RV Resort

[AGGIORNAMENTO] Mia madre è schizofrenica.

link post originale https://www.reddit.com/italy/comments/f9xzkd/mia_madre_%C3%A8_schizofrenica_e_domani_la_porter%C3%B2_dal/
Eccoci qua, dopo qualche difficoltà sono riuscito a portarla dal medico che le ha dato "depakin chrono" da prendere una volta al giorno.
All'inizio le prendeva, spesso con me che dovevo insistere (ha il sideffect di rincoglionirla un po' e le faceva paura questa cosa).
I primi giorni mi sembrava addirittura peggiorata, poi dopo 7gg di medicina ho notato i miglioramenti... parlava ancora da sola, ma era calma e niente attacchi gravi, già un paradiso!
Purtroppo, con il corona virus e di conseguenza l'iniziativa del battere le pentole e/o strumenti ogni giorno a X ora è successo un casino. Ieri a mezzo'giorno qualcuno ha iniziato a farlo e presto lo hanno seguito in moltissimi, cantando l'inno nazionale... questo ha fatto scattare qualcosa in mamma ed è re-iniziato tutto, via con i complottismi " tutto il quartiere contro di me, fanno casino per farmi prendere un infarto, cantano l'inno perchè sono razzisti ( lei è straniera) ed è tornata a strillare sul balcone, peggio di prima ma "per fortuna" sono riuscito a farla rientrare a casa e farla urlare qui dentro.
Da ieri si rifiuta di prendere la medicina, crede che la dottoressa faccia parte del complotto e che la voglia uccidere con sta pasticca rincoglionendola prima di tutto, ed essendo lei pure diabetica crede che ci sia dello zucchero (l'ha lasciata tutta la notte dentro un bicchiere d'acqua mi ha detto, la mattina ha trovato la pasticca mezza sciolta a mo di impasto e boom, per lei quello è zucchero)
Le persone che si mettono al balcone con lo stereo a palla tutto il giorno non aiutano, c'è sta famiglia davanti a noi che è dalle 13 circa di oggi che sta con lo stereo (dotato di lucine multicolore flashanti che non fa mai male) a palla e mia madre si lamentava e urlava dentro casa, fino a che qualche decina di minuti fa è uscita dal balcone e ha cominciato a insultarli di brutto con loro che ovviamente le rispondevano non sapendo della situazione sta cosa è andata avanti per dieci minuti circa fino a quando si sono arresi e hanno spento tutto.
Da quel momento mia madre sta in salone a rivedersi il video di lei che strillava a questi perchè si', da un po' ha iniziato pure a registrare con il telefono lei che strilla e se lo risente per dio solo sa quale motivo, mentre commenta sopra.
Porca puttana ragazzi io fino alla fine di sta quarantena non so se reggo, sento che sto per diventare matto pure io, mi sto rovinando le mani e i piedi dando pugni e calci in giro per casa per sfogarmi, c'ho sta frustrazione perenne stando qua dentro che piano piano raggiunte livelli altissimi e si tramuta in rabbia estrema, sto vivendo un cazzo di inferno su terra.
Grazie a dio c'ho un cane che mi permette di uscire quelle 3 volte al giorno e stare tranquillo col cervello per quei pochi minuti.
Scusate per lo sfogo.
submitted by v0rren to italy [link] [comments]

THE KINGERY, Season 11 hiatus mini-episode 2, "You Only Cook When There’s News" - Tythia has some news (and food) for Pallas!

THE KINGERY is a full-cast, serial, ongoing sci-fi crime drama. Welcome to the Kingery Road Resort and Casino, the galaxy’s premiere vacation destination. Stop by the casino, take a stroll down to Shenanigans or visit the famous Saley, Onks and Liddle for a trip you’ll never forget. Just watch your step, because if you cross the boss, the Kingery will chew you up and spit you out, a broken shell of what you once were. (The Kingery carries a hard R rating and is NSFW)
Season 11 hiatus mini-episode 2 - "You Only Cook When There’s News" Tythia has some news (and food) for Pallas!
Available on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Google Play, Stitcher, iHeartRadio, and more! You can also manually subscribe to the podcast feed or download the episodes directly from the website.
Transcript and commentary track available at the website.
Thanks for listening!
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AmITheAsshole?

Tl:dr sotto
Ok raga, roba successa ieri e vorrei avere un opinione dall'hivemind di reddit.
Organizzo con largo anticipo(2giorni) un pranzo a casa mia, 5 invitati e ci sono due miei coinquilini. La roba che mi aspettavo era che pranzassero prima (tipo a mezzogiorno visto che la cosa l'ho organizzata alle 13) oppure dopo. Invece scelgono di partecipare non invitati alla roba.
La roba sarebbe vedere la finale di mondiali di League of legends.
Per i normie la fuori immaginatevi la finale della champions, ho invitato gente che sapeva di calcio mentre i miei coinquili sanno che c'e una palla di mezzo.
Mangiamo, beviamo e giustamente mangiano e bevono anche loro senza aver partecipato mettendo i soldi in comune (6 euro divisi per 8 venivano 4,5). Parlano mentre ci vediamo la partita a voce alta e giustamente gli dico 1 volta di levarsi dal cazzo (mi sa che l'hanno presa per una battuta) e una volta di stare zitti e gli altri giustamente mi danno ragione. Almeno hanno abbassato il volume dopo questa.
Ora. Finiamo il tutto e io devo andare assolutamente all'uni pena la perdita di 1 credito scolastico. Prima di andare pulisco il pulibile togliendo "il grosso" da in giro ma c'e ancora gente che si guarda il post partita. La cucina comunque è ancora sporca ma non posso togliere i bicchieri dalla gente che ci bene, rissistemare i divano sulla quale la gente è seduta e i piatti visto che avevo caricato e avviato la lavastoviglie. Pulisco nel limite del pulibile.
Vabbe, pazienza. Esco di fretta dicendo che avrei pulito al mio ritorno.
Mentre sono all'uni una mia coinquilina avvisa che tra 10 minuti arrivano i suoi genitori a cenare da noi(ero da due ore all'uni e me ne macava un altra).
Arriva a casa e mi fa casino (nella chat di casa) perche ho lasciato la cucina sporca, giustamente posso dire che era colpa mia ma la mia scusa era che erano circostanze particolari e non pensavo che lasciare la cucina sporca per un paio di ore fosse una roba cosi assurda e irragionevole.
Torno a casa e faccio una sfuriata contro i miei 2 coinquilini che hanno partecipato e non gli è neanche passato per l'anticamera del cervello di togliere qualcosa di mezzo per le 3 ore che io ero all'uni. Sia perche non hanno pulito e sia perche non mi hanno difeso contro l'altra coinquilina avendo loro partecipato alla cosa.
La loro risposta?
"Dovevi organizzarti meglio per far trovare la cucina pulita per ora di cena e avresti dovuto chiederci di pulire, non siamo tuoi schiavi, tuoi camerieri o i tuoi genitori che puliamo dietro di te"
Okay? Forse è colpa mia perche avrei dovuto pulire ma ripeto, non ho pensato fosse una roba cosi grave lasciare la cucina sporca per 3 ore.
Mi metto a pulire (adesso sono le 20:30) e siccome il mio sfogo non era un invito ad aiutarmi abbastanza chiaro arriva la mia coinquilina che presumo abbia cenato fuori con i genitori. Dopo aver salutato i suoi genitori (mi scuso per avergli fatto trovare la cucina sporca) se ne vanno.
Non ho neanche visto la coinquilina che si è lamentata della cucina ma so che è andata nella stanza di 1 degli altri coinquilini (tutti e 3) a sparlarmi per 20 minuti, giusto in tempo per finire il tutto e cenare nella cucina pulita e a detta di un altra coinquilina a sparlarmi per tutto il tempo. (mi hanno dato del coglione per il minuto esatto in cui ho origiliato giusto per essere sicuro che mi stessero sparlando dietro)
Tenete a mente che io ho avuto problemi con la coinquilina che si è lamentata della cucina l'anno scorso per divergenze nella gestione dela casa ma non con gli altri 2 che pensavo fossero miei amici, non abbiamo mai avuto nessun problema.
Ci sono rimasto malissimo sia io e sia l'altra coinquilina che in tutto questo non ha avuto parte che a quanto pare ha sentito tutto quello che hanno detto nei miei riguardi.
Adesso reddit io ti chiedo, ImITheAsshole?
Allego foto della cucina sporca fatte dalla coinquilina https://imgur.com/a/sfoKBrl
Tl;dr
Organizzo pranzo con amici,siccome ho un impegno non ho potuto pulire per bene, coinquilina ariva alle 8 con i genitori senza avvertire e si lamenta che la cucina non è pulita. Casini e scopro che i miei coinquilini mi odiano e passano la serata a sparlare di me.
submitted by iulioh to italy [link] [comments]

