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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/27957 | Calamus Information | Evidenced-Based Supplement Guide on MedicineNet.com
What other names is Calamus known by?
Acore Odorant, Acore Olorant, Acore Roseau, Acorus americanus, Acorus calamus, Acorus gramineus, Acorus Roseau, Bach, Belle-Angélique, Cálamo, Cinnamon Sedge, Flagroot, Gladdon, Grass-Leaf Sweetflag, Grass Myrtle, Kalmus, Myrtle Flag, Myrtle Sedge, Sadgrantha, Sweet Calamus, Sweet Cane, Sweet Cinnamon, Sweet Flag, Sweet Grass, Sweet Myrtle, Sweet Root, Sweet Rush, Sweet Sedge, Ugragandha, Vach, Vacha, Vachha, Vaj, Vayambur.
What is Calamus?
Calamus is a plant. The root-like part is used to make medicine.
Insufficient Evidence to Rate Effectiveness for...
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/27962 | User Score
Mixed or average reviews- based on 101 Ratings
User score distribution:
1. Positive: 52 out of 101
2. Negative: 40 out of 101
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1. Nov 7, 2011
This may be the worst Pacino movie ever. And I am aware of the existence of "simone" and "righteous kill", so I am very abreast of his **** If you want a good movie done in "real time", don't waste YOUR TIME with this P.O.S.
Check out "Nick of Time", from the mid-nineties, with Johnny Depp and Christopher Walken. It's done in "real time", and with much more success than this warmed-over turd.
2. Mar 18, 2011
3. kp
Jul 19, 2009
Not a very memorable movie, but not as nearly as bad as all the reviews suggest. It's NOT a 17...that's ridiculous. Yes, below average for the genre, but definitely watchable. Not every movie is going to be Casablanca. If you watch it for what it is...a so so thriller...then you'll give it about a 4 or so out of 10 which is what it is.
4. JustinP.
Feb 14, 2009
This movie is a thriller without any thrills, a thoroughly mediocre, formulaic, predictable, poorly written film which jumps from cliches to bad dialogues to laughably bad writing all the way until its anticlimactic, irrelevant and uninteresting ending. It is pathetic to see Pacino trapped in this B grade yawner. How could he ever have agreed to act in a movie with a script thats just a hodgepodge of every second rate suspense movie ever made? Sometimes Pacino can salvage an otherwise lackluster picture just with his acting and presence (ie Devils Advocate, Any Given Sunday...) but here he is just one more of the film's annoying and implausible characters. Awful. Expand
5. FilmWatcher
Jan 17, 2009
The first scene was so badly acted by the two Asian victims -- I thought this must be a spoof. The second scene wth the bizarrely acted blonde attorney was even worse. Then Al Pacino showed and was BAD in that overblown, bugged eyed and exhausted way he can be . The script is ludicrous and the direction (especially of the actors) is horrendous. Jon Avnet should never be let near another script or camera! What a total mess and embarrassing disaster! Expand
6. Deanna
Sep 16, 2008
This movie was simply terrible. Whether it was the far-fetched plot, or the pathetic acting, this movie was simply impossible to follow and a bore the whole way through.
7. JayH.
Sep 6, 2008
Amazingly far fetched plot riddled with holes and makes the mistake of making the main character so unlikeable you don't care if he dies in 88 minutes or not. To bad the title didn't refer to the length of the movie. Just because Al Pacino is in the film doesn't mean it's good. How quickly Bobby Deerfield, Gigli and Cruising were forgotten.
8. Fantasy
Apr 27, 2008
Thanks for coming we stole your money. That's what the title should be. It's awful. Enough said!
9. BiggaJ
Apr 24, 2008
They should have called the movie "Out of Time" because you need enough time to recover afterwards and that might make your weekend seem short.
10. ChadS.
Apr 23, 2008
Al Pacino turns 68 in late-April. He's a geezer. But there goes the legendary actor of stage and screen, throwing a girl-more-than-half-his-age, down onto the ground, when his character Dr. Jack Gramm intuits that a bomb is about to go off. Tic-toc, tic-toc. Gobble, gobble. Tic-toc, tic-toc. Gobble, gobble. Probably not since Martin Brest's "Gigli" has a major studio film received such savage reviews by the print media. This time, however, there's some merit to the bad publicity. For starters, "88 Minutes" discards its own premise. Dr. Gramm has eighty-eight minutes to live, according to his caller, but numerous attempts are made on his life, well before the eighty-eight minutes are up. If Jack dies, how will Jon Forster(Neal McDonough) get off death row? The convicted murderer needs Jack's confession, right?But to get back where I started from for a moment; it's Kim(Alicia Witt) whom Jack throws to the ground during one of those attempts on his life. Pacino is 68, maaaan. It should be the other way around. Jack is the one who needs protecting. He's a senior citizen. After Kim is accused twice(!) by her mentor of being an accomplice to his impending murder, the TA defies common sense and hangs around. Why? So Jack would have a sympathetic ear handy as he tells the origin story of the prescribed time that he has left to live. All the women in "88 Minutes" are either trollops, or idiots. Expand
11. RaeR.
Apr 23, 2008
88 minutes of my life forever lost sitting through this implausible, achingly bad bomb. Insofar as I can tell the only redeeming aspect of this film is that its once superb star will take account of just how low one can slip provided the money's good enough.
12. Rick
Apr 19, 2008
If you want to waste 88 minutes of your life ,go see this movie.
13. carriel
Apr 19, 2008
What a terrible film! And GG DD it says alot about your film taste that you can't even spell "dialogue" let alone care about it.
14. MovieProphet
Apr 17, 2008
a big stinky pile of guano....c'mon al, you and leelee both should know better than to choose this type of horsefeathers.
15. DonnaH.
Apr 17, 2008
How could Pacino, and his hair, be shameless enough to perform as they did in this thing? The word "Overdone" comes to mind. This is shamelessly bad, Pacino's worst--so much so that I just sat there in shock and pain. Was it supposed to be a spoof that everyone was in on but the audience?
16. JasonS.
Apr 15, 2008
There is a reason this movie was shelved for almost a full year even though Al Pacino starred in it. the plot is terrible, the dialog is laughable, and my fiance and i guessed the killer in the first 5 minutes. please do yourself a favor and save 88 minutes of your life by not seeing this movie!
Overwhelming dislike - based on 27 Critics
Critic score distribution:
1. Positive: 0 out of 27
2. Negative: 25 out of 27
1. This ridiculous thriller would be hard-pressed to last much longer than its title in theaters before doing time on DVD, as is already the case in many overseas territories.
2. Reviewed by: Todd McCarthy
3. 25
One of the dumbest thrillers to arrive it theaters in a long time. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/27991 | View Single Post
Old 03-09-2009, 11:28 PM #5
wz2b began at the beginning.
Posts: 12
Karma: 10
Join Date: Mar 2009
Device: Kindle 2
Not much help
Originally Posted by tompe View Post
You can also use mobi2html to check that the generated code contains the correct tags for the TOC.
Not much help with mobiperl ... mobi2html unpacked to a single html file. Now that file did indeed contain my table of contents, at the very beginning ... so that tells me the information is in the file.
I also tried the reverse: use html2mobi to generate a brand new .mobi and see how it showed up on the kindle. This generated different results: a kindle document that had the table of contents embedded into it at the very beginning -- but not truly a TOC. You know for sure because the TOC menu selection is grayed out.
I guess that embedding the TOC as html at the beginning of the document is okay -- but not great. I'd really like it to work correctly.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/27992 | Air Attack
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Air Attack is a shooter with vertical scrolling reminiscent of 1942. The game begins with a World War II setting but soon introduces UFO’s and other bizarre science fiction aircraft.
All objects in the game are in full 3D. There are two selectable airplanes with different secondary weapons. Shot down enemies drop useful items and coins that can be used to upgrade weapons or buy items in the shop which appears on screen at checkpoints.
There are two control schemes for mobile devices: one lets the player tap the aircraft and move it across the screen with the finger and the other makes use of the device’s accelerometer.
Air Attack Android Operation start
Air Attack Android Enemy barge
Air Attack Android Enemy UFO
Air Attack Android Fighting enemy dirigible
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• "Air Attack HD" -- Android and iPad release title
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Contributed to by GTramp (27050) and ^~…±‰≈≠¤ (MobygamesIsDead) (583) |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/27995 | MTV Celebrity Deathmatch (PlayStation)
100 point score based on reviews from various critics.
5 point score based on user ratings.
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Overall MobyScore (4 votes) 3.2
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"Bonne licence donne mauvais jeu". Un adage une nouvelle fois vérifié avec Celebrity Deathmatch. Allez, on oublie et on se rematte les épisodes à la téloche pour penser à autre chose. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/27996 | Castle of the Winds (Windows 3.x)
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100 point score based on reviews from various critics.
5 point score based on user ratings.
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Help File:
The second game has almost twice as many levels as the first, plus a final confrontation with the malevolent god who has been after your head! You can even carry forward your character from the first game, and continue your adventures in a quest to reclaim the throne that is rightfully yours! The second game has new monsters who will attempt to thwart your quest, including fire-breathing dragons, boulder-lobbing giants, elementals, devils, and foul undead creatures from beyond the grave! But of course there are also new and more powerful enchanted objects to help you, such as Swords of Dragon Slaying, Giant Slaying, and Wound Healing, Wands of Fireball and Transmogrify Monster, Staves of Healing and Identify, and dozens more items you'll discover as you play! It's well worth the $25 registration fee, and in addition, you'll get a hint sheet with tips and tricks on how to defeat the evil denizens of the lower realms. As a special bonus you'll also get a free disk of the latest releases from Epic Megagames!
Contributed by Xoleras (66309) on Jan 06, 2009. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28000 | In the near future, there was a new world war. The entire territory of the planet was divided between several major criminals. Remnants of the former culture were under threat of destruction. Artist Svyatoslav Gulyaev shortly before the war was immersed in a stasis state. Now he has to save art.
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Here's a recent picture of my brother, Brian, of him handing a fine over to a member of the Swiss law. No doubt for doing something speed related he shouldn't have in the Alps. That's the Matterhorn in the distance - don't ask about the Y-fronts, he is a troubled soul.
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Al Bridge
Born on February 26, 1891 in Philadelphia, PA
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In films from 1931, Alan Bridge was always immediately recognizable thanks to his gravel voice, unkempt moustache and sour-persimmon disposition. Bridge spent a lot of time in westerns, playing crooked sheriffs and two-bit political hacks; he showed ... Read Full Biography
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Actress Bijou Phillips arrives at The Grand Opening Of SLS Hotel on December 4, 2008 in Beverly Hills, California.
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A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors Movie Poster
R In Theaters 02/27/1987 , 96min.
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Plot & Details
The best of the Elm Street sequels, this creepy, surreal fantasy features terrific effects, a fine young cast, and an air of grim fatalism that sets it apart from its giggly successors. Patricia Arquette stars as Kristen, whose nightmare leads to a slashed wrist which looks suspiciously like a suicide attempt. She is placed in a hospital psychiatric ward with a group of six other troubled teens who all dream about the same horribly burned man (Robert Englund) trying to kill them. Perhaps the most unusual thing about this picture, however, is the unexpected depth of sadness running through it. There are some achingly sweet moments in this otherwise frightening film which, though not disruptive, are impossible to analyze. The first and most bizarre of these is Heather Langenkamp's entrance, which inexplicably causes most viewers to get misty-eyed, and there are several similar scenes throughout the film. One answer can be found in the sensitive direction of Chuck Russell, who emphasizes the tragedy and utter hopelessness in these kids' lives and manages to wring some unexpectedly perceptive turns from his cast. This is a film in which a great deal of care was obviously lavished on individual scenes (the sets are outstanding) and performances. The results are well worth repeated viewings, and prove that sequels don't necessarily have to be inferior films.
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Janela Da Alma
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Brazilian filmmakers Joao Jardim and Walter Carvalho ponder the old adage "the eyes are the windows to the soul" as they explore vision and perception in their 2002 documentary A Janela Da Alma (Window of the Soul). Read More
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The Girl Who Played with Fire
R 130min.
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Lisbeth Salander
Mikael Blomkvist
Annika Giannini
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Miriam Wu
November 16, 2010
add my aol please download
November 03, 2010
The Who Played with is a good and a heavy Title . This one is very dangerous and a romantic .
September 30, 2010
I love Fincher, but why meddle with near perfection?
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August 23, 2010
Terrific movie wtih great acting and a plot that keeps you at the edge of your seat - can't wait to see the next movie in the trilogy.
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In 'The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest' -- the final installment of the "Millennium trilogy" -- Lisbeth Salander is fighting for her life in more ways than one.…Read More
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This Means War
Rated PG-13 for some sexual content.
PG-13 98min.
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Chris Pine and Tom Hardy portray the world's deadliest CIA operatives, as well as inseparable partners and best friends...until they fall for the same woman (Reese Witherspoon). Read More
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I wish there was a no star option this movie blows
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Started out a little hokie, but, overall very entertaining for a rom-com.
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On #Point
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28039 | John Henderson
Age: not listed
Birthplace: Newcastle-on-Tyne, Tyneside, England, UK
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
John Henderson is a British film and television director (b. England, 1949)
His first directing job was for Spitting Image on ITV, which won him a BAFTA. Henderson's other television credits include the multi award winning series The Borrowers, the 1999 Comic Relief Doctor Who skit The Curse of Fatal Death (no credit was given to him upon broadcast however he was credited and interviewed when the story was released on VHS later that year); the comedy How Do You Want Me? starring Dylan Moran and two series of the BBC's Sci-fi comedy Hyperdrive. He has also directed several feature films including Loch Ness, Bring Me the Head of Mavis Davis, Two Men Went to War, and Mee-Shee: The Water Giant. He also co-wrote the family-based feature film, The Adventures of Greyfriars Bobby, released in 2005.
Description above from the Wikipedia article John Henderson (director), licensed under CC-BY-SA, full list of contributors on Wikipedia
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28041 |
to not be bothered about talking about sex?
(26 Posts)
WisteriaLaane Sat 19-Jan-13 01:07:37
Don't get me wrong I'm not a prude but I just find it odd for example when a friend says to me I gave my dh a bj whilst he was driving.
I find it odd as she said it like it was a big taboo and ooh wasn't she so fun and naughty for doing that.
I really don't know if I am explaining myself right, but to me yes sex is great but it's a natural thing and a huge majority of the world does it. So I just don't get why some people 'show off' about it.
IfNotNowThenWhen Sat 19-Jan-13 11:10:12
That's strange. In my experience it's women who discuss sex in great detail, and men less so, although I have had discussions about sex with male friends that get quite graphic.
Most of my friends are single though. When people are in long term couples it probably talk about their sex life less, although I have had friends talk to me about sex problems in long term relationships.
I think it is totally fine to talk about sex.
It's part of life. It's important to most people, and the fact that it seems to be something a lot of people find it hard to discuss (especially in the UK) is probably the reason that so many people are quite crap at it.
ledkr Sat 19-Jan-13 10:53:27
I've heard dh's mates discuss arc with each other but I've told dh if he talks about ours he will have no further discussion material for future discussions. grin he probably does though!
BunFagFreddie Sat 19-Jan-13 10:44:56
Your DP and his family sound like my DP and his family. They all chipped in and bought their mum a vibrator for Xmas. They all discuss sex. His mum even told me that DP's sister's sex life was suffering after she had the baby. Apparently her vagine was like sleeve of wizzard. I couldn't believe she told me and I was shock shock shock
I don't mind discussing sex as a subject and having a laugh about smutty things, but I don't want to hear intimate details. I don't want to share mine either.
WhatchuTalkinBoutPhyllis Sat 19-Jan-13 10:36:21
I have one particular friend who just goes on an on about it.
Anyone would think her and her "bf" were the only people in the world having sex. A 10 minuet convo will turn into 40 in which she details positions, rhythm, speed etc.
I don't mind discussing my sex with her but i don't need it rammed down my throat.
no pun intended
BertieBotts Sat 19-Jan-13 10:15:24
Although - TBH I'd probably say something about oral sex while driving, talk about driver distraction!!
BertieBotts Sat 19-Jan-13 10:11:19
Me and DP differ wildly on this.
He will happily talk about sex with anybody and doesn't get embarrassed or think anything is off-limits (aside from some stuff I've made it quite clear I'd be embarrassed if he shared!) he just thinks it's a normal thing to talk about, as normal as discussing cooking tips or whatever.
I find it really bizarre! I don't mind discussing sex in an abstract way but to be specific is cringeworthy. I even find it hard to talk to someone I'm sleeping with about what I like, it's just embarrassing.
I think it's just down to how it was approached in your family - DP's family are really open about sex - one year all of his sisters bought their mum a vibrator set for Christmas [boak] and they're very open about things in discussions etc. When we started sleeping together DP had been shopping for his parents and (apparently, I wasn't there) unpacked the two boxes of condoms he'd bought on the table with all of the shopping! blush blush My family is way more repressed about sex. I couldn't even watch a TV programme or film with a sex scene in the same room as my mum without feeling deeply mortified. Our discussions about sex have gone pretty much as far as "Make sure you use a condom!"
I think DP's attitude is, probably, more healthy than mine. Although it's awkward when he unwittingly gets into conversations with very hopeful sounding swingers and doesn't realise until they start trying to grope him grin
ItsAFuckingVase Sat 19-Jan-13 09:49:53
Me and my friends talk about sex all the time! Perhaps it's because they're very mostly men?
thesnootyfox Sat 19-Jan-13 09:45:07
Even when we were in our 20s my friends and I didn't discuss our sex lives. At most people would divulge if they slept with a new partner but no details were given, lots of details were shared about the lead-up where they went on dates and what he said etc but nobody discussed what they actually got up to.
I can't imagine any of my friends discussing blow jobs or revealing information about their sex lives, it would feel very weird.
BunFagFreddie Sat 19-Jan-13 09:10:08
It's not vair naice, and why would anyone else care unless they are pervs?
carabos Sat 19-Jan-13 08:56:21
My former business partner talked about sex and other intimate things all the time, in the way that anyone else would talk about what's in the news or on telly.
She discussed the smallest details every time she had sex and wanted to know every morning if me and DH had had sex the previous night. I found it distressing and embarrassing.
She had absolutely no boundaries around stuff like that and was just as bad with people she didn't know very well, and clients. It was mortifying and is one of the many reasons why we aren't in business together now.
I'm sorry but I'm always a bit hmm when people talk about sex. Bottom line is, it's just not vair naice is it?
ledkr Sat 19-Jan-13 07:34:02
I have a friend who tells us the "riskay" things she does with her dp. Sex toys threesomes etc. I think a lot of it is crap tbh. I think it's a bit "the lady doth protest too much"
The other day she asked if I'd like to do this or the other, and I said that after only six years with dh I still find our "normal" sex amazing so don't feel the need at the moment but would be happy to try x y and z should we feel things need spicing up. Cue a big ramble about how fab their sex is and they don't need to do all the other stuff. hmm
Joiningthegang Sat 19-Jan-13 07:23:43
I'm with echo
EchoBitch Sat 19-Jan-13 01:39:54
Sex shouldn't be taboo but it should be private i think.
I'll keep mine to myself and you keep yours.
We can still be friends.
WisteriaLaane Sat 19-Jan-13 01:32:47
^^ Agreed.
Actually I see what you mean about forums not being real life. Maybe IABU.
I just don't find sex taboo or naughty so I'm just a "meh" when people talk about it.
The friend said it almost like an announcement. Wasn't sure whether to clap her or not grin
EchoBitch Sat 19-Jan-13 01:31:41
I just don't think about my friends and their sex lives.
<<shakes head and coughs>>
And i don't want them to tell me about it.
EchoBitch Sat 19-Jan-13 01:29:20
That sounds painful.
AgentZigzag Sat 19-Jan-13 01:26:14
Forums are different to RL though.
I wouldn't talk about what I get up to on here, or in RL either if the truth be known, but I have done in the past with good friends laughing at the bollocks you get up to.
It's not trying to make out you have a better sex life to other people, or 'look at me, aren't I zany and spontaneous', it's just laughing about things you have in common with people you're pretty sure will also find it funny.
With the people who've said it to you in RL, what kind of context are you talking about? Down the pub? Round your house for drinks? The school coffee morning?
BunFagFreddie Sat 19-Jan-13 01:25:41
I just kind of assume that the couples I know must be having some sort of sex an a semi-regular basis at least. It's between the two of them and I don't really want to hear about it, because then I'll be stuck with the mental image forever more.
WisteriaLaane Sat 19-Jan-13 01:22:27
Not being specific about the friend comment. I mean more comments from other people, mainly things I read on forums.
They use sex stories and except you to think oooooh aren't they naughty and how exciting they are.
When to me it isn't a taboo subject as the vast majority of people do it, so therefore I fail to see how people think they can show off about it.
WisteriaLaane Sat 19-Jan-13 01:20:27
My sex life isn't great because I just don't feel the need to tell friends or a public forum where I've had sex etc.
Erm .... ok. I happen to enjoy my sex life and don't need to "spice things up"
I was using my friends comment as an example. I see it on forums too.
It's like well I had sex at Alton Towers (therefore I must have a great sex life and all of you should question your own)
I don't wow aren't they naughty.
AgentZigzag Sat 19-Jan-13 01:19:18
I suppose it could signify a level of intimacy you have with the friend that she talks about it, if she's OK in other aspects of your friendship.
If something came up in conversation and they added to it with something they'd done it'd be less weird than just dropping it into the conversation while you're letting them into the house.
Maybe she doesn't see it as showing off but just talking about something she's not embarrassed about?
Not something I'd do at my time of life but it's not a taboo subject to most - apart from it being dangerous to give someone a BJ while their driving.
BunFagFreddie Sat 19-Jan-13 01:18:51
Most people I know don't tell me about their sex lives and I don't tell other people about mine.
prettypolly1 Sat 19-Jan-13 01:14:49
Clearly your sex life isn't great then...!
Maybe you need to try spicing things up a bit then?
If you're friends, you should be able to have a giggle about stuff like this and share tips/experiences/stories.
Try lightening up a bit smile
allthegoodnamesweretaken Sat 19-Jan-13 01:14:32
My MIL is really bad for this. It makes my skin crawl.
I'm not a prude either but i really don't need to hear about the ins and outs <snigger> of other people's sex lives ESPECIALLY my in laws'!!
I'd have done hmm that and asked her if she'd ever read "American Gods" where the man and woman are both killed when he crashes his car because she does that...
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28048 | The vagina game?
(10 Posts)
Slightly different but every time I am in the queue in the supermarket I get the urge to whisper mumsnet (a la mumsnet bogies) at the other women in the hope somebody will raise me....
bumswetter Sun 10-Mar-13 22:00:25
OliviaMumsnet (MNHQ) Wed 06-Mar-13 18:17:54
NameWithDrawn22 Mon 04-Mar-13 13:16:06
we must eradicate this sexism from our society
IvaNighSpare Mon 22-Mar-10 06:59:24
Is this not just a "grown-up" version of Dick and Dom's Bogies game???
phokoje Mon 22-Mar-10 06:16:22
but americans really are weird about stuff like this. much more so than UK for example.
basically, female genitalia is only 'ok' if its sexualised. like say the ad for (is it burger king?) where half naked dripping wet girl slides all over car with legs spread. tooootally ok.
just the WORD vagina in tampon ad? hells to the no.
Beachcomber Sun 21-Mar-10 21:30:20
I recently did this inadvertently on a plane after discussing those weird sprays you can buy that are meant to 'tighten the vagina' <boke>.
Getting a bit enthusiastic with my mate in our discussion I said in a very loud voice "well if someone doesn't like my vagina the way it is they can fuck right off".
Cue stony silence and cat bum's mouths.
Fair enough really would probably have reacted the same if I had been there with my kids (though at the swearing not the use of vagina).
MrsWobbleTheWaitress Sun 21-Mar-10 20:02:02
Very disappointed at the low non-existant uptake of this challenge!
SugarMousePink Sat 20-Mar-10 10:07:15
Inadvertantly played this recently in supermarket by speaking loudly to friend about some kind of perfumed feminine wipe (was a bit worked up!). Got a very filthy look from a passing woman when I was mid-rant about why does everyones vagina need to smell of "moonflower and ylang ylang" type rubbish (can't remember what the perfume actually claimed to be!)grin
MrsWobbleTheWaitress Sat 20-Mar-10 07:54:14
So, on the can't mention the v word article comments, someone referred to the vagina game, where two people take turns saying 'vagina', in public, louder and louder. The winner is the last person to say it.
I dare you all to play it at some point over the next seven days and report back!
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28090 | Home |Space | News
Largest structure challenges Einstein's smooth cosmos
Roger Clowes of the University of Central Lancashire in Preston, UK, and colleagues discovered the structure using data from the Sloan Digital Sky Survey, the most comprehensive 3D map of the universe. They identified a cluster of 73 quasars, the brightly glowing cores found at the centre of some galaxies, far larger than any similar structure seen before.
Since 1982 astronomers have known that quasars tend to clump together in large quasar groups, or LQGs. "We look for quasars that have a certain separation from the next nearest quasar," says Clowes.
The newly discovered, and appropriately named, Huge-LQG (see black circles in image) happens to be in the same region of the sky as one of the earliest known quasar clusters, which Clowes helped find in 1991. That group contains 34 quasars and measures roughly one billion light years across (red crosses), so it is dwarfed by Huge-LQG.
Basic assumption
The discovery of Huge-LQG joins a collection of observations that seem to challenge the cosmological status quo. When Albert Einstein first applied his theory of general relativity to the universe as a whole, to make the calculations workable, he was forced to assume that one large part looks much like any other large part. This became known as the cosmological principle.
Still, a question remained: how large is a large part?
"As time went on, people did more and more surveys," says Clowes. "Each time they found structures the size of the new survey, and you began to wonder when it would all stop."
Previous calculations gave a value of one billion light years as the maximum possible size of a cluster. The 1991 LQG is at this supposed limit, but Huge-LQG smashes right through it. The researchers say this could undermine the cosmological principle, although it may simply mean that we need to revise upwards the size limit on large structures.
Dark flow
But other evidence, such as a controversial "stream" of galaxies that seem to be moving in the same direction, dubbed dark flow, is also poking holes in the uniformity of the universe.
The search for such large structures is key to furthering our understanding of the universe and creating new and improved cosmological models, says Subir Sarkar of the University of Oxford. "All of this suggests there is structure on scales at which the universe is supposed to be boring," he says.
Cosmically huge <i>(Image: R. G. Clowes/UCLan)</i>
Cosmically huge (Image: R. G. Clowes/UCLan)
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28112 | 3.9 Obtaining URLs (Permalinks) of Shared Files and Folders
Filr assigns URLs to each file and folder in the Filr system. You can use these URLs (called Permalinks) as a quick way to either point users to a file or folder or to download a file that is located in the Filr system.
IMPORTANT:Users must already have access to the file or folder via an individual share or a public share in order to access the file or folder from a permalink. Just because a user has a permalink to a file or folder does not necessarily mean that user has access to view the file or folder or to download the file by clicking on a permalink. For information about how to share a file or folder, see Section 3.2, Sharing Files and Section 3.3, Sharing Folders.
To obtain a permalink for a file or folder:
1. Navigate to the location of the file or folder for which you want to obtain the permalink.
2. (Conditional) To obtain a permalink for a file, click the drop-down arrow next to the file, then click View Details.
3. (Conditional) To obtain a permalink for a folder, click the folder name.
4. Click the Permalinks link at the bottom of the page.
5. Copy one of the available permalinks. After a user clicks the permalink, the function of the permalink differs depending on which link is used:
Permalink: Links to the file or folder in Filr. Users who are not already logged in are prompted to log in, unless the file or folder is shared with the public.
File Download Permalink: (Does not apply to folders) Depending on browser settings, users are either prompted to download or open the file, or the file is automatically opened. This link allows users to access the file directly. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28124 | Thread: Nintendo Wiiu
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Old 06-14-11, 01:09 PM #101
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Join Date: Aug 2004
Posts: 10,299
Default Re: Nintendo Wiiu
Originally Posted by |MaguS| View Post
Let's see they quote no developers and it's coming from an analyst. Yeah take that with a grain of salt. The only developer that actually tried to answer the question on an interview is ubisoft(they were the only ones with a real game also) and even then they dodged the question and gave some bs answer.
Considering how cheaply a GPU can be made that's 2x the power of the PS3, it wouldn't surprise me at all if that's that case.
The Zelda HD demo looked terrific. As good as anything that's on the market right now.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28196 |
Permalink for comment 416285
RE[2]: Not entirely...
by TemporalBeing on Wed 31st Mar 2010 21:54 UTC in reply to "RE: Not entirely..."
Member since:
Not quite.
On Linux/Unix there is typically only one administrator user - root. Rarely do you ever add another user to the 'root' group. Instead, you give people the privilege to switch user to the root user using su or sudo. See above.
On Windows you actually add users to the Administrators group. To properly do it the UNIX/Linux way you would not do that, but use the 'runas' command instead. It can be successfully done - I've done it before - but it is a major PITA as Windows is not designed to work that way.
Under UNIX/Linux, this is how all software is designed to run.
However, Microsoft has historically contributed to pushing for users to need Admin rights in order to use their daily software. Until Office 2002/2003, Office required Admin rights to run. Only recently (VS2005/2008/2010?, not sure which) did Visual Studios drop the requirement for developers to need admin rights in order to debug software.
It's not that administrators did not want to force people to not have admin rights to use their computer. It's that the software available for Windows - even software from Microsoft - required it!
It's only a problem so long as software is designed to require admin rights to function.
Vista and Win7 are making a big show of it. You don't see so many issues now with it because either the vendors got smart and updated their software to not need it (which has happened), or (where that was not possible, or available yet to the user) people turned it off; and with Win7 the default level was toned down.
Reply Parent Score: 3 |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28197 |
Permalink for comment 420983
Re: Minidisc
by Toonie on Tue 27th Apr 2010 11:14 UTC
Member since:
To me, the biggest problem with Minidisc is that it was from Sony. They tried very aggressively to monetise the format before it really took off. It was firstly launched as a music format, and as such was very appealing. However, it was launched in a hurry, due the the already launched Philips DCC format. Hence it sounded crap, due to unfinished ATRAC development, was VERY expensive, and the portable units (one of the big selling points) were huge (no smaller than available CD players) and the battery didn't last long.
There was a re-launch of the the format in 1996, and in fact I bought a hi-fi deck (which I still have), with all of its problems solved, at least as an audio format. However, even though there was a variant called MD-Data for use as a PC storage medium, Sony had nobbled it so that you had to use special MD-Data discs which had the same 120MB (from memory), but were VERY expensive. Only much later, after CD-R already had a stronghold did the situation improve.
To be honest, I really loved the format when I got into it, but it suffered by being too little too late in many ways, and more frustratingly, more for marketing than technical reasons. sigh...
Sorry for highjacking this thread. I have fond memories of floppies too, honest! ;)
Reply Score: 1 |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28199 |
Permalink for comment 536868
Bill Shooter of Bul
Member since:
It would also be cheaper to just investigate and fix the problem, most likely. If you have three pcs going belly up due to bad electricity, surge protectors might not last very long. You;d always have to check the protection light on them to make sure they are still protecting the computers. Obviously there are things like power conditioners and the like that will do a better job at a higher cost. And those also like to erupt in flames at times.
Just asking an electrician to investigate would be a prudent first step.
Reply Parent Score: 3 |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28200 |
Talk, Rumors, X Versus Y
Permalink for comment 569934
RE: ...
by glarepate on Sun 18th Aug 2013 06:57 UTC in reply to "..."
Member since:
Well, I feel disgusted how bad behavior gets condoned, because Google could also apply the same practice to other phones under the 3% market like the SailFish or UbuntuEdge.
So, I welcome to the new old Microsoft, but this time, its name is Google.
Chances are they won't because those OSes have all the HTML features needed to make a YouTube app that Google will approve of. And msft says they will in some future version of their OS. But right now they don't.
Reply Parent Score: 2 |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28201 |
Thread beginning with comment 476413
There Must Be Something Else...
by parrotjoe on Wed 8th Jun 2011 01:01 UTC
Member since:
This business of downloading Lion...Steve says "only", but Steve has said many things over the years. There must be something more to this. As it stands now, it doesn't make any sense.
Reply Score: 1 |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28215 | What Not to Eat When You're Pregnant
From your first prenatal appointment, you'll hear all about what you should be eating and drinking during pregnancy, like calcium and folic acid. But what about foods to avoid? Advice seems to flip-flop from year to year, and things that were once considered perfectly safe may now be on the no-no list. Here's a look at what to cut out for the next nine months.
How to Eat Healthy During Pregnancy: How To Avoid Listeria
How to Eat Healthy During Pregnancy: How To Avoid Listeria
Taking in high doses of caffeine daily during pregnancy -- whether from coffee, tea, cola, cocoa, or energy drinks -- has long been associated with an increased risk of miscarriage, and a 2008 study from the Kaiser Permanente Division of Research confirms that link. The study found that women who consumed 200 milligrams or more of caffeine per day (that's two or more cups of regular coffee or five 12-ounce cans of soda containing caffeine) had twice the miscarriage risk as women who consumed no caffeine. "It's a good idea to drink decaffeinated beverages, especially during the first trimester when the risk of miscarriage is highest," says Bridget Swinney, RD, author of Eating Expectantly.
Soft cheeses
It's best to avoid cheeses such as Brie, goat, Camembert, feta, queso blanco, and blue or other veined varieties. Why? They may be unpasteurized and contaminated with listeria -- bacteria that can trigger food poisoning. These soft cheeses have a high fear factor because they're not aged, like cheddar or Parmesan, where the process kills bacteria naturally, says Hope Ricciotti, MD, associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Harvard Medical School and coauthor of I'm Pregnant! Now What Do I Eat? And because pregnant women have a weakened immune system, they are more prone to certain food-borne illnesses -- which, if contracted in the first trimester, can lead to miscarriage or preterm birth.
Buying cold cuts at the deli for this week's lunches? Be careful; deli products might become contaminated with listeria if they're not handled properly at the manufacturing plant or at the deli itself. As a precaution, heat store-sliced deli meats until they're steaming-hot to kill the bacteria. And when preparing pork, beef, or lamb at home, cook it to medium or medium-well, says Dr. Ricciotti. These meats may be infected with toxoplasma, a parasite that causes an infection that, although relatively rare, can cause stillbirth or serious health problems.
You probably already know that mercury, which is present in many fish, is dangerous for your baby. "Mercury is a neurotoxin that impairs fetal brain development," says Dr. Ricciotti. When mercury from pollution gets into the water, it works its way up the food chain from plants to small fish to larger fish, leaving those big swimmers most contaminated. Fish with high levels of mercury on the don't-eat list include: shark, tilefish, king mackerel, swordfish, and albacore tuna. But not all tuna is bad. If you love tuna sandwiches, just stick to canned light tuna, which has very low mercury levels, says Dr. Ricciotti, and limit it to once or twice a week (no more than 12 ounces). A mistake some pregnant women make is to swear off all fish -- salmon, for example, doesn't contain mercury, and it's a great source of omega-3 fatty acids, which you need lots of during pregnancy. But no matter what type of fish you're eating, your best bet is to avoid anything raw or undercooked.
No one is going to tell you to avoid eggs, which are a high-quality source of protein and contain important nutrients like choline. But eggs do have some risk of being contaminated with salmonella, which is more dangerous for pregnant women than for the general population. So be sure to practice good egg safety, says Swinney: Only buy refrigerated eggs, and toss any with cracked or unclean shells. Avoid eating runny eggs (go for scrambled instead of sunny-side up), Caesar salad dressing (if it contains raw egg), unpasteurized eggnog, and homemade ice cream. And don't taste-test that raw cake or cookie batter.
The advice on alcohol is clear: In 2005, the U.S. Surgeon General issued a statement urging all pregnant women and all women who may become pregnant to avoid any alcohol consumption. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, too, states that there's no safe level of alcohol during pregnancy. That said, your doctor or midwife might tell you an occasional drink is harmless, and in some countries restrictions are much looser.
Know this: Alcohol crosses the placenta immediately -- you drink, your baby drinks. Women who drink frequently or heavily put their unborn baby at risk for fetal alcohol spectrum disorder, which has effects ranging from mild to severe learning disabilities, physical abnormalities, and disorders of the central nervous system. And a 2007 study at Indiana University in Bloomington found that children of mothers who drank during pregnancy had behavioral problems later in childhood.
4 Foods You Should Eat
Now that all the bad stuff is gone, here's a list of the best pregnancy nutrients -- and what to put on your shopping list.
• Omega-3s: These fatty acids are vital for brain and central-nervous-system development, and they can also lower your risk of postpartum depression. Best sources: salmon, anchovies, flaxseed and flaxseed oil, and some brands of eggs (look for brands that say "omega-3 eggs" on the carton).
• Choline: This vitamin B-like compound plays a critical role in fetal brain development and may help prevent spinal-cord defects. Best sources: beef (with the exception of beef liver, which pregnant women shouldn't eat), chicken liver, eggs, soybeans, and wheat germ.
• Fiber Not only will a high-fiber diet help you avoid common pregnancy complaints like constipation and hemorrhoids, it also provides an even release of glucose in your bloodstream, helping you avoid surges and dips in energy. Best sources: whole-grain foods, oatmeal, fruits, and vegetables.
• Calcium It's good for your bones, and women with a diet deficient in calcium may have more pregnancy complications, including high blood pressure and preeclampsia. Best sources: low-fat milk, hard cheeses, yogurt, and calcium-fortified orange juice.
Originally published in the September 2008 issue of Parents magazine.
Parents Are Talking
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Mozilla Firefox ESR 24.0
Mozilla Firefox Extended Support Release (ESR) is, essentially, a slower-moving, more stable version of the regular browser. While standard Firefox sees a major release every 6 weeks or so, Firefox ESR will only move a whole release number every 54 weeks, meaning that you're much less likely to find some new tweak has broken your favourite extensions.
Of course this doesn't mean the browser will see no movement at all for an entire year. Every time standard Firefox is updated, Firefox ESR will incorporate all the latest security updates in its own minor upgrade, so the program will be every bit as safe to use: you just won't have all the latest features.
If you're a home user then this probably means that Firefox ESR isn't for you. Firefox ESR will remain at v24 for many months, so you'll be missing out on all the new interface tweaks, tab options and assorted browser speeds which Mozilla have added in the past few months.
If you're managing Firefox deployment in a business, though, or anywhere else with a large number of users, then it's a different story. You really don't want to have to get into huge firefights because a browser update has caused problems, stability is far more important - and if that sounds like you then opting for Firefox ESR could be a very good idea.
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How can I watch catch up tv over wireless
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I have an LG Smart TV which includes BBC iPlayer but no other catch up clients. I have a home PC and my LG tv is connected to my wireless network so I can browse the internet form the tv and of course from my home PC. Is there any way I can be playing a catch up tv show on my PC and at the same time mirror the program on my LG tv over my wireless network? If this is possible I don't expect to be able to control the catch up program on the PC from the tv, I would just like it to be mirrored on the tv.
Thanks - Martin.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28229 | Apple iOS 4.2 updates
Airprint, Part One You can now print wirelessly from your iPad--provided you have one of the twelve HP printers that work with AirPrint. Apple says the number of printers--and manufacturers--should increase down the road. The feature is smart enough to recognize whether you're printing a photo or document, and if your printer has photo paper loaded, all photos will default to that tray. Each photo has an icon up top, to the left of the AirPlay button. On the pull-down menu for this icon is the print option.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28240 | Beefy Boxes and Bandwidth Generously Provided by pair Networks Frank
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Re: RFC: Language::Logo
by belg4mit (Prior)
on Jan 31, 2007 at 00:06 UTC ( #597471=note: print w/ replies, xml ) Need Help??
in reply to RFC: Language::Logo
Have you looked into the Tk::CanvasLogo that Mr. London created in response to your presentation?
In Bob We Trust, All Others Bring Data.
Comment on Re: RFC: Language::Logo
Re^2: RFC: Language::Logo
by liverpole (Monsignor) on Jan 31, 2007 at 01:26 UTC
Yes, I have.
To be very honest with you, I was somewhat amazed that he did that.
After presenting my own idea and working code to the group (including all of the Tk drawing primitives which he then reimplemented, as well as a number which he did not), he then apparently thought it enough of a good idea to try rewriting (partially) and uploading to CPAN himself, but not good enough of an idea to mention my presentation or prior work, or the fact that he used the exact same "look and feel" of a "pen-up" turtle vs. a "pen-down" turtle.
Additionally, he points out that "his" work allows for multiple turtles simultaneously. In fact, this was an idea which came out of the client/server model I had already used (and presented), and was in fact originally an idea proposed to me by my colleague wulvrine.
Now it may be that I'm just being naive to how open-source is supposed to work. But after emailing Mr. London, and telling him that I was still planning on releasing my work to CPAN, he wrote back that it wasn't his intent to take anything away from what I had done, and offered to let me take over what he had already done.
So the way it's been left is that I'm going to maintain the Tk::CanvasLogo project. I still need to find out exactly what the process is for doing that.
Well, I think the point was that he really wanted you to inherit from Canvas. uri bitched about other aspects of the code, not inheriting bugged Greg. I was surprised at the module implementation though, as I still think that some division between Language::Logo and the visual aspect (Tk::Canvas::Logo, or what have you) be separated.
As for taking over, the easiest is for him to give you commit bits to the project on PAUSE. You will then both have the ability to publish, though he would still be the first listed name in the module list. You could of course try to "set the record straight" in the POD with any updates.
In Bob We Trust, All Others Bring Data.
