#African Grey chick eyes
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tiktokparrot · 11 months ago
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pleistocene-pride · 4 months ago
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Struthio camelus, also known as the common ostrich, is a species of flightless ratite which was once native to India, the Mediterranean, and the middle east, but can now be found throughout much of Africa, with introduced populations occurring in Australia. They inhabit grasslands, scrublands, dry forests, and deserts where they feed upon various seeds, nuts, fruit, flowers, shrubs, and grasses as well as insects, small reptiles, and carrion. Common Ostriches are themselves eaten by cheetahs, lions, leopards, African hunting dogs, and hyenas. Common ostriches have many antipredator adaptations, such as great eyesight, and long muscular legs which allow them to deliver powerful kicks and run at up to 50mph (80km/h), making them the fastest animal on two legs. They also live in nomadic fission fusion flocks of up to 100 birds, which often travel alongside herbivores like wildebeest, zebra, and antelope. With females reaching around 5.9 to 6.3ft (1.75 to 1.9m) tall and 130 to 260lbs (59 to 120kgs) in weight and males reaching 7 to 9ft (2.1 to 2.75m) tall and 180 to 345lbs (82 to 156kgs) in weight, the common ostrich is the largest of all extant avians. Males have black body feathers and white feathers on their wing-tips and tails, while females have grey-brown body feathers. There necks are long, eyes and large, and feet are broad only sporting 2 toes. The mating season lasts from March to September. During such time males establish a territory, then females break into groups of 2 to 7 lead by a top hen who evaluate and select a specific male to mate with the entire breeding season. After the initial mating the male will dig a nest; a shallow dip in the ground in which the top hen will lay 7-10 eggs. Subsequently, the male will mate with all females in the group. These females will each lay their eggs around the top hen's, once around 20 to 60 eggs have been laid the top hen will incubate them during the day, while the male will incubate them at night. After 35 to 45 days, the eggs will hatch and the male will take care of the chicks until they are about 10 months old and capable to fend for themselves. Under ideal conditions a common ostrich will reach sexual maturity at 2.5 to 4.5 years old and may live up to 70.
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27-liter-horse · 4 months ago
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11.10.24.
I cant exactly say today was a good day but it was VERYY enjoyable. First of, we had a physics detention and there was a literal ocean of kids who had to attend to the point some of us had to give up our seats to the other kids and just stand up for 45 minutes. I was one of the kids who had to stand. We had to write our names on a list because there were 3+ classes of kids and this one boy who I cant fucking stand in the slightest threatened to beat me up because I pushed him slightly because he wouldnt fucking move and I had to write down my name too. Which I would take seriously if he wasnt blessed with the looks of a gay porn actor (a bottom at that). He is shorter than me, has twink blue eyes, wears cheap off brand golden chains and has a dirty blonde buzzcut. If that wasnt enough my voice is deeper than his which is fucking hillarious. And him and another dude literally kissing one another on the cheek WITH THE DUDE RESTING HIS HAND ON THE TWINKS SHOULDER solidified my belief in him being a bottom. Also I confronted the girl who set me up and the way she was desperately trying to make me unblock her and then tell me that the harasser is 15 year old after I called him a pedophile...OKAY?? That doesnt make it okay. Also I had to lie that my cat scratched me after the same girl who set me up YELLED OUT LOUD that I have scars on my arm. Jesus Christ. Two classes later I bought the regular african monster because there werent any caucasian ones and while I was at the store there were two dudes next to me and they deadass commented ''Damn look at that chick'' and I swear to God this has been the third time I have been harrased this month and it hasnt evem been two weeks yet. I want to say I despise that kind of attention and I really do but it almost feel euphoric because of it. I feel like my identity is getting validated especially because I am not allowed to express my femininity as much as I want to. Becoming a metalhead has made me so much more secure and appreciable of my masculinity. I even plan on sewing metal band logos and album covers on my texas jacket. Also I keep the receipts and tabs so I can make a drawing using the receipts and a cool metal necklace with the tabs with a little nameplate with the tabs. While buying the monster I asked for cigarettes ''for my mom'' but the store clerk said I needed an adult with me for that purchase </3. I like the clerk he has this weird energy and look to him. He is this older dude with a gigantic forehead and receding hairline coupled with long greying brown hair, an anorexic face and ashtray blue eyes. He looks like if the word ''nicotine ashes'' was a person. However, this girl in my class told me she will buy cigarettes at her place for me and that I just have to give her the money. I requested Marlboro and I cant wait to give her the money in a couple days. It has been almost 2 months after I smoked for the first time. I got a C in anatomy and the teacher let the kids who got graded go home early so I bought a hot chocolate with the small amount of money I do have and that shit burned my tongue and mouth so bad that theyre still numb. My mother came home with my sister and they had a massive argument over some bullshit and I couldnt care less but seeing my mom so pissed off and my sister finally experiencing some form of a blow at her ego made my day that much better especially because all of this happened on a Friday. Also I have inspiration to write another song and this one is going to be heavily focused on cocaine (the closest to coke I've ever tried was pepsi) and its inspired by Sky Ferreira again. I really like Sky and her music, its the exact kind of teenage angst I long for in my life and I'm so excited to be making music like her someday.
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lizzy-williams · 5 years ago
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đŠđ«. đ›đšđ€đžđ« (đ©đšđ«đ­ 𝟏)
((Howdy there, this is my first time writing on here, so I hope you enjoy!))
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Summary: You accept a job as an assistant to the now world-famous Colson Baker, who shattered the charts with his album Tickets To My Downfall, and an Oscar winner for his success in the award-winning film titled Midnight in the Switchgrass, which also starred his ex, Megan Fox. But once you are accepted for the job, you seem to get closer than anticipated with Mr. Baker. 
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đ‘Ÿđ‘Żđ‘Źđ‘” đ’€đ‘¶đ‘Œ đ‘Żđ‘šđ‘« graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business administration, you had never expected to be getting a job like this. Sure, you had heard about your employer. He had won an Oscar for christ’s sake. Not to mention a Grammy-winning album. You had to say that personally, you were a fan, which was one of the main reasons you interviewed for the job. But never in a million years did you think you would land it. 
When you were employed, you were expected to start right after you had applied, which you obliged, even though his house was a thirty-minute drive away. 
So now, there you were, sitting in your car, taking deep breaths. You had arrived several minutes early. You had pulled into the driveway, breathing in and out as you prepared yourself. You were excited but scared out of your mind.
“Come on, AJ, you got this, just go in there and try to not be a nuisance,” you spoke to yourself. With a deep breath, you exited the vehicle brushing yourself up, walking up the long, intimidating stairs. 
You raised your hand up, taking hold of the lion-shaped knocker and knocked three times, the echos being heard even from the outside. The door was large and almost looming over you with its height. You took the waiting time to look around at the garden out front, trimmed to perfection and colorful pink roses littering the gravel. It was nothing less than stunning. 
“Who’s there?” a voice asked, making you jump, your eyes shifting around. 
You then realized the voice was a Ring doorbell system, and you mentally slapped yourself for not just using that. You leaned down slightly, trying to meet the camera’s eye, giving a warm smile. 
“Um, I’m Adeline Williams, I’m the new assistant for Mr. Baker, I was instructed to start today,”
“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” 
The voice was deeper then what you would think Mr. Baker would sound like, having seen plenty of interviews. Suddenly the door swung open, revealing a tall African-American male. He had to be at least six feet tall. 
“What’s up, I’m Slim,” He held his hand out for a handshake, which you quickly took. 
“Yeah, I’m Adeline, but you can just call me AJ,” you responded, “Where is Mr. Baker?”
“Yeah, he’s still asleep. His manager made you a binder for your duties and other stuff. It’s good to meet you though, just feel free to come in and grab your stuff in the kitchen.” He stated, stepping aside and motioning for you to enter. 
You walked in, taking in the entryway. The walls were littered with gold record plaques for collabs he had done with other artists. Paintings of him were scattered around, some furniture almost automatically spotted that looked more expensive than your entire apartment. The ceiling was high-up, light fixtures illuminating the space, giving off a warm feel to the area. 
You slipped off your flats, Slim already slipping away into the maze of the house, leaving you to find the kitchen by yourself. Your sock-clad feet patted across the hard floor, your eyes wandering around, trying to find the kitchen in the stupidly large house. 
You walked down a hallway, reaching another large room, but now the walls were covered in posters and guitars, a drum set in the corner, recording systems, speakers, and even a Monster Energy Drink sponsored mini fridge which was fully stocked, drawings and art above it, the window next to it letting a fair amount of light in, the curtains drawn. You walked over to the drum set, running your hand on one of the symbols, which had sadly had a light coat of dust on it. Come to think of it, so did most of the other instruments.
