#I finally went and found scorpions yay

[ourlordapollo]

Graphic design is my passion

I blacked out and made a Krisnix fanmix because I'm a man of wealth and taste

Tracklist & thoughts:

Es lassen Nachtigallen, / Spielt draußen Frühlingsluft, / Der Sehnsucht Lied erschallen /Aus ihres Kerkers Gruft.

Preliminary Notes: the playlist starts with opera and transitions into contemporary rock with "Requiem (The Fifth)" bridging the two sections. While the themes of the songs do not represent any particular order of events, the slide from opera to rock depicts the transition of power from Kristoph to Phoenix

Tracklist:

Liederkreis, Op. 39: IX. Wehmut ("Sadness")

(Nightingales, when spring breezes / Play outside, sing / Their song of longing / From their dungeon cell.)

I had to specifically look up "German operas" to find this after painstakingly sifting through like 2% of The Ring Cycle and a bunch of Italian operas. Nightmare nightmare nightmare nightmare. That being said this one does reference a jail cell so yay me.

Liederkreis, Op. 39: X. Zwielicht ("Twilight")

Hast du einen Freund hienieden, / Trau ihm nicht zu dieser Stunde, / Freundlich wohl mit Aug’ und Munde, / Sinnt er Krieg im tück’schen Frieden.

(If here on earth you have a friend, / Do not trust him at this hour, / Though his eyes and lips be smiling, / In treacherous peace he’s scheming war.)

Lucrezia Borgia: Maffio Orsini, signora, son io ("Madame, I am Orsini")

Io nipote d'Appiano tradito, / da voi spento in infame convito.

(Know Appiano's young nephew! you drew him / to the infamous banquet that slew him)

Full disclosure this is the first song in the libretto I found that mentioned the word "poison" and I was so fucking sick of operas at that point that I went for it without remorse.

Lascia Ch'io Pianga ("Leave Me So that I May Cry")

Lascia ch'io pianga mia cruda sorte / E che sospiri la libertà

(Leave me so that I may cry at my cruel fate / and so that I may sigh at (my lost) liberty)

This was on a playlist called "Angry Opera" and that was false advertising to say the least

Carmen WD 31 / Act I: "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle" (Havanaise)

Si tu ne m'aimes pas, / Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime ! (Prends garde à toi !) / Mais si je t'aime, si je t'aime, / Prends garde à toi ! (à toi !)

Aria: Der Hölle Rache Kocht in Meinem Herzen ("Hell's Vengeance Boils in my Heart")

(If you don't love me, If you don't love me, then I love you! (Be on your guard!) But if I love you, if I love you, Be on your guard! (Your guard!))

Ngl I just really like this song

Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, / Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!

(Hell's vengeance boils in my heart, / Death and despair blaze about me!)

Mephistopheles' Return - Trans-Siberian Orchestra

(I)

Don't need this path before me

Don't need forgotten glory

Don't need these threats of violence

Don't need eternal silence

Don't need these midnight visions

Don't need to make decisions

Don't need to be uncertain

Don't need this final curtain

(II)

Somewhere out there

He still gazes

As I wander through his mazes

Death and life here

Truth or lies

Every thought is well disguised

Okay so this song is undeniably about the fear of mortality, as is the whole source musical, however, if you look at it through my Patented Viewing Device *I shove a pane of frosted glass in front of you* you will see that it is ALSO about⁸ the paranoia of knowing that your enemy is watching you, ever-present, scheming.

The Bitch is Back - Elton John

Requiem (The Fifth) - Trans-Siberian Orchestra

DUN DUN DUN DUUUUNNN

Carry on Wayward Son - Kansas

I entertain by picking brains / Sell my soul by dropping names / I don't like those! My God, what's that! / Oh, it's full of nasty habits when the bitch gets back.

Kristoph thinks he's the Bitch. Phoenix simply is the Bitch.

Rock You Like a Hurricane - Scorpions

Masquerading as a man with a reason / My charade is the event of the season / And if I claim to be a wise man, well / It surely means that I don't know

I am not a Supernatural fan I have no baggage IRT to this song and the idea of a wanderer seeking resolution felt very fitting to me. Also, themes of insanity and (metaphorical) blindness.

The night is calling, I have to go / The wolf is hungry, he runs the show / He's licking his lips, he's ready to win / On the hunt tonight for love at first sting

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing - Set It Off

Eat Your Heart - Steam Powered Giraffe

Tell me how you're sleeping easy / How you're only thinking of yourself / Show me how you justify / Telling all your lies like second nature / Listen, mark my words, one day (one day) / You will pay, you will pay

This is one of two fandomcore/playlist fodder songs I allowed myself because. Like. Come on. Come on now.

Hey Look Ma, I Made It - Panic! at the Disco

Stay with me, you're my four leaf-clover-girl / And you can lock me up in time / And when you wear a grin I'm bored / And then I see you cry

Okay so this one isn't a perfect fit but I do think it's one of the best songs ever written and more people need to be aware of it. Also it is very much about growing attached to the person you're in a toxic relationship with

Some are loyal soldiers, while these other thorns are rosy / And if you never know who you can trust / Then trust me, you'll be lonely, oh

Kangaroo Court - Capital Cities

If I'm Crazy - Amigo the Devil

In a dusty room I come to assume / That I've been doomed to lose my mind tonight / Too weak to fight / So I tried to save face then I rest my case / The judge pulls me aside says "c'est la vie / Let your darker side come out to feed"

Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats

So if I cut my lip when I bite the glass / Tell everyone in the room that I'm fine / It hurt for the first few times but at last / I've learned to love a little blood in my wine

This whole song is just *chef's kiss* but I couldn't resist having this be the highlight lyric, considering Phoenix's past with poison in glass bottles

King Saul fell on his sword when it all went wrong / And Joseph's brothers sold him down the river for a song / And Sonny Liston rubbed some tiger balm into his glove / Some things you do for money and some you do for love, love, love

Raskolnikov felt sick, but he couldn't say why / when he saw his face reflected in his victims' twinkling eye / some things you'll do for money and some you'll do for fun / but the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one

[toothedgoose]

Centruroides vittatus

Striped bark scorpion

Escorpión rayado de la corteza

6 of August 2022 — Jalisco, MX

Striped bark scorpion stings are painful but rarely deadly (as is in the case of an allergy, for example). However, the stings of other members of their genus can be very dangerous, so be careful out there :)

What a whimsical little friend <3 I love scorpions so much, they’re so cute.

