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toysoldiers-rwby · 4 years

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Deleted Scene. SYT Ch10.2

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Explicit (tagged as thoorist) Tags: slice of life, sexual tension Word Count: almost 6k

Second Draft of ch 10. I tossed out almost 20k words to find an ending that was the right amount of tension and bittersweet. I think this one was too angsty. honestly i don't remember

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Dr. Pietro was too valuable to be in the middle of Grimm infested fields, thousands of miles away from the Kingdom. He was constantly wrangling in both the Watts and a few other scientist for his current project. It would explain Author Watts’ sour mood, his eagerness to experiment on Glade.

But Glade was Glade, May realized with a smile. The stray that manipulated the military, the stray that outsmarted two fucking kingdoms! Being able to improvise and make the best out of being an illegal experiment…

Glade did a double take, those glowing white pupils dilating like a cat. Ears flicking in confused circles as plume of fire they were blowing onto the metal faded to the embers died on their lips. Fire Dust glowed across their skin, high-lighting the fullness of their cheeks and hard planes of muscles beautifully.

May only understood a few signs but she knew the sign “What?”

She continued staring and grinning. “Nothing.”

Glade crosses their arms and leans against the workbench. They’re posturing. With the military feeding them, they didn’t even need to flex to show off their muscles. That calm and confident grin echoing Joanna and Robyn’s. There isn’t enough raw arrogance to compete with Winter, maybe in a few years after the tuffs of curls grow out. But right now they look too adorable.

Silvio looks up from his Scroll. His face starts at confused, slides down to contempt then utter disgusted as he looks between Glade and May. He takes a deep breath and Glade is already rolling those glowing blue eyes, “Gaaay! Oh wait…” He stares at Glade. There’s an analytically rude way his silver eyes flick up and down their body.

They’re not in uniform. Too much grease, too much molten metal, Dust, and various other things that would permanently damage the thick fabric. Instead it’s a simple broiler suit, arms tied at the waste because fuck safety and stand in the raw Solitas air in their binder.

“Would that still be considered Gay? How would that work with… y’know?”

“That’s a stupid question for a genius,” May scoffs with a small smirk.

“If I wasn’t freezing my balls off I’d pelt you snow,” Silvio glowers. He pouts, turning his chair and continues playing with Marrow’s weapon schematics. May’s Scroll pings.

G.O.A.T: Fi and Win stares a lot too G.O.A.T: yall can admit im hot

If they weren’t working on Winter’s weapon she’d throw her Scroll at that smug face. “Literally hot. I think I can see you steaming,” May says with a small frown. It doesn’t stay though. She’s far too happy.

Things were getting better.

It took till fucking mid-terms but it was fucking getting better. Glade sticks out their tongue, the Dust infused tongue piercing glowing brightly. Then they blow a kiss with embers and a wink- and the warm stutters her heartbeat. Glade chuckles silently and goes back to work. She can’t help but continue watching.

Blacksmiths had all but died in Atlas. They have machines and factories and there was something captivating about watching the kiln from the fire and Dust dance against their skin. Something about watching someone’s passion in action.

And yes. May wouldn’t feed that ego but Glade was hot.

And criminal or not, they were a genius. They pulled the saber out of the kiln, setting it against the anvil and hammering it into shape. Glade may have been a pacifist but they were a fighter. There was no one else more qualified to make weapons than Aurora Glade-

“They’re a good kisser you know.”

May screamed turned around. They saw white wiggling ears and looked down to see Fiona smiling. She’d be laughing if she wasn’t breathing so hard. Face flushed adorably, even tinting her ears lightly- Gloveless fingers engulfed her vision.

“Cold!” Fi’s hands cups her cheeks. May sends them tumbling backwards trying to escape but Fiona laughs and follows. She tries to find footing but its all snow out in the tundra and they fall deep into it.

“Gay!” Silvio’s yell is swallowed by the emptiness and snow.

Fiona manages a laugh and needs to gasp for breath again. May hisses, body shivering as snow melts against her thick Atlesian clothes. Then she’s too hot, Fi’s breath warm against her lips. Still too far.

“I wish I could kiss you…” Fiona whispers.

May was about to pull her into one but Marrow and Harriet shouting stops them. Thousands of miles away from the Kingdom and it’s eyes and ears still follows. Fiona sighs, ears flicking in frustration. The Junior Ops were rather far for safety reasons, testing out upgrades and smoothing out kinks as the geniuses upgrade them. There were some pros to being in this ‘Accelerated Program.’

But stealing small moments right in under Atlas of them gives a certain thrill. May’s hands manages to slide into Fiona’s and she brings it to their lips. Fi sputters, that blush running deeper, lower down that lovely neck.

“Nice to see you two being productive.” The drawl is both familiar and unfamiliar. Fiona gasp out another bubble of giggles and May laughs. The Glyph is actually warmer than the snow as it pulses under them. It gently pulses and lifts May and Fiona off the ground.

The pair is meet with more than Winter’s eyes. Robyn and Joanna are grinning down at them, far to amused to play stoic like the Specialist. All three of them are flushed and panting slightly. But… for some reason no matter how deep Winter’s breath were, it wasn’t fulfilling. She was fighting in a binder again-

“May isn’t your partner anymore,” Fiona teases with a grin. May ignores the small sting in her chest. “Your not allowed to be jealous if I top her-”

“I don’t need to hear this!” Silvio yells a little more aggressively. He stands up, hugging his thick coat tight to his body. The civilian snow gear almost makes him penguin walk to the Junior Ops. “Marrow! Give me your gun!”

“I thought you said-”

“Give it!” Marrow yips and immediately surrenders his weapons. Silvio then retreats deep into the airship. Leaving Marrow confused, unarmed and pouting.

Glade gives RMJT (Ramjet) and their supervising officer a side-ways glance and a smirk but continues to work on Winter’s weapon. With some steam and wind Dust, they cool it down sharpen the blade in long arching fluid motion. The muscle on their arms on full display and almost as nice as Joanna’s. May would need to feel them to get a fair evaluation though-

"Kitten."

“Stop calling me that!” May swats Joanna’s handsome face on reflex. Joanna laughs and gently pushes her hands off.

“But you even paw,” Joanna hums low and playfully. She worse than Fiona when she feels like it and judging from the light in her eyes, she felt like it. “We still have a bet. If I win you finally start using my crossbow staff.”

“We never decided on what I’ll get if I win,” May argues. There were so many ideas she had. A date night with just Joanna was always fun and calm. She did promise to take her around to show off the glowing street art in Mantle.

“Why bother? That’s never going to happen,” Joanna winks and is already walking a little ways from the airship. May finds herself following, staring at that broad back and the muscles testing the fabric of her coat. She huffs in frustration but reaches for her staff and extends it. A quick double to confirm that all the Dust chambers are full.

May nods.

Joanna doesn’t fire her crossbow bolts. She splits that staff into two axes and charges. May’s mind fire scenario after scenario, the smile still on her face. Joanna is stronger and has a longer reach. She doesn’t need a two handed weapon to over power her and her long arms is enough for the axes.

May smirks. Two weapons makes it harder for May to block so she’ll just dodge- Joanna fires a bolt at her feet. It glows purple and the pull of gravity nearly drops May to her knees. Instead she tucks and rolls left, then scrambles back to avoid the an axe head. The other end is loaded and May barely hits it away to avoid it. Only this time the bolt explodes far to close behind her and topples the two.

The Marigold scowls. She vaguely remembers that Joanna was a cop, one of the best in Mantle. She’s older, has more experience fighting people than Grimm. She also has stronger Aura and more reserves. That explosions does nothing to her while May’s ears are ringing and the snow crunches unevenly under her feet.

Joanna lets her blink the world back to focus. She’s grinning, tapping an axe bladed crossbow on her shoulder. "Gonna call it kitten?" Her partner taunts playfully. If this was last semester May might have thrown her staff or go invisible. Then throw her staff.

She only grins. “Not even in your dreams.” May does go invisible. Joanna immediately couches down, grabbing a handful of snow and flies it into the air. May grins. Smart, resourceful. Gullible. Chambering fire dust, she melts the snow. Solitas is cold enough that water instantly freezes again, leaving a mist that blankets the field. May throws the gravity bolt back with enough Aura to pull Joanna to the ground.

She was going to follow up with lightning but May always underestimates how strong Joanna is. The gravity bolt doesn’t pin her, barely hinders her as she charges towards May again. For a moment they were in the Field.

For a moment, Joanna doesn’t attack and just presses her lips to May’s. She surrenders into it almost instantly. Joanna’s kiss was always slow burning. There’s a lingering sense of power and control. Like a beast in hibernation. It’s one of those things that is given to you.

That moment passes as Joanna continues to shove May out. Their lips part far to soon. It’s worth being pinned into the snow by her girlfriend though. Hidden in the snow, Joanna breaths hot against the back of her neck.

“I win.”

“I don’t exactly call this a lose…” May mumbled. Joanna easily lifts them both up and May’s blushing to hard and staring at the ground. Heart beating too fast for something so simple. Maybe she did like being handled… Her teammates laugh. The Ice Queen can’t. Winter does relax, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

Then she’s looking at Glade. The saber is finished and sings as it cuts through the air. With a press of a button the secondary splits from the handle and drops into their free hand. They test the pair out, feeling the balance, checking the sharpness. After a little more teasing and a small impatient frown from Winter, the weaponsmith finally surrenders it.

“An adequate display,” Winter hums, keeping her expression and voice void of the pride in the eyes. Glade was amazing and they knew it. They frowned deeply at the insult and May laughed with Fiona. They were adorable. Even with the eerie glowing eyes. “Would you like to prove me wrong? I believe Watts is still trying to get combative readings from your neural augments.”

There was an interruption from the Junior Ops. Of course it was Harriet who scoffs, “Stop playing with your pet,” Harriet said. "We’re here on business, Specialist Schnee."

… Pet. May grits her teeth. She takes a deep breath trying to let the comment wash off. Winter’s constant reminder floats through her head. The need to play nice and play up Robyn’s image.

It was Robyn’s fame that saved Fiona’s scholarships when the public learned Winter was promoted. It was Winter’s image that lets her be around Glade so much that their sign language was second nature in just a few months.

Atlesian 101. Public opinion is everything. At the end of the day, they were all social creatures. All victims to a mindless and easily fooled community.

But Robyn was a Mantle Rat. She doesn’t see the manipulative threads. She heard a bitch insult a friend who’s been stripped of everything and leaps into action.

“What did you call Glade?” Robyn hisses. Fiona is standing by their leaders side. It wasn’t that Fiona was sweet and kind and without spite. It was that she didn’t have the protection May had, couldn’t act on her anger without a family name and money.

So Fiona practically snarl and bare her fangs stuns May for a moment. The pair make the face of RMJT. They’re charming and cute smiles were plastered all over the net and zines. If a photo of them got leaked right now, Fi would lose her scholarships. They both looked ready to throttle the hare.

“Get over yourself, Hill,” Harriet sneered in that Atlesian tone. May scowls. She’s faster than Robyn so she’ll be second in line to beat the asshole up. "Maybe if you were a real Atlasian Huntress you’d realize Glade is just a toy." May’s heart is in her ears. Roaring. Angry. Two years till freedom. May desperately reminds herself. Two years till they can finally bring Atlas down-

Fiona moves first so Robyn follows her partner. Joanna’s long arms catch Fiona in a bear hug while May struggles with Robyn.

"You called them Winter’s pet!" Fiona angrily yelled, thrashing in Joanna’s arms. Somehow May managed to shove Robyn her way. Joanna’s strong arms easily pinned the two in a bear hug. Fiona looked at the only other Faunus. Marrow had wandered over, no doubt to stop all the yelling. “Marrow! You can’t be okay with that!”

“I- I’m not!” the underclassmen stuttered, tail low between his legs.

"Then fucking do something!"

“Assault isn’t the answer, Ms. Thyme,” That cool commanding voice. May sighs. That mask slips on too easily sometimes. May can’t blame her… She’s a Schnee she was literally born into it. Everyone calms a little. Winter isn’t even looking at RMJT but the airship side door. //Focus in use

The workbench and kiln are abandoned… Winter clears her throat. Glade pokes their head out.

Brows knitted up in fear above those glowing blue eyes, their ears a timid low. They looked at Robyn and Harriet, both their shoulders tense and absolutely pissed. Then they looked back at Winter and vigorously shake their head no, trying to hide away again.

From the corner of her eyes, May saw Marrow bit his lip, tail twitching as he tried not to giggle. May was eager to latch to the lighter mood. Her anger doesn’t melt so easily. But… but Glade was scared. So she takes a deep breath and smiles softly. Not enough to be friendly because Glade was a solo vigilante.

If they had to keep their relationship a secret they definitely had to keep their history with Glade buried.

Still Her chest was bubbling at how cute timid Glade was. Marrow cracked laughing softly and May couldn’t help but to snort. Winter gave a sigh, frustration genuine on her face. For a moment even May thought she was irritated at the ‘criminal’ but the twitch in her arms told a different story. Winter fought against her true nature, pushed aside all the comforting gestures she’d learned for Weiss and gave Glade a wary thin look.

“I assure you, you’re safe… Unless you doubt my ability to beat everyone here?” Winter asked slowly, toeing the line of intimidating and teasing. Glade made more adorable Faunus noises.

May couldn’t help but to smile. Everyone else, save for Harriet, thought it was adorable so she was allowed to too. Before Winter could try coax them in, someone kicked Glade out of the airship. Silvio scowls glaring hard at the students.

“Aren’t you fucking assholes suppose to be smart?” He ask. “Do you know how much Grimm you just brought in?! Two hordes of Megoliaths!”

Winter sighs. She’s had a lot of practice so it comes out natural. It almost convinces May. “Harriet, take the fighter and the others. I need a word with RMJT.” Winter said, glaring hard at Robyn.

During the short time it takes to load up the workstations and for the Junior Ops to leave, May realizes that Winter might actually be made. As soon as they were gone, Winter tapped a few buttons on her Scroll. May could feel the guarded edge on the back of her mind and in her Aura fade off as the hidden cameras in the room shut down.

//HH & Winter Rift. White knights flaw. PICKUP HERE Immediately the Schnee exploded, that cool demeanor all fire and frustration.

“What the fuck were you two thinking?!” Winter yells at Robyn and Fi. Again. At least it was almost two weeks. Still May sighs and tries to find a way to de-escalade the situation. It’s hard when she sides with Fi and Robyn. Fiona’s hackles practically raise, fist balled up tight as she glared at her former leader. Robyn looked ready to throw another punch.

Before either of them could get a word in, Joanna’s massive figure stepped between them. She only crossed her arms, staring down at all three women. The interruption was enough for them to catch their breath. Mostly Winter who leaned against the table, almost struggling to breath as she rubbing her temples.

“Fi… you should know you need to pick your battles. There are still people trying to get you expelled and I’m not there to-”

“We don’t need your protection,” Fiona hissed, ears twitching low. "Focus on Glade, Silvio, Weiss and Whitley." That hit May and cracked Winter. So many emotions she needed to keep under control flashed across her face. May pressed her side into their girlfriend’s, hoping to ground her. Eventually the pain and fear faded to… guilt.

Then Winter shook it off.

It was replaced by fustration. “Point is there is a lot of people that don’t want to see you four graduate,” Winter said. RMJT rolled their eyes. They were the under-dogs. An estrange elite, two nontraditional Mantle Rats who said fuck the law and a Faunus that was better than a Schnee in both academic and fighting- Winter was still talking. “They have a lot of power if you give them any kind of leverage you’ll never graduate.”

“We’ll be fine.” Robyn huffed.

“No you wont,” Winter hissed at Robyn. She stood up, back straight and shoulders tense. Brittle. May gently put her hand on Win’s shoulder, only to have… her former partner shake it off. Winter soldiers on, “You have no idea, what Atlesians are capable of. You need to do better!”

“I know!” Robyn yelled back. They were within each other’s melee range now. “I have people swarming me every day reminding me I’m the Hero of Mantle. I know!”

“You wanted follow my grandfather. Step up and lead by example, Hill.”

The importance of image finally clicks for Robyn. Realization settles in as her shoulders relax for a moment. Robyn tries to smooth out those hard edges but pitty and fustratin shines through. “So do you,” Robyn nearly hisses. “You’re the only one keeping them prisoner.”

That makes Winter pause. She looks at Robyn and something filters across her face.

Pity or envy?

Before RMJT can say anything the bay doors open and Glade was the first one to jump out. Winter actual held them back. May remembered something Winter said at the beginning of summer. That Glade’s Dust was potent enough to level an entire block. They saw that masterful application during their work and now…

And now Glade is finally away from civilians.

Even from the possible safety of the Bullhead, high in the air, May could feel the heat piercing the Solitas cold. A blaze of fire rolled through the snow and ice, leaving the dead rocky ground bare. The weaker Megoliaths burned in the fire.

The Dust in their boildersuit fade from red to dark orange. The herd was culled again, this time impaled by earthen spikes. A quarter of the herd was cut down in seconds. The Alpha Megoliaths roared, legs shattering the earth spikes under its feet. They could see the ground shaking from the sky. If Glade’s Aura and Dust doesn’t attract the second horde, the small earthquakes would have.

