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greypetrel · 1 year

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14 for Aisling? C:

Ooooh thank you for this! It’s been challenging but ultimately satisfying to write… And I think I may even re-use this, meheheh. <3

With some music recommendation! (and yes if you need it this is your clue to go and watch Master&Commander again.)

And since I’m a sucker, here’s Aisling’s dress .

Tis, on the other hand, is the prompt list!

14. Holding each other's gaze

Aisling is restless.

She doesn’t know if it’s still some lingering side effects of Adamant or the new balance in friendships that the aftermath has brought, the big question mark over Solas after her decision to rehabilitate the Wardens and their quarrel in Redcliffe, Varric who’s still struggling with Cole, Radha who… She doesn’t want to think about her. Or, some nerves for the upcoming Winter Ball, now approaching closer and closer.

Oh, she’s pretty ready for the Ball, or as ready as she’ll ever be. Josephine, sweet and clever Josephine, has organised a series of formal dinners with this and that fancy noble, to ease her into the environment and into the Game with far less at stake. This is one of those evenings: the great hall, now fully functional and polished to a shine is elegantly decorated with tables and candles to welcome guests, everyone in her inner Circle who wished to participate in their best clothes, the small string quintet Josie has found and hired to teach her dancing is softly playing in a corner a suite from a composer she really likes. It’s a nice evening, for a formal dinner, she didn’t mix the forks, not even once, the food was good and Sera has still not barged in with a full beehive.

And yet, she’s ill at ease in her skin and can’t wait to just jump on her horse and leave. Even if the next planned mission is in the Dirthavaren and it’s not going to be pleasant from the reports. She is irked by staying there and look pretty and play pretend and not being able to do what she wants. For example, her favourite passacalle just started and she can’t just leave Comte and Comtesse de Renard to grab Dorian and start dancing because she’d love to and they always have so much fun with passacalles.

But no, she reckons that this is all useful, so she puts up a nice smile, sips another bit of the sweet wine (the “stale molasses” in Dorian’s word, but he’s been scolded by Lady Montilyet to be on his best behaviour too) and just nods and reply something absolutely inconsequential over fox-hunting and riding in the countryside, shifting the topic to just riding with ease, at least.

The music changes to something slower, and the de Renards excuse themselves to go and dance, leaving her alone – for the wild luxury of maybe five minutes, if she’ll be very lucky and Josephine won’t notice her. So, she walks to the side, nodding to other people, gently raising her gown with a swish of green silk and petticoats underneath as she steps down to reach one of the tables and sit down for a while. The evil contraptions she has on her feet started to hurt, and between that and her growing antsier and more impatient… She needs to sit down. And so she does, placing her glass on the table as both hands discreetly fixes her skirt to sit on it without wrinkling the precious fabric, fixing the gown under her bottom before sinking on the chair and slipping her feet out of the shoes. Another sip of wine to hide the satisfied smile of toes blissfully splaying on the cool stones beneath them, pressing flat and wide and free, finally. Long skirts at least are useful to hide these little much needed moments of rebellion.

But it doesn’t last long, unluckily for her: not even the time to finish her wine, and Josephine’s there with her, looking like a jewel on herself in a dress of light, sheer silk that’s similar to what she usually wears but more forgiving and loose, more fit for a soirée.

“Josie!”

Mistake. Josie pouts, clicking her tongue over her palate.

“Lady Montilyet or Ambassador, now, Lady Inquisitor.” She chides her, softly. “Can I steal you for a moment, or has someone asked you to dance?”

“No, Dorian’s…” Where’s Dorian, exactly? Which is by now the only one who invites her to dance in these occasions. She looks around her, but the mage is nowhere to be found. “…Lord Pavus took flight.”

Aisling states, frowning and pouting in offence that he just managed to slip away from the room without her. She’s gonna put salt in his coffee, tomorrow. As a retaliation for not even letting her know the nearest escape route and leaving her there to envy him a lot.

“Yes, I think he slipped into the gardens…” Josie whispers, soft enough that just she can hear, before clearing her throat, with an apologetic smile on her face. “On that matter… Duc and Duchesse de Mourny expressed their… Interest in speaking with you directly.”

“Why would that be related?” She asks, suspecting something.

“They have expressed… Opinions on Lord Pavus’ upbringing.”

“I see.” Maybe no salt in his coffee, then. She sighs, slipping back into her shoes and raising up, gulping down the remnant of her wine -Josie scoffs but she cares not, she’s gonna need it- and leaving the glass on the table. “Let’s go.”

“You look lovely in this dress, by the way.” Josie adds, satisfied. She chose all of her formal dresses after all, Aisling just put some words in colours and in staying away from too many frills and ruffles, which is really not her style.

“You too, you look like you’re out of a painting! Yellow looks so good on you.”

“As long as I don’t look out of my sister’s paintings.”

“Why so? Is she bad?”

“No… It’s that she never finishes them. I would hate being here with half a gown, you see.”

They giggles together at that, walking on the other side of the room, close to the door that leads to the Undercroft. The Duc and the Duchesse are there, talking with Cullen and Leliana, and they may be the most richly dressed people in the room: the invitations to the soirée clearly specified it wasn’t that formal of an event, but they must have missed the line. They’re both dressed in the most precious and translucent brocades and silks, in clothes that would be fit for a gran gala. The Duc’s mask is made of pure silverite encrusted in sapphires, the same sapphires that adorns the heavy necklace and earrings of his wife, face hidden by a mask of ivory very delicately carved in a net of flowers and vines. Her raven black hair is up on her head and made even higher by a pair of ostrich feathers that looks as soft as snow and dwindles in every little minute movement of her head. They would make even Vivienne run for the prize of best-dressed, and Aisling suddenly feels underdressed and very much like the chubby and clumsy chick of a cuckoo, with her dress that yes, it’s silk and has a round of lace to embellish the wide neckline, but that’s it.

Rule number one, tho, the one Leliana always insists onto: don’t let them know, act like you’re in control. And Lavellan’s good at control. So, she just smiles and hints a curtsey to them both, checking her movement, not going too deeply down, just the necessary. They exchange with a nod of their heads, the Duchess waves her fan -ostrich feathers for that as well of course- and Aisling instantly knows they’re not there to have a good evening.

“Your Graces, it’s such a honour to have you finally here. Please forgive me for not being able to welcome you to Skyhold before.”

“Bien-sure, Inquisitor. Your advisers were just informing us of how busy you all are, no need for you to reiterate.” The Duc says, dismissively. The lack of Lady speaks volumes.

“This war won’t be easily won, Your Graces, but the busier we are, the quicker peace will be restored, hopefully. I am enchanted that it still gave us the chance to meet.”

“Such lovely words and such a lovely girl all for our pleasure, isn’t it, darling?” The Duchess chortles, mirthlessly. “So polite and charming, even speaking to nobles from the Empire she favours less!”

“Your Graces” Josephine speaks, as polite and diplomatic as ever. “I’m sure you’d realise that the Inquisition was founded by will of the late Divine Justinia as an organisation that’s super-partes. Lord Pavus’ presence is detached from the Magisterium, and honours that will.”

“Mais certainement, ma chère Josephine, the institution was never in doubt. One would wonder, tho, where the true master of its pretty head lies, seeing the lenience she has for Magisters and people who were in their service.”

Dorian ran, it was for his upbringing. So, that’s it. She can see in the corner of her eyes Leliana casually moving her eyes on her, without saying a word. Expectantly. And Cullen clenching his fist on itself, reaching for the pommel of a sword that isn’t there. At least she didn’t call her rabbit. And at least now she knows that the danger lies in the Duchess, not the Duc.

“I apologise for giving you the wrong impression, Your Grace. I’m really desolate my conduct led you to think so poorly of me, but your concerns aren’t founded. Lord Pavus is far from the Magisterium, and I just freed people who were unfairly tricked in conditions of servitude. I’m sure you learnt of Magister Erimond.”

“We did, Inquisitor.” The Duchess smile, a satisfied curl in her smile. “We learnt that the Magisterium gave you space to deal with you as you see fit. And after the disaster that was Adamant... The occupation of Orlesian forts in the Approach... One wonders.”

Oh, she hates this. She hates having to justify herself to a woman who never saw more than her own monthly blood. People who killed but never by their own hands, never in front of their eyes. Josie warned her. Josie knew. Aisling thought she was prepared, but she’s not. She schools herself as best as she can, smiling amiably as she tries to think of anything that isn’t an insult to reply.

But it’s not her who speaks.

Weirdly enough, it’s Cullen to step forward and clearing his throat, catching the attention of the pair.

“One would argue, tho, what would have become of the Approach should the Inquisition have chosen to leave the matter to Orlais, and whether the Empress had means to face that threat or the War without us, right now.”

"How quaint.” The Duc smiled, venomous. “Ignoring all our effort to end the Civil War and taking all the merit for yourself. It was me who conceded Citadelle du Courbeau to the Empress, after all, and the strategic position will eventually allow her Generals to win. But what would a Fereldan country boy know? If I’m not wrong, all your experience resides in the Circles of Kinloch and Kirkwall … A couple of remarkably positive examples.”

“A Fereldan country boy who’s responsible to the aid to your own lands, your Graces.” Chimes Leliana in, smiling sweetly at the Duc. “You should thank him and the Inquisitor for their effort in freeing them from the Civil War, so you will be able to spend the summer in Fort Revasan, which Gaspard’s troops luckily conquered with no damages at all to the structure. I heard there’s a lovely view over the river from there.”