Martin Gale: Home for Christmas (If Only in Your Heart)

OOC: It’s worth noting that Martin does not know any of this information yet; for ease of posterity though, this reintroduction will be written impartially and to reflect that at the end of the day, he is still Saul Kaufmann.
Name: Saul Elazar Kaufmann
Theme Song: Tracers
Birthday: (December 14th, 18 years old).
Hometown: New York City, New York
Family:
[Appearance and Personality:]
Height and Build: A simple 5'8", Saul’s time at the Academy and at Camp has added muscle to his average height frame, resulting in a somewhat stocky appearance. His left arm still carries the scars from his fights on Tetepare Island, though the functionality has largely returned.
Style wise, he dresses in drab colors, favoring dark blues and greys. The Camp shirt gets frequent mileage though, usually beneath a hoodie or a similar sweatshirt.
Hair: Saul tries to keep his hair well-maintained, wanting to look as uniform and presentable as possible in case any eyes happen to be lingering over him. He stays clean-shaven as well, Yissakhar and Amanda finding a beard to be “distasteful” for a young man such as their son.
Eyes: He had rich brown eyes, the defining Kaufmann trait. Unlike Ezra’s exhausted eyes or Priscilla’s warm ones, Saul’s are sharp and analytical, always scanning a room to keep up to date on whatever situation seems to be brewing. With his claiming though, they have become the storm gray of his step-siblings, the identifier of the Athenian brood.
Personality:
Clockwork. Methodical. Industrious. A puzzle piece knowing where it should be, only for the puzzle to be lit on fire and the ashes tossed into the air to create a new picture. That last one is perhaps the most recent aspect of his personality; Saul will find the demigod life akin to the life of a fish who discovers that he can actually breathe fresh air as well. His previous life was one of regimented order and authority, and while he can doubtless find that in camp as well, the level of independence he’ll have would have been unheard of even a month ago.
After cashing out of the Lotus, he’s grown far more suspicious. Without a base to build solid knowledge on, the Lethe has done more than take away memories, it’s also taken away the idea of security and truth. He has no context for knowledge, and everything is subjective. There’s no point in dealing in absolutes, not when Martin isn’t Martin, and Saul is no longer Saul. With that said though, he’s driven, almost mechanically so, towards finding a cure to his doseage of the Lethe. Stamatios the Tragic said time would undo the damage, but he doesn’t have that luxury.
With the successful reclamation of his mind from the Spring of Mnemosyne, Saul is more... content with his life. He knows he still has work to do to make sure no one else has to deal with this, but he has also been given a sense of introspection that very few have ever experienced in their lives. He won't take that for granted.
[Powers]
  • Enhanced Intelligence/Wisdom: Saul is coming to terms with this; information comes to him at inopportune moments. It's as if his mind is trying to reconcile the fact that it's missing information. For Martin, he can’t tell the difference between what is an old memory, or what is a whisper from the Akashic.
  • Combat Expertise: Simply put, Saul's good at fighting, and thinking on his toes. He's logical in his fighting, and while he doesn't view himself as war demigod strictly, he's certainly more than willing to use deceit and trickery to come out ahead, along with other methods. The winner of a fight is the last person standing after all, the ends will justify the means with monsters. Martin doesn’t have much experience, but through dreams he knows the potential is there.
  • Amokinesis Immunity: False affection and trickery falls on deaf ears with Saul [M E N T A L F O R T I T U D E]
  • Snake Communication: As simple as it is in the label; Saul can talk to snakes. This ability dates to the Minoan roots of Athena as the Snake Goddess of the ancestral tradition.
  • Pet- Ophion: Ophion is a child of the Guardian of the Acropolis, Protector of Athens. While not the primordial being that his ancestor is, Ophion is no slouch himself. He boasts a truly painful venom that is lethal, and boasts constrictor traits as well. In times of peril, Ophion can grow in size, from his Ottoman Viper form of roughly ten feet to thirty, with an increase of diameter to ten inches thick. While not immortal, his scales boast similar resistance to a manticore, where multiple hits with bronze weapons are needed to dispel the snake. Also, he likes Hostess snacks.
[Items]
  • Celestial bronze poleaxe: Crafted by Brandon the Forgemaster, the reach weapon takes the form of a plain bronze ring when not in use.
  • Celestial bronze meteor hammer: Unknown to Martin or Saul, the bracelet given by the Lotus Casino is a rather unique ranged weapon. Two weighted spheres connected via a length of chain between them. One orb is blackened, while the other is snow-white
  • Lotus Cash Card: Martin walked out of The Lotus with this; he’s used it to purchase necessities on the trip out of Vegas, and hasn’t used it since.
  • Lethe Water: One mouthful, to be exact, and kept within a small earthenware bottle stoppered with pine wood. The offer given by Stamatios the Tragic, he keeps it safe… just in case. The dose of Lethe water has been returned to the Fountain of Lethe within the Bluespring Caverns.