Glade was skilled enough to avoid capture by Vale’s Glynda Goodwitch. Skilled enough to wrangle Grimm, skilled enough to have the entire Kingdom of Mistral after her and elude them for a year. Skilled enough that violence was a choice for them. And even stripped of everything they bite back in a differnt way.

Winter crosses her arms. The movement pulls May to the argument that the two leaders could never really settle. What to do with Glade? "Their semblance is similar to General Ironwood’s Mettle." Winter explains. May hates their semblance even more. “Glade can Focus on an aspect, personality, emotions, senses, a task, Dust, lying… acting.” Winter said. There was something at the end of it. It dipped and strained… like she was stabbing her own heart. “Atlesian 102.”

And suddenly May’s freeze and burns.

“Give them what they think they want.” May mumbles. Focus on a lie or an act, May grits her teeth. Pretend like nothing is wrong for the sake of your friends or play up the torutred experiment to gain sympathy.

“Everyone loves to see their hero and knight save someone. And the Faunus experiment is the perfect damsal.” Winter practically growls under her breath. May watches her. Anger deep in her eyes. Winter didn’t ask for the image, for the fame. It followed her from her family now in the military it has grown like steel wires.

She waits a few moments. When RMJT responds with silence she finally leaps from the aircraft. She landed gracefully next to Glade. She let some of her Ice Queen image chip and crack to give Glade a pat on their head. The Specialist didn’t draw her new saber, fresh from the kiln and anvil. Instead she stepped back and let Glade fight.

Glade never needed their help.

Not with the Geist.

Not after their surrender.

May and Robyn looked at each other, conflicted and a little confused. How much was an act from their semblance? Robyn groaned into her palm. The look of regreat solid on her face before she leaped out.

“Sometimes I think she forgets she’s dating Winter,” Joanna whispered to May. It felt like that most days… May blames the distance. The physical one, between Atlas and Mantle. “Come on. Killing Grimm will calm us down and we can’t get showed up by a civilian.”

"How does adrenaline and hot sweaty women equal calming?" Fiona muttered. It was a half hearted joke. A little real but overall a bad deflect. May takes a breath.

Glade is okay. Just a manipulative bitch. Hopefully. And if they’ll still be there tomorrow. Things will get better. Hopefully.

May follows the rest of RMJT out of the airship.

Joanna was right. Fighting Grimm burnt the argument and fight out of them. Despite all the show, Glade gased out far to quickly to be effective Hunter. They did kill a lot of the first herd and the second was no match for eight nearly qualified Hunters.

Snow was starting to return to the area where Glade orignally landed. There was a small tent picked up with a few chairs. Fiona waving at them while Joanna gave a broad grin and blowing a kiss. Robyn plays along, a hand over her heart and swooning into May’s arms. Until the estranged Marigold snorts and drops her.

But just because Joanna was right doesn’t mean Fiona was wrong.

May stands above Robyn for a second. Admiring the messy plantium locks and the flushed tanned face- Robyn winks. “Ugh-” Instead of sinking down into the snow and kissing her girlfriend she kicks the snow into her face. Joanna and Fiona laugh, loud and joyful. They were all too tired to be guarded. It feels less like a fight, less like a mission watching a ‘criminal.’ Their stupid smiles always made it feel like a date.

As soon as May took a seat in on the chairs she didn’t want to move. She hiss curses under her breath feeling her body throb. A Sabyr kicked her jaw, a Sulfur Fish stung her calf… but the thob was in her gut and growing lower and lower as she watches her partner.

Joanna pushed Elm out of the way earlier, taking a hit from a Megoliath. It must have fucked with her shoulder because she’s rolling it, stretching her coat tight against her back muscles. May feels that solid heat ghost under her fingers. She doesn’t have the same hair routine but giving Joanna massages was good in its own way.

She wasn’t strong enough for a deep massage but that just means May kept on trying. Enjoying warm skin under her hands, the hard shift from muscle to muscle. Every twitch was like Joanna was flexing.

May feels Marrow’s tail thawt against her leg in a lazy motion. It sped up a little as Joanna slips a sleeve off, brunching up her shirt to push a the knot directly and showing an unfair amount of muscles.

She wants to kiss her. Fuck public image. Fuck all the pretending, the cold attitutdes. May was tired of all the Atlesian bullshit. She killed dozens of Grimm and at least deserves to kiss her fucking girlfriends. Joanna was barely out of breath and May wanted her gasping.

“Hey, Robyn,” Marrow called out, breaking her out of her daydream. “You can’t arrest people, can you?”

“I quit so I could attend Atlas Academy, wags.”

“Huh… Well that,” He gestured to Joanna. Robyn walked over, quietly observing as Elm walked up and tried to massage the kink gone. Both their muscles flexing and tested Atlesian thick clothing. "That should be illegal."

“You know what is illegal?” Robyn asked. May could hear that stupid smile in her voice and she was groaning loudly to drown out Robyn but it didn’t work, “Not kissing my girlfriend- Damn it! Look alive, May!"

May snapped to attention just as a Megoliath roared into view. Everyone switches back into fighting mode. May ran after her leader, twisting the chamber in her staff. It clicks empty, empty, then she felt electricity hum as lightning Dust chambers in.

“Joanna!”

“For the record I hate it when any of you do this!” Joanna yells. She still held her out her hands for May to vault off of and May only grins. Blame it on all the times Winter carries her around or all the rush from the Glyphs, or maybe she just likes being handled by Joanna. Her partner only frowns as hearing her thoughts. She still throws May high into the air and barely has time to dodge the Grimm herself.

Elm jumps in, holding onto the trunk with Roots further anchoring her to the ground. May yells a warning, plunging the staff deep into the Grimm’s eye. It doesn’t bleed, doesn’t smoke, it just… sinks in with a bone shuddering wet noise. The lightning Dust pours into the Megoliath. Joanna helps Elm clear the twitching tunk and stomping legs.

An explosion throw’s May’s off.

It wasn’t silent like the crossbow bolts so it had to be something Fiona stole. May’s limbs burns like she’s been fighting for an hour. She sinks deep into the snow and it doesn’t help. It does the opposite. All the blood is pooling between her legs, all the running and fighting had everything rubbing just right. May tries not to think about the last time she had sex. About how the snow feels like Winter’s cool hands crawling into her neck.

With a shuttering breath she stares up at the bright sky. Focuses on how warm the rare Solitas sun is on her skin because they were in public. Fiona eclipses the sun for a moment. Then a moment longer as her body falls-

“Fi!” May screams, trying to scrample away. The snow gives and gives under her hands and Fiona finally craches into her. Even the sharp headbutt does nothing for the low arosual in her gut. If anything it just gives her shaft a reason to thob harder. It has everything to do with Fi’s groan and not how her brain was mixing pleasure and pain. With Fiona’s hands firm on her chest. Sweet laughter against her neck.

May drops her Aura for a few seconds. The idea was that the snow would chill her blood. But so many hours, wrapped around Winter’s fingers… May groaned slamming her Aura back on. She wanted those cool hands on her thighs. Clawing. She wanted Fiona seated higher on her chest.

Who’s idea was it not fuck? Winter? It has to be Winter’s.

Fiona’s laugh draws May out of her pout. “Woops,” Fiona mumbled unapologetically. There was something in her voice. The faux innocent tone and sinfully slow drawls. “It’s a good thing Joanna won, you really need something for distance.”

“Shut up,” May growled. As revenge she hangs limp. Fiona is strong enough to carry her but she just… so tiny. And tired. The snow makes things harder than it should be and they fall back into it. Out of stupid habits May holds Fiona tight, as if they were falling out of another crashing airship. As if Fiona wasn’t already laughing on the way down.

“This is your fault y’know,” Fiona said with a grin. Looming over her, elbows blocking May. It fucks with her breathing and then more. Fiona’s eyes flicker down. That heated gaze slowly growing intense, like the day in the changing room. She licks her lips, her ears straining forward for more soft noise. She knows Fi can feel her heart race. That innocent smiles grows sweet and beutiful and so far from innocent.

Her knee slides up.

Pausing between May’s. That low throb was firmly settled between May’s legs now. She glances away but that only opens her up. Fiona’s lips and nose press into her neck. Her pulse is far to alive against such a soft kiss. Too soft. May wants more. Her body already arching for it.

“Fi…” May was starting to tremble.

“We deserve a second,” Fiona says as if it was a warning. Then her teeth digs in hard. May presses her hand against her mouth, breath loud and sharsh as her back arch but Fiona’s hand quickly comes up to pin it down. Her ears flutter pointedly. May wanted hands and teeth, Fiona wanted it all including her moans. She sucks hard and gives May a teaser for what it could feel around her pulsing cock.

She doesn’t stop until May tugs her hair. After May feels pre-cum sliding down her shaft. Fiona growls and huffs. Teeth teasing the bruise but it was already healing. It still hurts, so Fi tongue sooth the spot. Low and slow like it was May’s shaft- Their Scrolls ping and Fiona looks ready to break it in her hands.

G.O.A.T: stop. i can SMELL you horny idiots from here happywool: that’s a bad thing?

She steal a kiss from May. Even burried in the snow, fighting in the cold, the kiss is warm and sweet. Even if Fiona’s sharp teeth nip with fustration.

Her knee shifts higher. A hand palms May’s chest.

G.O.A.T: SERIOUSLY. I CAN’T EXACTLY GET LAID foxhot: sounds like a u problem G.O.A.T: just finish the grimm so we can get Win home

That stops Fiona dead in her tracks.

mt.spur: what happen angeldust: Nothing important. G.O.A.T: i disagree and stop being a dumb bitch G.O.A.T: she’s fighting with her binder on angeldust: So are you! G.O.A.T: i didnt feint bitch

May and Fiona rolls their eyes and share another kiss before Fiona pulls her onto her feet. "The sooner we finish the sooner we can finsih," Fiona says with a wink and runs off. May watches her with a small smile and tries to shake the snow out of her hair and clothes.

The rest of the evening slips into a mix of auto-pilot and a straight up blur. The simple social outing for the ‘criminal’ was an extra hour, almost two. The Grimm was easy but they kept coming. Like every other week. RMJT has been out on so many missions half their classes were online, in the damn airships. The ones that weren’t were Combative Training, Advance Stealth Operations or Body Conditioning.

Her Scroll kept going off too much to call it a nap and she feels to restless when she finally realizes they’re back in Mantle.

May sets her back down the table and stretches out the kinks in her back. She groans as a few joints pop back into place. A pair of hands slide onto her shoulders, pressing into areas she didn’t realize were tense.

The hands were too big to be Fiona’s, too small to be Joanna’s, too warm to be Winter’s. She blinks in surprise. For such a flirt Robyn was actually rather reserved. Most of her advances only happened when Winter was around. And sure enough, somehow the they manage to drag the Specialist.

Or with Joanna, carry.

A feint blush is on Winter’s cheeks now and she lets out a sigh. May has gotten used to all the touches and her partner’s casual show of strength. But Winter probably regressed up in Atlas, with only Glade.

“You can set me down now,” Winter mumbles.

“Not even a please,” Joanna playfully huffs. Instead she sits down on the couch. Her hands interwined with Winter’s… pressing it against her thighs.

Just like the changing room.

The room suddenly feels hotter. May’s blood was already hot from all of Fiona’s teasing and now its rapidly pooling in her shaft- Where’s the lamb. May looks around to see the women walk out of their bedroom, a bag in one hand and twirling the knife in the other.

Now in the privacy of their home, Fiona is a little calmer. Her grin is still dark, her ears still strained but she doesn’t look like shes ready to pounce.

Her prey is already caught after all.

Fiona looks at May and winks. With a touch the coffee table and everything on it gone and she replaces it with the bed in their room. May finds her self menuvered, seated on the edge with Robyn behind her.

May can only stare dazed at Winter. The women was… she was the image of Atlas perfection. Control, yet she’s trembling with Joanna’s hot breath on her neck. Power, though when that knife slices into her uniform she’s praying Fiona’s name.

“Fi… fuck,” Winter mutters. Her Aura flares where the knife licks her skin. May whimpers and shifts between Robyn’s legs. Her leader murmers something. Something about how good girls don’t interrupt a show. A hand strokes May thighs, promising a reward for good girls.

Fiona briefly smiles over her shoulder. The knowledge that this show was also for them… May throbs against her clothes. Whimpers with as Joanna hums, staring at the tent her pants. Winter looks ready to feint. Breathing shallow and eyes clouded. Still Fiona goes slow. Those flexing abs revealed inch by near minute.

“Hurry, please Fiona… I’m going to pass out-”

“Oh!” Fiona’s blinks, that dominance replaced by surprised concern. She laughs nervously, knife swiftly gliding through the shirt, coat and binder. Winter’s Aura lights up her skin as the blade tilts her head back.

Exposed. Volunrable. Submissive.

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kellyannecontent · 4 years

Quote

Dear Jimmy, Your family asked me to speak at your service, and I am so honored and touched. I’m also really scared, and I say that because you of all people will understand this. I’d like to run away and call in four days from now from the beauty parlor. I want to do a good job, because I love you, and because you always did a good job. I think the deal is I’m supposed to speak about the actor/artist’s work part of your life. Others will have spoken beautifully and magnificently about the other beautiful and magnificent parts of you: father, brother, friend. I guess what I was told is I’m also supposed to speak for your castmates whom you loved, for your crew that you loved so much, for the people at HBO, and Journey. I hope I can speak for all of them today and for you. I asked around, and experts told me to start with a joke and a funny anecdote. “Ha ha ha.” But as you yourself so often said, I’m not feelin’ it. I’m too sad and full of despair. I’m writing to you partly because I would like to have had your advice. Because I remember how you did speeches. I saw you do a lot of them at awards shows and stuff, and invariably you would scratch two or three thoughts on a sheet of paper and put it in your pocket, and then not really refer to it. And consequently, a lot of your speeches didn’t make sense. I think that could happen in here, except in your case, it didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense, because the feeling was real. The feeling was real. The feeling was real. I can’t say that enough. I tried to write a traditional eulogy, but it came out like bad TV. So I’m writing you this letter, and now I’m reading that letter in front of you. But it is being done to and for an audience, so I’ll give the funny opening a try. I hope that it’s funny; it is to me and it is to you. And that is, one day toward the end of the show — maybe season 4 or season 5 — we were on the set shooting a scene with Stevie Van Zandt, and I think the set-up was that Tony had received news of the death of someone, and it was inconvenient for him. And it said, “Tony opens the refrigerator door, closes it and he starts to speak.” And the cameras rolled, and you opened the refrigerator door, and you slammed it really hard — you slammed it hard enough that it came open again. And so then you slammed it again, then it came open again. You kept slamming it and slamming it and slamming it and slamming it and went apeshit on that refrigerator. And the funny part for me is I remember Steven Van Zandt — because the cameras are going, we have to play this whole scene with a refrigerator door opening — I remember Steven Van Zandt standing there with his lip out, trying to figure out, “Well, what should I do? First, as Silvio, because he just ruined my refrigerator. And also as Steven the actor, because we’re now going to play a scene with the refrigerator door open; people don’t do that.” And I remember him going over there and trying to tinker with the door and fix it, and it didn’t work. And so we finally had to call cut, and we had to fix the refrigerator door, and it never really worked, because the gaffer tape showed on the refrigerator, and it was a problem all day long. And I remember you saying, “Ah, this role, this role, the places it takes me to, the things I have to do, it’s so dark.” And I remember telling you, “Did I tell you to destroy the refrigerator? Did it say anywhere in the script, ‘Tony destroys a refrigerator’? It says ‘Tony angrily shuts the refrigerator door.’ That’s what it says. You destroyed the fridge.” Another memory of you that comes to mind is from very early on — might have been the pilot, I don’t know. We were shooting in that really hot and humid summer New Jersey heat. And I looked over, and you were sitting in an aluminum beach chair, with your slacks rolled up to your knees, in black socks and black shoes, and a wet handkerchief on your head. And I remember looking over there and going, “Well, that’s really not a cool look.” But I was filled with love, and I knew then that I was in the right place. I said, “Wow, I haven’t seen that done since my father used to do it, and my Italian uncles use to do it, and my Italian grandfather used to do it.” And they were laborers in the same hot sun in New Jersey. They were stone masons, and your father worked with concrete. I don’t know what it is with Italians and cement. And I was so proud of our heritage — it made me so proud of our heritage to see you do that. When I said before that you were my brother, this has a lot to do with that: Italian-American, Italian worker, builder, that Jersey thing — whatever that means — the same social class. I really feel that, though I’m older than you, and always felt, that we are brothers. And it was really based on that day. I was filled with so much love for everything we were doing and about to embark on. I also feel you’re my brother in that we have different tastes, but there are things we both love, which was family, work, people in all their imperfection, food, alcohol, talking, rage, and a desire to bring the whole structure crashing down. We amused each other. The image of my uncles and father reminded me of something that happened between us one time. Because these guys were such men — your father and these men from Italy. And you were going through a crisis of faith about yourself and acting, a lot of things, were very upset. I went to meet you on the banks of the Hudson River, and you told me, you said, “You know what I want to be? I want to be a man. That’s all. I want to be a man.” Now, this is so odd, because you are such a man. You’re a man in many ways many males, including myself, wish they could be a man. The paradox about you as a man is that I always felt personally, that with you, I was seeing a young boy. A boy about Michael’s age right now. ‘Cause you were very boyish. And about the age when humankind, and life on the planet are really opening up and putting on a show, really revealing themselves in all their beautiful and horrible glory. And I saw you as a boy — as a sad boy, amazed and confused and loving and amazed by all that. And that was all in your eyes. And that was why, I think, you were a great actor: because of that boy who was inside. He was a child reacting. Of course you were intelligent, but it was a child reacting, and your reactions were often childish. And by that, I mean they were pre-school, they were pre-manners, they were pre-intellect. They were just simple emotions, straight and pure. And I think your talent is that you can take in the immensity of humankind and the universe, and shine it out to the rest of us like a huge bright light. And I believe that only a pure soul, like a child, can do that really well. And that was you. Now to talk about a third guy between us, there was you and me and this third guy. People always say, “Tony Soprano. Why did we love him so much when he was such a prick?” And my theory was, they saw the little boy. They felt and they loved the little boy, and they sensed his love and hurt. And you brought all of that to it. You were a good boy. Your work with the Wounded Warriors was just one example of this. And I’m going to say something because I know that you’d want me to say it in public: that no one should forget Tony Sirico’s efforts with you in this. He was there with you all the way, and in fact you said to me just recently, “It’s more Tony than me.” And I know you, and I know you would want me to turn the spotlight on him, or you wouldn’t be satisfied. So I’ve done that. So Tony Soprano never changed, people say. He got darker. I don’t know how they can misunderstand that. He tried and he tried and he tried. And you tried and you tried, more than most of us, and harder than most of us, and sometimes you tried too hard. That refrigerator is one example. Sometimes, your efforts were at cost to you and others, but you tried. And I’m thinking about the fact of how nice you were to strangers on the street, fans, photographers. You would be patient, loving and personal, and then finally you would just do too much, and then you would snap. And that’s of course what everybody read about, was the snapping. I was asked to talk about the work part, and so I’ll talk about the show we used to do and how we used to do it. You know, everybody knows that we always ended an episode with a song. That was kind of like me and the writers letting the real geniuses do the heavy lifting: Bruce, and Mick and Keith, and Howling Wolf and a bunch of them. So if this was an episode, it would end with a song. And the song, as far as I’m concerned, would be Joan Osborne’s “(What If God Was) One Of Us?” And the set-up for this — we never did this, and you never even heard this — is that Tony was somehow lost in the Meadowlands. He didn’t have his car, and his wallet, and his car keys. I forget how he got there — there was some kind of a scrape — but he had nothing in his pocket but some change. He didn’t have his guys with him, he didn’t have his gun. And so mob boss Tony Soprano had to be one of the working stiffs, getting in line for the bus. And the way we were going to film it, he was going to get on the bus, and the lyric that would’ve one over that would’ve been — and we don’t have Joan Osborne to sing it: If God had a face what would it look like? And would you want to see if seeing meant you had to believe? And yeah, yeah, God is great. Yeah, yeah, God is good. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So Tony would get on the bus, and he would sit there, and the bus would pull out in this big billow of diesel smoke. And then the key lyric would come on, and it was What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us? Just a stranger on the bus trying to make his way home. And that would’ve been playing over your face, Jimmy. But then — and this is where it gets kind of strange — now I would have to update, because of the events of the last week. And I would let the song play further, and the lyrics would be Just trying to make his way home Like a holy rollin’ stone Back up to Heaven all alone Nobody callin’ on the phone ‘Cept for the Pope, maybe, in Rome. Love, David