And that line, sweet as honey and sharp as a knife, has the effect of silencing the two. The Duchesse’s smile grows strained at the corners, and the Duc just scoffs, clearing his throat and not able to reply anymore without confirming that they had, indeed, conceded the other fort to Gaspard. Josie gently elbows her, signalling that it’s her turn to calm the situation down, and Aisling swiftly replies.

“Our main effort, Your Graces, is only towards peace. People, soldiers and nobles alike have suffered enough in the last year, and this only enforces Corypheus’ and the Venatori’s threat. But I am sure we can all forget about War and just enjoy the soirée, now, all matters of War could be discussed tomorrow over tea.”

The Duchesse snaps to her, her smile widening with a threat and swaying her fan gently as she but turns to Josephine, without deigning Aisling of a direct answer.

“What a remarkable work you’re doing with her, Lady Montilyet. Your dear mother would be so proud! One would almost think her a Lady, and not the wild rabbit that she is. A pity you couldn’t do anything for her poor looks. Without the ears, those horrible marks on her face and the poor dress, the transformation would really be complete.”

It’s not the first time she’s been called rabbit. It’s the first time that she’s not being addressed directly with the insult, and treated like she’s not even there. It adds to the jab, and by the way the Duchesse’s eyes darts to her on the side, it’s all orchestrated. She freezes with a smile on her face, thinking of everything else and just reacting with her hands clenching slightly in front of her, over the little bow on the belt hiding the hem of the corset. They cut her out, and she can’t reply without-

“We have different opinions on what a Lady is, Your Grace.” It’s Cullen to interrupt, again, badly hiding chagrin in his tone as he pronounces the honorific. “We may all be too simple for your taste, but at the end of the day, modesty and humbleness will get you through the winter. It will get through the winter even the people you left on their own devices in your lands, left helpless and with no shelter or resources so you could afford gemstones and feathers. Our Lady has no need to cover the smell of rot with fancy ornaments, her actions shine brighter than the most precious of diamonds.”

Were Aisling able to move her eyes, she would see Leliana smirking, an amused glint in her eyes as she observes the situation unfurling, she would see the Duc and Duchesse grumbling and falling on themselves, hear their answer lose its bite. And yet, she’s fixed on Cullen’s eyes, grateful for the saving, with him looking back at her earnestly, steadfast and proud as ever, like a rock in a storm. Thinking better of it, it’s not the first time he saved her, even if she never saw him this polished and elegant, a fancy jacket in the place of the armour, under the usual cape, face neatly shaved – no, that’s a pity, some stubble really suits him better, as it suits him better his usual attire, rough around the edges and honest. Has he ever had such pretty eyes or it’s just his words? She muses, not able to look away as she feels even more restless than before. She can’t make up her mind whether she’s blushing for real or if it’s just an impression. All that exist, for a moment, is just him, the deep, warming respect in his eyes and words, and the look they’re holding on between them.

It's gratefulness that makes her heart beat faster, sure, but maybe it’s something else, a doubt in her thoughts creeping its way up.

Her train of thoughts is abruptly interrupted by Josephine, elbowing her again casually as she clears her throat. Aisling startles, suddenly even more restless and antsy in her skin, but snapping back to the present, as Josie finally concludes one of the most unpleasant exchanges in the last series of dinners and teas with aristocrats.

“Now, this is too lovely an evening to talk about War, Your Graces. Shall we forget all unpleasantries and enjoy the rest of the soirée? You haven’t told me how did you find the canard à l’orange. We heard it’s your favourite.”

Aisling doesn’t care of the duck. It was delicious and tart and she loves citruses in savoury dishes, now. But, she’s still with the deep need of running out and find the loose strand of her thoughts, unfurl them one by one and hopefully get a grip over herself. She answers mechanically at a couple of questions that are asked to her, frowns at Leliana who’s still looking at her like the cat who licked the cream, and politely excuses herself out of the group with an excuse, promising everyone and no one in particular that she’ll be back in no time, wishing a nice evening.

Dorian had an escape route. To the gardens, then. She struggles not to raise her skirt with both hands, launch the heeled slippers somewhere -she doesn’t care now, she doesn’t care that they were bought by Mahariel and she treasures the chance to wear them- and just run out and away. All her self-control gets in keeping her pace poised, smiling and nodding at people who greet her along the way, and finally -finally!- open the door to the garden and slip out in a swish of silk.

The air outside is chilly, Spring still too early to warm the evenings up. She doesn’t care about goosebumps, and now, just now, bends down to take both shoes in a hand and finally run to a quiet, dark corner where she can fold on herself and groan loudly, voice muffled by the green silk on her thighs.

It’s friendship.

It’s just friendship.

He did it out of friendship, she would have done the same in an inverted situation.

The word, tho, has now a crack in it. It’s friendship, she counts him as one of her best friends here, after all...

And yet-

She wonders, for the first time, how would it feel to thread her finger in his hair and undo whatever he did with so much pomade to keep it in order.

She shouldn’t think these things. He’s her Commander, they’re at war and he’s her friend.

And yet-

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #dragon age fic #greypetrel #aisling lavellan #cullen rutherford #forgive my French I studied it but I'm terribly rusty #writing petrel

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dickeygarcia · 2 years

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dragons-bones · 3 years

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FFXIV Write Entry #1: Delayed Gratification

Prompt: foster || Master Post || On AO3

IT BEGINS.

The Jewels and Java cafe is the brilliant brainchild of my friend @catpella and was used with permission. :3

“Again, I am so sorry,” Synnove hissed, mortified, as they walked down one of the many hallways of the Arcanists’ Guild.

“It’s perfectly all right, my love,” said Aymeric fondly, squeezing her hand. “If we miss the ferry, we can simply teleport.”

His lady sighed heavily and muttered, “But I like the ferry ride…”

He laughed and raised her hand to kiss her knuckles, and satisfaction purred in his chest at the way Synnove’s golden cheeks rosed with pleasure. Galette, in her usual position draped around her mama’s neck, didn’t bat an eye. Ivar, behind them, made a disgusted noise, followed soon after by Tyr’s annoyed elder brother huff; he ignored them, well used to Synnove’s sons’ idiosyncrasies.

It was not the first time one of their getaways had been temporarily delayed by a work-related emergency; their friends and colleagues were normally keen on ensuring the pair of them got to take vacations, but sometimes matters arose that absolutely could not be handled by anyone else. This one, thankfully, had occurred while they were still in the city and easy to reach. Very easy; they’d been merely around in the corner from Mealvann’s Gate in the Jewel and Java café, enjoying sweet treats before they planned to wander over to the ferry quay for the journey to Bloodshore and the cabin, when Thubyrgeim’s emerald carbuncle, Din, scurried in with a note from the Guildmistress.

“Oh, she’s playing dirty,” Synnove had muttered as she read the note. Din had twitched an ear in her direction, but he had clearly been in the midst of gossiping with Galette and Tyr, their noses and ears and tails moving in the way of creatures who didn’t need sound to communicate.

(Aymeric had, not for the first time, suspected that Synnove’s carbuncles’ aetheric harmonic matching capabilities were nowhere near as common as his lady implied they were. Certainly, he’d never ‘heard’ any other carbuncles speak, but he also knew Synnove’s quintet limited their direct communication to Synnove’s immediate social circle, and it would not be out of the realm of possibility that other carbuncles had similar preferences…)

Aymeric had peered over his shoulder, setting down his fork with its piece of rolanberry shortcake on his plate, and shook his head in amused exasperation at the sight of the Guildmistress’s shorthand, which was as atrocious as Synnove’s. “What seems to be the problem?”

“One of the fourth-years needs final approval for her thesis project’s spell changes,” she had said, refolding the paper, then pinching and dragging her nails along the crease to sharpen it. A chip of her bronze nail lacquer ended up left behind. “Yamomo—” the chair of the aetherophysics department, he had recognized the name immediately, “—had to ‘port out to the Range. It’s either an unscheduled detonation or one of the Squadrons fired on a part of the island they’re not supposed to, Thubyr’s writing got a bit sloppy there.”

A bit sloppy?

Pointedly ignoring his look, his lady had continued, “Solkthota’s presenting her thesis project at the next conference, and guess where that is?” Her voice had turned as dry as the Sagolii.

Aymeric had giggled even as he had fished Roksana out of her bowl of melting ice cream and absently began cleaning her face with a napkin as the white carbunclet had purred. “Does it start with ‘Radz’ and end with ‘Han,’ by chance?” he said.

“Oh, you’re good,” Synnove had said with a rueful laugh, and waved down one of the café’s waitresses to get their desserts packed to go.

Now, they approached one of the warded workrooms in the Guild’s north wing. As they did, Synnove carefully smoothed out her expression from huffy and annoyed to professional interest. For all that she did want to be vacation right now, enjoying the lazy trip around the southern coast of La Noscea to sightsee or nap or cuddle, she would never take out that frustration on one of her students.

She dropped his hand—reluctantly, though she quickly skimmed her thumb over his knuckles first—and opened the door to the workroom, stepping inside, with Aymeric following just at her heels.