Now

Martin’s head bounces against the taxi’s window with every bump of the gravel road. Two and a half days on a bus, with the only brief reprieves being for food and sleeping in bus station terminals. Only to get out in New York, and to find a taxi. Long Island Sound? Well, sure, but where? Martin just handed him his card to swipe, and said,
“I’ll know it when I see it.” What he didn’t add was the, I hope, that suffused his being. How does he know what he’s looking for? He doesn’t. All he knows is that it’s somewhere in New York, on the Long Island Sound. The cabbie runs the card, and his eyes light up, practically turning into comically large dollar signs as he hands it back to his most lucrative patron.
“Uh, sure thing, Mister-?”
“Mister Gale, works.” Martin notes. “But can we get underway? I… I want to be where I’m supposed to be.”
“Uh, sure thing Mister Gale. Right away!”
“Fucking… middle of nowhere… camp…” Martin pants. Five hours had passed, and the slow, criss-crossing path that he and his cabbie had taken bore no fruit. Still, Martin wasn’t keen on going back to New York, the city seemed… hungry, hungry in a way that he wasn’t comfortable with. Instead, the cabbie had dropped him off on a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, though it had taken a hundred dollars extra to get him to do so.
“Glad to know I have a silver lining, at least…” He mutters as he stumbles through the trees and onto a gravel path. Well, that’s promising, he thinks. Following the path, Martin slowly rises with the elevation. Soon enough, a tall pine tree rises skyward as the moon begins to set, a mere wisp of a crescent. Shrugging up his second-hand jacket tighter to him, Martin finishes his ascent. A reptilian eye opens beside him, a serpent-like creature coiled around a tree boasting a golden sheet of fabric glimmering even in the ruby pre-dawn glow. The scaly head sniffs once, then twice, before seeming satisfied and coiling higher up the tree. Martin hardly notices the creature though.
His eyes are focused instead on the gigantic statue that dominates the hilltop. Standing tall and imperious, the woman holds a spear and winged figure in outstretched hand. She’s impressive, that’s for sure. Martin lingers, watching the dying whispers of moon and starlight play across her form. He could even swear that she glows; literally, she seems to be luminous in the nighttime. Martin stands, awestruck like this, for what feels like an hour. For his time in the Lotus, it could’ve been a year and he wouldn’t know. Eventually though, his appetite gets the better of him. Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a granola bar. Munching away, he turns his attention to the other side of the Hill, where dozens of cabins and other buildings await.
“Guess it’s time…” Martin murmurs to the statue. As expected, there is no answer. Still, after three days of sleeping in a bus or on a bench, he’s ready for even the floor of somewhere he knows his bag won’t be stolen. With boots crunching against the gravel path, Martin turns his back on the Athena Parthenos and descends into Camp. A brief wince of discomfort flits across his face as pain makes a brief appearance in his temple. I’ve done this before, he realizes. But I don’t remember… Where do I go?
So Martin makes his way into the belly of the beast, drifting between the festive camps buildings and merry campers beginning their Christmas revels. A familiar face in a strange old world with no idea of where he is going or what is going to happen next.
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Immobiliare infame consigli su cosa fare

Ciao, sono in cerca di consigli perche non capisco dove mi sono cacciato
Grazie anche ad alcuni consigli che ho ricevuto nei vari post ho trovato casa. Sabato scorso l'ho visionata, martedi mi è stata confermata che ci sarebbe stata anche la cucina compresa nell'affitto, ho quindi confermato a voce che volevo firmare il contratto che mi è stato promesso per questo martedì. Tranquillizzato dall'"ormai è tua" dell'immobiliare infame, giovedì sono stati dati i miei dati alla finanziaria (penso per depositare i 3 mesi di cauzione) e venerdi ho ricevuto un bel messaggio con "la tua casa IN AFFITTO è stata venduta dalla proprietaria dell'immobile non ci puoi fare niente cazzi tuoi addio.
Risalendo la catena ho ottenuto di essere chiamato dalla signora X che è quella che, come me lhanno venduta, è la responsabile pagata dalla proprietaria che ha dato la "vendita"(affitto) in mano all'immobiliare. Ovviamente non sono ancora stato contattato e ogni giorno la tizia(infame) mi dice che(la signora X) è in vacanza e dovrebbe tornare domani.
Partendo dla presupposto che la casa è davvero lunica in quel posto che mi interessa e la vorrei. Visto che cerano due appartamenti nel condominio e qualsiasi domanda faccio sull'appartamento numero due mi viene detto "ha detto che ti chiama la signora X" ma sta signora x non chiama.
Che pensate ? È chiaro che aspetto ma secondo voi? 1 hanno trovato un'altra coppia che vuole pagare di piu l'affitto ma non gliel'hanno ancora confermato quindi mi fa aspettare i comodi degli altri 2lganno venduta e stanno aspettando che versino i soldi quindi sono la ruota di scorta 3 sicuro non avrò nulla da questa attesa 4 la tipa dell'immobiliare si è inventata una palla per poter vendere l'immobile dando la colpa alla proprietaria oer pararsi il culo.
5 se va bene e alla fine me ne danno uno, come chiedereste uno sconto ? Per tutto sto casino e il giramento dei coglioni ?
Grazie popolo, so che li da qualche parte c'è qualche complottista che magari c'è anche passato da ste situazioni
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Damage Control Chapter 3

First chapter here: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/cbg4gs/damage_control_chapter_1/
So, this one's going to be a deep cut. If you haven't read the novels I've done before, this story throws you in at the deep end, and it spoils at least one major plot point from the 6th novel, Skin Hunger, as well as several other major plot points from other novels. If you want to catch up with that stuff, https://hellskitchensink.com/ check it out here.
If you'd just like to jump into things, this is what matters: There are Atlanteans, an apparently fish-like race who have recently revealed themselves to humans, who have a population of approximately 50,000 and who are on the verge of extinction, and who were recently partially responsible for a near-catastrophe involving a war between a psychotic god of dreams and a primordial entity of stasis, and are trying to make amends. There is supernatural craziness. There is a top secret branch of the US Military- or possibly intelligence services, or maybe even just running loose- referred to as the Esoteric Forces of the United States.
There's a lot of damage to control.
----