So if someone feels strongly about the way a module is written, he should be allowed to take someone else's idea and implement it as his own?! Wow ... I'm at a loss for words ...
A good friend of mine told me a story years ago, when he had some novel ideas for a product (his field was biochemistry), and was trying to start his own company, but needed to get financing for it. The venture capital corporation which he was talking with told him they were NOT willing to finance the development of a new technology. "However", they said, "we would be fine with having you steal the technology from another company, and we will pay to defend you in court". Apparently, that was a much cheaper, and presumably profitable strategy. My friend was very disappointed, but he gave up the idea because the thought of stealing someone else's ideas went against his values.
So let me ask you ... let's say you had presented one of your modules before publishing them, perhaps this or maybe this. And Greg London heard your presentation, but felt strongly about the namespace, or other implementation details. Or maybe he simply noticed that you hadn't yet published it on CPAN. Would that have given him the ethical right to publish it first?
I wonder how Mr. London would feel if I started distributing this or this with my own name on it instead of his own? (I wouldn't do that of course -- it goes against my moral standards).
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The stupid question is the question not asked
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I think there's a misunderstanding here. When you write the number 0xFF or 255 (which is really the same), you probably want the byte with the number 255 to be written. If that's the case, you need chr or pack (see perlpacktut), not a string representation.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28246 | Feature Articles
Know Thyself
Philip Coppens
The Oracle of Delphi. Once, this woman’s utterances could change the destiny of nations – she was not just consulted by leaders of various Greek city states, but also by king Amasis of Egypt, Solon of Athens and king Croessus from Lydia; all visited Delphi, in search of her divine guidance. Or rather: that of the god Apollo, who spoke through her.
The earliest reference to the Oracle is in Homer, whereas ancient stories say how on the side of Mount Parnassos there was a cleft where goats suddenly began crying and leaping about. When the goatherds approached, they experienced the same; man and animal acting as if possessed. Some reported visions, others foretold the future; some apparently disappeared into the cleft, overcome by the fumes, losing sense of this reality and suffering the fatal consequences.
Temple of Apollo, Delphi
When word got out, it was believed that the vapours emanating from the chasm put mortals in contact with the gods; the local community thus built a shrine and appointed a woman as the exclusive conduit through which man could communicate with the gods. For her own safety, they made a tripod on which she sat, to make sure she did not fall into the chasm when she became light-headed from inhaling the vapours. Archaeological evidence suggests this worship began ca. 1600 BC and more than 15 centuries later, the priest of Plutarch reported that the name of the goatherd who first discovered the site: Coretas.
From this foundation, the mythological framework of Delphi was constructed. The site was considered to be the “navel” of the world – its centre. The centrality of Delphi was said to have been established by the leader of the pantheon himself, Zeus, by sending two eagles that flew from the edges of the world. As such, many early maps show Delphi as located in the exact centre of the Greek world. Delphi is Greek for “hollow”, derived from the word “delphis”, womb – closely linked with the navel and the umbilical cord, so vital for the bond between child and mother, and hence said to be instrumental in our relationship with the world of the gods.
Delphi was the sanctuary of Apollo. Delphi’s other name, Pytho, means “to rot”, a reference to the decay of the snake’s body that Apollo killed there. The oracle was known as the Pythia. It is clear that mythologically speaking, it was considered to be the “rotting corpse” that provided the fumes that put the Pythia in contact with the gods. We can only wonder whether the Python was therefore similar in nature to the Gorgon, who was said to be able to give immortality or instant death, depending on which side of the body you took the blood from and drank it. Finally, the story is very similar to the foundation mythology of St Patrick’s Purgatory in Ireland, a site in origin very similar to the oracle and equally linked with the conquest of a mythical monster, this time conquered by the Christian saint St Patrick, patron saint of Ireland.
Not all times were perfect for prophesy: goats (the animal that originally discovered the oracle) in the temple forecourt were doused with sacred water and observed to see whether it trembled in the right way – from the legs up. When favourable, the goat was sacrificed at a large stone altar just outside the temple’s front entrance. If unfavourable, no oracular session would occur. Still, on some occasions, these warnings were not heeded and on at least one occasion, one priestess became so intoxicated by the fumes that she died a few days afterwards. Like the Gorgon, the fumes could lead to instant death.
Originally, the oracle held only one session per year: on February 7, the birthday of Apollo. But as her popularity grew, the oracle held sessions each seventh day of the month, between February and November. Unlike other oracular sites dedicated to Apollo, the oracle of Delphi was female. Furthermore, the oracle was a “normal woman”, who came from Delphi herself; she did not have any specific telepathic qualities and to be eligible, it seems she had to refrain from having intimate relations with men (she had entered a holy marriage with Apollo) and have no physical defects. Unlike Sibyls or prophets, who did not require an external stimulant to prophesise, the Pythia was deemed to be divine only when inhaling the divine “pneuma”. The sanctuary had a guild of women whose main responsibility was to keep the sacred fire burning in the temple’s central hearth. Some scholars believe it is from this group that recruitment for the oracle stemmed.
Originally, the Oracle was a girl, a virgin, 13 to 16 years old, but after one visitor had his way with her, it was decided that a woman of about 50 years old would take her place, prophesising while being dressed up as a young woman. Though many if not most women wee married by the age of fifty, it was decided that upon assuming the role of the Pythia, the priestesses ceased all family responsibilities. Some assume the position, once elected, was for life, but this is disputed by others, who suggest that no-one remains fifty forever.
Originally, there was just one Pythia, but Plutarch reported that with the growing popularity, there were three Pythia, two whom participated in the ceremonies, one who was back-up.
Though there was nothing very special about these women, it is clear that some form of training was required, if only about what to do when. We know that the Oracle began her session by purifying in the waters of the Castalia spring, nearby. There are two sacred springs, sitting a few hundred yards distant from the main site itself, in the cleft formed by the mountain. The original spring is the one closest to the modern road – literally, right next to it. A larger, second shrine was dug out from the cliff face, but this site is currently off-limits, because of the danger of falling rocks – which do indeed fall, as any visitor can quickly see.
From here, the Pythia followed a path pretty similar to that taken by the modern tourist, onto the Sacred Way, past the various treasuries that displayed their gifts, upwards to a spring inside the sanctuary, the Kassotis spring, where the Oracle drank its sacred waters. She then entered the adyton, the subterranean chamber, in which she would take the vapours and prophesize.
Legend has it that the Pythia in ancient times would read the petitioner’s mind and respond while the question was still unspoken. This would imply that she possessed some form of telepathy, apparently received from the vapours she inhaled. But later, the authors recounted no such telepathic ability. The petitioner could ask one question, and only one. It appears that the priest then posed the question to the Pythia, who replied. This has lead to various amounts of conjecture by scholars. Some have suggested that the Pythia herself did not remember much if anything at all about her session and hence relied on a priest to record it for her. Others argue that the Pythia just mumbled, talking nonsense, like the early goatherds, and that the priests just invented whatever they desired on the spot, and then sold it off as a prophecy, phrasing it in such a manner that whatever happened, they would be covered. Indeed, it is known that the Oracle rather frequently got it wrong. But when she did get it wrong, it was often believed that it was a faulty interpretation, rather than a “divine error”. It seems the Greek never considered it a possibility that Apollo would wilfully mislead humans. And the Oracle is also evidence of the fact that the fame of a prophet is not linked with the accuracy of the predictions. The best modern-day examples are no doubt Edgar Cayce and Nostradamus, in which the latter’s prophecies are equally obscure as some of the Pythia’s claims, yet when events fail to materialise, they are easily blamed on the “interpreter” – and in the case of Nostradamus, often rightfully so.
This is what happened when the Oracle was in session. On days when the oracle was not in session (the rule rather than the exception), pilgrims could still get divine guidance on simple questions, often by throwing beans with one side saying yes, the other no – a type of divination that could occur anywhere, but which probably felt more profound when occurring in Delphi.
Secondly, as we know, the Oracle worked for only nine months of the year. In winter, November to February, it was Dionysos who ruled over the sanctuary and orgiastic rites occurred in his honour. Dionysos is now often seen as “the dark force” of Apollo, rather than a separate god. Officially, Dionysos was Apollo’s divine half-brother, whose tomb was within the temple at Delphi. Apollo signified light and reason and life; Dionysos darkness and ecstasy and rebirth. Though his tomb was inside the temple, the rites of Dionysios did not occur inside the Temple, but in the Korykian cave, a cave located higher up the mountain, reached by following a seven mile journey up the slope of Mount Parnassos. What occurred here is little known, as the rite was part of a mystery cult with initiates pledging to keep its secret. Plutarch did note that Clea was not only high priestess of Apollo, but also leader of the Dionysian rites, suggesting that when not inhaling the fumes of the Python, in winter-time, the Pythia engaged in the sexual orgies of Dionysos – party time.
Though the Pythia was the oracle, the site itself was run by men. The male priests seem to have had their own ceremonies to the dying and resurrecting Apollo. After 200 BC, there were two priests of Apollo, who were in charge of the entire sanctuary; Plutarch was one of these and is thus treated as an expert on the matter. Before 200 BC, there was probably only one priest of Apollo. Priests were chosen from among the leading citizens of Delphi and were appointed for life. In addition to overseeing the oracle, priests would also conduct sacrifices at other festivals of Apollo, and had charge of the Pythian Games, which were held from the early 6th century BC, every four years. The small theatre and track – the smallest of all ancient sites – above the temple are remnants of this. The site’s location on the slope of Mount Parnassos meant that horse racing could only occur in the valley below. It is believed that thousands of peoples came to these Games. Though Athens may seem distant even to the modern traveller, in ancient times, it was only a three day journey by land – and much faster by boat, which was the preferred method of transport for the ancient Greeks.
The centre of Delphi was, at least with the construction of the temple of Apollo in the fourth century, the Adyton, the subterranean chamber where the Pythia worked. “Adyton” literally means “do not enter” or “inaccessible” and was thus the Holy of Holies. Inside, only the Pythia and the priest were allowed, with the pilgrims required to wait nearby, where some reported that they could occasionally smell a whiff of a sweet odour, believed to have been the vapours rising from the chasm.
Ancient authors described how the Adyton contained a chasm, from which the fumes rose. Nearby or on top sat the Pythia, on her tripod, with nearby one of the omphalos stones, symbolizing the site was the centre of the world; the fumes from the Underworld rose to intoxicate Mankind, who then entered into contact with the world of the gods – Heaven. Some researchers believe that the omphalos stone, sitting on top of the chasm may have collected some of the gases rising from it, which were then released when the Oracle started her session.
When French archaeologists in the 1890s began to excavate Delphi (which involved moving an entire town that had been built right on top of the remains), they soon stumbled upon the remains of the temple of Apollo. They located what they believed to be the Adyton and found not a single trace of a chasm. They almost fell over each other trying to be the first to go public with the conclusion that Delphi had been one of the biggest scams of Antiquity: there was no chasm; the ancient authors had all been lied to by the priests, who were clearly only out to make money, while telling lies. It also damaged the reputation of Plutarch, whose books, including one “On Isis and Osiris”, were deemed to be secondary to the interpretations of Egyptologists.
But the balance would be redressed, though it took more than a century.
Some decades ago, geologist Jelle de Boer trekked around Greece; when in Delphi, he noticed the presence of a fault line. Several years later, de Boer was astonished to find that archaeologists were not aware of this. He teamed up with John Hale in an effort to substantiate whether or not the fault line ran underneath the temple. If this were the case, then it would mean that the ancient authors were almost certainly right – and the French archaeologist wrong. After a few years of research, the team learned that the French team had contradicted themselves and had actually found evidence of a chasm – but which for some reason was not accurately reported in their final analysis. De Boer and Hale found that there were two fault lines that crossed exactly at the location of the adyton and that rocks in its immediate vicinity showed clear signs of ethylene, a product used in the early 20th century in operations. In short: it was now proven that there was a chasm and that there were intoxicating fumes. The ancient authors were right – the French archaeologists very wrong. And the legacy of Delphi could slowly be restored again.
Delphi had two important sayings: “Know Thyself” and “Nothing to excess”. But once de Boer’s research was public knowledge, media and fellow scholars went to excess in their interpretations of the findings – this to the dissatisfaction of de Boer himself. The preferred interpretation was now that the priests had not invented everything – but had nevertheless rephrased the meaningless utterances of the Pythia into prophecies. Though the Pythia was no longer deemed to be a fraud, Delphi was still seen as a ploy to exploit the desire to believe; though it was known as the most important religious centre of Antiquity, for scholars, there was nothing special or divine about it.
This trend was not new. People like Robert Temple tackled Delphi before de Boer’s research came out, suggesting that the eagles were doves and that the priests had an entire network of informants across the Mediterranean; if one nation was defeated in some battle somewhere in Turkey, a carrier pigeon would be sent from that region, with news for the priests of Delphi, which could then pretend to prophesize an event. It bypasses the central issue that normally, the Pythia would have to predict this event long before the battle began, so at best, what the priests gained was to be kept up to date about whether they were wrong or right – and as already mentioned, it is known the Oracle quite often got it wrong.
Today, we have hence once again opted for the safe haven, letting ourselves believe that the entire spectacle of Delphi was a show, with no genuine mystical core. De Boer suggested this was highly unlikely, suggesting the prolonged fame and importance of the site – and generally, we do not seem to heed that other warning of Delphi “Know Thyself”.
If ethylene was the only ingredient involved, then it is likely that very little “magic” occurred on the site. But if other ingredients were added to this, then this cocktail of drugs may indeed have given access to another dimension – as so many drugs in the 1960s apparently performed too. Plutarch said that the Pythia's life was shortened through the service of Apollo. The sessions were said to be exhausting and being administered a small dose of ethylene for five to nine times per year seems unlikely to have had a noticeable effect on a person’s life. It suggests that something more occurred, but that so far, we have not been able to identify the missing pieces of the Pythian puzzle.
Though the adyton was central to Delphi, it was not the sole site of importance. The Rock of the Sibyl sits outside the temple, between the Sacred Way and the temple. Legend has it that Herophile sang her oracles here. Her father was Zeus and her mother Lamia, the first sibyl, who sang of the Trojan war and foretold the fate of Helen. Herophile is normally associated with the oracular centre of Cumae (Italy), where she lived for many years in the crypts and gave oracles. Her inclusion here suggests that Cumae wanted to show that it was an accredited subsidiary of Delphi. But we note that the sibyls were seen as psychic women, gifted with the power to prophecy, not through inhaling vapours, but at any given moment in time. It may shed some light on the early days of the Oracle, when it was said to be able to read the mind of the pilgrim.
From left to right: Treasury of Athens (partial), Rock of the Sibyl, Rock of Leto, wall of Temple of Apollo.
The site is close to a spring, the Sacred Fountain, which emerges from under the temple and appears to return to the earth behind the rock. As water seems to be an important ingredient, the Oracle drinking it, perhaps geologists will one day identify a specific ingredient of this fountain that may have contributed to the Pythia’s ecstasy. In fact, this particular area of Delphi seems to have several intriguing components. Next to this rock is the Rock of Leto, where Leto, mother of Apollo, came with her baby boy and sat with him, instructing him in the art of dragon slaying. From this rock, Apollo took up his bow and arrows and slew Python, to become the Lord of the Word of Zeus. It suggests that the true centre of the world was not the adyton, but this area just outside the temple.
Catherine Morgan has argued that the oracle’s responses in the first centuries of her recorded history tended to be simple and direct, but that latter ones became increasingly vague and ambiguous. Furthermore, it is known that an earthquake destroyed the temple in 373 BC, which was afterwards rebuilt, but the reputation of the Oracle soon went on the decline. Furthermore, the oracle also lost the power to control the major questions of policy; the kings no longer came to consult her; instead, people arrived who were more focused on the practical and the personal – and so the Oracle had to adjust. Though the earthquake may have sealed off the fumes emanating from the chasm (if not closing the chasm), it is equally clear that an institution that had been involved with determining the fate of the world would not easily survive in a time when the pilgrims wanted to know whether their child was going to be a boy or a girl.
Its last recorded response was given in 393 AD, when it reported that the oracle had fallen silent. But though the voice of Apollo may no longer resonate on the grey slopes of Mount Parnassus, recently, it seems to be finding a new breath. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28250 |
More like this: frogs, squirrels and monkeys.
Red Squirrel by Walter Soestbergen
Satanic leaf tailed Gecko. It's like a real life Dragon!
Family photo time.
Red-shanked Douc Langur
A week-old monkey makes its delight known as its mum gives it a grooming head massage. The young Japanese macaque sheltered close to its caring mum as she helped keep it clean at Jigokudani Hot Springs in Nagano Prefecture, Japan
Monkeys are enjoying a free ride from a Capybara
Indian bull frog. He looks happy!
"Just can't live that negative way, make way for the positive day" Bob Marley
do the polar bear dance!
~~ Golden Headed Tamarin Monkey ~~
He may feel confused
Rescued baby albino porcupine enjoying an apple slice. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28260 |
More like this: ha ha, true stories and thoughts.
Possibly Inappropriate
walmart switched to subway.. js.
people ALWAYS ask.. but they're not.
Can I get an amen?
Best description of sloths ever…
Robin Williams is the best
who wore it better?
See your doctor if you experience a T-Rex lasting more than four hours. LOL
i laughed way too hard at this... |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28265 |
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28277 | Type O Negative
New York goth metal quartet Type O Negative is led by vocalist/bassist/songwriter Peter Steele and features guitarist Ken Hickey, keyboardist Josh Sil .. more »
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• Elizabeth Bonnett (7/19/2006 1:40:00 PM)
This is one band that has stayed with me through the years. And not just because Peter Steele is beautiful and SEXY. His voice vibrates within my being, the music affects me bodily, and the lyrics couldn't be closer to the way I really feel about things. I love Type O.
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Attending the Ball of the Dead Accompanied by the Ghost of Rouen
Attending the Ball of the Dead,
Accompanied by the Ghost of Rouen
Who would of guessed your enticing flashing smile;
Ghost of Rouen.
We cut oh! such a dash, swish, splish splash.
Splendid in your gown
fashioned by them riddled by guilt.
Aren’t I the flavour amongst them?
That tells no more tales.
A medium who shares your secrets?
Now hear ye all such fine music,
together hand in hand
we enter the Ball.
Behold gasping with wonderment
one hundred majestic musicians,
summing up from their desire,
enchantment, careless abandonment.
Arrows were they? whistled past your ears,
from upright English bows,
from upright English men.
But now we are set to dance the dance,
as if all time stands still.
What I care this to be the Ball of the dead.
How they chatter and gossip everyone a ghost,
for once bound to the stake
they called you witch.
Pray I ever to seek such contentness
with one such as you, Ghost of Rouen.
Love beckons in this world
nay but the next.
Once a maid in armour now a princess In silken robes.
Spy kings , queens, emperor’s, lords and French barons,
dressed from head to toe in finery.
Mighty armies came and long gone be,
we will dance no more this night,
Ghost of Rouen.
Thank thee, thank aye thank the lord.
What precious times are had?
You with your enticing flashing smile.
Wish me, another invite
by the Ghost of Rouen to the Ball of the dead.
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1. Date: 8/28/2012 5:59:00 AM
Fantastic ! really enjoyed this piece love the idea as well as the words. not convinced its an ABC poem though :) |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28305 | Young Adult Sale
From the Authors
Original Essays
Powell's Q&A
Tech Q&A
Kids' Q&A
Authors, readers, critics, media — and booksellers.
Why I Drink Cheap Wine
I used to be a wine snob, convinced that I could only enjoy bottles from obscure French vineyards. But then I started reading about numerous experiments involving the perception of wine, all of which emphasized the importance of expectation in shaping our perceptions. In other words, the reason I enjoyed my fancy wines isn't because they tasted better it's because I expected them to taste betterthe reason I enjoyed my fancy wines isn't because they tasted better — it's because I expected them to taste better.
Consider this recent study by scientists at Cal-Tech and Stanford. Their experiment was organized like a wine tasting. Twenty people sampled five Cabernet Sauvignons that were distinguished solely by their retail price, with bottles ranging from $5 to $90. Although the people were told that all five wines were different, the scientists weren't telling the truth: there were only three different wines. This meant that the same wines would often reappear, but with different price labels. For example, the first wine offered during the tasting — it was a cheap bottle of Californian Cabernet — was labeled both as a $5 wine (its actual retail price) and as a $45 dollar wine, a 900 percent markup. All of the red wines were sipped inside an fMRI machine.
Not surprisingly, the subjects consistently reported that the more expensive wines tasted better. They preferred the $90 bottle to the $10 bottle, and thought the $45 Cabernet was far superior to the $5 plonk. By conducting the wine tasting inside an fMRI machine — the drinks were sipped via a network of plastic tubes — the scientists could see how the brains of the subjects responded to the different wines. While a variety of brain regions were activated during the experiment, only one brain region seemed to respond to the price of the wine, rather than the wine itself: the prefrontal cortex. In general, more expensive wines made parts of the prefrontal cortex more excited.In general, more expensive wines made parts of the prefrontal cortex more excited. The scientists argue that the activity of this brain region shifted the preferences of the wine tasters, so that the $90 Cabernet seemed to taste better than the $35 Cabernet, even though they were actually the same wine.
Of course, the wine preferences of the subjects were clearly nonsensical. Instead of acting like rational agents — getting the most utility for the lowest possible price — they were choosing to spend more money for an identical product. When the scientists repeated the experiment with members of the Stanford University wine club, they got the same results. In a blind tasting, these "semi-experts" were also misled by the made-up price tag.
These experiments suggest that, in many circumstances, we could make better consumer decisions by knowing less about the product we are buying. When we walk into a store, we are besieged by information. Even purchases that seem simple can quickly turn into a cognitive quagmire.When we walk into a store, we are besieged by information. Even purchases that seem simple can quickly turn into a cognitive quagmire. Look, for example, at the jam aisle. A glance at the shelves can inspire a whole range of questions. Should we buy the smooth textured strawberry jam or the one with less sugar? Does the more expensive jam taste better? What about organic jam? (The typical supermarket contains more than 200 varieties of jam and jelly.) Rational models of decision-making suggest that the way to find the best product is to take all of this information into account, to carefully analyze the different brands on display. But this method can backfire. When we spend too much time thinking in the supermarket, we can trick ourselves into choosing the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. That's why the best critics, from Consumer Reports to Robert Parker, always insist on blind comparisons. They want to avoid the deceptive thoughts that corrupt their decisions. The prefrontal cortex isn't good at picking out jams or energy drinks or bottles of wine. Such decisions are like a golf swing: they are best done with our emotional brain, which generates its verdict automatically.
This "irrational" approach to shopping can save us lots of money. After Rangel and his colleagues finished their brain imaging experiment, they asked the subjects to taste the five different wines again, only this time the scientists didn't provide any price information. Although the subjects had just listed the $90 wine as the most pleasant, they now completely reversed their preferences. When the tasting was truly blind, when the subjects were no longer biased by their prefrontal cortex, the cheapest wine got the highest ratings. It wasn't fancy, but it tasted the best.
÷ ÷ ÷
Jonah Lehrer is editor-at-large for Seed magazine and the author of Proust Was a Neuroscientist and How We Decide. A graduate of Columbia University and a Rhodes Scholar, Lehrer has worked in the lab of Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist Eric Kandel and writes a highly regarded blog, The Frontal Cortex.
Read Jonah Lehrer's INK Q&A.
Books mentioned in this post
1. Proust Was a Neuroscientist
Used Trade Paper $6.50
2. How We Decide Used Hardcover $9.95
3. Proust Was a Neuroscientist
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4. Sideways New DVD $13.94
Jonah Lehrer is the author of How We Decide
2 Responses to "Why I Drink Cheap Wine"
JMB January 29th, 2009 at 2:12 pm
Goats Do Roam in Villages Pinotage! mmmmmm....
beth January 29th, 2009 at 2:59 pm
Rex Goliath FTW
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28315 | Dream Theater - Live at Budokan CD (album) cover
Dream Theater
Progressive Metal
4.29 | 312 ratings
From Progarchives.com, the ultimate progressive rock music website
Prog Reviewer
2 stars An average DVD highlighting what Dream Theater does best, run away with the notes. The "instrumedley" is proof of this more or less. The DVD is recorded very well, and the concert is well organized, with a good mixture of songs from their albums.
However, this almost serves better as an instructional DVD than a concert DVD, with the camera works constantly zoomed in on the fretboards. I would have hoped we had more in the "Behind the Scenes" footage, which really isn't behind much. Score would be the DVD to get by casual listeners and fans of the band alike.
OpethGuitarist | 2/5 |
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28375 | Last updated on March 16, 2014 at 1:21 EDT
Wild Bottlenose Dolphins: Research Shows They Can Be Stuck Up
August 1, 2012
Image Credit: Photos.com
Lee Rannals for redOrbit.com — Your Universe Online
Talk about stuck up, new research shows that bottlenose dolphins form elite societies and cliques.
Scientists found that wild bottlenose dolphins bond over the use of tools, with distinct cliques and classes forming over decades as a result of their skills. The research suggests that humans are not the only animal species that understand what its like to be picked last in gym class.
According to the findings, the dolphins in the communities share their knowledge only with those in their own circle, passing it down the family line.
Georgetown University noticed that some dolphins in Shark Bay, Australia used a sponge to protect their beaks while hunting, and others did not. The team wanted to understand why the practice had not spread.
They found the tool was first used by a single dolphin nicknamed “Sponging Eve,” after she scraped her nose while foraging for food in rough sand. The dolphin broke off a piece of sea sponge to protect her, and taught the behavior to her offspring.
Two decades later, the knowledge of using a sponge to protect noses spread among the whole dolphin population in the area.
Scientists found 36 spongers and 69 non-spongers in the area over a 22 year period.
“Spongers were more cliquish, had more sponger associates and stronger bonds with each other than with non-spongers,” the researchers wrote in the journal Nature
Communications. “Like humans who preferentially associate with others who share their subculture, tool-using dolphins prefer others like themselves, strongly suggesting that sponge tool-use is a cultural behavior,” they continued.
Scientists suggest that the dolphins may have a tendency to associate with those most like themselves.
“We sometimes think that traits such as culture are exclusively human, but a growing body of literature proves otherwise,” Janet Mann, the team leader, wrote in the journal.
The researchers believe that the cliques are formed for social reasons, rather than for practical reasons.
“As sponging is a solitary behavior, affiliation between spongers would not be based on collective foraging, but rather on identifying other individuals as spongers,” they wrote in the journal. “We suggest that spongers also share in-group identity, but affiliation is a consequence of similarity in the socially learned trait, a scenario that resonates with human culture.”
The researchers said that spongers were more cliquish, had more sponger associates and stronger bonds with each other than those dolphins that were non-spongers.
The study also found that the behavior was stronger in females, which were better at maintaining alliances.
The dolphin sub-cultures are believed to be the result of socially-learned behavior rather than innate traits.
Source: Lee Rannals for redOrbit.com – Your Universe Online |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28377 | Last updated on March 16, 2014 at 1:21 EDT
March 11, 2011
Uncovering Rare Receptors
Bartfai’s group has long been interested in a class of nerve cells in the brain called “warm sensitive neurons.” These cells sense and respond to changes in body temperature, acting like a thermometer inside the brain. As body temperature increases, warm sensitive neurons become more active, telling the body to bring its temperature down. Without this regulation, body temperature could reach dangerous levels, even leading to death.
In the past 60 years, scientists had identified about a dozen receptors on warm sensitive neurons that regulate these nerve cells’ activity. But Bartfai wanted to find additional receptors to better understand how the cells function.
Sequencing Single Neurons
Bartfai and Eberwine took a unique approach to indentifying gene activity.
By matching the DNA sequences obtained to published sequences, the scientists were able to identify the corresponding genes, and thus which genes are turned “on” in the nerve cells.
The technique differs from commonly used methods for studying gene activity. Typically researchers “pool” neurons of one type and examine them as a group, rather than studying single cells. In addition, current techniques generally rely on searching for active genes using microarrays””a technique that relies on the preferential binding of sequences in the messenger RNAs /cDNAs to matching DNA sequences “spotted” on the microarray. However, these methods only detect RNAs for which “probes are present on the microarray,” in other words, those that are expected. Also, because of the lower sensitivity of this technique than sequencing, only the cDNAs cells produce in relatively large amounts are detected.
“Using single cells, rather than pooling, and sequencing, rather than microarrays, uncovers many more receptors active in neurons,” says Bartfai. “With other methods you miss receptors present in only a few copies. But that does not mean that they are not important.”
Revealing Neurons’ Complexity
Using their new method Bartfai and Eberwine identified more than 400 receptors active in warm sensitive neurons. About one-third of the receptors are so-called “orphan” receptors, meaning the chemicals they bind to are unknown. The rest were receptors whose ligands (substances they bind to) are known””among them, the authors found a few surprises.
For example, Bartfai and Eberwine discovered that the receptor responsible for binding insulin is active on warm sensitive neurons””something no one had previously suspected.
The insulin receptor is known to be involved in regulating a person’s metabolism. Follow-up studies by Bartfai’s group have now shown that insulin binds to receptors on warm sensitive neurons to decrease their activity, causing an increase in body temperature, or hyperthermia. Thus, insulin is a key regulator for both body metabolism and temperature.
“This study highlights the complexity of these cells by showing us the large number of different RNAs that are present,” said Eberwine.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28439 | Born to the Purple: the Story of Porphyria
Porphyrins are light-activated chemicals that can be used to combat ills including tumors and diseases of the eye. But they have a dark side: when the wrong forms of them build up in the body, they cause a disease called porphyria
Porphyria is named from the ancient Greek word porphura, meaning purple. The Greeks borrowed the term from the Phoenicians, who extracted a purple pigment from purpura mollusks to dye the garments of their royal family. Later, in the Byzantine Empire, the term porphyrogenitos, or "born to the purple," literally meant that the imperial heir was born after the father¿s accession to the throne, in a palace room draped in the color.
However, those with the misfortune to be born to the purple involved in porphyria--a group of diseases that result from abnormal accumulations of red and purple pigments produced by the body, called porphyrins--receive far less than royal treatment. There are at least eight types of porphyria, which vary substantially in their symptoms and severity. Historical victims of the worst, most disfiguring forms may have inspired tales of werewolves and vampires. Even today, managing the disease can be challenging.
Light-Activated Toxins
Hippocrates is often cited as the first to recognize porphyria (which was then referred to as blood/liver disease) but the causal role of porphyrin pigments was only established in 1871 by the great German pioneer of biochemistry Felix Hoppe-Seyer. In 1889, Dr. B.J. Stokvis described the clinical syndrome as "porphyria," and from then on more and more forms of the syndrome were discovered.
All the versions of porphyria have one thing in common: they each result from faults in the body¿s heme-building machinery. Heme, a component of the oxygen transporter hemoglobin, is made in a sequence of eight steps, as in a factory assembly line. Each step is catalyzed by a separate enzyme. If any of these eight steps fails because of an inherited genetic mutation or an environmental toxin, then the whole assembly line gets jammed. The products of the earlier steps, porphyrin intermediates, may build up to toxic levels. These porphyrins accumulate in the skin and other organs before being excreted in feces and urine (which may turn a port-wine color). Exposed to light, the porphyrins can turn caustic and destroy surrounding tissue.
(Put to medical use, drugs containing porphyrins can attack tumors and other ailments. Unlike most natural porphyrins [but like chlorophyll] these drugs are not purple but green, as they have been modified chemically so that they absorb light at wavelengths that can penetrate into biological tissues. See "New Light on Medicine," by Nick Lane; Scientific American, January 2003.)
Exactly which porphyrins accumulate depends on the site of the jam, and it is this that gives porphyria such a wide range of symptoms. The severity of the jam also varies. In some cases the jam is total, preventing any heme synthesis at all. In others, it is only partial, permitting limited heme synthesis. The blockage of the assembly line also means that the body cannot make enough heme to produce normal red blood cells. Some of these abnormal red cells rupture, leading to hemolytic anemia, while the spleen detects abnormalities in other red cells and breaks them down, making matters worse.
Werewolves and Vampires
One of the more common types of the disease is acute intermittent porphyria (AIP), which famously afflicted the unfortunate King George III of Britain--the "mad king" of Alan Bennett¿s play. In AIP the most notable symptoms are neurological attacks, such as trances, seizures and hallucinations, which often persist over days or even weeks. Luckily, most people with AIP have a latent form, and never develop any symptoms.
Another relatively common form is porphyria cutanea tardea, which presents a very different spectrum of symptoms. In this case, the hallmark is photosensitivity (an excessive reaction to light), which causes chronic blistering and even burns on sun-exposed areas. Healing is slow and is associated with scarring and hair growth, especially on the face. Most of the time the facial hairs are fine, so the hirsutism is barely noticeable. Sometimes, however, the hair growth can give the appearance of a werewolf, leading to speculations that the myths may have had a medical basis.
In congenital erythropoietic porphyria (CEP), one of the rarest forms, 18 different mutations in the gene encoding the enzyme uroporphyrinogen III cosynthase have been reported in different families. These mutations obstruct heme synthesis to varying degrees, giving a spectrum of severity. At its worst, CEP causes appalling photomutilations from the light-activated porphyrins, including loss of facial features and fingers, scarring of the cornea and blindness. The condition may have been less rare in the past, especially in isolated pockets where inbreeding could occur such as the valleys of Transylvania--perhaps giving rise to tales of vampires.
While the accumulation of porphyrins is usually caused by a genetic mutation, toxins (such as alcohol excess) and environmental contaminants can also cause the disease. The most notorious environmental episode happened in Turkey in the 1950s, when 4,000 people developed a form of porphyria after eating wheat seeds that had been sprayed with a fungicide, hexachlorobenzene. Hundreds died, and use of the fugicide was later banned around the world.
Methods of Treatment
In most cases of porphyria, blood or heme transfusions can supply some relief from the symptoms, and this is still the mainstay of treatment. Interestingly, the heme pigment is robust enough to survive digestion, and is absorbed from the intestine (even though the protein parts of hemoglobin are broken down). This means that, in principle, it is possible to relieve the symptoms of porphyria by drinking blood--another possible link with the vampire stories.
Heme infusions help in the treatment of porphyria patients in two ways. First, they overcome the body¿s shortage of heme, relieving anemia. Second, the extra heme suppresses further heme synthesis via a negative feedback loop. This effectively switches off the assembly line, bringing an end to the production of toxic porphyrin intermediates. Drawing blood (phlebotomy) can also help, because this quickly removes porphyrin intermediates from the circulation. In most cases, some degree of normality can be restored within a few days of an attack.
In the more serious forms of porphyria such as CEP, however, treatments are less effective. Sometimes the spleen must be removed in an attempt to treat the hemolytic anemia. In CEP, the genetic fault affects the stem cells in the bone marrow, which divide to produce new red blood cells. In principle, CEP can be cured by bone-marrow transplantation, which replaces the faulty stem cells with fully functional ones. Bone-marrow transplants have been carried out successfully in at least five children with CEP, usually within the first few years of life. The treatment apparently cures the disease over a period of years.
Future Therapies
But bone-marrow transplantation presents its own challenges, and is considered a last resort. In the longer term, hope to cure porphyria is invested in gene therapy, in which the faulty genes are replaced with functional ones using a virus as a vector (delivery method). The technique has been shown to be effective in cell culture, but there is still a long way to go before gene therapy for CEP can be used in clinical practice.
Other future treatments for porphyria will depend on the results obtained from research with experimental animal--and even plant--models. Some of these are improbable, to say the least. For example, all fox squirrels (Sciurus niger) have a gene defect that gives them a form of CEP, yet they do not suffer any adverse consequences, for unknown reasons. Studies of the animals could yield clues that would be useful in fighting CEP.
Surprisingly, even plants--which use the green porphyrin, chlorophyll, to absorb light energy--can suffer from a condition analogous to porphyria. Plants make chlorophyll via a pathway very similar to that for heme production in animals. Mutations in the gene for the final step in this pathway lead to a buildup of porphyrins in the leaves. On exposure to sunlight the leaves blister, and eventually wither and die. The process is so similar to human porphyria that some researchers hope to find a cure for the human condition by studying the properties of so-called "vampire plants," like maize.
Nick Lane studied biochemistry at Imperial College, University of London. His doctoral research, at the Royal Free Hospital, was on oxygen free radicals and metabolic function in organ transplants. Lane is an honorary senior research fellow at University College London and strategic director at Adelphi Medi Cine, a medical multimedia company based in London. His book, Oxygen: the Molecule That Made the World, is being published by Oxford University Press in the spring of 2003.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28455 | I have noticed in my error_log file lately that my include file is failing to be included for some of my users. This is the error that is showing up:
PHP Warning: include(): Failed opening 'adsense/resultsSkyscraper.php' for inclusion
Does anyone know why it would work most of the time but occasionally fail? |
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About this episode
When things get tough for Carys Reitman, she does what any emotionally isolated, modern girl would do - she crashes other people's funerals! At her latest funeral, she meets Tyler, a man mourning his fiancee. Despite the warnings, she finds herself connecting to someone for the first time, and realises she may have more to fear than just a broken heart. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28515 | A free-wheeling conversation with poet Gary Snyder
• Article by: CHRIS WELSCH , Special to the Star Tribune
• Updated: April 8, 2011 - 12:50 PM
Poet Gary Snyder
At 80, poet Gary Snyder still lives in his hand-built home on 100 acres in the backcountry of California's Sierra Nevada, practicing Zen meditation, writing poetry and frequently engaging the broader world with his thoughtful presence.
His recent pursuits include starring in a documentary, writing wry poems about electrical generators and putting together a trans-Pacific memoir of Buddhist practice and thought.
He'll be in Minneapolis to read poems -- including some new ones -- April 18 at Plymouth Congregational Church as part of the "Literary Witnesses" series. This is a condensed and edited version of a conversation with Snyder in March.
Q Much of your last book, "Danger on Peaks," was on the theme of ecological disturbance and rebirth on a grand scale; it came to mind when watching the news from Japan in the past weeks. What do you make of what's happening there?
A I've been reflecting on that, thinking to myself about the poem with the lines "If you ask for help, it comes/ But not in any way you'd ever know." ["Pearly Everlasting," from "Danger on Peaks."] It's hard to imagine that this disaster is an answer to a call for help, at least not in any sense that we'll ever be able to fathom, but it does raise a lot of questions.
What I keep coming back to is why didn't the backup diesel generators that run the cooling system kick in? There's no excuse for that. Building a nuclear power plant on what's basically a sandbar by the ocean. ... In the ninth century this whole area of the northeast coast of Japan was wiped out by a tsunami, and it happened several times since then. But then again, we're in no position to talk; we also have nuclear plants on the coasts.
Q Poet Charles Simic recently wrote about what he called the "New American Pessimism," a sense that our big problems can't be solved and that we're unable to act together to address them. What's your take on the current political situation?
A It's a strange time we're in, in a way. A segment of the American population that didn't have a voice -- because it wasn't smart enough -- now does have a voice; it's a self-destructive and ignorant way of thinking that doesn't grasp how much the American mode of infrastructure that supports business, transportation and education is an indispensable part of government and that makes the country as great as it has been. It's the Grover Norquist school of thought, that somehow we'll be better off not paying taxes for those things.
Now they're running up against resistance with cuts to entitlements. ... I'm sure the budget is overblown -- especially on defense -- but no one's talking about that. There's not much we can do but watch it play out.
Q What are you working on now?
A I'm working on a book about the house that I'm talking to you from now, where I've lived since 1970. It's a collaboration with the architect who helped build it. We built it with a crew of boys and girls who were almost all in their first year out of college, without any construction experience of any kind, all with hand tools and no electricity. Everyone was working, cleaning, cooking and learning equally. The subtext is that the '60s sometimes worked.
I'm also working on a memoir of West North America and East Asia trans-Pacific Buddhist thought. There are essays about Zen Buddhism in China, about kamikaze pilots who didn't really want to kill themselves for the emperor, who were tricked into it, and also it's a memoir of my Buddhist practice, my personal experience, political insights and thoughts and sometimes the revision of those thoughts over the years.
I did a one-hour documentary film ["The Etiquette of Freedom: Gary Snyder, Jim Harrison and 'The Practice of the Wild'"] that's a conversation with Jim Harrison that's being translated with subtitles to Spanish, and we're going to Spain in May to answer questions after it's screened. It's also being translated into French.
Q Are you still writing poetry?
A Oh, I'm always writing poems, I'm never not writing poems. I'm superstitious to talk about that until I'm really done; I've got to take my time, not rush it. I'll have a new book of poems out in a couple years. But I can talk about some I finished a few years ago. I did a series about electricity and generators and backup generators, which I know something about because I'm on my own system back here. I wrote a poem about that that turned into a critique of the Abrahamic religions. I plan on reading that in Minneapolis, so you'll get to hear it then.
Chris Welsch, a former travel writer for the Star Tribune, is on the Web at www.chriswelsch.com.
When: 7 p.m. April 18.
Where: Plymouth Congregational Church, 1900 Nicollet Av. S., Mpls.
Details: Free admission, free parking. For more information: www.plymouth.org.
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1. #1
Resin Research Epoxy 1.5 gal kit for sale
For Sale: I've got a brand new never opened Resin Research 1.5 gal. kit of CE 2000 "blue" with UV protection Resin and 2100F Hardener plus 16oz. can of additive F. $110 for all--resin, hardener, and additive F. Local to OC,MD can meet to deliver.
Last edited by waterlogged; Mar 16, 2010 at 11:00 PM.
2. #2
Resin and hardener pics.