The workroom was large and well-lit, the early afternoon sun streaming in through the many windows. The part they immediately walked into was a small observation area, with a setup of desks similar to a small amphitheater leading down to the main floor; this must be one of the practical demonstration workrooms, then. Two students were off to the side, a dark-skinned Highlander lad and a tiny grey elezen girl who had yet to hit her growth spurt and could have been anywhere between sixteen and twenty-one summers old. At the front of the workroom, pacing nervously, was a gangly Sea Wolf young woman, skin the color of storm clouds and hair such a shocking shade of daffodil yellow he would have thought it was dye if her eyebrows hadn’t been the same color.

All three students’ head whipped up and around when Synnove entered, and Aymeric saw the two sitting ones’ jaws drop as he took a seat at one of the other desks, Ivar and Tyr jumping into seats next to him as the twins tumbled down his arms to the desktop. The presumed Solkthota paled and stammered out, “Professor Greywolfe! You’re supposed to be on vacation—”

Synnove waved a hand and closed the short door on the partition between the observation area and the presentation area. (Briefly, as the latch on the door clicked into place, he felt the faint snap of a ward activating.) “Hadn’t left yet, Solk, and an emergency means Professor Yamo has to put the fear of the Twelve into someone,” she said absently. Her voice had gone from her usual faintly Ala Mhigan and Lominsan accented lilt into the crisp tones of a Gate arcanist on duty. “Remind me of what your thesis was covering? Professor Yamo hasn’t given me a copy yet.”

The young Sea Wolf took a deep breath and launched into a technical diatribe that almost immediately had Aymeric’s eyes glazing over. He recognized a few words and phrases—Shotamian manifold, harmonic oscillation—and knew just enough from listening to Synnove’s explanations over the years that this project didn’t seem to be carbuncle focused, but otherwise it was all Allagan to him. Instead, he made sure Amandina and Roksana hadn’t taken a page out of Galette’s playbook and hadn’t gotten into the bag of treats sitting beneath the desk at his feet, and leaned back in his seat to observe. Faintly, he could hear the other two students murmuring to one another, but about what, he was too far away to tell.

(They weren’t looking at him as they did, at least, so if he was the subject of their conversation, they at least had better manners about it than most Ishgardian nobles.)

Solkthota finished quickly, nerves clear as day on her face, and Synnove nodded, reaching up to pet Galette’s tails. “All right, no time like the present to test this.” She gestured towards one of the person-shaped targets at the end of the room. “Let’s see what this modified Ruin can do.”

The student took another breath as she unhooked her grimoire from her belt, opening it and quickly turning pages to the correct one. Solkthota removed her channeling stylus from the strap on the grimoire’s back and held it up in the air, the tip pointed towards the target, and began to cast.

The bolt of power had barely left the stylus before Synnove was roaring “DOWN!” and tackling the Sea Wolf to the floor. Aymeric grabbed the twins just as the word began to leave Synnove’s lips, and was on the floor beneath the heavy ironwood desk, the shrieking carbunclets tucked close to his chest, just as the echo of it was overtaken by the roar of an explosion. Tyr was on top of him and his little sisters as a bright light blinded him, blocking it out, but having an enormous topaz carbuncle atop him did nothing to muffle the sound or the feel of the room trying to shake apart.

The silence in the aftermath was nearly as deafening as the explosion had been.

Tyr rolled off his head, shoving past Ivar, who hung from the desk, chittering in excitement because big boom and, of course, he had watched. Aymeric crawled out after Tyr, and as he stood, the girls immediately pulled themselves up onto his shoulders and tucked into his neck, shivering. He absently stroked first Roksana, then Amandina, and hurried to the other end of the observation area to where the other students had been. As he walked, he noted that the ward on the partition was flickering oddly, like cracked glass, but the spell still held—barely.

The Highlander boy had covered his elezen classmate’s head with his torso, and she was shoving at him now, her voice muffled by his bulk, saying, “Tyon, gerroff, you’re heavy!”

Aymeric bent over to help Tyon keep his balance as he pushed himself up and crawled out from the desk. “Are you all right, you two?” he said.

Tyon rubbed at one ear, and accepted his proffered hand to get to his feet. “Ears’re ringing,” he said while also blinking rapidly. His tiny classmate popped up next to him, patting her dark blue hair back into place and scowling faintly.

Synnove, meanwhile, was lowering her arm; the right one, upon which she wore the ring denoting her as a master arcanist. The glimmer of a shield fell away as she did, and then she was standing upright and helping Solkthota to her feet. Galette’s ears were pinned back and her nose was twitching, but otherwise she seemed utterly unperturbed.

“I am so, so sorry,” the Sea Wolf was saying, her whole body shaking and her eyes wide with mixed shock and horror. “I know I did the math right, I know I did—”

“Honey, take a deep breath,” Synnove interrupted, hands on Solkthota’s shoulders and her voice firm as she looked up at the young woman. “In for seven, and hold, hold, hold, little more, and now out for seven. That’s it. And again…”

As Synnove calmed her student, Aymeric and the other two began righting chairs and wiping plaster dust from the tops of the desk. Tyr came over to headbutt Tyon’s thigh, and the Highlander gave his head a firm rub; as he did, an emerald carbuncle that appeared more vulpine than the standard manifested, yipped what was likely a hello, and then went to sit on the elezen girl’s foot. She immediately bent down and scooped the creature into her arms, tickling under its chin.

Soon enough, Solkthota’s breathing was under control, and Synnove gave her a grin. “There we are. Now, what’s the first rule of science?”

Solkthota’s answering grin was shy and watery. “It’s not science until you write it down.”

“Very good,” said Synnove, her green eyes glittering. “So let’s do that first. Next, we’re going to go through your arrays page by page; your working theory is sound, but the math fell through at some point.” She suddenly pointed towards the young elezen, without looking. “And no helping her, Atreanne!”

“Oh, come on, Professor G!” Atreanne said in a high, nasally whine. Her carbuncle added its own whine as emphasis. “I’m the best at it!”

“And Solkthota will learn better if you don’t feed her the answers,” Synnove said, her voice wry in the way of someone who had. “But you and Tyon are welcome to stay and observe, both of your physics work could do with some polishing.”

Tyon and Atreanne exchanged looks, wide-eyed, and then bolted for the partition.

“I’m glad now it wasn’t Professor Y today,” Aymeric heard Atreanne whisper to Tyon. “Professor G’s way more patient with screw-ups.”

“Professor G likes screw-ups,” Tyon whispered back. “They’re more fun, she says.”

“They are more fun, now hop to it, kids!”

Solkthota was dragging over the desk that had been pushed up against a wall, and Tyon and Atreanne grabbed chairs from the observation to bring over and sit with their classmate and teacher. Synnove, meanwhile, looked at Aymeric as she walked backwards towards the slate chalkboard.

“Can you get me some fresh chalk?” she said, a rueful grin on her face.

Aymeric laughed and gave her a sweeping bow, the twins peeping excitedly as they held on. He righted them as he straightened, and turned to head to where he knew one of the storage rooms were.

It was a good thing he had remembered to pack a few books to read.

#ffxivwrite2021 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #oc: synnove greywolfe #synnove's carbuncles #dt's writing

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goji-pilled · 2 years

Text

The Holy Quintet (+some others) as incorrect quotes from my old side account thats on hiatus right now because fandom switching but I base all of this purely on vibes

Nagisa: I would just like to remind you of how much you and everyone else adores me, and how boring your life would be without me.

Madokami:

Sayaka, in the distance: *loud cursing*

Nagisa:

Madokami: Momoe Nagisa, what did you do this time?

---------

Yuma: What's it like working with the "Holy Quintet"?

Kyoko: Imagine working with completely civilized, responsible and mature people.

Yuma: Okay.

Kyoko: Now throw that idea out of the window.

---------

*the Quintet playing twister*

Homura: Right hand red.

Kyoko: *ends up on top of Sayaka*

Madoka, whispering: You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Homura: I stopped spinning like 15 minutes ago. Honestly, I'm surprised they didn't notice it yet.

---------

Madoka: And what do we say when life disappoints us?

Kyoko: Called it.

Mami: As the prophecy foretold...

Homura: Miki did it.

Sayaka: Time to fist fight a demon.

Madoka: NO-

---------

*Mami teaching Nagisa math*

Mami, pointing to a triangle: See? It's 90 degrees.

Nagisa: How can it be 90 degrees? It’s November!

Mami: No, no, Nagisa, the angle is-

Homura: Because of global warming.

Madoka, stepping in: Homura, no-

---------

Kyoko: You may be in Sayaka's DMs.

Kyoko: But I'm on her nerves. We're not the same.

---------

Sayaka, making mashed potatoes: It feels like you don't trust my cooking.

Kyoko, also making mashed potatoes: Oh don't be silly!

---------

Nagisa: Hmm I poisoned someone’s drink, but I can’t remember whose…

Madoka: *spits out drink*

Kyoko: You WHAT?!

Homura: With the way this dinner is going, I hope it was mine.

Sayaka: *chugs drink*

Mami: *wordlessly gets up and leaves*

---------

Homura: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Sayaka: You were flirting with Madoka.

Homura: So what? She's my wife.

Kyoko: You asked her if she was single.

Homura:

Mami: And cried when she said she wasn't.

---------

Kyoko: *does something*

Mami: Minus five points.

Kyoko: What?

Sayaka: We started to score your behavior. When you reach 100 points, I will give you something special.