Chapter 3: Hel

USEF Report Dagon, section C (Culture), Paragraph 5-11, Rank HEL-6
Almost all of the 'threat' posed by the Atlanteans is, fundamentally, cultural. It is also largely unintentional. While the Atlantean capacity to develop gods is formidable compared to individual humans, their population is .001% that of humanity, and their rate of population increase is hovering at just shy of 0%. They cannot meaningfully invade us, and they sacrificed the element of surprise that could- conceivably- have let them conquer us. They are not a threat directly, and any genocidal actions on our part would not change that- The damage the Atlanteans can do has already been done.
Obviously, the reverse is not true. The Atlanteans are a very small, discreet, and largely insular minority. These have historically been poorly treated in America, and literally every other nation. While legislation has been passed to recognize them as a protected minority, the current administration has shown a certain disregard. The survival of the Atlantean culture is threatened in a number of ways, not least the possibility of a repeat of the Neanderthal extinction.
There is substantial evidence that humans and Neanderthals crossbred. This no doubt contributed to the gradual extinction of the Neanderthal. The possibility that someday the only sign remaining of the Atlanteans will be a certain cast of the eyes, a certain hair color, or a few dozen introns on the end of a DNA strand, is disconcertingly likely.
Back to the issue of culture. Atlantean culture is broadly monarchic. Because of its small population and strained resources, collectivism has been endemic. These traits are likely to fade, but because of the long lifespans and conservative attitudes of older Atlanteans, this fading is likely to take place over decades, or even centuries. Many younger Atlanteans have begun to emigrate, many of them to other countries. This is a pain in the ass for security purposes, as almost all Atlanteans have access to information that is destabilizing, but the most we can hope to do is mitigate cultural harm by encouraging their integration.
Large Atlantean populations- a thousand or more- have settled in the mouth of the Amazon River, the Thames, on the eastern shores of Puerto Rico, on the coast of New Orleans, and off the shore of Kyushu. Smaller populations- a hundred or more- have taken up shelter off Australia by Rottnest Island, the Vietnam coast near Hai Phong, in the Mozambique Channel by Madagascar, south of the Canary Islands, the Strait of Gibraltar, Copenhagen's bays, in the Baltic Sea, the Caspian Sea, and a sizable population in Lake Erie, right by Buffalo.
The largest political push that the Atlanteans have been showing is for renewable energy sources and less water pollution. The Atlantean Queen, Ku-kaili-moku-polemo, has made a dramatic push for intervention in the Pacific Trash Gyre. There have notably been no Atlantean populations settled in India or China, possibly a commentary on the state of their ecological systems and water pollution; Unfortunately, this has also been a cause for increased tensions between the two nascent superpowers and the USA.
More domestically, Atlanteans have managed to tap into the 'Crystal Spires and Togas' new age movement. While not fitting the classical Greek image of Atlanteans, their spirituality has attracted adherents to a number of small schools of meditation. While these might be uncharitably referred to as cults, the Atlantean attitude towards divinity and free will has largely kept them on the 'church' side of the divide. While the media has questioned the wisdom of Atlantean teachings being spread in the wake of the near-catastrophe last September, the EFUS attitude has been that creating a home-grown population of human divingeneers is worth the relatively small risk; We can't get this genie back in the bottle, but we can ask it for a few wishes.
Chief Researcher Cherry H. Verne
The helicopter was a misery. Loud, suspended above the ground, uncomfortably exposed. The jet, on the other hand, was a wonder. It moved through the air with only the most modest occasional turbulence, high above the clouds. I stared out of one of the windows, my breath caught in my throat as I watched the clouds drift far below, like sand dunes deep beneath the sea.
Even the fastest currents of Atlantis had been limited compared to this speed. Atlantis had been small, and centralized. The humans lived across the vast and desiccated skin of their world, and sometimes they had to get from place to place quickly. Without the advantages of being able to leap between worlds with the intercedence of their gods, they came to novel solutions. It was not as convenient, but it wound up pushing them to greater heights. We travelled at speeds where the air itself became a kind of fluid, thick and turbulent, full of currents and doldrums. It was glorious.
"Fucking son of a bitch," growled Miller. "The news got out. The Exquisition and the Peers are sending a delegation to join us. Using the goddamn Concorde. They'll be there before we will." His eyes flickered over to Smith, narrowing.
"I know you like to think of us as having our lips fastened thoroughly to the royal teat, you metallic fuck, but I loathe those imperialist assholes. Not least because we both know they will demand the death of the Archmage. I didn't leak word, and nobody I told would. On the other hand..." Her eyes drifted over to Pagan. The Major sat on the far side of the aisle in the small craft, silently listening to the conversation.
"The official policy of the Mexican Government is that any supernatural being found to be contravening the law in aid of organized crime, or taking the life of a human, is to be executed."
The unspoken subtext in that statement was clear to everyone. The Mexican authorities would not want anyone to find out about any deals they cut. They would have good reason to keep the mission a secret. So, had someone betrayed one another? Or was the presence of an Archmage just that difficult to hide? How on earth had everything devolved so quickly?
Miller groaned. "It gets worse. Chatter suggests that the Tongxinheli and the Indian Ministry of Housing and Urban Poverty Alleviation have learned about this, too. They're likely to get involved."
"And they are hardly known for throwing away a useful resource," said Smith, teeth gritted. "Fucking arrogant pricks. What are they thinking?"
"That the United States is unlikely to go to war over a man who, according to official statements, doesn't actually exist. They'll be out of their environment, though. They won't have access to heavy equipment- I don't care how secret the supernatural is, East Asian ordinance going off on U.S. soil is going to go over like a lead balloon. Their supernatural advantage will be..." He chewed the words for a moment, frowning. "Harder to judge. Both are capable of substantial, if inconsistent, supernatural power multipliers."
"I am sorry," I said, finally pressured by sheer curiosity. "But- these groups-"
"The Tonxinheli is a grab bag of mainland hick priests, Hong Kong triads, Tibetan monks working under duress, and Mongolian shamans, all being pressured- financially, diplomatically, or personally- by the Chinese government. The Ministry..." His face darkened.
"They feed people to monsters," said Smith. "Usually poor, or undesirable."
"No actual evidence of that," grumbled Miller, but not very loudly. "They've got some nasty alliances in the supernatural world. Blood's a lot closer to the skin, down there. Her Majesty's Most Loyal Exquisition is British. They mostly deal with faeries, because the fuckers are thick as flies over there, but we usually have close relations with them. The Peers started as an old knightly order descending from Charlemagne, and rose to prominence after World War 2 turned the Franco-German border into the largest source of Undead ever. There are rumors of a 'Bloody War' that they were involved in before that, but mostly, they're a bunch of overly religious technology-obsessed freaks."
"You are playing an incredibly brave card there, metal-boy," said Smith, an eyebrow raised.
"I did this to myself because I was suffering from severe PTSD, quadrapalegia, and had been manipulated by a psychotic monster. They did it because they thought pacts were unholy." He looked out the window, his brow wrinkled. "This is bad. This is fucked up on a scale that defies simple Murphy's Law. Everything's coming together too quickly." He shook his head. "Hope we're not putting our foot in another hornet's nest."
I tried to think of something comforting to say, some way to encourage my superior officer. None were obvious to me. I settled for patting his shoulder companionably. "What is our plan, Sergeant?"
"Twofold. We need to strike fast and hard when we get in, which means dividing." He gritted his teeth. "I hate to do this to you, not least because I want you close by where you can watch for ambushes, but I need you to check out the hotel. See what you can find out there. Any chance you can track down what supernaturals were in there?"
"I can promise nothing, but if anyone can..."
"Good." Miller nodded to the two foreign officials and the four men who had stayed silent in the back of the plane, dressed in heavy black fatigues, masks covering their faces, heavy weapons sleeved over their shoulders. The men were anonymous, but I could read them beneath those masks. Pulses of belief both strong and weak- One nostalgia, one fear, one anger, one loathing like I'd never seen, one joy and innocence, one ambivalent melancholy. I could see such things in the unguarded, and often, those who wore masks left their souls very bare indeed.
"What will you be doing, Sergeant, if I may ask?"
"The mission profile says that our man was bilking a local casino, the Treasure Chest, using... Well, they weren't entirely clear, but he'd won enough money to be odd. There's a possibility he may be going for one last big score there. Major Pagan, Jissika Smith, and I will be keeping an eye there. Privates, you'll be keeping an eye on the local traffic and making sure he doesn't rabbit without us knowing about it. If we don't find him in the next few hours, it's going to be damned near impossible to figure out where he goes. And if he goes to ground..."
He didn't have to finish the statement. This was a man who could afford to spend decades in hiding.
The plane landed in New Orleans, where we were studiously ignored by the locals. On the streets, I drew more than a few surprised glances as I walked, and even the occasional venomous look. There were a handful of Atlanteans in the city, but I did not keep my eye out for them. I slipped through the crowd without notice or care, making my way towards the hotel where the scene had been found.
The police had not yet been notified. The scene of the crime was untouched. As I entered, I was struck by several things. The lack of blood, for one thing. The fact that, aside from the now-clearly-severed arm, there was no sign of the men supposedly murdered in this room. The lingering aroma of divinity. And finally, a slender, hard-knuckled fist.
I awoke, in a large metallic room. A slender young man who nonetheless had wrinkles around the corners of his eyes from too much smiling was studying me. "Are you alright?" he asked, softly, in heavily accented English. "Sorry about the blow. Are you well?"
Had I been a person entirely unlike myself, I might have responded violently. Sent current surging through the metal walls, fried every other person within, fought and struggled. Instead, I nodded. "You didn't strike anything particularly vital. Blow to the head, but I do not feel murky, or concussed." I studied him for a moment. He was slender, not very old, and his head was shaved bare. His warm brown eyes twinkled, and he wore a loose saffron robe. He had hit me at least as hard as Miller could, and he blazed with oddly tinted belief. Practically a furnace.