[cecilspeaks]

168 - Secret Blotter

Life is 10 per cent what happens to you And 90 per cent false memories of what you think happened to you. Welcome to Night Vale.

In an effort to bring more transparency to the Sheriff’s Secret Police, a chronicle of one night’s dispatches will be released to the public. This action comes at the behest of the City Council, who voted unanimously on a resolution to ban plastic bags.

Now, OK, while those two things may not seem related, Sheriff Sam misunderstood the vote as a rallying cry against tyrannical surveillance and a personal threat, involving being thrown to the pit of vipers behind the bowling alley. Sheriff Sam, who has a paralyzing fear of vipers, proposed a compromise in which Secret Police dispatches would be temporarily divulged, so the public can get a better idea of what agency does and how tax dollars are being spent. A plan which was readily accepted by the Council, though they continued to roll their eyes and gnash their teeth and chant softly: [creepy voice] “Viper pit! Viper pit! Blessed be the viper pit!” Which is just how they express a “yay” vote on procedural issues.

As a result, Night Vale has its first ever police blotter. Let’s dig in. 9 o’clock PM. Missing person reported inside the Ralphs. Night manager on duty says employee went to stock some cases of Lime-A-Ritas in the new walk-in beer cave and never came out. Reporting officer thoroughly checked beer cave and confirmed it was deserted. Three cases of the beverage were left haphazardly in the middle of the floor, and a loading dolly had tipped over onto its side. Manager states employee originally brought in four cases. Manager added one missing case of Lime-A-Ritas to the report. When asked if this kind of thing has happened before, manager changed subject and asked if officer would like to look at some of the children’s drawing contest submissions. Officer was amenable to this request.

9:16 PM. Noise complaint. Dog barking in an unknown language annoying residents. Dirty white fur, human face. Gone when officer arrived on scene.

9:25 PM. Two underage residents attempted to sneak into an R-rated movie by pretending to be one tall person in a trench coat. When confronted by officer, they turned into a swarm of flies and dispersed.

10:01 PM. Noise complaint. A sound resembling television static was being emitted from a shower drain out in the Hefty Sycamore trailer park. When recorded and played backwards, it turned out to be a broadcast from a 1952 episode of the game show “Beat the Clock”, where contestants competed to see how many pieces they could smash a clock into. A plumber was called.

10:15 PM. A resident of Desert Creek searched for “easy tortellini recipes”, but none of them were easy enough. It was so late already, and they needed to get to bed soon, but they were also very hungry and needed to eat dinner first. They wanted something quick, but they also wanted a real dinner, not a false dinner like… cereal? They became hyperaware that the more they deliberated on what to make, the longer it was all taking. And factoring in the decision-making time on top of the meal prep time was becoming additionally stressful in relation to the desire to get to bed soon.

11:30 PM. A Coyote Corner’s swimming pool filled with blood and began swirling furiously in a counter-clockwise direction. Home owner appeared distressed. Officer advised home owner to drain pool.

11:31 PM. Multiple residents awoke in a cold sweat from the same dream. It wasn’t necessarily a nightmare, but it was definitely not pleasant. The only thing they could recall afterwards was that it was showing, and that there was a tree with seven limbs.

12:00 AM. Witches.

2:00 AM. That time of night when everything starts getting hazy. Were you headed to a crime? Checking a surveillance station? Listening to a wiretap? Going home? Returning to headquarters? Signalling an invisible helicopter? Sometimes you lose track. An old local legend comes into your mind, and you try to recall the details. It’s been so long since you heard it. You watch the headlights bounce along the dirt road ahead, and your eyes begin to play tricks on you, sensing movement in the dark margins where the light doesn’t penetrate. You turn off the lights and slow the vehicle. They weren’t tricks after all. There is movement here, a dark writhing mass entering the roadway. You are forced to stop the car. Eyes flesh open in the dark. Many sets of eyes. This isn’t part of a half-remembered legend. This is something very, very real.

More of the blotter soon. But first, let’s have a look at traffic. You’re hunting in a pack near the Old Highway. The smell of blood is in the air. Headlights bounce over the rise and your stomachs rumble. The moon flees behind the clouds and you fan out, along both sides of the road, moving parallel to it like a lazy river. The car approaches and slows. It shuts off its headlights, as you knew it would. Some of you push ahead to the car, blocking its path. Others move to the rear and others remain at the sides boxing it in. You converge, surrounding it more tightly the door opens, then closes again, the fleshy creature inside cursing softly. You hear a crackle of radio static, but you know it is inconsequential to you. You consume the metal shell first. There are explosions of air and the hiss of leaking fluids. Then the glass, crunchy and cool in your collective gullet. And finally, the screaming delicacy in the center, the cloth-wrapped package of meat and bone. There are other things afterward, less enjoyable, but consumable nonetheless. Papers and electronics, and the pleather, and cold French fries in the back. Nothing must remain. By the time the moon emerges from the clouds, the old highway will be deserted once more. This has been traffic.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s show is brought to you by TickTock. The only app that tells you exactly how long you have left to live. The sleek countdown display synchs easily with all of your devices, so that you can check your mortality at a glance. The premium edition provides additional details, such as manner and location of death, and updates to the minute, as you make different choices throughout your day. You’ll find yourself asking questions like, why did returning a library book just subtract 4 years from my life? How did leaving late for work change my final outcome from drowning in gulch to birds of prey? Why does it say “tomorrow” all of a sudden? [panicking] It must be some kind of glitch, right? OK, OK, I’ve updated the app but it still hasn’t changed. It still says “tomorrow”. I just got checked out by a doctor and they said I’m in great shape, I’m staying home from work, I’m not answering the door, I’ve closed the blinds and I’m sitting on the couch, surrounded by pillows, not moving, not even blinking, I’ve done everything dammit, EVERYTHING!!! WHY DOES IT STILL SAY “TOMORROW”???!! Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. This has been a word from our sponsors.

Back to the Sheriff’s Secret Police blotter. 2:30 AM. Responded to an officer distress call on the Old Highway. No sign of officer or vehicle found. Must have been a false alarm.