Kyoko: What's my score now?

Sayaka, sighing: -15432.

---------

Sayaka: We could get killed.

Kyoko: Or even worse, give Mami another reason to give us a lecture on responsibility and personal safety again.

---------

Homura, at McDonalds: You serve happy meals here, right?

Cashier: Yes.

Homura: Can I get that without the meal?

Cashier:

Homura: Please?

Mami: *shoves her away from the counter*

Mami: I'm sorry about her.

---------

Sayaka: Why are you looking at me through a fork?

Homura: I'm pretending you're in jail, Miki.

Sayaka: Why...?

Homura: It's spiritually healing.

Sayaka:

---------

Kyoko: I have found a foolproof way to tell if someone's evil!

Sayaka: Which is?

Kyoko: If they dislike Yuma, they're evil!

Sayaka: *turns to watch Yuma eat apple slices while humming twinkle twinkle little star*

Sayaka: That sounds pretty logical actually–

---------

Kyousuke: You know I would like for us to get along, for Sayaka's sake, but you don't seem to like me and Hitomi very much.

Kyousuke: I wonder why that is...

Kyoko, glaring at him: Well wouldn't you like to know, violin boy.

#pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #im not gonna tag everyone #this is possibly part 1 #who knows?

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knight-ingale · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3, Angels

A/n: I... wrote this in like... three-four hours. Thanks again to my lovely editor friend, who took the time to look over this even though she had an appointment in two hours that I wasn’t aware of! Love her to death!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---~---~---~---~--- *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You and Bella watched with what was probably an abnormal amount of interest as the horrendously perfect and angelic quintet made their way to a table in the corner of the cafeteria, far away from your own table on the other side of the long room. It occurred to you that if this was an intersecting line graph, they would be an exterior angle to match you, not that it mattered.

As you studied the five of them, you realized their nearly fantastical beauty wasn’t the only thing that made them stand out with such contrast. Three out of the five of them didn’t look anything like highschoolers, more akin to graduating college students or teachers, student teachers at the youngest.

The first person you noticed was the tall blonde who clearly surpassed six foot in height in wedged-heel boots. She was absolutely gorgeous, heart-stoppingly so. She had shining, wavy golden hair that flipped ever-so-slightly at the end in the middle of her back that contrasted heavily with her dark, nearly coal colored irises. Another ridiculously perfect part of her was her picturesque body. A perfect hourglass paired with an equally amazing pair of legs, which looked amazing in the just above knee-length skirt she wore with the boots. She looked… well, beyond words, really.

The next you focused on was also female, and the last girl, who was also bordering magical in her appearance, despite the polarizing styles. She was dressed more simply than her counterpart, but no less beautiful, and was her opposite in many ways. Small and slight in the way that had almost had you worried for her health, bordering faery-like in image. Her dark hair was cropped far above her shoulders, slightly spiked out in a way that looked like a mess but in the best way anyone could hope for. She seemed to be the shortest of the group as well.

By the time all of the students had sat down, you were onto the third, a ridiculously huge boy with curly black hair. Seriously, this guy was enormous, capping his height at over six feet easily, maybe six and a half feet. He was still ever-so-slightly taller than the gorgeous blonde girl.

Another blonde, speaking of, was a boy. Shorter than the ridiculously muscular boy and the blonde girl, which he slightly resembled in hair color, but certainly taller than the faery girl. His hair was blonde, like the Victoria’s Secret Angel worthy girl, but his hair was a deeper shade of honey rather than bright, nearly gaudy gold.

The last student was also the last boy who held a younger visage compared to the high schoolers around him. He was less bulky compared to the other two boys and was slightly shorter than the blonde, making him the second shortest in a theoretical line-up of heights. The only noticeable trait to you was his auburn hair, which shone in the horrible fluorescent lights with a nearly mystical copper quality.

All of these supposed high schoolers, you still couldn’t believe that, looked absolutely worn, like they had stayed up for three or more all-nighters to finish a group project. The dark semicircles that lined the lower lids of each pair of eyes contrasted with the extreme paleness of their faces. Were the five of them a club consisting of those with extreme anemia or something? They looked almost like printer paper, even paler than your notably pale sister Bella. You break your probably intense gaze away from the table of strangers to lean over to Jessica,

“Hey, Jessica,” you call. You get her attention easily as she looks to you. “Who are they?” you ask. She looks over to Bella, easily following her gawking to the table of divine looking students and giggles. You look back with Jessica quick enough to see the bronze-haired boy look up in masked curiosity, dark eyes flickering from Jessica, you, and then your sister. He looks away before you can reflexively look away in embarrassment, but you all do anyway. Jessica giggles again,

“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen-” You hadn’t even noticed her leave, now that you realized she was gone. You had turned around for hardly a moment! She must be fast as hell. “They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife,” she says under her breath.

“What’s her name?” you ask quietly, “The doctor’s wife, I mean.”

“Esme, I think? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her, but my mom has, she works at the bank. She says she’s really pretty and nice.” Jessica raises her eyebrows, “But most people are that way in public, so who really knows?” Bella glances back at the table, seemingly at the bronze-copper-haired boy, who was picking a bagel apart like it owed him money. He also seemed to be speaking, but the other three at the table didn’t seem to pay attention to him.

“They’re… very nice looking,” your sister manages, obviously in awe.

“Yes!” Jessica giggles, “They’re all together though- Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together.” she states with an air of small-town judgment. Even so, it was a bit strange. Siblings, whether biologically related or not didn’t matter to you, really shouldn’t date, right?

“Which ones are the Cullens?” Your sister asks, “They don’t look related…”

“Oh, they’re not,” Jessica assures, “Dr. Cullen is really young, in his early twenties or thirties. They’re all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins- the blondes- and they’re foster children.” So the blondes are related, makes enough sense. The girl was Rosalie, a vintage but fittingly timeless name. Jasper also sounded like an older name, but the only thing you could think of was that jasper was a kind of rock. What did jasper rocks look like?

“They look a little old for foster children,” your sister mentions.

“They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that.” Jessica reveals.

“That’s kind of nice- for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they’re so young and everything.” Jessica shrugs off your sister’s words with a glance thrown in the directions of the Cullens.

“I guess so,” she admits reluctantly. You look at Jessica with guarded judgment. What was so bad about someone adopting kids? “I think Mrs. Cullen can’t have any kids, though.” You grimace, looking over to the Cullen table. Jessica was going to pull something in her arm if she kept reaching so far to find something to judge this family for! You notice the boy, who you have now mentally tacked the name of “bagel hater” onto, looks like he laughed. Of course, you can’t hear him for your vantage point, so you just see his shoulders move slightly and see him murmur quietly, seemingly to his three remaining siblings. You couldn’t see the face of the blonde boy- Jasper- but you can see Rosalie smile slightly, and the big one grins.

“Have they always lived in Forks?” Your sister asks. You turn back to Jessica as she answers.

“No,” she practically scoffs, “They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.” You can see Bella physically relax. You weren’t the only ones considered “new” here. Though it was obvious that the now quartet of beautiful students aren’t exactly accepted, though you couldn’t tell quite yet if their segregation from the rest of the school was preferable for them.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish-brown hair?” Bella is still peeking over at the subject of her question when she asks. For some reason, he was staring at your sister with a look of frustration, maybe confusion. You sit up straight and scoot a bit closer to your sister, but you don’t wait for a reaction, instead choosing to look to Jessica as she answers yet another one of your sister’s queries. This girl really likes to talk, or at least gossip.

“That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time,” she huffs, “He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” Ah. Girl done got turned down, and apparently isn’t taking it well. Yikes. You purse your lips to keep yourself from smiling.

“Hey,” you try, “at least that means you can find someone else who isn’t such a jerk, right?” She shrugs, but your attempt seems to have smoothed over the sour blip in her mood.

You immerse yourself quietly in the conversation at the rest of the table, listening idly to the girls around you. One girl, quiet and fairly tall, introduced herself as Angela Webber. Apparently she had an oncoming class with Bella. She seemed much more genuine and sweet compared to her friend Jessica. Usually, you would have left to arrive to class much earlier with your sister when you shared lunch periods, but having people other than each other and a few acquaintances was a good reason to stay for you. Bella seemed content enough to stay as well.

Eventually, the bell rings to start passing period. You bid your sister farewell to make your way to P.E. Not your favorite class, but you’d deal. Apparently, Forks required four years of P.E. rather than your old schools two, which sucked. Coach Clapp signed your paper and let you sit out of the class for the day while he got you all your information for locker number and combo as well as your uniform.

Your last class of the day was Introduction to Psychology. You were welcomed warmly by your teacher, a short brunette who's name you had yet to be able to pronounce, so you and other students just called her Ms. S. You were sat in the back of the class next to the only one other open seat.

