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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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This is a repost, a fic of mine you might have seen before, but I think it bears revisiting as I am rather fond of it. A friend of mine has thrown a prompt in and chosen Bo as the character to write about. So I think this is a good a time as any to share this again.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

-o-o-o-

Title: Bo

A TAG Secret Santa fic

Author: Gumnut

15 – 18 Dec 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Virgil meets a new friend, and, damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Word count: 6184

Spoilers & warnings: Possible bushfire/wildfire triggers in the first part. For the rest none, except for vague nudity and fluff. Christmas fic. Gen.

Timeline: Origin story

Author’s note: Okay, so this is the first time I’ve ever participated in one of these so I’m new to this.

My prompts were

1. Virgil covered in tinsel

2. Tracy family Christmas

3. Christmas Rescue Miracle (with Virg please)

The first one prompted all sorts of images not suitable for a PG audience. Hubby also suggested I blow up a tinsel factory. Overall, I did attempt to include all three prompts in the one fic. I hope I have succeeded in providing some enjoyment at least.

This does not belong to either Sotto Voce or Warm Rain and is pretty canon compliant. It is currently standalone. Consider it a possible origin story, there may be more, if I can think up some new plot lines. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

Many thanks to @tagsecretsanta for all her wonderful work putting the gift exchange together, and thanks to @photowizard17 for the inspiring prompts, @i-am-chidorixblossom for cheering me on when I couldn’t post daily and obsessively like I usually do, and to @the-lady-razorsharp for giving it an American beta so I don’t trip over being Australian (though the summer Christmas certainly helped :D).

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“It’s the last house at the end of the street, Virgil.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was said without the usual spark. The grey of the destroyed landscape sucked everything from everything. A pall of smoke and haze, black remnants of lives, homes and the tragedy of the night before.

International Rescue had been called to a massive bushfire in the Yarra Ranges in Victoria, Australia. The CFA had had it under control the previous day, John keeping an eye on it anyway, but an unexpected change in wind direction in the evening had it jumping firebreaks and tearing through an unprotected valley and directly through a township.

With the vast tall forests of mountain ash, eucalypts full of volatile oil just waiting to burst into flame, combined with the hot and blustery northerly, not even IR could stop the firestorm from taking lives and property.

Thunderbird Two had her fire suppression equipment, but the massive plane was a speck against the wall of flame.

There were forces of nature that just couldn’t be stopped.

The Tracys dodged and nabbed trapped people. Thunderbird Two deployed a huge water cannon, sourcing water from the local reservoir, as the CFA water bombed around them, desperate to protect what lives they could. But nothing was stopping the fire.

It tore through the town leaving agony in its wake.

Dawn was grey and dismal, but it brought rain. The sky rumbled, threatening to spark more fires in the ranges, but the deluge came and dampened the remaining flame enough to once again get the front under control.

But it was too late for the town.

It was gone.

Virgil walked the length of the street, his exo-suit rubbing on aching shoulders. Burnt out cars and collapsed homes lined the road from one end to the other. The skeletons of black trees marched off into the distance behind it all.

Haze hovered above ash-clogged puddles in the pavement.

It wasn’t what Christmas morning was supposed to be.

The last house at the end of the street had fully collapsed in on itself. A burnt-out car sat in the driveway, its trunk lid and one of its doors open.

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what that likely meant.

He steeled himself and walked past the remains he knew he was going to find in the car.

Nothing could be done.

Nothing.

He focussed on the whine of his suit as his boots stepped in wet ash and strode across the front yard to the remains of the house. He had to clear his throat to speak to John. “Tell me where, Thunderbird Five.”

“Possibly in the basement? The lifesign is below ground level.”

The house had been old, the wooden floorboards disintegrating in the heat. Virgil leapt through the remains of a wall, landing on rubble in what had likely been a wine cellar. The heat had been so intense, that glass bottles had become slag.

Glass crunched under his boots. “Right or left?”

“Eastern side, southern corner.”

There was a mass of rubble collapsed against the only standing wall of the building.

“This is International Rescue. Can anyone hear me?”

He turned up the pickups on his exterior mikes.

Nothing. It was probably a blip. How the hell could anything survive this holocaust?

His shoulders dropped.

But then...something? A whimper?

Maybe?

Virgil began digging.

It took him a good fifteen minutes of solid work to move enough burnt masonry to reach a hole in the wall at the very base of the structure. And in what appeared to be the bottom of a dumb waiter he found the lifesign.

The little puppy whimpered at him, trembling with fear.

Aw, hell.

“John, lifesign is a dog.”

“One moment, Thunderbird Two.” The puppy stared, the green, yellow and blue of Virgil’s suit reflected in its brown eyes. “There is no dog registered at that address. Deliver to the local authorities. You are needed to airlift some survivors to Melbourne. Report to Scott on the other side of town.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

Virgil slid his arms out from the suit and bent aching knees. “Hey, little one, do you want to come with me?”

The puppy shivered and looked him up and down, hesitating.

“I’m with International Rescue, we’re here to help.” He took a step closer. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Maybe it was something in his voice, his stance, or simply because the puppy had no choice, but as Virgil reached into the box it was sitting in, the puppy made no protest as he picked it up.

A quick examination for injury revealed her to be a girl. She shuddered up against Virgil’s chest. “Don’t worry, it’s all over, you’re safe.”

Sliding one arm back into his suit, he started making his way out of the ruined building, turning his back on the tiny hole that had somehow saved the little dog’s life.

-o-o-o-

Perhaps it was because she sat so quietly with him. Perhaps because it was Christmas Day. Most likely it was because Virgil had reached his limit of pain.

When he found the RSPCA tent, specially set up for lost pets, he gently handed over the little puppy. She let out a whimper and began crying.

No barking, just this godawful crying that tore at his heart.

“You will be fine here, little one.” The attendant was one of those kindly older ladies and she hugged the gangly bundle of fluff to her chest as Virgil turned to leave, Scott in his ear.

But the puppy let out such a scream of anguish, Virgil turned around without thinking. She was struggling in the volunteer’s arms and before either of them could react, she managed to wriggle free and dash over to him, her little body trembling on his left boot.

He reached down and gathered her into his arms. “You can’t come with me. I can’t-“ But she was rubbing her head up under his chin, little sounds in her throat.

And he couldn’t.

Just couldn’t.

His eyes met the eyes of the lady volunteer and she smiled. “We will keep her details if you would like to take her with you. If anyone contacts us, we can let you know.” And the volunteer was just as hopeful as the puppy in his arms. After all, there was no life at the RSPCA unless a home was found.

He looked down at her little brown eyes again.

No, he couldn’t.

Damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Maybe for just a few days?

The excuse provided a simple solution, so he took it.

Without a word, he handed his IR contact details to the volunteer, and, puppy in hand, turned his back to the tent and strode towards the big green hulk parked in the distant haze.

“Well, little one, you have definitely made an interesting choice. Let me introduce you to my big green partner.”

-o-o-o-

It was well past Christmas lunch, or rather the lack of it, before IR was given the all clear to return to base. During the entire time, the little puppy sat beside Virgil’s pilot chair, apparently unfazed by the deep bass rumble of Thunderbird Two.

When he picked up both Gordon and Alan the dynamic changed just a little.

Gordon dragged himself onto the flight deck first, a groan in every step. “Christmas just gets more exciting every year.” It was true. Nine out of ten Christmas Days were side-swiped by a disaster, to the point that the Tracy Christmas tradition was a modular and movable celebration nowadays. No guarantees and no defined day. It happened around December twenty-fifth, there about, when they could, between call outs.

Suddenly the little puppy was in his lap.

“What is that?”

Virgil looked up. His brother was covered in soot and looked as tired as Virgil felt. “This is Bo.” And he had no idea where the name came from, it just seemed right and the moment clicked.

“Bo?”

“Yeah.” Newly christened Bo peered up at Gordon around Virgil’s arm. “She survived the fire.” A swallow. “Her family didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Alan, as always, had more energy than any of them, and showed it as he waltzed into the cabin. “So why aren’t we moving?”

Bo let off a sharp bark.

Everyone jumped.

“What the hell, Virgil?”

Bo was literally glaring at Alan.

“Hey, Bo, calm down, that’s just Alan. He’s annoying, but tolerable.” The little puppy looked up at him, her gorgeous brown eyes just melting him inside. He was so gone.

“Hey!” That from Alan.

“Scott’s going to kill you.” That from Gordon, who was approaching slowly.

“Yeah, I know.” It was a sigh.

Gordon crouched down beside Virgil’s chair. “Hey, little one, what gave you the idea to attach yourself to this big oaf?” Pulling off one of his gloves, the aquanaut reached out and offered the puppy his hand. She eyed him warily before tentatively sniffing at his fingers.

She sneezed.

Alan snorted.

Bo blinked and stared at Gordon for a moment. The aquanaut kept still and eventually she sniffed at him again, before nuzzling at his hand. He blatantly took that as permission and gently rubbed behind her ear. “You are a cute little thing, aren’t you.”

She licked his wrist.

“Oh, I can see why our heavy lifter fell for you. You’ve got it all in those brown eyes of yours, haven’t you.” Gordon shrugged. “Though I will admit they are the best colour for manipulation.”

“And he speaks from experience.” To Virgil’s surprise, Gordon actually jumped. “Did you forget I was here? Not absorbed by those brown eyes are we?” He couldn’t help but smile at his brother. At least one was as besotted as he had to admit he was.

Yes, Scott was definitely going to kill him.

“Shut up, Virgil.”

Bo backed off, once again hiding behind Virgil’s baldric.

“Hey, Gordon, watch the tone.”

“Sorry, Bo.”