“You could play them if you want,” another voice said behind you, making you jump and whip around, your eyes instantly meeting the eyes of your employer. 
He was tall, six foot four according to Google, his exposed chest littered with so many tattoos, you couldn’t possibly count them all. His bleach-blond hair was long and shaggy on top of his head, meaning he had probably just woken up, grey sweatpants covering his bottom half, the hem of his boxers peeking over the waistband of the grey material, making you blush and meet his eyes again. 
“Oh, um, I’m sorry, I don’t play,” you then mentally slapped yourself once again, “Sorry, what am I saying. I’m Adeline - Um, Williams, I’m here as your new assistant.” 
He looked you up and down, taking in you attire, a slight sneer appearing on his face, only for a second. You guessed by his reaction that you were over-dressed. 
“You look like a kindergarten teacher.” he laughed. 
“Uhm, noted, do you... want me to take off my sweater or something?” you asked. 
He scoffed, biting his lip and turning away, holding back from saying something that you were guessing would piss you off. 
You sighed, slipping off your sweater and messing with your hands, “Would you mind showing me to your kitchen? Your friend, Slim told me that your manager had had something in there for me,”
“Yeah, follow me,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away, your own small feet scuttering across the floor, following him. 
And of course, the kitchen was as stunning at the rest of the house, the size, making it look like a gourmet kitchen. And there on one of the granite countertops was a .5 inch pale white binder. Colson walked over to his coffee machine, starting it up and watching you walk over, opening it up. 
It listed normal duties like setting up venues for tours, making appointments with the production company, merchandise shipment, and payment, normal duties for Colson himself, (Making iced coffee, booking flights, rides for Casie, his daughter, for school, etc.), and traveling with him to the recording studio for sessions, along with renting time for the studio itself. 
“So, what do ya think. The list gonna scare you off?” he asked, a sly smile on his face. 
“Well, seems easy enough. It just seems like a lot of booking things.” you smiled, “But it shouldn’t be a problem at all, Mr. Baker.”
He grimaced, “Yikes, just call me Colson. You make me sound like an old man. And if I’m going to be seeing you every day, we kinda need to be on a first-name basis.” he said, opening one of the hundreds of cabinets on the wall, pulling out a mug, “What’s your name again?”
“Adeline. But you can just call me AJ.” you looked back down at the papers, turning to a page to all the numbers needed for your position. 
“What’s the J?” 
“Huh?” you asked, not looking away from the page. 
“Well, in AJ I already know what the A is, so what’s the J?” He smirked, pouring the coffee grounds into the coffee maker, pressing start. 
“Oh, um, Jane.” you shrugged off. 
“Adeline Jane Williams,” he repeated to himself out loud. 
Your heart unintentionally fluttered. Never in a million years did you think that Colson Baker, Machine Gun Kelly, would ever say your full name. 
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The day went by smoothly, your brain soon catching onto the rhythm of things, you and Colson making small talk as you typed away, sending emails to the publishing companies, his agent, manager, and PR team. Colson would occasionally text you to make him a drink, which you did, always getting right back to work afterward. People came in and out, paying you no mind. The only one you honestly recognized was Rook, his drummer, who only came in to grab a beer from the fridge. Soon enough, the time reached 5 o’clock. 
“So, what do you wanna eat?” he suddenly asked, walking into the kitchen area, leaning over the counter you were working at. 
The sound of the TV played as you heard the laughter of a group of people in the other room. 
“Oh, I honestly have no preference,” you answered honestly, looking up from your Chromebook. 
“You sure? Me and the guys were gonna Postmate some stuff, but they can’t decide either.”
“Ummm, I heard there’s a really good restaurant downtown called Beau Jo's. Hear they have a mean menu of Cajun food.” you perked up, 
“Alright, Beau Jo’s it is.” He responded, picking up his phone and walking away. 
Even though you two had small talk, you still felt like he was so cold to you. Like he didn’t like you, or he didn’t trust you. But you really needed this job. After you finished with your work, you walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. 
There, you were greeted with glancing eyes of 20 or more people, who were scattered throughout the space. 
A man walked up to you, looking eccentric as ever. You only knew him because you knew he dated Bella Thorne, but you would never tell him that. 
“Heyyyy, you must be the new assistant. Welcome to the best years of your life!” he greeted, slinging an arm around your shoulders, a cola in his other hand. The smell of expensive cologne. 
“Modern Sunshine, I presume?” I asked in a snobby British accent, making him laugh. 
“Yo Kells! I like this chick!” he called out to Colson, who was across the room talking to some blond broad in short shorts and a crop top. 
“Why don’t you come meet the rest of the guys.”
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Well, you knew it was coming. It was the end of the night and everyone had gone home, and it was your job to order Ubers for everyone who wasn’t fit to drive. (Which was close to half the people there). 
You gathered up your things, sighing as you grabbed your kindergarten teacher sweater, packing it in your bag along with your computer and everything else. Finally, you tucked the binder into the back pocket. 
“You heading out?” Colson asked from behind you, his hand on your shoulder. 
Your arms formed goosebumps as you looked back smiling, “Yeah, I think it’s that time.” 
“Cool. Well, have a good night.” he said while you slipped on your flats, “Oh, and one more thing before you go.”
You turned your head to look into his eyes. 
“Tomorrow wear something more... spicy,”
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bat-besties · 4 years ago
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Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.
AO3 10k 
Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!
CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence
- 
Remus was...
(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)
....Remus.
Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.
Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.
Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-
“Morning, shitwad!”
Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.
“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.
There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.
Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”
“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”
When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-
That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.
Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.
“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.
“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.
Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”
“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”
As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.
Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.
Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.
His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.
Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.
“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”
Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”
“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”
He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”
“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.
“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”
“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”
"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”
Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.
"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."
"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."
Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.
After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.
"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.
Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."
The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"
He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"
"Kinky!"
He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”
So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.
“No, I do agree, but wolves-”
The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.
“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.
“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”
Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”
A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.
Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.
“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”
Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”
There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.
Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.
“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.
“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.
As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”
Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”
“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”
“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.
“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.
Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.
The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.
As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-
But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.
He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.
That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.
His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.
Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?
Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-
Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.
But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.
He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.
“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.
“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.
He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”
“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.
“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”
“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”
Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.
“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”
He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”
And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.
Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”
He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”
They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.
As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”
“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.
“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.
As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.
They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.
Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.
Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”
“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.
“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his
”
“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”
He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.
Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”
“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”
“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.
“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”
“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.
An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”
“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-
“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”
“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”
“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.
“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.
“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.
“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.
Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”
“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”
They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.
“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”
The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.
Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.
“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”
They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.
Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-
As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-
“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”
Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.
Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.
It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.
He glanced at Janus for his reaction.
He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”
A cold feeling washed over him.
No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.
Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.
Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.
It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.
It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.
“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”
He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”
In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.
They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.
“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”
All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”
“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”
The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.
He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”
“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”
The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”
Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”
Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”
“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”
The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”
Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.
“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”
As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”
“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”
“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”
Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”
“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”
Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”
“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.
He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-
As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.
“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”
“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”
He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.
On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”
It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.
“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”
Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”
He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.
“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.
“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.
After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.
“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.
With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.
He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.
Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.
He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.
It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.
He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.
A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”
Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.
“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-
Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-
Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.
Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.
Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-
Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.
After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.
Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”
Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.
Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.
Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.
He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.
Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.
Janus put his hands up to the window-
“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.
“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.
Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”
He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”
“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.
Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”
Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.
Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.
The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”
Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.
“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”
He paused, then nodded.
He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”
Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”
He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.
For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.
“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.
He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.
The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.
The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”
Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.
He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”
He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.
“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.
“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”
“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”
The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”
“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.
“Out.”
Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”
Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.
He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.
They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.
They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.
As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.
They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.
“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”
He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”
“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”
"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."
"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”
Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”
“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”
"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.
"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."
"Really?"
Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”
“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”
“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”
Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”
“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”
“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”
Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”
He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”
They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.
Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”
She began to close the doors again without comment.
“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”
She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.
He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.
“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”
“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.
“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”
Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”
“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”
“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”
Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”
He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.
“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”
*
By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.
The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.
They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.
Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.
It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.
He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”
Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope
” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”
He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.
There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.
They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.
Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.
It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-
But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.
Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”
Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.
“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”
His eyes widened.
“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”
For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”
Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”
Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”
Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.
“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”
“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”
“There are more people like you?”
He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.
Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”
“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”
Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”
For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”
Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.
“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.
“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”
Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”
Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”
“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.
“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”
The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.
Virgil waited for him to finish eating.