Right before the bell rings, you notice one last student walk through the door. You’re the only student looking back towards the door when you see Jasper Hale walk through the door. He wasn’t rushing despite his near lateness, and the teacher just looks up and smiles before going back to her work. That’s when you realize the only other desk was next to you. You duck down to your backpack to pull out a blank notebook and a pencil for the class. A notebook and folder were really the only things you were told to bring, so it was easy to get ready. When you popped back up, Jasper was sitting in his seat beside you with his arms crossed on the top of the desk. Despite the casual way he sat, he seemed ridiculously tense, his hands balled up into fists and tucked into his elbows. You shrugged it off and opened your journal to date and answer the bellwork question written on the whiteboard. Ms. S declared the day a workday and gave you your textbook and a few sheets of work. One was just a little packet to see what you knew and the other was a two-sided sheet questionnaire about yourself. You started on that first, which was fairly easy. Favorite colors and books, favorite foods, activities, and questions about family. You finished that about a quarter through the class. You worked on the packet until you answered all the questions you knew how to answer, which was just a little over half the packet. That took about half the class. During the last quarter, you just grabbed a page out of the back of your journal. You doodle little plants and eyes and mindless patterns. Shortly after you started you decided you wanted to try and draw someone. Naturally, the boy beside you would be the easiest to draw, so you decided to draw Jasper. By the end of the class, you had a nice looking, albeit stylized, sketch of your neighbor leaning against his desk.

The bell rings, and in a flurry of zipping backpacks and papers, students pack up and leave. You leaned down to put your pencil back in your pencil case before pulling yourself back up to grab your journal. When you sat up fully you noticed Jasper Hale standing up with his bag slung on one shoulder, head tilted in curiosity as he looked down at the lined paper down on your desk. Before you can stutter out any excuse, he speaks in a soft voice laced with amusement and a slight country tinge,

“You drew me?” he asks. You felt like your face was hotter than the sun,

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I was just bored an-” he interrupts your anxious excuse with a small smile, picking up the paper,

“No no, it looks really good.” Did he really think it was good?

“Uh, thanks,” you mumble, grabbing your journal to keep packing up and refusing to make eye-contact. He offers a quiet thanks before disappearing out the door. Well, that was certainly strange. You finish zipping your backpack before standing to turn your work into Ms. S, who seemed delighted to see you had finished your work early.

“Thank you, Y/n. How was your first day?” You smile,

“It was pretty good, considering I have no idea where I’m going,” you laugh, she laughs.

“Ah, you’ll get used to it all eventually. By the way, do you happen to know Mr. Hale?” Ms. S asks. You blink in confusion,

“Uh, no. This is the only class I have with him, I think? Why do you ask?” She shrugs,

“I just haven’t seen him really interact with many students outside of his family, especially not on his own.”

“He just liked the doodles I made near the end of class, I guess,” you respond. “Anyway, I have to go turn in my paperwork, See you tomorrow Ms. S!” You wave goodbye as you leave, following the streams of students out of the building. From there you were able to navigate your way to the office building with relative ease. You didn’t see Bella inside and waited outside until you saw her slowly making her way to the building, holding her arms around herself to hide from the cold wind. You laugh and wrap an arm around her and walk into the building.

You feel Bella freeze almost as soon as you enter. You notice the receptionist is busy but only realize why your sister is shocked with anxiety when you notice exactly who she’s busied with. Edward Cullen, the boy who gave her a strangely aggressive look during lunch. You pull Bella to the wall to wait, but she presses herself against you and the wall to make as much space between herself and this boy. Jesus, what did this guy do to scare Bella so bad, bite her?

The door beside your sister opens, blowing both of your hair around as a random girl came in to place something in the receptionist’s note basket. Then the weirdest thing happened. Edward stiffened before slowly turning to glare at your sister. You tighten your arm around her and stand up straight, rather than leaning on one leg. You glare right back at his scarily perfect face. This jerk had no reason to be looking at your sister like that! It was only her first day, she couldn’t have done anything to garter such a look of malice. Edward flicks his angry gaze to you for a moment, you still glared, before he turned back to the woman behind the desk.

“Never mind, then,” he nearly growls. Such a nice voice certainly didn’t match to a vehemently hateful face, “I can see that’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” He turns sharply and practically marches out of the office. You pull Bella closer against you as he exits. What. A. Dick. You help Bella to the desk on her wobbly knees, her face noticeably paler than before. You hand your slips into the woman with a shaky smile.

“How was your day, dears?” She asks kindly. You manage a much more believable front compared to your sister, who can barely manage a meager,

“Fine.” You grimaced at her answer, the receptionist didn’t buy it.

“Pretty good day,” you say, “Thanks for the maps, they helped a lot!” She nods as you leave. You climb into the truck, one of the last vehicles in the parking lot.”

You let Bella drive for a while before you bring up her day. She was crying which she never did when sad, only angry or embarrassed.

“So…” You start, “What’s with that jerk? We literally just get here, not even Jessica McGossip-Face was mean, and she’s the most judgmental person we’ve met today!” you joked lightly, but no smile,

“I… I’m not sure? I didn’t do anything. He seemed fine far away during lunch, but he was in my Bio two after lunch and… and he was so weird?! He was on the edge of his seat as far away as he could get from me during class. He froze up and got all angry when I first passed him to get to the teacher and-and I don’t know why?” You reach over and gently rub her shoulder as she drives. You were much better at emotional support compared to your sister and father, but you can only do so much while she’s trying to drive.

“Yikes. It sounds like he’s a dick, if you ask me. Maybe that’s why he didn’t have anyone sitting next to him. Too much of a jerk to work with, “ you speculate, “His brother Jasper is weird in class too if that makes you feel any better. Maybe the whole family is like that. Who knows?” Bella wipes her unreleased tears away with her sleeve,

“Maybe…” You purse your lips before trying again,

“Hey, it’s not good to take in the opinion of someone like him anyway. Did you see how he wasted that bagel? He picked it apart like it insulted his mother! He’s a bagel hater! He doesn’t seem like someone worth taking into consideration to me,” you grin when Bella smiles.

“Ha, I guess you’re right.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---~---~---~---~--- *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tags: @twilight-loveer @rushiruby

#twilight #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #x reader #x y/n #jacob black #jacob black x reader #Afterlight

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wrwerfews · 3 years

Text

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burlveneer-music · 4 years

Audio

Cat Toren's Human Kind - Scintillating Beauty - pianist Toren leads a quintet through a set of inspirational spiritual jazz (New Focus Recordings)

At its core, the creative act of making art is grounded in generosity and hope; the gift of sharing one’s inspiration with others and the hope that in doing so, it will be transformative in some form for those who experience it. Inspired by two iconic quotes from the Reverend Martin Luther King, pianist/composer Cat Toren confronts the fraught contemporary moment in our collective history by searching for music that resonates with the ideals of redemption, metamorphosis, and spiritual evolution that are at the core of the civil rights movement. Enlisting the talents of her quintet HUMAN KIND on their sophomore release, Toren draws on her work as a sound healer and the influences of spiritual jazz practitioners such as Alice Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders to produce an album whose message is powerfully communicative.

On top of crafting an expressive and energetic arc over the course of the album, Toren deftly blends the stylistic references inherent in the HUMAN KIND instrumentation. The shared musical environment she facilitates is one in which the various voices present, whether it be the Arabic oud, jazz saxophone, or percussion grounded in the healing tradition, are meeting in a space that has a quality of universality; she skillfully avoids the trap of featuring any instrument for the exoticism of its association. Perhaps this is yet one more way that Toren’s practice strives to send a message about community and harmony, that we can find a mutual forum for discourse. Or as King put it as no one else could, “Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear-drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.”

Xavier Del Castillo, saxophone Yoshie Fruchter, oud Cat Toren, piano, compositions, chimes, tuning forks, singing bowls, rattles, bells Jake Leckie, bass Matt Honor, drums Stephanie Rooker (track 1), chimes, tuning forks, singing bowls

#Cat Toren #jazz #spiritual jazz #brooklyn #2020

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thebowerypresents · 4 years

Photo

Folk Supergroup Bonny Light Horseman Delight Rough Trade NYC

Bonny Light Horseman – Rough Trade NYC – February 6, 2020

The sold-out Bonny Light Horseman show at Rough Trade NYC on Thursday night quite literally began with “Fare thee well.” The line was sung by Anaïs Mitchell to begin the opener, “10,000 Miles,” and couldn't have been a more perfect start. Her voice and strummed acoustic guitar were soon joined by some light wails from Josh Kaufman’s electric guitar, sweet harmonies from Eric D. Johnson and then, to round out the sound, a steady rhythm from JT Bates on drums and Kaufman’s wife, Annie Nero, on bass. The individual becomes the group, the past becomes the present, that was the show and band’s implied message. Bonny Light Horseman are a supergroup of sorts, the kind that makes you wonder what magic brought together these musicians to make this music, largely modern-day interpretations of old, forgotten traditional folk songs and texts. Often you might expect musicians playing this kind of material to try to channel some of its ancient energy, but as the band fell into an easy comfort on “Magpie’s Nest,” Johnson’s banjo and Kaufman’s guitar perfectly chatting with Bates’s brushed-drum patter, they were making the music their own right here in 2020.

Bonny Light Horseman played their acclaimed self-titled album more or less in its entirety. “Jane Jane” was an early highlight, Johnson’s and Mitchell’s voices meeting like a fork in a river, two self-sustaining currents mixing with a lovely turbulence, creating vortices that swirled in guitar and banjo. While the band’s principals—Mitchell, Johnson and Kaufman—carried the narrative of the set, Bates was the one giving each song its own feel, imparting a page-turner pace to “Jane Jane,” adding subtle cymbal clicks to “The Roving” to accentuate Mitchell’s impassioned singing, and giving Kaufman’s delicious twang on “Mountain Rain” its heartbeat. In the middle of the set, they did a few songs that were actually from the ’70s, which had a decidedly more rocking feel—Kaufman ripping some of his best guitar work of the night—proving that while the old material was a nice excuse to form the band, it is, in the end, immaterial.

