#North American tiles

[maglo-media]

What are the benefites of porcelain floor tiles?

Porcelain tiles are a popular flooring option due to their durability, versatility, and aesthetic appeal. Made from a dense clay mixture, porcelain tiles are significantly harder and more resistant to scratches, chips, and stains than ceramic tiles. This makes them an excellent choice for high-traffic areas, bathrooms, and even outdoor spaces.

Key Benefits of Porcelain Tiles:

Durability: Withstand heavy foot traffic, pet claws, and heavy objects without cracking or chipping.

Water Resistance: Ideal for wet areas like bathrooms, laundry rooms, and entryways.

Frost-Proof: Some porcelain tiles are suitable for outdoor installation.

Easy to Clean: Quick and easy maintenance with minimal effort.

Stain Resistant: Resist stains and spills for a long-lasting, beautiful appearance.

Heat Conductive: Efficiently distribute heat, making them compatible with underfloor heating systems.

Wide Range of Designs: Mimic natural stone, wood, and other materials to match your style.

Incredible Visual Appeal: Create stunning and personalized spaces with various colors, patterns, and textures.

Excellent for High Traffic Use: Withstand the demands of busy households and commercial settings.

TIEIC Ceramics: Your Trusted Partner

At TIEIC Ceramics, we specialize in providing high-quality porcelain tiles designed specifically for the North American market. Our tiles are known for their exceptional durability, stunning aesthetics, and innovative designs.

Key Features of TIEIC Porcelain Tiles:

Made for the Americas: Our tiles are designed to cater to North American preferences and trends.

Uncompromising Quality: We adhere to strict quality control standards to ensure the highest level of craftsmanship.

Diverse Collection: Explore a wide range of styles, colors, and finishes to find the perfect tile for your project.

Technical Expertise: Our team of experts provides valuable guidance and support.

Conclusion

Porcelain tiles offer a combination of durability, beauty, and functionality that makes them a popular choice for homeowners and businesses alike. With their wide range of design options and exceptional performance, porcelain tiles can elevate the look and feel of any space.

[villagewarlock]

getting on a last minute train tomorrow from my aunt's place in the boonies cause my ex-coworker invited me to his house for christmas dinner w his family and like. I'm having a lot of feelings mostly about literally this one middle aged man making me realize that I have not cultivated any kind of community thus far and he is out here living that and I want to be more like him I think

[safarigirlsp]

The Museum Beast

Historian Nicholas Mills x OC

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Lots of Violence. Gore. Chasing. Monster Action. This is heavily inspired by one of my favorite novels, Relic. If you like any of this, I highly encourage you to read it!

I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from @iamburdened and @queeniebee

AO3 Link

Two of the world’s tallest free-standing dinosaurs were frozen mid-battle in the Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda on the second floor of the New York Museum of Natural History. In dramatic repose, a Barosaurus reared to protect its young from an attacking Allosaurus. The skeletal titans made the browsing museum patrons look like ants milling at their feet. Alice was never unable to walk past the dinosaurs without craning her neck upward to admire their towering presence. The great saurians were much more interesting to focus on than the throng of chattering primates that inhabited the museum during business hours. Walking through the past with her heels echoing on tile hallways that stretched the length of city blocks, she allowed herself to be distracted by the jungle of extinct species giving life to their dioramas. From the tiny, feathered dinosaur skeleton displayed in a dramatically lit shadow box to the gigantic open jaws of a megalodon framing the entrance to an adjoining hallway, there was always something interesting that caught her eye.

If she walked briskly it was a decent cardio session to make her way to the North American section of the museum. A special exhibit had just opened, an exhibition on the American Old West. It had all the good stuff. Cowboys, gunslingers, train robbers, mountain men, and miners. The exhibit was livelier curated than most, or maybe the subject simply lent itself to action and movement. Standing guard on either side of the entrance were the wax likenesses of Buffalo Bill, wearing his original buckskin outfit, bedazzled with fringe and conchos, and Sitting Bull, dressed in a magnificent headdress boasting a rainbow of colors in its plumage. In one corner was a round table of wax men dressed in full regalia, engaged in a heated poker game. A man with luxurious curly hair sat with his back facing the audience, displaying his hand of aces and eights, the famous Dead Man’s Hand, held by ‘Wild’ Bill Hickock when he was gunned down. The mural painted in the corner Hickock faced even showed the characteristic swinging doors of a saloon, being pushed open by a man with a gun in his hand and murder in his eyes. In another corner ‘Hanging’ Judge Parker sat at his desk, writing in his ledger, backlit by a mural of a man swinging from the gallows outside his office window.