3:15 AM. Nude man ranting in middle of old highway, carrying a case of alcoholic beverages. Identified as the night shift stocker at the Ralphs. Claims he entered the walk-in refrigerator at work, reached up to place the case of beverages on the shelf, and abruptly found himself in a network of ice caves. He eventually climbed up a snowy mountain where he met a robed figure he refers to as “The Oracle”. “The Oracle” foretold of a hungry darkness with a thousand eyes and urged that the portal must be cloooosed. The Ralphs employee also reported that “The Oracle” had slurred speech and seemed unsteady on its feet, and may have been inebriated. After this exchange, he then found himself standing in the Sand Wastes nude. He does not know where his clothes are. Officer escorted man back to the Ralphs to finish out his shift.

3:35 AM. Domestic disturbance. “He won’t stop practicing the flute!” a Cactus Bloom resident reported, indicating his dopplegänger who stood in the corner of the bedroom, staring unblinkingly at the wall and playing the same halting scale on a wooden flute. Officer advised resident to take a melatonin and try to get some sleep. “If he doesn’t stop, I can’t be held responsible!” the sleep-deprived resident threatened. “Sounds fair,” the officer agreed and left the premises.

4:00 AM. An alarm clock went off in Old Town. A woman attempted to get out of bed, but her cat walked sleepily onto her person and began purring, preventing her from rising. Her cat is elderly and the woman knows its number of purrs are finite and must be honored. Eventually, she put on coffee and took a shower. She used Herbal Solution shampoo for a lifelong dandruff condition, though she has not seen any improvement after years of using the products. She continues using it, because she likes the way it smells. It smells medicinal, like it’s helping, and it does tingle, like the label promises. The tingle means it’s working, the label says. So it must be working.

And now a break form the police blotter for some sports news. Night Vale High School – go Scorpions! – has added a concession stand to be used during sporting events. The parent-teacher association proudly unveiled the new stand at last week’s baseball game, dedicating the plywood structure to the memory of favorite AP auto shop teacher, Nick Teller. Teller reacted with confusion at this news, as he is still alive. “Oh, of co-, no, of course you are,” the PTA responded awkwardly, “but we just wanted to honor – your memory, as in what a great memory you have. You-you know how you’re really good at remembering stuff? We just wanted to, yeah uh, honor that,” the PTA went on, seemingly unable to stop explaining themselves, whilst standing in front of the dedication plaque, which featured several doves, a Celtic cross, and an image of clasped hands. Teller admitted he does have an excellent memory and is very honored. The following concessions are available at the Teller memorial stand: Special allowances, the granting of rights, the acceptance of certain things as truth, the yielding of certain other things as untruth. Also, RC Cola and popcorn.

Oh, which reminds me, we actually have another word from our sponsor, Royal Crown Cola. Invented by Ferdinand the 1st, king of Naples, who built a museum of mummies inside his palace to house the bodies of his slain enemies. “I am parched from building this museum of mummies,” he famously said, and the rest is history. RC Cola – the drink of ruthless monarchs.

In local news, I have the results of the Ralphs drawing contest. Local school children were encouraged to submit a drawing to the store this week, depicting their favorite Ralphs product. I’ll start with the runners up. The third place drawing comes to us from Ella Snider, a student from Night Vale Elementary, and it shows a large black scribbled mass with a lot of eyes on it, with the Ralphs building on fire in the background. Very creative, Ella!

The second place drawing comes from Jace McCoy, also from Night Vale Elementary, and this one also shows a black mass with many eyes and a big bright red splatter of blood across the page. Nice use of color, Jace!

And the grand price winner comes to us from Heather (Fathusam) [0:16:52] of Daggers Plunge Charter School. Her drawing features a beautiful black mass with lots of lovely eyes, and it’s holding a box of store brand frozen pizza rolls. Congratulations, Heather!

Back to the blotter. 4:01 AM. Distress call from the Ralphs. Upon arrival, officer was pulled into the manager’s office. The employee from the earlier incident was also present, huddled under a desk. Manager frantically indicated the surveillance window that looks out into the store, which he normally uses to spy on shoppers and report on what they are wearing for his Customer Fashion newsletter. Shelves of products were being knocked over and consumed by a vast dark nothingness. The back of the store then burst into flames. The manager implored the officer to quote, “Do something, please, or we’ll all be killed!” Officer used the intercom system to tell the nothingness to vacate the store immediately, and advised it of trespass and vandalism laws. The nothingness took the form of many dark shapes with many eyes. A tank of fresh seafood exploded and numerous shellfish were damaged. Officer advised the shapes that they were all under arrest. “Stop talking to it!” the manager cried and knocked the intercom mic out of the officer’s hand. Approximately 1000 eyes turned to look at the office window. Interesting. Well.

Let’s have a look at that weather.

[“Best Friends” by Curtains: https://curtains.bandcamp.com/]

4:35 AM. Situation escalated at the Ralphs. Officer, manager and employee embraced one another under the office desk amid the shattered glass of the surveillance window. The building trembled around them, products flew through the air, half the inventory was sucked into oblivion, and a great fire blazed, spreading to the bakery section. After doing an estimated 200,000 dollars worth of damage, the darkness and its many eyes entered the beer cave and did not come back out. Officer investigated the beer cave and found it to be empty. “You have to shut down the cave!” the Ralphs employee implored the manager. “That’s its doorway to our world!” The manager hedged and responded that a big heat wave was coming and if they hoped to recoup any of their losses, keeping the beer cave open was going to be instrumental to the store’s survival. “People will spend big on frosty cold beverages,” the manager responded. “Not to mention they’re gonna like standing around in there for a nice cool-down.” The employee wrapped his robe tightly around himself. Oh, the manager had lent him the robe, one of the many fashion items the manager kept in his collection, since the employee still didn’t know where his clothes had gone. “OK,” the employee said. He picked up a Lime-A-Rita and guzzled it down in one continuous gulp. Then he said, his voice already a little slurred: “I’ll have to try to shhhhtop it myself.” He ran into the beer cave and promptly vanished.

5:40 AM. Tree with seven limbs seen growing out of a hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. Snow observed on the branches, which melted off quickly as the sun rose.

5:45 AM. Real pretty sunrise.