The others... Three of them were humans. One of them was tall, broad-shouldered, a pair of black sunglasses over his eyes, dressed in a white business suit. A gun sat in a holster under one armpit, and a leather bag under the other. The second was dressed like a tourist, a colorful T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He sat with the same ramrod stiffness I had seen in Pagan. The third had his hair up in a bright white turban, wrapped elegantly, with an impressive mane of black hair surrounding his face on all sides. I knew something of the significance of the garment to certain religions, but I did not recognize this specific variant off hand. This man was- I studied my memories- Latino, or Indian, judging by his features. The others were East Asian, I thought. Chinese, I decided, from the context of who was expected to get involved.
The last person in the truck was not human in the least. Nearly seven feet tall, skin black not like a human's but like a burn victim's. Wiry but with muscles like coconuts stuffed into a stocking, her proportions were almost comical, massive tusks forcing her mouth open, growing in place of her canines. A long, red tongue hung out of her mouth, dripping reddish saliva onto the floor almost constantly.
"" said the man in the tourist's clothing, "" He was speaking Mandarin Chinese. I had taken the time to learn Mandarin. The tonal nature of the language was unusual, but I had mastered it quickly.
"You are safe," said the young man who had hit me.
"What are you?" I asked, frowning as I studied him. That belief- Was it belief? Or divinity? He did not feel like a god, but he was not entirely human, either. I had read files about the human phenomenon of 'Heroes'- those who were, in a sense, gods made out of still-living humans. Was this what they looked like?
"A humble monk," he said, bowing his head once.
"" said the man who I now strongly suspected was the leader of this small group.
"Does he speak English?" I asked, feigning lack of knowledge. Their assumptions were a useful tool.
"He understands it," said the monk, giving me a warm smile. "I am more proficient, so he asks me to translate his words, so they are not misinterpreted. We are aware that the Atlanteans have made many agreements with the Americans. You more than many. We wish to offer you an alternative."
""
"You have a choice in the matter, of course. We do not intend to abduct you. But if you should wish to explore your options, to experience what another government may be willing to offer, you can."
He was elaborate. Eloquent. Trying to confuse his compatriots, whose English was not as good. I wondered about the wisdom of sending only one man who understood English so well.
"Monk," said the man in the white business suit and the sunglasses, and his English sounded like he'd spent his entire life in the south, "don't go scarin' the lady by acting all vague and odd." He stepped forward, and settled down on his heels, coming level with me, eye to eye. "The monk's in this job because the government leans on his people, because that's the only way he'll work. The Political Officer there is here to make sure that he doesn't go AWOL. But I'm here because the PRC pays damn well. What you're looking for, what you want, they can provide. You just have to be willing to work together with them."
"" asked the black-skinned creature, in some ancient and esoteric dialect of Hindi.
"" murmured the man in the turban, in the same near-forgotten language. ""
Alright, perhaps I cheat a bit in learning languages. Being able to read the soul of a man makes understanding them much easier when they speak. It was not the kind of talent I would ever broadcast. People were far more honest if they believed you could not understand them. I would hate to take that comfort from them.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, allowing a tiny hint of the trepidation and fear I felt ease into my words.
"" said the man in charge. ""
"Nothing serious. We were alerted by contacts in the US government of a..." The man with the sunglasses paused, and frowned at the monk.
"Bodhisattva?" asked the monk, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Of a very potent being," said the man in the sunglasses, forehead wrinkled in an obvious glare at the monk. "Since your people ain't been interested in joining the PRC, they've been... understandably tense. We find out about something that could give the Americans a greater advantage. Understandably, we want to avoid that." He smiled. "And if we can persuade you to give us a greater advantage, as well..."
"I... I'm not sure. If I were to betray them- There could be repercussions. Strikes against my people."
"" said the man in charge. ""
"We just need a distraction. A chance to help this guy- Victim of at least a couple of genocides- escape from the governments that perpetuated those genocides." The man in the glasses smiled. "You know about the Westerners’ history. We never did anything like that."
I did not correct him. "How will I contact you?"
"Don't worry about that. We will know." The man in sunglasses winked as he patted me companionably on the shoulder. "Magic."
I did not detect magic. I did detect the faint spark of electricity in the tiny thing he'd planted on my shoulder. It had sunk into the slick material of the raincoat.
"" asked the political officer. The man in sunglasses smiled.
"Consider it. Whatever you're looking for, we can certainly offer it."
"I'll think about it," I said, letting the nervousness flow through my words. Disguising the planning, the certainty, that hid beneath.
I would not switch sides. There were a thousand reasons, but they all condensed down to one. The game of sides was just that: A game. It was a distraction, and in the face of annihilation, a lethal one. These humans were positioning themselves to have the strongest position on the chessboard after it had been set on fire. The most logical solution to this was to destroy them, utterly, giving them no choice but to throw their efforts behind the EFUS. It was my side- By chance, but that was reason enough.
As they stopped the truck- We had apparently been in the back of an 18-wheeler- and allowed me to return to the city, I strategized internally. If I simply alerted Miller or destroyed the scrying device, it would scare them off. Let the prey know that they had been scented. But if they committed themselves to the conflict, they would be forced to see it through. I studied the bug, and my brows knit. It was delicate, finer than an eyelash. That such a small, inconsequential thing could be used to track me, to transmit sound, was... impressive. Also annoying. I would have to avoid discharge. There was no question that something so delicate would be destroyed by the shocks I could produce.
The phone in my pocket rang. I took it out, fumbling with the interface. The phone was a phenomenal device, though a strange one. An invisible network of oracles, allowing people across the world to speak, find information, plan things. I had seen the way humans cared for theirs, placed so much belief and thought into them. The only thing that kept them from awakening was that they were fragile, and not built to last.
That was a terrible crime, to me and my people. To make a tool that was disposable. To create a tool that was never meant to be more. You built to last, because that was how you made a tool truly great, growing more potent with the years. This... I tried to think of the words to describe it. Child soldiers. Cancer-ridden fetuses. A thousand dark images.
Then I hit the 'answer' button, because it had been ringing for nearly half a minute while I stared blankly. "Yes?"
"Yeagerta! It's nearly sunset, I've called you three times, what's the news?"
I shook my head. Strategy. "I was-" I let the silence hang for just a moment, as though I was planning to tell Miller. Showing the foreign agents what they expected, a self-interested person who thought themselves loyal, who had to talk themselves into betrayal. "Distraction. It took longer than I thought to sniff out the crime scene. I'm on my way now, and I've got bad news."
"Shit. How bad?"
"Your men might not be dead. They might just be hostages."
"Aaaaah, double-shit! We tracked him down to the Treasure Chest Casino, but... Well, things are a little bit fraught here. Get here as quick as you can, I could use a voice of reason, or alternatively, another pair of fists."
"Yes, Sergeant."
I made my way to the address, up the stairs into a cheap motel, and into a doorway. I knocked twice, and the door opened. Major Pagan had a large machete in one hand, standing halfway out of her chair. She settled as she recognized me, and the ivory-handled machete disappeared like smoke in the wind. Jissika Smith had been holding a slender bone needle, carved in scrimshaw. The other three members of the room were somewhat less calm. The man and the woman in elegant evening dress were in a pact, I could tell- And the woman was visibly not human, her skin the color of silver, tall, thin, elfin, almost as tall as me. She stood with her long, delicate hands folded in front of her, the man with a drink in hand, the scent of sharp alcohol filling the air.
The last... Well, I couldn't guess at their gender... was actually quite like Miller. The lines of electricity were not as all-encompassing as in him, but still encompassed the limbs, and significant portions of the torso. They sat at the corner, a weapon still drawn. I didn't recognize it, precisely, but it hummed softly, and clearly had a right side and a wrong side. The wrong side was aimed at me.
"Fuck's sake, Anseis, you crazy bitch, she's more human than you or I am."
The weapon was slowly raised towards the ceiling. The woman, superficially, did not look particularly odd. She was delicately built, slender, with skin as pale as milk, and rich golden hair, blue eyes piercing and cold. She was androgynous to the point that Miller's description of her was the only reason I could settle on 'female', and the long leather jacket she wore seemed wholly inappropriate for the hot, muggy environs. "You were studying the crime scene. Any sign of their assailants?"
"Four demons. The archmage himself was not there. All of the demons left substantial traces of power. I'd say centuries old, at least, maybe more. I don't know what they were exactly, but..."
"Four?" said the British man, an eyebrow raised. "You could distinguish them? Hell's bells, the man has four pacts?"
"I suspect so," said Miller. "The mechanics aren't well-known, but being able to make and raise your own supernatural flying monkeys is probably going to make it simpler. So, one big, fat target, and at least four unknown bogies." He looked up. "I bet you've got a solution in place already."
"The Heinlein is within firing distance, isn't it?" said Anseis. "An obvious solution suggests itself. Archmage or not..."
"I'll accept any solutions that don't involve firing a weapon of mass destruction at a riverboat full of American citizens," said Miller.
"I'd suggest coming up behind him and slitting his throat," said the British man, a slender stiletto appearing in his hand as quickly as Pagan's machete had disappeared from hers. "But if he were that easy to take down, I suspect someone already would have."
"Three teams," said Miller. "One team evacuates the ship. That's Jissika, Punk Barnes, and Lady Featherbottom. One team confronts him- That's you and me, Anseis, we've got the best chance at surprising him or being able to take whatever he's got waiting for him. If there are any civilians hurt as collateral damage, I'm ripping you limb from limb. Then the last team- Major, and Yeagerta- You commandeer the ship. Once it's empty, you take control, move us away from the docks and out into open water."
"He may be able to escape the ship regardless," said Anseis, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Yes. But he'll also be where a round from the Heinlein won't kill anyone I care about."