“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.
Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”
“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.
Both of them stared.
Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.
Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.
He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.
“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”
“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.
“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”
“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-
“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”
There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”
“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.
A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.
He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.
A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.
A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”
He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.
He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.
Janus winced.
“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.
“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”
So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”
Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”
Janus nodded. “I can collect-”
“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”
“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”
“Bullshit.”
He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”
“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”
“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.
“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”
Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”
“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”
After a moment, Janus gave a nod.
“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.
Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”
Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”
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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago
Text
Life & Style, April 26
You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks
Cover: Khloe Kardashian is a total fake
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Page 1: Lady Gaga in a wedding dress on the set of House of Gucci in Rome
Page 2: Contents
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Page 4: The Top 10 SAG Awards Looks -- Mindy Kaling, Jamie Chung, Amy Adams, Sarah Levy, Kerry Washington
Page 5: Kaley Cuoco, Nicole Kidman, Natalie Morales, Viola Davis, Lily Collins
Page 6: Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen celebrated their 12-year anniversary, posting heartfelt tributes to each other on social media, but their relationship hasn't always been so rock solid -- Tom admitted that Gisele has made a lot of sacrifices for their marriage and she hated living in Boston because she had no friends there and felt so alone because Tom was never around; things got so bad they sought counseling, which was the wake-up call that Tom needed -- he promised to make changes and he agreed to quit the Patriots and sign with a team in a location that was more desirable to Gisele and Tom stuck to his word and he came the new quarterback for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and since moving to Florida, Tom and Gisele have never been happier and they have date nights every week and always make sure to communicate -- it wasn't easy, but they're both really proud of how far they've come
Page 7: After multiple delays, David Schwimmer, Courteney Cox, Jennifer Aniston, Lisa Kudrow, Matthew Perry and Matt LeBlanc have finally filmed the highly anticipated Friends reunion special and they all got really emotional when they saw the set and being there brought back so many fond memories -- it's the first time in 17 years that fans will get to see the entire cast together since the show went off the air in 2004 -- afterwards, everyone went to Jen's house for dinner -- each of the stars was paid $2.5 million to appear in the special
* Throwback -- Dolly Parton in 1965
* Biggest Spenders of the Week -- Bobby Flay, Aaron Rodgers, Vanessa Hudgens, Angelina Jolie
Page 8: Drew Barrymore revealed that, after three divorces and a string of failed romances, she's sworn off marriage altogether -- Drew doesn't need a man to feel complete and she's happiest hanging out with family and friends -- if the right guy comes along later down the line, great, but for now, she's content with being single
* Becoming one of the most sought-after stars in Hollywood has gone straight to Ana de Armas' head -- the cast and crew are often left waiting for the actress to emerge from her trailer on the set of the new action thriller The Gray Man -- Ana's got a lot going on and she's juggling several different projects, as well as photo shoots and phone calls with her team and people don't stay mad at her for too long, but they have nicknamed her Ana de Diva, but she isn't upset by the scathing moniker because she's a big name now, and with that comes a lot of responsibility and the way she sees it, there are worse things than being called a diva
Page 10: The Week in Photos -- Orlando Bloom got a surprise visit from the Easter Bunny
Page 11: Jennifer Lopez in jeans at a photoshoot for InStyle, Priyanka Chopra dancing around her backyard in a bright yellow dress
Page 12: Animal Tales -- Gilles Marini posed for a pic with his African grey parrot Anya, singer Madison Beer leaned in for a kiss from a caramel-colored stallion, Kate Beckinsale's feline Clive seemed less than thrilled when Kate strapped him to her chest in a carrier
Page 13: Kaia Gerber and her precious pooch Milo snuggled up in bed, Malin Akerman and a goat
Page 16: Stars Behaving Badly -- Lisa Vanderpump let her parched dog drink from her water glass at a restaurant in West Hollywood, Maisie Williams went topless under a translucent jacket while shooting a new TV series about the Sex Pistols in London, HGTV Design Star host Allison Holker used a megaphone to give out instructions to Property Brother Jonathan Scott on the show's finale, Calvin Klein wasn't worried about stains when he shoved a pile of spaghetti into his mouth at West Hollywood's Mauro Cafe
Page 18: Say What?! Helena Bonham Carter who turns 55 in May, Chelsea Handler who admits she consumes mushrooms almost every day, Olivia Munn who is the proud pet parent of rescue dogs Frankie and Chance, Melissa McCarthy on doing her own stunts in Thunder Force, Brian Tyree Henry on Godzilla vs. Kong co-star Millie Bobby Brown
Page 20: Pete Davidson has officially moved out of his mother's home and into a $1.2 million luxury high-rise condo on Staten Island, and it's all thanks to his new girl girlfriend, Bridgerton star Phoebe Dynevor -- the Saturday Night Live star showed off his two-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom bachelor pad during a Zoom call -- Phoebe is a down-to-earth girl, but she doesn't want to date a man who lives in his mom's basement and she thinks Pete's mom, Amy, is awesome and says it's a great thing that they're super close, but being in a long-distance relationship is difficult enough so Pete and Phoebe need some alone time when they're together, which was almost impossible with his mother hanging out upstairs -- Pete knew it was time; he just needed that gentle nudge
Page 21: Matt James and Rachael Kirkconnell were spotted in NYC together, sparking speculation that the former Bachelor couple have rekindled their relationship -- the pair parted ways while the show was still airing after photos of the graphic designer at a plantation-themed college party in 2018 surfaced on social media -- Rachael made a mistake but she owned up to it and was willing to learn from it and it didn't change her feelings for Matt or vice versa and Matt was in love with Rachael too and he couldn't just turn those feelings off so no one would be surprised if they decided to reconcile
* Michael B. Jordan's girlfriend Lori Harvey was left reeling over photos of the actor sharing a smooch with Chante Adams on the set of their new movie A Journal for Jordan -- of course, they were just shooting a scene for the film, but Lori was still annoyed and she asked Michael about it, and he brushed it off and explained it was part of the job but Lori still has her suspicions and she's been thinking about dropping by the set just so she can keep a very close eye on them
Page 22: Cover Story -- Khloe Kardashian living a lie -- devastated by an unretouched photo leak, Khloe faces claims she's a body positivity hypocrite as she demands the viral image be taken down
Page 26: Alex Rodriguez to Ben Affleck: Back off my fiancee -- Ben gushes about ex Jennifer Lopez in a new article and A-Rod isn't happy about it (not quite Bennifer yet :)
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Page 28: Prince Harry overwhelmed with work -- Harry struggles to adjust after trading his cushy royal role for a variety of normal gigs -- though his job for BetterUp is primarily remote, added stress comes in the form of Harry's Spotify and Netflix deals, plus growing charity work -- Harry finds all of his new, non-royal titles fresh and exciting, but while he's a great person, some in his inner circle say Harry's kind of dumb and worry whether he can handle the pressure
Page 30: Lori Loughlin and Mossimo Giannulli life after prison -- reunited following months spent behind bars, Lori and Mossimo try to pick up the pieces -- prison definitely took a toll on Mossimo and he doesn't expect sympathy, but he's still struggling to adjust to what he went through; it really broke him down and forced him to reevaluate his life
Page 32: Who Lives Here? Lil Nas X
Page 34: Entertainment
Page 35: Star Review -- Jonathan Van Ness
* As Seen On-Screen -- Meghan Markle wore a dark green coat while walking through Archie's Chick-Inn during her CBS interview which was J. Crew's Perfect Lightweight Jacket
Page 36: Go Green at Home -- reduce your carbon footprint even more with these eco-chic essentials, because our planet can use all the help it can get
Page 37: Beauty Crush -- get Jurnee Smollett's look from her makeup artist Emily Cheng for the SAG Awards
Page 38: Spring Beauty Must-Haves -- these product picks aim to reign as new-season favorites -- Camila Mendes
Page 40: Diva or Down-to-Earth? Rihanna bagged her own haul at Bristol Farms in Beverly Hills -- down-to-earth, Shay Mitchell worked from home with help from her most trusted assistant daughter Atlas -- down-to-earth, during a photo shoot in Malibu Brooke Burke got a makeup refresh from a personal primper -- diva
Page 42: Social Stars Posts of the Week -- Sofia Vergara sneaking Heidi Klum a chip on the set of America's Got Talent, Neil Patrick Harris finished the first season of The Irregulars while quarantining in Toronto, Jared Leto pretended to pluck the moon straight out of the sky during a masked outing in Italy, Beyonce treated her daughter Blue Ivy to a meal at Nobu in Malibu
Page 44: Horoscope -- Taurus Gigi Hadid turned 26 on April 23
* They're Not Together, But They Should Be -- Capricorn Charles Melton and Virgo Zendaya
Page 48: What I'm Into -- Kameron Westcott of The Real Housewives of Dallas
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taofarren · 3 years ago
Text
Tina The Cortina
It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.