Well, that concludes our Secret Police blotter. I dunno about the rest of you, but I personally feel a lot more safe and secure getting a closer look at what our Secret Police do. On behalf of Night Vale Community Radio, thank you for your service. I’m sure we will all rest a lot easier knowing that our fate is in your hands. Our sleeping bodies are under your watchful eye, and our every thought and action is being monitored for the greater good. As Secret Police mascot Barks Ennui always says: Stay tuned, stay, vigilant, report your neighbors. Woof. Woof.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Six out of seven dentists have no idea where that seventh one disappeared to. Honest, they all have rock solid alibis and that blood could have belonged to anyone.

[twitchesandstitches]

The Destroyer had been fighting in the arena for a long, long time. She didn’t know how long, and she didn’t care.

She cared about the applause, the glory and the fame. She cared about the joy of proving her worth, time and time again; the sweet thrill of her blows landing home, the perfect control of her finishing moves never killing another contender. And she cared, so very much, for the roar of the audience as she delighted them, the thrill pulsing from them as dear to her as her own heartbeat, and just as vital to herself, and there and then she always felt alive.

Somewhere, perhaps, her ancestors on planet Terradino, at some unspecified point prior to the destructive events that put the multiverse into such a complicated state, had fought in such a way. The Destroyer had grown up not knowing a whole lot about where her family had come from. She knew that she was a vaxasaurian, the dinosaur-like people renowned for their size and strength. She knew that her family had served a minor lord of this feudal world she called home for at least five generations. And she knew that she had won a lot of freedom and fame fighting in the gladiator arenas, a true show-woman to her core. She liked to think that, perhaps, she was doing her ancestors proud in some obscure way.

She did not much care for the strangely penetrating look the small human woman was giving her.

‘Title, not name.’ She stopped, halting a charge that would surely have seen them crushed beneath her tread.

Ahsoka readied the gladiator spear she’d been given, since you don’t get to take your own weapons into the fighting pit. She was a tall and imposingly powerful woman of the twi’lek people; broadly humanoid, two long and thick tendrils extending from the back of her head over her shoulders, and it was difficult to say, from her coloration, if she was red with orange paint, or orange with red paint. It was certainly a complex design, shifting subtly with the immensely powerful energies emanating from her clear mastery over the mystical arts.

Ahsoka looked up at the vaxasaurian gladiator; the Destroyer. She and her group were not small; they were enormously powerful, their abilities enhanced by the strange practices of the Task Force and vastly empowered by all kinds of esoteric things: unique technologies, forgotten mystical mantras, divine techniques, and so forth. They were also a subtle group, so they were not quite as big or buxom as their power normally would have made them, though they were still incredibly large; the average audience member could have fit into their hands.

The shadow of the Destroyer fell over them all; the statuesque and extremely curvaceous form of the reptilian juggernaut could not entirely be downplayed by the showy armor she wore, not at her levels of busty. It was a bit of a surprise she didn’t topple over with every step, really. Breasts bigger than her upper body, the visible scales painted in attractive designs, hips that shook like buildings moving in an earthquake; she seemed calculatedly appealing, fearsome.

Arri picked up on Ahsoka’s mood. She coughed; a turian like her, with their distinctively rumbling voices, could really make a cough sound dramatic. Tall, her curves extreme on an hourglass-shaped body, her lightweight robes (perfect for someone with an evasion-heavy style) revealed a lot of serrated and metallic carapace, like someone had tried to build a bipedal velociraptor and make it armored. That look, her mandibled snout, and the long talons were typical of her people. The scorpion tail was not; neither was the way one arm twisted into a huge pincer, blazing with magical flame and generating all the fire magic she required. “Perhaps we shouldn’t antagonize the terrifying gladiator, Quinn…?”

She said this without much hope. Harley had an Idea. This rarely worked out for them.

Harley placed down her hammer, a great and oversized thing seemingly too unwieldy for someone to even pick up, let alone swing with one hand as she did. She sat down on a hammer-head larger than she was, her enormous backside making it sink into the ground. The haft made an acceptable rest for her back as she plopped against it, seemingly unconcerned, and she clapped her hands together.

Normally, she looked like an unstable mass of dynamic energy too intense to be constrained within the form of a giantess, even one so powerful that her power levels had produced a body type not dissimilar to the average violin; big up top, big below, and with very little in between. Even sitting down, her visible body appeared to be a mass of boob on crossed legs, monstrously wide thighs, inexplicably pale skin, and all of that wrapped up in a battlesuit of alternated red and black patterns.

That energy cooled, and she instead radiated competence, reassurance, and a soothing attitude.

The Destroyer raised a weapon irritably at her. “Get up, little thing. Fight me! Stop wasting my time, I..” She faltered, eyes blinking furiously inside her glamorous helmet. “I…”

She shook her head. She banged her weapon against a showman shield. “I have no time for this!”

“Okay,” Harley said, blinking slowly. “It’s your show, lady. This whole place is your performance, ain’t it?”

The Destroyer found herself nodding before she forced herself to stop, narrowing her eyes down at the (relatively) little fighter. Her elephantine foot landed a dangerously short distance from Harley, trying to get her to move… to run, do SOMETHING. “What trickery is this?” the Destroyer asked.

“No tricks, hun.” Harley held her hands up. “My girls back there, they won’t attack until I give up on our little talk here, okay? No ambushes or sneak attacks to take your title.”

The Destroyer blinked at them. Ahsoka and Arri nodded nervously, taking many steps back. Ahsoka fought back the urge to summon her powers anyway, just as a precaution… just in case Harley’s plan, whatever it was, didn’t pan out.

The enormous vaxasaurian stared at them a while longer, doubt coloring her every movement, Eventually she sat down, her armor still wobbling in various places. Her armor had probably been jointed specifically for that; a good amount of wobble drew a certain sort of audience.

She glowered down at Harley, who met her gaze politely with a vague smile. It was amazing Harley didn’t cower, with those massive talons before here; the tyrant lizard jawline, the spiky plates jutting through armor, and the mighty tail spikes lashing around in what, a layman probably, might mistake as impatience to finish the fight.

Harley knew anxiety and someone who needed to get something out when she saw it.

“If you want me to go first,” Harley said in a drawl. “My real name is actually-”

She said ‘Harleen Quinzel’. What actually came out of her mouth was an entirely different set of syllables, modified to make sense in this part of space, in this universe, in that culture, for her current operational persona. It was carved into the universe around here; whatever she said or did, it would be perceived as something fitting her role. They didn’t hear the name Harley Quinn when she fought, they heard what they needed to. Just as surely as, if by some means they did learn the truth, they would eventually just… forget. The knowledge dripping out of their heads.