This brought a smile to Anseis' lips, though not to her eyes.
It was interesting, the way time skipped. It could move at a snail's pace as adrenaline and fear and violence made the brain rush, made it record every moment in brutal slow motion in the vain hope that it could make the right decisions. It could speed by like a shark through a current when nothing was happening and too much awareness would drive you mad with boredom. I observed the way the time passed, fast as lightning, until the moment when Pagan pushed open the door.
"Department of Homeland Security," I said, holding up a forgery so good that the government didn't realize it was a forgery. "We've got reports of a lone wolf terrorist on the ship. You need to evacuate immediately while we get the situation under control."
The men in the boat’s wheelhouse didn't argue. They looked happy enough for the unexpected vacation, if slightly worried about their prospects for employment tomorrow. Pagan checked the ship's controls, while I watched the screens. The British man and his fairy lady, along with Jissika, guiding the last of the passengers off of the ship. Unmooring it. The people on the ship were slowly streaming off, Miller and Anseis pushing through them, watching the crowd.
"So," said Pagan, conversationally. "You joined the EFUS. Why?"
"Chance," I said, checking for any sign of our target.
"That doesn't seem like a very good reason," said Pagan, an eyebrow lifted.
"It's why every patriot does what they do."
“Really?” She smiled. “But you were not an American. You had a choice. You came into this world, and you chose them.”
“Geographical convenience. And… I suppose… a lingering debt.” I smiled half-heartedly. “It was an American who saved our queen, and another American who offered us shelter. I am confident that any country would have done the same.”
“Optimist,” she said, and there was a wry smile on her face. I realized I was seeing her amused.
And there, in the main casino floor, in front of an unfamiliar but colorful table, a very short Native American man stood with a grin, one leg crossed in front of the other, leaning back against the table, cornered by Anseis and Sergeant Miller. He was dressed in an extremely fine black suit.
I flicked a switch, and sound came through from a black grill beneath the screen. The man- I had to assume the Archmage- was speaking. "-already in place, ready to carry out simultaneous strikes throughout Washington D.C. You're already too late to stop me. I might remember it under torture, if you want to try."
"My heart weeps," said Aneis. "I invite you to tell us, or I will shoot you-"
It was amazing how quickly things went wrong. The entire ship lurched, throwing the three agents on the ship's edge onto the dock, tearing it free of its burdens. On screen, Aneis let out a single sharp scream of rage as something huge and sharp-toothed latched onto her leg, and then she was gone, water gushing up through the jagged hole in the floor. Miller was wrestling with a small, slender girl, built like a waif, who was also apparently overpowering him in a bear-hug, while a big man with bizarrely long and well-groomed facial hair, sticking out like whiskers, lunged at him from the side. The Archmage laughed, and was gone like a shot, running for the deck.
"Things are going downhill," I said. "I'm going to go stop him from getting away."
"Hey, if you run off with him and the US starts fielding a bunch of Archmages, I'm going to gut you," Pagan said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact even as I set out onto the deck.
The short man was glaring down at the water, his arms crossed. "You are under arrest," I said.
"I don't think I am," he responded, and I blinked.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Would you rather be dead? Several of us want you dead." I studied him quietly. Were those listening to me already moving in? Had they taken the bait yet? If I could capture him...
"You know, what I don't get is, you Atlanteans were being wiped out by humans. That's why you left, right? Ever since you came back, I've been turning it over and over in my head. Why would you come back? Why would you side with the people who genocided you before?"
I blinked. "Because times change."
"Really?" He grunted. "Give me another ten thousand years to think about it, maybe I'd be ready to make peace too. But I'm not quite there yet." He judged the water again.
"I really am much faster than you in the water," I said. "Even if your abomination tries to stop me, I am definitely going to kill it, and catch you."
"My! You're very certain about that." He looked over his shoulder at me, and grinned. "I've been doing this for a very long time."
"So have I. Why?"
"Why what? There are a lot of answers."
"Why did you leave the spider there? She didn't have orders, or training. She was just an abandoned thing."
"She was a tool," said the man, still distracted. "A thing to be used, and disposed of. That's what they all are."
"Demons?"
"People." He looked up, and his grin was wide and a little bit frightening. "Oh, those two bought the 'I'm fighting for my poor benighted people' thing, but fuck my people. Fuck them all. They thought that they knew what I was. Words like Yeahnáglóshii, Skinwalker... They thought they knew what I was. They thought it was simple. That I was neglecting my duty, that I was a monster, a freak, because I didn't believe that a simple accident of birth meant that the tribe was owed my power." He looked up at me, his head tilted. "God, all of this is going right over your head, isn't it? You're like me. A freak of nature. And because you're guilty about it, you'll spend your life trying to make up for the gift you were given."
"It is funny," I said, though it was about as far from funny as it could be. "I never even considered that. I was always grateful that I could do something, anything, to help the people I loved. And while I hate demons, I could never imagine treating a tool so carelessly." I tilted my head. "Why do you do all of this?"
He grinned. "Why not?"
It was about the least heartening answer I could have gotten. “Are there really demons set to terrorize Washington?”
“Yeah. They’re called Senators. I was just fucking with those two, seeing how they’d react under stress. It’s always interesting, isn’t it? Being above them all. Watching them play their games, and knowing that you’re playing a far more interesting game.”
"Get down on the ground."
"You know, I'd fight you, but-" He winced. "Looks like three of the four demons I spent centuries cultivating, strengthening, have just died. That's a blow." He shrugged. "I can always make more, though." He turned towards me, grinning. "I can still take you on with just one."
"I'd like to see that."
He straightened his shoulders, and grinned cheerfully, lifting one arm theatrically, his sleeve slipping down to the shoulder, exposing the bronzed, wrinkled skin. "Nothing up my sleeve, and presto change-o!"
He blurred. I was already in motion as he jumped into the air, and I felt him slip through my fingers. Conservation of mass and energy did extremely strange things as he rocketed up nearly twenty feet in the shape of a small, very fluffy white bunny. A massive owl swept down out of the darkness, its divine energy muted so that I hadn't noticed it above me, and then was gone again, winging towards the swamps along the river with the archmage. I brushed my arms as I stood up, annoyed that I hadn't caught him, but watching. The ship was already shifting to follow him at a fast clip, and there was only so long a bird like that could fly.
Sergeant Miller stepped onto the ship's deck, looking well-worn. He was missing an arm, and I stared for a moment. "Sergeant, are you okay?"
"Fine, fine," he said, absently, glaring around the deck. "Tell me he didn't get away while I was putting down that fucking goonch."
"What? Oh, no. We are in pursuit." I looked forward, narrowing my eyes. "Swamp village. Old, looks abandoned. We're maybe five or six miles away from it, going at ten knots."
"Yeah?" said the sergeant, and he frowned. "Oddly detailed."
"Just keeping my eye out, Miller," I said, and hoped he understood what I was saying.
"Couldn't taze him?"
"Not at the moment, Miller."
"Huh." He nodded, his eyes on me for a very long moment.
I hated the games.
USEF Report Pallas, Appendix B (Known Accomplices), Paragraphs 69-76 Rank HEL-8
Not all of Athena's contacts and accomplices are as celebrated as the Cat of Paris. She is, after all, the Patron of Heroes, and this sometimes involves choosing people who no one would ever take for exceptional.
Atina LeRoux is on the lowest end of these. Middle-class family, relatively unremarkable childhood marked only by a brief hours-long visit to a mental institution after she told a classmate she wanted to kill herself in high school, and three years of homeschooling from the age of eleven to fourteen that apparently permanently warped her social development. She took the LSATs twice, scored surprisingly well the second time, went to a mediocre law school, barely avoided failing out, passed the Bar, and then drifted.
Her life up to this point has been marked by a distinct lack of focus or achievement. She's never done anything worth noting in the mundane sphere. She worked part-time legal work, keeping her head above water in New York City, until she moved upstate and tried starting her own practice, apparently resigned to the fact that she would spend the rest of her life in the same state of mediocrity.
When the Jiang-shi known as Li Fang Fen (See USEF Report Hsien-Ko H1 and remind me to smack whatever moron convinced me that was an appropriate code-name) walked into her office seeking defense on a murder charge, it should have been a short path to an early grave or making a pact. Humans who discover the supernatural inevitably drift towards one of these two.
Atina's only apparent talent is for paranoia. She has, in fact, managed to survive at least a handful of assassination attempts from supernatural creatures she has pissed off royally. Mostly by becoming a hermit. 90% of her socialization is with supernatural creatures at this point, with her only known pure-human contacts being her family, and some fry cook she's in an apparently unpredictable relationship with.
This is all in keeping with Pallas Athena's strategies. In chess terms, Atina is a pawn. She's capable of very little, but is also generally below notice. The chances that she will figure prominently into one of Athena's schemes is extremely low, but the whole thing about pawns is that they take you by surprise, at an angle.
Her resources are largely a surprising number of favors and control she's acquired in Binghamton, but she's still yet to put it to any particular use. As in the rest of her life, Atina LeRoux seems largely at loose ends. Aside from her connections with Jack Knife (See USEF Report Ripper FJ-5) and the Camazotz Jenny Nishi (See USEF Report Sparkly Vampires FJ-4), she has no notable power.
One lingering concern remains: The Fishbelly incident. We still don't know what exactly happened in there, and no one in Binghamton is talking about it. The working theory is that Athena intervened directly, as she's occasionally wont to do. This in spite of the complete lack of any evidence of her presence. The mummy we interrogated after the fact claimed it was the work of a dragon, apparently traumatized by the encounter and prone to confabulation. We've combed the city from top to bottom, and there's no sign of anything that could be called a dragon. Every supernatural creature we interrogate about dragons gives the same answer: They’re extinct. I’m inclined to chalk it up to trauma.
For now, I'd suggest stepping down surveillance to an occasional check-in. Given her position, means, and inclinations, Atina Leroux is a minor player.
Chief Researcher Cherry H. Verne
submitted by HellsKitchenSink to HFY [link] [comments]