“Are we actually going home at some point? I have a date with my bed.”

Gordon stood up, pulling out the co-pilot’s seat. “No rush, Allie, she’ll wait for you.”

“Augh.”

“Sit down, Alan, I’m just finishing pre-flight.” Tired and cranky could easily become nasty if not attended to.

Bo curled up, nestled against his harness, as Alan grumpily pulled out his seat.

“Virgil, where the hell are you?”

Speaking of tired and cranky... “Launching now, Thunderbird One.” As if prompted, he received clearance from Australian Air Control.

TB2 rumbled beneath as he activated VTOL, ash and dust swirling up around them. As soon as he had enough height, he engaged her rear thrusters and tore off over the Alps, across the coast and out into the Tasman.

“ETA fifteen minutes.” At least they weren’t too far from home.

Bo fell asleep in his lap.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was on the verge of joining Bo in slumber as Thunderbird Two spun slowly in her hanger, eventually coming to a final stop.

So tired.

Beside him, Alan poked Gordon awake. “Ugh, what? Oh.” You could almost hear his brain booting.

Virgil worked around Bo as he did his post-flight checks, his brothers, well, mostly Gordon, groaning as they got to their feet and waddled towards the hatch. “C’mon, Virg, Alan’s pining for his bed.”

“You two go ahead. I just need to finish post-flight.” He didn’t turn around, but he could feel Gordon’s eyes on him.

“Sure, whatever.” And he heard the hatch lower to the hangar floor.

His brothers gone, Virgil let himself relax back against his chair, his shoulders sagging. He let out a long breath. “So, Bo, how are we going to do this?”

The puppy woke as if on command and turned to stare up at him. Gently her tail began to wag.

Virgil let a tired smile cross his face.

Encouraged, Bo jumped up and put her two front paws on his chest, reaching up, trying to lick his face despite not quite being tall enough.

The smile became a grin.

“Okay, okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up as he pushed his seat backwards and stood. Immediately he was bathed in puppy drool. He couldn’t help but laugh. He surfaced above her licking and cradled her in his arms. “We need to get you some food.” His stomach rumbled ominously. “We need to get me some food.”

And a shower. A shower definitely wouldn’t hurt.

If he could hold off the sleep.

If he didn’t call it a stagger, it wasn’t a stagger, but he had obviously been sitting in his seat for far too long ferrying all those survivors to Melbourne on repeated trips. It was his turn to groan as both his back and legs complained loudly at the sudden demands for movement.

Bo started chewing on his glove.

Somehow he made it back to his rooms without encountering anyone. Shutting the door, he let Bo loose on the floor and began stripping off his uniform, hitting the buttons on his preprogrammed shower cubicle. Moments later he walked under the spray and let it wash the day from his skin.

God, that felt good.

As his muscles relaxed under the heat, sleep became more and more attractive, and by the time he stumbled out of the water, all thoughts of food had vanished.

He took the three steps across his room from the ensuite and threw himself facedown on the bed, still partly wet, still naked.

He was asleep within moments.

-o-o-o-

He was being kissed.

Her lips were warm, her tongue wet, her whiskers soft against his stubble...

Uh?

She licked his eye.

Wha-?

Virgil, always slow to respond upon waking, opened said eye only to get an eyeful of slobber. A soft paw thwapped him on the cheek. Huh? he blinked attempting to clear his eyesight, a hand coming up to defend himself.

Fortunately, his brain came online and memory kicked in. “B-Bo?”

A tongue wrapped around his nose and left it wet.

Ugh.

He wiped his face with his hand, stretching backwards on his pillow, desperate to get out of reach.

The puppy landed on his chest, her paws kneading his chest hair, her little claws completing his wake-up process rather abruptly.

Oh god.

“Bo, down, honey, down.”

He was completely ignored.

Sitting up, he attempted to grab her in his arms, but missed. The little puppy landed on things that puppies had no right to land on. Or stomp on for that matter.

He winced.

“Ooh, okay, come here.” He lifted her off his lap, holding her close, her tail pummelling his belly. “I’m awake, okay.” Again he found himself pinned by her brown eyes. “Aww, c’mon with the cute, Bo, you’re going to melt my brain.”

“Assuming you have a brain to melt.” And Scott was standing in his doorway.

Virgil glared up at him. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did. Grandma sent me to tell you that Christmas dinner is ready.”

Virgil frowned at his brother over the top of Bo’s ears, ignoring the glare the blue eyes were directing at the puppy in his arms. “I thought we’d do Christmas tomorrow.”

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow. Grandma thought it would be best to sneak it in tonight, since it is Christmas Day, after all.” Scott’s lips thinned. “Where did you get that from?”

“She’s a rescue.”

“Usually we leave our rescues on the continent we find them.”

“She had no one.”

“Unfortunately, that is nothing new.” And one of his hands had moved to his hip.

Virgil sighed. “Scott, it’s fine, it’s only for a few days.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Virgil held back his retort. He knew to pick his fights and now was not the time. “Her name is Bo.”

Scott looked at him and then at Bo. “Hurry up, your dinner is getting cold.” The ghost of a smirk. “And don’t forget to wear clothes.”

“Funny, funny, ha, ha.” But his brother had left.

Virgil let his shoulders drop. “Sorry, Bo, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Bo just licked him some more.

It wasn’t until he went looking for his boots that he discovered the wonderful deposits Bo had left for him on the floor.

Ugh.

And apparently one of his favourite boots had served as a meal also.

He closed his eyes and sighed again.

Half dressed, he cleaned up the mess, and five minutes later he waltzed downstairs, Bo in his arms and barefoot. Time to face the inevitable music.

-o-o-o-

A Tracy Christmas used to be snow, roast turkey, stockings by the fire, the occasional Christmas carol and family.

Since starting International Rescue it had changed.

Firstly, they were in the tropics. The only fires available in those temperatures were ones that required firefighting equipment. Having grown up with snow, it was still extremely weird. But it had its advantages. For one you could go outside in the minimum of clothing, something Gordon took advantage of every day of the year. There were no snowball fights, but these were fast replaced with water fights. There was no ice skating, but there was water skiing if anyone could get up the energy to get the boat out. And surfing, let’s not forget Scott’s attempts at that. Virgil would admit that he didn’t mind a little surfboard action himself. He wouldn’t say he was very good at it, but at least Gordon had never had to save him like he had Scott.

There were still Christmas trees and tinsel and stockings that no-one ever considered wearing hung from the nearest mantelpiece-looking piece of furniture.

There was still turkey and roast potatoes and all the yummy food crucial for a good Christmas meal, but it was often cooked outside in barbecue ovens and seafood and cold food had been added to the menu. In fact, the traditional dinner had become more of a banquet by the pool.

As Virgil walked out onto the patio, he couldn’t help but smile at the Christmas tree that had obviously been hurriedly moved out here from the comms room. It sat a little lopsided and the star on top was having a few issues with gravity. That was new, as was the liberal tinsel and Christmas lights strung from palm tree to palm tree, across the pool and back several times.

“Fifty bucks says Gordon tries to water volleyball the tinsel at least once.”

Virgil smirked as he stepped up beside his next youngest brother. “Not touching that one. I value my money.”

John was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and had a beer in his hand. Bo was immediately interested in this new person. She strained towards John, her nose literally twitching towards the hand holding the beer.

His brother must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively took a step away.

“Oh, sorry, John, this is Bo.” Bo was climbing over his arm, desperate to get closer to the astronaut. Virgil held her tight, worried she would fall.

“Uh, hello.” John turned towards them, frowning. “Since when do you own a dog?”

“Since this morning.”

“Does Scott know?” They both instinctively looked over at their eldest brother who was hovering over one of the barbecues energetically discussing something with Grandma - probably how not to burn the food.

“He does.”

“And you still have it?”

“Her.”

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that one.” John drank his beer.

“She had no one else.”

John arched an eyebrow at him and then frowned. “Oh, Virgil.” His shoulders slumped.

“I am an adult now, John. It won’t be like last time.”

“God, I hope not.”

Virgil stared at his brother, only to see the genuine concern in his green eyes. A sigh. “It won’t happen again.”

John reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “No, it won’t, because you will remember that you have four brothers who are all here for you, won’t you.” God, that green gaze was penetrating.

“It will be fine.”

Bo yipped at John, her tail beating Virgil’s chest.

The astronaut smiled and offered the little dog his hand. She sniffed and licked him almost immediately.

“I think you have been approved.”

John smiled and Virgil couldn’t help but do the same.

“Virgil!” And Grandma was arrowing in on his position.

“Incoming.” John was smirking.

“Hey, Grandma.”

But his grandmother only had eyes for Bo. “Who is this?”

Virgil smiled again. “This is Bo. Bo, this is Grandma.”

Bo whacked him with her tail and literally leapt from his arms into his grandmother’s.

“Woah.” Suddenly with arms full of wriggling puppy enthusiastically licking her face, his grandmother was laughing. “Oh dear, you are a cutie. Let me have a look at you.” And she held Bo out at arms length, her eyes critical. “A little hard to tell at her age, but my bet says she’s of boxer stock, around three months old. Such a beautiful brindle and that face.” Virgil couldn’t help but agree. Bo looked like she had dipped her face in a pot of ink, her brown eyes surrounded by gorgeous black coat that quickly bled to brindle down her back with a spot of white on her front. “Where did you find her?”

Virgil looked at his feet, remembered why they were bare, and looked back up at his grandmother. “This morning’s rescue. She lost everything.”

