “Peasants…”

“Patron?” Toulouse asked not understanding the English word as he managed to get his shoes and socks off.

“Suivez-moi, Toulouse,” Pendleton replied tiredly as he entered the room and walked into Toulouse’s bathroom.

Pendleton taught Toulouse how to brush his teeth, step by step. It wasn’t too difficult a task for Toulouse other than having to grow accustomed to the weird feeling in his mouth.

When Toulouse finished brushing and rinsing out his mouth for the first time, Pendleton turned down his servant’s oil lamp and made his second attempt to leave the room.

“Au matin, patron,” Toulouse called out before he took off his coat, placed his pocket watch on the bedside table next to his monkey, and turned down his blankets. “Merci!”

(I’ll see you in the morning, boss. Thank you!)

In the hallway outside the room, the future Sir Pentious seemed to not hear him as he was adjusting the oil lamp.

Toulouse thought nothing of it or of his own attire as he climbed into bed with his dinner outfit on, the same as he would have back in the workhouse or in home in France, until he heard his master yell at him.

“Toulouse!” Pendleton said turning up the oil lamp in his servant’s room in disbelief. “Que faites-vous ? Vous ne pouvez pas dormir dans vos vêtements de dîner. Qu’est-ce que vous pensez ? Habillez-vous en vêtements de couchage. »

(Toulouse! What are you doing? You cannot sleep in your dinner clothes. What are you thinking? Put on your sleeping clothes.)

Toulouse sat there feeling more confused than afraid.

“Mais patron, quels sont les vêtements de couchage ? » the teen asked confusedly tilting his head.

(But boss, what are sleeping clothes?)

A flash of realization came across his patron’s face as he sighed and said, “Attendez un minute.” (Wait a minute.)

His patron quickly returned with a long white- and blue-striped night shirt, tossed it to Toulouse, and instructed tiredly, “Au matin, mettez vos vêtements sales dans le panier dans votre salle de bains afin qu’ils puissent être lavés. Compris ? » (In the morning, put your dirty clothes in the basket in your bathroom so that they can be washed. Understood?)

« Oui, patron, » Toulouse replied quickly taking pulling off his dinner clothes and pulling on the night shirt while his patron turned down his oil lamp and went into the hallway to do the same.

“Bon nuit, Toulouse,” the future Sir Pentious said tiredly. « Now, I can finally go to sleep…”

“Patron?” Toulouse asked suddenly interrupting his patron’s mumblings.

“Oui?” Pendleton replied barely concealing his annoyance.

“Est-ce que ‘go to sleep’ signifie dormir ? » Toulouse asked as he climbed into his bed. (Does ‘go to sleep’ mean to sleep?)

The future snake demon looked at Toulouse with a slightly surprised smile for a moment before he replied, “Oui, vous êtes plus intelligents qu’ils ne le pensent.” (Yes, you’re smarter than they think.)

“Merci, patron,” Toulouse replied as he rolled on his side and shut his eyes.

Unbeknownst to Toulouse at the time, his patron lingered in the hallway for a moment smiling at his promising new assistant before he shut the door and went to bed himself.

#hazbin hotel #sir pentious #eggbois #fanfiction

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melananin · 5 years

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Get to know me pt. idk

200: My crush’s name is: brantdypoo 199: I was born in: us 198: I am really: quiet 197: My cellphone company is: tmoblie 196: My eye color is: brown 195: My shoe size is: 7ish 194: My ring size is: idk 193: My height is: 5′2 192: I am allergic to: eggs 191: My 1st car was: subaru 190: My 1st job was: working with kids 189: Last book you read: a million little pieces 188: My bed is: medium 187: My pet: dog 186: My best friend: 3 people 185: My favorite shampoo is: the one from costco 184: Xbox or ps3: ps4 183: Piggy banks are: ok 182: In my pockets: nothing 181: On my calendar: days i work and finals 180: Marriage is: whatever 179: Spongebob can: laugh 178: My mom: is cool 177: The last three songs I bought were? movements 176: Last YouTube video watched: patd live at reading and leeds festival 175: How many cousins do you have? too many 174: Do you have any siblings? 1 173: Are your parents divorced? hA 172: Are you taller than your mom? no 171: Do you play an instrument? i can 170: What did you do yesterday? @ my bbb [ I Believe In ] 169: Love at first sight: idk 168: Luck: eh 167: Fate: ye 166: Yourself: no 165: Aliens: probably 164: Heaven: idk 163: Hell: idk 162: God: idk 161: Horoscopes: no 160: Soul mates: maybe 159: Ghosts: no 158: Gay Marriage: sure 157: War: no 156: Orbs: huh 155: Magic: no [ This or That ] 154: Hugs or Kisses: hugs 153: Drunk or High: drunk 152: Phone or Online: online 151: Red heads or Black haired: black 150: Blondes or Brunettes: brown 149: Hot or cold: hot 148: Summer or winter: sumemr 147: Autumn or Spring: spring 146: Chocolate or vanilla: vanilla 145: Night or Day: night 144: Oranges or Apples: orange 143: Curly or Straight hair: curly 142: McDonalds or Burger King: mcd 141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: milk 140: Mac or PC: mac 139: Flip flops or high heels: flioops 138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: sweet 137: Coke or Pepsi: coke 136: Hillary or Obama: obama 135: Burried or cremated: cremated 134: Singing or Dancing: dancing 133: Coach or Chanel: coach 132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: who 131: Small town or Big city: big city 130: Wal-Mart or Target: target 129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: ben 128: Manicure or Pedicure: hands 127: East Coast or West Coast: east 126: Your Birthday or Christmas: christmas 125: Chocolate or Flowers: chocolate 124: Disney or Six Flags: six flags 123: Yankees or Red Sox: who cares [ Here’s What I Think About ] 122: War: it dumb 121: George Bush: which 120: Gay Marriage: it okay 119: The presidential election: ugh 118: Abortion: it okay 117: MySpace: idk 116: Reality TV: it whack 115: Parents: mine suck rn 114: Back stabbers: you dumb 113: Ebay: it okay 112: Facebook: it okay 111: Work: i complain a lot but its actualy good 110: My Neighbors: they okay 109: Gas Prices: they high now 108: Designer Clothes: eh 107: College: its alright 106: Sports: they alright 105: My family: broken rn 104: The future: im scared [ Last time I ] 103: Hugged someone: yesterday 102: Last time you ate: 30 min ago 101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: today 100: Cried in front of someone: a week ago 99: Went to a movie theater: almost two weeks ago 98: Took a vacation: two weeks ago 97: Swam in a pool: the winter 96: Changed a diaper: never 95: Got my nails done: looong time ago 94: Went to a wedding: friday before last 93: Broke a bone: never? 92: Got a peircing: when i was 2 months old 91: Broke the law: a few days ago 90: Texted: rn [ MISC ] 89: Who makes you laugh the most: my friends 88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: my dog and bed 87: The last movie I saw: it may have been la llorona 86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: school ending and going to nyc and doing stuff 85: The thing im not looking forward to: my dad moving out 84: People call me: nani 83: The most difficult thing to do is: ask 82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: no 81: My zodiac sign is: virgo 80: The first person i talked to today was: my grandpa 79: First time you had a crush: prob kindergarten or something 78: The one person who i can’t hide things from: certain person 77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: today 76: Right now I am talking to: bbb 75: What are you going to do when you grow up: i dont know 74: I have/will get a job:? 73: Tomorrow: i have a final 72: Today: i had a final 71: Next Summer: im going to ny 70: Next Weekend: idk what im doing 69: I have these pets: dog and fish 68: The worst sound in the world: screaming 67: The person that makes me cry the most is: idk 66: People that make you happy: my friends and fmaily kinda 65: Last time I cried: a bit ago idk 64: My friends are: cool 63: My computer is: nice 62: My School: alright 61: My Car: cute 60: I lose all respect for people who: believe dumb things 59: The movie I cried at was: i dont remmeber 58: Your hair color is: brown 57: TV shows you watch: non rn 56: Favorite web site: pornhub 55: Your dream vacation: all of europe 54: The worst pain I was ever in was: golf ball sized blister on my foot while having a shoe on it 53: How do you like your steak cooked: yes

52: My room is: messy

51: My favorite celebrity is: kaya 50: Where would you like to be: in a good place 49: Do you want children: porbably 48: Ever been in love: i think so 47: Who’s your best friend: 46: More guy friends or girl friends: 45: One thing that makes you feel great is: 44: One person that you wish you could see right now: bbb 43: Do you have a 5 year plan: no 42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: no 41: Have you pre-named your children: kinda 40: Last person I got mad at: dad 39: I would like to move to: washington 38: I wish I was a professional: [ My Favorites ] 37: Candy: reeses 36: Vehicle: subaru 35: President: obama 34: State visited: washingotn 33: Cellphone provider: idk 32: Athlete: uj 31: Actor: evan peters 30: Actress: kaya 29: Singer: sky 28: Band: movements 27: Clothing store: hm 26: Grocery store: king soopers 25: TV show: twd 24: Movie: not sure 23: Website: 22: Animal: fox 21: Theme park: universal florida 20: Holiday: 19: Sport to watch: 18: Sport to play: 17: Magazine: 16: Book: 15: Day of the week: 14: Beach: 13: Concert attended: 12: Thing to cook: 11: Food: 10: Restaurant: 9: Radio station: 8: Yankee candle scent: 7: Perfume: 6: Flower: 5: Color: 4: Talk show host: 3: Comedian: 2: Dog breed: 1: Did you answer all these truthfully?