With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!
Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.
Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally.  For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.
Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.
My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.
Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.
We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.
Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.
From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.
1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.
Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.
It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.
Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these  were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.
I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.
I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:
“Excuse me!”.
“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses,  grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.
“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”
She blinked at me expectantly.
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.
“Uh
. Good memories?”
She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;
“Yes
 especially on the back seat!”
She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile
A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:
“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.
Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.
She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.
“Fuck fuck fuck”
I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.
“Excuse me sir
 what year model is this?”
“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously
“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.
One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.
Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.
For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.
This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.  
Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.
I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.
Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.
On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.
We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot,  and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.
I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.
At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.
They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.
During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.
Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.
This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.
After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.
She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.
I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.
He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.
That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.
I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.
Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.
After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and  far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.
The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.
Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.
This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.
The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.
“Uhhhmmm
”
Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.
The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.
During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.
“Tao, your laundry!”
Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.
After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.
We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.
“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya
 my car
. We were driving and it lit up

 Ya
.. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”
A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.
A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.
Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.
Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.
Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.
It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.
Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.
As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?
I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.
I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.
If only they knew.
Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.
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a-dinosaur-a-day · 5 years ago
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Balaeniceps rex
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By Olaf Oliviero Riemer, CC BY-SA 3.0 
Etymology: Whale Head
First Described By: Gould, 1850
Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoromorpha, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostaylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Neoaves, Aequorlitornithes, Ardeae, Aequornithes, Pelecaniformes, Balaenicipitidae
Status: Extant, Vulnerable
Time and Place: Within the last 10,000 years, in the Holocene of the Quaternary 
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The Shoebill is known from eastern central Africa 
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Physical Description: There is no other dinosaur quite like the Shoebill. It is one of the most visually distinctive creatures, with traits monstrous and familiar that make it difficult to really understand exactly what you’re looking at. They stand up to 140 centimeters in height, which yes, is the height of a human being on the shorter side. They can even reach 152 centimeters tall - the same height as a 5 foot tall person. They have very long, skinny legs, with giant toes on their feet that are widely splayed out. Their bodies are huge, with short tails and bulky torsos. Their backs are grey, and their belly feathers are white. Their necks are a lighter grey, and there is some dark speckling all over their wings and right beneath their necks. Their heads continue that light grey coloration, and have small tufts of feathers as a crest on the back of the head. Shoebills also happen to feature yellow, unblinking, perfectly circular eyes, which is unsettling at best. They have heavy eyebrows of feathers over their eyes, giving them a look like they’re always glaring at you - which is even more disconcerting considering the giant, wide, scoop-shaped bill that the Shoebill is named for. The bill is orange, and ends in a small hook, just in case you weren’t terrified enough. 
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By Peter Halasz, CC BY-SA 2.5 
Diet: Shoebills feed mainly on fish - especially lungfish, though most large fish are acceptable. Amphibians, young crocodilians, water snakes, rodents, and young waterfowl are also fed upon by these giant terrifying creatures. 
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By Snowmanradio, CC BY-SA 2.0 
Behavior: Shoebills are calculating bastards - they’ll hover around lakesides and swamps with low oxygen in the water, which forces lungfish to come up to breathe - so that the Shoebill can then lean down and scoop them up. They are loners during the hunt, carefully taking each step as they make sure to not sink too far into the mud and weeds where they live. Their lunging after food is hard to miss - their mouths open wide, revealing how huge those bills really are, and giving it a sinister smile. These lunges are usually startling, as the Shoebill is usually still for a very long time before it goes after prey. It is as if a statue had suddenly come to life. This is especially disconcerting when the Shoebill opts for standing on floating vegetation - just casually going down with the current as though they were a giant Jacana. They tend to defend territories for food, at least somewhat, not coming closer than twenty meters to another Shoebill during feeding. They don’t sense their prey with feel, but entirely by sight - making them very unblinking and focused, adding to their strange aura. Shoebills are also usually silent, which just makes their entire aesthetic even more terrifying. When they do dare to make sounds, they make very raucous cries - usually while they fly. 
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By Petr Simon 
Yes, yes they can fly. Shoebills are some of the largest flighted birds today, which does not help. They hold their wings flat, pulling in their necks to their bodies to aid in making their flight more efficient. They have some of the slowest flaps of any bird, at 150 flaps per minute. They fly only a few meters at a time, and usually prefer to glide as much as possible. The farthest any Shoebill as traveled at one time seems to be 20 meters. As such, Shoebills are not very mobile birds, and they usually only move from place to place based on food availability. 
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By African Parks/Bengweulu Wetlands Photography 
Shoebills begin breeding depending on the water levels of their habitat at a given time. They lay their eggs when the rains begin to end and the waters start to recede; as such, the chicks hatch and fledge late in the dry season. They nest alone, though there are possible reports that they may form some breeding colonies in South Sudan. They make nests out of grass in a mound that is three meters wide, usually placed on a small island or on floating vegetation amongst dense papyrus. They lay two eggs that are incubated for a month. The chickare cute, fluffy, and grey, with tiny regular sized bills. They then fledge a little more than three months later and, what’s more, usually only one chick survives. The chicks and parents will make whining and mewing to each other to get attention and beg for food. Sometimes, the young will make hiccups as begging calls. The parents are constantly with the young for the first forty days of rearing, only briefly leaving to get food and water or nest material. As the chicks age, the parents spend more and more time away, but they still bring food regularly. The chicks, after fledging, remain dependent on the parents for food for a few more years. They reach reproductive age at around three to four years. Displays often including mooing and bill clattering, which can be accompanied by the shaking of the head from side to side, which is quite the undertaking for a bird with such a large head. Breeding pairs stay together for the season, and break up when the chicks leave the nest. Shoebills can live up to fifty years, which is aided by the fact that they tend to not have predators after reaching full size. 
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By Hans Hillewaert, CC BY-SA 3.0 
Ecosystem: Shoebills stick to marshes, especially papyrus marshes and those with reeds and cattails. They will also gather around marshy lakesides, especially near Lake Victoria. They go wherever they can find floating vegetation to stand upon, including ricefields. They tend to go where animals such as hippopotamus go, since the hippo can dredge up food that the Shoebill can then feed upon. 
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By Fritz Geller-Grimm, CC BY-SA 2.5 
Other: Shoebills are currently considered vulnerable to extinction, with 5000 to 8000 birds thought to be remaining in the wild (though that may be low and there may be as many as 10,000). The reasons for this decline in population is partially due to habitat loss - the Shoebill is dependent on papyrus swamps and other wetland habitats, which are targeted by drainage schemes and other development activities. Animals being brought across these swamps and trampling their young also majorly contributes to population decline. It is a very unique bird and a very popular one, so luckily there are some conservation efforts ongoing, especially in zoos. Some hunting is also contributing to population loss. Despite these conservation efforts, only once has the Shoebill been successfully bred in captivity.
~ By Meig Dickson
Sources under the Cut 
Elliott, A., Garcia, E.F.J. & Boesman, P. (2019). Shoebill (Balaeniceps rex). In: del Hoyo, J., Elliott, A., Sargatal, J., Christie, D.A. & de Juana, E. (eds.). Handbook of the Birds of the World Alive. Lynx Edicions, Barcelona.
Guillet, A (1978). "Distribution and Conservation of the Shoebill (Balaeniceps Rex) in the Southern Sudan". Biological Conservation. 13 (1): 39–50.
Hackett, SJ; Kimball, RT; Reddy, S; Bowie, RC; Braun, EL; Braun, MJ; Chojnowski, JL; Cox, WA; Han, KL; et al. (2008). "A phylogenomic study of birds reveals their evolutionary history". Science. 320 (5884): 1763–8.  
Hagey, J. R.; Schteingart, C. D.; Ton-Nu, H.-T. & Hofmann, A. F. (2002). "A novel primary bile acid in the Shoebill stork and herons and its phylogenetic significance". Journal of Lipid Research. 43 (5): 685–90.
Hall, Whitmore (1861). The principal roots and derivatives of the Latin language, with a display of their incorporation into English. London: Longman, Green, Longman & Roberts. p. 153.
Hancock & Kushan, Storks, Ibises and Spoonbills of the World. Princeton University Press (1992),
Houlihan, Patrick F. (1986). The Birds of Ancient Egypt. Wiltshire: Aris & Phillips. p. 26.