And if that didn’t work, Gabriel Reyes would visit them. Or rather, the Ghost Rider would. Holy fire would burn away everything they didn’t need to know, and leave behind calm ashes, bothering them never again.

Nevertheless, though the Destroyer didn’t hear what Harley truly said, she did hear the sincerity.

“I don’t know my own name,” she admitted. “That’s strange, isn’t it? I don’t know why. Huh. That’s, that’s odd.” She frowned. “Isn’t it?”

Around the arena, there was a chorus of voices, a vast crowd complaining and bickering and wondering just what was going on here. Referees tried to angle for silence, and a few shadowy visitors were looking very anxious indeed.

“Look into your memories,” Harley suggested.

The Destroyer tried to remember something; anything, really, and found, now that she had brought it up, that her recollections felt… odd.

Further than a few years, and they were hollow. Not empty, just… insufficient. Off, flavorless, shapes of memory.

“Huh,” she said, and it felt inadequate. “That doesn’t seem right…”

And as the conversation continued, Eddie Brock, in his persona as a wannabe gladiator (with his married partner/symbiote lover as a subtle edge in his favor, with going full Venom as a back up plan if things went bad) held up a small oblong thing that looked like a religious relic. “Hrm,” he said, voice tinged with the harmonics of the symbiote bound to him as well as his own voice.

Ranamon, presently wearing the robotic shell of a walking tank, scuttled over. “Something up?” she asked, risking that she might be breaking character.

Eddie nodded at her. “We’re done here.” It wasn’t Eddie that spoke, but the symbiote; they seemed glad of it, and Eddie’s teeth grew longer when they spoke, tendrils of black shimmering just a bit over his eyes.

Ranamon blinked. “I thought our job was to beat up the head gladiator, get close enough to the big ruler-type guy and…”  she made a sharp gesture with half-a-dozen arms that indicated a very violent and final sort of political shift. “Y’know.”

“Yep,” Eddie, this time, said. “That was one of the options, anyway, and I got word from high up. Seems the direct option isn’t needed. It’ll happen without us. We’re done here.”

“Oh. Uh.” Ranamon shrugged, which was an interesting thing to see in a machine body that was what you got if you tried to make a tank out of an arachnid shape. “Yay, I guess!”

They left, to join up with the rest of the Task Force, and leave things to sort themselves out.

They often operated, in a way, through ripples. The tasks they were assigned, as random and minor as they seemed at the time, sent out ripples. Echoes and consequences, moving onward and growing larger… much larger, over time.

Today, a gladiator would go home, unfulfilled and perplexed, and have to ask herself why she couldn’t remember her name, and why her memories didn’t feel real.

In a week, she would gather up the other fighters she was friendly with, the ones that always stuck by her because she was a professional that never went for a killing blow, and ask them a few awkward questions. Everyone would leave feeling baffled that their own memories felt wrong, too.

And there… well, who knew? Maybe in a few months time, a local cloning factory would answer some very pointed questions from gladiators that had secretly been born there only a few years previous despite their memories saying otherwise.

But from there, a hint of a whole rotten, sorry system of casually churning out people for entertainment would lead all the way to the top, and it would be the Destroyer aiming herself squarely at the king of the world, making her name very literal indeed.

One way or another, a corrupt empire would fall.

The Task Force would have helped make this part of the multiverse a little brighter.

[pinkguacamole]

Finding the Budget in Botswana 2: Mokolodi

My first post about Botswana took place in the north of the country in Kasane and Chobe National Park. I wrote about how expensive lodging options were in that area and how I wouldn’t be able to travel in Botswana unless I’d found some ways around the high fees. I had the same problem for southern Botswana. Options in the capital Gaborone were also looking pretty steep.

I messaged a bunch of Peace Corps Volunteers in Botswana because I figured they’d have the best advice on cheap places to stay and cool things to do. Many of them just verified that lodging is pretty expensive in Botswana, but luckily, I found one in the north who let me stay with her! She was great and she helped me figure out my plan to get through Botswana down to Gaborone and then over to Pretoria where I needed to be.

After a great time in the north with my new friend, then a cruise down Chobe River to see elephants and hippos, I took a night bus clear across the country, southward to Gaborone. 

So far my travels in southern Africa had been pretty simple and smooth. Even the night buses I’d taken had been “luxury” buses where I could actually sleep. Things were starting to get a little more “rugged,” but it was all still pretty calm. This night bus was older and much less comfortable. But it was still loads better than a broken down mini-bus in Madagascar packed to the brim with too many humans and maybe some chickens too. I slept okay despite how annoying it was every time the man next to me brushed my shoulder with the bill of his hat as his sleeping head lolled around aimlessly. 

At one point, everyone exited the bus for a routine “bag check.” I had absolutely no idea what was going on because people were used to it and all of the discussions were in Tswana. I was tired and confused. People yelling in a different language in the dark is always bit terrifying if you don’t know what is going on. I asked a young man what was going on and he explained to me that they were checking for fruit flies. Botswana seems to be extra careful about bugs, When I crossed the border I was told to walk through a disinfectant before I could enter the country.

As I walked through the check point I kept turning around to see if I needed to grab my larger bag from below the bus. A man passed and told me not to worry about it and that we needed to wait further down the road. I asked him if I should just pee in the bushes since there was no toilet. He said “yeah, but watch out for snakes.”

After about 10 weird minutes, I was back on the bus and the quiet old man next to me was nodding off on my shoulder again. A long night of minimal sleep was ahead of me.

The bus pulled in to Gaborone at around 5:30 am. It was still dark and I was completely discombobulated. Since lodging in Gaborone was so expensive, I’d booked a spot to camp at a “backpacker’s” place outside of the city near a reserve. I was hoping to see rhinos at the reserve.

As I gathered my things from the bus, a taxi driver spotted me and latched on. I had planned on taking the bus to the campsite later in the day once the sun had come up. I was hoping the man could just take me to a comfy and warm restaurant or hotel lobby with wifi so I could gather my thoughts. This request was quite odd to him and he wanted to make some money, so he convinced me to let him take me all of the way to the campsite for $14. I was about to fall asleep standing up and we were in a strange dark bus station, so I relented and got him down to $10.