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in-one-sockk · 5 years

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200-1 :3

200: My crush’s name is: @when-youcant-sleepat-night199: I was born in: England198: I am really: irritating197: My cellphone company is: Tesco!196: My eye color is: grey, sometimes green or sometimes blue195: My shoe size is: 8194: My ring size is: I have no idea, but I have thick fingers193: My height is: 5′9 and a half192: I am allergic to: Most bug bites191: My 1st car was: I have no idea what make it is... there’s a funny bird looking thing on the front though190: My 1st job was: Primark189: Last book you read: The Sex Lives Of Siamese Twins188: My bed is: currently lacking @when-youcant-sleepat-night187: My pet: sucks, she stalks me186: My best friend: is my girlfriend185: My favorite shampoo is: Palmer’s Organic Coconut!!184: Xbox or ps3: PS3 who do you think I am183: Piggy banks are: terrible,, my ADHD brain cannot deal182: In my pockets: are a pack of soothers 181: On my calendar: my girlfriend visiting soon180: Marriage is: definitely happening, sometime soon.. tell my girlfriend to marry me179: Spongebob can: get it178: My mom: sucks, she’s manipulative177: The last three songs I bought were? I dont buy songs! but my newest was Even If It’s A Lie by Matt Maltese176: Last YouTube video watched: Kitchen Nightmares US175: How many cousins do you have? two! They’re both under 5174: Do you have any siblings? - biologically 5, technically 3173: Are your parents divorced? - nope, but probably should be172: Are you taller than your mom? - almost!171: Do you play an instrument? - I play a few... Piano, bass, sometimes guitar170: What did you do yesterday? - College, unfortunately[ I Believe In ]169: Love at first sight: I do!168: Luck: definitely167: Fate: yup!166: Yourself: never165: Aliens: of course164: Heaven: nope163: Hell: nope! wish I did though162: God: I believe in higher power, but not one set God, perhaps many161: Horoscopes: very much so160: Soul mates: hell yeh159: Ghosts: on the fence158: Gay Marriage: you’re asking a lesbian..157: War: never, never ever156: Orbs: I have no idea what this is.. and as a witch I probably should155: Magic: of course![ This or That ]154: Hugs or Kisses: 153: Drunk or High:152: Phone or Online:151: Red heads or Black haired:150: Blondes or Brunettes:149: Hot or cold:148: Summer or winter:147: Autumn or Spring:146: Chocolate or vanilla:145: Night or Day:144: Oranges or Apples:143: Curly or Straight hair:142: McDonalds or Burger King: (I’m allergic to McDonalds though.. but I love it)141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate:140: Mac or PC:139: Flip flops or high heels: neither138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: I’m already ugly, I have nothing to lose137: Coke or Pepsi:136: Hillary or Obama:135: Burried or cremated:134: Singing or Dancing:133: Coach or Chanel:132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: ... who?131: Small town or Big city:130: Wal-Mart or Target: I’m British129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler:128: Manicure or Pedicure:127: East Coast or West Coast:126: Your Birthday or Christmas:125: Chocolate or Flowers:124: Disney or Six Flags:123: Yankees or Red Sox: ...what?[ Here’s What I Think About ]122: War: childish, unnecessary, unreasonable, avoidable121: George Bush: cunt120: Gay Marriage: bombest shit ever119: The presidential election: rigged, put a lesbian in office118: Abortion: let people do what they want117: MySpace: I’m too young for that 116: Reality TV: good for when I don’t want my brain. British reality tv is the best115: Parents: wish I had good ones114: Back stabbers: worthless, hurt people hurt people113: Ebay: 90% shitty112: Facebook: everyone middle aged mother 111: Work: makes me hate people even more110: My Neighbors: are crazy, one sweeps the pavement with a paint brush and the other practices the unicycle109: Gas Prices: ridiculous108: Designer Clothes: kinda pointless107: College: wish it didn’t exist106: Sports: sO overrated105: My family: I love my sisters104: The future: is bright[ Last time I ]103: Hugged someone: Friday102: Last time you ate: yesterday101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: no idea100: Cried in front of someone: yesterday99: Went to a movie theater: a couple months ago with my sister98: Took a vacation: start of September 97: Swam in a pool: years ago96: Changed a diaper: no idea95: Got my nails done: never94: Went to a wedding: two years ago93: Broke a bone: never92: Got a peircing: last October91: Broke the law: 3 months ago90: Texted: hour ago[ MISC ]89: Who makes you laugh the most: @when-youcant-sleepat-night88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: my sister and my cat87: The last movie I saw: Pride86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: seeing my girlfriend85: The thing im not looking forward to: her leaving84: People call me: the baby83: The most difficult thing to do is: focus82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: never81: My zodiac sign is: gemini80: The first person i talked to today was: my girlfriend 79: First time you had a crush: two years ago on my best friend78: The one person who i can’t hide things from: @when-youcant-sleepat-night77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: ten minutes ago76: Right now I am talking to: my girlfriend 75: What are you going to do when you grow up: maybe die, who knows 74: I have/will get a job: ... I have a job?73: Tomorrow: I wanna sleep72: Today: I wanna cuddle my baby71: Next Summer: move out70: Next Weekend: get cuddled69: I have these pets: I have three cats!!68: The worst sound in the world: squeeky cardboard67: The person that makes me cry the most is: Liam goddam Neeson66: People that make you happy: my sister, my girlfriend, bts 65: Last time I cried: a couple hours ago64: My friends are: non existent63: My computer is: shitty,, Toshiba62: My School: makes me wanna die61: My Car: is broken60: I lose all respect for people who: cheat59: The movie I cried at was: Marley and Me58: Your hair color is: brown and ginger57: TV shows you watch: Come Dine With Me, anything with Gordon Ramsay, The Apprentice56: Favorite web site: Tumblr55: Your dream vacation: my girlfriends bed54: The worst pain I was ever in was: depression was a bitch, but I also had tonsillitis that turned septic53: How do you like your steak cooked: I don’t like steak52: My room is: small, cold

51: My favorite celebrity is: Min Yoongi or Kim Heechul50: Where would you like to be: @when-youcant-sleepat-night‘s bed49: Do you want children: I really do, atleast 148: Ever been in love: legit right now47: Who’s your best friend: @when-youcant-sleepat-night46: More guy friends or girl friends: mostly girls45: One thing that makes you feel great is: cuddles44: One person that you wish you could see right now: my girlfriend 43: Do you have a 5 year plan: I dont even have a plan for the next five minutes 42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: be happy41: Have you pre-named your children: nope, not at all40: Last person I got mad at: my mother39: I would like to move to: Wales or Ireland38: I wish I was a professional: musician[ My Favorites ]37: Candy: Kinder Bueno36: Vehicle: Jeeps35: President: Obama34: State visited: Florida33: Cellphone provider: wtf32: Athlete: I don’t know any31: Actor: Ezra Miller30: Actress: Sarah Paulson29: Singer: Park Jimin28: Band: The Smashing Pumpkins27: Clothing store: Urban Outfitter26: Grocery store: Aldi25: TV show: Come Dine With Me24: Movie: Girl Interrupted23: Website: Tumblr22: Animal: Panda21: Theme park: Thorpe Park20: Holiday: haven’t been on one I’ve liked19: Sport to watch: Hockey18: Sport to play: Trampolining17: Magazine: Kerrang16: Book: The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier15: Day of the week: Saturday14: Beach: I hate beaches :(13: Concert attended: BTS12: Thing to cook: noodles11: Food: anything cheesy10: Restaurant: Nandos9: Radio station: I don’t know any8: Yankee candle scent: cupcake7: Perfume: vanilla, Britney Spears ones are good though!6: Flower: Sunflowers5: Color: Green4: Talk show host: James Corden3: Comedian: Lee Evans2: Dog breed: Cats1: Did you answer all these truthfully? hopefully

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bloodyrainbows · 6 years

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So, wanna hear the story of how my last two days have gone?

Monday night, my car was accelerating weird and I thought, "Oh, I must just be pressing the pedals weird, I haven't driven in these shoes yet." Tuesday, the car drives fine. Yesterday, I get in my car to go to the dentist. It's crawling. No matter the gear, it won't accelerate properly. I make it to the middle of downtown Pittsburgh and the car finally just stops and large puff of smoke comes out from under it.

I'm waiting on a tow truck in the middle of the street, because pushing the car has not worked and I get an estimate of 120 minutes before one can get to me. Thankfully, after explaining that I was in the middle of fucking downtown and could not wait for two whole hours, the tow company agreed to reroute someone to me and I get my car towed.

I get to the Pepboys roadside assistance decided to send me to and explain the problem to them. "Oh, that's a transmission problem, you'll have to take it to a transmission shop." Thanks a lot.

I wait at the Pepboys for three hours for another tow truck. Finally, finally progressive calls and says that they've secured a tie for my car, it'll be two hours. I've already been waiting for close to three at this point.

I get it worked out so I can leave my car and my roommate can come get me. We drive to the Aamco transmission place to let them know the car is coming because they'll be long closed when it gets there. Then we go home.

I get a call at like eight this morning from the Aamco guy. There are problems with the tie rods and axels, several places that connect the frame have rusted away, there are blown heating circuits, the brake lines are almost rusted through, the clutch is blown, and the transmission has multiple problems.

So my car is dead. I bought a $200 walking corpse a few weeks short of a year ago and it's finally collapsed. Also, my job is driving for Doordash. So I'm unemployed until I can get a new car. I'm looking at one, thankfully, but of course it's going to require me to take out a loan, which is another bill a month I only might be able to afford. Being poor is expensive and I'm really fucking over it.

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tearasshouse · 3 years

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Mostly vidya ramblings pt 3C

Previous post here.

Right, software time. A cursory glance at my PSN Profile will show that I’ve met my personal quota of getting the platinum in at least 10 PlayStation titles over the year, with a few PC titles sprinkled in for good measure since hey, I have access to a Windows machine again (though it’s not exactly a games machine, unless your definition of a “gaming rig” is something with a 15W Core i3 and modest laptop Radeon graphics). While I didn’t start out meaning to rank these games, I find I have a tendency to do so anyway and while I’m certainly not saying these games are outright bad, they were absolutely lower on the rung, so I’ve dubbed this part “C” (again, no disrespect to the devs or any who rate these games higher than I do; these are just my personal assessments). These are OK games.

The Darkness 2 (Steam)

Enjoyable, somewhat! I put this down like, ages ago when I picked it up for a song on PC, feeling it was too basic and uh “console shootery” at the time. Often times, having restrictions placed upon something can net great results, and hamstrung as I am by my less-capable hardware, I’ve only been picking up Steam games that could run on lower end hardware, or anything released prior to say, 2015. Surprisingly this runs at something stupid like 200 FPS on my machine with V-Sync off and all settings on High at 1080p, so go figure. Anyway, it’s a short and enjoyable shooter. I don’t know anything about the comics upon which the game(s) are based, but Jackie is a likeable character, the Darkness powers are fun enough, the locations are varied, the supporting cast surprisingly interesting and the plot was actually pretty cool too, with a major sequel hook that we’ll probably never get.