David Chase in an open letter eulogizing James Gandolfini

#FUUUUUUCK!!!

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raindrop-on-a-spiderweb · 5 years

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Patience and Sawyer - Deleted Scene

This is kinda short and I fudged the ending a little to give it more closure than what I had originally intended. But I hope you enjoy it!

***

Patience leaned forward, then paused. The sound of the Christmas party still buzzing around them, she whispered, "I... think I know who killed Leonardo's father."

Sawyer switched from suspicion to sharply focus his attention on her. "What?"

She looked over her shoulder. "I--I think that--"

"Let's go be alone for a moment." Charles took her arm and escorted her away from the party, her hobbling heavily.

***

The room he took her to was a small sitting room with a mirror and carved wooden furniture. He locked it behind him.

"You say you know who killed Silvio. Do you have proof?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure." She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was in the room. "I--I think Leonardo killed his father."

Sawyer's face tightened. "There's no way Leonardo would kill his father. I knew both of them, father and son, and he wouldn't--"

"Kill the man who forced him to eat until he vomited when his cooking wasn't to his liking? Killed the man who abused him his whole life?" She countered. "I wonder, Charles. Just how aware were you of how old Silvio treated his boy?"

In the dim light of the lamp, his face seemed wan. He looked away. "How Silvio raised Leonardo was none of my business."

"Think about it. Whoever entered the house had to have a key. Leonardo was due to return from university THAT SAME NIGHT. In criminal justice school, we call that motive and opportunity."

"In law school we call that a coincidence," he countered. "I don't know what angle you're gaining for, Winslow, but I'll have none of it." He tried to pass her, but she sidestepped him.

Her fists were clenched. "Why don't you believe me? I know he did it and you do too!" She stepped towards him. "First you refuse to help me when I've been kidnapped, and now you're refusing hard evidence that I'm throwing in your face! You need to get me out of here! He's a lunatic and he killed his father and we both know it!"

He tried to elbow her away, but she lost balance and grabbed onto him for support.

"You're a snake, Sawyer," she hissed in his face, anger mounting until she saw red. Her fists crumpled the fabric of his expensive suit. "You're a hypocrite and a liar and the world would be a better place without you and Leonardo."

Their faces were an inch away, close enough so that she could see the small creases on the edge of his eyes betraying his age, his hazel irises with a ring of vivid green around the pupil, his pale lips and sharp, handsome chin. And impulsively, she did the thing she knew would hurt him the most.

She kissed him.

His whole form radiated with shock. He tried to pull away, but she wound her fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair and held him firmly in place. She kissed him deeply, their faces pressed so close that she could smell his aftershave and the newness of his recently-bought tie.

The door creaked.

She pulled away, but not early enough to see Leonardo's face settle into something blank.

He was standing in the doorway, one arm on the side of the doorjamb, the other on the knob. His face was devoid of emotion, blank in a way she had seen only once before, when he had been standing behind her with a gun.

"Leonardo," said Sawyer rapidly, his voice shaking and his glasses askew, "It's not what you think. She forced me--"

"Well, how lovely is this?" Said Leonardo, making her jump. He now had a bright smile on his face, and his eyes twinked with mirth. "I apologize for interrupting. Please, go ahead. I am assuming that your little kiss was just the beginning."

"Leo--"

"In fact, why don't we all go upstairs together? We all like each other fine, don't we? My bed is big enough to fit all three of us."

Charles looked a little relieved at his jolly attitude. "Really?"

"No." Leonardo kept the smile, but his eyes were hard as glass.

Patience looked at the floor, heart thudding so hard it felt like it was in her throat. She didn't want to meet his eyes.

"My best friend," said Leonardo, his voice sapped of emotion, "And my fiancee."

She heard the click of his saddle shoes as he stepped forward. "My best friend. And my fiancee."

"I swear to you, you are my best friend, Leonardo. You're my dearest friend in the world. I would never do this to you. She forced herself on me, she--"

"I think," Leonardo said quietly, "You've worn out your welcome, Charles."

Sawyer looked like he was about to say something else, then his tight mouth slackened and he looked away, shoulders slumped in something resembling regret.

Wordlessly, he stepped past Leonardo and left through the door. As it clicked shut, he left the two alone.

Tears started in Patience's eyes as he stepped forward, caging her against the wall in the small room.

"How long?" He said softly.

"This was t-the first time. But I didn't--he made me do it, Leonardo! He--"

His hand clamped over her mouth, and he lowered his lips to her ear. "Get upstairs. Now. Take your dress off, and get into bed."

Tears of fear streaked down her face as his hand tightened, crushing her lips against her teeth, but the silent, livid betrayal in his voice made her cry harder.

#bonus chapter

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djbimbu-blog · 5 years

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Bruce Springsteen - Darkness on the Edge of Town

For the first review why not start with the album this blog is named after, Bruce Springsteen’s fourth album, 1978’s Darkness on the Edge of Town. Why did I name my blog after this album? Is it my favorite album? Favorite album by the Boss? Nope. It’s not even my favorite Springsteen album (that would probably go Born to Run, but Darkness is close). It’s just what I happened to be listening to when I decided to start a blog because I needed a hobby, and I spend most of my time reading about whatever record I’m listening to anyway, so I might as well write down my half assed research and opinions.

I don’t remember when I got this record, a few years ago at some point. I bought it from one of my usual record stores. I had already tried to buy it once at a flea market, but when I got it home the record actually was an Elvis Costello record inside of a Springsteen sleeve. And try as I might, I just can’t get into Costello. I learned the hard way (probably about $8 hard) that you don’t just look at some of the grooves for scratches, look at the label and make sure its the right fucking record in there. So I had to buy a second copy. It’s in decent shape, has a few crackles here and there, but I don’t go for mint condition stuff. I go for the record that’s the cheapest one out of the three copies the store has, because the sleeve is a little worn and one song has a scratch in it. I buy records to listen to first and foremost. I’m not rich, and I’m not buying them to look at, so some of my records are of questionable condition.

The first copy I bought is now framed and hangs right above my stereo. A reminder not to be such a dumbass with my record shopping, and a reminder to stop being so quick to shit on artists based off mental cliches you’ve made about their fans. Basically a reminder to be a more open minded person, and less of an asshole.

Most of my life I had written off the Boss as boring baby boomer dad rock, stuff you hear on the radio in the waiting room of an automatic car wash, stuff along with solo Clapton, Toto, The Eagles, Journey’s slow songs. So you’re drinking free Keurig coffee while ESPN plays on the TV, hoping the balding, goateed man next to you doesn’t ask you you’re opinion on the draft because you didn’t watch it and don’t want to deal with the awkwardness of a judgmental look for being a 20 something man who doesn’t care about sports. In his mind my dull, offended, smart phone generation is destroying the spirit of the country, and in my mind, I thought Springsteen was his music, music from when “men were men”, worked at factories, ate McDonalds when it was still legally a food product, and Reagan was going to turn everything around from the malaise years of Carter. He probably listened to Springsteen back in 1980, played high school baseball, dealt with all the bullshit in his life by looking forward to Friday night when he could get drunk, hang out with his girlfriend, and drive around with his friends in a shitty rust box Nova (with the inline six, not even the v8 that still didn’t make 200 horsepower). Needless to say, I had judgmental opinions about Bruce Springsteen and the kinds of people who listened to him.

At some point something happened. I honestly think it was mostly just that I grew the fuck up just enough to hear Springsteen on the right day and it finally connected, finally all made sense. I remember where the change happened. I was sitting in one of my old apartments, a few years out of a bad break up (and dropping out of college), living with some of my best friends, working a dead end job, starting to drink too much, mentally planning a half impulsive move across the country away from it all…and binging The Sopranos for the first time. At the end of the first season finale, Tony and his family are driving in a bad storm, and seek shelter in the restaurant of Tony’s long time friend Artie. Artie, trying to close up, reluctantly lets them in to eat. Other friends and family are there dining, Tony and his family sit down, then Tony toasts to remembering “the little moments, like this…that were good.” Fade to black, and this faint acoustic guitar comes in over the credits, with this haunting voice, coated in a slap back delay, singing about having a “clear conscience for the things that I’ve done.” It’s a beautiful scene from one of the pinnacles of television. And I had to find out what the fuck that song was. It was like a combination of Elvis singing “Blue Moon”, Bob Dylan’s “The Ballad of Hollis Brown” with a touch of Suicide’s Alan Vega thrown in. I do some internet digging, and find out it’s this song called “State Trooper” by Bruce Springsteen. Bruce Springsteen? The guy behind that “Born In The USA” song drunk assholes ironically jammed on the Fourth of July, that I couldn’t stand? Was I wrong about him this whole time? So I started to dig into the Boss, first into the Born to Run album, since the song “Born To Run” I always had sort of guilty pleasure liked when it came on the radio. Within a year or so I would consider Springsteen a musical genius, and one of my absolute favorite musicians of all time (though I must admit I only deeply know his first 7 albums). All from hearing one of his least Springsteeny songs in the end credits of a tv show I was watching more than 10 years after airing.

On to the album. Springsteen had already recorded three albums, his last, Born to Run was a massive success, that had him maturing as an artist and writing songs that were absolutely beautiful and somehow could be absolutely depressing at the same time. Listen to “Jungleland". If it doesn’t make you feel every emotion at once, you’re not human. The lyrics tell a story I’m still not quite sure I understand, and it has the best saxophone solo ever put on a record (and for what it’s worth, the “Jungleland" sax solo is my favorite part of any song ever). It’s a perfect fucking song. It was a hard album to top, and I’m still not sure if he did. Darkness is a fantastic record, though I’m not sure if it’s as good as Born to Run (I’m also not sure if it’s worse). But you have to applaud Springsteen for not pulling an AC/DC, writing more of the same, and riding it out for the next 30 years. He came into the studio with a new band member, Steven Van Zandt (who I will still always think of first and foremost as Silvio Dante), and recorded a massive collection of over 50 songs. Some are available on the album The Promise which didn’t come out until 2010.

Ten were picked for the record, which was harder hitting, darker, rawer, and more stripped down. It wasn’t as poppy (if you could consider Born To Run that), and wasn't as successful. The highest single off Darkness only made it’s way to No. 33 on the Billboard charts. How could he top Born To Run? He couldn’t, but the lack of relative success doesn’t make it any less of an album. It’s his In Utero, so to speak.

“Badlands” kicks off the album. With a rhythm Springsteen claims to have “borrowed” from The Animals “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” it moves quick. It has raw, crunchy guitars, you can already tell this isn’t Born To Run. The lyrics follow similar Springsteen territory, but you can tell right away this is a different album. The problem with “Badlands” though is the version on the Live 1975-1985 album just has that little bit extra. “Badlands” is a great song, but I usually find it just leaves me wanting the live version instead. The version of the live album comes from a 1980 show in Tempe, Arizona, which has concert footage on youtube. Honestly, most of the tracks from that show are better than the album. I have a hard time finishing Darkness sometimes without getting sidetracked watching Springsteen live videos on youtube about halfway through.

“Adam Raised A Cain” is maybe Springsteen’s heaviest song. It starts off with a fast, overdriven guitar, and goes right into a ripping, pissed off, guitar solo. The tempo picks up a bit in the bridge, and then the chorus hits you hard, with yelling background vocals and squealing lead guitar. The guitar solo comes in later, reminiscent of the intro solo, but with a few unique lines thrown in. At the end they go back into the chorus for a solid minute, and jam on it until the end. Springsteen doesn’t have many songs like this. I wish he did. It’s really fucking good.

“Something in the Night” is a slower tune. It’s not bad, but I find it a little forgettable. If I’m scrolling through Spotify for the car or something, it’s not the tune I’d pick out if I only have a 5 minute drive. I do really like last half though, where the vocals get a little less ballad, and a little rougher, a little louder.

“Candy’s Room” has just not aged well. Something about the piano line, the driving bass, the drums, I’m not sure what. Some of the production on this album is pretty dated, but for some reason more so on this one. Maybe because it’s about a girl named Candy, and nobody’s been born with that name in quite a while (at least not that I know). It just sounds very 1970’s, and not in the good way. It’s a little boring, and the lyrics don’t really do much for me. It has a pretty good guitar solo though, so points for that. Probably my least favorite track.

“Racing In The Street” heads right into a different direction. It starts off with a solo piano, and Springsteen singing about his 69 Chevy. I’m a bit of a classic car lover myself, so I appreciate the references, and only a few people could sing a love song about girls and muscle cars and not make it hokey as shit. It’s definitely not Van Halen’s Panama. How though? A song with this subject matter should be corny and terrible, but it’s really fucking good. It’s pure beautiful Americana. It’s the musical equivalent of having a fire on the beach with your best friends in the summertime. It’s simple, but taking simple stories and making them something relatable to everyone is what Springsteen is the best at. Even if you don’t like cars, anyone can listen to this song and have something in you’re life it could be about.

“The Promised Land” starts off with a midtempo guitar and a matching harmonica. I don’t quite know what the lyrics mean, but you sure as hell want to get to the promised land too. The song slows down in the middle, with a guitar solo, and rips right into a classic Clarence Clemons sax solo. This is probably the “poppiest” song on the album, which is not to say it’s “Dancing In The Dark.” It’s still in full rock and roll territory, but it’s fucking catchy. Another song you need to watch the footage of from the 1980 Arizona show. The album version is good, the live one is perfect.

“Factory” is one of the lesser songs on the album. I honestly usually skip it. It’s just a little too slow after “The Promised Land” and the song after “Factory” is really good. It’s not a bad song, but just a victim of track listing choice. Especially if I’m not listening to the vinyl, in the car or the gym or something, it’s getting skipped. If it’s on the record, I’ll listen, but I’m not that invested. The lyrics aren’t Springsteen’s best, a little too on the nose.