2015

Allora, premetto col dire che l'album (anzi, EP diddoW) mi è piaciuto davvero tanto, "Ottobre" e "Grazie" sono le mie preferite. Hai un'ottima padronanza del linguaggio e la scrittura è notevole, anche gli incastri mi sono piaciuti tanto (questa è in assoluto la mia strofa preferita: "Una canzone non basta, con te ci ho aperto il disco E ce lo chiudo, ma senza il bacio sotto il vischio A volte penso che vorrei un bel fischio d'inizio E ricominciare palla al centro con meno drammi del previsto"). Comunque, a parte dirti che hai fatto davvero un ottimo lavoro, voglio anche farti sapere che hai reso il tuo dolore molto "vivo" in questo album, l'ho proprio sentito, nella tua voce e nelle tue parole, in modo tangibile. Qualunque casino tu abbia fatto (o non fatto) nel tuo passato, nonostante io non sappia effettivamente nulla a riguardo, sono comunque pienamente convinta che non meriti così tanto disprezzo verso te stesso, sei una brava persona Jo, spero che col tempo lo arriverai a pensare anche tu. Complimenti ancora
submitted by supergrami to diddofamily [link] [comments]

aiuto!!!tutto il giorno sento tunz tunz, come fermarli?

ragazzi, sono arrivati dei nuovi inquilini al piano di sotto e tutto il giorno ascoltano musica tecno a palla...avete idee di come farli smettere? almeno la notte...nei condomini non c'era una volta una regola di orari in cui non si può fare tanto casino?
submitted by tafazzi87 to italy [link] [comments]

Star-system description: what do you think?