Ori & The Blind Forest (Steam)

It sorta hovers a bit below 60fps while running at 1080p, but it’s all just a bit reductive when one spends more time looking at the framerate counter than playing a game, no? The blessing and curse of PC gaming I suppose. Anyway, as a Metroidvania the game is a bit annoying. As a piece of interactive fiction, it’s too saccharine and feels like a B-tier Dreamworks production for children which, I suppose shouldn’t be a knock against the game but I have to say -- wasn’t my cup of tea. Reminds me a bit of Child of Light by Ubisoft -- gorgeous to look at, benign if not frustrating to play (those escape sequences can piss off), and young gamers would probably find more to like in the...emotional tidbits than most adults.

Crysis 2 (Steam)

So apparently this got delisted off Steam but now it’s back up or something with EA deciding to put their back catalog on the platform or something? Anyway, like this list implies, Crysis 2 is an okay game, nothing more and nothing less. The nanosuit energy depletes a bit too quick for my liking, and you’re really made to feel like a badass only some of the times, in quick and short bursts, not unlike BJ in the new Wolfenstein games by MachineGames (any more prolonged exposure to hitscan weapons and other bullshit will quickly send you to the loading screen). Thing is, I don’t want to feel like a badass only some of the time? I mean, you put a ripped supersoldier type doing the Badass Looking Back At the Viewer Pose on the cover and I expect to be able to do certain things without stopping for a breather every 20 seconds, ya know? If you’re going to give me the power fantasy, commit to it. Or, find ways to keep the flow up and reward mastery to make players earn said fantasy (something the new DOOMs have done and why those have been so successful). I certainly don’t envy game devs for having to balance this shit, but id Software showed you one way of how you might do that while the Crysis games and those of their ilk just feel slow and unrewarding.

Quantum Break (Steam)

Really surprised I was able to get this running on my PC but hey, it runs on the Xbox One so how hard could it be? I dearly love Remedy’s games, even if they’re a bit straightforward at times and you get the feeling they’d rather be in the business of non-interactive fiction than games making at times. Well here is a TV show hybrid! Made exclusively in partnership with Microsoft as part of their TV & STREAMING, TV & STREAMING, SPORTS & STREAMING strategy of the 2010s. I didn’t care for the plot, nor the endless email / audiobook / loredumps scattered around, nor the characters, any of it. I will say the final stage with the super high tech offices was a delight (boy wouldn’t I love to live the corpo life in such beautiful, clean office environs). Lance Reddick was a treat as always. Peter “Littlefinger” Baelish shows up to do a thing. Yeah, it’s a Remedy joint through and through. 2019′s Control was such a highlight for me that I’ll take any kind of prototype-y take on it (and QB certainly feels like a rougher, worse version of Control, at least mechanically).

Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs / Dear Esther: Landmark Edition (Steam)

These titles were certainly...things that I installed onto my PC and sat through... Yes. Look, I’m not one to dog on walking simulators, and I know the devs have faced tough times recently but I still feel these are acquired tastes and could be appreciably improved in too many ways to name. Of the two, Dear Esther is the one I’d rec because at least that one was quite pleasant to meander around in while Amnesia left me disappointed that I’d wasted my time, physically sick with its subpar performance and muddy graphics, flaccid with its stodgy plot and left absolutely disappointed that I’d wasted my time on such a bizarre and confusing payoff towards the end. Chinese Room, I mean this in the most constructive way possible: maybe try a different type of game next time.

Return to Castle Wolfenstein (GOG)

I remember putting in some decent time into the DEMO version of RtCW’s MP mode, being amazed at the time by the particle effects, with child-me just running around the D-Day map with the flamethrower out. Anyway, years later and I finally played the SP campaign. It’s maybe better than Allied Assault’s? It feels more consistently entertaining anyway. Hell I think I like these boomer shooters better than MachineGames’ recent efforts (which isn’t saying a whole lot because I find those games just merely okay). I promise you I’m not just being a crotchety old fart.

Ys: Memories of Celceta (PS Vita)

I’d been playing through this over the spring on my Vita TV, before it bit the dust eventually and I’ve been meaning to go back and wrap up the cheevos. I was a bit lukewarm with Oath in Felghana (my first Ys), but could definitely see the appeal in the series, as boss rush games aren’t really my cup of tea (ie. it’s the journey and not the destination of say, a Souls game that is the meat for me). Definitely a game that would benefit from a 60fps refresh and cleaner graphics than what the Vita can provide. I’ve already got a copy of Ys 8 in shrink wrap and have my eyes set on emulating Ys Seven or grabbing the GOG version. A game where action is king and story or character development is secondary; I would prefer more of the latter to make this more of a JRPG and less of a “predominantly Japanese action game with superficial RPG elements”.

Catherine: Full Body (PS4)

I paid $70 for this on day one and I’ve gotta say... should’ve waited for the price drop. I’m a somewhat lapsed Atlus mark, and I still hold the original Persona 5 as my no. 1 in the PS4′s lineup (with Dragon Quest XI possibly being a tie), yet I bought this knowing it wouldn’t really be for me. Why? High difficulty in a genre I don’t play, like at all, a relatively short clear time (in itself not an issue and frankly welcome these days HOWEVER...), and a somewhat unsatisfying payoff despite being a supernatural romance thriller. I bought this as seed money for Atlus’s P.Studio/Studio Zero, in the hopes that Project Re: Fantasy will knock my socks off just like the latter day Persona games have. Because in spite of the contents not really appealing to me, it’s still supremely well made, and it’s not everyday that games like these get made, so there you go. Look, if I could go back in time and put this money towards 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim, I probably would, but then the Catherine steelbook is ever so pretty...

Tearaway Unfolded (PS4)

The OG game is one of the most charming little 3D platformer/collect-a-thons out there, and as far as children’s games (or er, “games that also appeal to children”) go, more of these and less of those please (your Child of Lights and Oris). I’d go as far as to say the OG version is better than the PS4 version, though the PS4 version is also quite good. Really, if I wasn’t going for that stupid Misplaced Gopher trophy, this would probably be an easy shoe-in for the B-tier list, but I place this demotion firmly at Media.Molecule’s feet. That cheevo is cursed.

The Missing: JJ Macfield and the Island of Memories (PS4)

I’d almost forgotten about this! If that doesn’t qualify for making the C-tier list then I don’t know what else does. I only know of Swery65′s qualities through osmosis, having watched the 2BF’s legendary LP of Deadly Premonition and the gone-too-soon D4: Dark Dreams Don’t Die. He’s an interesting person with interesting ideas but crucially, as a game dev, his output is just... kinda mediocre? If not outright bad? Case in point with this game. It looks and runs like garbo; it plays like garbo; the character designs are cute; the dialogue is pretty good; there is a wonderful and gradual “twist” to the main character that was super spoiled for me when people were discussing and promoting it (like, that is my bad, but also internet discourse on any kind of entertainment media is just *fucked*); there’s a lot of semi-colons in this sentence so I’ll stop here.

And the balls to charge like, what, $40+ for the game on PSN?? I’d gotten it for way less on a sale but in a day and age when $1 could buy you 3 months of Xbox Game Pass Ultimate and MS might also throw in a curio like this in there just to fill in the gaps, it makes you wonder if these kinds of games can ever turn a profit, especially when the end product is this jank. And these are commercial goods, make no mistake, any aspirations to being an art piece or social critique notwithstanding, so that also brings to the fore the whole aspect of pricing games, relative value, production and marketing costs, blah blah.

IF you like something different, can appreciate games made on a shoestring budget with arguably bad gameplay and technical deficiencies, but has...heart? Then look no further to the output of this man. The most C-worthy of all the titles listed here.

#vidya #gaming #tech #tl;dr #long post #games #videogames #2020 in review

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bigyack-com · 4 years

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What Do Gen Z Shoppers Want? A Cute, Cheap Outfit That Looks Great on Instagram

For every Greta Thunberg and school-skipping climate change protester, there is another member of Generation Z buying inexpensive clothes on a smartphone. Their purchasing choices — fueled by influencer culture and catered to by a new wave of ultra-fast-fashion retailers such as Fashion Nova, PrettyLittleThing and Missguided (responsible for a £1 bikini that sold out in Britain) — are as much about how an outfit will look on social media as in the real world. Three Gen Z shoppers in America, Australia and Britain invited us into their homes to talk about what they buy, and why. All of them work after school or save money to pay for their own purchases. Their interviews have been edited for style and clarity.

‘I Browse Every Single Day’