Alice was delighted to see some of the famous men of the old west depicted in less obvious settings than gunfights. These exploits were detailed in paintings that supplemented the exhibits and dozens of informative plaques, but many characters were shown in niche exposes that spoke to the true enthusiasts among the visitors.

The most famous lawman of all, Wyatt Earp, was depicted indulging in his guilty pleasure of gambling with his notoriously beautiful actress wife playing right alongside him as she smoked a cigar. Instead of being shown in his best-known role as Wyatt Earp’s right hand in the infamous Tombstone events, Doc Holliday was portrayed as a suave gentleman, dressed in a fancy brocade vest and cravat, focused on the smiling attentions of his consort, Big-Nosed Kate. The deadliest outlaw of all and likely psychopath John Wesley Hardin was shown lounging on a dirty bunk inside a jail cell. He was intently focused on a large law book. After serving his time, he turned from gunfighting to the practice of law. The plaque detailing his exploits explained tongue-in-cheek that he had traded the illegal form of lawlessness for the legal alternative.

Ample attention was also given to women of note. From saloon owners to cut-throat madams, women’s stories were interspersed with the male narrative. There was of course a display devoted to Calamity Jane, dressed as a man and just as dangerous. Prominently featured was the lesser known but equally successful outlaw Belle Starr, shown wearing a pretty red dress while brandishing a six-gun astride her huge, coal-black horse, Venus. The most famous woman of all, and arguably one of the most iconic figures of the Old West, Annie Oakley, was given a full diorama of her own. A wax figure depicted the pint-sized sharpshooter holding a rifle as she aimed for the cigarette held between her husband’s lips.

An armory worth of firearms from the period were on display. From iconic Colt .45 revolvers and Winchester 30-30 lever action rifles to unique pieces like tiny six-barreled pepper-box derringers and huge Sharps rifles, there were enough firearms to lay siege to a small country. It was befitting for the period, when a man’s gun and his horse were the best friends he could ever have. Without either, a man’s lifespan would likely be reduced to weeks or even days.

The exhibition hall was spacious, even with a veritable herd of visitors milling through it like buffalo on the plains. School children raced through the halls and between dioramas as unchecked as packs of coyotes, while their teachers and handlers tried in vain to wrangle them under control. It was afternoon and most groups were on their final turn around the exhibits before leaving. A few pairs of surly teenagers lingered on the sidelines, looking like they were trying to find a place to whip out a cigarette to enhance their cool, and probably having escaped their own class trip from some other section of the vast museum. Despite the chaos the minors instigated, snippets of intelligent conversation also fluttered around the room.

In an attempt to avoid the class field trips, Alice moved to an adjacent room inside the sprawling exhibit. This spacious room was devoted to art of and from the period, Native American weavings and pottery, animated bronze sculptures, and vibrant oil paintings. The more sedate nature of the art exhibits appealed to a more sedate crowd, unable to hold the interest of children and teenagers. The only other people in the art room were an elderly couple, a group of three college-age people who looked like modern beatniks, and one impressively built man standing off to one side, studying the plaque of a detailed mural-size painting.

Alice couldn���t help but appraise the man discreetly as he stood quartering away from her. He was tall and broad, his robust physique apparent through his flannel shirt and jeans. Even from her angle, she could tell his features were strong and masculine. Dark hair curled around his collar and his strong stubble-covered jaw flexed as he read, his bright eyes darting quickly over the text. She wondered briefly about approaching him – men that attractive were rare to find out in the wild – but it struck her as ridiculous to approach the man like she was in a bar and ask him if he came here often. Rolling her eyes inwardly at herself, she turned her attention toward the opposite wall and a painting of a painfully skinny man riding an equally emaciated white horse on a moonlight night.

It was rewarding when out of the corner of her eye she saw the man turn and pause just to look at her. The man glanced toward the doorway leading back into the main exhibit then back at her, seeming to decide whether or not he too wanted to risk making an ass of himself with a clumsy come-on in an art exhibit. Alice fought to hide her smile when he made his decision in her favor.