Attached Images Attached Images
3. #3
I would be interested in getting that from you next time i go to assateague to surf. Maybe this weekend
4. #4
Gone. Thanks for the interest. |
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“MIT is a great place,” says Bob Mohr. “I got a wonderful education and have friendships with students who have been my friends for 35 years. It was both an outstanding academic experience and fraternity experience. It couldn’t have been better.”
It is why, he says, he recently made a major pledge to the Robert R. Mohr Family Scholarship Fund, which he had established previously. “MIT did so much for me,” he says. “I feel like I wanted to do something in return.”
A serial entrepreneur, Mohr graduated from the Institute with a bachelor’s degree in management in 1972. He began his career as a computer programmer at Fraternal Systems in Waltham, MA, a company that automated the record keeping for national fraternities. Several years later, it became Epsilon Data Management, and he became regional sales manager. In 1978, Mohr cofounded Direct Response Group in Dallas, a direct-marketing company for big corporations, which he sold to Omnicom, the world’s largest advertising agency, in 1985. At Omnicom, he served as CEO until 1992, when he left to launch DMDA, a direct-marketing company that in 1997 bought Epsilon–the company where Mohr had begun his career 25 years earlier. In 2001, he sold Epsilon and began a venture capital company, BMohr Ventures.
Mohr sails with friends every summer. Last July, he and four friends sailed the Adriatic coast in Croatia. Together they have cruised the Baltic, Adriatic, and Mediterranean Seas. He also enjoys travel, golf, and, of course, starting companies.
“I’ve met some of the kids who have been able to go to MIT by virtue of a scholarship that I’ve given,” he says. “They’re just so bright, and they work so hard. Being able to fund an education like this is exciting. These kids go off and do change the world. I have the sense that they can just do anything. I see my money at work in these young people before me, and it’s just startling.”
Mohr’s dream is that his gifts “will one day fund a Nobel laureate.” He says, “That would be wonderful.”
For giving information, contact Stuart Krantz:
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All this has now changed, though, according to A123 Systems. This month the Watertown, MA startup announced a new lithium ion battery, based on research done at MIT, that’s suitable for applications requiring high power output. The battery’s high power density – a measure of the watts of power it can produce per kilogram – means it’s also lighter than conventional batteries of similar size. The battery will get a chance to prove itself soon: it’s being incorporated into a new line of power tools, scheduled to reach store shelves next spring, that can outperform plug-in drills and saws.
“The first customer is a power tool company, but the cell can be used in many types of applications, such as automotive environments or medical devices – anything that needs high power,” says Ric Fulop, A123’s co-founder and vice president of business development.
Yet-Ming Chiang, whose work as an MIT professor of materials science led him to co-found A123 with Fulop, says “this is a battery system that could have significant impact on hybrid electric vehicles.”
At about the same weight as an 18-volt drill battery, the new battery can deliver 36 volts, according to Baltimore MD toolmaker DeWalt, which is producing a new line of seven products that use the battery. Chiang says A123’s batteries can produce 3,000 watts of peak power, twice as much as a drill or saw designed to be plugged into a wall outlet.
That means that when the blade of a circular saw starts to bind up, the saw can power through it. “Having this high peak power capability allows you to do a great deal more work because you don’t get bogged down,” says Chiang.
The new batteries are based on an advance by Chiang in his lab at MIT’s department of materials science and engineering. He was working with a material, lithium iron phosphate, that promised high capacities for batteries. But it had a significant problem: an inability to handle large currents.
Chiang found that doping the material gave it very high conductivity. His success in the lab led him to found a startup to commercialize the technology. Chiang declines to give details of A123’s current battery, including whether or not it uses iron, but does say it uses an inexpensive lithium metal phosphate in the battery’s cathode, the electrode that receives electrons during discharge.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28561 | Project Management optimize
Use VBA to find late finish dates in Microsoft Project 2010
Reduce your project administration burden by using VBA code to identify late tasks within the context of your overall Microsoft Project 2010 schedule.
In my previous Microsoft Project 2010 Visual Basic programming tutorial, I demonstrated how to identify missing baseline dates from the project schedule. (Part one of this series covered how to use VBA code to extend the Ribbon UI and create a simple message.) Identifying late tasks in the project schedule is a common task that often requires filtering on baseline dates and sorting percent complete values. I prefer to gain insight into my project with a single click of a button versus setting more filters and views. In this tutorial, I show how to identify all the late tasks in your project schedule with the click of a button (Figure A). Figure A
Project schedule with late tasks (Click the image to enlarge.)
The logic includes the following steps:
1. Select the Gantt Chart view and activate the Entry table.
2. Confirm the Project Status date Microsoft Project has been set.
3. For each task in the schedule, check the Baseline Finish date to the Project Status date.
4. If the Baseline Finish date is less than the Project Status date and the Task % Complete is not 100%, then toggle the background color to yellow.
5. Select the 1st row in the schedule when the checking is complete.
To build this custom task field highlighting feature, create the VBA routine as follows in these step-by-step instructions.
Step 1: Add the menu item to the Navigation bar
Using the Visual Basic editor in the Developer tab, I'll add the Toggle Late Tasks button to the Utilities group that I created in the previous tutorial:
myNavBar = myNavBar + " <mso:button id=""toggleLateFinish"" label=""Toggle Late Finish"" "
myNavBar = myNavBar + "imageMso=""DiagramTargetInsertClassic"" onAction=""ToggleLateFinish""/>"
This snippet of code will add another button to the MyTools group of buttons on the Utility tab (Figure B). Figure B
VBA editor (Click the image to enlarge.)
Step 2: Build the VBA subroutine
In the Visual Basic editor, create a new subroutine called toggleLateFinish and paste the following code:
Sub ToggleLateFinish()
'Check Project Status Date is set
If ActiveProject.StatusDate = "" Then
MsgBox "Please set the Project Status Date to toggle late tasks"
Exit Sub
End If
Dim tsks As Tasks
Dim t As Task
Dim rgbColor As Long
Dim missingBaselineCt
Set tsks = ActiveProject.Tasks
'Switch to Gantt Chart Entry View
ViewApplyEx Name:="&Gantt Chart", ApplyTo:=0
TableApply Name:="&Entry"
missingBaselineCt = 0
For Each t In tsks
If (Not t Is Nothing) And (Not t.Summary) Then
SelectTaskField Row:=t.ID, Column:="Name", RowRelative:=False
rgbColor = ActiveCell.CellColorEx
'Check for missing baseline and increment counter
If t.BaselineFinish = "NA" Then
missingBaselineCt = missingBaselineCt + 1
If t.BaselineFinish < ActiveProject.StatusDate And t.PercentComplete <> 100 Then
' Check whether the task color is white.
If rgbColor = &HFFFFFF Then
Font32Ex CellColor:=&H66FFFF ' Change the background to yellow.
Font32Ex CellColor:=&HFFFFFF ' Change the background to white.
End If
'change the background to white.
Font32Ex CellColor:=&HFFFFFF
End If
End If
End If
Next t
'Selects the top row in the table
SelectRow Row:=0, RowRelative:=False
If missingBaselineCt > 0 Then
MsgBox "There are " & missingBaselineCt & " tasks missing a baseline finish date. Set a baseline date for these tasks for accurate metrics"
End If
End Sub
Step 3: Save your file and test it
Save the file, close Microsoft Project, and re-open it to test the new Toggle Late Tasks feature (Figure C). Figure C
Toggle Late Tasks button
The task name field will toggle between white and yellow background color. You can filter by the Resource Names column (Figure D) to identify all the late tasks, while viewing all the tasks assigned to the filtered resource. Figure D
Filter by Resource and Late Finish (Click the image to enlarge.)
In large project schedules with filtered tasks, the project team can lose the context of the task within the overall task hierarchy. The benefit of the approach outlined in this tutorial is that you and your project team can see the late tasks within the context of the overall schedule. Download the sample code for this tutorial, and feel free to experiment with the code to change the color or highlight a different field.
In the final installment in this series, I'll show how to generate project metrics with Visual Basic programming.
This is excellent. How could a script account for late starts. The query would need focus on the Actual Start missing prior to the schedule date but I don't know what that would look like in VBA.
I would define a late start where the ActualStart is > Baseline Start, so you would adjust the IF statement: If t.ActualStart > t.BaselineStart Then (Treat that line as pseudo code as I'm typing it..vs building it into the script) If you didn't want to use VBA, you could also do a custom highlight filter Andy |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28563 | TED Conversations
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Best solution to Nuclear Weapons M.A.D.
People and nations don't resolve this because we all can't agree on the best execution plan? please only for people who give a damn . The future is worth a real solution
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• thumb
Sep 16 2012: I'd hate the day that we get rid of all our nukes and aliens pay us a visit ;P
• Sep 15 2012: WWIII. Is it really that important to get rid of MAD? Let's get real. NBC is scary, but it's more than nukes. MAD is just basically a stand-off. Just reciteHumpty Dumpty sit on a wall...... The whole thing, and remember how unfortunate it would be to replace something that works with something that doesn't.
• thumb
Sep 14 2012: These things only work if everyone is willing to play by the rules. That is not always so with nation / states.
Even if they say they will play how do you verify they have played fair. As an example: how would you verify what has occured in Iran or China who have VERY closed boarders.
The problem is not really nuclear weapons ... the problem is the stability of the leadership that has access to the weapons.
All the best. Bob.
• thumb
Sep 12 2012: The problem in "religious warfare" is not the "religious" part but the "warfare" part.
I have a Muslim friend, a couple of Mormon friends, and some Christian friends who I've known for years and we've never wanted to kill each other at all, nor have they ever wanted to convert me to their respective religions. We like each other for our common interests (basketball, anime, helping people, etc.) but we respect each other's differences as well. And you know one thing we have in common as well? We really hate the guys using religion to justify their own corrupt and violent means. And actually, we also hate just corrupted powerful people in general.
From what I've seen, all religions are the same in that they wanted to breed good citizens to raise a good and loving society, and that's no different than an atheist or some non-religious scientist who wants to help society in his/her own way too. Corruption is the same in any religion, culture, society, or atheist beliefs. The only real difference is that they're just different ways or languages of communicating the same points. |
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28573 | User Avatar Image
Questions for Dominic Armato!
posted by Jake on - last edited - Viewed by 2.7K users
Dom answers! Let's take a look...
[*]First round of answers! June 1st
[*]Second round of answers! June 2nd
[*]Fourth round of answers! June 3rd
[*]Fifth round of answers! June 4th
[*]Seventh round of answers! June 5th
690 Comments - Linear Discussion: Classic Style
• A Robert Heinlein short story
I was never aware of it, also after briefly scanning the wiki page you linked to its not exactly the same thing, because mine has the two parties existing as two separate entities from two separate world's rather than the same entity existing as different genders within the timeline of the same world... Still I will be reading it when I get the chance.
However, Dom's answer was beautifully put and outside the box as most people focus more on themselve in the scenario rather than the other's who would also be around.
• Ok then, D&D question time! Because I totally noticed D&D mentioned.
What's your class of choice?
Do you own D20's? How many?
Have you ever played any of the computer games? If so, what'd you think? if not, WHY NOT?
Have you ever actually role played?
Also, do you celebrate international talk like a pirate day?
• @Silverwolfpet said: I am currently searching for a game. Knowing that you play old games, maybe you've heard of it. It involves time travelling, one sequence takes place in ancient Venice (where you have to work with pots, or do pottery and break seals, or collect seals), and the gameplay is similar to the one in the Myst series, first person adventure game.
I can't remember the name. Any ideea?
Have you ever played Call of Cthulhu or Fahrenheit (Indigo Prophecy)?
What do you think about the Silent Hill Series?
That sounds an awful lot like the Second Journey Man Project game.
• By the way, the fact that you answer EVERY SINGLE QUESTION we think up makes you so much cooler then every other Q&A I've ever encountered.
Now for my question: How do you type with boxing gloves on?
Wait... wrong forum.
Do you ever quote MI in real life?
• @hplikelike said: Do you ever quote MI in real life?
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm no.
• Dom, sei sicuro di non ricordare proprio niente dell'italiano?
P.S. Si dice molti, non multi ;)
• @LuigiHann said: Mmmmmmmmmmmmm no.
Yeah... that was the joke... it was a reference to This
Oh well Mr. Armato, guess you don't need to answer it. Spend your tyme on more worthy questions.
• Hey Dom, love your blog (I love to cook, always looking for new flavours :)), I've tried 2 of your recipes so far (crispy chicken thighs and cauliflower pasta), yum yum!
All the best to you and your family, I hope all of you arrive at your new home safe and sound.
So I was wondering - the voice acting job doesn't seem to be a '5 days per week 9to5' thing, and you mentioned that your wife has a steady income, so what are you doing with your "spare" time ? Except cooking, that is - are there other jobs or is taming the kids more than enough ? :)
Best regards,
• lolz about the piers anthony situation xD i had a very similar situation when i read his xanth novel titled "the color of her panties" i had to somehow come up with an explanation about why i was read a book with the word panties in the title hehehe
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28598 | Out of sight
An exhibition of photographs chronicling 20th-century Europe tells a familiar story - but their real power lies in what they leave hidden, says Adrian Searle
Untitled, by Ed van der Elsken
Seeing double ... Untitled, by the Dutch photographer Ed van der Elsken
'A camera is inert, innocent and amoral," writes Martin Harrison, pithily, in the catalogue to the Barbican art gallery's exhibition In the Face of History: European Photographers in the 20th Century. He adds that the camera is also "a witness to nothing, other than the scene in front of its operator at the time he or she releases the shutter". Which is to say that people, rather than cameras, take photographs, and that the photographer is always implicated in the image, even if he or she never strays in front of the lens.
Nor, it seems to me, is the viewer a mere bystander, watching from the wings. Whenever we find ourselves caught up in the scene the photographer puts before us, whenever we start telling ourselves a story and concocting a past and a future for this mysteriously arrested slice of reality, we implicate ourselves. This exhibition is but one more attempt to tell a story about both photography and the century itself. The story concerns photographs and the situations of the people who take them; it concerns aesthetics as well as the things, the people and places photographers have either chosen or have been compelled, for one reason or another, to record. History is inescapable.
Some of the images in the exhibition of 22 photographers will be familiar, even if we don't remember quite where we saw them last, or in what context. Some I have known for so long that they have become muddled with events I remember having witnessed or experienced. It seems to me that I have known Eugène Atget's Paris almost all my adult life - all those half-familiar shopfronts and balconies and cobbled courtyards, peopled by characters from Zola and by translucent ghosts, the aberrant juddering doubles and human smears who moved too fast for the chemicals on Atget's photographic plates.
Other ghosts populate Cafe Lehmitz, the end-of-the-world bar near the Reeperbahn in Hamburg, where the Swedish photographer Anders Petersen hung out at the end of the 1960s. The place feels inevitable, a terminus for lost souls. There is always a bar like this somewhere, either in one's dreams or in one's nightmares little wonder Tom Waits borrowed one of Petersen's images for the cover of his Rain Dogs album). Cafe Lehmitz remains Petersen's best known work, just as Petersen's mentor, Christer Strömholm, will always be identified with his photographs of the glamorous transsexuals of Place Blanche, in northern Paris, around 1960.
If, like painting, photography holds up a mirror to the world, it is a mirror that has always been broken. Photographs are nothing but shards. A prison wall, a proud hunter with a deer he has shot, a baby, a yellow star sewn on a jacket, an aerial shot of a couple having sex in a flat landscape, a close-up of a begrimed miner in Silesia, a farmer smoking: we may feel that photographs capture a world entire but they are always figments and fragments, however iconic they may become. And if, like the smiling whores in some of Brassaï's photographs, we feel as though we've seen it all, how come we are never satisfied, and always want to look again? What more do we hope to see?
Between 1968 and 1975, the Ukrainian Boris Mikhailov took every random sighting of the colour red as his subject: red flags at party marches, a red skirt, a red bra being removed, a red carnation in a conscript's hand, red sunburn, red armbands and a red boil that has burst on a woman's thigh. From these random flashes of red, a world begins to coalesce. Tease any thread and the world unravels.
Like a long interrogation, or a painful psychoanalysis, the works gathered here take us over much of the same old material, the same old ground we always traverse whenever we think of the history of photography in the 20th century. It is as though we were searching for a break: the flaw, the way in, the final explanation. But there isn't one, and history will never give us a break.
Henryk Ross's scenes inside the Lodz ghetto will always be terrible, their unexpected moments of humour and happiness making the story even more bleak. The grinding entropy of Emmy Andriesse's photographs of the 1944-45 "Hunger Winter" in Amsterdam has nothing to offer but more of the same: the uniformed, top-hatted gravedigger will always be there waiting, the wool balled in his hand, biding his time. The boy fishing at Arnhem in 1945 will always be scouring the bank for a worm, the river running beyond him swollen with reflections of ruin and devastation.
In the Face of History aims to concentrate on the photographer's proximity to his or her subject. In fact, the curators talk of each of the photographers here as engaged "philosophically and emotionally, in an act of self-portraiture". I am not sure this gets us very far, although there are portraits of relationships, communities and whole cities here, as well as of individuals, things, places. Seiichi Furuya photographed his Austrian partner, Christine Gössler, throughout their relationship, up until her suicide after years of mental illness. But I don't know what I see beyond the surface, the moments of calm, happiness, apprehensiveness and melancholy. Nor can I tell very much about Annelies Strba's familial relationships, even after watching her long, three-carousel slideshow - though I like to imagine a story. Inta Ruka gives her intimate photographs of rural life in Latvia long, descriptive titles, but one is never certain what is true and what the photographer has invented.
Some photographers here, such as SI Witkiewicz (or "Witkacy"), made all sorts of melodramatic, sometimes silly and or spooky-seeming portraits and self-portraits, but they reveal little about the man, over and above the obvious. Witkiewicz was a painter, dramatist, critic, theoretician and philosopher as well as an amateur photographer. On learning that he committed suicide the day after Soviet troops invaded eastern Poland in 1939, it is hard to resist reading his work backwards, and seeing in it all sorts of intimations of personal as well as national fragility.
Whether or not we think of ourselves as such, almost everyone today is an amateur photographer. The point is not to take one great or circumstantially telling individual photograph - such accidents happen all the time - but to create something more. If Josef Sudek had taken only one intriguing photograph of a tree, seen through the window of his Prague studio, it wouldn't detain us for long. That Sudek went on taking photograph after photograph of the same subject deserves our attention rather more. Often, the tree is more or less obscured. Rain runs down the window, the glass is fogged by condensation or ice. Serial photographs of the same view, the same tree with the brickwork and railings beyond, and beyond that a street on whose far side are more buildings, more windows. It is relentless. Perhaps the tree itself matters less than the fall of the light in the ramshackle room where the photographer spends his days. For a long time, Sudek was best known for his panoramic views of Prague, but his real panorama was this studio, the desk with its avalanches of paper, a landscape on the sill with broken eggshells. The mess of inconsequential things and the narrow view out of the window reared up at him as though all of it had urgent significance.
What matters here is the cumulative as much as the individual shot - even when, as in Chris Killip's black-and-white images of the north-east of England in the 1970s and 80s, almost every image appears iconic. His photograph of the detritus of a street party on the day of Charles and Diana's wedding - the paper plates, the abandoned sandwiches and sausage rolls, the poster on the wall and the wilting balloons - says everything.
The absence of people is most telling of all. It is as though they have walked out in protest or disgust.
Almost none of Michael Schmidt's photographs aim for this kind of status, except as a record of things the eye has seen. Thawing snow in the street, sallow light, stretches of weeds and waste ground, a face, wallpaper or a shower curtain: the things Schmidt photographs often appear random or meaningless. Taken together, they become a fugue.
Not long after he had started wandering his native Berlin with a borrowed camera, Schmidt joined a club for amateur photographers. He observed of his fellow hobbyists: "When I took pictures of rain, it looked like rain. When they took pictures of it, it looked like glass pearls." Knowing that rain is rain, and not pearls, is important. It's one historical fact we can be certain of.
· In the Face of History: European Photographers of the 20th Century is at the Barbican, London EC2, until January 28. Details: 020-7638 8891
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28606 | Bargain Hunt turns up unexpected swearword
Car boot sale
Car boot sales, where you may get more than you bargained for. Photograph: Ben Birchall/PA Photos
Monkey expects many things when tuning into the BBC1 daytime show Bargain Hunt. But a "motherfucker" is not necessarily one of them. That appears to be what we got while watching this morning's episode of the long-running series, which unwisely chose a Mylo song, Drop the Pressure, for a bit of incidental background music – "Motherfuckers gonna drop the pressure" being a not an entirely appropriate lyric for BBC daytime programming. You can hear for yourself – possibly not for much longer – 37 minutes and 25 seconds in. BBC standards appear to be going, going ... gone!
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28611 | Helen Browning OBE, chief executive, the Soil association
Guardian Open Weekend: Helen Browning
Helen Browning OBE tenant-farms a 1,350 acre organic livestock and arable farm in Wiltshire. She is the founder of Eastbrook Farms Organic Meat and the Helen Browning brand of pork products sold in major retailers. Helen chaired the England Animal Health and Welfare Implementation Group throughout its life (2005-2009) and is currently chair of the Food Ethics Council. Helen was director of external affairs for the National Trust before becoming chief executive of the Soil Association in March 2011.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28620 | The story of my rape
As a student backpacking in Italy, Mary Beard was raped by a stranger on a night train. For more than 20 years she has been retelling the incident - to herself, as much as to other people - in an attempt to make sense of it
It's a simple enough story. I was a graduate student, changing trains at Milan, and laden with luggage for a term's research in Rome. There were a couple of hours to wait for the most convenient train south, so I went to the station bar on the lookout, I suppose, for an opportunity to wheel out my still very faltering Italian. The architect was there, on the lookout too, presumably. Discovering that I had no couchette for the journey, he insisted on trying to book one for me; he took my ticket (which I meekly gave him), returned triumphant and then helped me with my cases and backpack to the train. Predictably enough, as it now seems (though I'm sure I didn't foresee it at the time), what he had actually booked was a two-berth first-class wagon-lit. He bundled me in, took off my clothes and had sex, before departing to the upper bunk. I woke a few hours later just outside Rome to find him on top of me again, humping away - taking his last chance before handing me over to the sleeping-car steward to be deposited on the platform, while he no doubt slept on to Naples.
The only face I have chosen to remember (or perhaps recreate) from the whole incident belongs to this steward, the sly and uncomfortably knowing face of a man who had recognised exactly what was going on and had seen it all before, many times. As he pressed a small plastic cup of coffee into my hand in a routine way, I could tell that it would have been useless appealing to him for help, even if I'd had the chance.
If no violence was used, it was because the man's weapon was my own tiredness (a mind set on sleep, rather than watching for the telltale signs of danger) and the luggage. With two heavy cases and a backpack, I couldn't make a dash for it. Nor could I just abandon a couple of pieces: never mind the clothes; I had spread my precious thesis and all the notes carefully through the different cases (a misplaced faith in the eggs-in-one-basket caveat, as it turned out).
That said, I can't claim to have been particularly traumatised by what happened. I suffered no subsequent aversion to late-night trains, foreign railway stations or even Neapolitan biscuits; and I would give my eyeteeth to be able to zoom around Europe in a first-class wagon-lit - something I haven't been able to afford since.
Instead, I nursed some strange and oddly misplaced grudges. One was against the funding council that was sponsoring my research; for had they not insisted, I reasoned, on my using the cheapest method of transport (at that time, a train), and allowed me to go by plane instead, none of this would have happened. Another was against the friend who had been going to travel with me - even though it was I who had changed my plans and had come on later. Another was against the biscuit-factory man himself, not so much for what he did, but for doing it twice. Even now, more than 20 years later, I can still rage at the memory of waking up to find him doing it again.
If all this suggests that I'm letting my rapist off comparatively lightly, that is partly because in the intervening years the retelling of this story (to myself as much as to other people) has generated quite other interpretations of what went on, which coexist - and compete - with the account I've just given.
The first of these is the predictable slide from "rape" to "seduction": I wasn't overpowered or coerced; whatever happened in the station bar, it amounted to "persuasion" or to an exercise of choice on my part. In fact, something like that was the first euphemistic version I chose to tell my friends on arriving in Rome: I had, I complained, been "picked up" in Milan and ended up in bed with the guy on the train; I never mentioned the word "rape".
In this version, any seduction was done - however inadvertently - by me; the triumph was my own. In pointing to this ambivalence in my responses, I'm not intending to condone the rapist, nor to weaken the case for seeing rape in general as a crime of male violence and male power over women. I'm also well aware that I got off extremely lightly, and that there are many victims of rape for whom an "ambivalent response" would be an undreamed-of luxury. (I can see, conversely, that my alternative versions of this encounter could so easily be interpreted as classic exercises of denial, or refusal to face the rape as rape.)
What I am trying to highlight is the crucial importance, both culturally and personally, of rape narratives. For rape is always a (contested) story, as well as an event; and it is through the telling of rape-as-story, in its different versions, its shifting nuances, that cultures have always debated most intensely some of the unfathomable conflicts of sexual relations and sexual identity.
The tale of the rape of Lucretia, for example, is hardly tellable - as many Roman writers themselves discovered - without raising the question of where seduction ends and rape begins; the rape of the Sabines puts a similar question mark over the distinction between rape and marriage. In fact, almost every narrative of sexual coercion (including my own) forces its teller to confront the question of sex as something women do, or something they have done to them; and of how a slightly different spin on the rape story can lead to an entirely different answer.
Narratives also take much longer in the telling than the event itself. It is now a truism of feminist sociology that the courtroom testimony of the rape victim amounts to a replay of the rape; a re-rape. But it doesn't stop there. The fact that I have taken care to recall my own relatively harmless encounter with sexual coercion more than 20 years ago is not so much to do with its unforgettable trauma, but with the psychic and ideological function that remembering the event still fulfils.
• Dr Mary Beard is a reader in classics at Newnham college, Cambridge. This is an edited version of an article that first appeared in the London Review of Books.To subscribe to the LRB call 020-7209 1141
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28621 | Middle East dispatch
.iq test
As Iraq tries to rebuild itself, a struggle over the country's internet identity is on the cards, reports Brian Whitaker
A new battle for control of Iraq is looming - this time on the world wide web. It centres on the two-letter country code - ".fr" for France, ".ru" for Russia, etc - used for website and email addresses. More than 240 countries have these codes, and there is even one for Palestine (.ps), but the code assigned to Iraq (.iq) is in a weird sort of limbo.
Some of these codes are controlled by governments but in theory anyone approved by the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN) can become a country code manager and make money from websites that use the two magic letters.
That is what happened in 1997 when Bayan Elashi, a Muslim of Palestinian origin, looked at the list of country codes and found that Iraq was still available. He applied for it, and got it.
It is scarcely surprising that ICANN approved Mr Elashi's application, since he was well qualified. After arriving in the United States in 1977, he had taken a masters degree in computer science and played a key role in developing the first Arabic personal computer, known as Alraed. He later founded InfoCom Corporation, based in President Bush's home state of Texas, which became a world leader in Arabic-language databases as well as hosting about 500 websites, some of them belonging to companies in the Middle East and others to Muslim organisations in the United States.
Acquiring ".iq" was not one of Mr Elashi's brightest business ideas, however, mainly because of the sanctions enforced against Iraq at the time. According to Mr Elashi, the US state department sent him a list of "ridiculous" restrictions which for all practical purposes made ".iq" useless.
Following the overthrow of Saddam Hussein and the lifting of sanctions, all that might have changed - except that 49-year-old Mr Elashi is now in jail and unable to administer any ".iq" websites.
On September 5, 2001 an 80-strong taskforce of FBI agents, secret service agents, diplomatic security agents, tax inspectors, immigration officials, customs officials, department of commerce officials and computer experts raided the headquarters of Mr Elashi's InfoCom Corporation.
They summarily turned off all the 500 websites that the company hosted and spent several days in the building, reportedly copying every hard disc they could find. (Just six days before al-Qaida's attacks on New York and Washington, one might argue that the efforts of the FBI and secret service could have been more profitably directed elsewhere, but that's another story.)
Among the websites that went blank as a result of the raid were those of al-Jazeera (the satellite TV station), al-Sharq (a daily newspaper in Qatar), Birzeit (the Palestinian university on the West Bank), the Islamic Society of North America, the Muslim Students Association, the Islamic Association for Palestine, and the Holy Land Foundation.
Although the FBI insisted the raid on InfoCom was "a criminal investigation, not a political investigation", some linked it to an article in the Wall Street Journal a few weeks earlier calling on the US to "support Israel in rolling back the forces of terror" by shutting down the websites belonging to the Islamic Association for Palestine and the Holy Land Foundation.
The article was written by Daniel Pipes, the bête noire of America's Muslim organisations. He is famous - or notorious - for his description of Muslims as "brown-skinned peoples cooking strange foods and maintaining different standards of hygiene" and for wrongly blaming the 1995 Oklahoma bombing on Islamist extremists.
Whatever the effect of the Wall Street Journal article, there is little doubt that the authorities' interest in InfoCom was aroused by its connections with the Holy Land Foundation, which went well beyond hosting the HLF website. Bayan Elashi's brother, Ghassan, was not only vice-president (marketing) of InfoCom but also chairman of HLF.
HLF, a tax-exempt charity established in 1989, had been under attack for several years from supporters of Israel who accused it of channelling funds to the Palestinian militant organisation Hamas.
HLF denied this, saying its role was to help Palestinian orphans and refugees, support medical projects in the occupied territories and send humanitarian aid to such places as Bosnia, Kosovo and Chechnya.
In December 2002, more than a year after the raid, Bayan and Ghassan Elashi, together with two other brothers, Basman and Hazim, were arrested on charges of dealing illegally with Mousa abu Marzook, a Hamas member who had been declared a "specially designated terrorist" by the US authorities in 1995, and illegally exporting computer equipment to Libya and Syria. A fifth brother, Ihsan, is also a defendant. Full details of the charges can be found in the 32-page indictment document.
The Elashi brothers' first trial, in relation to computer exports, began last month and a verdict is expected soon. A second trial, regarding their alleged dealings with Hamas, is expected in the autumn.
Whatever the legal rights and wrongs, the Elashi affair has strong political undercurrents and the Bush administration seems eager to make as much capital out of it as possible. Attorney general John Ashcroft took the unusual step of personally announcing the brothers' arrest.
The decision to prosecute for export violations is also unusual and looks like part of a witch hunt. Jonathan Turley, a law professor at George Washington University, told the Associated Press last month that export violations are usually handled as a civil case. He suggested that the justice department turned it into a criminal matter in the hope of securing at least one conviction in case a jury later acquitted the Elashis on the Hamas-related charges.
"This is a signature prosecution for the Ashcroft justice department," Mr Turley said. "The case seems to be a continuation of a no-holds-barred prosecution against the Holy Land Foundation and anyone connected to the foundation."
In the meantime, ICANN is considering what to do about Iraq's ".iq" country code. It could be taken away from Bayan Elashi on the grounds that he has failed to manage it properly, and assigned to someone else, but that would be controversial in view of the political background to his arrest and trial.
If Mr Elashi does lose ".iq", there are several interested parties waiting to take it on. Last year a group called the Committee for Information Technology Reconstruction in Iraq claimed they could raise $10m (£5.5m) by auctioning off ".iq" domains worldwide and using the money to develop Iraqi internet facilities. One example they gave was www.high.iq which they thought might interest Mensa, the organisation for brainy people. Others, though, think the novelty value of ".iq" is limited and unlikely to raise much money from customers outside Iraq.
According to ICANN's rules, any transfer of the country code must have broad support from the local internet community. What this means in the case of Iraq is anybody's guess: who exactly are the Iraqi "internet community" and how can they be consulted? It is quite possible they will be ignored altogether.
Last month, the new Iraqi government made its own application to control ".iq". Past experience suggests ICANN will favour that idea though, again, it would be controversial. Taking the country code from a man who has been mugged by the Bush administration in Texas and handing it to a Bush-installed regime in Baghdad might be viewed as rather fishy.
But something similar has already happened in Afghanistan where the ".af" code was taken from a private citizen in Kabul last year and given to the US-backed puppet government.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28664 | LITTLE ROCK, Ark. (Civil Air Patrol) -The small aircraft that went missing Mondaywhile on a flight from Alabama to Oklahomathat afternoon was located this morning.
A crash site was spotted from the air and a multi-agency ground team, including Civil Air Patrol (CAP)ground search teams from the 115th Composite Squadron in Rogers, confirmed that it was the missing airplane.
Mondaynight, a CAP aircraft overflew the search area listening for an emergency beacon, howeverthick fog hampered the use of a thermal imager with which the CAP plane was equipped. Tuesday morning, a CAP aircraft from Little Rock and a CAP ground search team from Rogers joined with local authorities in the search. A CAP aircraft from Texarkana was readying to launch when the missing plane was found.
The single-engine aircraft dropped off FAA radar screens around 2:00 Monday afternoon. Local teams from Madison and Benton County began the search and requested CAP assistance.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28685 | Sign in with
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Your question
Need help finding compatible raid controller/cables for case with 8087
Last response: in Storage
Hello, I have a question regarding a 4U Norco server case that I have purchased for setting up a RAID.
Internally the case has 5 8087 connectors built into boards that interface with the drives. For more details on the case/interface look up the Norco rpc-4220 case.
I have a set of 5 SATA drives in the bays in the front of the case, but need a RAID controller card and cables to connect to the 8087 interface.
From what I can tell, most raid cards seem to have a 8484 interface, or something similar. Do cables exist to convert from 8484 to 8087? Do I need to buy a card that has 8087 connectors on it?
I'm trying to do a budget build on this machine, and most raid controller cards that have a single 8087 connector are already $500 and up.
I have found plenty of cards for under $200, but many do not list the connector style that they use, and I want to make sure I buy something that will work.
I've setup raid arrays in the distant past, but a lot has changed with sas/sata interfaces in the last 5-10 years, and it seems to me that every manufacturer has their own connector which just adds to the confusion.
Thanks for the help
Also, I suppose it may matter with some of the cheaper (under $100) RAID cards available, but I doubt it would effect anything above that price point, but any card chosen must be compatible with Linux, choose a flavor so long is it is a recent kernel.
I'll also add that speed isn't really a concern here. This system is being built for backing up a few office systems; replacing an old server. The important thing is redundancy and ease of maintainability. In fact, I may just set up a growing raid 5 array with mdadm to make things easy.
Related resources
Also, similar question about these interfaces... I know sas can still support 255 devices, and that expanders exist, so does this mean that I can install card with a single 8087 connector and then buy some kind of expander and more cables to interface the rest of my drives?
For now, I have ordered a 8087/8088 port expander and a 8087 controller card along with a handful of 8087 cables. I'm still interested in an answer to the original question asked here, so please contribute if you can.
I did a similar RAID box for my company
Using 4020 Norco
5x 8087 to 4x SATA cable
4x five port HW raid with PCI backet
Here is the set up:
20x drive connect to four controllers via 8087 to SATA
set 20 drive as FOUR raid5
then connect four controller to Mobo SATA ports
Using Mobo RAID set RAID0 out of four raid5 volumes
Technically i have a RAID50
The transfer rate is 680MB/s read/write |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28701 | We are all familiar with the multitude of iPod and iPhone docking stations that allow us to listen to tunes comfortably at home, but picture not needing to buy a dock for every room. This can be made possible with iPod and iPhone furniture.
Beds, kitchen appliances, televisions and even pianos are all being made with built-in docking stations. So from temple iPod tables to touchscreen tech kitchens, tune into these pieces of iPod and iPhone furniture infusions. |
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Jill Mitwell
Mostly Credited As: Jill Mitwell
Date Of Birth: April 26, 1951 (Age 62)
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Ready or Not, Here I Come 01x39 Aug/19/2013 As: Director
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28745 | Summer Roll of Honours
23 July 2012
Roll of Honours
The Department of History is delighted to announce the following:
Professor Julian Hoppit has just been made a Fellow of the British Academy.
Dr Axel Körner has been promoted to Professor of Modern History.
Dr Antonio Sennis has been promoted to Senior Lecturer in Medieval History.
Dr Angus Gowland has been promoted to Reader in Intellectual History.
Professor David D’Avray was awarded a Provost’s Teaching Prize.
Dr John Sabapathy was proxime accesit for the RHS’s Alexander Prize for the best article published in 2011 by an ECR.
Page last modified on 23 jul 12 10:07 by S Pickett |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28770 | Labor Shoots Holes in Perry's 'Texas Miracle'
Labor unions don't buy Perry's job creation claim.
Labor unions are dismissing the so-called "Texas Employment Miracle" story being pushed by Gov. Rick Perry in his GOP presidential campaign.
[Read: Can Rick Perry Claim a Texas 'Jobs Miracle'?]
Labor leaders say that many of the jobs were created by the state government and others are low wage.
AFL-CIO President Richard Trumka, for example, laughed when asked about the Texas Miracle at a newsmaker breakfast hosted by the Christian Science Monitor. He charged that many of the jobs created while Perry was governor are "minimum wage or sub-minimum wage," and he added: "god help us if that model is nationalized." The jobs picture in Texas is one of Perry's biggest selling points as he moves to the front of the GOP presidential pack. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28793 | Velocity Reviews
Velocity Reviews (
- Python (
- - Re: how to run shell command like "<<EOT .... EOT" (
Kushal Kumaran 09-29-2012 11:53 AM
On Sat, Sep 29, 2012 at 6:18 AM, 叶佑群 <> wrote:
> 于 2012-9-28 16:16, Kushal Kumaran 写道:
>> On Fri, Sep 28, 2012 at 1:15 PM, 叶佑群<> wrote:
>>> Hi, all,
>>> I have the shell command like this:
>>> sfdisk -uM /dev/sdb<< EOT
>>> ,1000,83
>>> ,,83
>>> EOT
>>> I have tried subprocess.Popen, pexpect.spawn and os.popen, but none
>>> of
>>> these works, but when I type this shell command in shell, it is works
>>> fine.
>>> I wonder how to emulate this type of behavior in python , and if someone
>>> can
>>> figure out the reason why?
>>> The sample code of subprocess.Popen is:
>>> command = ["sfdisk", "-uM", target, "<<EOT", "\r\n",
>>> ",", 1000, ",", "83", "\r\n",
>>> ",", ",", "83", "\r\n", "EOT", "\r\n"]
>>> pobj = subprocess.Popen (command, bufsize=1, \
>>> stderr=subprocess.PIPE, stdout=subprocess.PIPE)
>>> res = pobj.stderr.readline ()
>>> if res is not None and pobj.returncode != 0:
>>> observer.ShowProgress (u"对设备 %s 分区失败！" % target)
>>> return False
>> The "<<EOT" syntax (called a here-document) just provides input to the
>> command. If you use the communicate method, you can provide input as
>> an argument:
>> command = ["sfdisk", "-uM", target ]
>> instructions = """
>> ,1000,83
>> ,,83
>> """
>> pobj = subprocess.Popen(command, stdin=subprocess.PIPE,
>> stdout=subprocess.PIPE, stderr=subprocess.PIPE)
>> (output, errors) = pobj.communicate(instructions)
> I tried this, but it is still not work.
What do you mean by "not work"?
- If you get an exception, copy the entire traceback into an email
- If you do not get an exception, print out the value of the "errors"
variable to see why the command failed. You can also check
pobj.returncode for the exit status of the subprocess.
A possibility is that you have to replace "sfdisk" with the full path
to the binary, if it cannot be located on the PATH. So you will
replace it with "/usr/sbin/sfdisk", or "/sbin/sfdisk", or wherever the
file actually is.
<from your other email>
> If I want to read the output line by line and not put all output to memory buffer in one
> time, how to write the code?
You can read line by line by calling pobj.stdout.readline() and
pobj.stderr.readline(). You can send input to the process by calling
pobj.stdin.write(). If you manage this interaction "by hand", you
should not call communicate(). Also, you should be aware of the
problem mentioned in the subprocess documentation:
"Use communicate() rather than .stdin.write, or to avoid deadlocks due to any of the other OS pipe
buffers filling up and blocking the child process."
Is there any reason why you need to read line-by-line? You could use
communicate(), and then call stdout.splitlines() to get a list of
lines, if that's all you need.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28808 | NY Mirror
It's too soon for me to say anything qualitative about writer-director-star Vincent Gallo's Buffalo '66, but I can report that, while in some ways the film makes Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas look like Bedknobs and Broomsticks, it ultimately succeeds in disproving that gibe from A Chorus Line, "Suicide in Buffalo is redundant."After a Directors Guild of America screening two weeks ago, the scruffy, contentious Gallo spoke to the crowd, radiating auteur charisma while mouthing off in a seemingly antipromotional way that actually ends up creating a buzz around the movie. Some find the guy overly control-freaky, his self-deprecation shtick often flipping over to comically irritable egomania, but one does listen when he serves up all that hostile good copy. To pick two typical comments, he said that "Godard is more exciting for people like [an indie rival],who take a lot of drugs and make their little films" and he referred to "those miserable pricks in Cannes who dumped me so they could make room for Godzillaand Primary Colorsand other abortions." But tell us what you reallythink, Vincent.
As for Buffalo '66, Gallo said that originally, Monte Hellman (Two-Lane Blacktop)was set to direct, "but I realized my hero had become miserable, stubborn, and out of touch. He thought the cinematography should be invisible. We parted ways." Even after Hellmanbecame invisible, Gallo wasn't too thrilled with his partners in cinema crime. "They should have stopped Hitler in Austria when they had a chance," he said. "When Ihad the chance, I stopped the 10 Hitlers on my set. I was very strict, especially with Ben Gazzara."