He was a nice guy and told me a bit about Botswana and Gaborone as I struggled to stay awake. Eventually we made it to Mokolodi Backpackers, where I was staying. In my slight irritability, I was put off by how far out it was from…things. The closest grocery store was not in walking distance like I’d been led to believe. I did not need the whole city out my door, but a way to get food would have made me feel… more comfortable.

I groggily set up my tent outside and collapsed for a few hours.

After I awoke and made some complimentary coffee (bonus points for Mokolodi) I walked up the road to Mokolodi Reserve which was my main attraction anyways. I was hoping to set up a program with Rhino Tracking!

As I walked up the road, a car stopped by and told me to hop in if I was going to the park. The two men in the car were Botswanan guides at the reserve and were excited for me to see the place.

When we arrived at the park office, I was told that no one had booked Rhino Tracking for the next few days so I would have to pay double since I was alone. It was $60 on it’s own… $120 doubled.

I definitely wasn’t going to do that and it made me a bit upset. Traveling alone is sad enough sometimes! Why charge me more!? The friendly guide suggested I do the “Cheetah Encounter” for $20 at least. I also had to join a group so I added my name to a reservation later that afternoon.

I hadn’t been planning on doing any animal visits that afternoon so I didn’t have my camera, but I decided to hang out at the reserve’s nice restaurant with yummy food and !wifi! and wait for the cheetah thing. It was something!

As 2pm rolled around I went to the office again to check in and see if anyone had signed up for Rhino Tracking on one of the days I wanted. I was holding out hope! I wanted to see rhinos!

Still no luck. Then I was told by the woman at the counter that I couldn’t do the Cheetah Encounter because I was wearing flip flops (it was supposed to be a casual afternoon). This was not fun to hear. I asked if there was any way around it. Luckily the biologist working with the cheetah was a sweet American woman who said we could make it work.

There were three other Americans doing the Cheetah Encounter that afternoon too. I swear, I was meeting Americans left and right all over southern Africa! These were all older, established adults. They were interesting to talk to and found my life pretty impressive (yay, thanks).

The Cheetah was not a wild cheetah. Her name was Thuto, meaning “education.” She had been abandoned as a baby by her mother. She was uninterested in hunting so she had been raised at the reserve. Her main job was to educate people: visitors from around the world and visitors from local areas. She had another cheetah friend who was anti-social. The two cheetahs were only there because if they had been let into the wild, they would not survive. They ate chickens and impala provided by the reserve. It may have been a cushy life, but these two cheetahs were helping to bridge the gap between humans and animals in a way. The most important thing is that the reserve was not breeding more cheetahs like them, they were just rescues.

We chatted with the biologist and had a chance to pet Thuto. She was calm and sweet. Just a giant house cat…with bigger teeth.

After the encounter, I checked at the office again and a group had signed up for Rhino Tracking! My short-term dream was coming true! I would go Rhino Tracking early the next morning.

As I walked down the road, two Americans from the Cheetah Encounter offered me a ride into town to go to the grocery store. Couldn’t say no to that. I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing at the Backpacker’s using wifi and drinking tea. The owner was so nice, he let me use his office because it was cold outside.

The next day I walked into the park and joined a group of 12 Americans and Brits to find rhinos! I wasn’t expecting such a large group. The limit was supposed to be 8. But whatever, I was getting to go.

Turns out the group was an assortment of event producers and medical staff from “The World’s Strongest Man” competition happening in Gaborone that week. I sat next to a woman on the drive who was an event planner from San Francisco! She was living the alternative life I would have if I didn’t leave San Francisco and my budding career in events to travel the world 4 years ago. It was another serendipitous meeting! We exchanged stories about San Francisco and events and travel and even Afrikaburn (she had been to Burningman 6 times I believe). If there is anything I can say for my trip in southern Africa, I always seem to be meeting the right people.

After driving us around for an hour or so, the Botswanan Rhino trackers finally settled on a route based off of the freshest Rhino Tracks they could find.

Some of the people in the group thought it was a total farce and that the guides had electronic trackers on the rhinos but wanted to make the “experience.” These fun group members also did not listen to the guide’s rules of staying in a straight line and following. They liked to go their own way, as if they knew more than the locals who work at the reserve. These guys were plain rude and obnoxious. They were so disrespectful. I hoped one would accidentally step in some rhino dung while they were off the path “looking for scorpions.” Some westerners are so disrespectful in Africa and it is embarrassing to watch. (It was the Brits doing this, not the Americans, by the way).

Eventually we were led into a clearing and up ahead I could see a series of gray backs! There were four White Rhinos up ahead!

Seeing rhinos in person was a magnificent sight. Rhinos are one of the most precious endangered species in the world. In recent years, some varieties of rhinos have become extinct because poachers want their horns. Their horns are the most valuable commodity on the black market. They are used in eastern medicine and collectors like to place them on their walls as trophies of their lack of concern for anyone or anything but themselves.

We followed these rhinos as they roamed a bit to another clearing. They were so peaceful and glorious, just eating and shitting and bothering no one.

Luckily the sight of these creatures humbled the jerks in the group and they all showed the guides just a bit more respect. If they had any wits, they would have been nicer to the guides the whole time, as they were each holding a rifle. The rifle was in case they came across any poachers.

As we left the clearing and refound the safari car, I was completely satisfied with my encounter with rhinoceroses!

That afternoon I rested at the backpacker’s again. The campsite was frustrating because it was so far from the city, but it was covered in animals itself: doves, cats, ducks, a peacock, a dog, and most importantly a pig the size of a rhino. I spent way too much time watching the rhino pig waddle along, dipping her snout into the dirt to find crumbs. It was a peaceful and lively environment.

The next day I decided to explore the city of Gaborone. I waited on the side of the highway for a bus. A bus came, but it flew past me. I realized I had to have my hand up. I was basically hitch-hiking. Eventually a small car with a woman and her adorable kids stopped by. She told me she could take me to the bus rank so I could figure out my plan to Pretoria the following day and then I could go from there.

While she drove, I chatted with her two adorable kids and showed them photos of animals I have seen in Africa.

When I got to the station, I found the Pretoria mini-bus. It would leave maybe twice a day…whenever it was full. So, the next day I would have to get there relatively early and…wait.