The handsome man sidled up to her, his approach practiced and laissez-faire. His shoulders were squared and his stride confident, but he angled across the exhibit hall from the side, his eyes fixed on the oil paintings instead of his prize, like a lion casually strolling by a gazelle to gauge distance before an attack. There was an impulse to turn to him with an accusatorily arched eyebrow to show she was onto him. But he was attractive enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Being pursued added a certain spice to the air, after all. With his large hands in his pockets and his posture confident but relaxed, he dripped with top notes of James Dean and undertones of Clint Eastwood.

“Frederick Remington,” the man read the artist’s name when he stopped beside her. He was a full head taller and his voice was deep and a little gravely, barely tinged with a Western drawl. “I think my dad has one of his 30.06 rifles.”

Alice hoped he was teasing, that there were a few active brain cells sparking inside that pretty head. The hint of a smirk twisting the man’s lips confirmed it. Keeping her face deadpan, she played along. “Yeah? These artists must have been starving during their lifetimes, being forced to branch out like that. I hear the guy behind Winchester Arms was really into weird avant garde architecture, too.”

The man grinned and turned to face her, fixing her with a pair of bright eyes the color of whiskey. “I think that was his wife. Leave it to a woman to spend a man’s hard-earned gun money on a house in the California hills, complete with staircases leading to ceilings and dead ends. Think she had a Remington on the walls?”

“I don’t know if Sarah Winchester was a fan of Frederick Remington, but I bet there were a few works by Eliphalet Remington somewhere inside,” Alice teased.

“I’m impressed,” the man laughed. “I couldn’t have pulled that name out of thin air.”

“I bet now you’re wondering if I’m a gun nut or just a history buff. A woman should keep an air of mystery about her.” She smiled and looked at him squarely. She decided he looked at home in the Old West exhibit, exuding a ruggedly masculine quality that was all too rare in modern society. He had a face that belonged on the streets of Dodge City, those crisp hooded eyes staring down the barrel of a Colt .45. She realized she had been staring into those eyes for a rudely long moment, and continued talking to smooth over that faux pas, “I never cared much for Remington’s paintings. They’re drab and all the subjects are in painfully sorry condition – horses and men alike.” She pointed to an incredible scene of two cowboys roping a grizzly bear, their movements frozen on canvas mid-stride, mid-lasso, and mid-snarl, painted with confident strokes in a vibrant palette. “Charlie Russell is my favorite. You can’t beat the color and the action in his paintings.”

“I wonder if that’s worse than having a tiger by the tail,” he pondered, pointing at the lassoed grizzly, snarling and swiping at the horse and rider. “What would your boyfriend say?”

“That position is currently vacant. What a brash way to inquire.” She smiled and nodded back at the snarling grizzly. “I’m sure three out of four ex-boyfriends would say they’d take their chances with the bear.”

“It’d take more than a bear or a tiger to scare me away from such a pretty face,” he teased, using those impressive eyes as tactically as a gun. “I never did have much instinct for self-preservation. Plenty of brash though, and other things synonymous.”

She laughed genuinely. “You’ve covered art, guns, tigers, and balls in three minutes flat. That’s quite an icebreaker without even introducing yourself. What else should I know?”

“Nicholas Mills.” He grinned handsomely and extended his hand, it was callused and powerful and large, easily swallowing hers in his warm grip. “I’m here consulting on this exhibition, on loan from the Old West Museum in Cheyanne.”

“Alice,” she returned, giving his hand a firm shake. “You’re a historian?” Her tone was skeptical as she pointedly eyed his flannel shirt and jeans. “Is tweed out of vogue for you types these days?”

“In the west it’s all denim and cotton.” He popped the collar of his shirt. “Linen if you want to be pretentious. Dust sticks to tweed like hell, not to mention burs.”

“What about your ten-gallon hat and dinnerplate-sized belt buckle?” The question gave her a convenient excuse to gauge the way he filled out his jeans. He wasn’t a man who skipped leg day.

“Those are only fashion accessories in Texas. Maybe Santa Fe. Where I’m from, if you’re wearing a cowboy hat, it better have a sweat ring around the headband, and if you’re wearing a belt buckle, it better be tarnished. Those are work accessories for working ranch hands, not fashion statements.” He let his eyes travel the curves of her figure under the guise of admiring her outfit of jeans and a blazer. “I suppose those duds work equally well for business or pleasure in most fields.” He smirked, but moved on before she could wonder at the double entendre. “Do I get a last name or just Alice?”