He actually ended up loving Gazzara, who plays his dad, but mom, Anjelica Huston, makes Gallo feel less than filial. "She fucked me so bad," he claimed, "with the conniving manipulation of her agent. It's not enough that she's getting a quarter of a million dollars for three days--the great Anjelica Huston! Suddenly, she has to have her own hair person and a $20,000 wig, which basically came out of my money. And God forbid she should have a job where she works." He said that Huston refused to shoot on Easter, but then that very day she had her people ask if Gallo would rehearse with her. "I said, 'You tell that vicious cunt to get the fuck off my set,' " he related, triumphantly. "She looked at me and started bawling--because that's how the girls get you. Then, of course, she became an angel--'What can I do for you?' " What Huston ultimately did for him, Gallo added, was say she loved Buffalo '66 until it left the parents' house--in other words, until the end of pretty much her last scene, long before the movie's over. "You throw these monkeys a bone," winced Gallo, "and they come back and attack you!"
To toss the Oscar-winning primate something more substantial to chew on, I asked Toni Howard, Anjelica's agent at ICM, for a response to Gallo's cantankerous claims. She told me, "Vincent was kissing the ground she walked on the day Anjelica said yes. Afterwards, he said stuff to me like, 'It was the greatest experience I ever had. I wish you were myagent.' Anjelica couldn't have been more cooperative." Buffalo's producer, Chris Hanley, then called in to say that Anjelica's name and rep are what got the film green-lighted, "plus the wig actually cost $5000 and I paid for it--and I'm not complaining." Well, the esteemed Ms. Huston is certainly worth flipping over a wig--and flipping a wig--for. But I'll stay out of this or there'll have to be more interventions than in Lorna Luft's book (albeit of a presumably less toxic sort).
While all the above were clawing each other's eyebrows out, I wrapped a festive turban around mywig ($20, and I paid for it) and opted for a serene spirituality far from the mundanities of Buffalo or indie filmmaking. Looking quite fierce, I contacted the guy who contacted Sonny Bono after Cher contacted him--I'm talking about medium to the stars James Van Praagh, who's apparently better at, um, contacting the dead than Gallo is at contracting the living. In a phone interview, Van Praagh insisted to me that he's no gypsy, tramp, or thief--he's for real, so contact this! Cher learned of Van Praagh when her mother gave her his book, Talking to Heaven,though the singer-actress later told the psychic, "I don't read that much." That's not surprising since she once thought Mount Rushmore was carved by nature, but, hey, we love the lady and all her heavy headwear.
Cher met with the guy anyway, and the beat went on when he reached Sonny--collect. "There was such a strong love bond," said Van Praagh. "You feltthe connection." And what did that gnomelike Svengali have to say for himself? "He was surprised about what happened to him [the skiing accident, not the Cher TV special]. It was like a blank, a dream. But he's going to be around, helping everyone. He still loves Cher and is very proud of her." I.e., she's got him, babe.
Van Praagh said his otherworldly connections are something like long-distance calls--just dial 1--but he admitted he wasn't always such a smooth operator. He worked at William Morris "pulling staples out of contracts in the basement," while dreaming not of dialing deadheads, but of writing sitcoms. Everything changed when a medium told him he has a gift of spirit, and he's been pretty much gabbing to heaven ever since. Now he claims he has a three-year waiting list--screw sitcoms--and is tapping into afterlife obsessions so well that I suggested he work in tandem with Dr.Kevorkian, who can off 'em, after which Van Praagh can get 'em on the line.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28863 | Solving a Debt Dilemma with Debt Settlement
By Stacy Johnson. Last updated 7 February 2010. 7 comments
Debt settlement companies are advertising a lot these days on TV, radio and online: you've probably got debt settlement Google ads around this article right now. If you're in a jam, they might sound tempting. Should you bite? I’d be super-careful
Here’s an excerpt from my latest book, Life or Debt 2010, about what debt settlement is, how it works, and whether it’s a good idea.
Imagine that I owe you some serious money, say 10 grand. I faithfully made payments to you when I first borrowed the money five years ago, but since then I've lost my job and moved away. Now the payments have stopped. You've called me over and over, but despite your harassment, you haven't gotten a payment from me in over a year.
Then out of the blue one day I call you up and say, “Gee, I’m really sorry about being such a jerk. But I'm still having trouble making ends meet. Here's what I propose: I'll borrow four grand from some other nitwit and send it to you today. If I do that, will you call it even? If you won’t accept that, I'll be forced to file bankruptcy and never pay you back at all.
You think it over and realize that $4,000 is better than nothing. So you take the money, remove me from your Christmas card list and head on down the road.
That’s debt settlement. It’s offering your creditor a lump sum of less than you owe to satisfy a debt.
There's nothing preventing you from doing this all by yourself. You can call the bank and offer to pay them less than you owe. Feel that you're not the best negotiator? You could ask a lawyer to do it for you: a bankruptcy lawyer would be a good choice. But there's another problem: you don't have the lump sum you need to even make an offer. There's where a debt settlement company comes in.
I recently visited a debt settlement company and interviewed both the owner and one of their clients. Watch the result below, then I"ll give you the back story on the other side.
As you just saw in that news story, the way most debt settlement companies work is to collect monthly payments from you every month. Then, after you’ve accumulated enough, they’ll make a settlement offer to the credit card company or other creditor on your behalf. So if you’re making payments to the credit card company now, the debt settlement company wants you to stop doing that and send it to them instead.
Good strategy? Well, if you’re not keeping up and have no hope of making your payments, it might seem logical. Furthermore, you might feel the bank deserves it, especially if part of the reason you can't keep up is because the bank's made your situation hopeless by jacking up your rate to 36% and piling on thousands of dollars in penalty fees.
The first is that you're thoroughly trashing your credit history and score by failing to make payments, not to mention ultimately paying less than you owe. You’d be pissed if I did that to you; banks are pissed when you do that to them. And they hit your credit score accordingly. The cost to your score, according to Fair Isaac (the company behind most credit scores), is 45-125 points. That’s a big hit, and one that's going to cost you big when you next need to borrow money.
What type of credit card are you interested in?
How much do you spend per month?
Do you carry a balance?
The second problem is that when you settle a debt for less than you owe, you’re also creating an income tax liability. In the example above, when I paid you $4,000 to settle a $10,000 debt, the $6,000 I didn’t pay is what’s called a forgiven debt. And forgiven debts are taxable income. In other words, if you legally get away with $6,000 worth of debt, to the IRS that’s like earning $6,000; and that in turn could mean a bigger tax bill — $1,000 - $2,000 bigger, depending on your tax bracket. Add a thousand dollars to the $4,000 you paid to settle that $10,000 debt and now you're paying $5,000. But it doesn't end there.
The third reason I’m not enamored of debt settlement companies is the fees they charge: typically 15%. Not of the amount you actually paid to settle the debt, but the amount you owed. In our $10,000 example, that’s adding another 15% of $10,000, or $1,500. So if we settled for $4,000, paid $1,000 in income taxes and $1,500 to the debt settlement company, now our total tab has ballooned by more than 50% to $6,500.
To me, $1,500 seems a high price for doing something that’s pretty easy: calling a bank and offering them less than what you owe. That’s probably why the debt settlement industry advertises so heavily — they're making a bunch of money.
And one final issue with debt settlement is it's largely unregulated. And that could mean serious trouble. Even the owner of the company that I interviewed for my story above said so. As he pointed out, some agencies take major fees up front before they even begin to settle your debt. Some don't adequately disclose the fees or tax ramifications. Some have been charged with simply flat out stealing people’s money. And, as noted above, even ethical ones charge what I consider high prices for work that’s not rocket science.
I’m not going to say you should never, ever deal with any debt settlement company. After all, it’s possible that there’s a really great one out there somewhere. And debt settlement could theoretically be appropriate for certain people in specific situations.
But you really need to be aware of the risks. The debt settlement industry is under investigation a lot these days. One example is a probe by the New York Attorney General’s Office. Check out the press release they issued about it.
So if you’re going to go down this road, think hard, read the fine print, check with the BBB, state consumer protection agencies, complaint sites and any other place you can think of. And ask a whole lot of questions first.
• What fees are you going to charge?
• What taxes might I be responsible for?
• How is the money I'm sending you protected?
• How long have you been in business?
• How long will your program take?
• Are your fees front-loaded?
• What happens to my money if I drop out of the program?
• What happens to my money if you fail to settle the debt for an acceptable amount?
Bottom line? If you can borrow four grand to settle a ten thousand dollar debt, maybe from a relative or something, OK. But paying into a sketchy company for months or years, totally trashing your credit in the process, and paying major fees to do it? Not me.
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Guest's picture
Thanks for explaining how these debt settlement companies work. Two years ago, my credit score was at an all time low because of missed payments and unsettled debts. Not only was I stressed because I was living paycheck to paycheck, but I was constantly hounded by collectors to where I never wanted to answer my phone. I thought about see if a debt settlement was a good idea for me but the thought of paying someone to help me get rid of debt seemed like a bad idea. From researching online, reading blogs like this one and my own hard work, my credit score has been raise almost 100 points and I am $1000 away from being debt free!
Guest's picture
I think you did a huge disservice by not pointing people to reputable organizations such as those non-profits accredited by NFCC (national foundation for credit counseling) and AICCA (Association of Independent Consumer Credit Counseling Agencies)
Guest's picture
He wrote about those yesterday, FYI.
Guest's picture
Let's face it, the debt settlement companies would not be doing this if there wasn't enough money in it for them but there obviously is. I have no problem with that as long as they do a decent job and keep their customers interests at the very forefront of what they do.
Guest's picture
#1 The affects to your credit are short term and not long term. Once the debt is negotiated by a debt settlement company, the creditor agrees to update the credit report, showing a zero balance and stating that the account is paid or "paid as settled"
I went through a debt settlement company and I finished the program 1 year ago, my credit score is 793 and my wife’s is 843. Now our score did go down at the beginning, but after the drop, it continued to increase to what it is today.
#2 Paying taxes on the savings. This can happen, but if you are insolvent then you do not have to pay these taxes. In other words, if you owe more money (overall, including all debts) than you own (your home, auto, etc) and most of American Citizens have more debt than assets since most people's home value is less than what is owed, then all you have to do is go to and download from #982. If you have more debts than assets, then you do not have to pay this tax.
Keep in mind that you have to fill out this form, only if you receive a 1099 from the creditor once the debt is settled.
#3 Fees. Think about this for one second. Every year you pay fees in the form of interest on your debt. If you pay 12% interest on your debts, then you are essentially paying 12% fee every year to your creditors and next year you will pay that fee again and again.
The part you forgot to mention is the 15% fee charged is not an annual fee, it is a one-time fee and doesn't continue. Therefore, if you are in a 3 year debt settlement program, then you can average the fee over three years, which equates to only 5% per year. If your interest rates are higher than 5%, then it clearly makes sense, especially when you do not have to pay back the entire amount.
#4 BBB. If you did your research, you would already know that the BBB is no longer rating debt settlement companies. In fact, one of the VP's of the BBB, has a vested interest in a consumer counseling program which directly competes directly with debt settlement companies. Go to and search for "BBB and debt settlement companies" and you will see that the BBB stopped rating all of the debt settlement companies.
The BBB is not a government agency; they are a private company collecting fees for business being accredited. Because they are not rating debt settlement companies, they are essentially doing the consumer a HUGE injustice, because they are no longer separating the good companies from the bad companies, which is terrible for the consumer. The main function of the BBB is to separate the good from the bad and they are taking the position that all debt settlement companies are bad.
The last thing that no one mentions is financial related. If the banks been collecting payments for the last 5 years, then why does the debtor still owe money. Because the amount being collected by the banks in minimum monthly payments (even if you do not use the cards) will take much longer than 5 years. Typically it is closer to 20+ years and that is just on 12%. Go to and they have a calculator you can use to see how long it will to pay off your debts by making the minimum payments, it will scare you to death.
Also, if the debtor has been paying the creditor for 5 years, then the creditor most likely has received everything they lent to you. But why do you owe almost the same amount that you originally borrowed, because a majority of your payment goes toward interest.
Now, when the bank receives a settlement of 40%, then that is icing on the cake at this point. They already collected everything you borrowed and now they are getting another 40%. I feel that 40% is more than enough.
Guest's picture
Another solution is seeking for IVA HELP. It is very useful especially for large debts that have large interest rates.
Guest's picture
There are many things that are just missing from this picture although it's a much better article about debt settlement then what else is out there.
let me tackle a couple of things first:
-in searching for a DS company, going to the BBB for references is a terrible idea as in some areas they assign an automatic "F" to anyone in the industry regardless of reputation and ethics
-secondly...please please don't borrow money to settle a debt. if a friend or a family member GIVES you the money, then fine, but don't ruin your relationships for debt, you have enough going on already.
OK so being an expert in the industry (I co-founded I can tell you a few things:
1. yes you can settle your own debt and you can save ON YOUR OWN towards a lump sum, so if you don't have it now don't worry about it.
2. dent settlement is not as easy as just calling the bank and saying "hey take this money because it's all I have." if it were that easy an entire industry would not have sprung up.
3. it is a process where if you are organized in your efforts and know what you are doing you can get "favorable" settlements from the creditors.
Lastly, one negative aspect this article forgot to mention is that you will have to deal with collection calls regardless of hiring a debt settlement company or doing it on your own. Any company that tells you they will stop the calls...stay away from.
The industry is in a midst some changes pending some new regulations that will limit the amount of fees they can charge and how they charge them. honestly I would not pay a company more than 10% of the total debt to settle my accounts (if I didn't know or want to settle them on my own)
Try this if you chose a debt settlement company...try and negotiate their fee haha, I'm sure they are so desperate for your business that you could bring them down to charging you only 10%, the more debt you have the less they should charge you as a percentage.
Anyways, I'm glad articles like this one are coming out that at least did some research before coming out as writers that don't know what they are talking about |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28875 | 10 Captivating Summer Reads
Escape to another world with one of these page-turner novels
By WomansDay.com Staff
Lucy by Laurence Gonzales
Jenny, an anthropologist on assignment in Africa, becomes the guardian of Lucy, a teenager whose parents are murdered. However, once back in the U.S., a shocking discovery is made: Lucy is half human and half bonobo chimpanzee. Love and loss are at the core of this unusual story that analyzes life, relationships and issues of evolution. $16.47; Amazon.com.
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28876 | Has anyone ever told you a "bare-faced lie?" Or have you ever "buttered someone up" before? You probably know exactly what these funny-sounding phrases mean but are clueless about where on earth they came from. That's why we went to historian Albert Jack, author of Black Sheep and Lame Ducks: The Origins of Even More Phrases We Use Every Day to find out the history behind some of the most commonly used sayings.
"Bottoms up!"
You've probably kicked off a round or two with this salute, but do you know the story behind it? According to Jack, it actually has nothing to do with raising the bottom of a glass as you drain your beverage. He writes that during the 18th and 19th centuries, English Navy recruiters tried to persuade London pub-goers to join the armed forces by getting them to accept payment in the form of a King's shilling. Dishonest recruiters would drop a shilling into the pint of a drunken man who wouldn't notice until he finished his beverage. They would then consider this proof of his agreement to join the Navy and drag him out to sea the very next day. Once drinkers and pubs figured out the scam, they introduced glasses with transparent bases "and customers would be reminded to lift the pint up and check the bottom for illicit shillings before they began drinking." Photo: iStockphoto
"Bare-faced lie"
If someone has ever told you a bare-faced lie, you know they didn't make any effort to show guilt or remorse. According to Jack, the phrase refers to the idea that a clean-shaven face could not conceal any lies, unlike a bearded mug, which could hide all manner of deceit. But over time, explains Jack, "the phrase came to describe a person who didn't care whether or not he was lying and had no real intention of concealing his deception." Photo: Thinkstock
"More than you can shake a stick at"
Farmers with more sheep than they could control with their wooden staffs are believed to have inspired this phrase, which means you have more of something than you need. But according to Jack, there's a second possible origin. "After George Washington was once seen waving a ceremonial wooden sword over the British troops he had recently defeated, other American generals began to use the expression to justify themselves when they had not been quite as successful as the great man himself was in battle. 'We had more men to fight than you could wave a stick at' was apparently a common excuse for failure on the battlefield." Photo: Thinkstock
"Run amok" or "run amuck"
A raucous partygoer can be described as going wild or running amok, an expression that derives from "the Malaysian word amoq, which, when literally translated, describes the behavior of tribesmen who, under the influence of opium, became wild, rampaging mobs that attacked anybody in their path," writes Jack. He reports that the phrase became popular in England during the 17th century, when travelers would try to impress people with their knowledge of foreign cultures. Photo: iStockphoto
"Blood is thicker than water"
Anyone with a tight family bond will tell you blood is thicker than water. But they may be surprised to learn that the saying has little to do with familial ties. Jack explains that in ancient Middle Eastern culture, "blood rituals symbolized bonds that were far greater than those of the family." That explains "blood brothers"—warriors who symbolically shared the blood they shed in battle together—having a stronger bond than biological brothers. Furthermore, Jack says there is an expression from 3,000 years ago that says: "The blood of the covenant is far stronger than the water of the womb." Jack suggests that the true meaning of this phrase became muddled by English nobility who wanted to stress the importance of bloodlines. Photo: Thinkstock
"Butter someone up"
It's easy to assume that the idea behind this phrase—which means to lay flattery on thick—has to do with how smoothly butter spreads onto bread. Not quite. Jack reveals an ancient Indian custom of "throwing butterballs of ghee (clarified butter commonly used in Indian cooking) at the statues of the gods" to seek favor. Additionally, the Tibetan tradition of creating butter sculptures for the New Year "can be traced to the Tang Dynasty and the belief that such offerings would bring peace and happiness for the full lunar year." Photo: Shutterstock
"Cat got your tongue?"
According to Jack, there are two possible sources of this phrase, which refers to when a normally chatty person is at a loss for words, often for suspicious reasons. The first refers to when victims of the cat-o'-nine-tails––a whip the English Navy used for flogging––were left speechless from the pain inflicted upon them. The second, which is equally morbid, traces back to medieval times, when punishment "for liars and blasphemers [was to] have their tongues cut out and then fed to the cats." Ancient Egyptian cats were considered to be gods (and would eat just about anything), so giving them the tongue of a liar was "seen as a human offering to the gods." Photo: Shutterstock
"Have a yen for"
When you really want something, it can be said you have a "yen" for it. But the phrase doesn't actually refer to Japanese currency—it refers to Chinese opium, which was available in Britain and America in the late 1800s. "The phrase comes from the Chinese word yan, which can be translated to craving," Jack writes. Photo: iStockphoto
"The writing is on the wall"
The roots of this phrase, which means that something negative is inevitable, trace back to the Bible, explains Jack. In the Book of Daniel, God punishes King Belshazzar for boasting and foreshadows his demise by having the words for “Numbered, Numbered, Weighed, Divided” (which all refer to how he was to be taken down) literally written on the wall. Photo: Thinkstock
"Turn a blind eye"
The 1801 Battle of Copenhagen is at the root of this saying, which means to pretend you don't know what's happening, Jack explains. During the battle, Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, commander of the British fleet, attempted to stop Horatio Nelson from launching an attack on the enemy. "When Nelson's officers pointed out the order, he famously raised a telescope to his blind eye and replied: 'Order, what order? I see no ships.'" Photo: iStockphoto
"Pass the buck"
Don't want to take responsibility for something yourself? Just pass the buck, or hand off the duties to someone else. The phrase originated in the American Wild West during poker games, according to Jack. "The most common knife available was known as a buckhorn knife. As all cowboys and ranchers carried them around, one of them would be placed in front of whoever was due to deal the next hand, and in games where the stakes were running too high for a player, he could opt out of his turn at dealing by passing the buckhorn knife on to the next player. But even if he did choose to play, he still avoided the responsibility of setting the bets next time around by passing the buck along." Photo: Thinkstock
"Give the cold shoulder"
Giving someone the cold shoulder is a rude way of telling the person he or she isn’t welcome, but the origins of this phrase are actually quite polite, explains Jack. After feasts in medieval England, the host would signal to his guests it was time to leave by giving them a slice of cold meat from the shoulder of beef, mutton or pork. "It was regarded as a civilized and polite gesture." Photo: Shutterstock
"Go cold turkey"
If you want to quit anything, from alcohol or cigarettes to chocolate or soda, without weaning yourself off it, you can say you're "going cold turkey." "The original idea was that a person withdrawing from using drugs would find his or her skin turning hard to the touch and translucent to look at, with goose pimples all over—like the skin of a plucked turkey," writes Jack. It's also been suggested that the phrase is a comparison between eating a no-prep meal of cold turkey and stopping heavy drug use without preparation. Photo: Shutterstock
"Eat humble pie"
Oddly enough, making an apology and suffering humiliation along with it, as the saying connotes, has little to do with "eating humble pie." Jack explains that the phrase dates back to the Middle Ages, when, during a post-hunt feast, the lord of the manor would eat the finest cuts of meat. But those of lower standing would be served the entrails and innards, known as "umbles," baked into a pie. "It was common practice for people to be humiliated by finding themselves seated at the wrong end of the table and served 'umble pie.'" Photo: Thinkstock
"Blow hot and cold"
Have a friend who constantly changes their opinions? You might say he’s "blowing hot and cold." Jack informs us that the expression comes from a story in classical mythology in which a traveler is given food and shelter by a kind woodland god. "According to the legend, the woodland god gave the traveler a room for the night and some hot soup. The man blew on his fingers to warm them and then, with the same breath, blew on the soup to cool it. Irritated at the man's apparent indecision, the woodland god packed him off outside and sent him back on his travels." Photo: Getty Images
Want to learn more origins of popular sayings? You can purchase Black Sheep and Lame Ducks at Amazon.com or learn more about Albert Jack at AlbertJack.com. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28912 | Inside Nokia's headquarters: A photo tour | Page 2 | ZDNet
Inside Nokia's headquarters: A photo tour
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• Every move that Nokia makes is picked over by analysts and journalists across the globe, and scoured for an indication of the company's health and future prospects.
But what's it like to be at the centre of it all?
With a few hours to spare during a recent trip to Finland's Slush start-up conference, I decided pay a visit to Nokia's HQ in Espoo, a 15-minute drive from the country's capital of Helsinki - the headquarters the company has just decided to sell off.
The HQ houses some 1,800 staff and has absorbed a few roles from Nokia sites that have been shut down in recent months, including Ruoholahti in Helsinki. A number of R&D roles from there have transferred to Espoo, including some that previously worked on Nokia's MeeGo efforts but now work on Windows Phone.
Shown here, Nokia's vast and dimly lit foyer overlooks the Gulf of Finland, the body of water separating Finland from Estonia. It's 3pm in late November.
• A chessboard with no pieces
The large chess table in the centre of the client waiting area lacks chess pieces, but there are four Lumia 920s on a stand to play with if you're bored. There are also copies of Helsinki's English newspaper and a current edition of The Economist.
• Spiralling stairwells
The spiral stairways are a striking feature of this part of the complex, climbing all the way to the top of the building.
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Topics: Nokia, Mobility, EU
Liam Tung
About Liam Tung
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• Re: arch phone display
That's a mall kiosk they used to sell the Lumias in different parts of the world.
• Re: That's a mall kiosk they used to sell the Lumias
How sad. The Asha alone would have brought in more than their entire Lumia effort to date. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28914 | iPhone/iOS 5 battery saver tips | Page 9 | ZDNet
iPhone/iOS 5 battery saver tips
| Image 9 of 14
Location, location, location! #1
iO 5 bought with is a lot of Locations Services features, but all of these features have a negative effect on battery life.
Settings > General > Location Services
Location, location, location! #1
• Notifications #1
Another revamped feature in iOS 5 is notifications. The new Notification Center in iOS 5 gives you a greater overview of what’s happening, but that comes at the cost of greater battery consumption.
Settings > Notifications
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Topic: Wi-Fi
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28938 | Archive for Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Lawrence Datebook
October 9, 2007
9 Today
KU Symphony Orchestra, 7:30 p.m., Lied Center, 1600 Stewart Drive, $7/$5, 864-2787.
University Forum: "Can the Ogallala Aquifer in Western Kansas be Saved for Future Generations?" by John Peck, noon, ECM Center, 1204 Oread Ave., 843-4933.
Interfaith Initiative, 1 p.m.-2:30 p.m., Trinity Episcopal Church, 1011 Vt., 760-3143.
Coalition for Homeless Concerns, 3 p.m.-5 p.m., Lawrence Public Library, 707 Vt., 760-3143.
Downtown Farmers Market, 4 p.m.-6 p.m., 1020 Vt.
Public Transit Advisory Committee meeting, 4:10 p.m., Lawrence Transit System Office, 933 N.H., 832-3465.
Tips for Tots, with entertainment and trivia, a benefit for Douglas County Friends of Children in Foster Care and CrimeStoppers, 5 p.m.-10 p.m., Henry T's, 3520 W. Sixth St.
Lawrence City Commission meeting, 6:35 p.m., City Hall, Sixth and Massachusetts streets.
Lecture: "Post-Conflict Reconciliation and Ending Poverty in Africa," by Takao Shibata, 7 p.m., Nunemaker Center, 864-4225.
Civil Air Patrol informational meeting, 7 p.m.-9:30 p.m., Kansas National Guard Armory, 200 Iowa, 841-0752.
Wakarusa Township Board meeting, 7 p.m., 300 W. 31st St.
Free State High School Fall Choral Concert, 7:30 p.m., FSHS, 4700 Overland Drive, 832-6050.
Kanwaka Township Board meeting, 7:30 p.m., Kanwaka Township Hall, off U.S. Highway 40.
10 Wednesday
Wednesdays @ Liberty Hall: hip-hop/rap show with Reach, for junior high and high school students, 2 p.m.-4 p.m., Liberty Hall, 644 Mass.
Sleuth Society, 7- to 12-year-olds, 3:30 p.m.-4:30 p.m., Lawrence Public Library Auditorium, 707 Vt., registration requested, 843-3833, ext. 117.
Lawrence Farmers Market, 4 p.m.-6 p.m., 925 Iowa.
Healthier Haskell event, safety and fitness fun for children, 5 p.m.-7 p.m., Haskell Indian Nations University, Haskell Memorial Stadium, 766-2513 or
Book signing: "Savage Peace: Hope and Fear in America, 1919," by Ann Hagedorn, 7 p.m., Lawrence Public Library, 707 Vt., 843-3833.
Lawrence High School Fall Choral Concert, 7:30 p.m., LHS, 1901 La., 832-5050.
"Firekeepers of the 21st Century: Women Chiefs in Canada," by Cora Voyageur, 7:30 p.m., Kansas Union's Alderson Auditorium.
11 Thursday
KU: Fall break
Excellence in Commerce awards breakfast, 7:30 a.m., Kansas Union ballroom, $15, 865-4411,
Skillbuilders program: Winterizing your car, by Richard Haig, 10 a.m.-11:45 a.m., Lawrence Senior Center, 745 Vt.
Game Tourney, for 11- to 18-year-olds, 4:30 p.m.-5:30 p.m., Lawrence Public Library Auditorium, 707 Vt., 843-3833, ext. 121.
Harlem Renaissance book discussion: "Their Eyes Were Watching God," by Zora Neale Hurston, 6 p.m., followed by 7 p.m. film, "Zora Neale Hurston: A Heart with Room for Every Joy," Spencer Museum of Art, 1301 Miss., preregistration required, 843-3833 ext. 123.
NAACP Lawrence Branch meeting, 6:30 p.m., gallery room at the Lawrence Public Library, 707 Vt.
Central Junior High School Orchestra/Band Concert, 7:30 p.m., CJHS, 1400 Mass., 832-5400.
West Junior High School All Orchestra Concert, 7:30 p.m., WJHS, 2700 Harvard Road, 832-5500.
"Some Modern Approaches to the History of the Crusades," by Jonathan Riley-Smith, University of Cambridge, 7:30 p.m., Hall Center's Conference Hall, 864-4798.
Commenting has been disabled for this item. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28940 | IT MAY seem ridiculous, but in the hunt for sources of alternative energy researchers have come up with fuel cells which are powered by cheese—or at least whey, a by-product in cheese making. Whey is rich in lactose, a sugar which Georgia Antonopoulou, a biochemical engineer at the University of Patras, Greece, says can be consumed by cultures of bacteria contained within a fuel cell to generate an electric current. Microbial fuel cells, as such devices are known, are not a new idea but they are attracting more attention.
The organic content of whey can pose an environmental hazard and many governments now impose strict regulations requiring factories to pay for its treatment before disposal. Whey constitutes about 70% of the volume of the milk used to make cheese. So, just one small feta facility will need to dispose of as much as 4,000 tonnes of whey in a single year, says Dr Antonopoulou. Microbial fuel cells could help, and not just in the cheese-making industry. Breweries, pig farms, food-processing plants and even sewage works could gain from the technology.
Traditional fuel cells work by using a catalytic material to oxidise a fuel, such as hydrogen, and make an electric current flow between two electrodes. Microbial fuel cells function in much the same way except that the catalytic reactions are carried out by bacteria contained within the fuel-cell chamber. Under anaerobic conditions (where oxygen is absent) they metabolise the fuel by feeding off it and in doing so produce natural chemical reactions that produce a current.
In theory microbial fuel cells can run on almost any kind of organic matter, says Chris Melhuish, head of the Bristol Robotics Laboratory, England. “All you have to do is match the microbial culture with the type of stuff you want to use as fuel,” he says. Dr Melhuish has been trying to power robots on domestic waste-water, but it is tricky. Ideally you would want to use cheap raw-waste products, he says. But traditionally the fuel cells work best with a refined fuel in the form of solutions containing synthetic sugars, such as glucose.
However, Dr Antonopoulou has now shown that, using a culture of bacteria obtained from her local waste-water plant, it is possible to get almost as much power from raw whey as from refined fuel, provided the whey is diluted. The trouble is the power output still only amounts to milliwatts, barely enough to trickle-charge a cellphone. And working with raw waste water also presents challenges.
Initially Dr Antonopoulou and her colleagues found that the coulombic efficiency of their cells—a measure of how many electrons produced actually flow into a circuit—was particularly low, at around just 2%. This turned out to be because a second set of microbes, within the whey itself, was absorbing them. So, by sterilising the whey first to kill these other bugs they have now boosted the coulombic efficiency to around 25%.
The total power of the device should improve further with a new design that increases the surface area of the electrodes within the fuel cell. One of the biggest obstacles is a lack of investment to develop materials that would work better with microbial fuel cells. If the various hurdles can be overcome and the devices can be scaled up to industrial levels, then the technology can only mature; just like a good cheese. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28970 | File:Pschindl radeon rendercheck.gz
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28972 | Numbering the Release Notes RPM
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The Fedora Release Notes RPMs are named fedora-release-notes-w.x.y-z.arch.rpm. Where:
• w represents the Fedora release
• x represents the version of the en-US source
• y represents the version of the tar. Generally, this will increment as translations are added
• z represents the version of the RPM. Typically there is no need to bump this unless the RPM is being built manually, or with a new version of doc-publican-rpm.
The Revision_History.xml should be consistent with the w.x number.
When a new release is begun, it generally starts with the previous release dot 9x. In general, alpha is .95 and beta is .98, but it may make sense to leave a little more room if many changes are expected. Typically, the alpha release notes are not pushed. Instead, alpha notes are provided on a single wiki page.
The GA release notes should be numbered release.0.0. Once the GA release notes are pushed, tag git with the release number. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28975 | id summary status owner type priority milestone 7380 Panic: mkNoTick: Breakpoint loading modules with -O2 via API new bug normal 7.8.1 7430 GHC API reports CPP errors in confusing ways new bug normal 7.8.1 8040 "installed include/HsVersions.h wants to #include ""../includes/ghcautoconf.h""" new bug normal 8265 getTokenStream fails for source using cpp new bug normal 8294 "T7478 fails on Mac OS X with ""unexpected bindingNone"" from ld" new bug normal 8394 "T7478 fails on i386 Linux with ""unresolvable R_386_32 relocation"" from ld" new bug normal 3373 GHC API is not thread safe new feature request low 7.10.1 4162 GHC API messes up signal handlers new bug low 7.6.2 4459 Polymorphic Data.Dynamic new vivian feature request low 7.6.2 4942 GHC.ConsoleHandler does not call back application when Close button is pressed new bug low 7.6.2 8207 Pretty Printer for textual version of Language (name) in DynFlags new feature request low 2514 Add/Expose Binary API that allows dumping of any GHC Binary instance new nominolo feature request lowest 7.6.2 3192 Add dynCompileCoreExpr :: GhcMonad m => Bool -> Expr CoreBind -> m Dynamic to ghc-api new feature request lowest 7.6.2 |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28976 | id summary reporter owner description type status priority milestone component version resolution keywords cc os architecture failure difficulty testcase blockedby blocking related 2629 Data.List: Replace nub; add nubOrd, nubInt, nubWith Bart Massey "Everyone always complains about nub, but nobody ever does anything about it except (map head . group . sort), which isn't lazy and isn't always faster. :-) I've implemented a new function nubWith that takes a ""stop list"" as an argument and filters its target list against the stop list. I've then re-implemented nub and implemented nubOrd and nubInt in terms of nubWith: the stop list is a typeclass, so these implementations are trivial and new implementations are easily added. nubBy is left alone, since there's nothing obvious to be done about it. All of the nubs are still fully lazy. Basic !QuickCheck tests are provided, and pass. Performance benchmarking code is provided. The performance of my nub implementation is quite comparable to that of the standard one. My nubOrd and nubInt implementations are dramatically faster, since they use a Set and !IntSet respectively for the stop list. In particular, they are performant on long lists with long nubs, unlike the basic nub. My implementation is available via git at git://svcs.cs.pdx.edu/git/nub.git or can be browsed at http://svcs.cs.pdx.edu/gitweb?p=nub.git;a=tree and has a maybe-outdated tarball at http://svcs.cs.pdx.edu/haskell/nub.tar.gz The Nub.hs file itself is attached to this proposal. If the proposal is accepted, I will prepare a patch against current GHC library top-of-tree, but for now it seems easier for everyone to just look at the bits in their current natural habitat. " proposal closed normal Not GHC libraries/base invalid Unknown/Multiple Unknown/Multiple Unknown |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28977 | Skip to content
This repository
Subversion checkout URL
You can clone with HTTPS or Subversion.
Download ZIP
c-ares is a C library for asynchronous DNS requests
This is c-ares, a forked version of the original ares. The original ares
README follows below, the c-ares specific details are in README.cares
This is ares, an asynchronous resolver library. It is intended for
applications which need to perform DNS queries without blocking, or
need to perform multiple DNS queries in parallel. The primary
examples of such applications are servers which communicate with
multiple clients and programs with graphical user interfaces.
This library implementation is not especially portable to crufty old
systems like SunOS 4. It assumes a compiler which can handle ANSI C
syntax, a system malloc which properly handles realloc(NULL, foo) and
free(NULL), and a reasonably up-to-date <arpa/nameser.h>.
I have attempted to preserve the externally visible behavior of the
BIND resolver in nearly all respects. The API of the library is, of
course, very different from the synchronous BIND API; instead of
invoking a function like res_send() and getting a return value back
indicating the number of bytes in the response, you invoke a function
like ares_send() and give it a callback function to invoke when the
response arrives. You then have to select() on the file descriptors
indicated by ares_fds(), with a timeout given by ares_timeout(). You
call ares_process() when select() returns.
Some features are missing from the current version of ares, relative
to the BIND resolver:
* There is no IPV6 support.
* There is no hostname verification.
* There is no logging of unexpected events.
* There is no debugging-oriented logging.
* There is no YP support.
libares requires an ANSI compiler to compile and use. To build the
library, just run "./configure" and "make". To install it, run "make
install". Run "./configure --help" to see a list of options you can
provide to configure to change how the library builds. libares has no
data files, so you can move the include file and library around freely
without leaving behind any dependencies on old paths. Building the
library will also build the "adig" program, a little toy for trying
out the library. It doesn't get installed.
libares is distributed at Please
send bug reports and comments to
Something went wrong with that request. Please try again. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/28978 | Skip to content
This repository
Subversion checkout URL
You can clone with HTTPS or Subversion.
Download ZIP
1. Contributors
Contributions over time
Show Contributors →
2. Commit Activity
Commit activity over the previous year
Show Commits →
3. Code Frequency
Additions and deletions over time
Show Code Frequency →
4. Punchcard
Time and day of commit activity
Show Punchcard →
Something went wrong with that request. Please try again. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29007 |
Re: SANE packages unmaintained : intent to take over
On Tue, Oct 01, 2002 at 11:34:21AM +1000, Brian May wrote:
> On Mon, Sep 30, 2002 at 02:30:36AM -0400, Joseph Fannin wrote:
> > I've used this backend before -- it works well for me. People
> > with higher standards than me might have something to say about the
> > image quality that I miss, but it works. The patch against the SANE
> > source tree seems minimally invasive at a glance.
> Strange. I heard reports on debian-user that results were poor,
> the colors were badly distorted or something.
I guess it's possible I've missed this -- I'm a little color
blind. It's still better than nothing.
> Does the kernel source still need to be changed for it to work?
Not since very early 2.4, maybe 2.4-testX.
Joseph Fannin
Attachment: pgpFvAN0KthLc.pgp
Description: PGP signature
Reply to: |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29009 |
RE: Switching to Debian
Hi, I am a Windows switcher who wants to give Debian a try. I want to know that is the cd 1 enough for running a desktop system and if I need the other cds for software or can I use apt-get and install more software from the repositories. Is one cd enough for the basic GUI installation?
If so why are there 10+ cds for debian installation? If they are for software will I be good with cd1 and aptitude?
Thanking You,
Samad Rafeek
Reply to: |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29010 |
Re: Debian WWW CVS commit by joy: webwml/ atalan/Pics/Makefile hinese/Pics/Makef ...
On Mon, Jun 17, 2002 at 10:02:00AM +0200, Martin Quinson wrote:
> Please don't do that.
> You changed
> mquinson@blaise:~/src/DEBIAN/webwml/french/Pics$ cat Makefile
> include $(subst webwml/french,webwml/english,$(CURDIR))/Makefile
> which keeps itself syncronized with the english makefile to a version which
> should be manually updated.
Oh, damn. Now I'll have to make an exception for the French Makefiles, gar.
When will the testing phase be over already? :)
2. That which causes joy or happiness.
To UNSUBSCRIBE, email to [email protected]
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global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29019 | Updating CVS
Thomas Guettler pan-newsreader at thomas-guettler.de
Mon Apr 7 22:13:39 CEST 2003
> The line "sys.stderr = sys.stdin" redirects any errors to the browser.
> My question is less cgi and more cvs. I guess I didn't state it clear
> enough. I just want to know why the previous script doesn't update my
> CVS directory. Is it because I trying to run in from a web script and
> not as myself being logged in? I'm using an Apache web server running on
> Solaris.
It depends how your apache is configured. Mine is running suexec: All CGI
scripts are running with my UID. (http://localhost/~guettli/...)
But it seems that yours is running as nobody or www-data
os.system("who loves mom") might help.
Thomas Guettler <guettli at thomas-guettler.de>
More information about the Python-list mailing list |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29024 | [Web-SIG] daemon tools
Ian Bicking ianb at colorstudy.com
Sat Mar 3 21:39:37 CET 2007
Chad Whitacre wrote:
>> Anyway, I share this for your consideration. There are probably
>> better tools out there than zdaemon and supervisor2, but I'm not
>> aware of them. :) I'm curious what other people have found or use.
> There's also monit:
> http://www.tildeslash.com/monit/
I think monit overlaps some with supervisor2's featureset, but not as
much with zdaemon. Having monit poll your process to check it's alive
isn't as solid a solution as having a real parent process to do that.
Monit would still be useful with zdaemon, because it can poll things
like HTTP responses, memory usage, etc.
Ian Bicking | ianb at colorstudy.com | http://blog.ianbicking.org
More information about the Web-SIG mailing list |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29025 | Skip to Content
Bill H.645 187th (2011 - 2012)
An Act Relative to the Plymouth Nuclear Power Plant
By Mr. deMacedo of Plymouth (by request), a petition (accompanied by bill, House, No. 645) of Jay D. Ferguson for legislation to require the Pilgrim Nuclear Power Station located in the town of Plymouth to provide for weekly testing of its safety and alarm system. Public Safety and Homeland Security.
Viriato Manuel deMacedo (By Request)
Status: Referred to Joint Committee on Telecommunications, Utilities and Energy
Petitioners: Jay D. Ferguson
Login To MyLegislature |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29027 | Shared publicly -
Joseph Prasad's profile photoJorgen Poulsen's profile photo
I have mixed feelings about this. I personally wouldn't use anything so public to convey my final thoughts, but many people are comfortable living and sharing there entire lives on social platforms, dead or alive. The video creep me out.
Add a comment... |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29028 | Shared publicly -
Tupac was a HOLOGRAM at last night's #Coachella event.
I decided to SING a Tupac song in this new video!
+1 & SHARE!
Will Gronewold's profile photoBjarte Skjørestad's profile photoZoe Welsh's profile photoAltair Creed's profile photo
If they do a hologram of the Beaber I'd go too... just to throw things through him. :D
If he appeared this way while he was alive, he might still be.
I read somewhere on the internet that they are resurrecting Jim Morrison next weekend
subscribed to your channel on friday and made a google+ just because of you. love your videos
you should be a karaoke singer, your good man xD
wow! that's awesome, they could make alot of money for that
Well, don't become a singer :P
Deep deep titanic.... joke... attempt.... :)
Lily L
Gosh you're so fast on these things. As others have mentioned, hologram concerts have already been done by imaginary character Hatsune Miku. She's even performed in the states to a very large and enthusiastic audience!
I confess that today your video I liked it very much because since you have started singing it is raining in torrents and this means that there will be no drought this summer in my country. Oh really, Wilson, it is maravillosoooooo!!