Mia Grantham is a 16-year-old British high school student studying for her A-levels. She lives with her father and her younger sister, Annie, in Wilmslow, England, a town outside of Manchester. Her bedroom is small but immaculately kept, with a bulb-lit dressing table and pillow shaped like a speech bubble reading “You’ve Got This” on her bed. Mia’s interest in buying clothes ramped up about 18 months ago, when she started getting an allowance and attracting followers on her social media accounts. She has more than 1,500 followers on Instagram, gets around 500 views per story on Snapchat and spends three hours per day on her iPhone XR (about five hours on weekends and during vacation). Her favorite going-out look is a red dress. She owns 14 of them.How often do you shop?I browse every single day — at least once — on the Pretty Little Thing phone app. It’s my favorite, and I don’t look anywhere else, except if I see something on an Instagram influencer I like. My current favorite is Molly-Mae Hague, a star from the 2019 series of “Love Island.” She recently created an exclusive clothing range for PLT, which makes me like the brand even more. Normally I look at shopping apps at the end of the day before bed for about 10 to 15 minutes. But if there is an event coming up that I want a new outfit for, then I could browse for more than an hour. I don’t really go to bricks-and-mortar stores. If I do, I go to Primark. Sometimes H&M. Maybe once a month, probably less.What kind of an event needs a new look?It could literally just be a meal. Or a house party, or a friend’s birthday. It could also be school, where we have a dress code but not a uniform.Why is Pretty Little Thing your favorite fashion brand?I pay £8.99 as part of a yearly subscription, which gives me unlimited next-day delivery on anything I buy. I know all the delivery people really well now — they always know when I have plans on a Friday or Saturday night. I don’t buy from places like Boohoo.com or Missguided as I’d have to pay for delivery, which would be a waste of money. I buy something at least once a week, and my basket value can be anywhere from £5.99 up. Once it was £230. Last week I bought 11 items and sent back three. Seventy percent of the time I send some ordered items back.How many pieces of clothing do you think you’ve bought in 2019?Eighty? One hundred? Those are pieces I’ve kept.What is your favorite piece that you’ve bought, and how many times have you worn it?The ones I probably wear the most are gray leggings that cost £2.50. For going out, I bought a silky red dress with a cutout for a house party. It cost £12.50 from the PLT Shape collection, which is for people like me who have an hourglass figure. I’ve worn it out three times, which is a lot for me. Normally I just wear a dress once.Why only once?Because I’ll normally be in photos when I’m wearing it that are then posted on social media. I wouldn’t really want someone seeing me in a dress more than once. People might think I didn’t have style if I wore the same thing over and over. Style is about changing for whatever the situation you are in and for different events.When do clothes become old for you?Well, things like leggings that you just wear in private around the house you can keep for years. Dresses, when you’ve worn them: twice.Is price important?Of course. If I’m only going to wear something once or twice, I’m going to want to buy the cheapest possible.What else do you look for?Social media is a big consideration. I’m on Snapchat and Instagram, and occasionally Facebook. I take selfies for social media every single time I go out, first in my bedroom and post them online, and then always with friends or my boyfriend, Will, when I’m at the party. More people will see an outfit online than they probably will in real life. I’m on Snapchat the most because of its messenger function, then Instagram, where I have both a public and a private account and spend an hour per day.For IRL, if I see an item I like, normally I’ll search for it on Depop before I buy it so I can see what a real person rather than a model looks like in it. People buy and sell fashion so quickly, I can usually find even the newest things on there. Most of my friends do that too.What constitutes a more special purchase for you?An Oh Polly! dress. I buy them for about £20 from Depop, though new they cost about £40 to £60. Those dresses I keep — I have three of them. Teenagers don’t mind buying secondhand clothes like some older people do: You can get good looks at a cheaper price, or directly swap one dress for another online. I tend to sell lots of the clothes I don’t want in big batches on Depop. It gives me the money to buy new things. I also sometimes take big bags to consignment stores in town, where they give you a bit of money for your clothes depending on how much you bring in.Do you ever think about where those clothes go once you’ve given or thrown them away?No.Do you ever look at where your clothes are made?Yes. I’ve noticed quite a few are made in England, which shocked me. I thought they’d all be made in countries like China, India and Bangladesh. Also, we have been learning a bit in Sociology about how our clothes are made and the working conditions for people who make them. In some countries I know they don’t get very good wages. It’s part of globalization. I wouldn’t talk about it with my friends casually, but we do talk about it in the classroom.What do you think of sustainable fashion?It came on my radar three months ago, I’d say. I am hearing more and more about it because a lot of brands are now bringing out sustainable fashion capsule collections, where clothes are made out of recycled materials, for example. A lot look the same as the normal collection but cost a few pounds more. But if I’m honest, I do think: Why would I pay more, when I can get the same for less?

‘I Don’t Like to Repeat’

Andrea Vargas, an 18-year-old freshman at Hofstra University, loves hunting for sales. She looks for them on websites like PrettyLittleThings and Boohoo, as well as physical stores like H&M and Forever 21, where she can flip through the racks and, occasionally, find gems.“I go shopping when the season sales are on,” she said one Saturday night at her family’s home in Farmingdale, N.Y. She commutes to school and spends most weekend nights out with friends: getting dinner, maybe going to a party or a concert. Her plan for this particular evening was to go to P.F. Chang’s with three girlfriends. Her room is small, with wood floors and inspirational quotes in photo frames on her pale yellow walls. A Billie Eilish poster hangs opposite her bed. A guitar she made out of an old skateboard sits in a corner.Scanning the clothes in her room, she began talking about how she got them. “The back-to-school sales, the fall sales, the summer sales,” she said. “I love sales.”Her absolute favorite piece of clothing is a red plush jacket from Forever 21. She wears it relentlessly when the weather is right. “It’s just so cute,” Ms. Vargas said. “I feel like it dresses up an outfit.”Ms. Vargas pays for her clothes herself, using money she earns by working at Target. The red jacket cost her around $40, and she said it was worth every penny. But, she said, “I feel like there’s no point in spending $40 on a T-shirt. I personally feel like if the quality of the shirt doesn’t match the price, it doesn’t make sense for me to buy it. If a jean jacket costs $60 and I can find it for $20, I’m going to buy it for $20. Especially since I’m in college, I need to buy all these books.”Ms. Vargas guessed she had purchased between 100 and 200 items this year, including shoes and jewelry, and that her wardrobe comprises 500 or 600 total pieces. “I would say the majority of it is shirts,” she said. “They have to be graphic tees. I like a little quote on my shirt here and there. I have yet to buy new jeans. I like a lot of ripped jeans. I rarely buy shoes.”She doesn’t generally check where her clothing is made, and she doesn’t feel guilty about how much of it she has. After she’s done wearing something, it can have a second life. “My mom is from El Salvador and my dad is from Nicaragua,” she said. “They’re not wealthy countries, so I like to give back to people who don’t have a lot. It’s hot there, so I can’t send long sleeves, but I try to send shorts that don’t fit me, things that are still presentable and wearable.”She thinks the right amount of money to spend on clothes is $10 to $15 on tops, and $20-$40 on bottoms. For dresses, which are usually for a special occasion, she’ll go over $40. She estimates she wears each piece 15 times before ultimately donating it or selling it on Depop — but she also doesn’t want to be seen wearing the same thing every day on Instagram.“If I have a shirt in one of my previous pictures I try not to take a picture again in it,” she said. “I don’t like to repeat.”Ms. Vargas had invited her friends over to get ready. Alana Wilson, 18, said that Instagram plays a big role in her shopping life, too. The moon-and-stars earrings that sparkled beneath her hair were purchased off an Instagram ad. Almost all of her clothes are from Fashion Nova.“If it’s cute, it’s from Fashion Nova,” Ms. Wilson said. “Any time I have money I’ll do a whole spree on Fashion Nova. I like it because a lot of IG models have it.”Another friend, Sofia Barbetta, also 18, agreed. “I feel like I find most clothes I want to buy in Instagram ads,” she said. “I don’t even follow that many fashion pages, but I see an ad and I’m like, ‘That’s really cute.’”She unlocked her phone to show some outfits she’d posted on VSCO, a photo-sharing app. “I went through a camo pants phase,” she said of one look. “This outfit, I got inspiration from Twitter.” Ms. Barbetta said she’d gotten very into Twitter lately. She started a Post Malone stan account several years ago, but lately it had become a place to post personal things.An hour after Ms. Vargas began getting ready with her friends, she zipped herself into her outfit for the night: a pair of black platform military-style boots from Target, black and white houndstooth pants, and a black off-the-shoulder top from H&M.“I got this outfit yesterday,” she said. “I was like, ‘This is the outfit I’m going to wear.’”But first, her hair. Ms. Vargas propped her iPhone up in front of her and sat cross-legged in front of her mirror. She pulled Miss Jessie’s Jelly Soft Curls styler through her waves. “I wanted to get one of those vlogging cameras,” she said, “one of the Nikon ones.” For now, she uses her iPhone.Hours later she used it to Instagram a photo of her and her friends posing outside a restaurant in 50 degree weather. They had decided not to go to P.F. Chang’s after all, and were at Taste of Asia instead. None of them were wearing coats.“Trust me we were freezing,” she declared in the caption. But they were all smiling.

‘I’m Dressing to Be Seen’

Nicole Lambert, 20, lives in Sydney, Australia, with her parents and is studying for an undergraduate degree in public relations and advertising at the University of New South Wales. She tutors students on weekdays and works a retail job on weekends. When she has time off, she and her friends like to dress up and hit the festival circuit. On a recent evening, after spending the previous day dancing to EDM, she and her friend Helena Marshall got ready in her bedroom for a more relaxing dinner.We’re not influencers — but … When I’m dressing to go out, I’m dressing to be seen, which is weird to say because we’re not influencers. It sounds shallow, but I think in the back of your head you’re like: I probably should avoid wearing the same outfit twice.At the end of the day, I prioritize the look versus the practicality. And that’s so unbelievable.Working to be cuteMy friend yesterday at this festival had a really cute Tiger Mist top with hearts all over it, but it had off-the-shoulder sleeves. I felt so bad for her the whole day, because she couldn’t put her arms up. But she got cute photos, so it was fine. I know when you put something up on Instagram and it does well, you’re like, “Well, that was a good choice on my behalf.” I love it when people message, “Where did you get that from?” You know you’ve found something people can’t easily find.Staying relatableI think about what I’m going to post for a decent amount of time. It’s a very curated version of your life. You want to look good in your photo, but have a funny caption so people know you’re down to earth and relatable.That’s why we have private Instagrams, because it gets tiring. That’s where we feel fully free to post whatever. The tragedies of your life. The real me.Keeping it privateOn my main Instagram, people wouldn’t know I’m funny. Because I just overthink what I post: Will people get it? Are people actually going to laugh at that?Sometimes I’ll get a weird feeling where I need to get off social media. I know some people delete their Instagram, like just the app. But that’s admitting to yourself that you have a problem.Leaving shops empty-handedI look for clothes at least once a week usually — either for an occasion, or just as something to do either online or in store. I shop 60 percent online, 40 percent in person. But 75 percent of the time, I’ll go to the shops, have a look around, and not find one thing because I think everything is the same.I’m not afraid to put on something weird. I’m really big into animal print at the moment. Almost to the point where I’ll wear too much of it. I love my snake pants — and flares. Flares should never go out.Princess Polly and Tiger MistFor basics, 100 percent of my wardrobe is from Kookai. They’re always rotating really nice, classic things. I get a lot of stuff off Revolve, because there are so many different brands. You’ve got things there that you’re not going to see five people wearing once you’re out. From other online brands like Princess Polly, Tiger Mist. Sometimes it’s overwhelming how much stuff there is online. I could go on for hours.Often, on Instagram, I’ll scroll through the Explore page, and people just tagging outfits. It’s so helpful because you just click onto the account, find the item. That’s how I find the little niche things.Where were these dresses made?If I feel so amazing in something, I’m probably not going to look too hard into the price. But I don’t like investing a lot of money for something you might not wear too much. I like PrettyLittleThing for crazy things for cheap, because they just do interesting little tops or little dresses, clubbing clothes. Do I look at the labels of clothes? Not really. In the back of my head, I assume that I know where the clothes are made: in China.In terms of how much I would spend: average price of a dress, probably about $180 Australian dollars. Jeans, about $150. A good going out top, $50. I do like a nice pair of heels, so I’ve spent like $200 for a pair. But then again I’ve got ones for $50. In my wardrobe now, I’d say I have roughly 200 pieces.Cycling the wardrobe overseasI do a big spring clean every year and send boxes of clothes over to my family in the Philippines. One of my cousins has a market stall. So I assumed that maybe my stuff would end up there if they didn’t want to keep it for themselves.I would say 30 percent of my wardrobe would get pulled out. Maybe 80 bits of clothes. It makes a good dent.When I pull it all out and you see a big pile of clothes on your floor, you feel a bit sick. I’m glad that I can send it somewhere and it’s helping at least my family.Supporting sustainability — or notI want to support sustainable brands. But if it doesn’t work for me and what I’m doing in my lifestyle, I’m going to go with something else instead.Timing is important. For what I wore to the Listen Out festival yesterday, I ordered on Tuesday morning, it came on Wednesday morning: literally in 24 hours. That means so much to me. I’m the least decisive person and the least patient person. When miniature bags were in, I was obsessed with this one from London. You could get your initials on it. But it said it could take 30 days and I was like, never mind. I got a cute one from Mango.You’re pushing it after seven business days. If it’s a big order I don’t mind waiting for a week. But if it’s one thing, it’s like: Why? Read the full article