Grandma turned her attention back to Bo. “Oh, honey. You survived the fire?” Bo licked her nose. “Well, you are safe here.” Grandma curled her arms around the puppy and scratched her ears. “Has Virgil fed you anything yet?” She glanced at him and he shrugged. He got frowned at for his trouble. Grandma turned away, walking towards the barbecues with Bo in her arms. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” John was still smirking at him.

A series of barks and a yelp from Grandma, and suddenly Bo was dashing amongst legs in his direction. “Woah.” He crouched down and caught her as she leapt for him. She wriggled and licked, her little body trembling under his hands. “Hey, hey, honey, it’s okay, you’re safe.” She snuggled up under his chin. He couldn’t help but return the hug.

Grandma approached, worry on her face. “I’m sorry, Virgil, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s okay.” He reached an arm around his grandmother, bringing her into the hug. “She’s just had a scary day.” He pulled both of them close.

Scott was glaring at him from a distance.

John smiled at them and drank his beer.

Bo started chewing on his collar.

-o-o-o-

As the evening progressed, Bo slowly let herself part from Virgil as each of the members of his family, bar Alan and Scott, came to say hello or fed her from the table. There was one interesting moment when the little puppy encountered Sherbert for the first time.

Bo yipped.

Sherbert yapped.

And as the entire party fell silent, the two dogs stared each other down.

Virgil was poised for a rescue and Penelope was not far behind him, but a moment later Bo licked Sherbert across the nose, Sherbert gently butted the little puppy with his head, and from that point onwards they were best of friends, Sherbert quite proudly showing his new friend around.

But never out of sight of Virgil.

Bo and Parker had a staring moment not long after, but Sherbert barrelled on in and head butted the driver, snapping him out of it. It wasn’t long before the little puppy had him rubbing her ears as well.

Kayo stood her distance, assessing Bo as much as the puppy was assessing her. A calm arched eyebrow slowly rose as Bo tilted her head up at the security specialist. She pressed her lips together and faced Virgil. “There will be training.”

Virgil blinked and his sister turned and stalked off. Bo eyed her the entire time, only finally distracted by a yelp from Alan as Gordon threw him in the pool.

The engineer was left wondering if he should be worried or not.

The meal was delicious, of course. Scott had managed to keep Grandma away from the barbecues and MAX had been on task for a good part of the day. There was the mandatory turkey, and this year a couple of large snapper had been baked to perfection, along with some crayfish, oysters, salads and roast vegetables. This was followed by pie, oh, so much pie, Christmas cookies, and Christmas pudding with custard and the option of ice cream.

Virgil, as usual, made sure he took advantage of all the options. Consequently, post-banquet found him sprawled on a pool lounger staring up at the stars amongst the tinsel overhead. Bo, who had also eaten probably more than she should have, was curled up between his feet.

The soft sounds of quiet carols and muted conversation wafting across the water lulled him gently to sleep.

-o-o-o-

Scott felt like Scrooge. He was tired, worried and even a little angry. He was not enjoying himself, no matter how hard he tried. Grandma had cornered him at least twice, her hand on his shoulder trying to soothe his ire.

The annoying thing was that he wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. The rescue hadn’t been the best, but they had done what they could and some lives had been saved that otherwise wouldn’t have. The team had performed well, no one had been injured, they were all back home safe and sound.

And there was food, family and Christmas. There wasn’t really much more he could ask for.

His eyes settled on Virgil, asleep on one of the loungers, oblivious to the tinsel being draped across his hair by Gordon behind him.

Scott sighed.

But then a little head bobbed up between his brother’s bare feet and Bo barked at Gordon quite firmly.

Virgil was obviously far too out of it to wake, but Gordon looked appropriately abashed at the challenge.

Scott found himself smiling.

Realised he was smiling, dumped the smile and frowned.

Gordon scampered off leaving a sleeping Virgil in a crown of silver tinsel.

The little dog leapt off the lounger and chased after the aquanaut.

Okay, he had to admit the dog was adorable. He could see what had captured his brother’s eye, and Scott certainly had no objection to adding to their family.

But Virgil...when Virgil loved, he loved with his whole heart, and last time he had lost a pet, it had been bad, so bad.

They had lost so much in their lives already, why volunteer to lose more?

He sighed. It was stupid to think that way, but part of him could remember that devastated teenager, the depression and the mess that followed. Virgil had been as broken as the rest of them when their mother died, but when his dog died two years later, his reaction had been so self-destructive he had needed counselling and a therapist. Scott didn’t know if the two incidents were related or if it was how his brother connected to pets, or whatever. He only knew he never wanted to see his brother go through that again.

Their father was missing, and here was Virgil with a pet once again.

Sure, he was an adult now, and had tackled so much loss since, but...

Another sigh.

A yip and he looked down to see said dog staring up at him with a mouth full of tinsel, tail wagging.

“Gordon!”

“Yesssss, masster?” His brother sidled up with a bow.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Did you want to face your brother having to tell him that his new puppy died choking on tinsel?”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

The aquanaut scooped up the little dog and with gentle words extricated the tinsel from her mouth.

A moment later Gordon held her up to his cheek and Scott had the experience of two sets of brown eyes staring at him adoration.

“Oh, for the love of-“

“A puppy?” Gordon grinned at him. “She is a rather cute, isn’t she?”

“Leave it, Gordon.”

His brother frowned. “What’s chewing on your underwear?”

“Gordon-“

“Hey, it was a legit question, bro. You’re a grumpy ass on Christmas Day. Where’s the merry? We have food and there will be presents. And there is a puppy. You couldn’t ask for more cuteness.” Gordon held up Bo who attempted to lick Scott’s nose.

“Gordon-‘

“Nope, so not going down with you, bro. We’ve earned some happy. We’re all here, in one piece, it’s lovely weather. Cheer up, for goodness sake.” Despite himself, Gordon frowned. “Here have some puppy love.” And suddenly Scott found himself with his arms full of wriggling Bo. Gordon turned and walked off, eventually calling out to Alan, no doubt looking for mischief.

Bo tilted her head to one side and stared up at him.

Aw, hell, weaponised cuteness.

She jumped up and licked his nose.

Scott sighed.

Voice low. “You know, you better look after my brother. He’s a good man and he does a lot of good things.” A swallow. “He’s a little prone to heroics. Perhaps we can team up in that department and help keep his butt alive.”

Her tongue lolled out one side of her mouth and she grinned.

“Maybe try that on the Hood and solve all our problems.”

He gave in and drew her close to his chest, rubbing under her chin.

“I really hope we don’t regret this.”

-o-o-o-

“PRESENTS!”

Alan’s voice cut through his slumber and shook him awake. Wha-?

“Time to wake up, sleepy head.” Scott’s voice.

A sharp little bark.

Bo.

He flung his eyes open, and immediately squinted at the fairy lights floating in the light breeze far above. A blink and to his left a shadow formed into his eldest brother. His blue eyes were smiling as he sat on the next lounge over, holding Bo, scratching her gently. She was obviously enjoying it.

Virgil frowned. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

“I was.” His brother shrugged. “I got over it.” Bo was licking Scott’s fingers.

Wow, the ability to tame the savage big brother. The little girl must be heaven-sent.

There was a whir of wheels and MAX tore out onto the patio decked out in tinsel and lugging brightly coloured presents. MiniMAX darted in behind him carrying a smaller present which was deposited carefully on the table before he disappeared inside only to return with another.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Virgil peered up at his brother before stretching the length of the lounger. Several joints cracked and the ache across his shoulders from the morning vaguely made its presence known. A yawn. “I’m fine. Just tired. This morning sucked.”

Tinsel slid down his face. He sighed and threw it off. Gordon was getting repetitive.

Scott dipped his head, attempting to hide a smile, and looked down at Bo. “True.” He scratched her under her chin one more time before offering her to him. “Here.”

Bo didn’t bother to wait for him to sit up, she bounded out of Scott’s arms and onto Virgil’s belly. “Oof.” She then danced up and down on it.

Scott grinned at him. “She’s not going to be little when she grows up.”

“Augh, she’s not little now.” He managed to capture her enough so he could sit up, but she struggled free excitedly and dashed from his arms, jumping on the lounger, just as MiniMAX buzzed over with a small present.

Bo barked at him and MiniMAX dodged to deposit the present in Virgil’s lap. He caught it, but with his hands now occupied, he wasn’t fast enough to grab Bo before she let off another bark, jumped excitedly and latched her teeth onto the little robot.

The result was immediate.

MiniMAX shrieked, several of his legs caught in the puppy’s mouth, and with a whir of rotor blades, took off madly across the patio.

With Bo hanging on.

“Bo!” Virgil dropped the present and made a grab for the pair, but missed.

Every eye turned to see what the commotion was about. Virgil stumbled over the lounger and kicked it out of the way. He was vaguely aware of Scott doing something similar. “Brains!”

MiniMAX was obviously panicking. The little robot darted about trying to shake off his assailant. Bo was whining in her throat.

Virgil dashed after them.

Despite the puppy’s weight, MiniMAX still managed a great deal of height, Brains’ ‘build ‘em tough’ policy obviously carrying through to his robots. Despite having the strength to carry the puppy, the off-balance mass hampered MiniMAX’s navigation and they were wobbling all over the place.

All Virgil could see was a tragedy in the making. The pool, the concrete, anything horribly solid. He ran beneath them, desperately attempting to reach the now whining puppy. Family members and furniture were dodged and shoved out of the way as he clambered after them.

A chair ended up in the pool. Gordon squawked and almost joined it. Virgil leapt off an empty lounge, made a grab for them, missed and ended up in the Christmas tree.

Fake pine needles jabbed him in the face as he went down in a pile of tinsel and Christmas baubles. He swore, his clothing caught, his hair caught, and his everything tangled in tinsel, but he made it to his feet just in time to see Bo let go.