I'll go to a Beatles concert!
I would go to a Whitney Huston concert!
I kinda knew Tupac was a rap person. I didn't know he was dead. Show's ya what I know! :)
:b I don't blame you for not knowing; it's hard to keep up with these things when they don't always get in the news.
We are officially in the future.
Thanks for +1ing me, Lamar! :D
I'm not of fan of Tupac but I love technology meshing
with music in a very entertaining way.
Stay tuned... Your favorite dead entertainers, ELVIS, SINATRA, MORRISON, HENDRIX, JACKSON coming soon to the Flash Back Stage in Branford, MO.......LOL:)
not gonna hate,but who gave them the right to pull it off ? did pac sign like some agreements before he died ? or is it just like Chappelle showed us in his skit "I wrote this song in 94' " ?
Tupac says if hatsune miku can do it, I can do it also!
Please no Justin Bieber holograms. It would mean that this will never stop. Oh dear god, hell on earth...
I'm glad the technology is spreading but I am hoping it won't make my favorite singer (Miku Hatsune) seem less unique. I am glad for the fans but I want to be mad about it :p #savemiku
Am I the only one who thinks this is stupid? Why would you pay to watch a hologram?
I would say you are paying for the live experience. It is no different than a regular concert unless you perceive it as different. It is still fans going crazy and a singer on stage :D
Kenny G
I don't know if I'd pay to see a hologram sing to me. I might pay to see holograms play sports, like soccer, baseball, hockey etc. That would be cool. ;-)
the gorilaz had been doing something like this since a couple of years back.
+Adam Reed the program is actually called Vocaloid... Project Diva was the game series about them.... they did a tour in America last year.... I couldn't get tickets :(. The main singer is called Hatsune Miku... look her name up on Wikipedia, there is tons of info :p
Add a comment... |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29037 | 1. Application Policy
The policy should be found in debian-multimedia package which contains the policy document and other misc goods for basic Debian Multimedia configuration.
1.1. process
The contents here are discussed in debian-multimedia mailing list.
1.2. configuring user/group settings
group 'audio': members will have access to audio hardware.
group 'video': members will have access to video hardware.
group 'cdrom': members will have access to CD-ROM/DVD-ROM hardware.
Known problems:
User permissions: These permissions are not configured automatically, so requires administrator intervention for every single user added to the system. 147518. By default users will not get video/audio device access and thus can't output audio or use 3D/XVideo(?) acceleration.
Realtime previlege support currently broken: Needs pam support 313588 326555
1.3. well-known device files
symbollic link to DVD device
symbollic link to CDROM device
symbollic link to default OSS device
symbollic link to default OSS device
1.4. sound input/output selection
When applications try to open a sound device, they should try to detect what sound output device is available. The priority of detection should be
1. jack
2. esd/arts/etc sound daemons
3. alsa
4. oss
and the applications should not start jack/esd/arts daemon themselves.
1.4.1. Currently discussed
Do we need to support all or just JACK/ALSA.
artsd supports JACK output
libjackasyn 'jacklaunch' allows OSS to JACK output.
1.5. jack
When connecting to jack as jack client, applications should have a reasonable default output connection. (This point was discussed in linux-audio-user, and trying to guess a default output without knowing what it really is considered not too favorable)
1.6. midi
When MIDI is supported, it should have a documented MIDI sequencer input/output device, documented in /usr/share/debian-multimedia/midi/{application} in XXX format
Users should be able to specify which ports applications should automagically connect to, configured in /etc/debian-multimedia/midi/XXXX
Example ways of invoking MIDI synthesizer server
timidity -B2,7 -Oj -iA
for the programming interface, it is documented in alsa documentation, which can be found in libasound2-doc package in Debian.
about the protocol, refer to external documentation. e.g. http://www.hinton-instruments.co.uk/midi/midicode.html http://www.borg.com/~jglatt/tech/midispec.htm
packages should install LADSPA plugins in
and add a Provides: ladspa-plugin
packages supporting ladspa plugins should seek for LADSPA plugins in
/usr/local/lib/ladspa:/usr/lib/ladspa/ iff LADSPA_PATH is unset.
and add a Recommends: ladspa-plugin (or Depends)
Package names can be taken from upstream names. If the upstream name is ambiguous, or otherwise unsuitable for a Debian package name, the binary package should be named as:
1.8. DSSI
A DSSI plugin is a LADSPA plugin, and should be packaged similarly to LADSPA plugin.
Currently the packages are named dssi-XXX-XXXX.
DSSI hosts
DSSI plugin? none are really packaged yet
DSSI maintainers, please fill in here.
1.9. LV2 (LADSPA successor)
See /LV2.
1.10. session handling (LASH)
LASH is deprecated as well as ladcca, please use ladish. liblash-compat-dev provides a dummy support for LASH, it is only for backward compatibility.
Here are some fledgling guidelines for packaging Pd-related projects for Debian.
Package Naming
2. Video Policy
2.1. v4l2
video4linux2 is in the kernel since 2.5.x
2.2. codecs
Each framework (mplayer, xine, vlc, gstreamer) has its own codec system. A codec such as theora is implemented as its own library (libtheora), which is then wrapped up by each of the multimedia frameworks.
MPlayer (from upstream) usually expects to find win32 codec DLLs in /usr/local/lib/codecs.
2.2.1. Free codecs
Applications should be packaged to support free codecs wherever possible, such as Theora and dirac.
2.3. Current Problems
There is no viable standard input/output system for video.
Gstreamer currently fills that gap in most parts.
2.4. Analog Recording Plugins
FIXME: This should probably be moved to a discussion page ... I'm not sure what is meant by this. The answer is LADSPA or LV2 plugins, probably run within ardour or another multi-track recording/editing application. There are several apps in addition to ardour that can group inputs to be routed through a given effect.
Where can info be found for coding plugins for audio captured through a AD/DA converter. i.e. a recording of 8 mics on a drum set but need a compression effect plugin. I see tons of MIDI but can never find stuff like this. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29077 | Next chapter, as promised, though if I don't get more reviews, my muse might go back to Jamaica... she likes to know when she's being appreciated! *hint hint*
"This is it," Cat said, eyeing the dark, stone mansion with more than a little trepidation, then glancing downwards as shards of glass crunched under her feet. She looked for the source and realized that the giant picture window above the mansion's front door was little more than a frame.
"What happened here?" Theo said, unconsciously echoing her thoughts.
"Let's find out," she suggested, and sliding her fingers into Theo's hand, proceeded to walk up the front walk towards the broken doors. Theo's grip tightened as they got closer, and Cat agreed; in the pre-dawn light, the Victorian mansion was extremely forbiding.
Spreading her heightened senses out to their extreme limit, she gently pushed one of the doors aside, wincing at the loud creaking sound it made as it's hinges protested the slight movement as Cat made a wide enough crack for them to slip through.
It was even darker inside the mansion, dark enough that Cat had to squint to look around for a lightswitch, and she sighed in frustration just as Theo's free hand found it and the quiet click was accompanied by... nothing. The lights didn't respond. "No power," Theo said matter-of-factly. "Come on."
He pulled her forward, apparently able to see where he was going, then stopped cold. By then, Cat's eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and she could see it, too: a large pile of black-clad bodies.
"SWAT?" she muttered, for the soldiers did bear a marked resemblance to the ones they'd seen not so long ago. She let go of Theo's hand and moved forward cautiously, grabbing one body by the shoulder and pulling it onto it's back, searching for dogtags. "Not SWAT," she said, finding none. "Something else."
"What do we do?" Theo asked, sounding slightly nauseated.
Cat thought for a moment, surveying the damaged foyer. "Well, the only bodies here are the attackers- at least, that's what I guess they are. Maybe this means that the Xavier guy got away."
"Will he come back, do you think?" Theo asked.
"Probably," Cat shrugged, and stood, grabbing the body by the shoulder strap on it's uniform. "Let's clean this place up a bit for him, huh?"
"Yeah," Theo said, dropping his backpack. "You want me to dig a hole?"
"No. Let's just get them out of the mansion, let Xavier decide what to do with them. Put the weapons in a separate pile, though." She found a butterfly knife in one of the guy's jacket pockets. "I'm keeping this."
"Yeah, this is mine," Theo said, waving a military-issue compass he'd found in another guy's pocket.
Clean-up went by in no time- with her powers, Cat could easily lift two or three bodies at the same time, and Theo worked with stoic determination. They eventually had close to twenty bodies, all the black-clad soldiers, lined up neatly on the front lawn, and a respectable pile of weapons in the foyer.
"Well, that was fun," Theo said, winded as he wiped blood off his arms with a paper towel he'd found in the kitchen. "Are we finished?"
She nodded, eyes on the books that lined the living room wall. "Think so."
There was a rustle of plastic as Theo dropped his paper towel in a trash can, and then less than a second's pause before he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned gratefully against him, glad of the reminder that she wasn't alone. "You're tired," she commented, sensing it in the slight tremble in his frame.
Feeling him shrug against her back was a sensation unto itself, for Theo was a lot stronger in the flesh than he looked from afar. "It's been a long day. Night," he corrected himself, for the sun was now shining brightly through the windows.
"Yeah." Now that she thought about it, she was nearly as exhausted as he was, more from the emotional roller-coaster the night had been than from the physical exertions, and she had to slap Theo's hand, which was idly stroking her stomach, simply because she was too tired to follow up on what her instincts wanted her to do. "Do you think we can get on the couch without letting go?" she asked wistfully, eyeing the plush leather with longing.
He laughed, pulled her towards it until the side of her leg brushed against it, and then deftly fell sideways so that they did, indeed, end up horizontal on the couch. She squirmed around until she could rest her head on his chest, and that was all she could manage to do before she fell asleep.
Review! Next chapter... (drumroll, please) ...X-MEN!!!! |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29078 | This story was inspired by Avril Lavigne's song, Too Much To Ask. If you would like to read this story in its original songfic form, check my profile for the link to my AFF . net profile.
Disclaimer: The characters from Yu-Gi-Oh! are the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi. The lyrics from Too Much To Ask are the intellectual property of Avril Lavigne. This story, along with the original character Eshe Tutankhka, are the intellectual property of Lightning Sage. Do not copy this story, in part or in its entirety.
Disclaimer applies to the whole story.
Too Much To Ask
Chapter 1: Lonely
Eshe's Point of View
At last, I'm moving to Domino City. I'm finally going to get to see Seto again.
I pulled up to the curb of my new house on Main Street, taking a step out of my VW Bug. It wasn't a very big house, but it was satisfactory.
It took me a lot of hard work to get myself where I am. I am a successful music star, thanks to my enthusiasm and dedication to the world of music. My devotion to literature and poetry also helped me to become the flourishing songwriter that I am. I travel to places around the world approximately one time per month to perform. People pay very good money to see me. I no longer need to take many journeys out of the country. The people come to see me, instead.
I wanted a place to settle that would be somewhat quiet. I did not want to be constantly pestered by fans. In truth, I love my fans; I just don't like them ceaselessly badgering me for autographs. I know Domino City is rather large, but there are so many other important people in the area, that I will seem like an average person.
For example, Seto Kaiba, the C.E.O. of Kaiba Corporation, is one of the big guys in the area. His celebrity status dwarves mine. In addition, there's that kid, Yugi Muto, who is the Duel Monsters Champion. Supposedly he beat Seto at Duel Monsters; now he has claimed the title as the number one duelist in the entire world.
I unlocked the door to my house, motioning for the porters to start moving my belongings inside. They started with some of the heavier furniture, grunting and groaning as they went. They carried the fixtures into my house, making sure not to scratch the polished floor. Their flushed faces glistened with sweat.
I had to do a lot of begging to convince my stepparents to let me move here. I persuaded them when I assured them that I'd have more privacy in Japan than I would in England, where they lived. I told them that I'd pay for everything myself, and that I'd call if I had any trouble.
The real reason I've come to Japan is to see Seto. I hear about him on TV all the time, and see his face on the screen nearly every day. But I can tell something's wrong with him. I've known for quite a while now. It's been bugging me for years, and I've been longing to see him again in person. I've known him for nine years, and his temperament has changed dramatically. I can see it in his eyes. I want to be there to help him.
I decided I should pay him a visit today, and maybe surprise him. But I'm feeling rather nervous. I haven't seen him in six years. He's the only real friend I ever had, and we seem to have lost touch over the passing years.
I'm almost always surrounded by fans, people who adore me. I like that feeling, that feeling of acceptance, that feeling of being admired.
But it's not real.
This feeling of acceptance--it's not real. My fans don't admire me, they admire my music. Everyone who wants to be my friend--it's because of my music. And my celebrity status. They don't want to be friends with me.
That's why Seto was different. He knew me before I became famous. He respected me, because of who I was, because of my personality. He was the only one that would talk to me, or have anything to do with me before I became a well-known music star.
All of a sudden--BOOM! I became famous, my CDs were selling faster than any other young artist in England. Then, suddenly, everyone wanted to be my friend.
And I let them. I let them become my "friend." I let people, even the ones who were cruel to me in school, take advantage of my superstar status, and be my "friend."
I just had to get away from that school. In my old school, London High, I was the center of an endless swarm of bees. Instead, I'll go to Domino High to finish my remaining year of high school.
A few hours later the moving crew completed their grueling task of moving all of my belongings. I paid them each a gracious tip and thanked them for their help.
I knew Seto was a busy man, so I decided that it would be considerate to call him before barging into his office. Besides, if he didn't know I was coming, his guards probably wouldn't let me through.
I had his personal phone number, from many years ago, stuffed inside one of my bags. He'd given it to me before he and his brother, Mokuba, left with Gozaburo Kaiba…
It was a bright, sunny day. It was a little humid, due to the downpour the city of Tokyo, Japan. There was a rainbow, stretching across the sky, radiating with a beautiful light.
I was sitting on one of the swings outside of the orphanage, talking to Mokuba, who was sitting on the swing next to mine.
"I can't wait till tomorrow," Mokuba declared.
"How come?" I asked.
"Don't you know what tomorrow is?"
I thought about it for a minute, my expression slightly curious. Tomorrow was October 25…
"Oh, I know!" I exclaimed, my face brightening with recognition. "It's Seto's birthday tomorrow!"
"Yup," he agreed. "Look what I got him…"
I gasped when Mokuba revealed a stack of strange-looking cards. "They're called Duel Monsters cards," he explained. "He's been wanting a deck of his own for a while, because they've been advertising them a lot on TV. But you know the orphans are forbidden to leave the orphanage grounds. . ."
"You. . .left?" I whispered, still shocked.
"Yeah. I snuck out a few nights ago. I bought them using the money I've been saving up."
"Mokuba, you shouldn't have done that!" I chastised. "You could've been caught! Can you imagine what kind of trouble you could've been in?"
"But I wasn't caught, so relax, Eshe," he responded.
I sighed. No matter how good Mokuba's intentions were, I was sure this wouldn't bode well with Seto.
Seto approached me from behind, grasping my shoulders. "AHH!" I screamed, tumbling from the swing.
"Hey, what were you guys whispering about?" he inquired.
"Nothing," we both responded hastily.
Seto eyed us, his eyebrows furrowed with suspicion. "Aw, c'mon guys! You can tell me!"
"It's a surprise," Mokuba blurted out.
Seto raised an eyebrow. "A surprise?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
"I can't tell you yet…"
Seto blinked in confusion. "Hey, what are you hiding behind your back, Mokie?" he wondered, noticing Mokuba's concealed hands.
"Don't tell me 'nothing.' What are you hiding?"
Mokuba groaned. "I guess I'm busted." He grabbed Seto's hand, placing the Duel Monsters cards inside of it. "Happy early birthday, Big Brother!" Seto's hand closed around the cards, and he brought them up to his face to examine them.
"Wow! Duel Monsters cards?" he cried, his eyes glowing with animation. "Where'd you get these, Mokie?"
"From some convenience store…"
"Mokuba! You know you're not supposed to leave the orphanage grounds!"
Mokuba averted his eyes, his head held abate. "I know, Big Brother. I'm sorry."
Abruptly Seto wrapped his little brother in a warm hug. "Thank you so much, Mokie. This means so much to me."
Mokuba glanced up, his eyes watery. "Really?"
Seto nodded. "Yes, really."
The two brothers stood like that for a minute, embracing each other. At last they released each other, and the three of us walked over and took a seat on a bench.
"So, what's up, Seto?" I asked. "I thought you'd be inside right now bugging Mr. Kaiba with questions about chess."
"I did," Seto replied carefully. "I can't believe he actually visited OUR orphanage."
"Yeah," Mokuba chimed in. "I think he donated some of his money to this place."
"Well, I guess he's making things a little better for us," I remarked. "After all, this place could use some renovating."
Seto didn't respond. He merely sat there, staring at his shoes.
"Seto, what's wrong?" I questioned.
Seto finally looked up at me, his gaze meeting mine. "You, Mokuba, and I are going to be adopted."
I sat there in complete shock, having difficulty absorbing the information. "What?!"
"You heard me," he responded icily. "I challenged Gozaburo Kaiba to a chess match, making him promise that if I won, he'd have to adopt you, Mokuba, and I. I won."
"Seto…I don't know what to say…"
"It's our ticket out of this place, Eshe."
"Okay," I acceded. "Let's all go together."
The three of us walked back into the orphanage, greeting Gozaburo Kaiba at the door.
"Mr. Kaiba, this is Eshe," Seto proclaimed, gesturing towards me, "and this is Mokuba." Mokuba gave a small wave. "They're the two people that I was talking about earlier."
Gozaburo glared at me. "You're a girl," he stated flatly.
"Yes, I am, sir," I responded politely.
"I will NOT adopt a GIRL!" Gozaburo thundered. "It's enough already that I have to adopt you two brats!" Gozaburo slapped me across the face. I cringed, my cheek stinging. "Get out of my sight, you little monster!" he spat.
I sat there, on the cold, hard floor, weeping. I made no attempt to move; I was scared, curled up in a ball.
"GO!" Gozaburo roared, only causing me to sob harder. He kicked me in the ribs, making me slump further towards the floor.
I couldn't move. A sharp pain pierced my body. I lay there, my ribs smarting and aching. Gozaburo made another move to attack me, but Seto stepped in between us.
"STOP!" he yelled. "Don't hurt her!"
"Get out of my way, boy!" Gozaburo snarled. "Or you'll be next!"
"No!" Seto objected. "I won't let you hurt her!"
"Then maybe I shouldn't adopt her, or else I can GUARANTEE she will be hurt."
Seto stared down at me helplessly, knowing he was defeated. "I'm sorry, Eshe."
"You also may want to reconsider having me adopt you and your little brother," Gozaburo continued.
I stared at Seto, my eyes pleading for him to stay. Don't do it, Seto. You know you'll get hurt…this guy is bad news.
Seto turned back towards Gozaburo, his eyes filled with confidence. "Proceed with the adoption process. Eshe will not be included."
Gozaburo didn't seem surprised. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Just don't hurt my brother. Leave him alone." Seto's assertive voice rang throughout the room. "Do we have a deal?"
Gozaburo smirked. "Yes. Indeed, we do." He spun on the heel of his polished shoe, and had disappeared within seconds.
Mokuba was watching the entire conversation, his eyes wide with confusion. "What's going on, Seto?"
Seto reached out, clasping onto his little brother's hand. "You and I are going to be adopted, Mokuba. We're finally going to get somewhere in life," he whispered, his eyes glistening with tears. "We just have to stick together, okay?"
"What about Eshe?"
"She can't come, Mokuba. Gozaburo won't allow it."
Seto strode over and knelt beside me. "I'm sorry, Eshe. You can't come with us. You know what will happen if you do."
"I know," I responded, nodding. Abruptly I burst into tears, realizing what this meant for Seto. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Yes. Don't worry about me."
"Seto, please don't do this. Don't go," I begged him.
"Eshe, I don't want to be stuck here forever. I want to BE somebody. I have a dream; someday, I want to help kids like us who don't have parents to take care of them. I want to build a nice orphanage, where the kids are happy and the staff is good. Someday, I hope that there won't be any more kids who suffer in a run-down orphanage like this."
It was true. The orphanage we had stayed in for the past few years was not good at all. The caretakers were mean; they made us do a lot of work during the week. Sometimes even on weekends. We had to clean the house, maintain the garden, make the beds; you name it. The work was rather taxing. In addition, the other kids were very cruel to the three of us. The bullied us, and we didn't even do anything to anger them. We were just…THERE.
"Seto, are you sure about this?"
"Yes. I have to do this. It's the only way."
I dropped it from there. I knew Seto wasn't going to change his mind; once he makes up his mind about something, he refuses to back down. He is as stubborn as a bull.
I just hope they don't get hurt, I thought. Gozaburo Kaiba doesn't seem to like them very much. And I don't think he always keeps his promises. Seto, I hope you know what you're doing…
I pulled Mokuba and Seto into a hug, despite the physical pain that it caused me. I didn't feel the physical pain as much; the emotional burden of seeing them leave was unbearable. I felt a ripping sensation tear through my heart. I didn't want to ever let go of them, but I knew I had to eventually.
"I'm going to miss you guys so much," I sobbed, my eyes brimming with tears. "It's going to be so lonely here without you two to brighten up my day."
"Don't worry, we can keep in touch still," Seto suggested. He held out a piece of paper that had ten numbers scrawled onto it. "This is Gozaburo's personal phone number. You can reach us there. Try to call us, even if it's against orphanage rules."
"Where'd you get that number?"
"I saw it on the adoption papers," Seto explained. "So don't forget to call us every once in a while, if you ever get a chance."
"Yeah," Mokuba agreed. "We'd love to hear from you."
I finally released them from my grip. Gozaburo appeared again, waiting for the two newly inducted Kaiba family members. "Let's go," he grunted.
"Goodbye, Eshe. We'll miss you," Seto told me, waving.
"Bye, Eshe," was Mokuba's farewell.
"Goodbye, you two. I hope I'll see you again someday," I murmured.
"Don't worry. You will," Seto responded, winking.
I didn't think this was possible at the time. I believed I was going to be in that disgusting orphanage for the rest of my life. When I was finally adopted my stepparents, however, I was given a spark of hope. I was adopted six months later by Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, a wealthy English family. The day I was adopted, I was taken to London, England. That day, I vowed that I would see Seto and Mokuba Kaiba again someday, even if it was the last thing I did.
As soon as I got to my new home, I called the number that Seto had given me. Seto picked up the phone, speaking in a neutral voice. I noticed his voice had grown deeper and somewhat raspy.
"Hello. Kaiba speaking."
"Seto! It's Eshe, do you remember me?"
"Eshe?" his voice brightened. "I can't believe it! How did you manage to call us?"
"I got adopted."
"Really? That's fantastic, Eshe! Is the family nice?"
"Yes, they're quite remarkable people. I was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, of England."
"Wow! I've heard of them! They're really rich and famous!"
"That's right. So, how are you doing?"
"…I'm doing fine," came Seto's hesitant reply. His voice became noticeably downcast.
"Seto? Are you sure? You don't sound fine…"
"I'm fine…really."
"Seto, are you sure there isn't something you want to talk about?" I asked, feeling worried.
"I'm sure. The mansion's great and everything; there's so much cool machinery here."
"How is Mokuba? Can I talk to him?"
"No, sorry. He's sleeping. There's a time difference, you know. It's about ten o'clock here right now."
"Oh, I am so sorry, Seto. Did I wake you?"
"No, not at all."
I was concerned about Seto. Something didn't sound right. His voice was lifeless, and I could feel his sorrow even through the phone line. There was silence for a moment, until I heard a terrible shrieking.
"Brat, what are you doing?! Get down here right now!!"
My blood froze. I knew that voice. That was the voice of Gozaburo Kaiba.
Seto's breathing quickened. "Uh-oh, I gotta go, Eshe. Tell me your number quickly, and I'll call you later," he promised.
I told him my number, and he memorized it. I often wondered how he was able to memorize so many things. He has a gift, I suppose.
"Don't call me again. I'll call you. Gozaburo doesn't like me to use the phone," he informed me.
"BOY, WHO ARE YOU ON THE PHONE WITH?" came Gozaburo's thundering voice.
There was a sudden click; Seto had hung up. I hope he doesn't get into trouble, I thought, panicking. I'd never forgive myself if he got beaten because of my call.
Deep down, I knew what consequences awaited Seto. I broke down crying, tears streaming down my cheeks. "My Ra, Seto. I'm so sorry," I sobbed. "Ra, please help Seto. Don't let him be hurt."
Seto promised to call me that day. Days passed, weeks passed, MONTHS passed. I never heard from Seto. I knew Seto would never deliberately leave me in the dark like that. That's when I decided to risk another call, a year later. I just HAD to make sure he was okay.
But I knew he wasn't okay. Something was wrong. Seto was in trouble.
I sighed. I knew it wasn't good to dwell on the past, but I couldn't help it. If only I had tried to talk Seto out of going with Gozaburo. If only I had prevented him from walking into the clutches of that evil man. If only I had done something about what was happening to Seto, he might actually be happy now.
Because I knew he wasn't happy. Not now, not since he was adopted by Gozaburo. Seto has been ripped apart on the inside, beaten from both the inside and outside. What Gozaburo did affected him to the very core.
And now Gozaburo was gone. He got his just desserts.
But that didn't wash away the agony Seto went through all those years. Gozaburo continues to influence Seto to this very day.
And I am going to put an end to Gozaburo's evil once for all.
Please Review! |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29080 | We, In Faith
By King
Chapter One: Uncertainty
"How much longer already?" James complained obnoxiously.
It was freezing cold on this October evening and these blasted foreigners still had yet to show hide or hair of themselves. He was not often prone to bouts of childlike impatience but being back at his old school after so long and the fervent excitement of the students milling, crowded about him had infected James with an overwhelming sense of euphoria and glad anticipation. Still, despite all of this, he was extremely glad for once to have the chance to act like the right idiot he was.
Lily glanced, amused at her husband. She knew when he had insisted on not taking a cloak that this would happen. Really, whatever convinced some men that standing out in the chill practically naked was so strong and… manly was beyond her. But some testosterone-driven tendencies were inevitable for some people.
Sidling closer, a handsomely aged man with his dark hair pulled back in what he considered a right dashing ponytail rubbed his arms and gnashed his teeth in a vain attempt to bring warmth to his body.
"I'm with you, James," Sirius muttered. "These people should get their sorry arses down here at once."
Beside Lily, Remus Lupin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sirius, these people should have been down here with their 'sorry arses', as you so charmingly put it, three years ago."
"Yeah, and I wonder whose fault that was," he replied, looking pointedly at James and Lily.
"Hey, Hey!" James complained, raising his hands as if to knock away unwarranted blows, "We were never part of the planning committee."
Sirius snorted. "Guilty by association."
Ever since the Potters had bagged the job of aurors at the Ministry, Sirius had made a point of complaining about every single little failure and fault of the government to his two friends, and the disastrous results from the attempt to resurrect the Triwaizard Tournament from three years ago had been no different. Somehow the Ministry had gathered so many problems surrounding the Tournament, that they just plum out decided to postpone it until it could be correctly and carefully organized again.
The said problems had been terrible embarrassments and had included: a spy harboring info in and out of England to the two other schools involved for copious amounts of money, the dragons planned to be used for the First Task quite suddenly being startled into a stampede that crushed their egg clutches because of government officials inspecting them far too 'personally' (these green agents these days always got terribly excited when something larger and more dangerous than a niffler was staring them down), the mermaid negotiations failing miserably when someone had thought it quite proper to inquire about 'southerly bodily functions', and other (slightly less humiliating) legal mishaps.
The current Tournament committee had taken all of their predecessors' mistakes and carefully planned out the Tasks and security with more caution. The 'security' was two aurors commissioned to keep an eye on things at each major event in the Tournament such as the Welcoming Feast, the Tasks, and so on. Upon hearing about the fairly easy job that was comparative to babysitting, Lily and James had immediately volunteered. Being able to see their old friends, the Professors Lupin and Black, and their son frequently throughout the events had been an extra bonus.
Their son… Lily frowned vaguely. "Just imagine…" she had murmured before she had realized it.
James looked at her, slightly concerned. "Imagine what, Lily?"
"Oh…" she blinked at her husband. "I was just thinking that Harry would have been old enough to be a Champion this year…"
Sirius and Remus glanced at each other nervously. James stared at his wife in surprise and swallowed convulsively. She looked away, flushed.
"Yeah, but, unfortunately, we only have a naughty little fourth-year," Prongs abruptly stated with much exaggerated gusto, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "It really is a great disappointment to this poor old man who had such high hopes for great glory and honor and what not."
"Well, I'm so terribly sorry that I can't age three years at the snap of a finger, Dad," a sarcastic voice sounded at James's side.
Looking down at a lanky fourteen-year old, he grinned. That was his Ainsley, all right. A regular chip off the old block. "Really, son, you wound me! I'd have never spoken to my parents in such a way!" he exclaimed dramatically.
Everyone in hearing vicinity snorted loudly. James gazed about innocently and most everyone roared with laughter.
In truth, James was extremely relieved to have changed the subject. Ever since the loss of their first child, Lily and James had struggled to overcome the grief and horror of it. Their supposed friend, Peter Pettigrew, had been asked to look after Harry that Halloween night while the Potters were out on important business. Upon receiving full access to the only thing that stood in the way of his master Voldemort, Peter had lead the Dark Lord to Godric's Hollow and betrayed their trust. No one really knew exactly what had happened that night, because by the time James and Lily had arrived back home, the house was burning down fiercely and the dark mark was shining horridly above their heads.
They had attempted to douse the flames, but it had been in vain. When Ministry help finally arrived, it was too late. What little was left of the house they had made a home of was unrecognizable. They were unable to find Harry or Peter. However, after three weeks of searching, Pettigrew was sighted and captured in Prague. They were only able to learn from him that he had indeed been the one to inform Voldemort before he suddenly managed to escape, in the form of a rat. A week later his body was found in a gully, cause of death unknown.
It was around this time that the Death Eaters disbanded and Voldemort's attacks ceased completely. The entire wizarding world was amazed; how could the loss of a tiny baby's life (certainly he had not survived, what with an attack from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself and then that terrible fire) have caused the downfall of one of the most powerful wizards in history? Many suspected that he was only in hiding, biding his time until he could pounce. However, all of the ex-Death Eaters captured had wildly claimed that it had indeed been the fault of that 'gods-cursed Potter brat'. No one was completely sure, but they were all too weary from the war to not be relieved. They soon found themselves lulling into a calm peace.
As for the Potters, they suffered greatly over Harry. They were both overwhelmed with regret that he never had had a chance for a good, normal childhood. He never had a chance to grow up. But soon the years passed and the sharp pain dulled to a distant ache. Then Ainsley was born. Both knew that even though he would not be able to replace Harry, they would both love him just as much as they had their first.
"…such an idiot, James!" Lily's voice suddenly broke through her husband's musings.
He looked at his her mildly and said sweetly, "But I'm your idiot, Lily-Flower!"
"Is that so, Jamesie?" she answered, smiling.
Ainsley looked between them, slightly green. "I'm gonna be sick."
"Hey, look at it this way, kid," Sirius said, grinning, "at least you haven't walked in on them!"
The dark-cherry haired boy looked at his godfather, horrified.
"I think you've mentally scared him for life, Padfoot," Remus coughed lightly, grinning.
James looked at Sirius indignantly. "Really, Sirius, you know how expensive psychiatry sessions are nowadays!"
Ainsley sniffed in an effort to look scornful, which turned out more like he had the sniffles, and stalked away like an angry cat.
Lily rolled her eyes and removed James's arm, which had snaked around her waist and stated loftily, "The three of you act like utter children at times. I don't see how you sleep at night."
"Oh, it's horrible, Li– "
"Hush!" interrupted Remus suddenly, "Look!" His hand pointed out a large black blob out in sky.
"That must be Beauxbatons…" Lily muttered as she squinted at the sky. "Did anyone hear how they were coming?"
"No, but we should head over there in any case," Remus answered, starting down the steps of Hogwarts castle where the old school friends had been chatting amicably.
James and Sirius looked at each other and gave a collective sigh. Time to act like adults again. The pair followed after Lily and Remus who were steadily making a part through the bay of students. Approaching the head of the crowd, the rest of the school staff came into view- all waiting with eyes avidly watching the approaching figures in the sky.
Sighting his old headmaster, James smiled and waved sunnily. Dumbledore smiled back, blue eyes amused.
"Hallo, Severus! Long time no see." James said cheerfully, slipping up beside a certain potions master.
"Potter, if you had any brains at all you would have recalled the displeasure of having to set up your 'security measures' through myself just this morning. Fortunately, as you have no brains, I believe I shall deign to ignore your ignorance." Snape's voice was filled with utter contempt and he had stared directly forward through his entire harangue.
James grinned. "But, Severus, since I've no brains how can you expect me to understand such big words?"
"James!" Lily glared at him furiously.
He quailed under her looks and kept his mouth shut, gazing with everyone else at the dark figures in the sky. Snape snorted scornfully.
Soon the vague shapes became more distinct as they quickly advanced on the castle. It was three black carriages, two smaller and one larger. They were utterly huge, each the size of a house, and were being pulled swiftly through the air by perhaps two dozen white, winged horses as large as small elephants.
The students oohed and aahed, particularly the girls, as the coaches landed gracefully on the soft turf. Up close you could tell they were extremely valuable from the intricate gold edging and gild. On each door was an emblem of two crossed wands each emitting stars. And the horses were nothing if not beautifully impressive and dignified.
The door of one of the smaller carriages opened and a small, silvery carpeted staircase extended smoothly down to the grass. Around six silken and fur robed young men descended down the steps. Several girls (and a few boys) could be heard sighing appreciatively. One rushed quickly, yet gracefully, toward the larger carriage as the rest headed at a slower pace to the last one. Reaching up the side of the bigger coach, the boy tapped it lightly with his wand. It opened just as the other had and the flight of steps was much the same except looking a bit sturdier and wider. An immense figure could be seen preparing to alight.
A few people gasped, despite McGonagall's severe looks. James himself was quite startled as well. He wasn't sure that he'd ever seen someone so large as Madame Olympe Maxime. Except perhaps the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid. Still, perhaps it was simply because he had seen so much of Hagrid that Madame Maxime seemed quite a bit larger. Her shoes seemed the size of a child's sled and the carriages and horses suddenly seemed incredibly dwarfed by the woman. She had a handsome, olive-skinned face with large, onyx, liquid-looking eyes. Her nose was faintly reminiscent of Snape's over-sized conk. She was adorned elegantly in black satin and lace with a gray furred shawl draped casually about her strong shoulders. The teen that had stood respectfully by the carriage gave a deep bow as she nodded to him.
Dumbledore started to clap and the rest followed his lead. Madame Maxime smiled graciously and moved forward, extending a bejeweled hand. The headmaster, though quite tall himself, had only to barely bob his head to kiss it. Behind them, the other boys could be seen opening the last carriage in the same manner. Half a dozen girls flitted gracefully down, curtsying as the boys bowed. Each youth offered his arm forward and his partner accepted, clinging daintily.
James was sure that Ainsley was quite revolted by their behavior. He himself felt a bit nauseous by the entire rigmarole and, glancing at Sirius, he could tell he felt similarly. Lily was delighted. Typical woman.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore began, "my dear Madame Maxime."
The Beauxbatons students began lining up behind their headmistress.
"Dumbly–dorr, I 'ope I find you well?" Madame Maxime inquired with deep, rich voice.
"In excellent health, I thank you," he answered.
Waving a hand behind her carelessly, she said, "My pupils."
Each teen bowed or curtsied, studying the headmaster impassively. Creepy lot.
"What do you zink of my carriages?" she said, looking proudly at the beautiful, looming figures behind them. "I 'ad planned only to bring one, but zen we 'ad three extra years to prepare, so I am afraid zat I could not resist…"
"They are quite magnificent," Dumbledore commented, admiring them himself.
"Yes… well, Karkaroff 'as not arrived yet?" asked Madame Maxime.
"I'm afraid not," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to step inside to warm up or would you like to stay and greet him?"
"I think warm up, but ze 'orses…" she replied.
Dumbledore smiled. "Our Care if Magical Creatures teacher will be absolutely delighted to care for them."
Sirius startled and looked alarmed. He looked desperately as James, who merely shrugged. Sirius began to edge away, disappearing into the crowd.
"Sirius? Would you care to…" the headmaster began but trailed off as he could not spot the missing professor.
"Dumbly-dorr?" Madame Maxime queried.
"I'm sure I just saw him… James, do you know where Sirius is?"
James searched his mind frantically for an answer. "Er… I'm not sure. He was right here just a moment ago… He might be in the loo or something…" Clever.
Lily stared at him, aghast. James was never one to pretty up words.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly. "Well, I'm sure he will be back quite soon."
"But my steeds require – er, how do you say, – forceful 'andling," Madame Maxime said hesitantly. She looked as though she doubted whether anyone at Hogwarts could handle her horses. James privately agreed with her. "Zey are very strong…"
"I assure you that Sirius will be up to the job," said Dumbledore.
"Very well," Madame Maxime bowed slightly as she replied. "Will you please inform zis Zirius zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"
Dumbledore bowed in return. "It shall be attended to."
"Come," Madame Maxime imperiously ordered her students, and they parted the way before them through the Hogwarts crowd. They passed serenely up the stone steps.
James grinned and turned slightly toward Remus. "How long do you think old Padfoot will hide?"
"Probably till the start of dinner," he replied as he rolled his eyes. "You know how he is with that stomach."
"Why, Moony! You should have more faith in your friends," James gasped mockingly. "I say until tomorrow… Care to make it interesting?"
Remus's eyebrows rose. "Five galleons."
Lily ignored them. She wished they would get over this whole school days fever, or whatever it was, and act their ages and not their wand lengths.
"Hey, Lily!" James called. "Wanna get some this action?"
Exasperated, Lily sighed, "No, James, I do not. In fact, I find myself quite loath to stay in the presence of any Marauder." She looked sharply at Remus at the last part, as if she had expected better of him.
"Aw, Lils–"
But she was already headed back toward the castle, ignoring James's half-hearted pleas.
"James," Remus said, frowning, "do you hear something?"
Prongs stood silent, listening. An odd noise was drifting upward from the ground. It was like a muffled rumbling and thundering sound, moving steadily nearer and becoming louder. Several shouts of 'the ground!' sounded throughout the crowd of students. They looked about nervously, wondering if they should run somewhere.
Peering past Snape, James watched the smooth surface of the turf as it suddenly became not quite so smooth. A great disturbance was taking place in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds. Mounds of earth began to bulge and collapse like water; waves of dirt and soil began to surge and buckle. And then, right in the very middle, a tall, slender mast appeared and the earth began to swirl like a whirlpool. Slowly, majestically, a ship rose out of the earth, covered in soft clay. It looked much like a restored sea wreck, with dusky light spilling forth from portholes like phantom eyes. Finally, with a great crumbling, booming sound, the ship emerged completely and settled upon the ground. The clunk of a plank could be heard.
People were disembarking; they could see several bulky silhouettes pausing in the light from the portholes. As they neared, James noticed that their stoutness was due to cloaks of an odd matted and shaggy fur, not hereditary. But the man leading them was dressed quite differently; his furs were sleek and silver, much like his hair.
"Dumbledore!" he called heartily, climbing up the slope. "How are you, how are you, my dear fellow?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," the headmaster replied stepping forward to shake his hand.
Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the castle's front doors they saw he was rather tall and rake-like, similar to Dumbledore. However, his white hair was short, and his weak chin was not entirely hidden by his goatee that finished in a curl.
"Dear old Hogwarts," he murmured, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were quite yellow and his smile contrasted sharply with cold, shrewd eyes. "How wonderful to be here, how wonderful… But, anyway, Dumbledore, I hope you don't mind that about your lawn…" He gestured vaguely behind. "But you see… those mermaids… Well, I'm sure you understand."
Dumbledore nodded graciously and replied, "Of course, of course, it is really actually own our part to apologize to you; it was our duty to guarantee the success of those negotiations, and we failed…"
"Ach, nonsense, nonsense! No harm, absolutely no harm in getting in a bit of mud!" He laughed harshly.
Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively and added, "Perhaps we should get in from the cold, Professor Karkaroff? I'm sure the students would be quite grateful to finally fill their aching bellies, and truthfully, so would I!"
Karkaroff laughed his strange, brutal laugh and followed Dumbledore as he headed up to the castle. The shivering Hogwarts students followed with their teachers (and James) trailing behind.
"This is awful."
Jean glanced at Meri through the corner of his eye. The brunette was staring about this 'Great Hall' glumly. By the way he looked around in a slightly lofty manner, she could tell he agreed with her. The benches and tables were made of a rough, uncomfortable wood and the cheap enchantment on the ceiling looked terribly tacky. It was all coarse, harsh angles with nothing but horrid wood and freezing cold stone. Meri shivered beside him and clutched a small fur cape closer.
"And what a draft!" she complained loudly, in French as before.
Their classmates lined down the table nodded sympathetically.
"Meri, perhaps it would be wiser to be more considerate of the… understandable shortcomings of our hosts…" Jean murmured softly to her.
Turning to him, Meri glared fiercely. "Oh, that's perfectly easy for you, Prince Charming, but we simple plebeians unfortunately need far more comforts."
"If you say so, dear Mariette," he smiled softly at her, amused.
She stuck her lip out in a pout. She could never really actually stay angry with Jean for long. He was too sly with the way he used his charm to soothe her irritability. And it was only with her that he used it for that reason, except perhaps a few others. She shook her head. Sometimes Jean was all too crafty for his own good.