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abbynormaled · 4 years

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Learning to woman at 6 months in

It’s only been 4 months since I went public about my transition, but I started well before the announcement was made. Here are some things that surprised me from that first half-year.

The occasional but acute pain when you cross your legs just wrong.

Makeup on a freshly shaven face.

Also, deciding whether it's worth it to clean your face, shave again, and re-apply makeup after work to avoid the "blue haze of being clocked."

Dresses that fit perfectly

Except for your broad-ass shoulders. Which is particularly annoying for me, since men's shirts never fit me because my shoulders were too narrow.

Buttons

Fumbling around for 20 minutes to get a top on because the buttons are on the wrong side and 45 years of muscle memory is your enemy.

No pockets

I realize this has been A Thing™ for a while, but it's revealing when you have to deal with it daily. The biggest headache? Realizing (too late) that I forgot to bring my phone to the bathroom with me, and having to sit alone with my thoughts for more than 10 seconds.

Carrying shit around

See above. I went to Carowinds recently, and (not wanting to leave a purse with valuables in the "lockers") tried to stuff the few things I needed into a side-saddle.

Shoes and clothes are cheap AF!

I took child #2 to Target to get some slacks, a button-down shirt, and a blazer. Total cost: $200 for three items. For that some $200, I can get 3 times the number of items!

Fen says they're not meant to last as long, which makes sense. I still have men's dress shirts I bought 15 years ago.

Clothing sizes make no sense whatsoever

Apropo of clothing being inexpensive, they should be. The size templates are almost as inconsistent as a "family values" Trump supporter! I do miss knowing that if I pick up a pair of 33x30 jeans, they will fit. I may not like the cut, but they'll fit.

A different bra for every slight variation of top? UGH!

I can't even comprehend how I'm supposed to know which style strapped bra is supposed to go with the particular top I want to wear... BEFORE I put the top on! Couldn't we just all agree that showing some strap is a stylish and cool trend?

Makeup names are confusing

What the heck is base vs. foundation vs. primer? I watched YouTube videos to get ideas, but when I go to the store if they don't have the same brand the name doesn't match!

I like heels

There, I said it.

#transgirl

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 7 years

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Happy 4th of July, Johnny!

Fandom: Sing 2016

Pairing: Johnny x Ash (Jash)

Rated: T

Story Summary: Ash tries to teach her British boyfriend, Johnny, all about the joys of celebrating the American Independence Day.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Ash never planned many holiday celebrations.

Growing up, holidays with her parents (especially her mother) meant another day in painful shoes, tight dresses, disgusting hors d'oeuvres all taking place in much too opulent houses with far too many breakable items and being introduced to people she couldn't give two flying fucks about. Or after they divorced, forced to being a tether between her two parents; having two of everything but happy about none of it.

While living with Lance, it was just another excuse for him to get obnoxiously drunk and make bad decisions like inviting over his stupid friends to wreck her clean house…so basically, like every other day of his life.

After he cheated and she was now alone, Ash found didn't care much for the hubbub of activity holidays brought with it. Mostly because it was all topped off with her least favorite thing - crowds of annoying animals trampling around her small form - quills taut and ready to stab anyone who dared to get too close.

Yet, that was then, this was now.

Since her and Johnny started dating at the end of last summer, she wasn't completely against the idea of celebrating whatever holiday presented itself for their first year of being together. Whether it being a Halloween costume party, Christmas potluck with the theater gang, New Years Eve with a little too much champagne and sloppy midnight kisses, hell, even the normally dreaded Valentine's Day was a nice dinner and a playful snowball fight as they walked back to her apartment; Easter ending up to be a relaxing evening spent watching movies and eating chocolate - the day they got off just gave her another excuse to spend time with her handsome gorilla boyfriend.

This upcoming holiday was seemingly no different.

Summer heat pelting their small city, Ash was becoming well aware of the change of decorations hitting the stores and another holiday rearing its head. Lots of American flags adorning packaging and party supplies, overpriced fireworks, barbecuers, watermelons, and fresh corn on the cob all on display for purchase.

July 4th was quickly coming up and like any previous holiday this past year, she was excited to involve her and Johnny going out to enjoy it in some form or fashion…

…that was, until she remembered Johnny was British…

While very well aware he hadn't lived in Jolly ol' London since he was 12, it was still somewhere he considered home. Called himself a Brit and stubbornly retained his accent (as light as it was) even if he'd lived in America for almost half his life since. Ash found nothing wrong with that and found it quite adorable when she heard him occasionally humming 'God Save the Queen' in the shower but it did put a dent in her plans.

Would he want to celebrate this strictly American holiday with her?

Johnny had never turned down her plans whether it was dressing up for Halloween or coercing him for a long make-out session underneath the mistletoe (which was made easier with him consuming spiked eggnog) for Christmas, she was unsure if this tradition was one he wasn't keen on participating in.

Guess there was only one way to find out…

It was now the afternoon of July 4th and Ash still had yet to ask him or even bother to mention it - the porcupine was just so swamped with working on her new album, it kinda slipped her mind. Yet as the workday came to an end, she was determined to get it done ASAP. One thing was certain, there was a party tonight so Ash hadn't planned much in the way of food considering Buster was having a rooftop barbecue at the theater.

As she left the theater for the day, Ash called Buster.

During the phone call with her boss about what to bring for said party, he had asked her if Johnny was okay.

Ash stopped in her tracks; confused at the sudden questioning was then told Johnny had turned down the invitation and that only made Ash more resolute to get him to go. Once she hung up with Buster, Ash hit the market before catching the bus to Johnny's place.

A heavy cooler was hanging from her arm when she finally approached the back door of the garage which Johnny always left open regardless of how many times she told him to lock it.

Kinda glad for his lack of security at the moment, Ash pushed open the door.

The porcupine took in the atmosphere for a moment. The fact she visited so often made the smell of gasoline and motor oil barely noticeable to her now. As she scanned further in past the den, her eyes finally caught what, or rather whom, she was looking for.

There was Johnny - sitting at an old piano her and the theater gang pitched in to buy for his 21st birthday a few months ago. He sat on the bench playing and humming an unfamiliar tune but what more drew her attention was the fact he was only wearing a simple tank-top and exercise shorts. Johnny's lack of clothing, a fan aimed directly at him, mixed with the heat stifling in the garage - the piano bench must have been the only sanctuary to be found.

"Hey, Johnny!" Ash called out before closing the door.

The gorilla didn't seem at all surprised at her presence - only stood up to greet her. Happily, he walked over to her to help ease her of the cooler holding the tub of potato salad she'd just bought from the store.

"Good evening, Love." he finally replied once placing it on the counter; making sure to lean down to give her a proper kiss before continuing, "Why didn't you call first? I would've cleaned up a bit or at least pumped up the cooler." he chuckled once pulling away.

"Eh. Musta forgot." she replied, her neck and back already itching at the upraise of sweat (and not just because of the staunch heat of the garage). Damn, it was hot in here...in more ways than one. She appreciated a bit by gazing at her handsome, muscular boyfriend just a tad too long before Johnny spoke again and effectively breaking up those thoughts.

"It's alright. So, uh, what did you bring?" Johnny smiled, eyes averting to the cooler and being the curious soul he was, opened it and his brows furrowed at the container of potato salad sitting inside. "…You didn't bring that for dinner tonight, did you? Um…I didn't make anything or even have anything that would be good with that…"

Ash couldn't help but smack his firm tummy playfully, rolling her eyes before climbing atop one of the nearby stools.

"No, you dork. I was just heading over to Moon's for the party."

"Oh," Johnny said before plopping in the stool next to her. "His 4th of July party, right?"

"Yeah. Heh. Uh, funny that you'd mention it - um, Moon said he invited you but you told him that you were busy tonight." Ash explained and Johnny didn't even flinch; she expected him at least to be surprised that she had that information.

"I was jus' working on a new music set for the end of this month is all."

"Well, that's cool I guess." Ash muttered out, inwardly slapping herself for lack of conversing skills. They've been dating for nearly a year, dammit! She should be better at this by now - just get to the point... "…but uh - why didn't you want to go?"

"I dunno." he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

"Is it because it's an American holiday?"

Johnny just shrugged before replying, "The whole holiday exists is the culmination of your war with Great Britain; seems rather strange for a born-Brit to be celebrating that…Well, that's what my dad used to say when I asked him why we never did."

"...Really?" she seemed shocked, "Oops. Must have fallen asleep that day in history class."Ash chuckled mirthlessly, feeling a bit awkward, she continued, "So, uh…What is it? Do you feel like your betraying your countrymen or something?"

Johnny chuckled outright at that statement, "No. It was over 200 years ago. I highly doubt anyone can hold a grudge that long - I just thought it was funny my dad would tell me that as an excuse for not celebrating it."

"You used to ask your dad that?"