Late in the set they brought out a guest trumpet player whose muted horn on the title track complemented shimmering guitar, footstep drumming and two-part harmonies in transcendent fashion. The encore was performed with just one microphone, beginning with a large-group almost a cappella cover of the Irish/Scottish folk song “Wild Mountain Thyme,” the quintet joined by opener Erin Rae and their sound-guy tour manager to powerful effect. Bonny Light Horseman finished the performance with just Mitchell, Johnson and Kaufman around the microphone for “Bright Morning Stars,” ending the show that had begun with “Fare the well” with the trio singing, “Day is breaking in my soul.” For almost everyone in the packed house, again, truer words could not have been sung. —A. Stein | @Neddyo

Photo courtesy of Ellen Qbertplaya | @Qbertplaya

#Aaron Stein #Anaïs Mitchell #Annie Nero #Bonny Light Horseman #Brooklyn #Ellen Qbertplaya #Eric D. Johnson #Fruit Bats #Josh Kaufman #JT Bates #Live Music #Music #New York City #Photos #Review #Rough Trade NYC #Williamsburg #Erin Rae

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fandoms-and-flute · 6 years

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BIMFestival highlights (8/4-8/13)

-The festival was at the Charterhouse school (in the Surrey countryside), very scenic, but IT IS A HIGH SCHOOL (I’ll be doing a separate post with pictures; I couldn’t believe it)

-There were only 3 Americans in total - I found the first one (a clarinet player) on the first day, and only managed to find the last one on the final day of the festival.

-In my woodwind quintet, the horn player was from Hong Kong, and the bassoon was the youngest player at the festival (14!)

-Jim Lyman (American flute player) was at the festival all week doing group yoga and individual body mechanics class

-At the opening festival, we were presented with a very solid bop by a resident composer (Brian Lock) Three Infusions for clarinet and computer. Mark Van de Wiel, the resident clarinet professor, played and it was lit.

-Susan arranged for Top Winds to come visit us, and I was able to get some books for a really good price.

-Also at the Top Winds pop up shop, the vendor had brought a custom Brannen Cooper with a split F#. It was so cool.

-Everyone was finding little spiders (like Daddy Long-legs) in their rooms. I was so lucky not seeing one…. Until the last night when the hugest spider was in my trash can. (I’ll add a picture to my other festival post).

*Here is a fun fact section/weird observations about the UK from someone who lives in the US*

-Mosquitoes are not a thing, it was amazing

-Cicadas were also not a thing, but crows are (and they liked to sit outside my window and be loud af)

-As someone from New Jersey, I would just like to give my condolences for your “bagels”

-Speaking of bagels, here are some weird eating habits: (1) I saw a girl take only one half of a bagel, spread butter on it, and then eat it with a fork and knife.. (2) chicken wings? Not with your hands apparently, everyone uses knives (3) pizza and fries? No longer finger foods, you need a knife.

-Everything stopped for tea. It was wild.

-I saw the most lamb ever served in my lifetime in the span of 2 weeks (I’m allergic to lamb so I nearly died on the first day before I realized what they were serving and opted for chicken instead).

-The light switches were upside down, I never got used to it.

-The keys were also upside down.

-Also, there were switches next to all the power outlets so instead of unplugging something from the wall, you just flipped the switch.

#bimf #bimfestival #flute #k313 #collegelyfe #flutist #music major #musicblr

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guerrerense · 2 years

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NPR 3502 Ardoch 21 Jul 05 por Ween (Colorado) Por Flickr: NPR 3502 leads 4 other GP35s south on the BNSF Glasston Sub near Ardoch, ND. This...was a huge surprise, namely because I had no idea the Northern Plains Railroad even existed at this point. I had moved to North Dakota in February of '05, and even though this shot was taken in July, I had spent the previous 3 months deployed to the Middle East. As I was getting a lay of the land in North Dakota, I never ventured much north of Grand Forks. After I got home, I started to expand my searches north when I spotted this train coming around the wye off the NPR Devils Lake Sub and onto BNSF tracks. After doing some research, I realized that I had a shortline railroad in my backyard and that this move along the BNSF was extremely rare. I believe the NPR bridge over the Red River of the North was damaged or at least was unpassable due to flooding so the NPR re-routed a few trains from Ardoch down to Grand Forks and then east out the BNSF Grand Forks Sub. I never saw this move again in my time in North Dakota and have not heard of it since. In hindsight, I should have chased this quintet south and then east, but I didn't for some reason. At least I was able to catch what I did...

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techbugs-digital-marketing · 4 years

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Jeep's off road electric bike is available for preorder at $5899 from today

The first briefing of the 2020 Jeep e-bike came in a Super Bowl ad last month, which was received immediately after receiving some details from both Jeep and manufacturing partner Quitkat. Now the e-bike has gone for pre-order, and we suspect, it's not cheap.

Actor Bill Murray reinstated Jeep's Super Bowl role this year. Focused on the Gladiators movie of 2020 for the lead role of the movie. But Murray did four swaps for two wheels and we got a quick look at the Mystery e-bike. Then the landing page arrived and the Jeep e-bike was officially born. Details were brief at the time, but now that the e-bike is gone for pre-order, more specs have been revealed. To repair it again the range was charged per charge 40 miles ( 64 km), hitting a 750-W mid-drive motor, drawing a fire-link suspension sitting on 4.8 in-fat tires. General Chat Chat Lounge.

The Fire-Link suspension shapes the RockShox Monarch RL Rear Shockzip / QuitTeak as a true four-bar linkage system. We now know that the Class 2 e-bike is being offered as a special edition of the Reitzner Electric Mountainbike in Quintet and is offered in two frame sizes 17 and 19 inches (43.18 or 48.25 cm). The hidden battery in the Dowchaat is a 14.5-Ah / 48-V unit that has been reported to be good at between 30 and 60 mph (48 - 96.5 km) per charge, with the mid-drive motor providing 160 Nm of torque and pedal support. Or throttle drive, the e-bike has 10-speed gears, and the stopping power comes from a 4-piston hydraulic brake with 203-mm rotors. The suspension system is confirmed as an inverted air fork with a combination of 150mm travel and RockShox Monarch RL rear shock (120mm travel). The 9-inch rims are actually rolled in 8.8 inches CST Rowley Poly Fat Tires, the e-bike shows a scale of up to 79 lbs (8 35..8kg) and can handle up to 300 lbs (136kg). The mid-handlebar display shows ride information. If you wish, the Jeep e-bike - or Regener Jeep version - has been available since June. Taste of the standard Seatpost costs $5,899, while a version of the remote dropper Seatpost will be installed, which costs $ 278 for you. Read the full article

#electricbike #jeep #jeepelectricbike #jeepoffroadbike #offroadbike

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doveyrei · 7 years

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Macross V: a Voltron Legendary Defender x Macross Frontier/Delta Crossover (3) -Lance/Keith-

CLICK HERE FOR THE FIRST CHAPTER

CLICK HERE FOR THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 1379

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Those were the first words the girl has said, her head tilted with a blank look. I bet you would expect her to spring her eyes open and ask 'where am I?!' or scream and knock the Cuban dead with a single punch.

"The name's Lance," He gives a very white and luminous smile that shines like the ones in those toothpaste advertisements. "But you can call me--anytime."

"Yup, there's the Lance we know by heart." Pidge slams her face into her palm.

The little white mercat jumps off the table in excitement and pounces over at the girl, licking her cheeks happily followed by a wagging tail fin. The girl giggled and embraced her little kit. "Chika! I'm sorry I've worried you." The Mercat nuzzled her face at her owner's neck.

"Cute..." Lance and Keith mumbled simultaneously right when they exchanged looks, they immediately glared and tore their eyes away from each other with a flustered huff.

"So her name's Chika." Hunk repeated the pet's name in a faint mutter no one could barely hear.

Allura lowered herself towards the girl and offered her a hand. The girl gave a nod and took her hand, being hoisted up.

"Th-thanks..--Oh no." Once she got up her legs begin to stagger. Allura caught her in her arms to keep her standing. Chika panicked by her owner's moves, she jumped off towards Hunk's shoulder.

"Easy there, dear." Allura placed her hands over the girl's shoulders. "May I ask for your name?"

"Merodii Lee," She answered. "I'm a pilot of the Delta Flight Unit and a member of the sound tactical unit, Walküre."

A few seconds after Merodii's last sentence, her face went blue and began to stammer, "Y-y-you're not going to contact them right? If Reina locates me, Makina-san will totally punish me for sure!"

"Who's Reina?" Pidge raised a brow.

"And who's Makina-san?" Hunk added in.

"So you are a runaway." Keith butted in walking towards Merodii pushing slightly shoving Lance out of the way.

"Huh?! It's not like that, I--!" Before she could say anymore, she was interrupted by a loud growl. Merodii pouts, placing her hand over her stomach. "Darn."