“Streets of Fire” is another slower tune, but a little harder. I doesn’t have that much in common, but it reminds me a lot of “Backstreets” off Born To Run. It starts off pretty mellow, with just an organ (some sort of keyboard, I’m going with organ), but starts to pick up and hits hard when the guitars come in, and then goes right into one of the coolest guitar solo’s on a Springsteen album. The guitar tone is just fuzzy enough, it’s loud, drenched in reverb, and the rest of the band just lays back. It comes out of nowhere. The rest of the song is more of the same and fades out, but that solo makes the song.

“Prove It All Night” is a classic mid tempo Springsteen rock and roll love song. Nothing ground breaking, but it’s still one of the better tracks on the album. In the middle it goes into a sax solo, and then up another level with another great guitar solo. This is definitely the best Springsteen guitar album. The solo’s hit hard, sound mean, but aren’t showy or lame 1970’s rock show off stuff. They serve the songs really well. Something about this song though makes me feel like it would fit better on The River. Another song to check out live footage of. It turns into an extended jam, and is just a little bit quicker. I think if they recorded it with the tempo of the live show, it would have brought it from one of the decent tracks on the album to one of the best. I don’t know why, there’s nothing about this song particularly interesting, but I find myself throwing it on quite a bit.

“Darkness on the Edge of Town” ends the album. It’s a little bit of a middle ground between “Racing In The Street” and “Streets of Fire.” It’s one of Springsteens more critically regarded songs, Rolling Stone rated it the #8th best song by him apparently, but I don’t really see it. It’s good, but even on this album there’s quite a few better songs. It’s okay, it’s a good outro to the album, I can see what they were going for, but it just never really jelled with me that well.

Final thoughts:

Favorite songs: “Adam Raised a Cain,” “Racing In The Street,” “The Promised Land,” “Streets of Fire.”

Least favorite songs: “Candy’s Room,” “Factory”

youtube

#records #review #music review #music #bruce springsteen #springsteen #vinyl #darkness on the edge of town

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tidesandtrials · 5 years

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Tides and Trails Chapter Two: From Sand Into Gold

Warnings: Thievery, starvation, mentions of drugs, mentions of beatings, a badly thought out pun

“Where to do you roam, oh sweet little thing? Where is the place you call home?” “I have no such place, my good sweet king. I know only gold sand and sea foam.” “Why now do you weep, oh sweet little thing? Does pain now keep you from sleep?” “I cry for my losses, my good sweet king. A sorrow that cuts far too deep.”

-A children’s rhyme, sung on the docks on sunny days.

It had started as small things. Little treats and candies, or bread from the baker’s. Patton had rarely stolen for himself in those early days, always risking himself instead for the children that ran along the piers, that always seemed just a tad too thin. At thirteen, he’d been arrested three times, been beaten by store owners seven times, and had helped children ninety-three times. It made him happy, watching Dolly and Mark slowly gain a bit of weight, watching Carla and Ellie gain some colour in their faces. The sand seemed to turn to gold in their hands, and they had a life to start. But then Patton realized that he himself couldn’t stand without a hazy coming over his vision, and the world shifting around him. He realized that he hadn’t eaten, and he realized that no one would help those kids unless he was there. Even if that gold turned back to sand in his fingers, he needed to make something from it.

So he started to steal a bit more. One extra loaf, one extra apple, just enough to keep him going. He never stole much from the same merchant, never enough to be noticed, but the guilt still weighed on him like a ton of bricks. He’d become a good thief, a perfect pickpocket, but that was no achievement for the blue eyed teen. He was constantly overwhelmed with the thoughts that someone else needed it more, that he should have worked harder on getting a job. Years later, he’d realize why people didn’t hire him. The thin little boy that ran around barefoot, with dirt on his face and a smile on his lips wasn’t the ideal person to work a store. And not, not a thief. He was too far gone by then. Because once again, he had gold in his hands, and this time, it was his.

But that was years ago. And Patton knew that even if it wasn’t the right thing to do, it was what was needed. Ellie got a job at age eleven, and Dolly was adopted, and it made him so happy to see. Patton couldn’t take care of the little kids now, since he’d been practically run out of the town, but the kids came to see him sometimes. Mark looked after the younger kids, and Ellie made sure none of them had to steal to eat. Patton was proud, but he always felt just little bit sad, seeing that they didn’t need him anymore. Another sign that his usefulness was temporary, like sand slipping between fingers.

But then he’d found his calling. A group of people that needed him so much, that needed a conscience to lead them down the right path.So with hints and nudges, the thief began to make his way into a group selling Coldrake. It was a dangerous drug, coming all the way from the Pendalon mountains in the east, and Patton was determined to stop it in its tracks. So at seventeen, Patton infiltrated the Chasers. He’d quietly stolen keys for them, and just as quietly returned them, making sure that no raids could go down easily. He accidentally spilled things on blueprints, forgot messages, and slowly but surely, things were slowing down.

It’s been four years, and he thought he was safe. But then, someone came up to him, and shattered his feeling of security faster than anyone had before.

“Hey, Doll. I have to say, your magic acts are hella cool. I almost didn’t realize you did that on purpose. Oh don’t look so shocked- You aren’t the only one up at night.”

Patton was shocked, to say the least. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, all the fear and guilt from when he was younger crashing down on his head. But he took the taller man’s hand, and led him to an empty room, lit simply by two lamps on each wall. The man only raised an eyebrow as he took a seat, lounging in one a the few cheap chairs casually, like he wasn’t going to kill the shaking thief in a minute. But before he had the chance to say anything, Patton was already babbling, the tears rolling down his cheeks like drops of diamonds.

“I’ll do anything you want, please don’t tell them, I won’t do it again I swear- I can get you anything you want, I can find you gemstones, o-or gold, or I can make you a lifetimes worth of cookies! Please, please please please don’t let them kill me, I’m so so so sorry Sir-”

The stranger may have rolled his eyes, but Patton couldn’t tell behind the flood of tears, ad the dark lenses that the other wore. But when he leaned forward, and took the thief’s hands, his tone was completely calm, maybe even a little amused.

“Chill, babe. I won’t let them kill you, and I don’t want any gemstones or gold. I’m perfectly fine with what I’ve got now.”

He tilted his head down a bit, looking up at the mess of a man over the top of his glasses. He let go of Patton’s hands, instead lifting his hands to brush away the tears from his face.

“And don’t you go around calling me Sir. I ain’t no better than you, and you ain’t no less than anybody else. Don’t let ‘em tell you otherwise. You can call me Remy. Now take a deep breath Doll, and listen to me, a’ight?”

Patton simply nodded, hiccuping slightly when he opened his mouth to say something. The small sound made Patton blush, and Remy chuckle, But the calm man didn’t comment, he just pulled a chair over with his foot, and sat down the emotionally unstable boy before him.

“Now, I know you’ve been working against thing gang for a long time. I’ve seen little things, and I might be one of the only ones sober enough to notice. You aren’t with the other cartels, that’s for sure, because they ain’t smart enough to get in here without raising some eyebrows. There’s only one group who could have, and if you were with them, you’d have known me in a heartbeat. But you didn’t. Now, I know you ain’t mischief minded, you’ve just got a big heart, and nothing better to do. But. There is something better that you can do. Something bigger.”

Remy gave Patton a moment to process everything he’d said, and once the blonde nodded, he continued, asking the question he’d been wanting to ask since he’d first seen Patton.

“Do you want to join the Resistance? The king that rules our land is the reason why this cartel is so big. The reason why poverty rates are so high- Hell, he’s ignored our every outcry since he took the throne. But we can make a difference, a real difference. So.... What do you say, Patton Silvio? Do you want to make a change?”

Patton lay in bed that night, thinking to himself about how crazy his life was. He could be killed. Killed. But without him, so many others could die instead. He needed to stand up to what he believed in, he needed to make sure no one ever had to grow up like he had. Like the kids had. So as he lay near slumber’s door, a smile on his lips, a thought occurred to him about the economy. It didn’t happen often, but this was something important. He sat up bolt right, his eyes wild, remembering something about how everything was so expensive that people barely needed anything less than a single dollar.

“Oh my god, We’re going to make change.”

He fell asleep happy, and he dreamed of sand, and he dreamed of gold, and he dreamed they were the same.

Thank you guys for reading! Please, if you have any feedback, or questions, or literally anything, feel free to comment, or send me an ask! I love talking to people about things like this! And for the record, that little poem thing at the top is something I wrote, and there’s a reason I don’t do poetry often.

I hope y’all liked Remy cause he was put in here on a bit of a whim.

So yeet

And, for the people (currently only one person) who asked to be tagged:

@ccecode

#Remy #patton #Patton Sanders #tides and trials #sander sides #au #eek this wasn't great

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theywereroomies · 5 years

Text

REPOST: Closeted - Outed - Closeted

So i’ve been following some blogs trying to get some info about closeting in the industry, which reminded me about something that happened in my country a few time ago. The country? Brazil. Let’s start talking about this closeted guy (who was outed and closeted again).

All i’m publishing is already on internet, some things were kept outside of the GP view, but on twitter things spread a little too fast. Keep in mind again that i’m not outing anyone, he was already outed, and damage controll ran all over to help him. All i’m writing here was taken from online websites who still online, so don’t try to accuse me of outing anyone, he is famous, this story is public, people just forgot everything a little bit too fast (or ignore it, we know how straight people’s mind works) ~winky face~

Dudu Camargo (19 years old at the time) is the host of a news broadcast in a TV channel called SBT.

November 11, 2016

All started with a leaked video (see here) of him kissing a boy in what looks to be a public place (maybe a square).

According to Keila Jimenez, the journalist who first published the story, the video was leaked by Robert, his allegedly ex-boyfriend who was angry at the fact that he forgot him once he became famous.

June 18, 2017

He appeared in the TV show named “Progama Silvio Santos” (also from SBT), hosted by the owner of the channel. Silvio called him out for his video kissing a man, and Dudu tried to dodge the questions commenting about the fact that Silvio also kissed (as a joke, something like what James Corden does) a male singer, at the end of the talk he started to ask Dudu if he is interested in dating this girl Maísa.

For context: Dudu was playing a game with Maísa and the host (Silvio) started to try set up the girl with Dudu, but she was like “nah”, and Dudu started to try harder. Invited her to dance with him, asked for a kiss (keep in mind, Maisa was 15yo at the time and he already made comments about her and another girl who was 17, comparing them and saying that he would date them, so Maísa already doesnt like him because of that and she also have problems biting her tongue + being childsh which i don’t think is weird since she is a kid), Maísa was like “go away”, “i would kill myself before dating you” and everybody is laughing at her annoyance, so she didn’t kiss him and then he asked someone from the crowd to kiss him.

So here’s the thing, twitter went crazy after the show went on air, because she was saying “no” and he was insisting (as a lot of men usually do), and they started to discuss if Maisa was being rude (”i would kill myself before dating you”) or if Dudu didn’t respect her (he said she needed a man to stop being annoying + PMS jokes).

June 21, 2017

In a facebook group, his ex, Robert exposed him and their relationship after he watched the TV show.

I was going to translate the whole open letter to Dudu posted by Robert, but the content was pretty sensitive, it had a lot of triggers. Long story short: domestic violence, toxic relationship, sexual and mental abuse.

If you want to read the open letter, i’m gonna link the screenshots here, here and here, for those who want to translate and read at their own risk.

People were looking for evidence (Vou negando as aparências, disfarçando as evidências) of this relationship on his twitter, and found old tweets that they used to exchange.

Dudu: “So good to be with you”

Robert: “I must be an annoying boyfrend sometimes *laugh*”

Dudu: “Never”

Dudu: “*laugh* eating is also important, that’s why pizza is made.

Robert: “yes, let’s do like that: (the phrase is in english).

Later on, his advisor stated that they were suing Robert for trying to ruin Dudu’s image. They made a public statement that Dudu and Robert were just friends back when the pictures were taken, and that he is hetero.

June 23, 2017

He went to another channel, said that he invited Maísa (yep, he didn’t get over a 15yo girl rejecting him) to sleep with him so he could “prove her wrong”, and kissed the TV show’s host, so Maísa could “see what she lost”

After that i don’t know if it was someone who take care of his career or himself, but they started this new era.

June 26, 2017

Dancing with naked women on national TV and doing disgusting stuff.

since my tumblr already have “adult content” according to AT staff, i’m going to link the photos of the program, here, here, here, here, here and here

July 17, 2017

They created some weird version of the Bachelor to find him a girlfriend.

March 18, 2018

He joked that he had casual sex with the singer Flor (Florina, 53 yo), and that they are friends with benefits.

March 22, 2018

In a comedy show that he participated, there was a sketch with the following dialogue.

Explicadinho (character):“Your girlfriend, Maísa, likes to see you dancing at the end of the news broadcast?”

Dudu: “She’s not my girlfriend”

Explicadinho: “You don’t have any girlfriend because you dont want to or because you don’t like women at all?”

Dudu: “I’m gonna broke your teeth.”

May 19, 2018

Magazines were publishing rumors that he was dating Florina, but she denied.

May 30, 2018

He is dating the brazilian human Barbie.

And that’s how closeting works sometimes.

#im gonna repost this shit here #i hope every link is working #i hate this guy osjdlkad #but people saying that oh he is straight after all that mess is beyond funny #kaylor #gaylor #swiftgron #larry #ziam #larry stylinson #chanbaek #closeting #pr stunt #pr relationship #camren #cricky #masterpost

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mysterywriterworld · 6 years

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The Reconciler Left No Heart in San Francisco

Raleigh Tencount stirred swiftly when he heard the bells on his private phone in the nightstand drawer. Before he opened the drawer to answer the phone, he looked over at Cindy Melville, a dentist he had met when reconciling a case on Hilton Head Island. He wanted to see if the bells had awakened her. They hadn't. Tencount slid the waxed nightstand drawer open soundlessly. He pulled the phone up to his ear and whispered, "Clay Campo here. Do you realize it's the middle of the night?"

A raspy, elderly voice intoned, "Sorry about the lateness but I need to talk with you urgently. This is Nicolo Ricci. You know who I am. I want to make a deal. A profitable deal for you. Time is critical."

Tencount knew the name well. Ricci had been the head of the New Orleans crime underworld for more than twenty years. Tencount knew several thugs who worked for Ricci, most were from back east, and Jersey led the pack. They were like flies circling the garbage in the French Quarter. They ran Ricci’s bars, strip joints and a few of the popular eateries. Tencount had his legitimate financial offices on Decatur Street in the Quarter. It was his headquarters where he and his staff managed the wealth of the city's upper-ultra wealthy elite. In his second career, as a Reconciler, Tencount kept track of the underworld crime movement, because in many of his reconciliation cases, it affected him. He wondered if Ricci's call had anything to do with the disappearance of Ricci's grandson, Chip, and his uncle by marriage, Silvio DeLuca. Tencount was well aware of who was responsible for their disappearance. Those facts were unknown to anyone except himself and the old friend who had been responsible.

Tencount eased to a sitting position on the bed and looked back at Cindy who stilled hadn't stirred. He must have worn her out on their last night together. They had had dinner at Commander's Palace and then had dessert in his king-sized bed overlooking the lake. Cindy had flown in two days ago from Winston Salem to take part in a dental association meeting. When she had called to tell him, he invited her to make his home hers. She eagerly agreed and the last two nights had been filled with great joy to both of them. If Ricci's job is acceptable, it was perfect because Cindy flew out this morning at ten. Very convenient timing.

Tencount stood and walked barefoot to the kitchen. He said, "Okay, Nicolo, I'm where we can talk. Tell me what you want."

Ricci wheezed, "San Francisco has become a problem for me. I have an ex-employee who I need for you to conduct a Reconciliation that would end our disagreement."

"Nicolo, you said he was an ex-employee. Why do you have a disagreement with an Ex?"

Another wheeze and then, "He left with some valuable company property that he refuses to return. That's the reason for the Reconciliation request."

"You said it was critical? Why?"

"There is evidence that he plans to leave San Francisco sometime next week. Another of my employees learned that he bought a ticket to Lima. If he goes to Lima I would have a problem in getting the property back into this country."

Tencount didn't pause when he said, "When can we meet and where?"

"Lunch at twelve. Are you familiar with Blue Tennis Balls on Saint Ann?"

"The one halfway down the remodeled store fronts with the Blue Balls hanging from the Balustrade? How could anyone miss it? Yeah, I'm familiar with it. I'll see you there at Noon. I'll be wearing an LSU jersey with Number 99 front and back." He hung up with no other words spoken.

Tencount left the kitchen and ran into Cindy in the hallway. She stopped, tiptoed and gave him a kiss as she whispered, "I have to hit the john. Don't go back to sleep when you get in bed. I need for you to rock me to sleep with your fantastic rocker after I dump the pee." She smiled up at him with those gleaming white teeth effectively melting what little resolve he had reserved for more sleep. Walking on down the hallway he was thinking-- if she stayed a week I'd be weak from the way she's going after me. Good thing we only had one night at Hilton Head. When she returned, he was able to deliver her request flawlessly.