Jasson, J.; Nahonyo, Cuthbert; Lee, Woo; Msuya, Charles (March 2013). "Observations on nesting of shoebill Balaeniceps rex and wattled crane Bugeranus carunculatus in Malagarasi wetlands, western Tanzania". African Journal of Ecology. 51 (1): 184–187.
Mayr, Gerald (2003). "The phylogenetic affinities of the Shoebill (Balaeniceps rex)". Journal fĂŒr Ornithologie.  
Mikhailov, Konstantin E. (1995). "Eggshell structure in the shoebill and pelecaniform birds: comparison with hamerkop, herons, ibises and storks". Canadian Journal of Zoology. 73 (9): 1754–70.
Muir, Allan; King, C.E. (January 2013). "Management and husbandry guidelines for Shoebills Balaeniceps rex in captivity". International Zoo Yearbook. 47 (1): 181–189.  
Stevenson, Terry and Fanshawe, John (2001). Field Guide to the Birds of East Africa: Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi. Elsevier Science.
Tomita, Julie (2014). "Challenges and successes in the propagation of the Shoebill Balaeniceps rex: with detailed observations from Tampa's Lowry Park Zoo, Florida". International Zoo Yearbook. 132 (1): 69–82.  
Williams, J.G; Arlott, N (1980). A Gield Guide to the Birds of East Africa. Collins.
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shutup-everythingconfusesme · 4 years ago
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I had dream last night that I think would make a good story if expanded on.
The first thing I recall is being in a semi dark room, there was a small African boy sat cross-legged on a table in front of me. He was thin, cover in dried grey mud from the neck down and his face partially covered in bandages. A gaping hole where his right eye should've been, another in the middle of his forehead and two small one below them, like nostrils. All bleeding slightly.
Surprisingly I wasn't afraid of him. I just felt a mild curiosity. And I was angry, so very angry. Not at him, something else. Something had happened to me. I don't remember what it was, but it involved a group of seven men. Though I could take a guess at what had happened.
But all I recall is being hurt and seething with rage. The boy asked me if I wanted revenge. I said yes without hesitation and a book appeared in his hands, glowing faintly and translucent.
Seven figures appeared to my right. Then I was afraid. I only remember one of them, a woman immediately to my right. Ragged clothes, dead eyes, her neck seemed to have been sliced open with a ragged cut. It was deep, skin curling at the edges, traveling up her jaw to her cheek...pretty damn bad tbh and though I don't remember, I know the others weren't much better. Some thirteen ghosts shit going on there and I was terrified. I tried to wake up buuuut it didn't happen.
The boy told me that they were here to give me the power to get my revenge and collect their payment when I was done. Sounds like a good deal, right? 🙄 So my dumb ass agrees, without even asking what the payment was mind you, and off I went to get my revenge.
It jumps to a man in a shower, I'm outside of it watching him, he has his back to me. I take off my clothes and get in with him. He barely reacts beyond turning around and smiling at me.
Which was just weird. Some random naked chick gets in your shower and...you know what, he's a bad dude. So never mind.
Anyway, he's already standing to attention and I get to my knees, taking him into my mouth.
And bite that fucker off. Like totally off, my teeth connect and I pull away, spitting it onto the shower floor. Blood everywhere, he's screaming and thrashing, face white as a ghost. But he doesn't tried to attack me, like at all. Even when I bit down he didn't do anything to try and stop me/get me off him.
That was the first beings power, they couldn't fight back. Awesome stuff 😊
I leave him there, passing two burly naked guys as I step out the shower. I brought them with me to make sure his final moments were pure hell and degrading as fuck. Dark, am I right?
As I enter some open space in his house, that female being appears in all her scary ass glory. I don't know what she wants or what she's about to do but I don't want to find out. I try to run when she lunges for me, catching the blade she's holding in my shoulder. She grabs me by the hair when I again try to escape.
She then cuts my throat, left to right, deep and ragged. Cutting into the bone of my jaw and up into my cheek. The flesh almost cut away on my cheek completely. She let's me go and disappears. Leaving me laying on the floor, choking on my own blood and watching it pool around my head. However, I don't die. Eventually I'm able to get up and sew myself back together.
The same thing happens with the next five, I use what ever power they have for my vengeance and then they come and inflict the same wounds I saw on them. Unfortunately I don't remember any of that, I just know that it happened.
When I was down to the seventh and final act of revenge, I'd figured out what was going on. The payment was of course my soul split seven ways and everytime they came for me, they were taking their piece and giving it their unique mark, aka the gruesome injuries they were inflicting on me. When the seventh was taken i was pretty sure I was going to die and be dragged to whatever hellscape they came from to be tortured for the rest of eternity. I did not want that to happen.
I needed to cheat the system, and some how I knew killing myself first in the manner of the last demon spirit thing would do that. Makes little sense but it worked. I drove a metal rod through my own eye and skull, and boom, my ass was dead.
After that it gets foggy af. I remember bits and pieces. I arrived in the hellscape, just one seventh of a soul me but I still had all the powers I'd collected. There were lots of "people" around and they thought I was one of them.
I think my plan was to gather the rest of my soul, and get the fuck out.
And that's it. That's all I recall. I know a lot more happened, when I woke in the middle of night I know I remembered it all and even considered writing it all down then but choose to go back to sleep instead đŸ˜©
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birdsandwords-13856149 · 4 years ago
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In-Depth Research+ Drawing Through Research
Shoebill
Commonly referred to as “prehistoric” -> emphasise the dinosaur likeness??
Found in Uganda
They can stand totally still for hours on end
Ruffled feathers from the front -> scarf? Clothing opportunity
They have the slowest flap rate of every bird -> characterised as lazy, thoughtful, heavy, ability to fly easily taken away?
Lives in swampy, boggy areas-> incorporate that into clothing?
Less than 10,000 left in the wild -> but they only support their strongest chick, which isn’t helping their population, therefore, turkeys voting for Christmas?
Build their nests on floating patches of vegetation because they’re so light
“Cultures believe the bird is taboo and bad luck”
Lungfish is their staple diet
It’s beak is razor sharp at the edges, which they use to decapitate their prey
They defecate on their own legs to keep cool, which at first glance looks like turkeys voting for Christmas but is actually beneficial to them
Live around still water which has lots of diseases
Translucent eyelids that covers their eyes when hunting and preening
SEYMORE THE SHOEBILL
A local took him in after fearing he would be killed by other locals. Keepers at the zoo used a life sized wooden shoebill to comfort the chick. Parents usually dribble water down their beaks into the chicks mouth, so keepers draped themselves in a grey sheet and poured water into the chicks mouth.
Found in the Bengweulu wetlands
THE STORY OF THE GREY HERON
From “The King of The Snakes” but Rosetta Bakersville, a collection of African short stories and folklore.
The stork saves a frog from being eaten by a snake, and the frog thanks him, but doesn’t warn him when an eagle flying above drops a branch on his head, and the stork dies. His family is upset and tell the frog never to come back otherwise they’ll eat him and his children.
This was how the storks, which I’m assuming are shoebills because they’re never called that, are described. “Each one was tall and thin, with a long graceful neck and a think pointed beak, they were a very grave family.” My only doubt is the description “long, pointed beak” because the shoebill has a large, thick beak in comparison to other wetland birds in the area. But tall and thin?
GENERAL RESEARCH
It’s eyes and face are what usually stick out to people who meet it face to face. “More African mask than bird” -> do NOT stick an African mask on it.
“According to legend, if a man goes missing in the swamp, a shoebill is to blame.”
Roughly 60% of their attacks are successful.
People steal their eggs and burn the wetlands to make space for farmland, which kills the chicks.
Fisherman inadvertadly compete with shoebills.
Shoebills are docile around humans,but will act aggressively to defend itself.  
Shoebill protection plan  
LOOK UP THE PLACE
Local fisherman are hired to guard shoebill nests from poachers.  
“King of the marshes”
Communities in Uganda differ on lungfish, some think it’s fine to eat while others think it’s taboo.  
IDIOM
Doing something that is obviously bad for you, most used in British politics, started in the 1970s but is being used more recently due to brexit.
Similar phrases  
Shooting yourself in the foot, Doing something without intending to which spoils a situation for yourself
To be your own worst enemy  
Asking for trouble
Digging your own grave, a warning when someone is doing something that will cause their own failure.  