"Yeah. At first, I asked him every holiday why he didn't want to celebrate it - not just July 4th either. My friends from school would be having celebrations and I noticed we never did anymore, so I asked. My dad brushed it off; always gave some excuse. After awhile…I just stopped asking. Truthfully, I never celebrated much of any holiday 'til I started dating ya."

"...Why not?" she couldn't help but ask.

"It was ever since my mum passed - the holidays were rather…difficult." Johnny's eyes averted to the floor beneath his feet, his shoulders deflating as he continued to tell the story.

"Mum was always the more festive one - always making holidays special… Me and my dad just never did much in terms of celebratin' much of anything since she died. Even back in London - we tried celebrating Christmas just months after she passed and…" Johnny froze for bit - Ash saw uncertainty flashing in those sad chestnut eyes as if he wanted to elaborate but decided against it, "Well…we just kinda stopped after that. No other reason really."

The sadness that clouded his eyes killed her. Heart palpitating painfully in her chest as she saw the utter agony plaguing his normally bright features. Pain that didn't belong to someone so positive and sweet, someone she loved dearly.

She shouldn't have…

"...Oh Johnny, I'm so sorry," she whispered out - suddenly feeling incredibly awful at bringing him to those former functions this past year. How he must have been suffering internally while she was so naive to the pain she was inadvertently causing him.

"Wait…All those times I drug you to parties and outings and you just went along, and-and… Aw dammit, I should have-"

"Don't worry about that!" he quickly interrupted her with a brush of his hand upon her cheek that successfully brought her ramblings to a stop. "Don't say that either. You didn't drag me, I wanted to go - and believe me, I'm so grateful for ya, Ash. It's always fun celebratin' with you." he finished before leaning down to kiss her mouth and to calm whatever fears and doubts still plagued her.

Try as she might to avoid it to keep arguing, Ash melted into the gesture. Finding a ridiculous amount of comfort in his kiss and hating to admit at how her stomach still fluttered whenever he did that. As Johnny pulled back and smiled at her, Ash's heart and breathing calmed. His words and eyes so genuine, her fear at perhaps hurting him faded away and she sat back and took a deep breath of relief.

"It had been so long since I celebrated any holiday and you just made it so fun. You made me feel better - you really did, Ash. I used to be so sad whenever any holiday rolled around but…you changed that for me. I looked forward to them and I'm grateful for that. I truly am." Johnny admitted, reaching out to hold her paws and cradle them in his much larger hands. Ash flushed at the size difference as well as his much too sweet words that simultaneously wanted her to roll her eyes and kiss him again.

"So…does that mean you want to come to Moon's party with me tonight?" she asked hopefully.

It took a few moments before Johnny answered, "...I'm an American citizen and should be celebrating July 4th. I just never really considered it to be my home…until recently that is." Johnny smiled.

"...Is that a yes?" she asked.

Johnny didn't answer, just sighed before releasing her hands and opening his arms.

Ash smiled before immediately jumping into his lap; resting her head on his stomach and wrapping her short arms around his middle - well, as much as possible anyway. Johnny chuckled lightly, arms draping over her much smaller frame and for a second, the stifling heat in the garage didn't bother her one bit. For a long time, they just stayed like that until he shifted against her and finally replied.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Yes!" she said with way more enthusiasm that she meant to. Cheeks flushing a bit as she pulled away from his warm chest.

"If I knew it would make you that happy, I would have agreed earlier." Johnny chuckled at her excitement, hands steadfast on her lower back to make sure she didn't fall off his lap.

Ash gave his middle another quick hug before replying, "C'mon, then! You still need to change and we're already late." Ash continued before climbing off his lap (with his help of course).

"Since when do you care? You're always late to work." Johnny cheekily replied.

Ash flashed him a look, "That's work - this is fun - and free food. Besides, we both know you don't want to stay holed up in this hot as hell garage anyway." she teased and he returned her previous look but smiled regardless.

"I dunno, Ash." Johnny grumbled, scratching the back of his head as he made his way to stand up, "I'd feel kinda awkward - don't know the first thing about the 4th of July."

"Let me show you then."

"I dunno…" the uncertainty was back, "I was in the middle of working on -"

"Oh, come on, Johnny! You have weeks to work on that set." Ash held out her small hand for him to take and Johnny smiled at her. "Let's just have fun tonight."

"...Okay." he said with a resolute sigh before taking her hand.

"Hey, you two!" Moon excitedly said while walking up to the couple.

"Good evening." Johnny greeted as Ash muttered a "Sup?" to their boss.

"Wow! Super glad you could make it after all, Johnny!" Buster gave Ash a none-too-subtle wink which had her slipping her boss a dirty look but Buster didn't seem to pay much attention to it.

"Thanks, Mr. Moon." Johnny smiled at the koala with a hint of embarrassment staining his voice.

"Nice to see you two and be sure to have fun tonight!" Moon said with his normal flourish before he skirted back toward Eddie and Gunter standing nearby.

"Gunter seems to be enjoying himself…" Johnny acknowledged; said pig dressed all up in…what else? Another revealing jumpsuit - this one dabbled and decorated with the American flag and far too many sequins then should be legal. Even while Gunter was also a foreigner, it showcased how much he was embracing the lifestyle, and the excitement on his face to celebrate such an occasion was contagious.

"Gunter finds any reason to celebrate." Ash chuckled while waving to Meena, Miss Crawly, and Rosita sitting at a nearby picnic bench.

"That's true."

"Alright, Johnny. Step 1 of any July 4th celebration - food." Ash grabbed Johnny's hand and drug him over to said table. A smorgasbord of different dishes that were helluva lot nicer looking than her huge store-bought container of potato salad that Johnny was currently putting next to a fancy rainbow garden salad. Ash just shrugged it off before grabbing a plate for herself and handing another to Johnny.

"Step 2 - Knock yourself out." Ash directed and Johnny looked around the table as she steadily filled her plate with samples of everything from Buster's eucalyptus and watercress sandwiches, mozzarella, basil and balsamic vinegar crostinos, colorful pasta salads, fried tofu kabobs, all the dessert looking things available, and a hearty helping of potato salad because someone had to eat it. Ash was so busy piling her plate, she didn't even notice when Rosita approached them.

"Good evening Johnny and Ash! So glad to see you both!" she greeted; giving Johnny a tight hug and smiling at Ash whose plate was nearly full.

"You too! How have you been, Rosita?" Johnny replied and Ash smiled as the mother pig gave her a warm sideways hug.

"Great! Oh Ash, let me know if my ambrosia salad is too sweet - my kids went a little crazy with the marshmallows when they were helping me make it." she chuckled.

"...The what?" Ash asked confused as she looked down at her plate.

"The white one with the fruit in it." Rosita chuckled as she pointed to it on Ash's plate, "Oh, and you both need to try my pasta salad with the fried kabobs - they came out so much better than usual."

"Wow, Rosita you really have outdone yourself!" Johnny praised the mother pig while he put a few of the things she mentioned on his bare plate.

"Yeah, gee - I have no idea how you find the time the time to do anything with all your kids." Ash mused out-loud.

"I normally wouldn't be able to but Norman has been helping out a lot more lately." she gestured over to her exhausted-looking husband and their twenty five kids; some surrounding him and eating off his plate while the others were either playing quietly or being entertained by some of the other members of the theater group.

Johnny smiled at that and even waved to a few of her children who eagerly waved back before going back to their food. Ash peered over at her boyfriend's actions; chest warming at how Johnny was with kids even if she was still on the fence over how she felt towards the little germ-factories.

"That's good." Johnny commented and Rosita smiled at him before her attention was drawn to one of her more rambunctious sons who started getting a bit too close to the edge of the roof for her liking.

"Uh, yeah. I better go - motherhood calls." she said with a tired sigh. "Listen, you two enjoy yourselves; have a lovely time tonight and I'm glad you decided to join us, Johnny." the pig sighed a bit; gave Ash a soft pat on her back before she went off to chase after her child, "Casper! You get away from that ledge right now!"

Ash smiled after Rosita, still not understanding how the kind mother managed such a hectic life and found the time to perform for the multiple shows he theater did. Eyes slipping away from the sight and back to Johnny who was gingerly filling his plate. Ash patiently waited for him to finish.

"So, shall we?" she asked when he was done.

"Oh. Sure." Johnny replied before following his girlfriend to a nearby table.

"I thought by now, I would have had most American food - I never had this…" Johnny marveled at the grilled corn on the cob slathered with mayonnaise, melted cotija cheese and a hint of chili powder sprinkled on top.

"Probably because it's Mexican." Ash giggled.

"Oh…" he shrugged before taking another bite. "Eh, still good."

Ash, long finished with her food, gazed out at the group of people that had since accumulated to the party.

Meena was eating dessert with her parents, grandparents, and Gunter who was in the middle of what looked to be a riveting tale. Nana Noodleman had decided to attend their rather plain shindig in her normal opulent clothes. The older sheep was currently busy trying to dodge Rosita's children from touching her dress as Rosita and Norman tried to herd them away with little to no success. Miss Crawly's boyfriend showed up as the sun finally disappeared from the sky and the two had been "moonbathing" on a nearby bench since. Buster Moon and Eddie had broken out some champagne and Ash was tempted to grab a glass but Rosita's motherly presence kept her from indulging in the temptation of underage drinking…ugh, one more year…just one more year…

"You having a nice time?" Johnny's voice broke through her revelry.

Ash peered over a the gorilla who had seemingly just returned from disposing of both her and his empty plates. Had she really not noticed him even getting up?

"Uh, Yeah. Of course." Ash replied, reaching her hand out to grasp at his own and giving his index a gentle squeeze which he returned. "You?"

"Mm-hmm. It's nice. I-Is this mainly what 4th of July is? Just a potluck sorta thing?"

"Mostly." Ash shrugged.

"Oh." he sounded disappointed which surprised her. She knew he had to have known about fireworks and them just on a rooftop eating and hanging out must have seemed not at all what he expected.

"What did you think it was?" Ash asked as she made herself comfortable by leaning against his side.

"I dunno," he chuckled, "Wasn't exactly sure what to expect to tell you the truth. Just what I know from seeing it on the telly occasionally - I guess I just expected Buster to light some fireworks or something."