“No!”

Oblivious to everything other than the puppy falling, Virgil finally got traction under his bare feet, took a running leap and grabbed Bo from the air. He instinctively wrapped himself around her, rolling in midair, tinsel and baubles flung in all directions.

As he plummeted into the pool.

The splash took his senses, muffling exclamations, and repeated shouts of his name. There was dark blue, and wet, and, for a moment, blessed silence.

Then logic reasserted itself and he kicked for the surface.

Sound, light and cool air on his skin. He blinked water out of his eyes as he lifted Bo up so she could breathe, his legs kicking to keep them afloat.

She whined at him as if to tell him off, sneezed, and began enthusiastically licking the saltwater off his face.

He couldn’t help but grin, and he knew he wasn’t the only one as laughter drifted across the water.

“You trashed the tree, Virg.”

“I don’t think he cares, Gordon.” He looked up to see Grandma smiling at him.

And no, he didn’t. As Scott poked him with a pole to help drag him to the edge and Bo decided his ear might do for her next meal, he suddenly felt joy. It could simply have been relief, but he was going to tack it up as Christmas joy and enjoy it while he could.

-o-o-o-

“Only you, Virgil.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I have no doubt of that, it never is.”

“Aw, c’mon, Scott.”

“If it was intentional then I would have to accuse you of doing it deliberately just to get out of helping with the Christmas dishes.”

“We have a dishwasher.” Bo let off a bark as MiniMAX flew past dragging a bag full of recyclable cups, plates and cutlery, giving Virgil and his dog an extremely wide berth. “And there are hardly any dishes.”

“You are still getting out of clean up.”

“C’mon, Scott, you know me better than that. Ow!”

“Sit still. I’ve almost got all of it.”

Virgil leant back against the lounge, Bo curled up in his lap. “I’m not particularly happy about this either you know.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know that, Ow!”

“Well, if you would watch where you were going, you wouldn’t have collided with the Christmas tree. And what’s with the bare feet anyway?”

“Bo ate one of my boots.”

Scott snorted and pulled out yet another tiny piece of glass Christmas bauble from the bottom of Virgil’s left foot. “She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours yet and she has already caused havoc.”

“She’s a puppy.”

“I noticed.” Scott sighed, peering through his magnifying visor at his brother’s foot. “I think that’s all of it. Please don’t do that again. You’ll be limping for a week.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

As Scott wrapped his foot in gauze, he eyed the puppy on Virgil’s lap. “And you, young lady, I thought we had a deal.”

To Virgil’s surprise, Bo’s head bobbed up and she looked distinctly guilty.

Scott arched an eyebrow. “Hmm, don’t let it happen again.”

Bo yapped at him.

Virgil stared at both of them. “What?”

“None of your business, you just lay back and look after yourself.” And Scott was smirking.

Ooookaay.

He relaxed back against the lounge and stared up at the fairy lights above.

Bo stomped up the length of him and licked his eyeball.

He coughed up a laugh and grabbed an armful of wriggly puppy.

“I think that was a Merry Christmas, Virg.” Scott held his injured foot and grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy

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bighousecats · 2 years ago

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The seal point Ragdoll cat's life expectancy varies, but they typically live to around 25 years of age. There are many factors that influence the lifespan of this breed. These factors include size, color, and any health issues that may arise. The lifespan is also determined by the health of the individual cat. The seal point Ragdoll cats are a sharp breed (which means they have a relatively pale body and darker markings on the face, ears, tail, or legs). Colors include seal, chocolate, blue and lilac in three pattern variations. Lifespan: Not reaching full maturity until age four, life expectancy is usually up to 15 years. Size Seal point Ragdoll cats are one of the largest domestic cats. The average size is around 10 to 13 inches and 8 to 20 pounds. They are larger than the Savannah and Siamese cat breeds, but smaller than the Maine Coon. The fur on these cats is thick, silky and long. Male Ragdolls are larger and heavier than females. They can reach up to four years of age. Seal point Ragdoll cats can have different colors. The blue color on their eyes varies from one to another. This color is due to a mixture of genetics and environmental factors. The breed is recognized by TICA and CFA, which have specific standards. There are two main types of this breed: the mitted and the unmutated variety. Seal point Ragdolls are beautiful pets. They are adorable and intelligent. They are also very friendly and playful. While they tend to be more expensive than most cats, many people find their temperament and personality to be well worth the extra expense. Although seal point Ragdolls are a different breed, their personality and temperament are identical to those of other Ragdolls. Seal point Ragdoll cats are prone to certain health issues. As a result, it is important to find a reputable breeder to adopt a kitten. These cats can live well into their teens with proper care. Color Seal point Ragdoll cats are one of the world's smallest cats and are usually between 8 and 15 pounds. They mature slowly and can live up to 15 years. Because they are small, they are also often referred to as puppy cats. They are very affectionate and enjoy human attention and play. They can be trained to do tricks and play games like fetch. The seal point Ragdoll cat Seal point Ragdolls have dark brown fur on the tip of their tails and ears. Their coats are dilutions of brown and black, and their eyes are blue. The seal point Ragdoll's coat is seal brown, but it can be tortoiseshell or blue. These cats can also have white "mittens" on their paws. Aside from their beauty, seal point ragdoll cats have a high price tag. They can cost a few thousand dollars. However, they are very intelligent, friendly and have an impressively good temperament. Seal point ragdolls are the perfect choice for anyone who is looking for a small, sweet cat with a good temperament. Seal point Ragdoll cats can be expensive to adopt, and the initial costs for their care can run up to $355. This does not include vaccines, which can cost anywhere from $50 to $150. However, if you plan on adopting one of these kittens, you can expect recurring costs of $45-70 a month. Complications The health of your ragdoll cat can be at risk due to a number of conditions. One of these is feline infectious peritonitis, a fatal disease caused by a coronavirus that affects the immune system. Ragdolls are especially susceptible to this condition, which damages blood vessels and causes fluid buildup in the abdomen. The disease is difficult to detect using blood tests, which may not differentiate between harmful and non-harmful coronaviruses. This disease is highly common among Ragdolls, and is caused by a genetic mutation that causes the heart muscle to thicken. This leads to heart failure, poor circulation, and fluid buildup. In some cases, the condition can be detected early with ultrasound scanning of the heart. Another serious health concern in Ragdolls is obesity, which may be hereditary, but is common among these cats.

Obesity can lead to a variety of problems, including diabetes and joint problems. Proper diet and exercise can help reduce the risk of obesity in your cat. Another common problem is behavioral problems. To prevent this, ensure your ragdoll cat is socialized and has plenty of stimulation. In addition, regular vet checkups are important so you can identify early signs of behavior problems. Sudden behavior problems can also be a sign that your cat is suffering from a disease or pain. Lifespan Seal point Ragdoll cats typically live to be around 12 to 15 years old. Although their lifespans are shorter than many other types of cats, they can still lead long, healthy lives with the proper care and attention. They are also quite gentle, and do not mind children, although they are not known for being particularly affectionate. Seal point Ragdoll cats are distinguished by their coat colors. The black color is controlled by the B gene, while the brown color is controlled by the D gene. These two alleles have two different effects on the coat's pigmentation: the "B" allele turns on the dark black color of the fur, while the "D" allele dilutes the color. Seal point Ragdoll cats typically grow to be about 10 to 13 inches tall and eight to 20 pounds in weight. This makes them among the largest domesticated cats. They are larger than Siamese cats and smaller than Savannah cats. However, some Ragdolls are enormous and may even grow to be larger than a Maine Coon. They are also known for being chunky, with males usually being slightly heavier and taller than females. Seal point Ragdoll cats are not immune to common health problems. However, some breeds are more susceptible to certain diseases, and it is important to seek medical advice if you suspect your cat is suffering from a certain illness. Cost Seal Point Ragdolls are small cats with medium-length coats. They're very affectionate and make great pets. Depending on the age and gender of the cat, they can cost anywhere from $300 to $800. These cats are fairly easy to take care of and need little grooming. Seal point Ragdolls are the most popular type of Ragdoll cats. They're a popular breed and can be expensive, but they're worth it for their lovable disposition and gorgeous coats. Seal point Ragdolls aren't a distinct breed, but they do have a very distinct coloration. Seal point ragdoll kittens vary in price, depending on the breeder and the cost of veterinary care in your area. Generally, pet-grade ragdoll kittens cost $450 and up. However, a high-quality breeder will charge much more. Places to find a ragdoll If you are looking for a seal point Ragdoll cat for adoption, there are several places where you can look. These are all non-profit organizations that have a wide range of adoptable pets. These organizations partner with rescues and shelters to make the adoption process as easy as possible. Whether you're looking for a kitten or an adult cat, these organizations are a great place to start. seal point Ragdoll cat for adoption Seal point Ragdolls are often born white, but they develop colour after they are around 12 weeks old. Seal point Ragdolls will have points on their faces, and will have different colours in their eyes and coat. They are usually around three months old when purchased from a breeder. The best time to choose a kitten is when it is at least three months old. It will give you ample time to bond with the kitten before you make your decision. Ragdoll cats are gentle and sweet, and they are often shy and reserved. Their personality makes them an excellent choice for families with young children. They do well with other pets, and another pet can be a great companion. However, you will need to be prepared for their needs and be ready to do routine tasks. Seal point Ragdolls are not cheap to adopt. The initial cost of a kitten can be as high as $355, which does not include the cost of vaccines. Vaccine shots can cost anywhere from $50 to $150 for a full set.

The monthly cost can range from forty to sixty dollars per month.

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mistbix · 4 months ago

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some grudgby, in honor of the olympics spirit!

clawthorne family album (3/?)