"Hmm… there are too many chairs up there…" Jean muttered, staring up at the long table facing the other four tables meant for students. "There should be only two more…"
Meri rolled her eyes. "Does it matter?"
"None whatsoever." He grinned at her, casually running a hand through his dusky hair. "They must be for British Ministry officials…"
"And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?" she asked indifferently.
"Did you not count those teachers outside? And those two aurors? Include Headmistress and Professor Karkaroff, and you have two seats left. Only someone from the Ministry would be allowed to dine here today… so you see."
Skeptical, Meri said, "How could you tell the aurors from the teachers?"
"Their hands were rougher. And their stances were very alert." He answered, watching as dozens of Hogwarts students filed in.
She sighed, wondering why she even bothered. It would only make her feel even more the little idiot for not being as observant and oh so terribly clever as Jean. He was extremely annoying at times. But nothing in the world would ever be able to convince her that he wasn't the most wonderful friend anyone could hope for.
Beside her, Jean cleared his throat, watching several students around their age approach the table at which they were sitting. "Meri, please try and keep your temper for this one night?"
She looked at him suspiciously. Meri was very aware that she had a horribly short fuse and knew that Jean never really minded it. The only reason he would ask such a thing was if he were planning something. And Jean never planned something if it weren't worth it. "If I must."
He nodded and smiled as a few Hogwarts students sat across from them. How extraordinarily plain they were! A girl with horribly frizzy hair that made her look like some sort of hedge, a freckled, gangly boy with red hair that surely must have clashed with anything he attempted to wear, and a girl that seemed to be some sort of relation to the redhead.
The first girl smiled tentatively and held out a hand, "Um, hi. I'm Hermione Granger… oh! You do speak English, don't you?"
Jean leaned forward slightly and clasped her hand bringing it up to his lips with a polite kiss. "It iz a pleasure, Mizz Granger. I am Jean Pole. And yes, we both speak English."
Meri held out her hand demurely and said, "I am Mariette Clehedault. A pleasure, I'm sure, Mizz Granger." Really, Jean and his dramatics! She had only followed suit because she trusted him to not make a fool out the two of them.
The silly, frizzy Granger blushed and shook her head wildly, "Oh, really, you can just call me Hermione…"
"Ron Weasley." The tall redhead said shortly, yet politely. How clever. Meri noticed the boy staring a bit too long at her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes; what a terrible curse extreme beauty such as hers was!
The other girl elbowed him subtly as she said, "I'm Ginny Weasley."
"It iz lovely to meet you, Ginny." Jean said as he kissed her hand. "Younger zister?" He added, looking at Ron.
"Er, yeah, she is…" Ron said suspiciously, glaring at him.
Jean smiled back pleasantly. "Ah, do not worry. I mean no 'arm; it is only customary to greet young ladies in zuch a way in France…"
He looked relieved. "Well, if you say so."
Some people were far too gullible to be allowed.
"Zo, are any you zeventeen yet?" Jean inquired casually, his eyes the color of fresh cut grass glinted shrewdly. Meri leaned forward, her waves of hair like maple syrup brushing the table. Now they were getting to the point.
Hermione nodded and answered, "Yes, both Ron and I are. I'm not exactly sure if I'll be entering the Tournament though…"
"I am!" Ron jumped in enthusiastically. "I can't wait; I'm so going to be the Champion and win that prize money." He began staring off dreamily.
Meri doubted whether a greedy moron like this boy would ever be able to succeed in the eyes of the Goblet of Fire, let alone any of the Tasks. Jean's amused smile seemed to be saying the same.
"Ron, I wouldn't get your hopes up yet; we don't even who the judge will be," said Ginny.
Strange, hadn't their headmaster informed them? But then again, Dumbledore was quite notorious for being overtly fair and just. How typical it would be of him to leave his students ignorant about such an important step in winning great honor for their school. Meri decided the British were goody-two-shoe idiots.
Jean's face showed no trace of surprise as he said, "I do not zink zat you need to worry about ze judge; it must 'ave remained entirely impartial after all zese years or zey would not allow it to perform such an important task." It. Jean said 'it' not 'he' or 'she'. Was he mad? They wanted them to be completely ignorant; they were enemies! Just leaving that one little clue could lead any sensible person to the truth.
"True," said Hermione, "I guess we'll get the best person to represent our school no matter what."
"I'll be happy as long as it isn't a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin," Ron stated, crinkling his nose in distaste. "Or even worse– Malfoy."
He spat out the last word like a filthy curse. Jean's brows rose in surprise, genuine or otherwise, Meri couldn't tell.
"Iz zis Malfoy really zat 'orrible?" he inquired.
"Yes, he's the most arrogant, ugly, stuck-up, annoying, and jerky prat in the world!" Ron chanted angrily.
Hermione and Ginny rolled their eyes.
"Feel free to tune him out," Ginny said. "He's just jealous of Malfoy."
Ears turning bright red, Ron glared at his sister. "Me? Jealous? Are you mad!"
"Where iz zis Malfoy?" Jean asked Hermione. She pointed out a blonde across the hall.
"That's him."
Meri noticed that the Durmstrang students had decided to be seated with the Slytherins where Malfoy also was. They looked positively delighted to be in the dingy castle, fingering and examining the cheap golden plates and goblets and gazing open-mouthed at the ceiling.
However, the boy that Hermione pointed out was looking at the other guests with something like malicious amusement. He was also speaking candidly with several other Hogwarts students and gazing calculatingly at the visitors.
Jean nudged her slightly as the three sitting in front of them got caught up in their own discussion. Switching back to French he murmured to her. "Watch him. He's doing exactly what we are. I've heard of this Malfoy from the Poles, and from what the redhead said, he must be at least fairly competent."
Meri nodded slightly. So far from what they had seen, he was looking like the best choice to be the Hogwarts Champion. Jean and she had both agreed that a candidate from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would be unlikely because of past Triwizard records showing that the vast majority of Hogwarts Champions had come from Gryffindor and Slytherin for whatever reason. They would have to keep an eye on this Malfoy for the rest of the evening, but should probably still keep an eye out for anyone else the Goblet would be likely select.
Then the student body began to finally settle and the staff entered. Headmistress Maxime entered and instantly, Jean, Meri, and every other Beauxbatons student leaped respectfully to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. Meri glared at the nearest offender and he crumbled under her fierce glare, looking alarmed. Honestly, the barbarians!
Headmistress was soon seated and her students lowered themselves back down onto the hard benches. Meri quickly turned to Jean and whispered rapidly to him in angry French. The three across the table looked at her nervously. Jean shook his head and raised a hand to cut her off as Dumbledore remained standing.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, spirits, and – most especially – guests," he said, beaming at them. "I have the wonderful pleasure of welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."
Meri could not help but give a derisive laugh as the old man said this. Several Gryffindors around her bristled while her classmates glanced up at her, amused.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast, but I know invite you to all drink, eat, and make yourselves at home!" said Dumbledore, sitting down. Karkaroff leaned over to speak with him.
Hermione was glaring at Meri as her friends nervously stared at her. Jean gave her a cool look and turned to the Gryffindors with an apologetic smile.
"You'll 'ave to forgive my friend– she iz very proud but really means no 'arm…"
The girl looked slightly mollified but turned to Meri almost expectantly. Jean gave her a meaningful look.
"Meri, please apologize…" he murmured in French.
She glared at them all. How dare they think that she would humble herself to such ingrates! And Jean, she would have thought that he at least would not lower himself to such a level. She sprung up with a haughty glare and whispered fiercely to Jean, "If you think that I am going to apologize for such a thing to neanderthals, you've another thing coming!" She stalked away to sit by several Beauxbatons girls.
Jean sighed softly. He should have known better than to expect Mariette Clehedault to forget her pride.
At the staff table James was just getting into a fierce conversation with Ludo Bagman over Quidditch. Barty Crouch, who had arrived with Ludo, was giving them a look as if he had suddenly smelled something extremely smelly. Crouch always was a bit of a stick in the mud.
Lily, beside James, was letting her eyes roam over the students. She was making a strange face and James was worried she was still thinking about Harry. He opened his mouth to reassure her, but Dumbledore suddenly rose to his feet.
"The moment has arrived," he announced, smiling as a pleasant, expectant tension built up in the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is shortly to begin. I would like to say a few words in the way of explanation before we bring out the casket –" That would be the casket holding the Goblet of Fire. Lily and James had been informed to the utmost detail about the competition so that they could be properly aware of all the measures that should be undertaken to best fulfill their jobs as Tournament security. "– just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. First, though, let me introduce, for those that do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" – there were snatches of polite applause – "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of Department of Magical Games and Sports."
There was much louder applause for Ludo than Crouch, most likely because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he didn't look like a constipated fish.
"We also have the delight of two aurors entering our halls, Mr. James Potter and Mrs. Lily Potter," Dumbledore continued. Lily and James rose to their feet as eager applause spilled forth for them. James grinned cockily as his wife shook her head at him. No doubt most of the people here had heard about the heroic exploits of the Potters. Or, more likely, the story of their baby from sixteen years ago. Ainsley and several other Gryffindor boys were giving them catcalls.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few years – " here a ludicrous snort sounded at James's left. Looking over, he saw Sirius looking at Dumbledore with faint indignation. James caught his eye and Sirius smiled sheepishly. Padfoot silently mouthed 'got hungry'. Damn. He owed Moony five galleons now.
"– will be joining Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, and myself on the panel that will be judging the champions' endeavors." Dumbledore was still speaking. "Mr. and Mrs. Potter will be making sure that the Tournament security is at its best."
"Mr. Filch, the casket, if you please." The attentions of the waiting students sharpened and they trained their eyes on Dumbledore with bated breath. The headmaster smiled.
Filch, who had been skulking unnoticed in a far corner of the Great Hall, approached Dumbledore bearing a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked ancient. A murmur of excited curiosity whispered throughout the students; a fourth year Gryffindor boy with a mousy look actually stood on his chair to see it properly. James vaguely remembered him as being one of Ainsley's friends.
"Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman have already thoroughly examined the instructions for the tasks the champions shall undergo and have made the necessary preparations," went on Dumbledore as Filch placed the casket carefully in front of him. "There will be three tasks, spanning throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… their daring – their magical prowess – and, of course, their ability to cope with and endure danger."
At the last word, the entire hall was filled with complete, utter silence as if no one dared to breathe. James was tempted to turn over a chair or something with a loud bang just get a rise out of them.
"As you have already been told, only three champions can compete in the tournament," Dumbledore continued calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will each be marked on how well they perform the Tournament Tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an unbiased selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped the chest lightly three times. The lid groaned open slowly. Dumbledore reached inside it and carefully pulled out a large, crudely hewn wooden cup. It would have been utterly plain and common if it were not for the pale, bluish flames that filled it to the brim.
Dumbledore re–closed the chest and placed the goblet atop, clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as a champion must write his or her name and school clearly on a piece of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty–four hours in which to put forth their entry. Tomorrow, Halloween night, the goblet will give back the names of the three it has deemed worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely available to all those wishing to contend.
"To ensure that underage students do not yield to temptation," continued Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been put in the entrance hall. Nobody will be able to cross this line if they are under or over the age of seventeen.
"In conclusion, I wish to impress upon anyone wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into frivolously. Once the Goblet of Fire has selected a champion, they are obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet enacts a magical binding contract. There can be no changes of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, accordingly, that you are fully prepared to play before you drop your name in the goblet. Now, I believe it is time for bed. Good night to all of you."
Feeling Remus's eyes on him, James hurriedly got up from the table and made to leave. Unfortunately, a hand reached out and stopped him. James looked down at his wife's scowling face.
"James, you owe Remus," she warned. "If you really insist on making petty bets then at least have the integrity to honor them."
"Bet? What bet?" Sirius looked slightly pained, disappointed he had missed out on the fun.
James looked nervously at Remus, Sirius, and Lily. "Er, well, that is…"
"They were betting on how it would take you to come out of hiding, Sirius," Lily pronounced.
"Yes, and I won," said Remus smugly, "so pay up Prongs!"
Grumbling, he reluctantly pulled out five galleons and handed them over, giving all of them a dirty look. The group stepped down from the dais where the staff table was placed and inched along through a crowd of groggy but excited students. All of them were gossiping on who they thought would be the best candidate for champion was, and the more daring were plotting a way across the Age Line. Lily gave Ainsley a righteous glare when he passed by, speculating to a friend on where to get ingredients for an Aging Potion. James merely grinned and gave him two thumbs–up.
"So, Sirius, how did you handle those h– " James was interrupted abruptly as he crashed right into a student. The boy stumbled to the ground, cursing in French.
"Oh crap!" James cried as he quickly tried to help him up. The boy slapped his hands away and rose to his feet, dusting off emerald robes and glaring at James. "I'm really so– "
He faltered. James found himself staring at the boy. It was like he suddenly had been flung roughly back in time; the boy looked exactly like himself. The same high cheekbones, the nose that ended a bit too soon, the finely formed lips, the hair the same shade of charcoal black (only the boy's was much, much neater and combed to an elegant wave over his forehead), the glasses were sharper, rectangular, but still… And his eyes… they were Lily's! He had been staring into those green, green eyes for the vast majority of his life and it was extremely disconcerting to see them on another. James sucked in a breath, feeling his eyes widen.
Before he could think James had leaped forward and grabbed the boy by the shoulders. "Harry! Good lord, Harry! I can't– I can't believe this! Harry!"
The boy stared at him, astonished. "You are mad! Who is zis 'Arry?"
"It must be! It must! Harry!" James was beyond reasonable thinking as his mind reeled with questions and thoughts that were gone as quickly as they had come, too fast to voice anything.
A girl appeared from nowhere, clutching onto the boy James was so sure was Harry. "Let go! Let go at once, you madman!"
"James! What are you doing!" Lily said, alarmed and just as astonished by the boy's looks.
"Perhaps we should move this conversation elsewhere; there are students waiting, you see…" Dumbledore emerged suddenly to James's right, looking at him pointedly.
He was right; many nearby students and a few teachers were staring at the little scene that was blocking the way to the entrance hall. James flushed and jerked his hands away from the boy as if he had been burned. The teen stepped backwards and scowled fiercely at him. The girl beside him had an identical expression.
"What iz zis? What 'as 'appened!" commanding cries sounded from above as Madame Maxime pushed her way easily through the crowd.
"Ah, just a small misunderstanding, I'm sure, Madame Maxime," Dumbledore reassured her. "Perhaps we should move aside to allow room for everyone… This little antechamber will do well, I'm sure." He pointed to a nearby door leading off from the Great Hall.
The boy began to speak to his headmistress in rapid French, joined occasionally by the girl. The immense woman frowned and turned to Dumbledore. "I want an explanation, Dumbly–dorr! At once!"
"Of course, just hold for a moment and come this way," he said and moved toward the door.
The throng of people about them began to complain loudly at the delay. Madame Maxime nodded shortly and entered swiftly through door with her two pupils following. Both stared at James over their shoulders. Lily was telling Sirius and Remus to go on without them but James could hardly make sense of the words.
Ever since Harry had died, or whatever, James had always been the one to reassure, to comfort. Helping Lily to deal had always been a sort of therapy for James, but it was really no comparison to being able to just let it out and wait for it to fade. As a result, all of his own misery had built up over the years. And the earlier comments and suddenly seeing that boy seemed like a sort of trigger. Oh, those eyes…
Truth be told, James had never truly given up hope that Harry was gone. He had always wondered and a million, infinite speculations on ways that he could have survived formed and crumbled under the crushing weight of society's conviction that Harry was already long gone. Many, many times he thought about asking Lily if she still believed, but the thought of her refusal was more than enough to silence him each time.
"James?" Lily said, pulling his hand into her own. He looked at her as she stared up at him with concern. He shook his head and led the way to the door, Dumbledore lingering behind.
On entering the small chamber, the three already inside glared at him suspiciously. Dumbledore closed the door behind him and moved to the center of the room.
"I'm sure that this matter can be explained of course," the headmaster said looking at Lily and James.
"It 'ad better be!" Madame Maxime said severely. "Your Ministry official just assailed my student!"
"James?" Dumbledore asked, looking at him with faint lines of worry across his brow.
Lily squeezed his hand and said, "Madame, we're very sorry, but you see Harry was the name of the our baby we lost sixteen years ago– "
"We know zat!" the boy exclaimed impatiently. "Everyone 'as 'eard of ze child savior!"
Lily pinked slightly. "Well, yes… But you see…" She suddenly dropped James's hand and reached into a pocket robe, pulling out a slightly rumpled photo. She handed it to the youth. James could see the picture in his mind's eye. It was from their school days, the entire Marauder gang – Sirius, Remus, James… and even Pettigrew. Still young in the photograph, James would look extremely similar to the boy in front of them.
"That's a picture from years ago, when James was still in school and around your age," Lily started, watching the boy avidly as mild surprise registered across his face when he saw the younger James Potter. "I think that James was highly startled when he saw you because you just look – well…"
Madame Maxime took the picture and frowned distinctly as she saw it. Her student looked up at them, shaking his head and scowling.
"But zat iz impossible!" he said angrily. "I am Jean Pole, not 'Arry Potter!"
"Please," James blurted out, "please, who were your parents?"
A cold look passed over the boy's face and suddenly the girl beside him looked strangely frightened. "My faazer was François¹ Pole."
"Your mother…?" Lily almost whispered.
He seemed to struggle with something for a moment. "I do not know 'oo she was."
"But then–" James began.
"What does it matter anyway?" the girl suddenly cried, indignant. "It would 'ave been impossible for your baby to survive ze attack from You-Know-'Oo and zat fire!"
Lily and James flinched.
Stepping in, Dumbledore said, "We do not know for sure that Harry died that night. No one could find traces of a body and Peter Pettigrew never admitted to Harry being killed… There have been many accounts from involved persons that he survived…"
"From ze Death Eaters, you mean!" Madame Maxime stated, incredulous.
"They were under Veritaserum," James protested. "I saw them take it myself!"
"Zey were dark wizards, zey could 'ave found a way around it!" exclaimed the girl.
"That is possible," Dumbledore stated calmly, looking over his half–moon spectacles, "but not very probable."
Turning to the boy, James looked at him with pleading eyes. "There are tests…" He stiffened and glared. "Are you sure that this Pole –"
"Enough!" he practically shouted. "I've 'ad enough of zis – zis tomfoolery!" He stormed out, bristling. The French girl quickly followed after him.
"Professor Dumbly–dorr, I 'ope that I leave you in good faith to guarantee zat anozzer incident like zis does not occur," Madame Maxime said coolly, leaving the small room.
The three remaining stared at each other silently, not knowing what to say.
¹ François - Pronounced 'FranSWAH' not 'FranCOYS'.
A/N: Written over a period of three days, this was sort of exhausting but at the same time enjoyable. I'm pretty sure I won't have the time or patience to update this extremely soon, but it'll get done sooner or later. Hopefully I can spend a lot more time on it when school ends next week. I'll try to get it done at least before this month ends but don't hold your breath on it.
I hope I did well on the accents, it was a bit hard to keep with all of it. I tried to make it as clear as possible when people were speaking in English or French, but it might still be confusing so please tell me if it is. Not a lot of focus on Durmstrang, but there should be quite a bit more of them later on. Ainsley will play a much larger part in the next chapter. Just so you know, the tasks will be a lot more different from the canon. And don't plan on there being much romance.
I know that Dumbledore's explanation about the Tournament was a bit tedious (you've already read it, after all) but there are changes that I made that were important, so I had to put it in.
Cookie to anyone that can tell me where Meri's last name came from. n.n |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29081 | "Mum, these shoes just don't feel right." A 14 year old girl stood in the doorway of a modest house, a pair of shiny shoes covering her stocking clad feet, her face bearing fiery auburn hair and large, childlike emerald eyes.
"Come show them to me, Sophia." Hermione motioned for her daughter to come next to her and the small five year old boy currently by her side on the tartan couch in the living room. Sophia did as she was told and came to her mother, giving her brother a kiss on the forehead as she handed Hermione her shoes. "Hmm. Maybe- I have just the thing." She announced, sitting up and putting the chocolate haired boy next to her eldest daughter "Watch Nathaniel for a moment."
"Mum! What're you doing? Don't wake up Olivia while you're in there!"
"I wouldn't-" The sound of a baby's wail suddenly resounded through the house and Sophia flinched "Bollocks!" A crash and tumble was heard as the volume of the keening increased, leading the young adult to wonder just what was going on inside the nursery. After all of the commotion, her ears were delighted to hear Hermione cooing her youngest child and tromping out of the room. She reappeared with a shoebox.
"Hand me Downs?" Sophia commented with a look of disgust "Old Hand Me Downs?"
"Oh, but Soph. Just wait until you hear the story of these "Old hand Me Downs."
"They have a story?"
"Ohhhhh, yes. It's the story of how me and your father got together, without these shoes, you would not have been here today." She took her seat beside her daughter to reveal the old time worn shoes that had been through so much- the day she and Ron had gotten together, they had had a fight in which she threw them at him in a fit of anger at his bulk headedness. This, of course had lead to remorse and the eventual kiss.
"Really? Oh, tell me!"
"Well, it all started on a very, very rainy day…" |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29082 |
Note from Author (Mama Jo): At least I got this written in time for the Chinese New Year. . . This fic takes place all the way back in season 1, when John and Elizabeth are still learning how to relate to each other. I visualize it happening somewhere between "Hot Zone" and "Before I Sleep."
New Year's Irresolutions
Mama Jo
"Yes, thank you, Happy New Year! . . . Thank you, Happy New Year, good night! . . . Thank you, thank you. . . Happy New Year to you, too. . . Good night!"
The instant the doors to her quarters swished shut behind her, Elizabeth sagged bonelessly back against them. Every muscle in her face -- no, make that in her entire body -- ached with the relentless effort it'd cost to maintain her positive façade for the members of the expedition. But now she was safely alone, she could let it all fall away and give in to the exhaustion sweeping over her.
Exhaling deeply, she made her legs carry her over to her Spartan bed, sank down onto it. Her eyes wandered over the rest of the room, its austerity suiting her bleak mood. Too austere, she suddenly decided. Despite the decorative touches the Ancients had incorporated into its design, its bareness felt almost prison-like, the oddly-angled walls seeming ready to close in and crush her. . .
Despite her weariness, Elizabeth rocked onto her feet again. Even if she could force herself to relax enough to sleep, at this point she knew it wouldn't be quality sleep; not with her subconscious mind poised to inflict all kinds of nightmares on her. She paced a hasty circuit around the room, coming to a halt by one of the three tall, narrow windows on the eastern wall. Far, far below moonlight reflected softly from the ever-moving water surrounding the city, and laid a serene silver patina over the expanse of the eastern pier, which had become something of an outdoor rec area for the expedition's members. Or at least, the city-ward end of it had. . .
Elizabeth yielded to a sudden impulse. Turning away from the window, she crossed quickly to the doors and swiped her hand over the controls to open them. She hesitated on the threshold only long enough to dart a searching glance along the dimly lit corridor: empty, just as she'd expected. With swift, silent steps she headed for the nearest transporter; wanting, needing, to escape these intrinsically beautiful, imprisoning walls for a time, however brief.
Thanks to the ingenious technology of what they'd first taken to be only oddly-placed closets, Elizabeth very soon found herself standing in front of the great doors that would let her out onto the pier itself. A tiny voice in the back of her mind wondered if this was the smartest thing for her to do, but she ignored it. Opening this final barrier between her and the free, uncontrolled air beyond, she stepped through far enough for the doors to close behind her, and immediately paused to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the night.
A breeze ruffled her hair, cool but not unpleasantly so. She turned her face into it and drew a deep, deep breath of sea-seasoned air. Exhaling strongly, she greedily sucked in another -- so much rawer, so much better than the filtered, conditioned air inside. Finding a place to sit, she tipped her head back to gaze up at the thickly starred sky; let her eyes trace the path of the densest cascade from a point almost directly overhead to the barely perceivable horizon. The silver-flecked ocean almost seemed to be an extension of the overarching heavens, curving around to hold the city englobed in light-spangled dark. . .
For a long time that she didn't bother trying to keep track of, Elizabeth just sat and allowed the simple acts of seeing and breathing to consume her consciousness. Her inner turmoil gradually stilled as the serene quiet of the night settled deeper and deeper into her being, gently stifling all anxiety. Eventually she realized her eyelids felt heavy. A thought drifted whimsically through her mind: Wouldn't it be funny if she actually fell asleep out here on the pier?
Funny, perhaps; but definitely not comfortable or practical, the more rational part of herself countered. Even now, through the lethargy weighting her, she could feel how her muscles were beginning to stiffen as the breeze by degrees leached away her motionless body's warmth. It was, she acknowledged, beyond the time for her to go back to her quarters, and to bed. However peaceful it might be here on the pier outside the city's walls, she knew her true place lay within them, and it was time she returned to it. With a deep sigh, Elizabeth twisted her torso so she could look up at the dimly glowing towers stretching proudly up against the star-rich sky--
--And from the corner of her eye caught a hint of a shape faintly limned by moon- and starlight, standing next to the doors leading back into the city. . .
. . .A man-sized shape, standing where it didn't belong.
With a half-choked cry, Elizabeth sprang to her feet and tried to whirl to face it; in the very next instant felt herself sprawling out of control as her right leg, numb to the knee, gave under her. As she fell, she flung her arms out in a vain attempt to catch herself; landed hard more or less on her right side, her right arm fortuitously keeping her head from impacting the pier's hard surface. Stunned and breathless, she scrambled to push herself upright, panic screaming along her totally jangled nerves.
Strong hands took hold of her shoulders, easily holding her despite her struggles, their warmth burning through the thin fabric of her top into her chilled skin. A voice demanded in a slightly nasal twang, "Elizabeth, are you hurt anywhere? Just take it easy, and tell me if you broke something when you fell!"
She knew that voice. A jumble of relief, rage, and pure embarrassment swept through her, making her gasping reply sharper than it maybe should have been. "Major -- Sheppard! How long have you been standing there watching me?" She shook her hair out of her face so she could glare up at him where he crouched close to her.
What she could see of his face in the dim light took on an expression as closed and guarded as his voice when he took his hands from her shoulders and answered, "About as long as you've been sitting there. But," his tone took on a brisker note, "what made you jump up all of a sudden? You scared me out of ten years' growth when you keeled over like that!"
"I scared you!" Elizabeth gaped at him. "And I did not 'keel over.' I didn't realize my foot had fallen asleep and. . ." Her voice trailed off as she saw the major's lips twitch. All of a sudden, the memory of Rodney McKay asserting forcefully, "I did not faint! I passed out. . ." blitzed across her mind as if transferred directly from his. As if she weren't humiliated enough--! She fought the urge to grind her teeth.
At least he was smart enough not to refer to it. He only said mildly, "Sorry if I startled you. Can you stand up yet?"
Elizabeth tentatively flexed her right ankle, unable to restrain a wince at the resulting, excruciating surge of pins-and-needles pain the movement triggered. "No," she replied shortly. Trying to mask her complete discomfiture, she went on the attack. "And you still haven't answered my question, Major. What were you doing standing there watching me?"
"Actually, Dr. Weir," his drawl became slightly more pronounced, "I did answer the question you asked, which was how long had I been watching you. As for your second question, I was doing my job, while still trying to give you some privacy."
Nettled, she snapped, "I don't recall stalking me being part of your job descrip--"
"Protecting the safety of every member of this expedition is part of my job description." He sharply interrupted her, sounding almost angry. "And as leader of said expedition, your safety ranks top of the list. This may be Atlantis, the City of the Ancients and all that, but it can still be a pretty hazardous place. It's certainly nowhere to wander the fringes of alone in the middle of the night."
Elizabeth found herself staring at him again. "But," she said in a muted tone, "I only came down here on an impulse because I couldn't sleep. . . How did you know I'd be wandering the fringes? Unless you watch my door every night. . ." She let her voice trail off again, uncertain how she would feel if he were to confirm that he did.
"No, I don't do that." Now it was his turn to look and sound unsettled. He shifted his weight a little further back on his heels. As she continued to watch him, she saw his forehead furrow. "As for how I knew-- I'm not sure. I mean, I could feel the pressure building up inside you all during the party--"
Elizabeth interrupted him this time. "The party." She breathed a small, mirthless laugh. "If you want to call it that." She raked her disheveled hair back with both hands. All the earlier peace she'd gained fled into the dark, bitterness swelling up to take its place. "It felt more like a deathwatch to me." Then she gasped, realizing she'd actually said that last harsh thought aloud. Unable to snatch the words back out of the air, she clenched her hands together tightly in her lap.
"'A deathwatch,'" John repeated slowly. His tone lost the bantering note, suddenly going totally serious. She could feel him studying her as she desperately looked anywhere but at him. "Okay, so -- you want to talk about it?"
That jerked her eyes straight to his face. She studied him in turn, unsurprised to see how distinctly uncomfortable he looked; completely surprised, on the other hand, to see his absolute sincerity. True, they'd had their differences in the past, and yet-- Her shoulders slumped as she capitulated to her need to unburden herself to someone. Looking down at her hands, she said very quietly, "I'm in over my head, John. Call me foolish or naïve if you like, but when I accepted this position, I suppose I pictured something similar to the Antarctic Outpost, only grander and much warmer. I never anticipated -- losing," her voice shook slightly; she paused to swallow painfully in an attempt to control it, "anyone, let alone so many. . . Tonight, I looked around at all the very brave, very resourceful people doing their best to celebrate the New Year with the little we have at hand, and I couldn't help but wonder: Who will be next to never see another year? Will it be Rodney? Teyla? Aiden? Radek? Carson? Peter?" Her voice dropped even lower, to the merest whisper. "You?"
A long silence fell between them. John finally broke it by exhaling heavily. "Look, Elizabeth," he began, then halted as if to search for the right words. Even though he obviously found it difficult, he went on, "Losses -- happen. I don't mean to say they're ever acceptable. They aren't to me, and I know they aren't to you either. All you, or I, or any one of us can do is try our best to stop as many as we can -- and make them count for something when we can't. As for the rest," reaching out one hand, he gently but insistently tipped her face up, then gestured with his head at the incredible vista of towers behind him, "I think I'd rather call you visionary. Atlantis is way grander than that dinky Ancient outpost. We just have to keep believing that at the end, it'll be worth the cost."
Gazing up at the softly gleaming city, her city, Elizabeth felt renewed hope and confidence flow through her. "Yes," she agreed, "yes it is, and yes," she looked directly at John, "we do. Thank you, John. Thank you very much."
Releasing her chin, John grinned at her crookedly. "You're welcome. And speaking of the Antarctic," he shrugged out of his jacket as he spoke, "that's where you feel like you've been." He quickly draped its welcome warmth around her shoulders, then stood and extended a hand down to her. "Ready to go in now?" When she nodded and took his hand, he pulled her effortlessly to her feet, causing her to note yet again how there was more muscle to his thin frame than was readily apparent. She expected him to drop her hand once she was standing, but instead, he stood looking down at her with his head cocked a little to one side. "You weren't even supposed to see me, you know," he said musingly.
Feeling deeply grateful to have someone like Major John Sheppard sharing her burden, Elizabeth let a gentle smile curl the corners of her mouth as she squeezed the warm fingers still gripping hers. "Not to argue with you, John," she replied as they turned their steps back toward the city that was their joint responsibility, "I prefer to think that I was."
The End |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29083 | It all lasted three days. The flu swept throughout the world in three days. Killing over 95% of the worlds population. The Wizarding world was not saved.
Yes, they have better medicines to the muggles. Yes, they have better immune systems and a longer lifespan then the muggles, but nothing their advanced potions and spells could do to stop it.
A few of the younger Hufflepuffs had been the first to go down at Hogwarts. Of course no-one had known what it was then. They were taken to St. Mungo's after Madam Pomfrey had failed to heal them. The Ravenclaws were hit next, then the Slytherins. Those with the lowest immune systems being the worst affected. Gryffindor was the last affected, but by no means the least. Everyone had panicked as Katie Bell had fainted in the Common Room.
Classes were stopped, because the teachers were ill. The students too sick to learn. The worst off were in the infirmary, but with Madam Pomfrey herself ill they were left as untreated as the rest of the school. Those few that were still well enough were down in the Dungeons with an extremely snarky Snape, making fever reducing and pepper up potions to try and relieve its effects.
The Second day was when the deaths began. Gryffindor tower had been quiet as they realised Katie was no longer breathing.
The Third day began. Dumbledore had died. McGonagall not long after. Then the first years. Then more. After that the students began dropping like flies. They began to go unnoticed by those not on personal basis with the deceased. Left wherever they had been, people around to drawn up by their own illness.
"Their will be those with natural immunity, their has to be", where Hermione's last words. Then she held the long cold hand of Ron's and silently closed her eyes.
The students that were left by the time night was drawn, were still by the time the sun had risen. It had risen without a word, illuminating itself on a world that had been completely changed over night.
Harry shifted slightly. Then brought his head up with a jerk. He was in his dormitory, still bent over the motionless bodies of Ron and Hermione. A lump caught in his throat and he found himself once again sobbing bent double onto the mattress of Ron's bed.
A few hours later, he stiffly made his way over to the other beds in the room. Dean and Seamus lay together in Dean's bed, they were naked and tangled in each others limbs. Neville lay by himself in his bed. Tear tracks marked forever on his face. His eyes wide and staring at his bed. Harry with no tears left to shed had pressed his hands to Neville's face and shut his eyes.
Without looking at the bed's Harry quickly walked from the room. Downstairs wasn't as empty as Harry had hoped. The bodies of Fred, George and Ginny were in the armchair by the fire. Fred and George either side of Ginny, embracing her in a double hug. The bodies of other students Harry didn't know were dotted about the room, some alone, others in pairs holding hands, other in groups huddled together.
The Fat Lady had been sobbing in her portrait when Harry had left the Common Room. She had called out to him, but he had ignored her, not wanting to talk to anyone. One or two other portraits had called out to him as he had passed, more of them crying as the Fat Lady had been doing, but he ignored them as he had her. More Students were in the corridors, those from different houses who had to see each other at the end, hidden in alcoves and classrooms along the way.
Slowly he made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Art room. He needed to see Lupin, the newly appointed teacher had had the full moon last night, he needed to see if he was okay. He needed to know if he was still alive.
The door had creaked as Harry pushed it open, dreading what he would find. He slowly made his way across the room and up the short stairs to his office. He opened the door to the privet room opposite. He saw Lupin on the bed and knew the worst had happened. He looked away as a sob broke through his throat, he was just about to shut the door again, when a noise from inside the room caught his attention. Lupin was shifting about on the bed, when he caught sight of Harry standing frozen in the doorway.
"Harry?" he questioned meekly.
Harry sobbed again and before he knew it he had flung himself at Lupin and was pouring his heart out on his chest. Lupin gathered him up as you would a small child and rubbed his back.
"Your alive" he choked out finally.
"Yes, Harry. I would never leave you", Remus replied, then carefully added in a soft whisper. "How many others?".
"Everyone," came the small answer. "Everyone, Hermione, Ron, Fred, Ginny, Everyone. You're the first person I've come across, save the portraits."
Remus' rubbing stopped for a short minute, before he let out a heavy sigh, his voice weary and sad. "Come on, let's go to the Great Hall, if any one else is alive they would be there."
Shivering and hiccupping Harry slowly stood up and Remus led the way out of the class room and down the Hall. They passed the Infirmary on the way. The door was left open. Students filled the beds, many of them with more then one occupant. Numerous children on the floor, some even waiting outside the hospital wing. But they were all still now. Remus took Harry's arm gently and led him away from the scene.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, Harry had trouble breathing. Tear streaming down his face and his breath catching in his throat. There was a one of the younger Ravenclaw girls was waiting in the Hall, pale faced and scared. She jumped as Harry and Lupin entered. Then began trembling. Harry walked to her, still crying silently and gathered her up in his arms. She cried into his shoulder, just as Harry had to Lupin early. For a while they just sat, Harry rocking her slowly and saying small words of comfort. Even after she had stopped crying, she sat in his arms taking as much comfort as she could.
Half an hour passed in much the same fashion, one of them crying whilst the others gave comfort. The girl introduced herself as Anna. She had been much in the same position as Harry, waking up surrounded by her friends and had ran to the Hall as fast as she could.
Lupin had taken the liberty of ordering some food from the Kitchens. The house elves it seemed had not been affected. The sandwiches came quickly but no-one was in the mood to eat. They did so, if only to keep their minds off what had happened. Harry was about to pick up his second sandwich when a voice floated from the doorway.
" Oh great, of course Harry bloody Potter had to survive didn't he." Harry looked up sharply to find no other then Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape standing the entrance. "He couldn't just do us the favour of dying with everyone else, but no and what's the first thing he does when he wakes up and finds everyone dead around him, he goes to the great hall and pigs out on food, then finds the nearest girl and . . . " His tirade was quickly ended by sharp tug to his upper arm and he was dragged along the hall and dumped unceremoniously onto the bench by Professor Snape. He was about to get back up when a glare sat him back down again.
"Five of us, that is it. " Professor Snape said solemnly. "Five out of nearly three hundred student and teachers, five of us live. A werewolf, A twelve year old girl, two fifteen year old boys and me." |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29084 | It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss
-The Killers-
He is too tall, too lean, too blonde. But he is a Bass, and he tastes like scotch and smoke and sin, and if she closes her eyes very tightly, she can almost pretend the lips moving so possessively over hers are his.
It's just a kiss anyway. It means nothing. Just a drunken kiss at midnight to celebrate the New Year. Even as they find themselves in the elevator and he presses her into the wall. Even as she grinds her pelvis against his arousal and he paws at her ass to pull her closer. Even as the doors open and they stumble down the hallway to suite 1812…
It's only a kiss.
At least that's what she's trying to tell herself. But she's had a few drinks too many, and his mouth is so insistent, his hands so swift and skillful, it's easy to forget. So tempting to imagine he is him and to allow the kiss to become something more, to let it grow into the passionate reunion they've been denying one another since she returned from Tuscany.
Her body yearns for that, to be joined once again with his, and the masterful palms currently trailing up her arms and curve of her spine reignites those long dormant embers. Fingers twist in her hair harshly, bordering on pain, but still she moans low in her throat as his tongue wars with hers and her skin burns where they touch.
"Please," she whimpers, tilting her head to the side, offering her neck, wanting, needing more.
With a darkly sensual laugh, he obliges, nuzzling the tender flesh beneath her jaw. But rather than relax into the sensation, she tenses slightly, remembering the smug sound he'd made. So familiar, and yet… not. Different in a way she cannot fully comprehend with her champagne buzz and his teeth grazing lightly along her collarbone.
But the feeling? The feeling is the same. Especially as he toys with the slender strap of her gown, deftly sliding it off one pale shoulder. She shivers in anticipation, recalling precisely what is to come seconds before the silk of her dress is pulled down, exposing the satin cups of her strapless bra. Reaching behind her, he unhooks the flimsy piece of lingerie and whisks it away, fondling her breasts, thumbs drawing lazy circles over her nipples until they harden into dusky peaks and she arches into the contact.
"Chuck," she sighs in contentment.
The self-assured caress falters for a moment. Then she is being shoved roughly backwards, toppling as she bumps into something behind her, landing with a soft gasp upon the plush mattress amid tangled sheets and downy comforters. The smell, faint but distinctive, immediately envelops her and she is thankful that she had not permitted the maids to change the bedding since he had disappeared so that the heady mixture of sandalwood and spice could remain, the lingering scent reminding her of him just as fingers hook in the waistband of her stockings.
Instinctively, she lifts her hips a fraction to aid in their removal, knowing this is his favorite form of foreplay. But instead of rolling the sheer material down her legs, he jerks them, ruining the pair in his haste to rid her of them.
She stiffens, desire and dreams fading with the knowledge that he never would do that. He savors stripping her tights from her, drawing them over her thighs and past her knees and down her calves inch by tantalizing inch, lavishing attention on each newly revealed stretch of skin before moving on with the pleasurable torment. The only garment he enjoys taking off more are garters, on those occasions she wears them, because then he can do the act twice, teasing them both into a frenzy by delaying their gratification even longer.
Not so with this man. This is not, and will never be, him. This is wrong, and has already been allowed to persist way past what she originally intended as the midnight countdown began and she'd met his hungry stare across the bar. It was only supposed to be a kiss.
Everything else has to stop.
She's about to look at him, to let the fantasy end when his palm finds her swollen folds and all worries are chased away by the delicious friction, that exquisite pressure building within her as his fingers rapidly delve into her wet heat. He always was so good at this, knew exactly how to bring her to the precipice with astonishing speed. And suddenly she's there, floating in that space between heaven and hell, writhing on the blankets, begging for release, sobbing in frustration when his hand leaves her before that final crescendo.
"Don't stop, Bass. I need you," she pants, her voice a husky plea in the silent suite.
Dimly she hears a zipper, that unmistakable rasp of metal on metal, followed by a hazy recollection that something about this should bother her, that something is not right with this situation. Then he's back, crawling over her, seeking her entrance, his throbbing cock brushing against sleek wetness, and she shudders, wanting him to hurry and take her, wanting his length to stretch her slick sheath, wanting to cum around him as he murmurs seductive encouragements into her ear.
It's been too, too long.
But that nagging feeling of misgiving will not go away, even as she wraps her legs around his hips. His weight is off, she realizes. It's not enough. There's too much space between them, no comforting press of his body pushing her into the firmness of the bed. He's propping himself up too high, as if she were some delicate flower easily crushed and he... And Chuck knows her better.
She opens her eyes, and the gaze staring down at her is blue and not brown.