"Are you kidding?" Ash exclaimed, "Even with the success of his theater, you know he's still a cheapskate. He didn't even bother to buy some cheap sparklers or bottle rockets."

"True." Johnny shared in her mirth; glancing over to said tightwad koala to see him refolding clean napkins to use later on. "Yeah…I dunno what I was thinkin'."

"...he is resourceful though. Why do you think we're having the party on the roof?"

"Cause he's too cheap for air conditioning?"

"You mean like you?" Ash laughed outright.

Johnny flashed her a look that had her laughter increasing.

"Hey, I have a very expensive lawyer to pay for my dad - and AC isn't cheap or really necessary when it's just me living there." he muttered, face flushing in slight embarrassment and Ash had a hard time not kissing that adorable pout off his face.

"I know, Johnny. I'm just joking." Ash chuckled, settling for nuzzling her face against his side; the red fabric of his shirt and his thick fur underneath was incredibly soft against her cheek.

"Heh. Yeah…" he seemed to enjoy her touch; leaning more into her before continuing, "So, why did he have it on the roof?"

Ash just pulled away from his warmth and smiled at him. Johnny looked more or less confused or rather, suspicious, of it for a moment before he returned it.

"...Ready for the best part?" Ash asked; standing to her feet while gently pulling his hand for him to stand up beside her.

Johnny didn't speak, just stood beside her and looked down at her in slight confusion.

"To answer your question, Moon knew the roof would be the perfect spot to see the city's display this year - which should be starting…right...about…now." Ash said, the clock on her phone just hitting 10pm.

A few silent terse moments passed with absolutely nothing happening.

Ash cursed the fact it wasn't better timed but soon enough, Johnny confused glance was shifted from her to the sky when a sudden boom and a flash of red filled it. The excited chatter from the other animals faded into voices of "oohs" and "ahhs" as the fireworks show started.

Johnny was silent, his hand tightening around hers as more and more incredibly loud booms filled the sky with hypnotizing splashes of brilliant arrays of light and color. With the lights hanging from the roof and wires and blockage from nearby buildings, Ash's view wasn't the best. It sucked being so short - not to mention the twinges of pain starting in her neck from having to stare up so damn mu-

Ash suddenly gasped, her stomach plummeting a bit when she was suddenly being hoisted up by a pair of very strong, very large hands holding her up by her waist. The porcupine not completely gaining her bearings until Johnny placed her on his shoulders, her inner thighs pressing tightly into the sides of his neck. She instantly grasped onto him when the vantage point was made clear and it was as if she was seeing the world for the first time. Everything looked so different and she found herself smiling and laughing; pulling none-too-gently at his hair as she steadied herself on his muscular shoulders - he didn't seem to mind.

"That better?" he asked cheekily; hands firm and steady on her legs to make sure she wouldn't fall.

"Mind warning me next time?" Ash smirked, resting herself against the back of his head as her fingers loosened and ran through his soft black locks.

"Heh. Sorry." he mumbled and Ash wished she could see his face from this angle but she instead settled for just holding on tight and turning her eyes back toward the sky. Her view much clearer and just plain better from this vantage point.

"It's alright…You have a great view from up here - and the weather seems cooler too." she teased a bit and he chuckled in reply.

A few moments passed in silence.

Their gazes locked to the sky and the fireworks show taking place all around them. Scattered lights that sparkled; all different variations of ones that screamed as they shot through the night like a rocket while the others made shapes of varying kinds. Mostly giant round flashes of brilliant color spilling into the black inky canvas of the night. The iridescent light coming from them reflecting off their fur and skin and bathing them as well as the city around them in various, beautiful shades of orange, reds, and blues.

"So…is this more of what you had in mind?" she breathed as the show neared its end, his hair shifting upon her speaking. Her hands cradling his head as she couldn't help but brush her nose against his fur.

Johnny went silent for a moment; the hands holding her legs tightened slightly before he replied, "No…"

Ash's eyes widened; shifting her sight down at the top of his head for a moment in shock before he elaborated.

"...It's better." he said, turning his head just enough so she could see the mirth in his eyes and the barest hint of the beautiful smile he bestowed upon her.

Ash shook her head but couldn't stop the smirk that tilted the edges of her lips upward. Hiding from his gaze, she rested her chin on top of his head and just enjoyed as the last flourishes of fireworks exploded in the night sky. Basking in the warmth of Johnny's body pressed against her own; his soft tufts of hair tickling her chin and how the light played off the black canvas of his fur.

Definitely the best 4th of July ever - and by how he tightened his fingers around her legs and the wonder in his voice as he exclaimed when a beautiful array of red and blue fireworks suddenly went off, she knew Johnny felt the same way...

#sing 2016 #sing movie #sing #johnny #ash #sing johnny #sing ash #rosita #buster moon #fanfiction #sing fanfiction #independence day #4th of june #holiday #cute #mah babies #johnnyxash #ashxjohnny

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vaughanyracesceltman · 5 years

Text

Wow, what a race. Except, Celtman is not just a race, it is so much more.

So please forgive me rambling…… several years ago a friend raced Celtman, I dismissed it as a crazy notion stating something about no-way on earth, what’s the point, etc, etc! To be honest, I didn’t really understand it. Also, from a personal perspective, about 3 years ago to the day of this race, I stood on the finish line of an Ironman distance and said I was never going to race that far again – it’s a bit antisocial and unpleasant! Therefore, in theory, I shouldn’t be writing this.

Fast forward to Sept 2017 and I turn up to the ‘welcome to the Tri Club’ evening at University of Stirling and stand talking to a guy called Robin who was wearing a Celtman jacket. We both thought the session was a bit rubbish and a friendship instantly formed. Robin is from the Celtman area in Wester Ross and was going to race again last year – he finished 9th!

Over the forthcoming months, basically, Robin goaded me into entering the ballot, promising to be my support if I got in. I entered and didn’t really think I would get a place, but come November, I got through. That meant there were going to be several months of committed training and preparation. You see, this is not just about it being one of the hardest races in the UK, it is also as close to a team participation effort as you get in triathlon – instead of your nearest and dearest seeing you a few times during the whole race they have to: help you out of the swim and through T1; feed, water and mechanic you on the bike; help you go from bike to run at T2; and bring stuff to an extra transition (T2a); and someone has to run with you if you make the cut off time at T2a.

What had I done?!

Luckily my better half is very understanding (or was eventually after being a bit annoyed with me) and Robin was good to his word. Support crew in place. In addition, to help me keep focussed and structured I decided to engage a coach – who is a person, but I never meet them, setting a programme around my availability via Training Peaks. Over the next few months I follow the programme as well as I can with work and travel and begin to feel pretty fit. Then I get to the tricky part….equipment. Father Christmas sorted out all of the ‘I wouldn’t buy them if it wasn’t for this race’ things. But the key thing was my bike - my TT was bought in 2006! It was a good bike at the time and still pretty reliable now, but was quite dated. After a period of ‘negotiation’, I eventually become the owner of a shiny new Giant Trinity (and eventually she got some new shoes too (from HED wheels) – after further negotiation with the holder of the purse strings!). I rode her for virtually every training ride from April.

At Easter we went to stay with Robin to recce the course, I saw the swim, swam/froze in a different loch, cycled 100mile of the bike route and we walked the mountain section. I’ve got to be honest, it was so hard it scared me! And I realised just how much more work I needed to do. I did. Am working in Portsmouth for the summer so joined Portsmouth Triathletes and got some sea swims in, then I rode Fred Whitton only 3 weeks later. I was able to get off the bike and run 10k off road, which restored some of my confidence. Over the last 6 weeks I just focussed and built. I’m not a lover of going up-hill on foot or bike and with a dodgy left ankle I usually avoid off road – but I’ve done more vertical in the last few months than I have in years and almost look comfortable on the Fells!

So, with the exception of a bit of a tight calf for a couple of weeks I managed I get to the start line having swum 76km, cycled 3309km and run 630km, since January (and no-one really cares, but I also skied 500km). Quite possibly the most committed I’ve been to any race ever. This meant that, surprisingly, I was feeling quite calm about heading north.

We decided to make a bit of a holiday out of the race so headed to Scotland a few days in advance. Got some swims and bit of a bike and drove the course in advance. Apart from the distance across the Loch looking huge and the mountains looking as menacing as they were on the recce I was ready physically and psychologically for the race. Kathryn and I spent a couple of days with Robin to prep, boxes for each transition, an ‘I’m cold’ box, nutrition, fluid and spares – all sorted and loaded into our trusty camper van. We were ready.

Now, if you aren’t too bored and haven’t forgotten what I said at the beginning, Celtman is more than just a race. This is in relation to the community, affinity/respect of the landscape/elements and with each other. In essence, Celtman is an all-encompassing extended family.

I had an idea it was like this from the way Robin described it, but it started to come to life when we met up on Wednesday evening at the bar in Shieldaig. Talking to the locals it started to become obvious that this event is an important part of the local calendar. Whilst they think we are a bit bonkers taking part, they genuinely want us to do well and enjoy what their corner of Scotland has to offer. As we head into registration and briefing on Friday, the ‘family’ shows itself we don’t see Robin for hours (and this is a repeating theme over the weekend – he’s always chatting!). On a personal level, it is all very relaxed and welcoming. No question is too stupid – even though some of my fellow competitors could perhaps have read the race manual more fully! That’s it. Time to apply numbers to bike, hat, belt and sticker up the car. Food and bed. It’s race time.

‘twas the night before race day and all through the house, it felt like everyone else was asleep but me! My calm relaxed state of mind was gone. Had a bit of a cat nap but when I pulled my ass out of bed at 2am I hadn’t had too much shut eye. Hey ho, time to focus. It was a 15minute drive to the T1, where we would collect our GPS trackers and timing dibbers. The weather forecast at briefing was fine. But this is Scotland. It was raining. In the drizzle my team racked the bike and then I said my temporary goodbyes and went to get the swim start bus at 4am. The bus journey takes about 20mins on a tiny road. As we disembarked the piper and drummers start up, in growing light of the dawn, 200 neoprene clad bodies keeping warm by the potted fires, making nervous small-talk is a slightly surreal experience.