#the owl house #grudgby toh #raeda #eda clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #darius deamonne #raine whispers #perry porter #original hexside #hagsquad #clawthorne family album #clawthorne sisters #CFA: teens #mi arte

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don-lichterman · 2 years ago

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Stock Market Valuations Remain High Despite Market Weakness | by Jonathan Baird CFA | The Capital | Jun, 2022

What Does That Say About Future Returns? Photo by Behnam Norouzi on Unsplash A basic premise of investing is that the price you pay has a major influence on the ultimate return of that investment. From this notion comes the fabled “buy low sell high” philosophy. The chart below illustrates that as forward S&P 500 P/E ratios reach the high teens’…

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catbreeds2 · 4 years ago

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The Turkish Angora Cat

As soon as the Turkish Angora will get an thought into his head, it may be tough to alter his thoughts about how he ought to behave, however he’s so charming that you just in all probability received’t care.

See all Turkish Angora traits under!

The Turkish Angora cat is an historical, naturally occurring breed, initially from the Angora or Ankara area of Turkey. They’re basic, elegant and fantastic companions.

Within the 16th century Turkish Sultans introduced these stunning cats to French and English the Aristocracy as diplomatic presents of friendship

The presents had been tremendously appreciated as Turkish Angoras have been most probably the primary long-haired cats ever seen in Europe.

Angoras turned wildly widespread among the many European elite and had been symbols of standing, significantly in France and Germany, till Persian cats arrived with a fair fuller coat and extra unique look.

Though the title “Angora” is usually used to explain any long-haired cat, the true Turkish Angora is sort of a unique cat from the Persian, each in physique model, head construction and persona.

The top is angular with no snub to the nostril, the construction is slim, agile and long-limbed, and the persona is alert, busy and really cat-like.

Lean, lithe and athletic, the Turkish Angora will fortunately take to your lap, however would love a little bit exercise first, and definately enjoys the outside.

Along with being extra energetic and rather less cuddly than the Persian, the Angora cat requires a lot much less grooming. The coat is silky and straight and has no undercoat so solely average however common consideration is required, and the time required nonetheless must be thought-about.

Typically a bit of shy, at all times mild and eternally beautiful, the Turkish Angora is without doubt one of the true icons of the cat world.

Turkish Angora Cat Persona

Turkish Angora fanciers are as connected to their cats as their cats are to them. Angoras appear to invoke robust responses of their people with their symmetry, intelligence, and devotion to their people. Angoras bond with their households utterly; an Angora just isn’t comfortable except he’s proper in the midst of no matter you are doing. They get pleasure from an excellent dialog and might sustain their finish of the dialogue with the perfect of them. Angoras are good-natured, however decided. As soon as an Angora will get an thought into his head, you may as properly simply give in and spare your self the prolonged argument.

Angoras have an awesome have to play and revel in taking part in a good-natured joke on their favourite people every so often. They are often mischievous and action-packed after they’re within the temper. Angoras love training their pounce on scraps of paper or unsuspecting human toes, no matter catches their fancy. When in motion, which is more often than not, Angoras appear to stream with the grace of dancers. Extremely smart, Angoras are drawback solvers that wish to be in charge of their environment; they may solely tolerate being held for a couple of minutes earlier than leaping right down to bat at sunbeams and chase feathers. They’re going to keep within the room, although, so you possibly can watch their antics admiringly.

Alongside along with his cousin the Turkish Van, the Angora is understood for his swimming prowess, and can even plunge in for an occasional swim. Not each Turkish Angora enjoys water, however many do, with various levels of enthusiasm.

Historical past

The longhaired Angora cat is just not the supply for angora sweaters, though his fur is definitely simply as comfortable and delightful. This pure breed takes his title from town of Ankara in Turkey, which was previously often called Angora. For hundreds of years, the cats have been engaging souvenirs for invaders of or guests to Turkey and will have been the primary longhaired cats to reach in Europe. One concept means that Vikings introduced them from Turkey greater than a thousand years in the past.

The cats finally turned scarce and had been saved solely by means of a breeding program originated by the Ankara Zoo. Angoras have been first dropped at the US in 1954. Breeders took an curiosity in them, nevertheless it wasn’t till the mid-1960s that recognition for the breed was sought from the Cat Fanciers Affiliation. The CFA started registering the cats in 1968 and granted full recognition to white Turkish Angoras in 1972. Coloured Turkish Angoras have been accepted in 1978. As we speak the cats are acknowledged by most North American cat registries. Measurement

The Turkish Angora is a small to medium-size cat, weighing 5 to 9 kilos.

Turkish Angora Cat Breed Traits

Whereas pure white Turkish Angoras have been the norm for a few years, Angoras in different colours have gotten more and more standard. As is true of any breed, the pure white, blue-eyed Angora may be born partially or completely deaf. This isn’t a defect of the Angora breed itself, however relatively a defect within the dominant W gene that produces white coat shade and blue eyes in felines. This gene has been linked to a type of degenerative, hereditary deafness that impacts the organ of Corti within the cochlea of the ear. Odd-eyed Angoras will usually be deaf in just one ear, on the blue-eyed facet. Whereas hearing-impaired Angoras have to be stored out of hurt’s approach, they in any other case get pleasure from life simply as a lot as their listening to siblings and adapt to their listening to loss remarkably properly.

TURKISH ANGORA KITTENS

Turkish Angora kittens are busy and lively, however are typically considerate and delicate too.

They’re, nonetheless, so curious and playful they could put themselves in harmful conditions till they study their limitations.

Kitten-proofing is certainly really useful for anybody contemplating adopting or buying any kitten.

Excessive furnishings needs to be off limits, warning must be taken when holding these little children, significantly when carrying them throughout exhausting wooden or tile flooring, and areas underneath counters and doorways must be blocked off, as they’ve a really robust urge to discover.

In Look, the Turkish Angora kitten seems a bit completely different from an grownup.

They are typically rounder and fluffier when of their first weeks, after which undergo a little bit of a gangly, teen-age stage at round 5 months, earlier than changing into the ravishing creatures they have been destined to be at about one 12 months outdated.

Though it’s a very well-known breed, they don’t seem to be at all times available and one in search of an Angora kitten to purchase might have to go looking a bit to seek out an Angora breeder.

Well being

Each pedigreed cats and mixed-breed cats have various incidences of well being issues that could be genetic in nature. Turkish Angoras are typically wholesome, however stable white cats with one or two blue eyes are liable to deafness in a single or each ears. Different issues which were seen within the breed are ataxia and hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

Ataxia is a deadly neuromuscular dysfunction that impacts very younger kittens at 2 to four weeks of age. Cautious screening has drastically lowered the incidence of the illness.

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy is a type of coronary heart illness that causes the center muscle to enlarge. It’s present in pedigreed and non-pedigreed cats. Turkish Angoras are one of many breeds that could be affected by this illness.

Care

The Turkish Angora has a single coat with a silky texture. As a result of there’s no undercoat to trigger mats or tangles, it’s simple to groom with weekly combing or brushing, and it sheds little or no. The coat doesn’t obtain its full size till the cat is roughly two years outdated.

Brush the tooth to forestall periodontal illness. Each day dental hygiene is finest, however weekly brushing is healthier than nothing. Trim the nails each couple of weeks. Wipe the corners of the eyes with a comfortable, damp material to take away any discharge. Use a separate space of the fabric for every eye so that you don’t run the danger of spreading any an infection.

Examine the ears weekly. If they appear soiled, wipe them out with a cotton ball or comfortable damp fabric moistened with a 50-50 combination of cider vinegar and heat water. Keep away from utilizing cotton swabs, which might harm the inside of the ear.

Maintain the Angora’s litter field spotlessly clear. Cats are very specific about toilet hygiene, and a clear litter field may even assist to maintain the lengthy coat clear.

It’s a good suggestion to maintain a Turkish Angora as an indoor-only cat to guard him from ailments unfold by different cats, assaults by canine or coyotes, and the opposite risks that face cats who go outdoor, akin to being hit by a automobile. Turkish Angoras who go open air additionally run the danger of being stolen by somebody who wish to have such a ravishing cat with out paying for it.

Turkish Angora Cat Breed Traits

Whereas pure white Turkish Angoras have been the norm for a few years, Angoras in different colours have gotten more and more common. As is true of any breed, the pure white, blue-eyed Angora could be born partially or completely deaf. This isn’t a defect of the Angora breed itself, however moderately a defect within the dominant W gene that produces white coat coloration and blue eyes in felines. This gene has been linked to a type of degenerative, hereditary deafness that impacts the organ of Corti within the cochlea of the ear. Odd-eyed Angoras will typically be deaf in just one ear, on the blue-eyed aspect. Whereas hearing-impaired Angoras should be saved out of hurt’s manner, they in any other case take pleasure in life simply as a lot as their listening to siblings and adapt to their listening to loss remarkably nicely.

Coat Coloration And Grooming

The Turkish Angora is greatest recognized for his lengthy, advantageous, silky coat, which appears to shimmer as he strikes. The size of the coat varies, with the longest hair normally seen within the ruff across the neck, the “britches” on the higher hind legs and the plumed tail. You could consider an Angora as being stable white, however the coat will also be different stable colours in addition to tabby, tortoiseshell, calico or different patterns.

Beneath the coat is a physique that’s agency, lengthy and muscular. Legs are lengthy, with the hind legs being longer than the entrance legs, and the paws are small, spherical and dainty, typically with tufts of fur between the toes. The lengthy tail tapers from a large base to a slender finish.