They loaded into his SUV at eight-thirty. Their destination was the Louis Armstrong airport in Kenner. Since he wasn't allowed at the gate, she had him drop her at the entrance, gave him a huge wet kiss, a wink and a, "Thanks for hosting me Keith. I may come back on vacation if you'll have me. Don't answer now. I'll send a text or e-message if it looks like I'll make it. You are the best." She closed the door, put her hand on the window and wriggled her fingers. As he drove off the ramp, she was still standing at curbside watching him leave.

He drove straight down Airline Highway, turned on Decatur and went to his office parking spot. He went through the back door and ran into his partner, Kenny LeBlanc. He slapped Kenny on the back and asked how things we going. Kenny said, "Swimmingly well, Tencount. Jeanne just handed me the new account status and we added fourteen new clients last month. The combined value is some thirteen million plus. Rachel is analyzing the asset mix to see if any is salvageable for their new recommended plan. We'll know by tomorrow."

"Sounds great. I'm going to check the mail, and I have an appointment for a lunch at the new Blue Tennis Balls. Ever been there?"

"Last Thursday. Passable Creole menu. It's owned by the Ricci's and managed by Val Vicenti."

"Yeah, I heard. In fact, Ricci called me this morning and that's who I'm meeting. He promised it might be profitable to me. We have his brother so maybe he's ready to roll over."

Kenny whistled and yelped, "Geez that would be big bucks. Put the squeeze on him and we'll retire." He laughed, slapped Tencount's arm with the papers in his hand and went toward his office. Tencount was in front of him so he opened the door and was surprised to see Michele on her knees in front of the file cabinet with folders stacked almost to her waist. She looked up and said, "Mail's open on your desk. I'm dumping old files to the archive to get some room without buying a new cabinet. There wasn't anything interesting that needs your attention."

"Good because I have to leave in ten minutes. I'm walking up to the new Blue Tennis Balls for lunch."

She grunted and without missing a beat, with her hands in the file drawer, said, "Who ever heard of blue tennis balls? I've heard of blue balls but they had nothing to do with tennis."

He laughed and asked, "And how would you know that Michele?"

"Well, that's my secret and I'll never tell even under torture." He laughed again and especially harder when she turned her head and stuck out her tongue at him. He sat after that and sorted through the mundane mail that had come in that morning. He tossed the bulk of it in the recycle bin. He stood and said, "You think it's safe for me to go to the Blue Balls considering your old boyfriend is the manager?"

She looked up and said, "Val is harmless. He is truly one who has a bark but has no teeth to back it up. He came here to get away from the Jersey scene because he said it scared him."

"I take that as a yes its safe. Anything I should tell him from you?"

"Only to do a good job with the new restaurant. He is a good food service guy. Have a nice lunch."

Upon arrival, when Tencount opened the blue door he was immediately met by one of Ricci's bodyguard goons. He told Tencount to go to his right and to the walnut door at the end of the line of windows. He said it was a private dining room for select parties. “Just open the door and go on in. Ricci is alone and waiting for you.”

He stepped through the door and saw Ricci sitting alone sipping from a cup of dark espresso. He set his cup down, smiled broadly and said, "Thanks for agreeing to listen to my proposition. Come on over." He stood and shook Tencount's hand. He sat as he waved Tencount to do the same. When he was settled, he asked if Tencount would like some espresso. Tencount shook his head and said, "Extra dry martini. Two olives." Ricci said, "Coming up. Good choice." Ricci waved to a server behind the bar. When he came over he gave him the martini order and told him to watch it and refill it when it emptied.

Ricci turned to Tencount, a serious look on his face and said, "Drop the Campo bullshit. You know I know you. Why do you do that?"

"I don't know who's calling, Nic. No one I do reconciling for knows my real name and occupation. Here in New Orleans it's hard to keep it sealed but I do very little, very little reconciling for New Orleans clients. Too risky. When I'm working I use at least ten aliases. On most jobs, I normally activate about five. Hotels, travel tickets, car rentals and things like that are in different names to foil any tracking."

Ricci was nodding and when Tencount paused, Ricci asked, "Do you have full ID with all those names? Like driver's licenses, passports, and whatever?"

"I do, including birth certificates. However, enough about me. Let's order and then you tell me your story."

Ricci called the server back and said, "We'll order now." They both scanned the menu quickly and both ordered the stuffed flounder, baked potato with red beans and rice. The server took Tencount's glass and brought another martini with two olives.

Ricci leaned forward and said, "The ex in Frisco was the overseer of our operation for the Bay area which included Oakland and Sausalito. One weekend he disappeared into the clouds. An audit revealed that a mil and a half had disappeared with him. I put five of my best on him and they finally located him but can't get to him. He's on a ship, Pacific Whale, offshore beyond the limits. My men rented a boat and did a pass-by to see if there was any way on. No way out there. We suspect the mil and a half are with him on board. My man discovered that he had bought a ticket to Lima, paid ten G's for it because he can't transport that kind of cash unless it's underground travel. We have no connections in Lima or anywhere in Peru for that matter. That's why we need to shortstop him. My men swear they can't do it. That's why I called you."

"Why can't your men do it, Nic?"

"Hey, Tencount, my men are always under the microscope by the locals, the Fibbies, as well as DOH. It's not easy being a crook today. Too many cameras, eyes, and squealers. I'm certain that Kendall is also being watched. You, on the other hand, being a lone wolf with no known criminal history are perfect for what I need."

"What's in it for me? You said it would be profitable for me."

"I am going to offer you a two-fold reward. You get your regular two-fifty and then I'll do what my brother has been pushing me to do for months. I'll let you take a look at my personal assets like you did for him. He raves about your company and what it's done legally for him. He thinks you're magicians."

"Agreed. What's the ex's name and former address?

"Royce Alan Kendall. He lived at 28767 Alexander Court in Palo Alto. We learned he sold it three months ago for one point six mil which is probably with my money on the ship."

"When is he supposed to leave for Lima?"

"The 20th of this month. You'll have to find out how. We don't know. My men tried to determine how but could find no booked flights either public or private. They tried to search for ships but that's an impossible job. Too many steamers and cargo ships sell rides that are undisclosed because it's unofficial. Like me offering you a ride to Baton Rouge. Who would know and how would they find out? It could be with the ship he's on, but we found no posted sailing date. We ended up shit creek when we scoured travel sources."

"It would be an endless job. I have several ideas of how I would pursue getting to him. I'll fly out as soon as I find a flight. I'll get him on my radar today though. What else can you tell me about him? Girlfriends? Male confidants? Family? Anything that I can follow that might provide a lead or a crack in his armor."

"Yeah, I know a few. His brother is Todd Kendal. He works for Avondale and lives in Metairie. They hung together when Royce was my man running the Quarter. Before he soured, his closest friend was Bill Sampler who owns Sampler's Deli in Palo Alto. Sampler is connected to the Cosa family. He had a gal named Jenna, works in the office at Alioto's on the Wharf. An accountant I believe. Those are the only ones I ever met but there's probably many more that will turn up. Royce got around."

"Those are good sources Nic. I'll devise a plan and get started as soon as I leave here. You have texting, right?" He nodded and Tencount continued, "I only use text to communicate so check often. I'll let you know the moment I get there. Anything else you can think of now?"

"Plenty to think of but not about Royce. You have all I know. I'll text if I hear any new stuff."

"You realize that my agreement considers expenses as an extra fee don't you?"

"Yeah, submit tickets and you'll be reimbursed within a day. Don't scrimp if you don't need to because cost isn't a worry. The money isn't a worry. It's his ass we want because we want others to know you can't get away. He is our example that we want reconciled." They shook again. A Gentleman's agreement that they both knew would be honored for their own health.

Michele was out when he returned to his office. He fired his computer on, waited a minute and then opened his preferred Reconciler travel account he maintained in the name of Mitchell Sullivan. He entered his trip data and turned to two letters Michele had prepared for his signature. He read both, signed and clipped the envelopes together and dropped them in his out box for Michele to complete for mailing. He opened the small safe in his bottom desk drawer and took a leather zipper pouch, laid it on his desk and turned the dial on the safe several times, took the leather pouch and leaned back in his chair, swiveled it around so that he could see the Courtyard and the flowering trees as he unzipped the pouch. He checked the contents thoroughly before zipping the pouch closed. He slid forward in his chair and grabbed the handle of his briefcase; He opened it and dropped the pouch inside, set the briefcase at the side of his desk for later.

He was idling as he stared at the lavender blooms on the Crepe trees that lined the brick fence of the Courtyard. He noticed movement to the left in the yard, leaned forward and saw Michele and Jeanne sitting under the Crepes on one of the benches eating their lunch. It made a fantastic sight, two beautiful women on this glorious sunny New Orleans afternoon in the colorful Courtyard.

His enjoyment was interrupted when his computer bonged signaling a response to his trip request. He swiveled around, rolled his chair closer and read the screen. He had an American flight tomorrow evening at seven. His arrival time of seven-twenty-two was close to his departure time because of the two hour time difference. His quarters, since Ricci said don't scrimp, would be at the expensive 5 Star Fairmont Heritage Place at Ghirardelli Square with an unspecified check-out date. His return flight contained an unconfirmed reservation time. His rental car would be at the National Car desk check-in at the airport. He would be picked up by Tanger Airport Shuttle at five-fifteen. He hit confirm and sent it to print. While he waited for the print job, he ran Todd Kendal through the search engine and located his home address and phone number. He would call on Todd this evening and collect what data he could from Todd about Royce and Jenna.

He moseyed to the printer, picked up both print jobs and smiled at his success in the trip data entry. It made it so much easier when it was all accomplished digitally rather than by the hassle and irritation of doing it personally by phone. He was well satisfied by the selections. He opened the briefcase, dropped the printed copies inside. He erased the computer screen and shut the system down. He went out the back door, to the Courtyard and then to where Michele and Jeanne sat. He told Michele that he was flying out to meet with a potential client and that he wouldn't be in for a few days, but would be in touch by text. She smiled and said, "Good luck with wrapping the client as a new client. How did the lunch go?"

He smiled at them and said, "I have the promise of an analysis. If we get this client, it will be a boon. We already have his brother."

Michele grew excited as she said, "Ricci? Nicolo is going to let us do an analysis of his assets? Oh, wow. That will be a boon. I'll cross my fingers and everything else. Did you see Val?"

He was shaking his head as he said, "We met in a private room alone with only one male server. I never got to see the restaurant per se. Just a wall and windows plus the private dining room. If we get his account I'll take you there for lunch one day and we'll both get a look. Then we can see Val."

"I'll hold you to it. Good luck and travel safe. Bye,"

Tencount knocked on Kendal's apartment door in Metairie at seven-ten. He heard the TV sound go lower, footsteps, and then the door opened. Tencount handed Kendal a quality card that identified him as Eugene Evans a Senior Advisor with Wilkins-Kenley Insurers and Realtors. The name was familiar to Kendall because Wilkins-Kenley was a well-known old firm. But, he handed the car back to Tencount saying, "Sorry, but my insurance needs are all taken care of and I don't want to move. Thanks."

Tencount took a step forward and said, "I'm sorry Mr. Kendal. You misunderstood. We're the agents for your brother, Royce. We've had his insurance since back when he lived here. We are still his agents of record. I'm seeking your assistance. Do you have a moment to speak with me?"

Kendal grinned and said, "Of course, Mr. Evans. Come in and we can talk here in the living room." He turned the TV off, sat in a chair next to the couch where Tencount had sat. With an open briefcase on his lap, Tencount pretended to read from documents as he informed Kendal that,"Royce sold his home recently and he is due a refund on his homeowners contract. Because of the value of his home, the refund is considerable. We, or I should say the company, hasn't been able to locate him. His check was returned marked as 'No Forwarding Address.' We wonder if perhaps you know an address where we could resend his refund."

Kendal stood, held up his finger and said, "I have the address,. Let me get it for you." He left the room, was gone two or three minutes and came back with a small hand-printed card and handed it to Tencount. He sat back down and said, "He plans to move to a new job he was offered in Peru. That's the address of his girlfriend, Jenna Boatwright. That's also her home phone number. He gets his mail there temporarily."

"Thanks, Mr. Kendal. This will be a relief. But, you say he's going to Peru? He also has his automobile insurance through us. He will be cancelling his coverage I assume as the policy isn't legal in Peru."

"Call me Todd please. Yeah, like you, I assume he will when he leaves on the 20th. When I talk with him I'll remind him to leave his address in case there's a refund from it also."

Tencount mulled as to whether he should ask how Royce was traveling to Peru but that would have trigged a reaction from Kendal, so he said, "That would be very nice Todd. You've been extremely helpful. Sorry to have had to bother you." He took his .38, silencer attached, in his right hand. He dropped the papers in his left hand back into the briefcase, quickly closed the top and before Todd could move. Tencount shot him in the forehead killing him instantly. Tencount rose, left the briefcase on the cushion, pulled on gloves, and spent the next half-hour scouring the apartment for any additional information concerning Royce. He found the original copy of Jenna's address torn from a sheet of blue writing paper that had been a letter from Royce to Todd. It seemed obvious that Royce hadn't been around Todd in a while as there was nothing to tie Royce to this apartment. He stuffed the original address in his coat pocket, turned the air conditioner to sixty, closed the front drapes, snatched his briefcase from the couch and closed the door behind him. On his drive home he noted that the entire trip had taken just an hour and twelve minutes. The result was that he now had Jenna's home address, home phone number and had verified that Royce would leave on the twentieth. No witness existed that would place him at Kendal's apartment once his body was discovered which would take a while because of the colder air preserving the body.

At home, Tencount cleaned and packed his weapons and ammo in his heavily padded, lead-lined pouches from his safe and sealed them in a small shipping box. He slapped three yellow stickers that said "Film" on the outside of the box. He created a label in the name of Mitchell Sullivan at the Fairmont Hotel address in San Francisco. They would accept delivery and hold the package for his pickup. He dropped the box in the passenger seat of his car for shipping by UPS the next morning. He mixed a Wild Turkey and water, sighed as he stared at his suitcase before beginning the selection of clothing to pack for the trip tomorrow. It was nearing eleven when he set the packed case at the front door for the shuttle driver to load for the trip to the airport in the coming afternoon. Sitting on the edge of his bed, reaching for the lamp switch, he eased his head to the pillow with the thought; today was a good start with finding valuable data to immediately use when I'm there.

He awakened at eight. He threw on casual clothes, pulled the SUV out of the garage and drove to IHOP for breakfast. While he ate a leisurely breakfast of the special of the week, a French toast delight and poached eggs, he went on his iPad and searched the address of Jenna Boatwright. She lived on North Point Street, near the Cannery and within easy walking distance of Fisherman's Wharf where she worked. A huge plus was that his hotel was conveniently close to her address making surveillance of her a snap. He wouldn't have to worry about parking the car which draws attention plus finding a place for parking is almost as bad as New Orleans. He left IHOP and stopped at the Strip Mall location of UPS. He purchased extra insurance on his box of 'film' because the actual contents were worth over three grand and therefore, so was his 'film.'

He sat at his home desk, pulled up his primary search engine, Duck Duck Go and entered 'Pacific Whale.' In a short while it displayed the data on the ship. It was Liberian registration, no surprise. It was forty-seven years old and primarily transported vegetables and fruit, mostly bananas from the leading exporters of western South America, Ecuador and Columbia. That jelled as to why it was anchored off the coast of San Francisco. It was awaiting a return trip for more bananas. Assuming it would leave on the 20th it might mean that Ricci guessed right that the Pacific Whale was Royce's transportation to Peru. He was safely aboard and merely awaiting the sailing date to roll around. If that was correct, there would be no options for accosting him leaving the ship. He had it locked and sealed. Tencount needed a new plan and needed it quickly because today was the fifteenth and he had yet to arrive in San Francisco.

He took his camera case and binoculars from the desk drawer. He would have to play the tourist game to disguise his rambling, stopping, gawking and snooping as he watched Jenna. She was to be his Ace in the hole to get to Royce. He closed the computer down, shut the lights out and went to the bedroom to get ready for the shuttle arrival. He checked his tickets, his stash of cash, and made certain he currently was carrying the Mitchell Sullivan identification. All was in order. He popped an Abita Amber and sat in the front room sipping the beer watching the early news on WLW. Nothing earthshaking caught his attention. During the Saints training camp update his doorbell bonged signaling the start of his newest deadly adventure.

The trip was uneventful. The traffic was light as the shuttle made its stops to drop other travelers at their hotels. He smiled as he looked at his hotel coming up on his left. While checking in he told the desk clerk that he was expecting a box of film and would appreciate an immediate call when it arrived. He unpacked his clothes and knew he couldn't interview anyone until his box arrived. His mode of operation was to leave no witnesses regardless of how removed they were from the culmination of the actual event. That was his safety net taught to him by his Houman mentor when he was just a tyke beginning to learn the game of survival. Even though it was now just six-twenty his hunger was still functioning two hours later. He roamed into Ghirardelli Square searching for a place to eat while he waited for his weapons. He discovered McCormick & Kuleto's Seafood restaurant and wandered in to give it a try. It was excellent. He would come back if he wasn't otherwise occupied elsewhere. Dinner at Alioto's would have been a waste because Jenna didn't work the main room of the restaurant. She was office personnel and probably already at home.