EXAMPLES OF DIGGING YOUR OWN GRAVE
Cheating on exams
Reckless credit card usage
Investing in a failing business
Not studying
Burning yourself out
Eating junk food and not excercising
Leaving work early
Doing hard drugs
Skipping class
SYNONYMS  
asking for trouble
Looking for trouble  
Being your own worst enemy
QUINTESSENCE
The fifth element, also known as Eeather in medieval philosophy, was also the medieval equivalent of modern dark matter.
The fifth element out of earth, water, fire and air, and seen as the pure element, as it was what planets and stars and gods were made out of. Where the word quintessential comes from, the purest form of something.
Quintessence was believed to move in circular patterns, and helped lead Aristotle’s explanation of observed orbits of stars and planets.  
The use of “quintessence” was popular in medieval alchemy, it was believed that consuming it would cure any illnesses or ailments and it was the “pure element”.
“Quintessence” could be made by distilling alcohol 7 times. (Amazing)
Synonymous with elixirs, alchemy and the philosophers stone.  
“The empty space between objects”  
All space is permeated by “excessively small whirlpools” which would allow light to travel through them.
Before gravity was understood, Jakob Bernoulli theorised that the hardness of Aether is what gave objects a solid heaviness.
MODERN QUINTESSENCE
Theoretically, the substance that causes the universe to accelerate.
Most forms of energy (matter, radiation) cause the universe to slow down with their gravity. But quintessence could be the substance that is causing the universe to accelerate anyway.  
More on Bangweulu Wetlands
Adjacent to Bangweulu in north western Zambia
Looking up if any plants and animals have any cultural meanings  
Cyperus Papyrus, people in ancient Egypt would present these flowers as thanks to gods.
Miombo Woodland, nothing.
Crocodiles, can be very close with communities of people, can be vengeful on behalf of their friends and family.
Burchells Zebra, nothing.
Bushbuck, nothing.
Common Tsessebe, nothing.
Elephants, represent strength, power, wisdom.
Hippos, according to folklore, used to have hair but it was set on fire by a jealous hare.
Hyenas, in west Africa, symbolises immortality, dirty habits, and reversal of normal activities, clever sorcerers. Also in middle eastern folklore, representing treachery.
Jackals, clever sorcerers.
Migratory lechwe, nothing.
Oribi, nothing  
Reedbuck, nothing
Roan, nothing
Sable antelope, no folklore specific to them either, but I think their horns are an awesome shape.
Sitatunga, nothing.
Straw coloured fruit bats, nothing.  
Hamerkops, some legends say other birds help build its nests. When one flies by it means someone has died. Also, people who steal from / destroy their nests can get leprosy or struck by lightning. In Kenya, they’re linked to witchcraft,, alchemy? Potential link to quintessence.
Cormorants, used by humans as tools to fish by tying strings around their throats.  
Ducks, nothing.
Egrets, nothing.
Geese, nothing.
Herons, nothing.
Ibis’, important in Egyptian mythos, toth, god of maths, literature, measurement and time.
Pygmy goose, nothing.
Waders, nothing.
Lungfish.  
Has several villages living on the wetlands with an overall population of 50,000 to 90,000 people.
The habitat is threatened by burning for farming, overfishing and poaching.  
Mosquito nets used for fishing.
Due to efforts, fish stocks have managed to recover.
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onceaponamidnightdreary · 4 years ago
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The Crimson Crusader
Ksk--ksk--testing-sks- ello- ske- esting one to three, testing one two three. Alright, we’re live. Greetings civilians. This, as you may not know, is the Crimson Crusader, your average vigilante that you don’t know and love to hate. Though, I ain’t your average vigilante. Why, I’ll get to that later. I’m perched on a rooftop, doing my daily patrol. It’s about ten at night and things are a little low, crime-wise. You may want to know why I’m broadcasting this recording, as people like us like to keep our identities hidden. It won’t matter, you won’t find me on any records, or government documents, those have been burned. Heck, I don’t know why I’m doing this myself, but I’ve gotten tired of all you conspiracy theorists. This is my story, where I came from.
See, I was born and raised in the town of Lindhold, of which you are probably familiar. You see it on the news all the time, all the crimes and the rich people up the hill. See, the town was divided into three parts, the Uppers, the Middle, and the Slums. Figure it out by yourself what they mean. O’course, I just happened to be born in the worst part of town. Down there, we didn’t call it Linkhold, nah, to us, it was known as Fester. Cuz everything was always rott’n and festering, the buildings, the food, the people. ‘Specially the people. I was born in a dead-end alley-way with one-eyed alleycat as my nursemaid. The first thing I saw, apparently, was the cat hissing as me. Funny enough, I’ve always loved the creatures after that.
My mother named me Angel Crimson Aldrich, though nobody called me Angel. You called me by my middle name, or you didn’t talk to me at all. Why my mother named me this, I didn’t know. I was as far from Angel as you could get. She said it’s cause I looked like one, with my sienna-pale skin, slate-grey eyes. And white-blond long hair. I cut it the next day, lopped off the sides and the back and it stayed that way ever since, wild in a devil-may-care way. Nothing to grab. One thing I couldn’t figure out was my last name. Aldrich. My mother's name was Evalin Savanna, so I figured it was my father. Never knew him, but I hated him all the same. It was ‘cause of him that my mom suffered. Never even paid a stupid child support check. I bet he didn’t even know I existed.
I lived with my mom in a rotting wooden flat, just the two of us. She died when I was five, pneumonia. Never had the money to afford the medicine.
The tenant evicted me and I spent the next two years as a street-urchin, pickpocket extraordinaire. Don’t feel bad for me, I was’n the only one. Hell, those streets were riddled with kids like me. Nobody batted an eye. It was just life in the town of Fester. I went to elementary school, I was smart for my age. The school was deplorable, a library the size of a cupboard, overcrowded classrooms, you name it. Dropped out at age six. From then on, my life moved on faster. At seven, I joined my first gang, held my first gun at nine, and killed my first man when I was eleven. Those streets make you grow up fast.
When I was thirteen I was lucky enough to run with a gang called the Crusaders.
Sound familiar?
I kept with them, moved up ranks. I was smart, I followed orders, I was ruthless, I fought like a demon. At fifteen I was the right hand girl to the leader, a chick called Smoky, cause of her eye-shadow. She was like an older sister to me, teaching me everything I knew. She was the toughest person I know, and it ain’t easy for a girl on the streets. You learn to survive, to not trust. She died in a gang fight, promoting me with her dying words. I was sixteen and I became leader to the second largest gang in Fester. Back then, gangs were everything. You paid homage to the right gang or you died trying. Turf wars were battles that decided life or death. We controlled five city blocks, and they were everything and we gave everything to defend them. But the Crusaders weren’t your average gang. I doubt any gang led by a woman is. See, we didn’t deal drugs, ammo, or counterfeit money. And I know you’re wonderin’ what we did do. See, ‘Crusaders’ means a person who fought in the Crusades, a medieval battle for Christianity or something. But today, it comes to mean someone who uses vigorous, aggressive movement for the defense or advancement of an idea or cause. That's what we did. Since the police were useless and usually bought off by a gang, crime raged rampant in Fester. If you walked down town at night, it was extremely likely that you would be mugged, shot, stabbed, or kidnapped.
Or all of the above.
So me and my gang, we dealt out justice, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth situation. But we had a very meticulous system. If you stole, the first question we would ask is why. If you stole to feed your family, we would let you go. If you stole because of greed, we would take double what you took. And thrice the second time. The third time, we cut off your hand. If you murdered for revenge, we understood that. If you killed for power, for gain, for absolutely no reason at all, well, then you died. If that made us bad people, we didn’t know. But it was the only type of justice we knew and we were good at it. We also stole from the Uppers, the rich, white folk in their god-awful fancy McMansions. They never walked in our lower part of town, didn’t bat an eye at the crime and the poverty, didn’t know an’ didn’t care that one peice of furniture in their house could feed an entire family for a year. Man, we hated them, them in their fancy cars and clean clothes. Worst of all, they did nothin’ to deserve it. They were all born into money, like their parents before them. And their parents before them. So we stole from them, hacked into their bank accounts, emptying ‘em little by little.
Wait- sks there's something,- sks- I’ll be back- sks-(Gunshots and yelling in background. Thumps and bodies hitting the wall.)
Sks- ksk- krshhh-sks-kay I’m back. There was some idiot who thought he was at the top of the food chain ‘cause he had a gun. Now he’s got a major concussion and the entire police station in his face.
Idiot.
So I should probably tell you about some people that were in my crew. Every gang has a crew, the inner circle basically, then a few runners, people that send messages and help with other stuff but aren’t there fulltime and lastly, your hoard, which were people that were under your protection that other gangs couldn’t touch but only ran favours for you now and then. My crew and I were real tight, we had to be, watching each other's backs and all.