Smiling coyly, Alice replied, “I’ll give you a hint and see how well you know your stuff. It’s the name of one of my favorite songs and of a color that looks terrible on me, and I share it with a gunfighter who I’m sad to see isn’t featured in your exhibit. He had one of the best names in the business. That’s three hints, actually. So, are you posing as a historian to hit on unsuspecting women, or the real deal?”

“I’m not up on music and I can’t imagine there’s a color that could make you look terrible,” Nick frowned and pursed his lips. “I know of a couple of noteworthy Browns and even a Dunn, but their names don’t have any special ring to them. If I was a betting man, I’d put my dollar on ‘Texas’ Jack Vermillion. Alice Vermillion?”

“If you were betting, you’d have hit the jackpot,” Alice said with a genuine smile. “A man who knows Texas Jack and Charlie Russell. I’m not yet impressed, but I am intrigued.”

“If this goes the direction I’m hoping, I may yet hit that jackpot and you’ll be very impressed.” He didn’t give her the chance to address that sentiment before changing the subject. He cocked his head toward another painting depicting a man and woman seated side by side beneath an upside down canoe propped above them, taking shelter from a torrent of rain in a thick forest. Despite the weather, the couple was engaged in smiling conversation. “I’m a Goodwin man, myself. But I’m biased. Every time I look at his paintings of cowboys packing up in Alaska or canoeing in the Great North, adventurous couples fishing and hunting together, I get nostalgia for a place I’ve never been.” He smiled to himself. “Someday.”

“Isn’t New York about as far away as a man can get from canoeing up in the Great North and fighting grizzlies over your catch of the day?” she teased. “Not much chance of facing down a maneater on the mean streets of NYC. Although, I hear these days you’re more likely to get bitten by a New Yorker than a shark.”

“You must not know about the Museum Beast.” He flashed a grin that was lopsided and full of mischief.

Alice cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s a little early in the day for ghost stories. Shouldn’t you invite me someplace nicer before you start trying to rattle the delicate woman into wanting to cling to your big, strong arm?”

“I’m appalled you think I’m that easy, miss.” He flexed one of those big, strong arms in question in the sluttiest possible way. “It’s no campfire ghost story. The folks who work here believe it. They say there’s a huge beast living in the basement, roaming the halls at night.” Holding up his hands, he hummed the Twilight Zone theme. “They say it preys on researchers who embezzle grant money and curators who hit on their secretaries.”

Alice laughed, maybe snorted a little, decidedly unladylike. “So, you’re saying I’m safe then?”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he teased with faux gravity. “Just stick close to me.”

“That sounds like a pretty firm offer to help with some research to me.” She put her hands on her hips in a playful challenge.

“Would it be smart of you to trust the research skills of a man who’s not wearing a tweed jacket?” He grinned. “What kind of research? Are you a student?”

“God no!” she laughed. “I haven’t been a student in over a decade. I’m something much worse.”

Nick raised his eyebrows, inquiring.

“I’m a defense lawyer, trying desperately to find an angle to show my very guilty client has a mitigating defense.” She mirrored his expression, raising her eyebrows. “You want the facts? They’re not for the squeamish. You don’t have a full stomach, do you?”

“A pretty face with a shady job and an iron stomach to boot?” he laughed again. “You have my attention.”

“Have you ever gotten carried away and gone down some weird rabbit holes?” she asked with a self-deprecating grin.

‘Sure.” He nodded. “I’m not surprised you’re one to go chasing rabbits, Alice.”

“My client is a murder, a serial killer. A cannibal, to be precise.” She watched him for any of the silent tells she was used to seeing when a listener wanted her to stop, or to chew their arm off and escape her work stories. Seeing none, she continued. “He grew up in Centralia, Pennsylvania before the town was evacuated, then worked in mines all of his adult life. He tells me this affected him. Sadly, conventional psych evals don’t back up his claim. So, before I lay out the big bucks on an expert to say whatever I want, I wanted to do some research on the effects of heavy metal poisoning on miners and a correlation with cannibalism. I figured looking at the Old West miners before there were regulations might be a good place to start.”

“Cannibalism, huh? Romantic topic. Did you see the Donner Party exhibit?” He smirked and jerked his thumb in the direction of a diorama of several wax figures huddled around a dying campfire, clutching furs around them to fight the bitter blizzarding cold while suggestively roasting skewers of meat.

“It’s very nice.” She looked back at the macabre display. “But not what I’m looking for. They had a different defense to cannibalism. Duress, definitely. If I were representing one of them, I’d also argue self-defense, in an eat or be eaten sense. I’d win.”