After dinner he casually walked to North Point and located her address. The lights were on but he could see no movement inside. He stood for nearly twenty minutes and no one passed in front of the windows, so he gave it up and went back to the hotel because it was now nearing midnight by his body time and he needed sleep.

He was having breakfast in the hotel cafe when his cell phone sounded. It was the desk informing him that they were holding a box for him ready for pickup. After he paid the tab, he strolled across the lobby, casually leaned on the desk and asked for the package they were holding for Sullivan. He had to show his ID before they released the box to him. He went directly to his room, opened the box and took out his silenced .38, checked the ammo, slid it into the small holster that fit his side and tested the look under his Golf jacket. No lumps, no unusual drape to the jacket which satisfied his desires. Tonight he would make a call on Ms. Jenna Boatwright to verify what he suspected and to glean other data before he said the long goodbye to her. Today he would work to set in motion his getting aboard the Pacific Whale to meet with Royce Kendal gun to forehead before he sailed.

He watched the residents of Jenna's block trudging home after a hard day's work. He set his eyes on one particular woman coming up the street. She stopped and spoke to another woman before she turned at the address he had memorized. She took the mail from the box, stepped to the door and inserted a key, turned the knob and entered the room he had watched last evening. He sauntered down the block, leaned against a fence and checked his camera. He saw the light on in the room. He went to the end of the block, stopped, raised his camera, focused on the old prison, Alcatraz, on the island in the Bay, and snapped a couple of pictures to take back with him as proof to Michele of his being in San Francisco. He went back up the street in a determined walk, turned into her walkway and knocked on her door. When she opened the door he said, "Jenna, I'm Mitchell Sullivan from New Orleans. Todd gave me your name. I need to talk with you."

She pulled the door open and said, "Come in, Mitchell. I've been trying to reach Todd. Royce wants to talk with him before the 20th."

"Yes, I know. Todd told me that the Pacific Whale sails that day and Royce will still be onboard as planned. I need to get to Royce to deliver him the information Todd gave me. Todd told me you can call Royce and tell him I'll come to him when he's ready to hear the info."

"Well, it's about time. Royce has been beside himself because Todd promised it by yesterday but never called. When you go out, I have some items you can take also. Before you go, I'll get them for you. Who do you work with, Mitchell. I know it isn't Ricci."

"Oh, hell no, Jenna. I work for Angel Cicero in Dallas. I did work for Ricci back when I lived in New Orleans but that was before Royce was the Quarter honcho.“ He took a wild gamble and asked her, "When are you joining \Royce in Lima?"

"Not for another month. My passport came in but I still need the shots. I start them Monday. Tell Royce that I got the reservations on American and am all set when I clear the shot process. Would you like a glass of wine? I left mine in the kitchen."

"Yeh, that would be nice."

"Come on back. I'll get the items for you to give Royce. The wine is on the counter beside my glass. Another glass in on the table tray. Pour yours and I'll be with you n a minute..

Tencount was just pouring his glass when she came in with a large minalla envelope stuffed to capacity. It was sealed and securely taped. She laid it on the counter and picked up her wine. Tencount touched his glass to hers and said, "Here's to the best for both of you Jenna. I hope you enjoy Lima and what it has to offer.

Jenna. How do I get to the Pacific Whale? Do they have a shuttle to the harbor?"

"No, you go to the Harbor Masters office and sign up for a trip. They have a tug that goes out with supplies and you ride it out and back. It's fifty bucks each way unless you're a crewman. You can call Royce on ship to shore at no cost once you sign for a trip. It's really crappy because cell doesn't work where the Whale is anchored. When I call him I have to go down and use the ship to shore. It would be better if I didn't call and you just went on out."

"Okay. It'll save you a trip down there and back. Why do they anchor so far out?

"Once they unload, they have to pay portage fees and they're too cheap to pay the freight to stay at dock. If they don't have an immediate turnaround they go outside the limit and anchor until called. Royce has been out there two weeks now. He's had me come out only twice because he doesn't trust the crew. They're all foreign, don't speak English, and they're crude and rude when I board. The Captain is nice enough and his staff are all okay--- but the others, all animals."

"Well, Jenna. You have to imagine how tough it would be to get normal people to work a banana ship. A life at sea, all men, all, as you said crude and rude, so they do become animals to be survivors. It isn't an appealing lifestyle." He sat his glass down, looked at Jenna and said, "Well, It's been nice meeting you and sharing the wine. I guess it's time we said goodbye." She smiled and sat her glass down but when she turned to lead him to the door, Tencount shot her in the forehead exactly as he did with Todd Kendal. He caught her before she hit the floor. He stretched her out on the tile and put a towel under her head to catch the trickle of blood flowing down her temple. He took two pictures of her before he washed his glass and sat it back on the tray. He pulled his gloves on and began the search. Her bedroom had her suitcases sitting outside the closet in advance of her beginning to pack. He moved them to the side and noticed that one was unusually heavy. He threw it on the bed and found it locked. Rather than search for keys, he took his knife and jimmied the locks. He opened it. He was somewhat shocked when he saw that it was stacked with packets of twenty dollar bills. Five thousand to a pack. He saw an envelope underneath the money and withdrew it. He opened it and learned that this was the money from the sale of the house. He grinned and thought: my take just increased by maybe a mil or more.

He continued searching and found a few other jewels about Jenna and Royce. Royce had already bought a property in Lima. The surprise was that he bought it two years ago. Did he skim the funds from Ricci that far back or was this from his savings? He put the Peru deed in the suitcase on the bed. He discovered Jenna's Passport and American tickets. He dropped them in the suitcase. The envelope from the kitchen was put on top to be scoured later. When he was finally satisfied that he had gathered most all of the evidence of her leaving and of Royce's sale and purchase in Lima, he wound down his search. He checked the kitchen and the living room to make certain that he was leaving no trace of his being there. He took the suitcase to the front door. He lowered the temperature, turned the lights out and went quietly out the door and to the city sidewalk. To any observer he was nothing other than the familiar sight of another tourist with his suitcase, his camera and binoculars around his neck, on his way to his hotel.

The suitcase went on the padded Valet bench in his room. He cleaned his piston and silencer and stored them back in the lead lined pouch. He hung his jacket on the back of the desk chair and opened the suitcase. He took the envelope Janna had meant for Royce and opened it. He stood and read the note enclosed. She revealed that the suitcase held a half a million. The other million was in the Bank of America safety deposit box in Royce's name. He grinned when he read that the key was in the envelope and that the Code for the Box was J1273R. He knew he had copies of Royce's signature on the property purchase in Lima. With a little practice, his skills would allow him to become Royce for about ten minutes which is enough time to empty a bank box. In addition to the envelope, she had placed birth certificates, legal papers relating to established trusts and medical powers. No evidence of a Will for either. They may have realized it wouldn't be valid in Peru. He searched the bottom of the envelope and withdrew the key. He immediately attached it to his key ring evidence that it was his key and his box.

He slept well knowing that he was adding at least another million and a half to his growing account in the Caymans. The discovery of these funds would give him wiggle room over Ricci's money assuming he found it. His original plan was to keep half and tell Ricci that the other half was the only money that Royce had kept with him. He woke early because of the two hour time differential. He checked the hotel cafe times and saw that it would open in about fifteen minutes. He shaved, dressed, and secured the room before he left for the cafe. He had a hardy breakfast with three cups of the dark Kenyan roast coffee. On leaving the cafe, he crossed the lobby and asked the desk clerk where he could find a UPS location. The clerk gave him directions to the one near the Cannery, close enough for a short stop on the way back from the bank. He returned to his room, took his camera and binoculars and became the true tourist. He had time to go to Fisherman's Wharf and get a few pictures before he began practice on Royce's signature. He enjoyed the early morning walk and the nice scenery of the activity in and around Fisherman's Wharf. He took a picture of Alioto's Restaurant while thinking of the staff reaction when Jenna didn't show for work this morning. Her absence would trigger a call to someone or someplace for assistance in locating her. In fact, she may be found before he flies back home. But, he had no worries about her being found. There would be no evidence of his visit and involvement. He's just another tourist taking in the sights of the City by the Bay.

He started practicing Royce's signature slightly before nine. At nine-twenty-nine he looked up, held the signature at arm's length and compared the two scratches on the paper. His trained eye declared them perfect. The bank opened at ten. By the time he walked to California Street the bank would be open. However, he didn't want to appear too early or too anxious to get to the safety deposit box. So, as he slowly walked the streets carrying his briefcase, he snapped a couple of pictures of the streetcar as it stopped at the Intersection and took four shots while he gazed right and left just as the real tourists were doing while they strolled along through Chinatown. When he entered the bank he was greeted cordially by the Receptionist who pleasantly pointed to the steps that lead down to the vaults and the safety deposit boxes. He gave the man his key, signed in, entered the code and was accompanied into the vault by the man who held the second key. The man turned his key, took Tencount's key ring and entered his key, he opened the large door and slid out the jumbo sized box and handed it to Tencount. Tencount thanked him, opened the door to a private room and lifted the lid on the box. There it was. All of the bricks carefully and tightly bound around the glorious green. There was nothing else in the box other than the money. Tencount stacked the decks of fifties easily inside his briefcase. When the box was empty, he returned it to the attendant, thanked him again and left the bank, all smiles, holding a fortune in his left hand. He retraced his original route except for a stop at UPS to purchase two identical sized boxes, wrapping tape and six yellow stickers that said, 'File Documents.'

In the room, he packed the bricks of money in the box leaving room in the center of one box for his weapon pouches. He sealed one box, stuck three of the stickers on it and set it by the door. He used his iPad to Google the Harbormaster's office. He told the woman he would like to book a trip to the Pacific Whale on the earliest trip available. She asked his name and he told her Todd Kendal. She said, "You are slated for the one-fifteen trip. Do you want to return on that tug or a later one?"

"How long will it be alongside the Whale?"

"Usually thirty minutes or less. They unload quickly as the nets are pre-packed before they leave dock."

"Good. I'll return on the same tug."

"Cash or credit card?"

"Cash when I get there if that's acceptable"

She short giggled when she said, "Always acceptable and always preferable. Get here not less than fifteen minutes before the scheduled time. The total fee is one hundred even. See you at the desk."

He looked at the clock. If he left now and walked he could have a quick lunch before the one o'clock time-frame. He checked his weapons, selected the .38 again with the silencer. He donned his khaki golf jacket with the weapon in its holster. He returned to the Wharf and ate at one of the outside vendors as he sat watching the boats in the bay flitting back and forth, some working, some pleasure, and some fishing. While he watched, he was thinking: take away the hills and San Francisco would be a west coast mimic of New Orleans.

Tencount slapped a hundred on the desk and said, "Todd Kendal. I'm signed for the one-fifteen trips." She snatched the bill from the desktop, stuffed it in a drawer and slid the Registration book over for his signature. He scribbled the name and slid it back to her. No receipt given or wanted. She pointed toward the side door and said, 'The Santa Maria,' first in line. You can board when you want. It's a half-hour trip out, sometime shorter coming back without the load. Check with the Purser when you climb aboard." I thought to myself; a Purser on a freighter? Titles are important I guess.

On the trip out to sea, Tencount was standing on the left side of the tug leaning on the railing looking at the San Francisco skyline as they were passing by, eagerly chugging their way toward the Golden Gate bridge. He heard a voice say, "It always tugs at my heartstrings when I see that great sight. I'm a native and I do miss it when we're at sea." I turned my head and I stood beside a middle-aged salt and pepper hair and bearded man about my height. I smiled at him and said, "That I can understand. One's home is always an emotional sight. I held out my hand and said, Todd Kendal. I'm an interloped for a while today. And you?"

He gripped my hand as he said, "Joseph Alanto. I'm the Captain of the Whale. Is Royce a relative, Todd?"

"I'm afraid so, Joseph. He's the reason for my trip today. I need to see him before he heads to Peru. You don't go to Peru, right?"

"Yeah, Royce will leave us when we dock in Columbia. He will fly from Bogota to Lima the next day."

"Royce said that you sail on the 20th and that was my hurry to get to him. I sure don't want to go to Peru to talk with him." He laughed and said, "Once this tug empties those nets behind us we'll be ready to sail."

"Do you have any other passengers like Royce? I have a friend who works the docks in New Orleans and he says it's common to book on freighters and cargo ships. Is that true?"

"Only if you want a destination that cruise lines don't serve or if you're on a one-way trip. And, yes, we have two other passengers, both Columbian going home."

"Is your crew Columbian? Royce said that they speak only Spanish."

"He's right about the Spanish. I speak it also. But I have a mixed crew from about five South American countries. I even have two Brazilian's who speak Portuguese. "

"If you promise not to laugh, I'd like to ask a question. Is there really a Purser onboard?"

"Okay, no laugh. Yes, he takes care of all the payments to the vendors, the Harbormaster's, the crew, the tugs, and any other transactions involving money. It's an important function of my staff. If we don't pay, we don't sail."

"Makes sense. It just sounded funny when the woman told me to check with the Purser."

"Well, Todd, you've checked in with me and I know you're legit so you can skip the Purser. Your relative is in Cabin 2F. When we get aboard, go left and the first open door is where you want to go. One flight down and to your right. Cross over and you'll be near his Cabin on the left. A horn sounds twice when the tug is preparing to leave so don't tarry or you'll end up in Peru. No, not really. There's one more tug before we sail. But it's at eight this evening."

To our right, a tug crew member came to Joseph and said he was wanted on the ship to shore. He smiled and said, "Nice meeting you Todd. Maybe I'll be back but if not, enjoy your visit."

He didn't return. When the tug Supervisor signaled it was secure and I could embark, I climbed the rickety rope and wood stairs and stepped onboard. The Purser waved me past. I followed Joseph's advice and went through the door and down one flight. I turned right and halfway down I saw a sign that said 'Captain.' I went on to the right-side deck, turned left and Royce's cabin was the second one on my left. The first was a storage room. I tested the handle and it opened. It was mostly rope, fire extinguishers, and metal buckets with folded cleaning rags on the shelf. I eased the door closed and looked both ways on the deck. No one was in sight. I used the butt of the gun to tap on Royce's door.

He yelled, "Just a minute." I waited patiently.

When the door opened, I put one round in his forehead. I caught his toppling body and dragged him to the storage room. I took two pictures as proof that the reconciliation had been accomplished. I then went to work as I moved the stacks of buckets and the fire extinguishers to the side, folded his body into the fetal position, wrapped his head in a number of the cleaning rags and then dumped rolls of the rope over it. I slid the buckets and fire extinguishers back in place, closed the door and secured the handle. I stepped over the flange to his room and closed the door. I already had my gloves on as I began my search. The cabin was small with few hiding places. He had nothing of interest on the table or in the drawers. When I opened the top door of the storage areas, there was a green duffel bag stuffed inside. I opened the bottom door and found two small suitcases. I took them out, opened them and saw nothing but clothes. I put them back, took the duffel down and opened it. Bingo. Under a few shirts there was the money. I threw the shirts on top of the suitcases, tightened the duffel bag and tested the weigh. No big deal.

I checked the time. I was running ahead of schedule so I sat in the chair at the desk. While I waited I had a decision to make. Do I remove the Captain as a witness? I fought with myself and lost when I realized he was too high of a profile to the ship. He would be discovered missing almost immediately. He may be able to describe me or not. We were both focused on the skyline as we talked. The only time we faced each other was when we briefly shook hands. I can only describe him as being salt and peppered and my height, so the logic tells me that he can't give much of a description of me either. The gun went back into the holster.

Two blasts from the horn. Time to embark. He stood, put the canvas strap in his hand and slung the duffel over his shoulder. He returned on the same path. He stood over the tug at ladder top waiting for the signal to climb down. It took about five minutes to secure the tug and the ladder. He had no trouble with the duffel as he descended the ladder. He sat it down against the wall near the door to the hatch. He sat on top on it for the trip back. When he was ashore, he hailed the first cab he saw coming by the dock. He rode it back to the hotel. The Bellhop grabbed the duffel bag from the cab, slung it over his shoulder and went to the Bellhop stand, dropped it on a luggage cart and the two of them went to his room. He directed the Bellhop to put it in the closet with his boxes. He handed the Bellhop a fiver, got a huge smile in return, and then closed the door behind him. He stood there cursing himself because he hadn't thought far enough ahead to get extra boxes and stickers.

He showered and changed clothes for the dinner hour. He called American and arranged to book his return flight at six tomorrow evening. If it all went right he would be home by nine or nine-thirty at the latest. The moneyboxes would take four or five days to arrive, which wasn't a problem because he could do nothing with his share until he could get to the Caymans later. But Ricci, no doubt, would want his money as soon as it arrived and it also held my fee plus expenses. Did I cheat Ricci? Of course I did, we're both criminals and everyone knows you can't trust a criminal. I'm certain he expected it. That's why he used the code when he said the money wasn't that important.

He put his weapon in the pouch, dropped it in the center of the bricks of money, covered it with the remaining bricks and then sealed it securely. It received the balance of the stickers indicating it was files. He called for a Bellhop with a cart. In a short while he arrived. He had the Bellhop load the two boxes and the duffel bag on the cart, gave him his garage ticket, and handing him the car keys, said, "Load the boxes in the trunk and the duffel in the back seat please."