After figuring this out, I walked around the market and ate some boiled sweet potatoes for 2 pula. 20 cents! I ate so much sweet potato in Madagascar; this was a nice nostalgic moment. I also found some men who could fix the cracked screen on my iphone for only $60. I love markets much better than malls.

After my screen was fixed, I wanted to explore Gaborone. I walked out of the bus station and mall area into…more malls. It was impossible to escape. Then I came into a business park of big buildings. I couldn’t find any restaurants to rest in or use wifi and I was getting tired. Eventually I found a pedestrian area with some restaurants but whatever I ate made me feel crappy so I did not have it in me to continue exploring. Instead I chickened out and got a cab driver to take me to the Three Chiefs Monument and then drive me back to Mokolodi’s.

Then I watched Will and Grace in my tent until I passed out.

The next day I packed my tent. An older Austrian man was packing his tent as well. We both needed to head to town. He suggested we go together, but I knew our chances of hitching a ride would lessen with two people and lots of luggage. Luckily, the owner of Mokolodi’s who had been repeatedly hospitable, offered us a ride into town.

Once I landed at the kombi stop to Pretoria, I waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually the mini-bus filled after 3 hours and we were on our way to South Africa! I had friends waiting for me in South Africa. I felt like I was coming home after a few quick and exciting weeks through southern Africa alone.

I was also beginning to realize I was exhausted.

[wbouldingblog-blog]

It’s pouring outside here in Koh Tao. Henny and I are lying exhausted on a delightful double bed with a view of the infinity pool and the beautiful bay, unable to escape our hut for fear of dissolving in the deluge outside (and the fact that Henny is, yet again, asleep). Lucky for you, dear readers, it gives me a moment of respite to catch you all up on the eventful last few days. This is a long one, so put the kettle on and grab a whole tin of biscuits. Treat yourself.

Done? Here we go…

We scavenged a lift from a Polish friend to the airport (shout out to Martyna – hope you enjoy the vodka!) and tried checking in. First hurdle and we trip a little bit – Norwegian needs you to prove that you’re leaving the country before you board the aeroplane, so we had to do some hurried booking of a bus from Bangkok to Siem Reap in Cambodia, our next destination after Thailand. Little did we know that the much simpler solution would be to book a flight from near Koh Tao but instead we opted for a 24+ hour ferry and bus journey from the south of Thailand to Cambodia, including (apparently) a hellish immigration wait at the Cambodian border. Yay.

The ticked booked and shown to the lady at the counter, we set about putting our luggage on the scales. Naturally, Henny had managed to exceed the limit by a couple of kilograms and I, like the hero I am, bravely undid my bag and took some of her shoes, rezipped my bag and lifted it to put on the scales and it fell open. Bugger. Hastily repacking my gaudy Christmas-present pants (thanks mum!), I did the zip up and triple checked its security before putting it on the belt, where it was whizzed away.

The flight to Norway was quick enough and when we landed in Oslo, everything was white – Bing Crosby’s best Christmas song whistled through my head and back out again as it was 11 months too early. When you think of Scandinavian countries, you don’t think ‘Ooh I bet I can get a real bargain here’, do you? Well you can’t. Especially not in a Scandinavian airport. I paid around €16 for a warm brie and bacon (and cranberry sauce) baguette and a small bottle of fanta. Delicious but dangerous for the bank account.

Then we got to the gate and this beauty below was waiting for us. The Boeing Dreamliner 787-9. In the photo below, you can also get an idea of how snowy it was (not just a dirty lens). Teams of bulldozer-type snowploughs were zooming all over the place, reminding me of emergency landing procedures from Thunderbirds, trying to clear the runway and taxiways.

We got on, made friends with a little old norwegian lady next to us (shoutout to Emma, wherever you may be) and settled in for the 10-hour flight. After binge film watching (Despicable Me 3 and King Arthur – the Guy Ritchie version if you must know) and a very tasty lunch/dinner of roast beef, I played the onboard quiz a few times. I fared quite well in the final standings – of the 240+ people on board, I came 2nd, 3rd and 5th with my 3 attempts. Not bad eh? I hoped I might have got a prize, but I think the air stewards were too busy congratulating the winner or something. I bet the winner was in Business Class. Some people have all the luck.

I tried to sleep, but could only manage an hour of real shut-eye before breakfast (Cinnamon and oat biscuit and ham sandwich with a plastic cup of apple juice) and then we were pretty much on the runway at Bangkok airport – much larger and more modern than I could ever have hoped. Certainly puts Berlin’s airports into perspective.

We waited for a while in immigration line (Henny amused herself by worrying if she’d filled out too much of the landing card), collected our suitcases from the carousel and collected some Baht from the nearest cash machine and noticed, much to my dismay, a number of thin, but nonetheless worryingly present, cracks in the shell of my suitcase. Damn. Either I’ll have to buy a new one in SE Asia (dangerous if you watch these Aussie or Kiwi border control shows – the vendors often put naughty things in the linings) or wrap it multiple times in cellophane before the next flight. Decisions, decisions…

Off to the taxi rank we trotted, collected a ticket (a very good system of allotting taxis) and found ourselves heading for a garishly pink Toyota Corolla. You’re nothing in Bangkok, apparently, if you don’t drive a Corolla, a Honda Civic or a Nissan Almera. Naturally, it’s got to have a bodykit on it and be painted some ridiculous colours. Of course, by the time we’d got there it was early in the morning and rush hour in Bangkok, so we had a 1-and-a-bit hour taxi ride past a number of floral tributes to their late king, where I dozed and waited to get to our hotel.

Once there, we had another four hours until we could check in, so we went for a quick toddle around the area and found a couple of very local-looking (and smelling) markets and a beautiful big park in the centre of town, where we walked and wondered about what was coming next. Once the four hours were up, we checked in, showered and napped for a couple of hours before heading to a rooftop bar just around the corner. There, we enjoyed some well-made cocktails and Thai sausage and fried pork with fresh ginger, garlic, coriander and chili and looked out over a gorgeous sunset punctuated by the skyscrapers of Bangkok.