Contributing to the cat’s magnificence is a small to medium-size wedge-shaped head with giant ears that sit excessive on the top and are tufted with fur and enormous almond-shaped eyes that slant barely upward. The eyes may be blue, inexperienced, gold, amber or odd (one blue eye and one inexperienced, green-gold or amber eye).

Youngsters And Different Pets

The Angora who has been nicely socialized is comfy with youngsters, making him a sensible choice for households who will supervise youngsters to verify they pet the cat properly and don’t pull his fur or tail. He’s comfortable to stay with cat-friendly canine, too, so long as they acknowledge that he’s in cost. Introduce pets slowly and in managed circumstances to make sure that they be taught to get alongside collectively.

#cat breeds #breeds of cat #turkish cats #angora cats

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paulinegill89 · 4 years ago

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new york life insurance scams

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thebunionpaper · 7 years ago

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BUsted: Admission Offer Rescinded After Accepted Student Joins BC Meme Page

BU ADMISSIONS CENTER – At 4:20PM last Monday, the BU Admissions Office reportedly rescinded a student’s acceptance for, quote on quote, “meme reasons,” following in the inflated footsteps of its across-the-Charles neighbor.

The student, Charlie Finger, was accepted early decision to the CAS class of 2022, according to a post he made in the “Official Boston University Class of 2022” Facebook group. There, he also claimed to be a fan of “working out, chilling with friends, partying, and Netflix,” and stated he was “looking for roommates and/or friends,” although the shirtless pictures attached to the post would imply there may have been ulterior motives.

However, Finger’s dream of chilling with bae in Bae State will go unfulfilled, as BU has rhettroactively rejected Finger due to troubling internet activity that was uncovered by Finger’s Facebook friend, Cy Odutoriam (CFA ‘22). “I was looking at Charlie’s Facebook groups, trying to figure out which BU 2022 group was official,” said Odutoriam. “And then I saw that he was a member of the BC meme page.”

Boston College’s official meme page, “Boston College Memes for Teens Who Are Neither In Boston Nor At a College,” had been joined by Finger in September of 2017, when he was “still deciding which school to apply to early,” but once he was admitted to BU, he allegedly forgot to remove himself from the BC meme page. As soon as this breach of etiquette was made known to admissions officers, Finger’s acceptance was rescinded.

BU has since released a statement condemning Finger and profusely apologizing for allowing BC-adjacent filth to be admitted to the university. The BU meme page has also released an official statement: a photoshopped picture of Finger’s face as the Distracted Boyfriend, with the girlfriend wearing a poorly edited BU cap and the other woman colored over with the BC logo.

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kennn929 · 5 years ago

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Knowing and understanding one’s self is an important part in our growth and development. This enables us to see how our abilities, interests, personalities, and characteristics affect what career path we can take that will best match our unique attributes as people. There are different tests that show us the different jobs we may take that are aligned to our traits as people. These tests may not be that accurate however it will give us an insight on the different options we may take if we are not yet sure of what we want to become in the future. The first test I took was the personality test. This test showed me what are my dominant personalities and which jobs best compliment the type of personality that I have. After taking the test, I ended up with the result of INFP-A or, which means that I am introverted, intuitive, feeling, prospecting, and assertive. All of these traits can be found in a mediator who always looks for a way to make things better. This test was actually spot on with who I knew I was as a person. I knew that I am the introverted type who works better alone than when I need to interact with others. I am also intuitive when it comes to how I gather knowledge around me yet I also try to prospect different scenarios that may happen before I make the final call. I am also the feeling type wherein I try to consider what others may feel or think in everything I do while at the same time, I am assertive in fighting for what I believe in is right. However, what made me disagree with the test was the career path it matched for the personality I had. It says that the top careers for those with similar characteristics to mine are graphic design, psychologist/therapist, writer/editor, physical therapist, and HR development trainer. Among these I am only interested in becoming either a psychologist or a HR development trainer yet these are not my interests and I also do not have the needed skills to become a graphic designer or a writer/editor. My skills and interests mostly lie in the technical field of systems development and data analysis as I have been trained in mathematics and programming throughout my teen years. I believe that basing recommended career just on our personalities is not enough as it is also important that our chosen careers should match our skills and interests. In order to persevere in specific field, talent and passion for the job is needed as without them we would not find fulfillment in the career that we took. Nevertheless, I do think that knowing what type of personality is an important factor we become leaders in our future careers. It is because many people will always have the talent or the passion to perform their jobs and allow them become successful in their careers. However, only those with the right personality which fits seamlessly with their chosen careers are those who stand out and look like they were born to do this job. This is why we must also take into consideration and know if the job that we want to take actually fits our personality in order to persevere and become a more successful leader. The second test that I took was a R-I-A-S-E-C test in order to find out my interests and what jobs would best suit the interests that I have. The result that I got from my test is that my highest score is tied between social, enterprising, and conventional wherein I got a score of 33. Just like the personality test I took, the results in this test were spot on with the way I view myself. The most important characteristic in my interests are those that are social in a way that I may have a positive influence in the lives of others, enterprising in a way that I may start up my own business and become self-employed rather than gaining a salary from a firm, and conventional in a way that I am practical and spend my time efficiently and effectively. However, unlike the personality test this test were spot on with the prospective careers that I have in mind that would fit in with my skills and interests. Among the jobs that were suggested, I took notice of credit analysis, credit counselors, and financial manager. I believe that any of these jobs would allow me to show my skills and talents as well as fit into my personality as a mediator to help others in times of need to get through their financial woes. Though the preparation to attain this type of career is high, I have already made a career plan in order to see this through. I took up the course of Management in Financial Institutions as my foundation into the world of finance and business. After graduating, I will work in our family business while studying as I try to attain a CFA (Chartered Financial Analyst) accreditation which will take a minimum of three years to achieve. After which, I will take my masters in Business Administration hopefully with a scholarship abroad in order to widen my scope of business in the international setting. Once I have completed these, I will return back home and serve other people in order to bring awareness on how they should handle their finances and how they can secure their future financially not only for themselves but also for their family. I believe that I will have a fulfilling career in the finance sector as based on my personality test I am a mediator wherein I want to create a better way of life for those who will be needing my assistance as I advise them with their financial decisions. In terms of my level of introversion/extroversion, the personality test suggested that I am more of an introvert however my R-I-A-S-E-C profile shows that most of my interests namely, social, enterprising, and conventional are mostly leaning towards extroversion. Though these results may be different, I believe that they are both telling the truth about who I am as a person. I may be introverted in the way I deal with other people but I am also someone who considers their feelings in every little thing I do thus my interests in social careers would lead me to assert myself into becoming someone who could help them get through their current situation . The third test I took was the SelfStir assessment. In this test, I learned whether I am able to view myself in the same as how my peers view me. There are times that I tend to under evaluate myself and think that I do not open myself enough to others or I do not have good decision making skills yet my peers prove me wrong and actually see me better than I see myself. I believe this is true as I will never know how my actions will be interpreted by other people. I may think that I am doing a good job though they might view things differently. This assessment allowed me to verify my actions if they are actually a reflection of what I want to show others of who I really am. Among all the responses I see that my greatest strength is that I seek feedback to identify potential areas of improvement while my greatest weakness is that I do not openly share my thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and knowledge. These traits did not surprise me as these are really a reflection of who I am as a person. I am someone who is able to easily connect with others and talk about their problems and help find ways to solve them. However, as an introvert, I find it hard for me to share and talk about my feelings, thoughts, and beliefs as I am very selective of the people I trust. I am also someone who believes in the Japanese concept of “Kaizen” which means continuous improvement. I believe that there is always room for improvement in whatever I do and that I should never be complacent with who I am. This is why I actively seek feedback to know what I could do better the next time around so I will not commit the same mistakes as before. I was not surprised to find out that these were my lowest and highest ratings as these were the traits that I really show other people of what type of person I want to be. Overall, these assessments are important not only for our personal lives but also in the workplace as this can also be applied in performance management. Through feedback from our friends, co-workers, and managers, we will be able to know whether the performance level that we think we have achieved is the same in the eyes of our peers. Managers can also take advantage of this type of assessment to know what are the areas for improvement that those under them must develop and exert more effort. They will also be able to manufacture training programs and mentorship systems in order to improve the qualities of other workers. In the end, this assessment will allow managers and business leaders become effective as they will enable and empower their workers to work better and improve themselves not just as employees but also as people.

Kenneth Gabriel Rojas

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jghouse-asia-pacific · 5 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://www.jg-house.com/2020/01/26/sardinella-gold-1/

Sardinella & Gold, 1

When a few minutes before 3:00pm, our driver, Joseph, who had said little since we left Dakar, drove us into Saint Louis, not far from the border with Mauritania, I felt my anxiety rise. The Fulani man, wearing a gold earring with a short-sleeved shirt and brown slacks, navigated his Peugeot across the bridge in silence.

The bridge, called Pont Faidherbe, in honor of a French civil servant in West Africa who almost became mayor of Saint Louis, appeared to be old, but it was not. It was roughly the same age as the Eiffel Tower in Paris, designed by Gustave Eiffel before he became famous.

I occupied the back seat of the vehicle, peering out the window to my right. Lomax, my younger brother, sat in the front seat next to the driver, scrolling through images in his Pentax 645.

The medium-format camera, fitted with a 90-millimeter lens, was big, and Lomax alternately complained about it and praised it, calling it “my baby.” He had taken only a few photos on the 165-mile trip.

“At what time did we leave Dakar this morning? 10:30?” Lomax asked. I nodded.

I kept my gaze on the landscape unfolding on the river below. On the opposite bank, I saw an assortment of buildings in washed out pastels.

The three of us moved into the heart of Saint Louis, located on an island, called N’Dar, in the middle of the Senegal River.