"I think it's best if we continue this conversation in the dining room," Shiro speaks to her with a comforting smile if only she could recognize it.

~~~+~~~

"My name is Allura, Princess of Altea," Allura starts. "This is Coran, my advisor."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss!" Coran bowed before Merodii.

She smiles in response. "It's nice to meet you too, Coran."

"I'm Pidge, the smart one of the team. The guy cooking in the kitchen is Hunk," She turns her head over to Keith sitting right across of her, impatiently waiting for dinner. "The lonely emo dude over there next to goofball Lance is Keith."

"Yep that's right--wait what did you just say?"

Merodii nods but refuses to meet Keith's gaze. She felt like his eyes have been over her for a long time--cold eyes.

"And I'm.." Shiro pauses for a few seconds then continues to say something else. "I'm Shiro. Together we form Voltron, the last hope of the Universe." From there on, Allura frowns thinking there might be something that Shiro knows more than the others.

"The last hope of the Universe...You too?" Merodii repeated blinking a couple of times. "Now that I think about it, the Lieutenant did mention about a Princess and Voltron a couple of times before to me. Wait, you're familiar with us too right?"

"Welllll..." Lance panned his eyes sideways.

"We were actually trying to figure out who you were by looking for clues within your fighter," Allura answered. "We haven't been familiar with your squadron unit until now."

"Sorry, we have to barge into your property like that while you were still healing." Pidge scratched the nape of her neck.

"No, it's fine. I did expect for it to be examined if someone did find me." Merodii shakes her head. "I'm certain you saw that video from my phone."

Everyone exchanged looks and simply nodded. After a little while of waiting for food to be served, Hunk finally comes and presents a line of dishes for the lady guest and the rest of the team. "Bon Appétit!" Lance and Keith chowed down what was on their plates right away. She takes a bite of the tasty grub and grinned widely with a satisfied hum. A section of her dark blue hair--a cowlick springs up happily matching her gleeful expression. "Mmm~ Delicious!"

"Aww, shucks!" Hunk smiles bashfully with dusty pink cheeks.

"Hey, you should come visit Ragnanyannyan sometime!" Merodii chimed with her mouth still full. "I eat most of my meals over there."

"A restaurant?" Hunk asked while Lance attempts to steal a bite out of his plate. He, unfortunately, fails with a smack on the back of his hand. "That's a nono Lance, you had your share!"

"It's located in Ragna, the planet I live in." Merodii continued with a frown.

"The planet you ran away from," Keith replied almost immediately.

"I've told you before, I'm not a runaway."

"Then how come you we found your bag, a box of pictures and other stuff behind your cockpit? Why did we happen to find you injured along with a wrecked fighter?" Keith resumed with a series of uncomfortable questions.

"Okay Keith, I think that's enough for now," Shiro cuts him off before he could say anymore. He turns to Merodii, her cowlick wilts with a pout. "You left to find something important. Didn't you?"

"That's right," Merodii says, her brow furrowed. "There's a promise I need to fulfill. A very close friend of mine helped me out of Ragna without being caught by anyone else."

Hayate Immelmann. Shiro already knew he could be able to guess who that person was but said nothing about it. "And what would that promise be?"

"One of our Walküre members, Freyja Wion, was mysteriously taken by Galran Soldiers hours before I left." Merodii placed her fork down and looked up at Shiro with a concerned look. "By one Idol short, it will still affect our performance to neutralize the Var."

"That term keeps on popping into my head since we watch that video. If you could, can you summarize what that is for us, darling?" Allura asked.

"Var Syndrome, a mysterious phenomenon that takes away the sanity of many individuals regardless of race or species. It can infect even one of us in this room." Merodii takes in a serious tone. "The Galran Empire takes advantage of the syndrome's effect, causing innocent people to go berserk and lose control of themselves which may result in hurting another. That's why Walküre alongside with Delta Flight, exists. We are the 'cure' for the Var Syndrome."

"So if we don't get rid of this virus, our success rate to beat the Galran Empire will go down." Pidge adjusted her glasses. A straightforward elaboration.

"I'm not going back to Ragna. Not until my promise to bring my friend back is fulfilled." Merodii completes her dish, consuming her last bite.

"It looks like more challenges await us." Shiro placed his hands over his hips. "But now that we have finished our dinner, I think it's time catch some shut-eye for the day."

"Hold on, where's Merodii gonna sleep?" Lance got up from his seat.

"Hm, I'm sure Keith won't mind sharing quarters! It's the only area with an extra bunk." Coran popped in. His statement made Lance, Keith and Merodii all flinch.

"Eh?!"

"CORAN!"

"Y-Yknow, I can just sleep in my Fighter.."

"Unacceptable! Your jet is unstable to be in. But no worries, Hunk and I will tune it up in a jiffy!" Coran whipped a thumbs up.

"Ya sure you wanna do that Coran?" Lance asks glancing at Merodii.

Merodii simply shrugs. "I don't know man, Keith probably seems like he could be the most toxic person to be around." Another cold flash from Keith strikes her spine, but this time she doesn't really care.

"I like her already," Pidge whispered into Hunk's ear.

"THANK YOU!" Lance threw his hands up in the air towards Merodii.

"It'll only be for a few quintets," Allura added. "From there on we'll figure everything out."

"Sigh...alright."

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13thfloornz · 7 years

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The Southern Fork Americana Festival came to a rousing close last night with Traveller…Robert Ellis, Cory Chisel and Jonny Fritz…all well-known to Tuning Fork regulars…having a good ‘ol time on the stage together with their buddy Josh Hedley.

Forming something of a alt.country supergroup, Chisel, Fritz and Ellis, have gotten together, recorded an album titled Western Movies and are playing shows down under before bringing their new act to The States.

And while things are still a bit loose and not completely worked out…well, that didn’t matter, in fact it added to the fun.

Up first was another Tuning Fork regular, Nashville’s Joshua Hedley, who is doing some celebrating of his own after having just been signed to Jack White’s Third Man Records.

Josh’s album, Mr Jukebox is still a few months away, but we were treated to the title track, along with ten other tunes delivered in Hedley’s honky tonk style.

And speaking of style, Josh was looking good…wearing a ten gallon hat and a very sparkly suit that feature a huge gator across the back.

The best songs were the tearjerkers, including Jerry Lee Lewis’ Another Place, Another Time and his own I Don’t Want To Fight With You All Night, in which he was aided by the guitar stylings of Robert Ellis.

Traveller appeared relatively quickly after Josh’s set. The quintet was running on fumes after only getting about an hour’s sleep the previous night…they had just played a show in Australia.

Fritz, Ellis and Chisel weren’t to be outdone by Hedley…all sporting very snazzy gear.

In addition to the three frontmen, the band is filled out by bassist Geoffrey Mueller and drummer Tank Lisenbe.

Together they lit into the first song, Happy In Hindsight, taken from the new album.

The three vocalists traded verses and the harmonies fell into place naturally.

There was a bit of fluffing around between songs, but when they finally got around to playing and singing, the waiting was worth it.

In addition to tunes from Western Movies, they each performed songs from their solo careers, Jonny Fritz with Stadium Inn, Robert Ellis with Elephant and Cory Chisel with a beautiful Southern Arms.

It was a great way to wrap up the festival, a night out with old friends, singing new songs and everyone enjoying each other’s company.

Marty Duda

Click on any image to view a photo gallery by Michael Flynn:

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Michael Flynn Photography

Joshua Hedley set list:

Counting On My Tears

I’m Never Alone On The Road

This Time

If These Walls Could Talk

I Love You

Mr Jukebox

Old Habits

Another Place, Another Time

Don’t Waste Your Tears

Let’s Take A Vacation

I Don’t Want To Fight With You All Night

Traveller set list:

Happy In Hindsight

Nobody Makes It Out

Western Movies

15 Passenger Van

Are You Thirsty

Hero

Chia Pet Goatee

Stadium Inn

Slow Down

Elephant

Hummingbird

Get Me Out Of The South

Southern Arms

Sing Along

Traveller & Joshua Hedley – Tuning Fork October 15, 2017 The Southern Fork Americana Festival came to a rousing close last night with Traveller…Robert Ellis, Cory Chisel and Jonny Fritz…all well-known to Tuning Fork regulars…having a good ‘ol time on the stage together with their buddy Josh Hedley.

#13th floor #concert review #Cory Chisel #Jonny Fritz #Joshua Hedley #marty duda #Michael Flynn #Photos #Robert Ellis #TRaveller #Tuning Fork

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toddlazarski · 5 years

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Discovering Alambres in Milwaukee

Shepherd Express

Beef or pork? Tripa? What about lengua? I can’t live without at least trying every chorizo presented to me. And with any decent Mexican restaurant even pollo should be on the table for discussion—hinting at the biggest problem within the greatest, highest-varietal world cuisine: What do you order when you want everything?

Anyone with the maybe embarrassing experience of eating out with me at a proper Mexican spot has probably witnessed, with some gastrointestinal wonder, or maybe a guffaw, a personal solution to the conundrum. It is what I’ve long deemed the “entree-plus” method. What you do is order, say, a torta dinner, but then, politely holding your finger up to indicate to the waitress you are not yet done with your wish list, also ask for a couple of tacos. For the side. Maybe get the shrimp diablo, and team it with a simple desebrada number. Try the bistec ranchero, but with a sidecar of cecina. Possibilities become endless, but within, the basic premise is simple: to run the meat gamut, as much as possible, exponentially increase your lipid-and-sauce variations, skip the fear of missing out, make lunch a cultural deep dive, in the process achieving your Epicurean best self, spinning life into a fete of curiosity, not restraint, and turning the table into one of those fashionably messy, rustic Bon Appetit cover photo shoots.