 Henny’s done her research and found out that, in 2016 at least, this tower was the tallest in Thailand. I found it fascinating to look at – the deconstructed central sections are an architectural marvel. I’d have loved to have gone inside if I could, but there was so much more to see and do in Bangkok that we didn’t have the time or a reason to go inside any of the offices there, and barging in unannounced would have been just rude.

On the second day, I was very excited. This was the day I got to see my little brother again. I say little, but he’s 22 and actually quite large now. Not large as in fat, but big. Grown up. You know what I mean. He and his mates (shoutouts to Tom and Will) are having a 6-month bonanza all around SE Asia, Australia and New Zealand, before heading to America and then back to the UK. This was the first of hopefully two possible meeting points along that journey, the second being in New Zealand. We met Arthur at his hostel, the Born Free hostel near the Khao San road, which had a hipster-palleted lounge area with excellent wifi facilities. He hadn’t been feeling well the night before (he’d eaten something odd) and opted for some simple steamed rice for breakfast, while we went for some lovely street-foody pad thai, which at 40 Baht (about a euro), was a steal.

The smell is one of the things that’ll stick in my memory about Bangkok; the mix of exhaust fumes and cooking meat which hangs over the whole city, mixed with the occasional and unnerving stench of rank binbags, is unforgettable. Food seems to be a constant occurence in Thai lives; if they’re not cooking it on the street, they’re buying it off someone who’s cooking on the street or carrying it in one of the millions of plastic bags they will pour anything into to take away. Fruits, fried pork balls, orange juice – all in these tiny little environment-hating plastic bags. Given that the packaging is so ubiquitous, there’s a distinct lack of public bins. I often had to carry waste around for hours before I came across a bin or took the Thai approach and chucked it in someone else’s binbags when they weren’t looking.

While Arthur and the boys were recovering from their bus journey to Bangkok, Henny and I took a walk around some of the temples. When I say around, I do mean around, as we couldn’t go in (neither of us met the dress code and were both unwilling to buy some harem pants to change that. They were stunning, carved in such intricate detail and on such a large scale that it was far easier to revere the craftsmen than the deitie(s) represented inside.

We met up with the boys for something to drink and were offered a continuous stream of tat from some of the local street sellers – everything from party paper throwers (best description I can give – they were utterly pointless though) and offensive wristbands (claiming to love everything from various cultures’ male sexual organs to Ladyboys) to cooked scorpions on a stick (about as tempting as it sounds). Nevertheless, we had a great catchup on their progress thus far. Hope they’re keeping a record of it too.

The next day, after a Thai buffet breakfast (Henny ordered chili chicken liver by mistake, but guess who ended up eating it…), we met up with Arthur once again and headed to a cat café, which was, unsurprisingly, Henny’s idea. It was cutesy and kitsch and the cats were very cuddly and funny and the coffee wasn’t too bad either. Then we took a brief walk through Chinatown (nothing really changed except the signage was in Chinese rather than Thai) and said TTFN to Arthur.

Then came the first of what I fear will be many mornings. We had booked a bus from Bangkok to Koh Tao to take us at 6 in the morning and arrive at 3 in the afternoon. All fine thus far – just had to get up at 4.45, which we did, get an Uber across town, which we did, and just arrive at the bus stop in time for the bus, which we didn’t. Of all the mornings the Bangkok government could have chosen to hold the marathon, they chose that one. A marathon needs a lot of streets to run on. Streets which, say, might normally be used by tourists in taxis trying to get to a bus station on the other side of town early in the morning so that they could make the beach paradise which they so craved after the dirt and smell of the city. Streets which were shut off by whistle-happy police. At one point, we just got out and walked (read: ran) the route to the bus stop ourselves, me taking both suitcases and wearing a leather jacket (there wasn’t any room in my suitcase) in a high-humidity environment.

Fate decreed that we weren’t going to get on that bus; my rucksack split open, showering my baseball cap and suncream all over the road. I bent down to pick it up and zip up my bag, dropping Henny’s suitcase in the process. Then, as Henny had gone on ahead to hold the bus, I looked up for her and couldn’t see her. I remembered seeing the Burger King at the end of the Khao San road on the map when we were looking at the route and thought that she must have gone down there. She hadn’t. She’d continued up to the bus station and found the bus. I, in a panic, was running round various (incorrect) streets like a headless, sweating chicken. Eventually, at 6.25 I gave up and tried to find wifi so that I could also find Henny. We managed to meet up, and various curt exchanges and a rebooking process later, found a café in which I could do some translation work and where we could gather ourselves together. That finished, we left our bags with the bus company and headed to a park to try and find the silver lining to this dreadfully black cloud.

What a good call that was. Dappled sunlight and cool shade along with more wildlife than you could shake a stick at (don’t actually – you might frighten it) made this former royal park the ideal place to spend the afternoon. Instead of reading on a beach in paradise, we were reading and snoozing in a park in the middle of Bangkok.

This meant we had to get the dreaded night bus, which we had been hoping to avoid. Nonetheless, at 6pm, after treating ourselves to a cracking foot massage, we headed back up to the bus station and collected our bags. After some initial confusion surrounding which bus was the one to get on and what the proper seating etiquette was, we both popped a couple of travel sickness pills (we were at the back of the bus) and Henny promptly fell asleep. I’d downloaded a couple of Star Trek: TNG episodes on Netflix and managed to watch a couple of those before I too succumbed to the numbing effects of the pills and the sway of the bus.

We were rudely awoken by the lights turning on as we stopped at a Thai service station. They’re much the same as English ones; dirty loos, awful-looking food and prices even Jay-Z would shake his head and tut at. Another 3 hours of patchy sleep later and we were at the pier for the ferry which would take us to the island. After a two-hour wait in a lean-to while the rain hammered down overhead, we got on a very swish looking ferry and zoomed across some rather large waves. People on board made some rather large waves themselves in the sick bags which were handed out pre-zoom. Another hour and 45 minutes later, here we are, in a beautiful hotel room with a view of an infinity pool and the sea. It’s just how it looks on the postcards. I’ll upload some pictures at a later date, but first, I’ve got to go and take them – the sun’s come out now.

Lorra lorra luv,

Will

It all started so well… It's pouring outside here in Koh Tao. Henny and I are lying exhausted on a delightful double bed with a view of the infinity pool and the beautiful bay, unable to escape our hut for fear of dissolving in the deluge outside (and the fact that Henny is, yet again, asleep).

[hello-there]

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