My right hand man was a guy called Leon, smart as a whip and tough as a shark, and man he could get things done. He used to run with the Sidestreet Shavers, I think, before they kicked him out ‘cause he saved a little girl's life. I heard, took him in, and he’s been loyal ever since.
My tech guys, the hackers, was a girl, ex-heroin addict nick-named Half Print, and her sweetheart, a thin, skinny blond guy called Stevie. And damn, were they good at their job. I had no doubt they could hack the Pentagon if they wanted. They had an extensive blackmail file on everyone. You know, just cause.
My muscle, two brothers, only two years apart, named Cork and Neal, just your average for-hire thug, buzz-cut, 6 foot 2, tattooed knuckles, that kind of thing. But they had good hearts, you know, real softies when you got to know them. They lived on the streets before they busted a dog-fighting ring and I gave them my protection. Genuinely good people are hard to come by.
I also had a spy/assassin, a mute girl named Stiletto, cause of her preferred weapon, and her girlfriend who was my scout, Hatchet, an african-american girl who ran away at age ten thanks to her abusive and homophobic father. She also had the largest library of curse words known to mankind, including some in different languages.
We all suffered. We all dreamed. And that's what made us different from other gangs, you know? Nobody in the god-forsaken town of Fester had ever dreamed. The place just sucked the hope right outta you. We were a group of hopeless dreamers, wishing for something more than this hellhole. We wanted to go to college, to travel, to help others like us. But we can’t. Can’t afford any of it.
Which brings me to the next part of my story.
It was dangerous, living in a gang. You run the risk of getting beat up and shot.
Which was exactly what happened to Stevie.
Now we weren’t as close as Me and Leon but we were still great friends. And looking at his broken and bleeding figure I wasn't thinking clearly. He was the most fragile out of my crew, and I thought he was dead. So we did the worst thing possible.
We called 911.
We were gang members with a bleeding dying figure on our hands. But we were hysterical and young enough that they didn’t arrest any of us. They let Half Print ride in the ambulance and the rest of us ran. Straight on ran the six blocks to the hospital.
The news was grim.
He was alive but in a coma. Busted rib cage, punctured lungs, ruptured organs, several broken bones. They needed to do surgery or else he wasn’t gonna live. We agreed, saying that we would pay them back.
The price came to $530,000.
We didn’t have that type of money.
Hell, we didn’t even know how to get that type of money.
But Hatchet heard about a government program that needed willing human volunteers to experiment on. They were offering $600,000.
We argued about who should go, everyone offering themselves. I told them it was my duty, as leader and left without a word. I appointed Leon as the head until I returned. No one mentioned what we were all thinking, that they might never see me again.  
From then on, everything becomes a little blurry.
The scientists didn’t bother using anesthesia, so I remembered pain. Lots of pain. They took my right eye, too. Replaced it with a mechanical one. After the experiments, I trained, and everything became a haze. I learned weapons use and types of fighting styles, my drugged up mind not even questioning it. They made me stronger, faster, with inhuman reflexes. There were 20 volunteers of people desperate enough to need the money.
After a year, there were only three left, including me. I still don't remember what happened but apparently I killed them. Then I burned down the government building. The head scientist escaped, a man called Dr. Armada.
Then I went back to my gang.
They pressured me to tell them what happened, how I was stronger then normal, stronger than human.
I didn’t have a lot of answers to give them. They were excited for my powers, as they called it. They wanted to use it to stop crime, to do the things we strived to do.
I told them no. I didn’t want to be like the superheros in New York. Nothing good came out of that, look what happened to Tony Stark. Dead after saving the world. I wanted to lay low after all that had happened.
We had a fight, 
 and
 I left. One of the greatest regrets of my life. As I was heading out, I heard a girl crying out for help, with my inhuman hearing. I got there without thinking and stopped the guy attacking her. It was laughably easy. I realized that they were right and I headed back to apologize.
And I will never forget this, as I headed back, the warehouse doors were wide open and the moonlight illuminated red stains on the floor.
Blood.
I rushed in but it was too late. Wide, glassy eyes, bodies cold and stiff. And I heard a gasp to my right. It was Stiletto, the girl who never spoke in her damn life. She looked at me and
 I-I’ll never forget this. She said “Remember Crimson, doing what is right is not always easy. But doing’ what is easy is not always right.”
And then she was dead.
I swore then and there that I would become what they wanted to be. The dreams they never had, the fight they always wanted.
I became, in honour of them, the Crimson Crusader.
That is me, Angel Crimson Aldrich, signing off, for now.
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isawhitney · 3 years ago
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Sometimes I’m white
Some day when it’s cold and I’m done up to the nose
In my weather grey puffer vest and I check
Myself out in the window of my neighbourhood Coles
Sometimes I’m black
Sometimes I’m white
With my mates, the straight-laced Eurocentric chick
Smug superior smirk with her hair done up in a bun
And one loose artistic curl cocked like a gun
Sometimes I’m black for an instant
Sometimes I’m white
Smiling at Gramps, the self-professed male chauvinist
As we discuss in depth the issues of the American South
Through mouthfuls of wilted spinach leaves
Sometimes I’m black out of the corner of my eye
Sometimes I’m white
As I walk on, there’s this African family, proper dark,
And I see their hair and I see their skin and I see them
And my fraud self then as continents apart
Sometimes I’m black and the face in the mirror, her colour, shocks me because it has to be a fact that people, real human people, aren’t coloured in like that
Sometimes I’m white
Sometimes I’m black like it hurts
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birdlifeinternational · 3 years ago
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What in the world is a Shoebill?
Deep in the remote, dense, and little-explored swamps of Africa lives an uncommon fowl with a shoe for a face. No, really. The African Shoebill stork appears extra like some thing out of a comedian e book than a chicken you would possibly thankfully stumble upon on an African safari. Distributed in the swampy marshes of Uganda, Rwanda, Western Tanzania, and Zambia, this uncommon chicken may very properly have walked out of the dinosaur era.
The Shoebill stork is a uncommon and severely endangered fowl (whose populace is documented to be much less than 5000 in the wild). With long, spindly blue-gray legs that fit its blue-grey feathers, the Shoebill stands nearly fifty five inches above the swampland mud that it calls home. 
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The over-exaggerated beak actually beggars belief; this humongous appendage resembles the iconic Dutch clog as an alternative than whatever a hen may use to consume it is meal, let by myself some thing it would elevate on its face! The reality is, no longer lots is regarded about this ambitious bird. The first scientific documentation of the species solely passed off in the late nineteenth century. The Shoebill is elusive and no longer very social. Individuals continue to be a long way away from every different besides all through breeding season and it is pretty regular for the birds to keep a distance of at least 20 metres aside throughout feeding and swampland meandering. Almost to show their delinquent nature, generally solely one chick born to a pair will live on to adulthood. So ruthless is the Shoebill, that the biggest chick in the hatch will commit fratricide except a moment’s hesitation. The surviving chicks are virtually ejected from the nest as soon as they have learnt the very fundamentals of survival from their mothers. The Shoebill is no vegetarian. In fact, it is a bold carnivore with an urge for food for snakes, lungfish, catfish and even small crocodiles. The Shoebill’s anatomy is best for singling out prey in shallow waters and executes its meal with one single strike of its comedian but exceedingly sturdy beak. A curved hook at the quit of the Shoebill’s beak acts as a spear that can provide a deadly blow each single time. With an common lifespan of 25 years, the Shoebill can be a terrorizing swamp figure.
The Shoebill’s beak is a bold weapon in the marshlands
Another incredible function of the African Shoebill is its soft, doe-like blue eyes,a genetic mutation located in positive populations. This has no impact on its potential to hunt though, however makes for an fascinating sight have to you experience the privilege of seeing one face-to-face in the wild.Harry Potter followers would be involved to be aware of that the Shoebill, when saved in captivity, has been acknowledged to show comparable behaviour to the legendary Hippogriff in J.K Rowling’s famous myth saga. The Hippogriff as described in the Harry Potter books is a proud, flesh-eating, eagle-horse hybrid with a touchy and noble character. In order to strategy the Hippogriff barring serious injury, one need to bow to it earlier than approaching. A captive Shoebill in Uganda named Sushi has displayed comparable behavior, and when the greeting is now not reciprocated, Sushi flies away with disdain.For all it’s quirks, the African Shoebill is an vital phase of Africa’s ecosystem. The Shoebill storks are no longer recognized to be aggressive toward people and for all its abnormal beauty, the Shoebill reminds us by no means to decide a e book through its cover.