He received a polite 'Yes, Sir,' and they left the room. Tencount went to the entrance Portico and the Bellhop continued to the garage. In just a blink of the eye, the Bellhop came driving the car and stopped where Tencount stood. Tencount handed his a ten and a wink and sat in the car. The Bellhop closed his door, waved him forward and Tencount drove directly to the UPS office again. He shipped the two boxes, bought two more, a medium and a small. He took his tracking receipt and went to the car. He drove to the back of the strip center and climbed in the back seat. He used his tape to strap the bottom of the two boxes together. He dug into the duffel and filled the small box which would be his to skim. He transferred the balance to the medium-sized box, covered it with the duffel bag and then sealed it securely. It would only be opened by Ricci who would find the duffel as proof of his story. He popped the trunk and dropped the boxes inside. He drove back to Ghirardelli Square, returned the car to the garage and strolled over to the shopping area and looked for a different restaurant.

He stopped several wanderers and asked if they knew a good restaurant. Four of the five he stopped suggested Gary Danko. He located it and stood reading the reviews posted on the board outside. It was very expensive and featured American cuisine. But, it was rated highly at four and one half stars. So, why not give it a try. He had a half-hour wait so he chose the bar to wait. He laid the summoning device on the bar, ordered a martini with two olives. The TV was on to the late news and he snapped to attention when the anchor announced a breaking story about an Alioto's employee being found shot. He paid close attention to what was said. The anchor reported, "She had been a dependable and reliable employee at Alioto's for the last eleven years. When she didn't appear for work this morning, they became concerned when she couldn't be located. A police department visit to her home revealed that she had been shot sometime after work yesterday. No persons of interest were named. Her name was not released pending notification of relatives. The investigation is ongoing." Tencount took a heavy sip of his martini and thought: this was expected. There's nothing that can point to me. I didn't know her so there are no ties. He finished his martini and signaled for another as he sat breathing easy and showing no anxiety over her discovery. It didn't ripple anyone at the bar.

Gary Danko was good, very good, so he gave the reviews a gold star for honesty. He slept in the next morning, not awakening until seven, that being nine by his body time. He packed for the trip, showered, and then stuffed the hotel laundry bag in his suitcase. He closed and locked it as if that did any good with TSA on the prowl. He went down for breakfast, grabbing the Chronicle to scan while having his morning meal. The story of Jenna's death was Page 4 material. He read the story and didn't learn anymore than the news report from last night other than they named her and reportedly were searching for her long time boyfriend, Royce Kendal, a well-known to police, overseer of questionable bars and clubs in the bay area. Same ending--the investigation continues. Tencount smiled as he thought: let them untangle that mess once Royce is found. Keystone Kops will be back in action

His flight was one for the books. It was smooth, an on-time departure, led an on- time arrival and no hassles in between. He was home at five of nine, much better than his estimated predicted timing. He didn't bother to unpack as he needed nothing from the suitcase. He prepped his coffee for tomorrow morning, jumped in the shower, slipped on his lounge pants and punched on the WLW late news.. He popped an Abita Amber and flopped in his recliner saying aloud, "Oh man! Good old familiar living. Maybe one more caper and then retirement from my second career."

The next morning he went through the back door surprising Michele. She stopped in her tracks and said, "You're back early! How did it go out there?"

He made a face and then said, "It didn't. I was cancelled twice because of crisis in the management ranks. That's why I'm back early. He apologized and asked that we defer our sit-down until November when his retirement becomes final. I told him fine, so I had a couple of great meals and came on home. But, the good news, Ricci is on."

"Oh, wow, that's exciting."

"No Michele. What's exciting is that if we get the Ricci account you and I will spend a week in the Caymans."

She moved forward, threw her arms around his neck and said, "You're finally going to ask me for a date are you? Well, I will say yes right now. Work your ass off to get the Ricci assets. I've never been to the Caymans."

"You will love them. I'll take you on a trip to Hell while we're there. You'll be wide eyed when you see it."

"I can't wait. Don't tease me yet." She waved a letter at him and said, "Kenny is anxious for this letter, so I gotta go."

Tencount sat at his desk and dialed Ricci. When he was connected to Nicolo, he said, "Nic, I'm sending you a couple of photos this afternoon. In about four days the material that was removed will be delivered. I'll call again when it's delivered. How about the Blue Balls again when I have it?

"They told me you were good but I didn't realize how fast you worked. I'll put you at the top of my referrals. Okay. The Blue Balls will be fine, but when you come down, call first so that I can have the material brought in through the back door."

"Can do that easily enough. It'll be three or four days so expect my call. You don't have to get on the phone. I'll tell whoever answers that it's lunch time."

"That'll work. You'll get your fee and expenses out of the box."

"You do know that I didn't bother to count it. I have no idea how much is in there but I brought evidence that he bought a place in Peru and paid cash. That may have been from your money."

"My problem Tencount. I'm not worried or concerned. See you later." He abruptly hung up. Tencount smiled knowing he was probably pissed that some of the money was missing.

They met on Friday. The box was in a chair when Tencount entered the private room. Two minutes after Tencount sat down, the door opened and Nic waved the man in the door forward. He said, "Count what's in the box. Peel off a quarter of a mil plus ten thousand. Let me know how much. Write it on a sheet of paper. This young pup doesn't need to know."

They ordered while the man counted the money. Before we finished the steak, he came with the note and was holding the duffel bag. He asked, "What is this and what do I do with it?"

"Tencount spoke up and said to Nic, "That was from the boat where the money was stored. You can stuff my share in it and I'll dispose of it."

Nic nodded to the man and he left us. After dessert and espresso, the bag with Tencount's fee was dropped in the chair opposite him When Nic pushed his chair back, Tencoont stood, shook his hand and Nic nodded toward the man and said, "This is Edward Espira my accountant. He is updating my asset listing and will call you next week. After you do your analysis magic, call Edward. He'll arrange for an appointment for the three of us to discuss your proposal. If I need additional assistance are you available?"

"Most likely but it depends on what kind of assistance. We can negotiate."

Nic turned and walked out the door at the rear. Edward shook my hand and said, 'I have your number."

I picked up the duffel bag and smiled my way back to the office to tell Michele to start thinking of her Cayman wardrobe.

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viatagrinner · 2 years

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Silvio Ricci. It's your fault that my desire won't stop.

Chapter 1 & 2.

Chapter 1

MC lives in Benitoite as prince Silvio's lover.

She has become an assistant in Silvio's official duties. He is pleased with her work, praises her diligence, and strokes the girl on the head.

(After such praise, I want to work even harder.)

A tour of the shipyard is scheduled for tomorrow and the prince wants to go with the girl. One of Benitoite's main industries is shipbuilding.

MC: It's a rare opportunity to see a ship being built, so I'm looking forward to it.

Silvio: You're interested in everything.

Silvio: The only people who are willing to go to the shipyard so often are you and the kids.

MC: Really? I want to know everything about Silvio.

Silvio blushes after these words, MC notices this.

Silvio: Don't get carried away, silly.

The heroine immediately gets ready to go to the library to prepare for the shipyard inspection.

Silvio grabs her and puts her on his lap.

Silvio: You don't need to.

He is ready to tell her himself.

Silvio: It's quicker than reading a book. Don't try to leave the room without permission.

MC: I see, you are lonely, aren't you?

Silvio: I just didn't like the fact that you relied on books instead of me.

The heroine hugs Silvio.

Silvio: Always, always... I think I'm telling you to stop attacking me unawares.

But MC waves him off and tells him to get used to it.

Silvio: Don't be cheeky. Don't tell me what to do.

MC: Then I'll go back to my room.

Silvio: .......

But, of course, the girl is joking. She asks Silvio to share his knowledge, which he happily does.

MC is happy to be near her beloved and she doesn't want to let this moment go, and for that she has to try harder tomorrow.

_________________________________________

The next day...

A large number of people gathered at the shipyard and many eyes were on the heroine.

(Perhaps they are measuring my usefulness.)

Silvio is not only the richest man in Benitoite, but also the richest man on the continent.

Naturally, seeing that the girl is important to Silvio many try to get close to her to get investment.

An employee of the shipyard, their guide, decides to talk to MC. But Silvio withdrew from his entourage, covered MC with himself, and turned to the employee.

Silvio: Don't look.

Next to Silvio, she can't talk to anyone. She doesn't think it's because the prince wants to hide their relationship. Deciding to show her displeasure, the girl taps Silvio on the back.

Silvio: Stop, don't touch me.

Before the heroine can say anything, the prince covers her mouth with his hand.

Silvio: If you know who this woman is, she need not be introduced.

What followed was a discussion of work matters.

Silvio stubbornly refuses to let the male workers see her.

There's also a launching ceremony coming up.

Silvio: It's my job. I'll take the women with me.

Silvio: Make a fuss about it. This is the first time a woman has been represented at an official public event.

The inspection of the shipyard is finished, it's time to go back to the carriage.

Silvio sat down next to me and stared out the window.

MC: I knew it.

MC: Lord Silvio is a jealous man.

Silvio: Huh? Don't say strange things.

MC says she can't hide behind the prince's back forever. She can lose touch with Benitoite's social circles.

Silvio doesn't care about that.

But he has noticed that his fiancée has sat across from him.

Silvio: After all the time you've spent touching me, don't you think that's fair?

MC wants Silvio to change his mind.

From now on, he must not touch her until he changes his mind.

Silvio's desire level is 70%.

Chapter 2

The prince frowns.

Silvio: You're saying strange things again.

MC: I'm serious.

MC asks why it bothers him so much that she talks to other men. After all, she loves him.

She moves closer to him and hugs him.

Silvio: Huh? What happened to the touching ban?

MC: Nothing is wrong. It's just that Silvio can't do it.

Silvio says it's a very handy prohibition for a girl.

He wanted to hug her, but the heroine immediately moved away.

MC: I can only see you, Silvio.

Silvio:....Not that I'm jealous.

So why is he acting like this?

Silvio:....I'm in the mood.

MC: That's not the reason.

He tells her to shut up.

Silvio: And don't you try to get involved with other people without me, okay?

_________________________________________

The next day.

Silvio has invited the dense ones to make a dress for the ceremony.

MC is embarrassed to receive such expensive gifts, but after all they are needed for official duties.

MC doesn't know what kind of dress is needed.

So Silvio suggests:

1. A dress that is easy to move around in.

2. It'll be windy.

3. Everyone knows that MC is from Rodolite. That needs to be emphasised.

Silvio: Besides, it would be better to wear what you like.

MC thinks that even though Silvio is a tyrant, he thinks of her.

The prince wants to hug her, but the ban is still in effect.

Tailor: I have heard rumours about you, but I see that you are really close to each other.

Silvio: This guy's got a crush on me.

The dressmaker wants to say something to the girl.

But Silvio interrupts her. They hurry to meet.

It turns out that he is jealous not only of men but also of women.

_________________________________________

After the meeting, Silvio looks sad. MC touches him. Silvio is embarrassed and scolds her for getting too carried away.

MC: Maybe I miss you even more than I thought, I miss being touched.

Silvio: Then...

MC: I'm not giving up on you. Silvio, do you want to isolate me?

Silvio agrees with that. It wouldn't be a bad idea to keep her in some mansion and not let her out of there.

MC: Then I wouldn't be able to be with Silvio all the time.

He's not happy. The girl is happy with her little victory.

Silvio:...... I don't like it.

_________________________________________

The heroine's stomach rumbles.

MC: ......

Silvio: ........

Silvio laughs and MC yells for him to pretend it never happened.

Silvio: Don't give me orders.

Silvio: Is it a problem to be too nice?

He offers her his hand, but the heroine, remembering her prohibition, is turned out.

Silvio's mood got worse.

Silvio: .....Stop it. Stop it. As long as you act like that, I'm not going to teach you either.

MC: No way...!

Silvio: If you don't like it, quit it and let me touch you.

Silvio: Although I don't know if I could just touch you, right?

Silvio's desire level is 90%.

#ikemen prince silvio #silvio ricci event #ikepri silvio #ikemen prince #ikemen ouji #ikepri #ikepri translation #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio

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adangertootherdancers · 7 years

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Tools, Work, Condition – and other Predicaments

Transcription of a talk in the context of the class "Open Access. Opposing the Violence of Corporate Software?", 13.12.2016

As an attempt to contextualize some of the concepts introduced during past classes, I want to jump off a discussion about the text "Software Takes Command" by Lev Manovich and share some of my thoughts on Design–designed tools, their instrumental power, – possibly violent power and propose methods to collectively comprehend and/or counter some of those forces, we have been talking about.

The interconnectedness of our critical tool research and the topic of work condition, the concept of labor or as Silvio Lorusso proposed – the entreprecariat, seems self-evident. Being an immaterial and nomadic worker myself, dealing with time as my most important commodity I am very interested in the critical examination of the tools that accommodate my precarious practice–or maybe enabling exactly that practice.

(Typewriter meme from: Florian Cramer “What is post-digital”)

According to Hannah Arendt, the ancient understanding of life being differentiated in public and private live, in which the public realm would be the space to express yourself freely (free from any biological necessity), changed with the appearance of authorities like the Church. With the introduction of privatization of public realm the matter became more complex. Life from then would be differentiated in labor, work and action. Labor in that regard is human activity directed at fulfilling human needs, and therefore never reaches an end, as needs are continuous. Work however has a clearly defined start and end and results in some durable object, a tool or a consumable product.

Action, –for example speech, is enabling human relationships, is free of any boundaries and doesn’t need to meet human needs or anticipation.

In a time where I am enjoying my flexible lifestyle, and realizing that I can do so because of a range of extraordinary privileges, Arendt’s differentiation between Labor, work and action are my guide, helping me to test and measure the actual status of my condition (work/life). Having to or being able to perform at all times, attending openings, giving talks, seeing and seeking opportunities, I am working on creating my work environment, being commissioner and commissioned, living leisure and being productive, on vacation and doing over hours, all at the same time.

While monetizing my smile, interaction, gestures I am curious: How do we organize and claim worker’s rights if our practices are floating in space, indefinable, uncatchable lost in time zones?

"The precariat consists of those who feel their lives and identities are made up of disjointed bits, in which they cannot construct a desirable narrative or build a career, combining forms of work and labor, play and leisure in a sustainable way"

Guy Standing

(Quote: from Silvio Lorusso “Precarity Feels”)

I find myself in a condition where I am not sure: Am I sustaining myself, entertaining myself? Am I acting in solidarity or opportune? Am I getting exploited or do I exploit others and myself?

(Images from Werker Magazine filed under: domestic work, home office, http://www.werkermagazine.org/domesticwork/home-office-3/, and http://www.werkermagazine.org/domesticwork/office/)

I believe that software has a big part in creating that condition. According to Manovich, that condition is not exclusive to cultural workers–also flex workers, temporal workers who are rented out to work for companies, nomadic workers, and any worker in the service industry are facing similar challenges. Since software is replacing physical technologies, it makes us create, distribute, store and share cultural artifacts.

Software as Social Glue

(Image: Marina Abramovic & Jay Z: Who is the instrument here? Who is worker? Who is the object?)

I wrote a small script based on "Dowse. The Privacy Hub of the Internet of Things", a software developed by Amsterdam-based Hacker collective Dyne.org. I try to address questions such as: "Am I a user that has an experience right now or am I a worker that is dealing with a condition?" The script would parse up the information my devices send out and received unrelated to my actively usage. Connecting to the Dowse box I could visually and in real-time read these connections. Without even turning on my phone, it was constantly sending and receiving data from and to Facebook. I basically facilitate this platform constantly, without actively interacting with it. So what my script did was creating invoices as PDF files of 0,01€, directed to Facebook, with every connection my device made.

(Image: Screenshot from my email client: outcome of a workshop by dyne.org, as part of the “HDSA2016. At Work. If you are so smart why are you so poor?”)

Silvio called for collectivization by constructing an evolving platform "the entreprecariat, which fabricates its own slogans, memes and chants".

In our context, here at the Sandberg Institute we are a collective by definition, – a collective that shares space, times, – infrastructure, with certain common goals, which may not be identified yet.

Interestingly Silvio’s talk stirred up some concerns amongst you. You shared worries and ideas about your work, work conditions and the future of design practice. During your time at Sandberg you will be testing, defining and refining the possibilities of design work, which is a very important underlying prospect considering you may be shaping your own working conditions in the future – in and outside of the Sandberg Institute, striving to sustain a critical practice while dealing with neoliberal work forces.

(Image: Our Own Private Germany: https://medium.com/matter/our-own-private-germany-6ce44ac93a7b#.xkbmehpwt)

Having starting studying at the Sandberg myself during a period of growing sense of responsibility for the work I create, I am now wondering if I would be able to actually persist corporate forces within my work. And if I won’t be able to, how could I start participating myself in the work I create?

“We designers . . . can begin to build a meaningful aesthetic culture if we are willing to prepare ourselves for a new learning experience, and we cannot learn unless we participate”

(Quote from: “Design and Human Values,” a legendary Aspen design conference that took place in 1957, the American designer Richard Latham interrogated the ideas that designers cater to and the kind of responsibility they should take)

I therefore want to emphasize and encourage you to use my classes and your studies at large as a test site in order to counter act notions such as efficiency, productivity, and velocity.