"Jack?" she breathes in dismay, reality bursting into her awareness. "Jack! Oh God…"
His face transforms into an expression of triumph. Then he surges forward, filling her, slamming into her core so quickly that she cries out, both from ecstasy and agony. She wants to shove him away, but as he continues thrusting, each stroke harder and faster and deeper than the last, she can't concentrate, can't get her mouth to form the words, can only thrash her head upon the pillows and cling to him, even as hot tears escape to scald paths down her cheeks as she's driven towards an orgasm unlike any she has shared with anyone other than him, the broken boy she loves, the dark-haired prince she swore to stand by.
And she explodes, nails raking down flexing muscles, a scream wrenching from her throat, a name on her lips. His name. The only one she has ever called out at that moment when all else ceases to be. In this… at least in this, she has not betrayed him.
Later, seconds or minutes or hours, he slides off of her. She rolls onto her side, curling into a ball, hugging her knees, weeping silently, feeling like the worst kind of whore.
Oh God, what has she done?
He reaches out to rub her back, and she cringes away. "Don't," she whispers, bile rising, unable to even look at him. "Just get out."
"Not yet, princess," Jack smirks.
"Don't call me that," she snaps, guilt flashing more strongly through her at hearing Chuck's pet name for her leave his uncle's mouth.
"Whatever you wish," he shrugs as if disinterested. "But I'm not leaving until morning."
"Fine, then I will."
She starts to rise, but his hand closes over her wrist like a vice. "Relax kitten," he leers. "I might want you again before dawn, so lay back down. You aren't going anywhere."
"Go fuck yourself!" she spits, struggling to pry his fingers loose, risking giving him a death glare as his grip clamps down harder, becoming painful.
"Lay back down I said," he repeats, his tone ominous. "Or do you want the wayward prodigal to find out about this dalliance when I bring him home? I don't think he'd take it well. In his condition, it might be the thing that pushes him over the edge."
"You sick bastard! If you think I'm going to let you – "
He cuts off her tirade with a snort of derision. "You're in no position to negotiate, sweetheart. So lay the fuck down and hope once was enough." He grins, glacial eyes raking over her, making her feel dirtier than ever. "I have a flight to Thailand in a few hours. Maybe you'll get lucky."
With that, he lets go of her, and she hurriedly draws a sheet over herself, as if she were completely naked and not still in the disheveled remnants of a Valentino dress. "Thailand?" she asks, powerless to stop her curiosity. "What's in… Chuck! You've found Chuck, haven't you?"
He laughs, his handsome face full of amused delight. "I didn't find Chuck," he confesses. "I've always known where he was. He is staying in a Bass hotel, after all."
"You son of a bitch! You lied to everyone on purpose!"
"Of course I did," he nods condescendingly. "I needed him out of the way so I could see what all the fuss was about. He's mentioned you frequently you realize, in phone calls, emails. Talks about you like dearly departed Bart talked about his first wife." Jack smiles, a sardonic twist of lips that does not resemble any form of happiness Blair has ever seen. "He loves you, he's all but told me so, and look how you rewarded his devotion."
She sobs then. Great wracking wails that shake her small form huddled on the bed, and as he curves his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, touching her as if she were his, the tears only fall faster, her howls of despair turning into hysterical keening.
"That's alright, precious," he soothes. "Cry all you want. This'll be our little secret." |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29085 | The Samaritan's Choice
Follows the episode "The Trial", contains a good many spoilers for the ep.
disclaimer- the magnificent seven characters do not belong to me, I only borrow them for fun. No profit is being made.
Nathan Jackson squinted against the hot afternoon sun and twisted his worn hat in his hands. Casually, he brushed away a tear and glanced about to make sure there was no one around to notice. Seeing he was alone, the tall dark healer returned his attention to the simple and obviously new grave in front of him. It had barely been a week since he'd buried his father. A swift wave of bitterness washed over him, and Nathan frowned. So many years lost to the cruelty of slavery. White men using, abusing and selling his family. Shuddering, Nathan pushed painful memories aside and straightened his shoulders. He was a free man now. He looked once more at the wooden cross engraved with the name Obediah Jackson, then turned , pulled his hat on low over his eyes and headed back into the main section of town.
From his vantage point right outside of the saloon Chris Larabee appeared to be engrossed in reading the tattered leather-bound book in his hands. In reality, he was observing his town. The sturdy wooden chair set at an angle to enable it's user to see the majority of the small dusty settlement. From beneath the brim of his black stetson, Chris' green eyes followed Jackson as he made his way back from the cemetery. He could see the firm set of Nathan's posture and knew from experience the man was dealing as best he could with the loss of his father.
"He okay?" Larabee showed no sign of surprise when the soft drawl sounded beside him. He hadn't heard Vin approach but he'd sensed his presence well before the tracker spoke. He turned, letting his eyes meet Vin's. A gentle breeze stirred Tanner's long brown curls as he pushed his hat back off his head and wiped at the line of sweat forming on his forehead.
"He will be." Chris answered plainly. Jackson needed time. They had all known that Obediah was dying of consumption. Ever since the incident at Eagle Bend and the controversial trial, Nathan had cared diligently for his father. It hadn't been nearly enough time to make up for what they had lost, but it had been time. Time together.
Nathan stepped up onto the boardwalk and nodded to his two friends. He was well aware they had been watching him. He knew it was out of concern, and that thought comforted him slightly. The batwing doors of the saloon creaked noisily as he pushed through them. The healer paused a moment inside to adjust to the immediate change of light. The contrast of the sun's brightness to the saloon's dim interior made him strain to see until his eyes had acclimated to the change.
Once he could see, Nathan scanned the half full saloon. Buck and JD were sitting at a table with Ezra and Josiah. The four men going through the motions of a card game. None of them were really concentrating on the outcome. Even Ezra appeared uninterested, though he knew he could use this opportunity to milk his colleagues easily out of their wages. Today they had earned an uncommon reprieve. There was no real explanation for the apathy, other than the ominous reality of boredom. After the run in with the sheriff from Eagle Bend, Four Corners had settled into a dull monotony. Nathan slipped to the bar and requested his drink, then pulled up a chair to join his friends.
"Good afternoon Brother Nate." Josiah's deep voice rumbled as he rubbed a hand over his bearded face and pondered his cards.
"Would you care to join us in the next hand?" Ezra asked as Buck and JD simultaneously folded.
"And let you cheat me out of my money? No thanks." Nathan's tone was more biting then he intended but Ezra showed no outward reaction. The southerner merely nodded and waited for Josiah's move.
Josiah sighed heavily and tossed his cards into the center of the table. "I call." He groaned as his pair of sixes were beat by Ezra's two pair, of sevens and tens.
Nathan snorted. "You're surprised?"
"Not really. The fates are against me today." Josiah winked at Ezra trying to ease Nathan's harsh retorts. He knew they affected the gambler more than Ezra would ever let on. He also knew that Nathan was torn up by his past and his father's death at the moment. Sanchez was actually proud of Ezra. The Southerner tended to react to Nathan's barbs with sarcastic retorts of his own but for the last few days had managed to hold his tongue. An action that hadn't gone unnoticed by any of the seven except maybe Jackson himself.
Josiah looked up at Buck and JD as they began to banter over something. Buck was eying Inez at the bar with keen interest while telling JD just how close he was to winning her over. JD laughed and pointed out that just this morning Inez had shot the ladies' man down yet again.
"JD, I'm telling you, I'm wearing her down."
"Sure Buck. In your dreams maybe." JD jumped back as Buck swatted for his head and bumped into Chris.
"Sorry Chris." JD apologized, grinning and keeping out of Buck's reach. Chris just nodded and pulled a chair up to the table. Vin sat next to him.
"Got a job." Chris said simply.
Six pairs of eyes focused on him, waiting for instructions. "Judge Travis sent a wire, seems there's a handful of land deeds that need to be picked up over at Woodhall. Ezra, he wants you to go." Ezra's eyes widened slightly at Chris' statement. He was surprised the good Judge would single him out for a mission.
"May I ask why?"
"Travis wants to make sure the deeds are legit, figured you could help with that."
Ezra nodded accepting the explanation. "When do I need to leave?" He wasn't really looking forward to the trip but figured he could go and get back within three days if he didn't dawdle. Besides there hadn't been anything of entertainment around here the last few days. He was tired of being the brunt of Nathan's anger and a little bored with being long suffering. It wasn't his style. It was only his respect for Nathan's pain that kept him from retaliating and he could tell his own patience was wearing thin.
"Tomorrow morning." Chris answered.
Ezra glanced around the table quickly, still stone faced. "Well, I must bid you gentlemen good day then as I have some preparations to make."
Ezra double checked his saddlebags and stifled a yawn as he cursed the dawn. If it were up to him the normal hours of daily activity would start at noon and end about two in the morning. Part of him yearned for the cities of New Orleans and Atlanta where he could maintain that lifestyle he preferred, but as he pulled himself into his saddle and adjusted his hat he knew that, for now, that life was behind him.
As he started out of town Ezra saw Chris making his way to the hotel restuarant restaurant for breakfast. Ezra wondered if Larabee was surprised he didn't have to wake him up this morning. With a nod and a two fingered salute he rode past the gunslinger and began his trip in earnest.
Nathan was just emerging from his rented room adjacent to the make shift clinic he ran as Ezra rode out of town. For a moment the former slave stood in the morning sun and watched the southerner ride. It was no secret that he and Ezra had a tense relationship. True, he'd grown to trust the gambler enough to know that he could count on him in a fight but at the same time, Nathan still wasn't able to get past his frustrations with Ezra. When he looked at the other man he saw a spoiled, self centered, son of the South, who was only interested in gratifying his own needs. In Jackson's mind, Ezra had everything a man could dream of. A loving, if eccentric mother, enough money to live comfortably on, and still the man chose to gamble and cheat his way through life. All to often the mere sound of Ezra's voice would anger Nathan. The healer knew it was his own animosity with his past that caused some of these feelings, especially this past week since his father's death. Right now though, he couldn't help but be relieved to see Standish riding out of town for a few days.
The late afternoon sun was finally beginning to wane and the gentle breeze that had been missing since yesterday was just picking up as Nathan made his way tiredly to the saloon. It had been a busy day. He'd fixed up Mr. Jenkin's broken arm, stitched up little Jaime Lewis' forehead and wrapped Mike Detwiler's ribs. When was that man going to learn how to stay on a horse anyway? Needless to say he was ready for a relaxing drink. Hearing the familiar sound of the approaching stage Nathan jogged the remaining few feet across the road and stepped up onto the boardwalk. 'Someone needed to remind that driver to slow down coming into town.' He thought absently.
Curiosity got the better of him as he leaned against a support post to wait and see who was on today's stage. A drink could wait a few minutes more.
"Busy day?" Josiah asked coming up beside him. Nathan nodded to his friend.
"Yeah. Where is everybody?"
"JD went to the Wells' place for dinner and I believe Chris , Vin and Buck are inside." Josiah motioned over his shoulder to the saloon. Both men watched in comfortable silence as the stage rolled to a rough stop. The only passenger to emerge from the coach was a middle aged man with dark brown hair and observant wide eyes. He glanced around with an air of condescension as he swiped the dust off his impeccably tailored clothing. He adjusted his black top hat carefully and pulled himself to his full 5 and half foot height. The stranger's gaze raked over the boardwalk and stopped on the men standing outside the saloon.
"Who is this peacock?" Buck asked not bothering to lower his voice, as he walked up behind Josiah and Nathan.
"Looks like we're about to find out." Josiah answered.
The small, thin man took a few steps closer to the men watching him with open curiosity and focused his brown eyes on Josiah. "How much for your man to carry my luggage to the hotel?" He waved in Nathan's general direction as he spoke.
It took a few seconds for all three lawmen to decipher the thick Southern accent, deeper even then Ezra's.
"I ain't nobody's man." Nathan hissed through clenched teeth as he registered the man's words first. He felt Buck's hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off.
"Easy Brother." Josiah murmured quietly.
The visitor blinked once looking between Nathan and Josiah.
"I see." He drawled calmly. He turned as the stagecoach driver set his bags beside him. "I'll see to them myself then."
Seething with anger at the man's obvious dismissal, Nathan turned and roughly pushed past Buck. He didn't need this, didn't need another southern dandy strutting into town just to rub the past into his face. He stormed blindly to the bar and ordered a whiskey. It wasn't like him to drink heavily, seeing that he never knew when his services might be needed but at the moment he didn't care. He told Inez to leave the bottle, then scooped it up and headed to a corner table.
On the opposite side of the room Chris and Vin quietly observed Jackson's actions.
"What's wrong with him?" Chris asked as Buck joined them.
"Stranger just came into town, called him Josiah's man." Buck explained softly.
Vin closed his eyes and groaned. "Doesn't need that."
"Nope." Chris sipped his drink "This stranger gonna cause more trouble?" He asked Buck.
Buck shrugged. " I hope not. Won't take much to set Nathan off though."
"Better keep a watch on both of them then." Chris said thoughtfully.
Nathan sipped at his whiskey and frowned. Too many memories were flooding his mind. Images of his mother, his siblings, the overseer. He could still hear his father's words as he testified in court not too many weeks ago. Rubbing a hand roughly over his face, Nathan blinked back the sudden flood of emotion and took a long swig from the bottle. Inside he knew that drinking and hating weren't going to ease his pain but for the moment it was what he wanted and that was enough. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29087 | A/N: Thanks for the comments! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!
"Two weeks have gone by since I've first started working here, and this job isn't going any faster," Yugi complained to himself, grabbing his cleaning supplies and trudging to the kitchen area.
Mixing chemicals and making sure that he had everything he needed, Yugi got down to work starting with the cabinets. He polished the masterfully crafted wood, having to stand on the tips of his toes to reach them. Just barely reaching them, Yugi wiped them down as best he could, going around the whole area until the wood shined.
Somewhat thankful that he didn't have to stretch anymore, Yugi wiped down the counters next, making sure that not even the tiniest crumb was left. When he was done with the marble, Yugi quickly wiped down the bottom cupboards and then created a cleaning mix to mop the floor with.
Rinsing the sponge out under the sink before he set the bucket on the floor, Yugi quickly got down to work, feeling quite old fashion with how he was supposed to clean the kitchen's floor.
"It get the tough stains out if you scrub by hand," Miss Osaka had said when Yugi complained to her last week. Huffing to himself, Yugi rolled his eyes at the woman's words, but nevertheless continued his work.
Like he always did, Yugi started from the middle of the kitchen and worked his way out. About halfway through his work, Yugi became so absorbed in his work that he didn't realize that he started to scrub over a shoe.
Flinching when he realized his mistake, Yugi dropped the grimy sponge and sat back on his heels, his face heating up in embarrassment. He didn't look up at whoever it was he had gotten soapy water on, but he mumbled just loud enough, "I'm sorry."
"It's fine, these shoes are pretty old anyway," a familiar voice replied lazily, and Yugi's head shot up like a bullet. He stared at the shiny dress shoes. They looked like they just came out of the factory.
Reminding himself that he wasn't a servant in a castle but a staff member in a mansion and that those two were not the same, Yugi stood up to give Yami a worried look. "But there were some chemicals in that water that may-"
Yami waved hand, dismissing his worry. "Forget about it, it's not much of a problem to worry yourself over."
Sighing in what would seem to be a dejected way, Yugi bit his lip and looked down at the semi-wet floor as he felt Yami stare at him.
Ever since they had really gotten acquainted, Yugi had only seen Yami three times. One was when he was cleaning the other's room like always, the other was when Yami was notifying Miss Osaka on something that Yugi thought the gardener should take care of (not that it was any of his business, anyway), and the third time was a fleeting glance of Yami and who Yugi guessed was his younger sister Naomi. They were both dressed up very elegantly, and Yugi could only guess where they were going out.
Other than their first real meeting, and the one time when they were both in Yami's room, Yugi hadn't really gotten to know the other. However, he was confident to say that Yami had openly flirted with him the last time…
Pushing those thoughts away, Yugi looked at Yami, who was still silent. Rocking on his heels when he found he had nothing to say, Yugi's mind went back to work. "Um…I have to get back to c-cleaning, I guess," he said, his voice getting softer with each word.
He was still looking at him, and Yami suddenly flashed a smile, and Yugi wondered what for. "Alright, but, can I request something?"
Yugi knew he probably looked dumbfounded for Yami chuckled at him for a moment. Blinking amethyst eyes, Yugi nodded, "Sure."
"May I be your company?"
His mind had definitely wandered off to other things that Yami may have requested, and Yugi blushed, noticing the odd look the other shot him because of it. "Uh, if you want…" he said a little uncertainly, yet he knew that his spirits had risen considerably. But he wouldn't let the other know that.
Yami gave him another smile, and Yugi looked down, listening as Yami made his way through the dry spots so that he could hop onto the counter to sit and watch. Yugi awkwardly bent down to his knees, grabbing the discarded sponge.
He felt nervous with those enticing eyes boring a hole into his back while he worked, and the silence only worsened it. After about five minutes, Yugi couldn't take it. "I saw you and your little sister the other night," he said as casually as he could. "You were all dressed up."
He continued his work, waiting for Yami's response, which came quick enough.
"We attended one of my mother's friends' dinner parties," Yami replied, blinking at the memory. "Naomi was looking forward to it, at least."
Yugi lightly rolled his eyes to himself, smiling a little. "So let me guess," he started, never ceasing in his continuous scrubbing. "You're actually one of those rich kids that despite getting everything you want, you turn out to be miserable and want a normal life. That dinner party was agonizing for you, wasn't it?" Yugi guessed, looking over his shoulder, letting Yami see his smile.
His smile of knowing that he was probably guessing right turned into one that was self-conscious. The other had cocked an eyebrow, a questioning look on his face. "Ah…no," Yami said in an awkward kind of way, but nevertheless chuckled when he took in Yugi's expression.
"No, I do enjoy the wealth my family possesses; it provides me and my brother and sister so many possibilities for future success. But anyway, I do usually enjoy dinner parties - or any parties for that matter - but as much fun as I had at this one, it felt like my mother was holding something over my head," Yami explained, laughing full out when Yugi scratched the back of his head in his wrongness.
"So what made you feel, err, strange at this one?" Yugi carefully constructed his words, not wanting to jump to anymore conclusions. He moved over a little so he could still continue his work, but still let his head crane back to Yami so he could know that he was still listening.
Yami swung his legs a little, being careful not to hit the cabinets down below. "My mother's friend has a daughter, Mieko," he put it simply.
"Ah. Something about marriage I'm guessing?" Yugi said a little more confidently, turning his head back to the floor just in case he messed up again with conclusions.
"Not…exactly. I mean, I know that my parents and her parents obviously want to do that, but thankfully we've dropped that whole tradition where parents decide the whole marriage thing," Yami said, feeling an odd relief when he mentioned the whole tradition part.
"So Mieko wants what your and her parents are thinking, too?" Yugi asked quietly, moving around the floor to a different spot.
"I think so," Yami replied, his heel accidentally hitting the wooden cabinet. "But if she offered it, I'd have to say no."
Yugi looked over his shoulder with a questioning gaze. "Why's that? She not pretty enough for you?"
Pulling his shoes off and chucking them out the open door where there was a carpet floor, Yami pulled his legs up and sat with them crossed underneath him. "No," he admitted, "She's just a little too spoiled."
Yugi smiled to himself. "Is she spoiled as in, like, she's mean to everyone or something?"
"Sometimes, but it's really kind of like she gets what she wants, when she wants it, and she can be rude about it," Yami clarified. "But don't get me wrong, she can be nice when she wants to; she's not always acting like some kind of diva."
Amethyst eyes gave the other a pointed look. "You do know that you just defended her, right?"
Yami looked rather surprised, and raised his hands up in his own defense. "Hey, I don't want to say anything totally bad about a person, okay? I don't do that kind of thing."
"Sure," Yugi teased. "I can tell that you like her," he added with the tiniest of smirks.
Yugi beamed when Yami put his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. He could see that the other was obviously hiding a smile. "You did not just say that, Yugi," he nearly mumbled, and Yugi purposely turned around to re-wet his sponge and start scrubbing again.
"I think I just did," Yugi countered a little smugly, "And there's nothing you can do about it."
He kept working, biting his lip as he listened to Yami's silence, not daring to look back. Okay…maybe he shouldn't have said that, but he didn't think that he'd get fired over that…would he? The smile suddenly disappeared as Yugi wondered if he hurt Yami in some way, and just as he was about to look back to make sure he hadn't done anything wounding to the other, an arm swooped around his waist and hauled him up.
With a cry of surprise, Yugi came face to face with Yami, who had taken his smug look from earlier. Not being as strong as the other, Yugi felt two hands clutch onto his biceps and backed him up until his back hit the fridge that was on the other side of the kitchen.
Even though he was wearing a long sleeved shirt, Yugi could feel his skin burning with Yami holding him in place like that. The other got his face unpredictably close to Yugi's, and the smaller's heart sped up.
A smile played on Yami's lips, and Yugi couldn't figure out why his mind and body were acting in such as strange way. Yes, they had their odd moment a couple weeks back when their first truly met, but Yugi couldn't really believe that there was something seriously attracting him to Yami when he hardly knew the guy.
It was even stranger when he thought back to the last instance they spent time together, and he remembered how flustered he had gotten when Yami flirted with him then. But all at the same time, Yugi couldn't really suppose in love at first sight; it just didn't seem possible.
"You're wrong, Yugi," Yami said in a whispery voice, his tone low, making Yugi involuntarily shiver. "I could never like Mieko that way."
He knew that he wouldn't be able to say much when he was already acting in such an anxious way. Yugi blinked a couple times, trying to not concentrate on Yami's suddenly gorgeous, up-close face. "T-then who do you…like?" he inquired after a moment, trying to appear unaffected by the other teen's close presence.
It was such a black and white question, and to Yugi's surprise, he was concerned when Yami didn't give him an answer right away. He felt his heart sink a little, and he became alarmed at the feeling. Had he really…with only two interactions…?
"Who do I like? That's quite the question there," Yami said, his voice teasing, and Yugi was reassured to his disbelief. It wasn't possible, was it? This wasn't a dream, right?
A finger under his chin jolted Yugi out of his confused thoughts and brought back to what Yami was about to say. His heart started pounding again, and Yugi hoped to anyone that he wasn't physically showing how nervous he was.
Yami stared straight into his eyes, the redness of them tantalizing Yugi easily. That small smile was back, tugging innocently at the corners of the other's lips, and Yugi felt his heart soar when the other simply answered, "I like you."
How it was possible for him to feel such a way was unknown to Yugi, but he knew that he was extremely happy at Yami's claim. He let out a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding, a small grin spreading on his lips too.
"I…" Yugi started, but his mind was telling him not to be mushy and voice the fact that he didn't have the slightest idea of what to say. He wasn't quite sure if he was just feeling the same for Yami because he was caught in the moment so suddenly, or if he truly did feel this way because he really did like Yami. Why did this have to be so confusing?
There were hands now at his waist again, and it was obvious Yami could care less if he said anything or not. Maybe he realized what Yugi was thinking, and wasn't expecting anything back so soon. Or maybe he was just impatient…Yugi blushed as he continued that thought.
In an instant, Yugi was pressed even more into the fridge, letting out an eep of surprise, and feeling a swirl of lust when he felt Yami's hot breath trickle along his neck, their bodies pressed closely together out of what seemed nowhere.
"Y-Yami-i," Yugi stuttered, his breath hitching when he felt a hand cup the right side of his face. Yami kept the contact close, letting his breath purposely ghost over Yugi's exposed flesh.
"Mmm…Yugi," Yami hummed, smiling into Yugi's neck, letting his fingers stroke the delicate face ever so affectionately. "You smell good."
His mind was becoming utterly muddled…Yugi didn't know what to do or think. Did Yami just say he smelt good? Those fingertips were become rhythmic and soothing; he tried to keep his breath under control.
Then abruptly, Yami pulled back, but not by far, and his other hand was cupping the other side of Yugi's face. Yugi stared into Yami's gentle face, once again being mesmerized by those gorgeous crimson eyes.
His brain must've been on autopilot at this point because Yugi could tell that he wasn't panicking as much anymore. He watched as Yami offered another kind smile before inching closer and closer to what Yugi knew would be a kiss…
"Mr. Motou! Just what in the world do you think you are doing!"
The autopilot abandoned, Yugi flinched almost violently at the shrill and cranky voice he knew all too well, accidentally pushing himself back against the fridge and really unintentionally pushing Yami away so hastily that he backed up in a stupor into the bucket full of cleaner. The soapy and toxic liquid spilled over almost aggressively, soaking the tiles and Yami's right pant leg all the way up to his knee.
And what made things worse was that Yami slipped and fell.
Yugi had covered his face with his hands at the discomfiture he knew was spreading over his face. He knew it looked like he had just sloshed a tomato on his face - he was that mortified. An awful feeling sunk in his stomach, and for a fleeting moment, he just knew that he was going to be fired.
But at least Miss Osaka had other things on her mind at that moment.
A shocked look on her face, the head cleaner quickly made her way over to the fallen teen. She swept through the wet mess of toxins and bent down to Yami, a very worried and almost frightened look on her face. "Are you alright Mr. Nakashima? You're not hurt, are you?"
Yugi watched with some terror as Yami didn't move at first. He was lying on his back flush against the floor, and he had yet to respond to anything. He hadn't even cried out when he slipped and hit the hard tile. He hadn't hit his head, did he? Yugi didn't see that much. The cleaning teen bit his lip hard.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity did Yami start to respond to Miss Osaka's anxious questions and concerns. Both cleaners sighed with relief, and Yami pulled himself up, groaning lowly to himself.
"Are you sure you're alright, dear?" the woman asked for what appeared to be the hundredth time, checking over his now drenched form. "You don't need medical assistance, do you? You didn't hit your head, did you?"
Yami flashed the woman a toothy smile in reassurance. "I'll just have a bump on my head, Miss Osaka, nothing to worry about." He lightly chuckled for the effect, but it appeared that the cleaner would not have any of it.
"At least let me escort you to your room, dear, it's the least I can do to repair my staff's mistake," Miss Osaka offered sweetly, being forward and taking his arm. "I'll have one of the daily maids bring you up some bandages and ice, and I'll take those dirtied clothes if you want."
Having been in a similar situation before, Yami knew not to argue with the head cleaning lady and nodded in surrender. "Thank you, Miss Osaka," he thanked in a tired manner, letting himself be led out of the kitchen. She led him out of the room and to the foot of the staircase before telling him to wait a moment before heading back into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Yugi stood horrified at everything that had just taken place. He took in the mess that he had caused Yami to make, along with the aftereffects of what he and Yami were just about to do. Oh, and he thought with a worry stricken mind of what Miss Osaka was going to do with him, too.
Speaking of the devil…the elderly woman marched almost angrily in, carrying a mop in hand that she must've picked up before she came back. Her jaw was set like concrete, and Yugi wanted so badly to shrink into his shoes.
"You will clean up the mess and then finish the rest of your duties. After today, you will have the rest of the week off. You will receive a letter before Monday." She thrust the mop at him, and Yugi clutched the wooden handle with all his might, not wanting to drop it and make the woman angrier. "Now get back to work."
Nodding a little more enthusiastically than he probably should have, Yugi stood ramrod straight, watching Miss Osaka march back out before getting back to work like a frenzied bee.
"Yugi, a letter came in for you," Yugi's Grandpa called with a hoarse voice followed with a cough the moment the teen came in through the Game Shop's doorway. Yugi sluggishly closed the door behind him, walking into the store to snatch the envelope his Grandpa was holding out for him.
"Thanks, Grandpa," Yugi thanked kindly, "Do you need anything?"
His Grandpa coughed again and cleared his throat, nevertheless mustering up his strength and giving his grandson a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, Yugi. I have a glass of water nearby."
Offering a small smile and a nod of understanding, Yugi headed upstairs to the apartment portion of the building. Kicking his shoes off when he got to his room and letting his book bag fall off his shoulders to the floor, Yugi plopped lazily down on his bed before carefully opening his mail.
Sighing through his nose when he read the return address at the top of the actual letter, Yugi read through what it said.
Dear Mr. Motou,
As I am sure you are aware of, you violated what rules were given to you, and slacked off your duties. You disobeyed what you were told and interacted with one of the Nakashimas when you were strictly told not to.
However, after Mr. Yami Nakashima kindly explained his side of the story, it has come to my attention that it was not entirely your fault, and that Mr. Nakashima has taken an innocent liking to you; as I'm guessing, he was in his room while you were cleaning said area..
Innocent? Yugi could've laughed, but he didn't. A smile spread widely across his face though.
So with this letter, I personally apologize if my behavior towards you may have been a little brash, and because of that, you may have the remainder of your week off if you wish. But as of now, you are still hired, and are expected back Monday afternoon.
Miss Osaka
Relief washed through Yugi at an alarming pace; he still had his job. Bless Yami for explaining everything when he obviously couldn't. Yugi let his smile stay put and he flopped onto his back against the soft mattress.
Would this mean that he'd be able to still see Yami? If Yami really had told Miss Osaka the truth - he was a little skeptical because he obviously said 'innocent' - would that mean that Miss Osaka would be okay with them talking to each other? Yami was above the grouchy head cleaner, so that had to give them the advantage, right? Hm…
Well, Yugi knew one good thing that came out of all of this: he could finally catch up on his homework and get some decent sleep now that he had the rest of the week off.
Yugi blushed, trying to hide it by holding his arm purposely in front of his face as he dusted the wardrobe.
"You've got to be kidding me, Yug'," Jounouchi exclaimed with a laugh, looking over his shoulder with some disbelief. "He actually talks to you, and you push him into a bucket? That's funny stuff."
"Well, it wasn't like I did it intentionally, Jou," Yugi defended himself, continuing on with his dusting and hiding his reddened face. "Miss Osaka came in and scared the crap out of me!"
Jounouchi made a peculiar noise, and Yugi cursed himself. Now he'd have to explain everything. Great. Leave it to him to keep opening his big, fat mouth.
In a very obviously sly tone, Jounouchi questioned smoothly, "So what were you two doing that set Osaka off then, hmm?" He frowned a little when Yugi remained quiet, and he prodded, "Oh, c'mon Yug, you have to tell me now. I promise I won't laugh if it's embarrassing and I won't tell anyone."
Yugi drew his arm back, bringing the duster to his side and he pursed his lips to the side in thought. Should he tell Jounouchi? He had been very trustworthy so far…and Yugi didn't suspect that he'd be disgusted or anything. Looking over his shoulder as he sought out Jounouchi, he found the other with a pleading look on his face, and Yugi smiled in amusement.
"Okay, but don't tell anyone, okay?" he insisted, hoping that he wasn't about to make a mistake or lose a cleaning buddy.
Jounouchi gave him a thumb up. Then, anxiously, he sat on the tidy bed, awaiting Yugi's answer. "So what's going on with you two?" he asked excitedly, and Yugi crossed his arms over his chest, a lopsided smile on his lips.
Shifting his feet awkwardly, Yugi replied cautiously, "Well, um…he and I were…err, about to…" he paused for a moment, looking at the eagerness in Jounouchi's honey colored eyes, "…kiss."
Yugi immediately stared down at his feet, not wanting to see Jounouchi's reaction. He didn't know what to anticipate.
However, the other was quick to get over his shock - if actually fell into it - and was swift to respond with, "Aw, Yugi, I had a feeling you liked him."
The smaller cleaner looked up flustered, a new blush spreading on his face as he took in Jou's knowing grin. "But how di-"
Jou cut him off with the answer, "It's kind of obvious. Sometimes you mumble under your breath, and well, it kind of went around that you two were up to something last week." He stood up from the bed and placed an arm around Yugi's shoulders. "But I'm happy for you, Yug. Seems like Yami's a nice guy the way you depict him."
"Yeah," Yugi muttered rather monotonously, but it was only because he didn't really know how to respond. Then he realized something and shot Jounouchi a piercing look. "Wait, you already knew?"
The blonde smiled sheepishly, retracting his arm back and stepping away slightly. "I guess so…but you told me the whole story, I only knew about half of it, minus the kissing part." He chuckled gracelessly, watching with some hilarity as Yugi's face lit up bright red for what seemed the umpteenth time they began their shift together.
"Aw, Yug," Jounouchi said after a time, trying to reassure his friend. "It's not like it was being talked about badly or anything with everyone else. Just the usual interest that the Nakashima kid likes someone is all. It'll be forgotten in a week or two." He patted the other on the shoulder, hoping to relieve some of Yugi's sudden distress.
"Its fine," Yugi managed over a whisper, his worries being alleviated considerably, "Thanks, Jounouchi." He looked up at his friend, and gave him a smile, showing that he was okay, and that he'd like to get back on track now.
Jou gave him an enthusiastic grin in return and gave him a thumbs up. He scurried over to where he previously was cleaning, and got back down to work with polishing the wood Yugi had already dusted.
The two worked in silence for a while, and Yugi became more relaxed in that time over what he had just confessed. He had just finished vacuuming when Jounouchi approached him with fresh questions again.
"So…is my theory right?" the blonde asked, being vague.
"What theory?" Yugi pressed, pulling up the cord and winding it around the contraption with ease.
Jounouchi was beginning to put away his supplies and he clarified over his shoulder from across the bed, "About the whole thing with Yami and the pills, I mean. Is it true?"
Yugi almost gawked at the question, his head snapping up to look intently at the blonde across the room. Then, just as quick as he had been seconds before, he recomposed himself before looking down and shrugging. "How should I know?"
"Mm I don't know," Jou said really fast, shrugging himself. "You see him more."
"You sound like I'm supposed to keep tabs on Yami," Yugi scoffed, however, with a playful tone underneath.
Jou let out a short laugh. "That's because you are, Yug!"
"Oh, and when was I appointed this job?" Yugi smiled right back, making his voice sound accusing. He rolled the vacuum out to the hallway so that Jounouchi could take it back and returned into the room to collect his things.
"Ever since he started hitting on you," Jounouchi teased, watching with a couple laughs as Yugi stopped dead cold in the middle of his trip to gather cleaning items.
Thankfully though, Yugi turned and gave him a hard look before sticking his tongue out at him, and then returned to the task he had set out to do. He came back a minute later, a small box in his hand. "Why, am I spying on him for you, Jou?" he teased back.
The blonde's brows rose up as well as his hands. "Whoa, Yug. Don't be accusing me of doing what you do."
Yugi rolled purple eyes. "Sure…I'll lock it," he dismissed with a wholehearted smile, gesturing for Jounouchi to go out first. He closed and locked the door behind him, lightly kicking Jou's shoe when he spun around. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Heh heh…yeah, I'll see you tomorrow, Yug," Jou answered back, turning to go downstairs while Yugi made his own way up.
As per usual when Yugi reached Yami's door, he knocked a couple times before taking the silence as an invitation that he could go in. With an odd relief, Yugi was glad that Yami was out doing whatever, giving him the time to clean without any distractions for once.
He shined up the wood and made the bed neat and tidy, and made progress with picking up clothes from the floor, or any surface, actually - he had learned from the other that Yami in truth was a messy person, for he had to pick up clothes almost everyday - and he made quick work with sweeping.
As he worked dutifully, Yugi thought clearly this time about last Tuesday's situation. Yami had told him that he liked him, but did that me like, like? Or was it just a simple like? They did almost kiss…Yugi felt his heart flutter, and he knew damn straight what Yami meant, even thought he didn't want to believe it…but then again, did he?
He didn't know Yami well enough…yet at the same time, Yugi felt that he was comfortable enough around the other teen that he did in fact know him really well. It was a weird feeling, but Yugi just knew that somewhere, somewhere deep down that he liked Yami despite his self-confusing thoughts.
"Why can't you just accept it?" Yugi thought audibly to himself, "You like him; you were willing to let him kiss you!" He sighed through his nose at his own self-frustration and noticed that he was nearly done. He glanced at the bathroom door, suddenly wishing that he didn't have to clean it and that he could just go home and sleep.
But not wanting to be scolded at, Yugi pushed his unexpected weariness down to his toes and flicked on the bathroom light and wiped the porcelain and mirror down with a couple quick motions. He swiftly did the sweeping, and just as he was about to call it quits, the mirror caught his eye, along with a subject Jounouchi had previously brought up.
The last couple times he had seen Yami, Yugi hadn't gotten the suspicions that he was under an influence of a drug. Yeah, Yugi kind of freaked out at the other's behavior, but he had seen countless times on reality TV and in school that people who flirted always acted unlike themselves to an extent, and Yami didn't seem that exuberant.
Jounouchi probably just wanted some kind of juicy gossip to mull over with their coworkers or something. Maybe he wanted something to use against Yami because he secretly hated him. Yugi smiled to himself, oh how much more absurd could he get?
But still…the urge just to make sure Yami actually wasn't overdosing on some drug because of some odd reason ached in Yugi's gut. He knew that he shouldn't go through Yami's cabinet, but the chances he'd get caught…
It was only five forty-five. Yami probably wouldn't be back until much later if he predicted right. Biting his lip, Yugi swiftly shut the door until it was open just a crack and hastily pried the mirror/door back, shelves being revealed to him.
Not much was stored in here. Just a package of band-aids, a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, tweezers, hair gel, and other normal things were what were lined up on the neat looking shelves. Yugi blinked momentarily, and then the bottle of pain killers in the corner of a shelf behind the band-aids was known to him.
Well, from here, the bottle looked quite untouched, and it looked like there was even a small coating of dust on it. Feeling out of place, Yugi reached for the plastic bottle and found it to be almost full. Maybe Jounouchi's interests were false…or maybe this was just a new bottle when the last obviously didn't work.
Mentally smacking himself, Yugi put the bottle back behind the small box of bandages, making sure it appeared like he had never touched it. Yami didn't have a drug problem…or any problem that would involve those pain killers! It was just like Yami had told him before; he had been under the influence of anesthesia and had accidentally taken more than he should. It was just a freak accident. Nothing was wrong now.
Hoping that there weren't secret cameras hidden in the small space, Yugi closed the mirror and wiped it down again to clean off his fingerprint smudges. He flicked off the light and closed the door softly behind him, nearly jumping out of his skin when Yami appeared from behind the door to his left.
The other didn't appear angry, but confusion showed in his crimson eyes. "What were you doing in my medicine cabinet?"
His nerves when haywire before he even knew it and Yugi found himself babbling on how he was just checking something before Yami placed a finger over his rapidly moving lips.
"I promise I won't be mad, you can tell me, Yugi," Yami assured him, offering a small smile that allowed Yugi to gather his thoughts coherently.
Part of Yugi didn't really want to get into trouble by snooping around Yami's business if Jou's thoughts were true, and he certainly didn't want to humiliate himself if he got it all wrong. But the small part of Yugi's rational brain told him to just say what was on his mind so that Yami wouldn't misunderstand and cause everything to get out of control.
He set his gaze at his feet and nervously bit his lip. "Um, do you have a-ahum, problem, Yami? Any, uh, depression, or, like something like that?"
To a tiny reprieve in the back of Yugi's mind, Yami looked utterly lost. "Uh, what do you mean?"
Yugi chuckled twice out of uneasiness, but carried on anyway. "Have you been, uh, overdosing on some, ah, pills lately?" he asked quite straight forwardly, shocking even himself.
Yami was quicker to respond this time. "You've got to be kidding me! I finally just got my parents to stop worrying over that ever since that goddamn butler told them that one night after I came home." He didn't seem in the least angry, just a little upset and stressed. "Not you too," he said with the tiniest of smiles at Yugi.
The smaller shook his head in negate, his amethyst eyes shining. "No, I was just curious! Jou had the idea the day after I found you acting all weird and then he-"
"Whoa, wait a minute," Yami interrupted him. "You mean that blonde cleaner, Jounouchi? That obnoxious guy?" Yugi nodded, and Yami sighed, rolling his eyes. "Let me guess, you've been working with him on a room or something?"
Yugi had the feeling that Yami didn't think too highly of Jounouchi, and he felt obliged to defend his funny friend. "Jounouchi isn't that bad though. He may get carried away with something, but he's a real nice guy, honest."
"Are you sure?" Yami asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice, a brow delicately raised just for that question alone. Yugi nodded again, and he continued, "Well, okay then, I believe you. But you can't always believe what he says, trust me."
"Wait, you've met Jounouchi?" Yugi queried hastily, then added for extra measure, "I know that much, it was just a thought he put into my head, but I never truly believed what he said."
"Once, but that's not the point," Yami dismissed, "Look, whatever Jounouchi had started to say that influenced you to do this was stupid, and he's to blame. And for the record, I have no problems, I love my life, and I haven't touched those pills since the day I came home from the hospital. Go tell Jounouchi that."
Yugi let out a breath he had been holding, feeling a little ashamed of himself, feeling like he had just been scolded by Yami when he really hadn't been. 'Look, it's over and done with, you guys are cool now', he assured himself.
"Okay," Yugi said in an almost whispery voice, still feeling a little bad. "I promise I won't look around your things anymore."
Yami smiled brightly then, and Yugi knew it was to reassure them both that everything was settled and that the past was gone. He sneakily wrapped an arm around Yugi's shoulders and pulled him close, effectively taking Yugi's mind off the past couple of minutes' crisis.
"Come here, I have to ask you something important," Yami said in a low voice, causing Yugi to blush all over again and look down at the hardwood floor as he was led over to the large windows that opened up to the balcony.
The taller teen unlatched the simple lock to the large wooden and glass doors that were elegantly made and pushed them open carefully. The large curtains billowed back at them as the cool breeze swept inside the room, and Yami let his arm drop to his side as he took the first step out to the balcony.
Yugi followed tentatively behind, taking in the fresh air like it was a rarity compared to the stuffy air inside the mansion. Yami was leaning against the black iron railing that was intricately designed to match the home on his forearms, and Yugi took up a spot right next to him.