I knew the bridge, which was opened to the public in 1897, connected N’Dar Island to the older, more run-down parts of Saint Louis to the east where the disused railroad from Dakar came to a halt in a patch of weeds. What I knew came from information from tourist brochures, not from Senegalese people themselves or from direct experience. Lomax and I had been to Senegal once before a few years before.

Joseph, reaching the end of Pont Faidherbe, turned right into the French colonial town, moving through a series of narrow, dusty streets lined by old buildings. Finally, he turned right on Rue Blaise Diagne and brought the sedan to a halt in front of one of the buildings, a massive 4-story structure occupying half a city block on our left. Two signs, one running horizontally across the middle of the structure and the other hanging vertically from its northern edge, displayed the same words: Hotel La Residence. We had arrived at our destination.

Above us, against a brilliant blue sky, fat, billowing clouds extended upward as far as the eye could see. The sky, on that Thursday afternoon, was oppressive. I opened the back door of the Peugeot, and a man, who had been leaning against the side of the building, next to the entrance of the hotel, moved toward me. I stood in the dusty street. The black man, covered only by a ripped brown tank top and red short pants, spoke in French. Lomax, too, as he exited the vehicle, came face to face with a black man speaking French. Lomax said, “Bon jour, monsieur.”

A group of black men gathered around Lomax and me as we collected our luggage from the trunk of the car. We were surrounded. Lomax, especially, was nervous. Several of the men were 50 or 60 years old, but most were in their late teens to mid 20s. All of them spoke to us, almost casually, as if they were distracted, in a kind of French I had heard spoken before by other Africans in other places. Previously, I had lived in Europe, where I had met many French-speaking Africans, in Brussels and Paris but also in Rome. It was in Italy’s capital that I had an apartment on Via Ostiense across the street from Basilica San Paolo, the second largest Catholic Church in the world. It was there, too, I had a Congolese girlfriend who had been born in Kinshasa but who had grown up in Paris.

Joseph drove off in his car, and Lomax and I, carrying our luggage through the crowd, walked the short distance to the lobby of the hotel.

Boy in Embroidered Shirt and Pants

The Guide

Just inside the main door of the lobby, a man, a tall African with closely cropped hair wearing an Izod cotton pull-over shirt and pressed trousers, stepped forward and smiled. Behind us, on the other side of the door made of glass panels, I could see the group of men dispersing. In front of us, the tall man handed me a card. “I will be your guide,” he said. His English sounded more like French.

“My name is Ismael,” he added. He opened the door and stepped into the street.

A mixture of dark wood and soft lighting, the lobby had a floor set in a pattern of alternating black and white tile squares. On the walls, a series of photos referred back to the 19th century. To our right, four leather chairs lined the wall. Upon closer inspection, the paint on the walls was faded and, in places, peeling. The upholstery of the chairs was coming apart at the seams. The overall impression was one of decline.

“It’s quiet,” said a man behind the front desk, speaking softly in English. “We don’t have many tourists now.” The man, who was black and about 60 years old, wore a tan linen blazer with both of the buttons buttoned and looked tired. “People here are desperate for work,” he said, looking through the glass panels of the door into the street. “Now we also have people from elsewhere, Mali and Cameroon.” The man continued, “You’re the Americans?” He handed us the key to our room. “Most of our visitors are Europeans, especially French.”

“By the way, Ismael has a special arrangement with the hotel,” the man added. “If you want, he will show you around Saint Louis for a small fee.”

Lomax and I walked through an open doorway at the end of the lobby to a wide staircase, laid with ceramic tiles. At the heart of the hotel, open to the sky above, the stairs rose up sharply into the bright sunlight. The glare was blinding. At first, we were alone on the stairs, dragging our bags up the steep incline and paying special attention to our heavy cameras. An elderly couple—a short silver-haired white man and a grey-haired woman—who were speaking French with Parisian accents appeared on the landing above us. Neither of the two spoke as they passed, but the woman smiled.

When we reached the 3rd floor, we turned left and found our room in one corner of the building. However, after inserting the key in the lock, we discovered it wouldn’t open the door. Next to the lock, the wood was scarred and slightly loose, as if someone recently had attempted to force the door. Suddenly, the door swung open.

Our room, with a view of the dusty street, Rue Blaise Diagne, was non-descript and minimally furnished. Against one wall, a small, black television set protruded into the air. No remote control was visible. I didn’t attempt to turn on the TV. Neither did Lomax. Under the TV was a table with two narrow wooden chairs. To one side of the table, attached to the wall, was a small mirror. Against the opposite wall, two twin-sized beds, each covered by a thin, red blanket, extended into the center of the room.

“All right,” I said to myself, setting down my luggage on a chair next to the window overlooking the street.

“We need cash,” I said to Lomax. “Let’s find an ATM.” Lomax looked at me. He was, I could see, not yet ready to go back outside.

Young Father with Two Daughters

At the ATM

I was opening the door when two people, two women in their 30s, appeared, moving along the hotel corridor in the direction of the stairs. I saw one of them nod at me, but I was pre-occupied and looked back over my shoulder into our room.

The room, which was neither large nor small, had a black-and-white photograph of ten fishermen in a big wooden boat setting out on a fishing expedition on the Senegal River. On the east side of the room there was a tall window, providing a view of Rue Blaise Diagne. Next to the window stood Lomax, looking down into a street of shadows. It occurred to me that Lomax was studying the desperate men who had surrounded us when we stepped out of the Peugeot sedan earlier.

“Come on,” I said, pushing the door open.

Lomax picked up his Pentax and walked past me into the corridor, bathed by a brilliant but setting sun. I looked at the digital watch strapped to my wrist—it was almost 5:30—and stepped into the sunlight too. I closed the door and tested the lock, hoping no one would force it again and make off with our computers. Following Lomax down the stairs through the lobby and out into the dusty street, I realized conditions in Senegal were worse than I had expected. From the moment my brother and I arrived in Senegal, we had been surrounded by groups of people, primarily young men, on the streets.

On Rue Blaise Diagne, he and I walked south until we reached the end of the block. At the cross street Rue Mor Ndiaye—I checked a sign on the side of a building—we turned right, scanning both sides of the short block before us for a bank. We needed to find an ATM so that we could obtain cash in the local currency, the West African CFA franc, for daily expenses.

Above, a column of white clouds in bright colors extended into the brilliant sky. Behind, black figures followed closely. We turned left at another street, called Rue Khalifa Ababacar Sy. A bank, named Compagnie Bancaire de l’Afrique Occidentale, came into a view on the west side of the street.

As Lomax and I moved toward the bank, one of the men behind us, in his mid 20s, came up to Lomax, speaking softly in French, but Lomax ignored him. I realized, at that moment, upon approaching the bank’s ATM, it was right on the street.

Woman Cleaning Fish

“Not this one,” I said, gesturing with my head in a southerly direction. Lomax moved in that direction. The man retreated a few steps. Resuming our pace, Lomax and I, with the African men not far behind, moved down Rue Khalifa Ababacar Sy toward the end of the block. We turned right on an equally narrow street, called Rue Blanchot. No cars had passed through any of the streets in the old town, but I realized that here and there cars were parked on both sides of the streets. A second bank, called Banque Internationale pour le Commerce et l’Industrie du Senegal, came into view. As we approached, I noticed its entrance was enclosed by a set of heavy steel doors.

“Here,” I said.

Behind the doors, Lomax and I found ourselves in an antechamber which contained an ATM. Alone inside the enclosed space, we were able to insert our debit cards, follow a set of instructions in English, obtain a small stack of bills, and retrieve our cards. Both of us relaxed, counting the francs and securing the money in pouches we wore tied around our necks. Previously, in Dakar, where we had stayed for two days, neither of us had been able to complete an ATM withdrawal.

In the sky, the mass of white, billowing clouds floated over the old town in the fading light. A cool breeze pushed away the warm air.

I stood on the sidewalk in front of Banque Internationale pour le Commerce et l’Industrie du Senegal, looking at my watch. It was almost 6:00. Lomax stood silently beside me, adjusting the strap of the camera on his shoulder. I stepped off the sidewalk into the narrow street, and we started to re-trace our steps through the old town toward our hotel.

Behind us, the same crowd of young men followed. One individual, appearing suddenly at my side, looked different from the others. With hair cut close to the scalp and wearing a clean polo shirt, he was not in the same class as the others. A gold ring on a finger and a gold bracelet caught my attention. Then, I realized the man was Ismael, the African guide, who had introduced himself in the lobby of Hôtel de La Résidence. “What do you want to see?” he asked, smiling. “You like photos? I take you to many good places along the river.”

I stared at Ismael, regarding him in a different light now that we were walking in the street at sunset, not standing in the hotel. Ismael was about my age, 42, and 6 feet in height, but he seemed thinner than I remembered. Also, he looked uncertain in the presence of the men standing nearby.

I noticed, at that moment, Lomax had raised his camera. To one side of the narrow street, I saw four teen-age boys playing marbles in the dirt. Three younger boys, skinny with bare feet, and one tiny girl with pig-tails had gathered around the older boys. Lomax steadied his camera and took several pictures. I waited, hoping he wouldn’t continue obsessively, taking additional photos, changing the settings on his camera again and again.

Just minutes later, though, Lomax and I were on Rue Blaise Diagne. We had covered the half block to Hôtel de La Résidence quickly. We stepped onto the concrete sidewalk at the front door. I was astonished that we had made it. Most of all, I couldn’t believe we had gotten our money without a mishap.

Ismael, once again, appeared. “I’m always available,” he reminded us, and melted back into the crowd. Lomax and I entered the building, passed through the lobby, and ascended to the 3rd floor, where I inserted the key into the lock on our door and discovered it opened the door easily.