(Image from: CLUI Morgan Cowles Archive managing the image resources of The Center for Land Use Interpretation)

All the time you are in school, you learn through experience how to live in a dictatorship. The most constant and thorough thing students in school experience — and learn — is the antithesis of democracy. (…)

The Teenage Liberation Handbook Grace Llewellyn

(Image from: Tim Ivison & Tom Vandeputte, http://www.metropolism.com/en/features/23004_build_your_own_university)

In http://www.e-flux.com/journal/31/68212/general-performance/ Sven Lütticken quotes Franco Berardi:

“contemporary “cyber time” being marked by our feelings of insufficiency about never having enough of the damn thing (time) to accomplish all the things we should“.

So let’s create shared moments of commitment, time camps (Sven Lütticken) and temporary autonomous zones (Hakim Bey) to be inefficient together.

(Quote from: Matt Hern http://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/matt-hern-the-promise-of-deschooling

In an economy where work becomes more dependent on immaterial factors self-performance becomes harder to relate to and evaluate.

With moments like the H&D Summer Academy I aim to address the lack of software literacy within my own practice. Methods of physically experiencing machine-learning processes, appropriating and embodying logics of algorithms have proven rewarding and eye-opening learning experiences.

(Image: Workshop "Internet of Bodies" with Simone Niquille and Carina Namih. The participants were equipped with a map that Google uses to train their biometric prediction algorithms, and made communal data self-portraits at life-size scale. More: http://hackersanddesigners.nl/#/Internet%20of%20Bodies)

Image from: http://feelgrafix.com/group/pixel.html

The "Pixel" is an examples of GUI (Graphic User Interface), which is regarded as presumable discrete as much as the word “Data”.

However someone did come up with it. Someone with an identity, a gender, preferences, worries, intentions decided at some point that a pixel is a square.

(Image: Jeremy Bailey – Challenging practice Jeremy Bailey: Famous New Media Art Patent Office http://www.newmuseum.org/exhibitions/view/jeremy-bailey-famous-new-media-art-patent-office)

We need to overcome the understanding of Computer Science as something that is ultimately true. It’s something that is part of culture; with all problematic that come with history. I am therefore curious about the assumptions and models about me as a user, my needs and the needs of my environment. Can I trace those assumptions encoded in “discrete” GUI?

(Image: "Why haven’t we seen a photograph of the whole Earth yet?" button by Steward Brand. http://create.adobe.com/2016/4/18/the_whole_earth_the_story_of_an_image_that_changed_the_world.html)

In order to make responsible decision we need to be able to relate.

 Stewart Brand launched the “Why haven’t we seen a photograph of the whole Earth yet?” campaign in 1965.

After NASA released the image, he used it on the cover of his Whole Earth Catalog. The image became the root of a global environmental consciousness.

Before people perceived the earth as flat (not literal) and infinite, the root of all their misbehavior.

(Picture from Lev Manovich, Software Takes Command)

I am usually really excited about new technology and to curious to not try new stuff but I do wonder how we can remain critical within the current pace of innovation, - neural networks training themselves, increasing complexity of algorithms …

I believe the collective effort could be the answer. A way to approach this is by creating these time camps and committed spaces of inefficiency.

#talk #transcript #tools #sandberg institute amsterdam #design #practice

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cliftonsteen · 4 years

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Do Different Materials Affect The Flavour Of Your Coffee?

You’ve picked out your favourite origin from your favourite roaster, bought your coffee, and brewed it to perfection. It might seem like there’s nothing left to do but pour it into a cup and enjoy.

However, choosing the right vessel – and the right material – is more important than you might think. To enjoy your cup to its fullest, you should make sure that the material you pick doesn’t have an undesirable effect on the flavour of the coffee.

To find out how some of the most common materials can affect how your coffee tastes, I spoke to Silvio Chang, a certified Q grader and the co-founder of Unseen Select Co.

You may also like How Your Coffee Cup Makes Your Coffee Taste Better – Or Worse

Why Material Matters

Most takeaway coffees are served in disposable cups. In the UK alone, 2.5 billion of them are used every single year. Manufacturing them uses an estimated 1.5 billion litres of water. While many of these cups are recyclable, only 1 in every 400 ends up being recycled correctly.

Consumers around the world are more aware than ever before of the impact their purchases have on the environment. As a result, many people are switching to reusable options. But which material is best?

While preferences will vary, there are a few key things that make a material good for drinking coffee. Ideally, it should be lightweight, long-lasting, and retain heat well. It’s also important that it doesn’t affect the flavour of your coffee, by trapping lingering flavours in the material itself or by creating its own distinct, undesirable taste.

We compared four of the main materials used to make coffee cups – glass, stainless steel, reinforced plastic, and ceramics – to see how each one affects the flavour of a cup of coffee.

Glass

Few materials are as visually appealing as glass. It’s sleek and attractive, and you can enjoy looking at your drink while you consume it.

If your cup is made from tempered, heat-resistant glass, it will not shatter or break, no matter how hot your coffee is. If you choose a double-walled glass cup, it will also be comfortable enough to carry by hand everywhere. Glass is also generally very easy to recycle.

Silvio says that while glass cups don’t affect the flavour of coffee, “they don’t retain heat as well as ceramic cups”. As the temperature of coffee affects its flavour, it is good to make sure your coffee stays hot, but not scalding, while you drink it.

Research shows that flavours and aromas become harder to detect below 50°C, meaning that you want to keep your coffee above this threshold for as long as possible.

Tempered glass cups and mugs are also often more expensive than ceramic, plastic, or steel cups. And while glass mugs look excellent in the kitchen or at a coffee shop, it is a less suitable material for people who want to take coffee with them on the go.

Stainless Steel

Stainless steel is virtually indestructible. Unlike glass, it retains heat well, as metal is a natural conductor of heat. It is also relatively easy to clean.

While it can be visually appealing, grease and fingerprints will show up on stainless steel very easily.

Stainless steel also has a strong metallic flavour that can affect the taste of your coffee, as well as other drinks. Although this won’t wash away, it can fade over time and use.

Silvio notes that while stainless steel is generally very resilient, it becomes porous over time. This means that it will absorb residual oils from the coffee you drink from it, causing it to take on certain flavours and odours over time.

He adds: “The acidity in coffee can cause stainless steel to break down over time and release microscopic particles of potentially toxic substances, such as nickel.” While this isn’t likely to cause a major health issue for most people, Silvio still recommends that people only use stainless steel cups and bottles for water, rather than coffee.

Plastic

As it’s cheap and easy to manufacture, reinforced heat-resistant plastic is often used to create coffee cups, bottles, and mugs. While plastic isn’t as strong as stainless steel, it will work just fine for hot coffee.

However, plastic cups are often less durable than cups made from other materials, like stainless steel.

As well as this, plastic can also trap unpleasant odours and flavours over time, which will affect how your coffee tastes. Silvio says: “While you might not notice it the first time, eventually, you will be able to tell that your coffee tastes different.”

Finally, plastic is also notoriously bad for the environment, and it can be difficult to recycle in some regions. Even if you buy a plastic cup and reuse it multiple times, it may well end up going to landfill.

Ceramic

Ceramic drinking vessels are very popular, as they are inexpensive, lightweight, and retain heat well. They also have no impact on the flavour of the liquid within, which makes them ideal for coffee.

Ceramic cups are also generally leakproof and hold their colour and design well. Silvio says “ceramic is still the best option when it comes to coffee”, as it possesses all the positive qualities of other materials, with none of the drawbacks.

“It’s environmentally friendly, but it is the same as stainless steel which also is non-porous and heat tolerant.” The various qualities of ceramic drinking vessels led Silvio to introduce the WOKY bottle to a wider market.

Silvio says that with the WOKY, “you get the best flavour of your coffee, you’re able to carry it around, and it stays hot”. As it’s all-ceramic, it doesn’t affect the flavour of your coffee, and is safe for dishwasher and manual cleaning.

“The WOKY bottle is the first on the market that’s fully ceramic; it isn’t just a ceramic lining. A lot of bottles use a ceramic coating which peels off or uses stainless steel as part of the mouthpiece,” Silvio tells me. He adds that because the bottle is fully ceramic, it can also be used and reused for juice, milk, tea, or even carbonated drinks.

“We see there are a lot of stainless steel thermos bottles on the market, and many people use it for their coffee. But you also hear a lot of people complaining about a ‘weird metal taste’ and how hard it is to clean after.

“With WOKY, we’ve combined your favorite coffee mug and your travel thermos flask altogether.”

To enjoy your coffee to its fullest, you need the right tools. This covers everything – from brewing all the way through to drinking the final product.

There are a whole range of materials out there to choose from. While some might be more visually appealing or retain heat better than others, your priority should be choosing a sustainable option that keeps your coffee warm and tasting the best it possibly can.

Enjoyed this? Then read French Press to Pour Over: How to Make Great Coffee at Home

Please note: Unseen Select Co. is a sponsor of Perfect Daily Grind.

Perfect Daily Grind

Photo credits: Unseen Select Co., Jack Redgate

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digitalmark18-blog · 6 years

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9 Website Copywriting Tips That Will Increase Your Search Ranking

New Post has been published on https://britishdigitalmarketingnews.com/9-website-copywriting-tips-that-will-increase-your-search-ranking/

9 Website Copywriting Tips That Will Increase Your Search Ranking

Years ago, you could just stuff your post with keywords, buy links, and land on Google’s first page for a search term. Today, that would see your web pages penalized or totally removed from search results.

SEO is now about providing value for your visitors. And it usually begins with On-Page Optimization. If you want to rank high on search engines today, everything you do from email marketing to social networking to copywriting must be to provide value for your visitors.

Then you’ll improve your search rank. There’s no shortcut about it. In this post, I’ll be showing you vital tips to achieve better ranking through copywriting.

Why is website copywriting important in SEO?

The frank truth is that copywriting is the pillar of SEO. This is because when your potential visitors use search engines, they’re looking for content that will meet their immediate needs.

The quality of your copywriting and how you optimize it determines whether your post ranks first for a search term. Or hundredth.

Over the years, Google has made SEO majorly about quality content. The most important SEO advice has been: provide the best value for your readers.

There’s no better way to do this than through vibrant copywriting. How do you improve your copywriting to gain better search rankings?

1. Optimize your page title with the right keyword for effective SEO content

Your page title or headline is the most important part of your post. Because no matter how great the content of a post is, nobody gets to read it if the title is weak.

Legendary copywriter, David Ogilvy, said: “when you have written your headline, you have spent eighty cents out of your dollar.”

Your post title is so important that copywriting experts have recommended you spend half of the time to craft an irresistible title.

One of our recent posts about Client Onboarding Best Practices have has generated well over 14,000 views in less than 2 months has a catchy title. Take a look:

What’s the most important keyword you’re trying to rank for with your content? Make sure you insert the keyword into your title and as early as possible.

For instance, if your title has 8 words, let your keywords appear in the first 4.

Consider the title of this post. This post is essentially giving copywriting tips for your website. You can see that appears first in the title.

Apart from inserting a keyword, your title should preach benefits your readers would gain when they read the full post. You must be clear about this

If you’re not a natural at crafting titles, you can use headline templates that have proven to work in the past. You can model one of these 100 Headline Ideas by Content Marketing Up.

2. Use short sentences and thoughts to optimize content for mobile

Creating content for your website is different from writing doctorate thesis. Long sentences and paragraphs are allowed in your thesis. However, it could kill your website.

Especially when you consider mobile users. A paragraph that contains 4 lines on PC could easily take 8 on mobile.

According to Henneke Duistermaat on Enchanted Marketing, “To make your writing sparkle, you must cut long sentences and skip bland words.”

With mobile searchers surpassing desktop on Google, you have to know that optimizing your user experience for mobile is as important as the desktop. When you use long sentences and paragraphs in your content, it becomes difficult for visitors to read.

The next step they take is to bounce off your page. A signal like this tells Google that your website’s user experience is poor. You lose rank this way.

Make your sentences short and easy to read on mobile. This will definitely boost your traffic. As an example, by optimizing its website for mobile and other strategies, University of Cambridge was able to increase organic traffic by 66% over a year.

3. Use active voice to write your landing page copy and increase Time on Site

Passive voice is boring, unreadable, and does readers no good. This is because no matter your good intentions, readers will usually abandon your post before they get to the end.

What do I mean by passive and active voice? Let me give you an example. ��I love you” is active while “You are loved” is passive. We both know the former carries more weight. Even though they may be trying to say the same thing.

Phil Jamieson said: “But too often, writers use passive voice unconsciously, leading to awkward, vague, or bloated sentences that make the meaning harder to understand.”

When you’re writing content for your website, you’re having a conversation with your readers. Active voice makes you feel connected to your readers where passive voice may feel detached. Like you’re writing for a robot.

Apart from boosting user experience on your website, it also automatically helps SEO. Because searchers use conversational terms to search. And with voice search gaining momentum every day, this will only get better as the months go by.

4. Link out to trusted websites to provide a richer user experience

The truth is that your website can’t have all the resources related to your content. More so, you can’t explain every concept in your post.

When you mention a concept that can’t be explained fully in a sentence or two, you should link to the best resource that throws a greater light on it.

Make sure you link to authoritative websites on any topic you’re talking about. What this tells search engines is that you’re providing the best value possible for your visitors.

Linking to these websites improve your authority in your niche — and boosts your chances of ranking high on Google for important keywords.

Reboot performed an experiment to find if linking to authoritative websites do have an effect on search ranking for a website. It found that sites with external links ranked higher than those without.

5. Craft meta descriptions by asking questions that challenge users

Your meta description is the snippet searchers see below your post before they click on it. Meta description gives the summary of your post. Ask yourself: “are you asking questions that they would like to get answers to?”

Recommended for You

Webcast, August 9th: Improving B2B Paid Marketing Campaign Effectiveness Through Pipeline Measurement

With a meta description, you can ask questions that give potential visitors an idea of what they’ll get when they click through to your post. This is an example from Search Engine Watch that asks questions searcher want answers to. This is for search query ‘meta description.’

6. Use deep linking to create a flow and aid Google spider in crawling your website

When you have a website in a niche, Google wants to see you as an authority in that niche. One way to show authority is to use deep linking on your website. This involves having many internal links between your posts. We do this a lot in our posts.

One thing this tells search engines is that you have enough resources about your broad topic on your website. This allows Google bots to easily crawl your website which will only improve your search rankings.

7. Use the “Inverted Pyramid” to reduce website bounce rate

The first time Nora Ephron attended journalism class taken by Charles Simms, students in the class were given work to do. Mr. Simms presented facts about an event and told them to report it. Most students got it wrong. Why?

Because they failed to put the most important information first.

The ‘inverted pyramid’ method is all about presenting the most important information about your post first.

This serves as a hook that draws reader’s attention. By offering value to your visitor at the beginning of your post, this makes them continue reading your post.

Consequently, this reduces your bounce rate and improve your rankings. Laura Lopuch is a master at captivating the audience with the first line of her posts.

8. Match your website content with guest posts for relevance

Although the impact of links from guest posts has reduced over the years, it’s still important for SEO — especially if you get featured on reputable websites.

But to have the best SEO effect from your guest posts, you have to make sure they’re similar to the content on your website. You also have to guest post on authoritative websites that are in the same niche as you are.

When you write a guest post that provides value, readers on that website who click-through to your website want to see that same type of content (but better) on your website, not something entirely different.

When Silvio Porcellana needed more search traffic, he began a guest blogging campaign. And got a 20% increase in search traffic after publishing 44 guest posts.

9. Create long-form comprehensive content to outrank your competitors

If your goal is to rank high in search engines, then the short-form content is not an option. This is because, to a large extent, search engines believe only long-form content is able to explain concepts in details.

As a result of this, it is believed that long-form articles provide the highest values to searchers.

Search engines are trying to give search users the best information possible. Going into details when you produce content for your website will give you a better opportunity to rank as search engines believe you’re providing value.

Brian Dean conducted a research on 1 million Google search results and found that the length of posts correlated with their positions on the search results page. A post on Google’s first page had an average of 1890 words.

In another research by SerpIQ, they also found posts length to be correlated with their Google search position. The average length of the post in the number one spot was 2450 words.

Even though the word count differs on both studies, one thing that is clear is that long-form content dominates on search engines and affects your position.

By posting long-form content consistently, Success At School increased its search traffic by 1,000%.

Conclusion

If you have a website and you’re serious about improving SEO for your website, copywriting is the most important factor to consider.

With the right copywriting, you’ll improve user experience and build a successful website.

You can improve your search rankings, get customers to your website, and keep them glued to your content. This gives you the best chance to achieve the targets that you’ve set for your business.

Author: Jaime Nacach

Jaime Nacach is the founder and marketing strategist of Bloominari, a marketing and creative agency in San Diego, California. Jaime loves to find and implement creative, technology-based solutions to help small businesses gain exposure online, generate more leads & sales, automate their day-to-day work, and develop a great digital marketing presence and… View full profile ›

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Source: https://www.business2community.com/seo/9-website-copywriting-tips-that-will-increase-your-search-ranking-02089154

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