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sussex-nature-lover · 4 years ago
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Monday 5th April 2021
Hold the Front Page!
After the short lived excitement of a fleeting Goldfinch visit yesterday and my intense thought-waves trying to attract it back, I can announce...
I am clearly a witch.
Either that or moving the position of the feeder worked a treat.
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Grab the camera. Focus quickly. Just. In. Case.
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Hello.
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I’ll tell you something for nothing as well, once this handsome individual (or should I say attractive, as I think it’s probably a female bird?) found the Niger seed, it filled its boots, making two visits and feasting like it hadn’t had a square meal in ages.
I can’t begin to describe how happy it made me, but if you read regularly, I think you might be able to guess. If not, I hope you enjoy this selection of photos.
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Goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis) facts
The Goldfinch is a resident bird and despite the fact I’ve struggled to see them and capture photos here, they’re green listed and breed well.
Adult male goldfinches have brown mantles and white rumps. The upperwing is black with a bright yellow wingbar and white tips to the flight feathers. The tail is black with white patches on the outer rectrices and white tips on the median rectrices. The underparts are white with buff patches on the sides of the breast and flanks.
On the head the face is bright red with black lores and black around the base of the bill. The crown and sides of the head are black and they have white cheeks, ear coverts, nape, and throat.
Goldfinches have a white stout, conical bill, the eyes are dark brown, and the legs and feet are pink.
Female goldfinches are very similar to males but the red on the face does not extend as far behind the eyes as it does in the male, although there is some overlap so can be hard to tell in the field.
Juveniles are duller than adults and lack the face pattern. The mantle is olive-brown streaked with dark grey and the sides of the breast and flanks have grey spots. The head is pale grey with fine black streaks.
Breeding
Goldfinches begin breeding in spring and produce 2 or 3 broods a season. They will nest in orchards, parks, and gardens where there are tall, deciduous trees as well as open woodland and hedgerows.
The female builds the nest which is a compact open cup made from moss, roots, grass, lichens, wool, and plant down, lined with fur and feathers. They will sometimes decorate the outside of the nests with flowers.
Goldfinches lay 5-6 smooth, glossy, pale blue eggs with reddish spots and streaks, which are incubated by the female alone for 12-13 days. The male feeds her while she is at the nest.
Chicks are partially covered in grey down and are fed by both adults. They fledge at about 13-18 days after hatching but still depend on their parents for a few more days.
Information taken from birdspot uk
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Goldfinch eggs. Image courtesy of Kennedy Wild Bird Food
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Image: Garden Bird UK
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Two vintage photos from my library
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juvenile bird, also seen on the table above
RSPB link with sound file.
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Sharing is Caring
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Goldfinch with Blue Tit
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Now this one bird has found the Goldfinch Café, I do hope she spreads the word.
* seed supply courtesy of Ms NW tE, thank you again my darling, look what you’ve done x
Niger seed (often called Nyger Seed or Nyjer Seed) comes from an African yellow daisy. It is rich in oil content and highly nutritious. It's perfect for treating the small birds in your area – particularly goldfinches. 
WHAT DID I LEARN TODAY?
Goldfinches are symbols of fertility and resurrection and frequently appear in medieval Madonna and Child artwork.
GARDEN NOTES:
Wood Pigeon and Ring Collared Dove have been visiting as solitary birds. Watch this space...
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Long Tailed Tits have not been seen for some days now.
All photographs my own except where noted
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phoenixfoundationdxs · 2 years ago
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Sorry it’s taken so long. So, scienctists aren’t really sure exactly how many different species of penguins there are because some are really similar but might be different enough to technically count as separate species. Most thing you read though will say that there are 19 species of penguin. They are AdĂ©lie, African, Chinstrap, Eastern Rockhopper, Emperor, Erect-Crested, Fiordland, GalĂĄpagos, Gentoo, Humboldt, King, Little Blue, Macaroni, Magellanic, Northern Rockhopper, Royal, Snares, Southern Rockhopper, and Yellow-Eyed (Hoiho). 
Penguins are usually classified into six groups. The great penguins includes King and Emperor penguins. The brush-tailed penguins are Adelie, Chinstrap, and Gentoo penguins. The little penguins includes only the Little Blue penguin, but some scientists consider the fairy penguin to be a separate species that is also in this group. The banded penguins include African, Magellanic, Galapagos, and Humboldt penguins. The crested penguins include the Fiordland, Snares, Erect-Crested, Southern Rockhopper, Northern Rockhopper, Royal, and Macaroni penguins. The Yellow-eyed penguin is the only one in its group, and the group does not have a special name. 
King penguins are the second largest species of penguin. The are mostly dark black or grey in color, with a white belly and yellow or orange colouring around the throat. Their chicks are fluffy and brown in colour. They live in Antarctica. 
Emporer penguins are the largest penguin species. They can grow to about four feet tall. They live in Antarctica. Like the king penguin, they are dark in colour ith a white belly and orangeish yellow colouring around the throat. THeir chicks are usually grey with a black head. 
Adelie penguins live in Antarctica. They are not particularily large or small in terms of penguins. They are black in colour with a white belly and white circles around their eyes. Their chicks are brown. 
Gentoo penguins are probably the most widely known species. They live in Antarctica. They are black with a white belly, an orange beak, orange feet, and white bands on their heads behind their eyes. 
The Little Blue penguin is the smallest penguin, growing to be about a foot tall. They have dark blue feathers and lives mostly in Australia and New Zealand.  
Unfortunately I don’t know much about the different banded and crested penguins. I would be more than happy to do some research and answer any questions though. 
The Yellow-eyed penguin is probably my favourite. They live in New Zealand on the South Island mostly. They are mostly black or dark grey with a white belly and yellow bands near their eyes. Their chicks are brown. 
Penguins eat mostly shrimp and krill. The male and female penguins take turns caring for the eggs. Some species of penguin have the same mate for their whole lives. When a penguin chick is young, its parents feed it by vomiting food into its mouth. Penguins secrete and oily substance that they then spread on their feathers in order to waterproof them.
I could probably share more, but this got kind of long. Sorry
Auctober 2022: #2
Infodumping my beloved 💖
Seriously, if you ever need someone to infodump at, please for the love of god consider me. I do have a few rules: trigger tag appropriately, ask first so I know what I'm getting into, and I get to infodump back at you. That's pretty much it!
It's been a while since I've infodumped at anyone, but my favorite topics to infodump about are:
Birds (because of course)
Animal intelligence/psychology
Reptiles
I'm sure there are others that I'm not thinking of right now, but those are the main ones, and they all kind of connect in one way or another.
Honestly, I'd love to get infodumped at about pretty much anything, but especially:
Avatar: The Last Airbender
The Legend of Korra
Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts
The Hunger Games
The Underland Chronicles
History in general
SCPs
Literally any living thing
Writing and worldbuilding
Again, I'm sure there are others that I'm not thinking of. I'm writing this half an hour before my internet cuts out the day before it's scheduled to go up, so I'll add anything I missed if and when I think of it.
Happy Auctober!
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jimmyandreson · 5 years ago
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British Parrot Went Missing For Four Years Returns Speaking Spanish
Parrots are highly intelligent creatures and their learning capacity is quite impressive. This next story of a grey African parrot called Nigel will surely leave you in awe, as he returned to his owner after 4 years of wandering around the world. But the most stunning part is the fact that he also learned to speak Spanish while traveling. Nigel flew away in 2010 from his home in California, and once he returned to his owner, Darren Chicks his British accent was gone and had been replaced by a Spanish one. Another peculiar thing was that he kept asking about someone named “Larry”. The missing parrot was found by Julissa Sperling in Torrance and she mentioned that Nigel was speaking Spanish to her, asking “What happened?” After searching online for missing parrot ads, she found someone looking for her lost companion and turned out to be an entirely different owner. But luckily, she contacted the Animal Lovers pet store, which kept all their receipts from previous sells, and they managed to track down Nigel’s owner. At first, both the parrot and Darren were confused by the meeting, since it had been so long that they last saw each other. Now Darren says that he instantly recognized his lost pet when he saw it, he just couldn’t believe his eyes as Nigel had been gone for such a long time.
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When Darren Chick’s parrot, Nigel, went missing four years ago he spoke with a British accent, but Nigel’s returned home with a mysterious Spanish accent.
  from Home https://www.goodshomedesign.com/british-parrot-went-missing-for-four-years-returns-speaking-spanish/ via http://www.rssmix.com/
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