Rue Blaise Diagne

An hour later, preparing to go downstairs to the restaurant for dinner, I heard a knock on the door and opened it. Standing in the corridor was a 65-year-old man, who looked familiar, but, also, angry.

“Do you have hot water in your room?” he asked in a French accent.

“Well, yes,” I said, “we do.” I paused, studying the elderly man. “I just finished taking a shower.”

“My wife is upset,” he stated. “We told the hotel staff an hour ago that we didn’t have hot water. Ten minutes ago, the manager told us the problem had been solved.” The man paused, staring. “But we still don’t have hot water.” With a determined, semi-angry look on his face, he continued to stand in the doorway. Then, he put his head down and walked to the stairs. I watched him retreat, thinking he was going down to the restaurant and realizing I was hungry and wanted to go downstairs too.

“Let’s eat dinner,” I shouted back into the room at Lomax, opening the door wider. Lomax stood by his bed. My gaze shifted to the opposite side of the hotel corridor, where a door of a room opened and, there, emerging, were the two young women I had seen earlier.

“Bon soir,” I uttered without thinking.

Woman Wearing Blue Scarf

François

Entering the restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel, Lomax and I saw not only an interior dining room but also, through a set of floor-to-ceiling glass panels which closed off a courtyard open to the sky, a collection of tables and chairs creating an outdoor dining room.

Seated at one of the tables in the outdoor courtyard, the two 30-year-old women were drinking white wine. At an adjoining table, a 65-year-old, silver-haired man and his wife were bent over their plates. The thought crossed my mind that the older couple was dining without taking a shower. I knew the elderly man and his wife felt uncomfortable. Probably they were both still upset. It had been a hot day.

Lomax and I walked to the center of the interior dining room, where a man sat at a table set for four persons. Before him on the table was a plate of fish, rice, and some vegetables. Near the middle of the table, within arm’s reach, sat a bottle of Flag beer, and a half-full glass of alcohol. The man, who was Caucasian, took a bite of fish as a waiter ushered Lomax and me to the table next to his. “Hello,” the man said, looking up.

“It’s pretty quiet in the hotel,” Lomax said, staring at the man. “Not many guests.” Then, to the waiter, Lomax said, “Two Flag beers.” Lomax sat in a chair, directly facing the man, who wore thick-framed glasses and an expensive looking, long-sleeved purple shirt. I sat in a chair at our table opposite Lomax.

“There will be more of us arriving in the next couple of days,” the man with glasses said, looking through the floor-to-ceiling panels at the diners in the courtyard. “You’re here for the river-boat cruise, like the rest of us?”

I shifted my chair at a 90° angle to the table partially facing the man with glasses. “Yes,” I said. “But also for other things.”

“That makes at least eight of us,” the man said, raising his glass toward Lomax and me. “More members of the cruise will arrive tomorrow, I believe.” He paused. “My name is François,” he added, “from Montreal, Canada.”

“We’re from Southern California,” Lomax replied, studying the fingers on his left hand. After a moment, he looked up and, remembering what he had to do, introduced us to François.

The waiter returned, placing two bottles and glasses on the table. Lomax filled my glass, and I picked it up and drank half its contents, leaning back in my chair. Lomax contemplated the bottle of beer in front of him, looking at it as if he had decided he didn’t want it. Then, in one motion, he picked up the bottle and drained it.

Boy in Red Shirt and Short Pants

“I’ve been on the cruise up to Podor once before,” François said, studying Lomax. “But this time we’re taking a bus to Podor and catching a boat back down the river to Saint Louis.” Podor, a small town on the border with the neighboring country of Mauritania at the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, was about 125 miles northeast of Saint Louis. I drank the rest of my beer and looked up at the ceiling. A large fan turned slowly above my head.

Lomax said, “I thought we were taking the boat up to Podor.”

The waiter re-appeared and asked if we were ready to order. Lomax nodded. Then he glanced at François, “What’s he having? I’ll have the same.”

When the waiter turned to me, I requested a Zebu steak with pepper, flambéed in cognac, and a potato. “Put sour cream and butter on the potato,” I added. François was looking at me.

The waiter said, “Very good.”

“You can talk to Anna,�� François said to Lomax. “She manages the river-boat office across the street. She’ll answer questions about the itinerary.”

Lomax was reading the label on the beer bottle still in his hand. “Why not?” Lomax said, suddenly, allowing the bottle to drop on the table. François studied Lomax again, attempting to make sense of his behavior.

Lomax removed the Pentax from his bag and placed the camera on the table. “When was the last time you were here?” he asked François.

“Two years ago,” François replied. “It was in the fall, though.” He stared at the food on his plate. “I’ve been coming to Senegal for 25 years. I’m an administrator at a private school in Montreal which has an exchange program with a school in Thies, a town not far from Dakar.” François took a sip of beer from his glass and cast a glance at Lomax. “I’ve never seen it like it is now,” he continued. “The economic devastation, I mean. The desperate people roaming the streets every day.”

François looked through the glass partition into the courtyard. I followed his gaze. The two women sitting at a table in the courtyard were looking back at us. One of them smiled and waved.

Girl with Lollipop

Madeline and Sylvie

“I need to get back to my hotel,” François announced. “It’s 30 minutes away on foot.” He stood up.

“You’re not staying here? At La Résidence?” Lomax asked.

The waiter appeared, placing one plate with fish in front of Lomax and a second plate with a steak and baked potato in front of me.

“No, I prefer another place in the old town,” François replied. “Maison d’Hotes au Fil du Fleuve at the southern end of the island.” He smiled. “Enjoy your dinner.” Then, as he walked away, he stopped and, looking at Lomax, said, “I’d be interested in seeing some of your work.”

“Work? Oh, you mean photography,” Lomax replied and opened a pouch on the front of his camera bag and removed a business card. “Here,” he commented, reaching toward François. “My Internet address is printed on the front.”

After François departed, I finished the meal. When Lomax finished, he started to scroll through images on his large camera.

“Let’s go outside,” I said, looking through the glass partition into the courtyard and noticing the two women also had finished their dinner.

On the sidewalk in front of the hotel, moist air from both the Atlantic Ocean less than a mile to the west and the Senegal River two streets to the east settled over the night. The two women followed Lomax and me from the lobby. We stood looking across the narrow street at a dress shop and, next door, the office of the river-boat company. I followed their gaze, recalling the suggestion of François to visit the office the next day and remembering the name of the river boat, the Bou El Mogdad.

“I’m Madeline,” the shorter of the women said. “This is Sylvie.” Madeline nodded at her companion, a tall, black woman. “We’re from Paris.” Madeline, slender with curly dark hair, and Sylvie, more filled out, but slightly overweight, were unsteady on their feet. After drinking the two bottles of chablis which I had seen the waiter place on their table, they would be asleep soon. Madeline slurred her words when she mentioned their reservation on the Bou el Mogdad on Sunday. “I’m an MRI technician,” Madeline said. “Sylvie, an anesthesiologist at the same hospital with me outside Paris, in Combs-la-Ville.” Madeline spoke English with no accent, but Sylvie didn’t utter a word. Sylvie raised her right arm, and I noticed the gold bracelet which she wore on her wrist, reflecting the light shining from the hotel lobby.

“A nice piece,” I said, pointing to the bracelet. “I like the engravings on it. Where did you get it?”

“I bought it in Mali a week ago,” Sylvie commented. “In Djenne, about 600 kilometers up the Niger River from Bamako, the capital.” I’d been to Bamako the year before and wanted to go back. Sylvie showed me her other arm, saying, “I’ll go shopping tomorrow. I need another bracelet for my other arm, as you can see.” She laughed. “I love gold.” Then she spoke quickly in French to Madeline, while an image of Ismael and his gold rings came to me.

I wondered how soon Ismael would find Sylvie.

Sisters with Little Brother

Bertrand and Beatrice

At 9:00, on Friday morning, Lomax and I went downstairs and passed into the lobby on our way to the dining room. In the lobby, I noticed the silver-haired man and his wife, who were talking with the desk clerk and who glanced in our direction as we entered.

“My name is Bertrand,” the man said immediately. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday. I can’t believe I lost control.” Bertrand introduced his wife, Beatrice. “We’re from Montpellier, in southern France,” he said. He appeared to be in better spirits than he had been the previous day. “We live in Paris now,” Bertrand said. “My wife is a professor of economics at a small Catholic college near Notre Dame Cathedral, specializing in microfinance.” Beatrice smiled and extended her hand to me and then Lomax. Bertrand continued: “I was an executive at an insurance company, but I’m retired now. I’m a chef, not a professional one but a fanatical one who refuses to allow his wife in the kitchen or even to suggest what he should cook.” Beatrice started to laugh. Bertrand, though, looked uneasy, as if he feared what Beatrice might blurt out about him on impulse.

Bertrand peered at me and studied Lomax, who wore an oversized black baseball cap with an emblem of a raven on its front. “You’re the Americans,” he said, as if he had re-gained his confidence from the night before. But it occurred to me that everyone in the hotel—and, possibly, the town—already knew who Lomax and I were. Nevertheless, Lomax started to introduce us to the couple in an overly formal way, explaining that he worked as a software engineer for Motorola in Southern California and I worked in Washington, D.C., for a political research group. After Lomax finished, Bertrand and Beatrice excused themselves, saying they had an appointment with another chef, who was an old friend from Montpellier.

Lomax and I entered the courtyard. In the sky, I didn’t see a single cloud.

#Africa, #Travelogue #Africa, #Art, #Beauty, #Culture, #Environment

#Africa #art #beauty #culture #environment

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