But what if the answer to the ubiquitous meat question, with all the options, all the exotic-sounding proteins, is, more simply—in that annoying social media vernacular vain—“Yes, please!”

Enter the Mexico City specialty known as the Alambre. Spanish for “wire,” the word is indeed rooted in a meat combo cooked on a skewer. But it is a shish kabob in spirit only. In the real world it exists as a single plate amalgamation, a meat party, that is actually more like a sizzling late-night drunk skillet of all the most satisfying things found in the furthest crevices of the fridge. Among the multitude varietals, the basic offering mixes steak, chopped bacon, bell peppers, onions, melty cheese. Chorizo is a common contributor as well. Ham can sometimes be considered a healthy alternative—which tells you much about the nature of the dish. Avocado is also a usual suspect. But remember, as it tells itself every morning when looking in the mirror, that is good fat. A blank slate for Fieri-level exploration when sided by tortillas and some salsa, the alambre is a vessel of a DIY taco tour through a good Mexican grocery store.

My introduction came on 25th and Greenfield Avenue, where the sadly-shuttered El Canaveral once specialized in the plate. It is a meal that still exists like something out of Proust, the memory triggering hunger daydreams of winter nights spent hunkered over a posse of a meat pile, a craggy, cheesy sponge for their quintet of creamy salsas, each building on the last in hue, heat, and intensity. What was truly unique, in those Canaveral salad days, was I only felt the need to order one thing. One word, even, levied to the waitress, enough to hold all the Mexican meal promise one might reasonably ask for. I often bemoan the loss, wistfully ponder the empty husk of the handsome and cozy corner barroom, consider the death of all that smoking meat waft potential. But in loving pursuit of those bite memories, I set out to chronicle what remains, to capture at least a loose roadmap of Milwaukee’s best single-steaming-plate Mexican marriage of foodstuffs.

4. Kompali Taqueria

Maybe the most telling thing about restaurateurs Karlos Soriano and Paco Villar is how little, through maybe two dozen meals, I’ve ever found wrong with either of their two spots. First, they put too much pineapple on the pastor offering at Kompali, the new taco joint. Second, as a waitress once chastised me for a request, scolding, “I only have two hands!” it seems they can’t find great help at C-Viche. That is it. Everything else—from the aji verde sauce to the pork beans to the esquite to the pisco sours to the succulent beef hearts fit for even those squeamish about, “wait, this is heart?”—feels somehow in turns regional and personal, and like it’s been consummated with a sense of thoroughness and chile peppered-love. C-Viche is really just a couple of brunch misfires short of upholding my contention that it is maybe the most interesting, if not flat out best, restaurant in Milwaukee.

Which is to say their second, stripped down, taco and tequila-focused Brady Street replacement of Cemapazuchi is certain to deliver on the basics. And it does: from the distinctly salty, cumin-tinged, creamy tomato salsa that comes with the chips, to the smoky chipotle mayo-textured blend that comes with the tacos, it is a happy ideal of Mexican cooking that Cempazuchi only really seemed to be that one time on TV. They also personify an ideal starter alambre for the uninitiated—in prefab taco form. Diced carne asada tumbles uniformly with tender chopped ham and slightly crunchy bacon bits, everything topped with onion and bell pepper before being swathed in smooth goo queso and swaddled neatly inside a homemade tortilla. While the rest of the list here strive for something between gut burstage and a drunken munchie sate, this is a happy, reasonable start not only to an alambre tour, but to a night out. With little threat of overwhelming, without grease-bombing, with nary a worry as to not having room for more drinks, dessert. In fact maybe that’s a third complaint. Or it would be if I wasn’t so happy filling up with their housemade chorizo, the aforementioned pastor, etc.

3. Al Pastor

Despite the nachos and burritos and ‘Stallis zip code, the menu at Al Pastor does specifically promise “Mexico City style cuisine,” and alongside the eponymous pork stuff of taco dreams and the likes of bistec en chile de arbol, the alambre is presented, simply, honestly, as a “delicious combination.”

Thin folds of tender skirt steak, with prominent sear marks, generous seasoning and decent snap, dominant the taste swirl of the mashup plate. These are buoyed by bits of salty ham—some grilltop-blackened, some fleshy; tiny granules of charred chorizo, lending a greasy beating heart to the whole; semi-charred wedges of red and green bell peppers; and bright Oaxacan cheese, half-melted throughout, gooping and draping everything like a tangled favorite blanket. Hunks of pineapple occasionally turn up too, contrasting the saltiness, lending some sweet bright sunshine, even to a barren block of Burnham in February.

It’s a richly savory meat sludge, all aspects breaking up under fork pressure, colliding, tussling, coming together in earthy, brackish bites, steaming and begging to be patted atop lightly griddled, sturdy flour tortillas. Ratchet everything up with a surprisingly zinging fresh jalapeno salsa, or a fiery vinegar-laced, arbol-based red. It’s emblematic of when food writers, like sportwriters, feel the need for that old adage of the package being greater than the sum of the parts. How else to describe the Giannis, Middleton, Bledsoe ball movement to open-three mindflow? The roll, the collective rhythm, the push and pull, the unexpectedness, the jazz, that extra-sensory unity. Like the Bucks, the alambre might be the one seed of Mexican cuisine. A “delicious combination” indeed.

2. La Flamita

It’s like a scene out of a movie: the know-everything writer, pushing big nerd glasses back up on the bridge of his cook-bookish nose, trying out a bit of show-off Spanish, placing a knowing order, within which to don worldliness, after which to scribe a wise pen-sermon full of clever phrases and expensive-sounding words, is stopped in his cocky tracks with a simple question— “What meat?” Yes, apparently you can improvise, personalize your alambre here at this white truck parked on 20th and National. And while such off-balance thinking has led to many problematic orders through the years, it’s clear this is a dish that could only be messed up by a vegetarian. This is the thought the man in the order window must have, half-heartedly agreeing, nodding, patiently waiting, as I audibly recite every possible roster variation that comes to mind, eventually arriving on an All-Star team of asada, pastor, and chorizo.

This is a to-go order of homogenized harmony, everything neatly, uniformly diced, melded, a goopy white cheese center holding the whole family together with the droopy, loving arms of a domineering grandmother. Nothing gets too far away, each bite seemingly packed with equal part onion and bell pepper hunks, velvety melty queso, and, in my iteration, craggly cow and greasy pork two different ways. Ignore the rote verde salsa in lieu of a truly mean-spirited, arbol-centered sauce. It lends a bit of heated vitality, vigor throughout all that togetherness. This eye-opening feel is furthered by full exploration of the bag. That tin-foiled brick down there isn’t more tortillas. It is a steaming baked potato. Soft, starchy, you can neatly crumble it atop the meat mix, or maybe refry a bit for next-morning eggs. Either way, it’s happily sponge-like, more salsa-soaking than french fries, and turns out to be an ingenious little carb-y loaf addition to the big styrofoam protein package. It’s also another surprising glimpse of the peripatetic nature of taco trucking—the road is a mighty teacher.

1. La Guelaguetza

The most delightfully-named taqueria in the city—the truck on 15th and Burnham takes its handle from an annual indigenous cultural festival in Oaxaca—has a handy translation placard for available meats: “lengua” is “tongue,” “cabeza” is “head,” “Alambres” is… “Alambres.” Meaning, seemingly, that there is no translation. As in, if you don’t speak the language, you won’t get it. It reminds me of a time a well-meaning prankster member of my Mexican in-law tribe tried to let me in on the ultimate Spanish cuss, the one to use if anybody is really giving you a hard time. When I asked my wife to explain what it meant, I didn’t think the translation sounded so offensive. Until, later, at one of those extended relative gatherings, when, backed into a corner, being mocked for my broken espanol, fumbling for a face-saving zinger, I let the unmentionable phrase slip in front of an abuela, a tia, and a gaggle of cousins. All eyes on me, mouths aghast in collective terror and befuddlement, with crickets suddenly echoing around the awkward silence, it was like Lenny Bruce joking about Adolf Hitler. I haven’t been invited to a family funeral since.

What can’t be lost or misconstrued in translation is taste. So if you stumble through the three-syllables, you will be rewarded with an alambre of crispy asada, tender pastor from a bulbous stationary vertical spit of seasoned pork, and bacon wedges in varying levels of doneness. The multitude meat stuffs exist in loose, pepper-inflected affiliation, messily inconsistent chops leave incongruous bites—some onion-y, some gooey, all meaty and salty and dense. Such variety is the spice of life, as they say. Which is not true. Salsa is the spice of life. And the rojo here is blood red and angrily smoky, thick enough to hold its own on the mass, spicy but short of overpowering, so that the massive container of chopped, pickled habanero and onion sitting on the counter should still be utilized. Though, in the spirit of those male enhancement drug disclaimers, maybe consult with a doctor if there is any history of heart problems. A crumbly baked papa also sits atop the two-meal mash. And by now, it feels like, why not? It’s a spongy starch addition that is better to soak it up—the debris, the salty carnage, all the messy drip of life itself. Piquant, earthy, foreign, comforting, a concentrated slop of intricacy and nuance, the whole thing is really a beautiful sense bastardization, an amalgamation that only leaves trace amounts of grease guilt.

Sometimes saying things you don’t understand really pays off.

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