Celtman has traditions, before the start they set fire to a giant logo and we get our photo graph taken. In addition, this edition of recognised the recent passing of a significant member of the Celtman Family, Chris Stirling. Chris had taken part several times going from novice to race winner (as well as winning other XTri events around the world). Despite being a member of the same Triathlon Club I hardly knew Chris; I had only met him when he sold me my new bike. But he spent the time while we were setting it up to talk to me about the race, tactics, pitfalls, etc – his love and passion for everything Celtman/Xtri was palpable. His untimely passing is very sad. In the half light on the shore of Loch Torridon we celebrated his life.

As time ticked down towards 5am it was time to enter the cold, salty Loch. We made our way out from the shore to the start line, 10mins, 5mins, 2mins, 1min… Go. Like all good triathlons there was a mad scramble for a few seconds while we all found our space. The route is from one side of the Loch to the other, the finish is blind for most of the swim. First head towards island 1, then spot on the white house behind island 2, then as we round island 2 head into the shore. 3400m with the jelly fish.

I got into my rhythm quite quickly and felt like I was moving fairly easily. As we went past the first island there was a little bit of swell on the water, not too much but it meant extra concentration, then we found the jelly fish – wow they are big, more solid than you think if you try to push one out of the way but actually very pretty! By this point I was largely on my own, I was aware of a couple of my swimmers to my left and right but largely we were all ploughing our own line. All became smooth again as we approached the second island, I felt I was going quite well but was a little anxious I was going to be a bit slower than my 1hr target time. As I rounded the rocks on the end of the island I found a line into the finish and kept my steady pace going. As I exited the water I felt good, and was able to get up an moving on my own (though had a little stumble). Quick glance at my watch and I’d hit my plan time. What I didn’t realise was that I was 23rdout of the water (making this probably my best ever swim).

Transition is usually my specialty! This was the first test of our team work, Robin grabbed me and guided me up transition, we had a cameraman following us too, I managed to start to get out of my wetsuit but did need some help and ended up sitting down. We had identified different laying strategies depending upon how cold I was. Went for a vest under tri-suit and cycle shirt on top, some bike mits and sealskin socks as I was ok. No problems - I’m in and out in less than 5mins (6thfastest).

Out of transition is a little hill and then there are a couple of rises round to Torridon in the first 7miles before you hit 10miles of single track road out to Kinlockewe. This is a gradual rise for 8 miles before 2 miles down to where T2 will be. I’d enough food and drink for the first 2.5hrs as it can be a problem for the support team to get up the single track road with the numbers of bikes. My high position out of the swim meant this was no problem for them, so they went off to get breakfast at mile 34. After the T2 junction there was going to be a tail wind for 20odd miles up the side of Loch Maree. The road is a false flat until we get to a decent climb before Gairloch, I put my head down and made the most of this favourable wind. I lose a few places on the road as the slow swim/fast bike guy’s get their acts together! At Gairloch we turn and head north mainly along the coast, the wind is sort of head/cross and the road starts to undulate.

Kathryn and Robin make frequent stops for food and drink. Its great, they have cowbells and just offer so much encouragement. Back to the Celtman family thing, everyone offers encouragement to everyone, it’s great as an athlete.

As the road continues to rise and fall, some just 20-40m, others up to 100m, we approach Badcaul and head into the wind. This is going to be 50+miles of straight headwind, probably somewhere around 8-10mph, there are two big climbs just before and after Dundonnell (where Tim Rice owns Dundonnell Hall). This section is all about managing my pace, I know at the end of this section there is a glorious tailwind for 24miles. I try to be conservative and but lose a few more places on the road, my team continue to yell encouragement and advice. My tummy hurts, it’s messing with my head. I stop to feed the plants (not in my plan!). After that though I feel better focussed and on the downhill where I’m going nowhere near as fast as I want because of the wind I just keep it steady. Running in the last few miles to Garve I’m just thinking about the last section and busily trying to compute what my likely time will be. At the turn, if I carry on at the pace I’m going it will be something like a 7hr 40 bike, which will put me under a lot of pressure for the blue tshirt and trip over the mountain.

I turn right, feel the wind. This is going to be great, it will be quicker. It is, I manage the last 24 and a bit miles in <1h10 – which was pretty quick for me. I take a few places back. This section basically drags uphill for 20miles at about 1-2% (with a couple of steeper bits) followed by 4miles downhill which are quite steep and fast. Adrenaline heaven. I hit T2 and I’m buzzing. 7hr 12m for the 124miles. A little behind schedule but all within range.

Although I mention losing and taking places on the road I actually have no idea where I am in the race. I didn’t ask, and Kathryn & Robin decided not to tell me! At this point I’m 28th.

Through T2 in <5mins and Robin and I start to run (well jog), and we leave Kathryn to pack up my mess. The first couple of miles are flat on a forest trail and road, before heading up 250m of vertical, some on muddy deforested hillside and then onto gravel track. We walk up the hill and I enjoy a lovely ham sandwich and some salt & vinegar crisps. Awesome lunch. We jog over the top and down to the loch, along a gravel trail back to the road. Just a couple of miles to T2a and the magic cut-off. We have loads of time and make T2a at 10h22m29s i.e. with more than 37m before the 11hr cut off. I need another call of nature, grab a cup of tea and a sandwich.

We are off to the mountain. Say bye to Kathryn and off we go. I have to admit, the euphoria of knowing I’d met my objective (subject to finishing) was a little too much, and I lost some focus. It is a 900m climb to the top of Spidean Coire nan Clach, I start steady. Robin is great, giving constant encouragement and feeding/watering me. I just have to keep moving.

However, when it got really steep, I had a bit of a psychological meltdown! I didn’t really want to go on, I would happily have turned around. I got a pretty stern talking to and then Robin went up not down. I dug in. Slow steps, hands on knees to help. I had to focus on one step at a time. Robin continually encouraging me. In no time we were on the ridge, the really difficult uphill was behind us. Robin had a chat – he knew the crew! We got a nice picture and carried on. The summit was in sight. There were no clouds, there was no wind and the big yellow sunny thing was out. It was absolutely stunning.

I guess it was a bit frustrating for Robin, but I mainly walked along the ridge on the way to Ruadh-stac Mòr, the highest point of the day at 1010m. A few people passed us and we kept passing/being passed by Geddes & Ryan – which was quite nice! Grabbed a few sweets and a few drops of water from the summit crew and then its just 1000m of descent to go.

First up is scree slope. There are two ways down, the quick way (down the centre) and the safe way (along the edge). We went the safe way. A few people went down the centre but didn’t really get too much advantage. After this we wound our way through the rock field to the Loch, around the Loch before the final mountain decent on a rough rock path. It’s not the most pleasant of runs. It was at this point the heavens opened. We just plodded on. As the path became less steep and the rock pathway more regular we started to jog. I’m not really sure how it happened, but once I started jogging I felt OK, and I just kept going. Eventually the road comes into sight, its almost a relief the last section.

Time for the victory dance. The last 8.4km are along the road, we ran the whole way in - it wasn’t quick, it wasn’t pretty but is was steady. The last mile is a little bit cruel. As you arrive at Torridon village, instead of heading straight to the village hall, to get up to 42km, the route goes out along the Loch edge before heading back into the village and up a tiny incline (that feels like a mountain) before the glorious blue arch and the finish line. I crossed that line in 15h42m0s. (7h25m53s run split). It was a bit emotional. Hugs with Kathryn, hugs with Robin. To be honest I’d have hugged anyone. And the brilliant reward for crossing that finish line…..a bottle of beer. I’ve not had a beer in months, I was looking forward to it.

We got some food, had some chats, more hugs and went to bed. I was knackered and happy. I’d made my target and would pick up my blue t-shirt in the morning. I fell asleep with a cup of tea in my hand.

When we arrived at the hall for results on Sunday morning I was pretty stunned to find out I was 33rdoverall (and although it doesn’t count for anything in this event 1stof the SuperVets!). Although I’ve put the positions in above these are from the results; I actually thought I was much nearer to the back of the field than I was – Kathryn & Robin then fessed up that they knew I was going pretty well, but they didn’t tell me in case I Iost focus. Glad they did as I probably would.

The presentation morning is part of the tradition. All athletes and supporters turn up, grab bacon butties & a cup of tea and chat about their experience amongst themselves. At 11 o’clock we were all called to order and asked to sit down on the wooden floor – for some, not the easiest with the lovely lactic flowing through our joints. We started with a little video the team had put together overnight – was totally awesome, and I featured twice (see link, I’m at 1m11 & 1m56!). The prizes followed - sunglasses, fizz and a picture to the male & female winners plus Norseman entry to 1st& 2nd. The podium got their t-shirts of blueness. Then those who had completed five, yes five, Celtmans entered the hallowed red t-shirt club – 2 new entrants this year. Total kudos to these people. The raffle and the lucky dip for guaranteed Norseman entry – I didn’t win, but I may be single now if I’d won a place!

Then a new annual award was announced. The Chris Stirling Rock Award – it recognises someone who (like Chris) encapsulates ‘the spirit of Celtman’; i.e. through their achievements, commitment, support, etc to the Celtman community. The inaugural winner is Ryan Maclean, who has participated 4 times, been a support runner (as he was this year) and provides other support/advice too.

It was then time to collect our t-shirts and head outside for the traditional group photo in front of the mountain. I have never been so proud of a race t-shirt!

The day is not complete there though….after an afternoon of R&R and packing, it is back to the Torridon village hall for an evening of alcohol (other drinks were available), music and dancing. There were many people in tartan, the celtman beer flowed well and we all talked excitedly about the race. Virtually everyone in the room got up to dance at some point. It was the most relaxed and enjoyable end to a race I have ever experienced. I especially enjoyed the version of Thunderstruck by ACDC played on the piano accordion. Amazeballs.

Before I go I need to thank two special people…. Robin, your energy and enthusiasm was infectious and never ending, without you I would not have finished; I have a debt of gratitude I can probably never repay. Kathryn, thank you for putting up with me week-in-week-out, I guess I need to make it up to you….holiday to my next race?

I set out to write a brief race report, but I seem to have written a short novel instead! Celtman got under my skin. I get the whole thing now. It is the most difficult one day event I have ever participated in, somehow managing to be simultaneously brutal and beautiful. But it is not just the physical challenge, it doesn’t matter whether you wear white, blue, red or didn’t make it. No-one cares. It’s about being part of the family. Thankyou CxTri, fellow athletes, support teams, race crew and the local people. #memoriesforlife

#celtman celtman2019 celtmanstory

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