The backyard was larger than Yugi had first thought. He had seen glimpses of it whenever he passed by the windows in the kitchen, but compared to what he was looking at now, he had seen nothing.
There was a large patio made of smooth looking grey stone, simple yet well-dressed designs in each square. It reached out to about twenty feet, large enough to hold at least five full outdoor tables and what Yugi guessed to be a suitable dancing area if parties were hosted. Also scattered around the area were uncomplicated statues and beautiful flowers that would put any gardener's garden to shame. Beyond the stone ground was a large expanse of neatly cut luscious green grass that was split by a simple dirt path that led to even more flowers, a gazebo and some pretty benches. Dotted around that area were many well kept trees that Yugi recognized as weeping willows.
Above the sky was quietly and slowly darkening, going from a bright blue to a shade of brilliant gold where the sun was setting, spreading out like a rainbow of reds, pinks, purples and soft blues. Not a cloud was in the sky this day, and Yugi could hear the last of the birds tenderly twittering their songs.
Yugi was so absorbed taking it all in, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Yami's hand suddenly overlap his in an attempt to gain his attention. He looked at Yami with an alarmed expression, "What?" he questioned calmly, completely forgetting what the other had said before.
Yami cocked his head to the side, a grin breaking out on his face. "You are so adorable when you're confused," he joked, poking Yugi gently on the nose, receiving a small glare from the other.
"No I'm not," Yugi protested, instantly recalling that Yami had wanted to ask him a question. "So what was it that you wanted to ask?" he inquired, changing the subject.
The taller teen put on a thoughtful face, and an arm crossed his body, his hand holding his opposite arm up by the elbow while the opposite hand lightly touched his mouth in contemplation. He tapped his lips purposely, teasing Yugi. "Hm…what did I want to ask you…?"
Yugi rolled his eyes. "You wanted to ask me something essential. If you can't even remember what it is, I don't think I should waste-"
Yami suddenly disrupted his pretend threat with an 'aha!' that caused Yugi to flinch a little. "Oh yes, I remember now." His face turned from mockery to sincere, his red eyes softened significantly.
"Yugi, my parents have scheduled a party for me this Saturday night, and I'd be honored if you'd be my guest," Yami told him with a hopeful look in his eyes. "It's supposed to be a party for me to-"
"But, wait!" Yugi interjected this time his voice full of alarm, "Am I allowed to attend? I mean, as part of the cleaning staff, am I not supposed to come? I've got a bad feeling about this, as much as I am thrilled to have this invitation, I don't think that I'll be able to-"
A finger was placed on his babbling lips abruptly, and Yugi blinked, his mind going in all directions on an uncontrollable speed. Nevertheless, he remained silent and listened to whatever Yami had to say.
"Yugi, don't worry about all that stuff. I've been told I'm allowed to invite whomever I wish," the taller teen assured with confidence. "My parents may not quite approve, but they'll have no right to kick you out." He stopped for a moment, thinking something over. "Have you ever seen my parents?" he asked.
Yugi shook his head, "No."
Hands rose with palms faced up. "See? If they've never seen you, there's no way that they'll suspect you for one of the cleaners here, I promise. And before you even ask, no, they don't go through applications; only Miss Osaka does that since she's the head of cleaning workforce."
The smaller teen wrung his hands uncertainly, hesitant of the whole idea. He'd definitely have to dress up, and come here to mingle with upper class citizens for sure. He didn't know anything that would probably come up in conversations, so he'd be seen as dumb. And if he were to hang around Yami like a lost puppy…he didn't know how that'd go over with Yami's reputation.
But he liked Yami, a lot. And he knew for a fact that Yami liked him, a lot. He mentally sighed, his decision made up in his mind. Looking up at the other who stood patiently, he offered a smile, "I'll be there."
It was unexpected but welcome when Yami embraced him with tremendous enthusiasm. They held each other, neither one wanting to let go. However, both teens knew that it was getting a little awkward and they broke apart, sheepish grins on their faces.
"I knew you'd come, Yugi," Yami beamed, looking very excited about Yugi's choice.
Yugi shifted his weight, feeling a little nervous about his choice. He had made it in about thirty seconds, and that was one thing he never did when it came to deciding something. To ease his worry, he asked, "So will I have to wear a tuxedo?"
Yami nodded, and Yugi wondered just how excited the other was. It appeared that Yami would give himself a neck injury if he kept that up. "Yes, a tuxedo. Do you need one?"
He knew Yami would offer to buy him one if he didn't have one, but thankfully Yugi was able to say no. He did have one from a while back that he wore to one of his Grandpa's archeology parties, and he had only worn it once. It should still fit.
The two of them went back to leaning on the railing again, watching as the sky darkened even more. A couple of lights down on the patio lit up, and another thing came to Yugi's mind. "What time do I need to be here? Do I need to bring anything with me?"
Yami's excited state seemed to have died down reasonably, and he seemed rather peaceful looking out at the beautiful yard ahead. "It starts at seven, but you can be here at six-thirty if you want." He gave Yugi a sideway glance at the implication and continued, "Just bring yourself, don't worry about possessions."
Nodding, Yugi let his eyes droop, his tiredness suddenly coming back to him. They both remained outside on the balcony for a while longer until the sky was mostly darkened, and Yugi stood up straight, wondering what time it was. Giving Yami a saddened look, he said, "I have to go, Yami."
Yami made a pouting face, but nevertheless wrapped an arm around Yugi's waist, taking delight in the blush that was once again produced. He helped Yugi gather his things when they were back inside and showed him the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Yugi," he said lowly, letting a sly smile trace itself on his lips, knowing that it'd be imprinted in the smaller's mind.
Yugi felt his stomach fill with butterflies when Yami said that, and with a shy smile of his own, he bid the other goodnight before heading quickly down the staircase, unable to believe what he'd just gotten himself into.
The remainder of the week couldn't have flown by any faster than it had. Yugi could feel himself floating on daydreams of possible happenings throughout his school days, and the cleaning job had gone much faster than before, even when he only saw a glimpse of Yami once in those four days.
He had also reprimanded Jou the next day, thankful that the blonde took his mild scolding in a positive way. Jounouchi had promised not to jump to conclusions so easily about people he barely knew.
So the cold wind swept through Yugi once again as he made his way home, the sky dimming with each passing minute. When the Game Shop came into view, Yugi smiled weakly, his feet aching in response.
Trudging through the door and locking it behind him, Yugi was greeted by silence as his Grandpa was out with some old archeology friends for the night. Sighing as he moved through the shop to the apartment portion of the building, Yugi quickly deposited his book bag before starting his dinner.
Through his activity of preparing food, Yugi thought of how nervous he was going to be tomorrow night. He wouldn't know anybody, and he truly wished that he wasn't as shy as he was around people he didn't know very well. Either tomorrow would turn out to be okay, or a disaster. He just had a feeling it would could go whichever way.
As the teen finished preparing his meal, Yugi contemplated what the party was for. Or, well, he knew it was Yami, the guy said that himself, but what for? Was it Yami's birthday, or some kind of religious ceremony? Yugi suddenly felt ashamed that he had interrupted when Yami was about to tell him.
"You'll find out when you get there," Yugi told himself, sitting down at the kitchen table to eat his food. He ate some, trying to figure out what the party was for. It seemed the longer he thought, the more ridiculous his ideas became. "Maybe he's joining a secret cult!" Yugi exclaimed aloud to no one in particular, for a second finding the idea rational, then after another, he realized it was absurd. "Besides, I don't think you can invite people to a cult orientation. Those things are supposed to be secret."
Shaking his head with a tiny smile, Yugi collected his dishes and cleaned them properly before heading down to make sure the doors were locked tightly. 'Hm, it's starting to drizzle,' he mused for a moment before returning to his room to finish up homework.
Yugi stood confidently in front of his full-view mirror, twisting this way and that, making sure that his tuxedo didn't present any hidden flaws that someone would no doubt be able to pick out without a blink of an eye.
His dress pants were black like his overcoat, the main shirt a crisp white, and the vest just on top of that a light yellow color. Polished shoes that he had only worn twice since he had gotten them adorned his feet. His hair was at its usual, but he had spent a little more extra time on it to make sure it wouldn't get any wilder than it already was.
Letting out a shaky breath, Yugi let his twitchy fingers adjust his bowtie for the hundredth time, setting it perfectly straight. He stood ramrod still, taking his image in, letting out an awkward smile to himself, as a reassurance of sorts.
Usually he'd give himself some kind of motivational pep talk whenever he knew he was going to encounter something uncomfortable, but this time around, Yugi found nothing that he could tell himself. He was at a blank. With other situations, if he only had a sliver of what would be going on, he'd be able to say something. But with this upcoming party, Yugi found his voice box and ideas frozen.
Swallowing, Yugi finally jostled himself, and started out of his room to tell his Grandpa goodbye and then start off. The elderly man bid him goodbye, telling him to have a good time, and Yugi found the words a little comforting.
On his way to the mansion, Yugi noted that he'd make it there by six forty-five the latest if he kept his pace up. He knew that he wanted to see Yami before guests started to arrive in crowds, and ask questions on what he'd have to expect for the night.
When the mansion came into view, Yugi picked up his pace, eager to get inside the elaborate him and seek out his friend. His heart quickened and all he could process in his mind was the fact that he had to find Yami like he was about to die or something of the odd sort.
However, when the small teen came within at least twenty feet of the gates, a car passed, and Yugi was splashed mercilessly with mud, coating him from his chin down. He stood in a stupor, his mouth ajar as he didn't know what to do. His eyes searched the sidewalk as if the cold, bland pavement held all his answers as to why such a thing had to happen so suddenly.
'It was raining last night…remember?' his mind told him, almost sounding mocking. At his thoughts, Yugi swallowed and felt his breath quicken with anxiety.
He couldn't show up at the mansion. They probably wouldn't let him in, even if he claimed to be invited by Yami.
He couldn't return home. He didn't own a second tuxedo, and he was sure that he wouldn't be able to fit into his Grandpa's.
And he certainly couldn't take the time to go to the cleaners, either.
"What am I going to do?" Yugi whispered to himself miserably, the effects of the shock still over him as he still stood in the middle of the sidewalk, covered with mud. "I can't go to Yami's party like this!"
He suddenly felt a deep, deep disappointment, a sadness spreading from the inside of his gut outwards. Yugi could feel tears prick at his eyes and his throat clench up. He could just not show up, he promised Yami he'd be there. He had to go, he just had to!
Running a hand through his hair to calm himself did little, but Yugi kept the soothing motion up for a while as he finally moved back to lean against the black metal gate. Then, suddenly, something caught the corner of his eye.
Rotating his head to the left, he could make out a figure of a larger person, someone who was bent over just slightly, with a very familiar walk. Yugi inclined his head to get a better view, and his eyes widened considerably as he recognized the person as the one and only Miss Osaka. And she was heading his way.
"Mr. Motou, what on Earth are you doing here?" the woman exclaimed, "You do realize you're coated with mud, right?"
'Of course I know,' Yugi nearly grumbled to himself. "I was just…going to a party," he answered blankly, his words saddening him.
The cleaning lady had a confused expression on her face. "Do you mean the Nakashima's party, dear?" Yugi nodded, and she unexpectedly huffed. "Well, you certainly can't go to that party looking like a miserable mess."
Yugi looked up into the elderly woman's face for the first time in surprise. "Huh…?" Was Miss Osaka offering him help? He could've sworn that she hated his guts.
The woman huffed again, reaching out to take Yugi's wrist in her hand. "Well, come on, then, let's get you cleaned up and ready for that party." She started to pull, and Yugi didn't resist.
The duo walked for a while, and Yugi felt confused. He was surprisingly able to build up his confidence, and quietly asked, "Why are you helping me?" He hoped it didn't sound too accusing or anything, and thankfully, his employer answered back.
"Well, just between you and me, Mr. Motou, I'm not as mean as I may come off as," Miss Osaka told him, surprising Yugi even further with a pleasant smile. "That's just to get you all working efficiently, because if you haven't noticed, the Nakashima's have quite the house, and if I wasn't hard on my employees, not everything would be cleaned in that place.
"Second, I've thought about what may be going on between you and Yami Nakashima," she said, causing Yugi to blush, and she smirked a little. "And if I'm correct, Yami invited you to his party, am I right?"
Yugi nodded, squeaking out a, "Yes."
"And since I'm not some cold hearted person, I know that this party must be something special for Yami if he invited you," Miss Osaka continued, "And I don't want this to be ruined just because you're coated with mud."
So Miss Osaka really did care. Yugi smiled to himself, and then at the elderly woman he was walking with, suddenly thinking of her as a secret fairy godmother, helping him like this when he had no other outlets. "Thank you," he thanked, and they continued on their way.
"Name, please?" a doorman asked uninterestingly, looking a little snooty as he gazed down his long nose at Yugi.
"Motou, Yugi," the teen replied nervously, feeling a thousand holes burning in his back as the other very late guests tried to deduce who he was and what he was doing at such a rich party.
The man in the black and white tuxedo glanced down at his clipboard of listed guests, and Yugi blinked at his shoes, waiting to be let in. "Alright, Mr. Motou, you may pass," the doorman answered after many agonizing seconds, and Yugi let out a breath and passed through the open doors.
He was immediately guided through the elaborate mansion he knew fairly well to the back patio. He passed through at least three doorways and four archways laden with ivy and thin, translucent curtains and tiny lights. He could hear loud voices engaged in conversation almost anywhere and the soft classical music from outside wafted through the whole area.
Sucking in a breath as he was left to himself when he was finally on the back patio, Yugi felt himself get really tense again as he was left standing by himself in a crowd of people he'd considered strangers.
His purple eyes anxiously scanned the large area for Yami, but to Yugi's misfortune, he could not locate the other teen. He could feel his stomach drop as he realized Yami could be anywhere, and that he could go the whole night without finding the other. So, keeping his profile low, Yugi moved over to stand against a stone wall also covered in ivy.
Although no one came up to him, Yugi could see that many people had noticed his presence, and were determined to find out who exactly he was without going through the trouble of actually coming over to him and asking. He constantly twiddled his fingers behind his back, looking up cautiously every now and then just in case Yami passed by.
'Maybe I should check his room,' Yugi thought, but he shot his own idea down when he realized that he probably wouldn't be permitted to go to such a place when he was only a guest. 'But what if he meant to meet me there?'
The mere idea of Yami waiting for him made Yugi jumpy, and he actually wanted to go see for himself. However, a tap on his shoulder brought the tiny cleaner back to reality before he could even take a step.
Before him was girl who looked about his age, though, of course, she was a bit taller. With glossy and straight black hair and dazzling brown eyes, the girl stood straight, dressed in a very expensive looking dress with many glittery jewels and colored a spring green. She wore light makeup and quite a bit of jewelry.
The girl smiled sweetly at Yugi, and Yugi instinctively held out his hand. "Hello," he said quickly, watching at the girl took it and they shook. "I'm Motou, Yugi, and you are…?"
Personally, Yugi could really care less who this girl was; he had much more important things to try to figure out. Like finding Yami so that he didn't go insane.
"Inoue, Mieko," the girl said in a confident voice, beaming Yugi a magnificent white smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
So this was Mieko, Yugi thought, his own smile never faltering even as he took his hand back. She was very pretty like Yami had said, and she seemed to have good manners. He let his hands slip into his pockets. "So was there something you needed me for, or…" he let his sentence trail off, not having even the tiniest idea of what she would want of him.
Mieko blushed cutely, but Yugi wasn't affected by it like some other guys might have been. She blinked a couple of times in a way that had Yugi thinking something was up before inquisitively asking, "Um, who are you exactly? Many of the other guests along with my family are curious as to who you are. The name Motou does not sound very familiar to me."
Yugi felt his mouth open, though no words came out. Looking over to the side and putting a hand to scratch the back of his head apprehensively, Yugi cursed himself for not making up a story beforehand. "Ah…"
Then Mieko laughed. "Oh, I get it; this is just a joke, right? Very funny, Mr. Motou, but I think you should just tell me what you have to say before my family gets upset."
'Oh crap,' Yugi thought frantically, trying to think of something. "Ah, well, I'm actually not from around here, if that's what you're asking."
"Well a lot of people are not from around here, obviously. I just want some details is all," Mieko clarified, her smile disappearing slowly as Yugi was taking his time with some simple questions and wasting her time.
Yugi could feel himself getting flustered all over again as he clasped his hands together and awkwardly shifted his feet. "Well, you see, I-"
"Yugi! There you are!"
Almost too quickly did Yugi shift his gaze to the right, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw Yami walking toward them, dressed very put-together in a black tuxedo, a white dress shirt and a vest that matched his amazing crimson eyes. His hair was the usual, like Yugi had styled his own.
Mieko was quick to react with words though, when Yami reached them. "Oh, Yami, it's a pleasure to see you again. I was thinking that you weren't attending your own party."
Yami sent her a graceful smile. "Of course I would attend my own party, Mieko. How horrible of you to think that." He paused for the effect for the girl to silently huff to herself - which she took without question - before adding, "Besides, I was waiting for my friend, Mr. Yugi Motou."
Again, Mieko was able to recover and react, hugging her sides as she donned on a pointed look. "Who is this, Yami? This Mr. Motou, who is he? I've never heard of him or his family."
Yami flashed her a smile that caused her to visibly swoon, and Yugi had to hold in his laughter. Then suddenly, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Yami was off explaining his untold story.
"Yugi was a distant friend of mine, until recently he left his rich life and came to live with his Grandfather, working a Game Shop here in Domino City, along with schooling," Yami started, making sure that he wasn't about to lie about Yugi's life too much. "We used to be good friend when we were much younger, and have play dates and such, but as we both grew up, we grew apart, and since Yugi has come to live in the area, we've decided to get back in touch."
The brown eyed girl looked a little lost. "So, wait," she said aloud, trying to put two and two together. "You don't live with your parents anymore? You're living poorly now?" she asked Yugi directly.
Taking in a breath, Yugi replied, "My parents actually passed away, and that's why I had to live with my Grandpa. I gave the inheritance money to multiple charities." He pushed the death of his parents behind him, and added with a cheery smile, "Besides, I love my Grandpa, whether he's rich or poor."
Mieko had what looked like a disgusted look on her face, as if she couldn't comprehend why anyone would want to survive on minimum wage. "What a fool you were, giving that money to charity. You could be living the good life right now," she commented rudely, causing both boys to frown.
Thankfully for Yugi, Yami responded instead of him. "Mieko, that wasn't a very nice thing to say. I hope you come to your senses and apologize to my good friend by the end of the night," he chided, giving the girl a meaningful look. "Now, if you you'll excuse us, I need to speak to Yugi about something important."
It was like the small threat had gone over her head. "May I come with you, Yami?" she asked hopefully, that sweet smile crossing her lips again.
"I need to talk to Yugi privately, Mieko," Yami repeated, that charming smile still on his lips as he turned himself and Yugi around. He led them both a little ways away before letting his arm drop to instead grasp Yugi's hand in his and whisk him off through the thick throng of guests.
Yugi half expected to be led back into the humongous house, but instead, Yami took a route through the grass, making his way through the multiple hedges and gardens until they ended up in a secluded area camouflaged by those weeping willow trees Yugi had seen the other night.
The area was a small clearing, with a soft flooring of grass and some leftover leaves, the branches of the trees cradling them into a secure haven, the green tendrils lazily swaying in the breeze, creating an ambience of peacefulness.
Yami was running a hand through his hair now, pacing back and forth, confusing Yugi. "Is something wrong, Yami?" the smaller questioned tentatively, causing Yami to shoot his head up to gaze at him.
"No, it's just…Mieko didn't do anything to you, did she?" Yami worried, and Yugi smiled.
Shaking his head, the smaller teen replied, "You were right, she is snooty." However, the other boy continued his pacing, and with the small grin still plastered to his face, Yugi lightly grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
"Something's wrong, I can tell," Yugi pointed out, making sure Yami was looking at him. "And something's telling me that it doesn't have anything to do with Mieko."
Yami's shoulders slumped underneath his hands, and the taller smiled. "What, can you read minds now?" he asked good naturedly, and Yugi could tell that Yami was dying to tell him something worth his attention.
Yugi let go of Yami, noticing how the other seemed to want the touch back. But Yugi kept his hands to his sides, waiting for Yami to speak.
"You look gorgeous, you know that right?" Yami said suddenly, and Yugi knew that that wasn't what he wanted to hear next, but he still enjoyed the compliment. He had gotten pretty lucky when Miss Osaka had helped him. He had been able to don on a new black tuxedo, with a crisper white shirt, and a stunning purple vest that matched his eyes stunningly. He knew that he owed Miss Osaka for her unexpected but gracious help, but before he could say another word, she was ushering him back to the mansion, being told to be mindful of other mud puddles along the way.
"Thanks," Yugi replied, feeling his face heat up just a tad, but he was able to gain control and give Yami a look to just say what he wanted to say. Fortunately, Yami received his silent message.
Knotting his hands, Yami started with in an awkward kind of way, "I'm not quite sure how to say this, but, this party was meant for me to pick out a spouse…or, well, a life partner of sorts. Or as my parents called it, 'betrothing myself', if that's even possible." He let out a shaky laugh at the end, scratching the back of his hand as Yugi took his words in carefully.
Yugi sort of got it, but… "Could you clarify?" he requested sweetly, looking up at Yami in the face.
His hands were taken, clasped in Yami's and Yugi could feel himself being lightly tugged toward the other.
"Yugi…" Yami whispered when they were almost touching body to body, and Yugi shivered faintly. "I'm supposed to pick someone at this party to spend the rest of my life with, and I don't know if it's just a temporary feeling or something, but I can sense it in my gut that…I want to pick…you."
Yugi blinked, looking over Yami's shoulder blankly as he took in Yami's words with some difficulty. Wait…Yami wanted to be with him? Forever? The idea was hard to comprehend, and his gaze flickered back up to Yami's hopeful face and then he glanced back down, a warming feeling overcoming him suddenly. Maybe this was what was destined for him…maybe this was…right.
He looked up again, noticing the fact that they had closed the gap between them completely, and that their hands had let go in exchange for Yami's arms wrapped around his waist, and his around the taller teen's neck. When had that happened?
But that was beside the point. Yugi could tell he knew what his answer was, and suddenly, before either one of them knew it, their lips connected in a simple kiss.
It wasn't like before, when they had met in that hazy memory. Yugi felt like he was on a cloud, that everything about this simple kiss made everything perfect. His arms wrapped much more securely around Yami, and in return, Yami's arms crushed him from the waist in an embrace. Their kiss grew deeper.
The two parted, and merely took each other's flushed features in with contentedness as they dared not to let one another go. Then Yugi let his head rest against Yami's chest, and Yami rocked them both, as if they were dancing to the slowest song ever heard.
"Are you sure?" Yugi asked after a while, softly jostling Yami out of his thoughts. "I am probably just a mere peasant to your family's eyes."
Frowning at the hidden smile in Yugi's voice, Yami held on tighter to his love. "It doesn't matter. I have you, and will never let go. Besides, my parents are usually accepting, even if they may appear not to be."
"What about Mieko?"
"She'll just have to suck it up like everyone else."
Yugi giggled, finding that their slow rhythm was letting every worry seem to fly away. "But we don't have to seriously get married, right?"
"Oh gods, no," Yami replied instantaneously. "This is just like…an informal engagement."
"Dating, you mean," Yugi corrected, and he was swung around so that he could face Yami. He suddenly burst into laughter at the pointed look Yami gave him, and soon enough, the other lightened up and joined him.
Wrapping his arms around Yami's neck again and making sure they made more contact than that, Yugi lightly pecked the other on the lips, who hungrily kissed him back before they both slipped into that contented state again.
"What now? Should we go back before someone freaks out over your whereabouts?" Yugi questioned gently.
An almost but not quite smirk crossed Yami's lips, and a hand wrapped firmly around Yugi's waist, and his right hand was taken in Yami's left. The taller twirled them around in a waltz, taking Yugi by surprise.
"We dance," Yami answered back simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He whirled them around some more, leading the way with the most graceful steps that would make anyone jealous.
Evening turned into night, and the pair's waltzing transformed into a slower dance, the small orchestra back near the mansion wafting through the trees. Yugi smiled as he spotted a couple of lightning bugs floating by, his head resting against Yami's shoulder.
"I knew there was something between us, Yugi," Yami whispered to him, "Told you," he added, with a small teasing tone that had Yugi smiling silently.
Yes, something had brought them together, he was sure of it. And as mushy as it sounded to Yugi, he knew that it was true, and he was suddenly glad for filling out an application for cleaning a mansion everyday. Yami had certainly made this experience a full blown fantasy.
Lifting his head from Yami's shoulder, he gained the other's attention easily, and they both appeared to have the same idea.
"Thank you."
"I love you."
Yami had cupped his face softly, and like in any fairy tale, this story ended with a kiss.
A/N: Wow. Totally amped up the mushy lovey-dovey romance there. And ((gasp)) twenty-six pages this time. I think I may pass out. Yeah, so originally, I was going to have them go back to the party and dance, but then decided, hey, they're together, alone in a pretty sanctuary, and since it's a fairy tale, I'd like to think that everything would work out on it's own, right? Anyway, I hope this ending worked, and that everyone enjoyed it in its long entirety. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment! |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29088 | Disclaimer: Being the self-centered, avaricious doctor that I am, I would love to make a fortune from this. Frankly, Meditations of a Galactic Castaway is not selling well enough to keep me in the manner to which I have become accustomed. Howsomever, since I am merely a reluctant stowaway and don't own any part of the Jupiter 2 mission, that is unfortunately impossible. I will have to settle for antagonizing Major West in this little tale for the mere pleasure of it.
What's To Become Of Doctor Smith?
Chapter 1: Alone
Slowly the doctor's mind wandered back to vague awareness. It took a few moments before he regained his bearings. He was in his own bed and the last hazy memory he could recall was of Mrs. Robinson placing a cold, damp cloth on his feverish brow. He brought a hand to his forehead and discovered the cloth still there. Removing it, he slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and glanced toward the half-open door and the darkness beyond.
Hesitantly he called out, "Mrs. Robinson? Your patient is awake. I believe my fever has broken."
No response came. Doctor Smith's brow furrowed as an unsettling feeling came over him. It was uncharacteristically quiet. It was then he noticed that the familiar thrumming of the engines was gone. Must have landed while I was unconscious, he thought to himself. He stood and stumbled to the door, steadying himself against the wall.
"Mrs. Robinson?" He poked his head out the door cautiously and caught something out of the corner of his eye. As he turned his head to see, a small yelp involuntarily escaped his lips. It took a moment for Smith's eyes to recognize the large, dark shadow before him as that of the Robot.
"What are you doing there, ninny! You nearly frightened me to death!"
As soon as Smith said the words, he instinctively knew there wouldn't be a response. He stepped toward the Robot and ran his hand over the dead lights and panels, along the smooth metallic side to where the power pack should be. It was there. The doctor's mind puzzled briefly, until a whiff of acrid smoke teased his nostrils. The familiar smell told him his mechanical friend would most likely not be responding to anything anytime soon.
"Oh, dear," Smith worried aloud. "What happened to you?"
He fumbled around for a few moments until he found the controls for the lights, then inspected the damage to the Robot. Smith's brows raised in alarm as he spotted the tell tale scorch marks of a laser blast.
Smith whirled around. "Will? Penny!" he called as he frantically searched the living quarters for signs of his companions. "Judy?" Finding nobody, he ran to the ladder and climbed to the upper level. "Professor? Major!" As he turned to step onto the deck, he gasped at the scorch marks etched into the floor and walls of the ship. He slowly made his way around the astrogator, his eyes darting left and right, alert for any lingering danger.
He walked toward the open hatch, stopping a few feet from the threshold. Fidgeting with his hands, he stared meekly out into the blackness as his inner coward warred with an urgent sense of concern. A cool night breeze blew in from outside and the conflicted doctor shivered. "I don't like this," he muttered. "I don't like this one bit."
It took a few moments, but concern won out and Doctor Smith took a few reluctant steps outside. Then a few more, until he could see the signs of an unwilling exodus in the dirt around the ship. He followed the tracks as far as his meager courage could take him. Out of sheer desperation, he called out the names of his missing companions several times before both his courage and strength failed him.
Smith hastily retreated to the warmth of the Jupiter 2 and locked the ship up tight. He retired to the familiar safety of the galley and made a cup of tea to calm his nerves. As his trembling hand brought the cup to his lips, he lamented, "I'm all alone."
The Doctor's Comments: As you might imagine, sitting in front of a keyboard for hours on end aggravates my delicate back. With the proper motivation, including a kind review or two, I may be inclined to sacrifice my comfort in order to tell the remainder of this tale. The occasional stroke to my enormous ego wouldn't be remiss either. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29089 | I hate doing laundry. When I was with a lady friend, I didn't have to lift a finger to do it. But now that I'm alone, looks like I'm stuck machine washing all my Tommy Bahamas, one hundred percent silk, baby. They deserve the best care. But not just any laundromat will do. This place is perfect, in a better neighborhood with better machines and a better class of people. But the best thing about this laundromat: the bar with a big screen tv. And they make some terrific mojitos!
One day, as Sam sorted out his laundry into three machines, one for lights, one for the shirts, and one for darks, the most beautiful woman in the world walked in. She was slim, blonde haired and blue eyed, with a peaches and cream complexion, and ruby red lips that begged to be kissed. To his delight, she selected three machines next to his. She didn't even leave a machine empty between them like most people did.
She separates the lights from the darks. She separates the whites from the lights. She even uses the same detergent and fabric softener that I do. What are the odds?
He watched her put the quarters into the slots on the machines, one a time, starting up one machine before moving on to the next. A satiny panty lay on the floor near her feet, so he reached down and picked it up. "I think you lost this," he said with a smile as it dangled from his fingers.
"Oh! Thank you." She smiled and her cheeks flushed as she hooked an index finger under the material, pulled it from his fingertips, and opened the washer to throw it inside. The cover banged down.
Still smiling at her, he sat in his seat and paid half attention to his magazine, and half to her. Then it happened. She reached the last machine and was two quarters short.
"Oh, drat," she muttered as she dug into her purse. She pulled out her wallet and searched frantically through the change pocket, then looked into the cash. Her eyes closed and she shook her head.
"Is everything okay?" Sam stood beside her as he jingled the change in his pocket.
"I ran out of quarters, wouldn't happen to have change for a twenty, would you?" She looked up at him with hope in her eyes.
"Uh, sorry, no. But I do have extra quarters," he replied as his hand came out with two of them, which he stuck into the slots and pushed the slider into the machine. "This one sticks. You gotta wiggle it a little or they don't go in."
"Wow. Thanks! I'm glad I ran into you, or I'd probably be frustrated with this machine."
"No problem." Sam took a step back, because when he reached past her to get the machine started, his chest brushed against her shoulder. She smelled like a tropical flower garden, and she was just as beautiful close up. He held out his right hand. "My name's Sam. Sam Axe."
She took it in hers and smiled in gratitude. "Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Desiree. Desiree Kemp."
"I've never seen you here before."
"I just moved to the Miami area for work. I'm a VP of Communications."
He grinned and leaned against the machine. "I'd think with a title like that you could afford to hire somebody to do your laundry."
"The title may be big, but doing my own laundry helps keep me humble." She turned away and checked on the machines. They were all running and doing their thing. "So, do you have time for a drink?"
"Yeah, sure!" He glanced at his machines. "I'm in the second rinse. Plenty of time."
"Great! You can help me break a twenty for the dryer money."
Now that's what I call doing laundry!
After drink number one and some good conversation, his wash was ready to move to the dryers. He was surprised when she followed him into the laundry area and helped transfer the clothes.
"You had one load with just your shirts?" She held up one of his favorites and crushed the fabric in one hand. "Nice material. Smooth. I bet these are comfortable."
"They are. Can you throw that into this machine? I want to dry those separately too. I follow the label instructions."
"I can't blame you. Anything less would ruin them, or make them lose their softness." She tossed it in along with the others, emptied out the washer, and held out her hand. Inside were two quarters. With a sweet smile she said, "I owe you for this."
"You don't have to..." It was too late, the quarters were inside the machine and the shirts flipped and danced around with a dryer sheet. "Thanks."
"Any time, Sam."
With the dryers loaded, her machines completed their cycles, and they worked together to put her things in another set of dryers. She was just as meticulous as he when it came to temperatures. He was impressed. They went back to the bar for drink number two until the shirts were dry. Desiree watched him slip them onto the hangers, and she buttoned the top button to keep them in place.
"You do that too?" He grinned.
"Always. Nothing annoys me more than to go home with a newly laundered blouse on a hanger and have it slip off just as I'm fumbling with the door lock. Especially if it's been dry cleaned!"
Folding the more intimate pieces of clothing in front of Desiree was a little disconcerting. Why should it bother me? I do it all the time with other people here. But this is different. We've connected on a more intimate plane, and now it's not so impersonal. When her whites came out, she folded them on the table next to his, sneaking glances at his boxers, undershirts, and socks. He caught her watching, and she turned away. Then he locked on her tiny panties and lacy bras mixed in with sports bras and socks. She takes care of herself. Not that there was any doubt with a body like that. She's not some young thing, close to my age, and yet she looks like a woman in her 20s. Oh, baby!
Sam tore his attention away from her because if he didn't, he would make a mess of his own folding, and he was very particular about how his laundry was folded. You could take a man out of the Navy, but you couldn't take the Navy out of the man. He still folded his clothes as he was trained many years ago. Everything was precisely creased in the right places so that it lay flat and wrinkle free. T-shirts lay stacked straight one on top of the other. The boxers were a little tougher, given that they were also silk like the shirts, and they had a tendency to slip around. But he'd learned how to tame them, and they lay in a neat stack next to the other things in the laundry basket. The socks were folded in half, never turned into a ball. It drove him nuts when people did that.
"Sam, you and I have a lot in common, at least when it comes to our laundry," Desiree said as she looked at his basket and pointed to hers. Everything in it was folded exactly like his.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You must have been in the military."
Desiree chuckled. "I was a Lieutenant in the Navy, a communications officer on a couple of carriers."
"Really. I was a Commander in the Navy. And I was a SEAL."
"I should have known." Their eyes locked, and Desiree self-consciously dropped her gaze and returned to folding. "I, uh, have a couple things that are still damp, and I see you have some too. Let's put them together in one more run."
"Sounds good." Sam's hand closed over Desiree's as she put quarters into the machine and he led her back to the bar. "One more?"
At the bar they both had a mojito, their bodies turned at a forty five degree angle toward the bar, their knees touching.
"So...Sam. Will I see you here again next week?"
He sipped on his drink and smiled at her in a way that told her he wouldn't miss it for the world. "I'll be here, Desi."
"Not many people call me that," Desiree said as she leaned closer. "Do you think that it'll be an issue that I'm below you in rank, Commander?"
"Not in the civilian world," he answered, hoping she wasn't trying to make an excuse not to see him again.
"Oh good." Her smile widened. "We better check on that wash. I don't like my work pants getting wrinkled."
"Me neither."
When the last of the laundry was folded and the mojitos were a lukewarm, watered down mess, Desiree hauled her baskets out to her car, a navy blue Mustang. Sam was almost embarrassed to put his into the back of his car, and older Buick sedan. She noticed his ride, but with the smile she gave him, he knew she wouldn't hold it against him.
"See you next week, Sam." She stood with the door between them.
"See you next week, Desi."
Her smile faded to a serious expression as she got up on her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his cheek. It was just a feather light touch, but it was enough to remind him to not miss their date next week. Then Desiree got into her car, pulled out of the space, and waved before shifting the car into first gear..
Now, why did I ever hate doing laundry? |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29090 | An old man stumbled upon the scene at the river. The leaves were silent, and the wind didn't blow. It was chilly, and the sun was hidden by the trees. The only sound was the gurgling river and it's looming fate. The man massaged the stump of his wrist, right where there should've been a hand.
"Oh my." sighed Candy, shaking his head in sympathy. "I never thought it would e'er happen, soon's I saw 'em. They was so 'appy, them twos. Now look at 'em. One dead, an' the o'er un off somewheres." George had long since fled the scene by the time Candy had found Lennie. He sighed again and hefted Lennie's body onto his frail, old shoulders but stumbled, and fell to the ground. Candy sat there dumbly, Lennie's body half submerged in the river. He finished rolling Lennie into the river, so that he floated on his back. He pushed him on his way down the river, noticing at the last moment the small white tail sticking out of Lennie's limp hand. A mouse. The old man stood up, brushed himself off, and slowly walked out of the clearing. |
global_01_local_0_shard_00000017_processed.jsonl/29095 | Emma's hands felt a chill as her fingers slithered around the can of fizzy drink she had just taken from the fridge in her kitchen. The snow was still falling outside having continued unabaited since the early afternoon. She pulled out one of the pine chairs from under the table that stood in the middle of the room before sitting down to watch the snow fall down passed her window it being illuminated by the light from her kitchen. The big hand of the clock above the door was now reaching the number one indicating that it was almost five minutes past eleven. She could feel her eyes getting heavier and as she took a drink from her can she began to wish she hadn't opened it feeling like she was now left with it even though her thirst seemed quenched already.
The kitchen seemed unusually large tonight like it was a big empty space even though it was quite cluttered with the table being too big for the size of the room. She had not yet got used to the solitude of living alone. She had recently seperated from Jim, her partner of nine years, whom she had lived with since moving out of her parent's home at aged seventeen. At that age she thought she knew it all and was of course madly in love with Jim. Back then it felt like it was a love that would last forever but ended abruptly with the discovery of his affair. That was a month ago. The house in general had seemed a lot bigger since that day.
She rubbed the back of her neck with her spare left hand as if it would offer some poor substitue for human contact. She had refused an offer to stay with her parents when the snow was forecast. Emma lived in a rather rural area of Gloucestershire in a house that was one of several dotted along a country lane. Traffic along the road was always light and so when the snow started to come down it gathered quickly on the tarmac. Emma had recently done her weekly shop and so she was ok for food even if they were cut off for a day or two.
Emma's head shot in the direction of the window. She had heard a sound distinctly. It was one single heavy thudding sound against the snow. Her logical mind quickly took over. Some snow had probably come loose from the roof and landed outside. Nothing more. Why then did she remain so unnerved? She released her grip from the can and began to stand up to get a clearer look into the garden. The falling snow made it difficult to see more than a few feet from the window.
She sat back down and tried to brush it off but because she had been inclined to look in the first place her mind was now suitably unsettled. She had to find out what it was or at least some eveidence of what it could have been or she would be in for a night of uneasy sleep. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to go outside. She stood up from the chair and walked towards the backdoor that lead from her kitchen straight into the back garden. Before pushing down on the door handle she switched on the outside light that sent a beam of light into the immediate vicinty around her door. Although she was hardly dressed for the occasion wearing a red sweater, blue denim jeans and a pair of pink slippers she opened the door and stepped outside.
The snow crunched beneath her slippers as she took her first steps ou of the door. The falling snow flakes were quite large and even though she had been outside for only a few minutes her hair and clothes were already becoming white. She looked around the ground near her feet for any indication of what might have caused such a large thud. The ground was covered by smooth virgin snow that was slowly increasing in depth but with no indication of what might have caused the sound she had heard.
This was not the result she was hoping for. She had hoped to find evidence of some large cat that had knocked over a few bins or something to that extent but there was nothing. She decided to step a few paces further outside and soon she found herself at the edge of the light cast from the house. She was faced with an apparent abyss of darkness where her courage was now beginning to desert her. She was about to turn back when she noticed something on the ground ahead of her.
A footprint!
The print was made from a right foot being pressed against the snow and was facing the house. Studying the print she noticed a second one from a left foot just a few inches behind it. With no further prints between here and the house and with no apparent change in direction to them it was as if they had stopped and the person who had made them had simply disappeared. The shock of seeing them had left her momentarily ignorant of one fact which she took a few moments to realize; the person who made them wasn't wearing any shoes or socks. They were barefoot.
A smashing sound signalled the end of the outside light which plunged her into darkness as its debris fell to the ground. She swung around looking back at the house her heat beating like a hammer on the inside of her rib cage. She fought to catch her breath which was now running away from her. She wanted to run but the fact that the light behind her had been smashed left her with the feeling that there was something between her and the house and it was keeping her feet still.
A small patch of snow fell off the roof landing just in front of the door. She dared to look up to see what had caused it to fall. Through the snowflakes she saw to her amazement and increasing confusion that the footprints that stopped half way through her garden where she was standing now seemed to continue on the roof of her home, some three floors high? Her eyes followed them all the way to the top of the roof and it was there she could see their source.
The black silhouette of a man stood on the top of her roof apparently looking down at her although in the low light she couldn't see any of his features. She stood frozen on the spot her mouth open aghast. She tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. She became overwhelmed with a sense of dread. It was completely consuming her. She just stood there examining it and likewise felt as though she was being examined by it. As her eyes adjusted to the low light she could see that it was breathing. It's breath was hovering around its head appearing in plumes from where its mouth would be. She soon noticed that its arms were longer than normal with the fingers appearing to reach just above the knees.
Without warning and in one swift movement the figure leaped from the roof. Emma screamed as she saw the black figure swoop down on top of her. She fell onto the snow covered ground, her head in a frightened daze. She felt long rough fingers gripping around her wrists as it held her down on the ground. She could feel warm gushes of air, it's breath, against her face as her attacker leaned in close to her. The breath became hotter and hotter and it felt as though her skin was about to melt.
Suddenly the pressure was gone. Her attacker had released its grip on her. She looked back just in time to see it leap back up the side of her house and back onto the roof. It paused briefly to look back at her before it leapt off on the other side of the house and was gone leaving her shivering as she was slowly buried by the still falling snow. |
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