Evermore Star-system Hub System
Planets: 8
Home Worlds: 1 planet
Habitable Worlds: 1 planet
Semi-Habitable Worlds: 1 planet & 4 moons
Intolerable Worlds: 2 planets & 23 moons
Gas Giants: 3 planets
Space Stations: 114
Population: Approx. 10.2 billion (83% alanny, 5% builders, 2% berlichs, 1% torali, 1% krakiz, 8% minor species)
The home system of the alanny, Evermore is probably the most influential star system when it comes to galactic culture. It is the only home system of a major species which has a significant population of outside species, and there are only a few minor species which have followed suit.
The alanny themselves first ventured onto the starlanes nearly seven hundred earth years ago, being one of the few species which figured out both warp drives and gravity engines on their own, though their original warp drives were the most dangerous variety on record. In the centuries since they have abandoned them and, like the rest of the starlanes, use drives modeled after those created by the builders.
Unlike other species which took to the starlanes to colonize or gain valuable resources, the alanny took to them almost entirely to explore and find out what was out there. Perhaps for that reason, the alanny have never officially colonized any other system, though they are one of the most numerous species in the majority of other systems throughout the starlanes. They are very welcoming to other species, even allowing them to build their own space stations within Evermore, though they are required to follow both the builders’ rules of the starlanes as well as few more of the alanny.
Government and Politics The alanny lack any sort of central government of the system or even of their homeworld. What governance they do have are generally referred to as Alanny Clans. They do not claim control over particular territory, but instead claim authority over their members wherever it is that they currently reside. See Chapter 14 for more detailed information on Alanny Clans.
Evermore Locations of Note
Po Alanny Homeworld
Population: 4.3 billion
Gravity: 0.92 Earth Standard
For a homeworld planet, Po is extremely volcanically active, far more than Earth. Considering that, there seem to be surprisingly few major eruptions and major volcanoes across most of its surface. Instead, there seem to be a plethora of smaller seeping, geysers, and minor flows. The surface of Po is also much more mountainous with many ups and downs than Earth. These things combine to make strong updrafts extremely common, allowing the alanny to soar across portions their home planet, while without such updrafts they can only glide slowly to the ground.
The portions of Po which are habitable by the alanny are limited not only by the planet’s oceans, but there are areas across the planet’s surface which are even more volcanically active, making long-term habitation there a fool’s errand, though the alanny do use nearby arable land extensively for their crops.
Unlike many homeworlds, Po is welcoming to interstellar visitors, and it even has a small tourism industry aimed at other species, though the majority of the tourists are alanny born and raised off-world.
Finally, Po is where the guild houses of the largest and most powerful alanny guilds are, though virtually all also have chapter houses off-world and scattered throughout the starlanes, there is still prestige in making their headquarters on Po itself.
Enor Habitable Planet
Population: 1.5 billion
Gravity: 1.03 Earth Standard
The planet of Enor is slightly further from the Evermore system’s sun than Po is, and just outside the Goldilocks zone. The alanny began to terraform Enor long before they ever gained warp travel, and it is now easily habitable, though a bit on the cool side.
Unlike on Po, the alanny cannot soar on Enor naturally due to the higher gravity and lack of extreme volcanic activity. For this reason, there are several places surrounding the urban centers which produce artificial thermal drafts so that alanny may still soar, albeit on a limited basis.
Pallas City Station
Population: 24.7 million
Pallas Station is famous throughout the starlanes. It is an extremely open place, even by the standards of Evermore. Most things done there aren’t actually illegal per the very loose laws of the starlanes, but they would be illegal, or at least be taboo on many worlds. Though of course, members of alanny clans are still subject to their own clan’s rules; for this reason some clans rarely visit Pallas.
The general rule is that if you have the money, you can buy it on Pallas. Perhaps most notably, Pallas is the most well-known place to get high end cybernetics for nearly any species as well as having gray matter grafting performed. In addition, to these services, Pallas has more mundane ways to spend your wealth such as several high end casinos and nearly any sort of shopping you might desire from modern firearms to historical artefacts.
Tania Jumble Station
Population: 88-104 million
One of the oldest and largest jumble stations throughout the starlanes, Tania Station is more than a millennia old. Though of course, like all jumble stations, the outer layers are much newer, portions of them are nearly always under construction by the builders who live there, each trying to put their own mark upon the station.
There is a near constant Armada presence at Tania’s dock, with ships coming in for repair, refit, or just to allow their crews leave in Evermore. Tania’s docks are large enough to build some ships even including some of the smallest Armada capital ships such as the destroyer, though they aren’t large enough to be a true shipyard. The station itself has a substantial marine garrison to protect the system’s warp beacon which is on the station. The marines are also responsible for policing the station to some degree, though they only rarely go past the middling layers and into the shambles. Going into the shambles is a dangerous prospect for humans. While humanity has a fearsome reputation, they are also known as the builders’ lapdogs, and many of the gangs which control the shambles have no love for the builders, so their reputation isn’t always enough to keep them safe from attack.
This hatred of the builders is even more extreme on Tania than in other shambles, possibly because being the disadvantaged in the hub system, many blame the trade brought by warp travel for their lot in life. While there are many different guesses, no one is actually sure what the population of Tania’s inner layers is, especially the shambles. For this, its central location, and other obvious reasons, it is not uncommon for criminals with bounties on their heads to attempt to disappear into Tania’s shambles, sometimes even paying a local gang for protection. Few with such resources want to live there forever, and eventually, whether after weeks or years, the criminal will resurface from the shambles and out into Tania Station or the galaxy at large.
Along with the marine garrison on Tania, there is also a significant civilian human population on Tania. In part they are so large due to the general tolerance of Evermore and the alanny towards various species, the residents of the shambles notwithstanding. The builders even used the opportunity of the human settlement to build yet another annex to Tania, The Human Quarter of the station, designed to provide living quarters for humans in the patterns and sizes they prefer rather than having to make due in quarters designed for how other species live.
Steadfast Station Shipyard
Population: 1.8 million
Steadfast Station is a dedicated shipyard and is probably the largest shipyards across the starlanes which isn’t run by the builders. A spider-web of docks, Steadfast is can and does produce nearly every size and class of starship.
With dozens of various corporate and political interests represented on Steadfast, their spider-web of relationships rivals that of the docks. The corporate interests are obvious, with different docks on the station being controlled by different companies, and their outsourcing various parts of the manufacture. There are also various industrial concerns off of the docks producing ship parts, everything from gravity engines, to generators, to railguns. It is generally cheaper to have them produced on station rather than being shipped in from elsewhere. Many shipping organizations have representatives on Steadfast to oversee orders, making sure that the ships are up to their standards and to make sure that the custom interiors meet their ordered specifications. This latter is especially true of minor species as, since their species travel the starlanes less, there are no standard ship plans designed for their shape and general preferences.
Some buyers come from considerable distances to purchase larger ships from Steadfast Station specifically to avoid purchasing from the builders. For this reason, there are virtually no builders aboard Steadfast and none working for any of the companies involved in shipbuilding. Despite that, like everywhere else, a lot of the ship designs are derivatives of designs which were originally creations of the builders.
Any ship built here for human crews would need to be entirely custom as even Space Dogs or civilians purchasing starships nearly always do so from the builders. Nonetheless, as one might expect from a place so tied to interstellar shipping, there is often work to be found for Space Dogs on Steadfast station.
submitted by CharonsLittleHelper to worldbuilding [link] [comments]

fartin

Sitting legs crossed, I delve into my favorite book to relax from my horrid dat at the animal shelter. Warm bath, loosening overworked muscles like summertime tapworms unraveling akin to skulls shocked laced with leather and gin.
O no hear a horrid sound
And the silken wierd suburban feeling, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
So I sat there jus queefin' n fertin'
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— this is when my bowls grew harder a casino bet, my gut a rustling upset
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”— Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
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