Nick grinned then pursed his lips, nodding as he considered her problem. “You won’t find anything useful up here but if you want to go deeper down this rabbit hole, you’d want to have a look in the museum’s archives. This museum has the largest collection of natural history artifacts in the world. That’s one reason I’m here, frankly, is a chance to explore their collection of Old West relics. It’s better than being a kid in a candy store. It’s almost as good as an occultist getting a backstage pass to the Vatican Archives.” He fixed his intense eyes on hers. “I bet we could find some good stuff in there.”

“Are you offering to sneak me into the museum’s archives with you?” She added a seductive edge to her voice and added, “You’re going to lift up the museum’s skirt for me and show me her goods?”

“I’ll have you know skirt-lifting is a great talent of mine.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, I’m offering, so long as you let me take you out afterwards. We can discuss our findings over dinner.”

“You won’t get in trouble?” she asked sincerely.

“They can’t fire me.” He shrugged. “The worst they could do is chew me out and deport me back to Cheyanne. What do you say? Dinner in exchange for a private curated tour and me risking getting a big ole ass-chewing?”

“Deal.” Alice smiled, offering her hand again and they shook on it.

*******************************************************************************************

It was creeping toward five when Nick led Alice out of an employee service elevator on one of the lower levels of the museum. They had met an exodus of employees heading the opposite direction on their way home for the day.

“Is it too late for this adventure?” Alice asked as they walked down a hallway so long she could barely see the end of it. The lights were dim and there were no windows on this lower level. They passed dozens of closed doors and multiple other hallways branching off. She thought the minotaur could get lost in this place.

“I have my all hours, all access pass.” He tapped his jeans pocket where a laminated card was stowed. It served as both an ID card and a key to most of the locked doors in the museum and the employee-only areas.

“How do you not get lost in here?” Alice asked, looking around the endless halls. Especially with no natural light or signage, it seemed impossible.

“Nah, I get lost all the time. I consider it part of the adventure,” he laughed, then saw her askance look and added sheepishly, “Sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be your intrepid guide. I won’t let on if I get lost. Just consider it exploring.”

“That’s comforting,” she laughed too. Secretly, she thought it might not be the most terrible thing to be lost for a few hours or even the night in a place with so much to explore with a handsome man.

Alice was convinced they had covered the distance of several city blocks before they arrived at a pair of heavy oak doors with a plain brass plate announcing they had reached the B Archives.

“Does that mean there’s an entire alphabet of archive rooms and collections?” she asked as Nick held the door open for her.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “I’ve only poked around in Archives A, B, and C. Those collections date from the recent past until the eighteenth century or so.”

Inside the B Archives, Alice was reminded of an enormous library that had seen better days. Or the basement of an ultra-rich hoarder. Rows of metal shelves streaked away as far as she could see in the dim lighting, seven-feet high and with another foot or two of boxes piled on top. Between rows there was enough space for two people to walk abreast if they wanted to get a little cozy with one another. At various intervals in the rows there were alcoves fitted with small tables where one could examine their find without taking it up to the front. The light added to the aged feel, the bulbs candlelight-yellow, a few of which were weak and flickering. The front of the room had a kind of sitting area with chairs and a spattering of small tables. There was a small office inside too, a door with a smoked glass window open ajar.

A hunched old man with white hair and coke bottle glasses poked his head out from the office door, squinting at Nick for several seconds before addressing him. “You’ve been bothering me a lot lately.”

“This time I brought a pretty girl who wants to bother you,” Nick said, placing his hand on the small of Alice’s back as he led her toward the old man. “She’s curious what you have on mines in the old west. Particularly mines with gruesome histories. Murders, deaths, breakouts of illness or insanity. All that good stuff. Cannibalism in particular, if you have any of that on the menu.”

“Cannibalism? On a perfectly decent Friday afternoon?” The old man scoffed, but proceeded to ponder the matter, his bushy white eyebrows drawing together in thought. After a moment, he held up a triumphant finger. “You know, there is a rather curious box of effects that might interest you. It’s some remnants of an old Colorado sheriff’s things. He led quite an illustrious life, it seems. His heirs donated most of his effects to the museum. I took a quick peek through it years ago when it came in, but I haven’t thought of it since.” He pointed a bony finger down the row of aisles. “Aisle S, box 5425, if memory serves, and it always does.”

“How in the hell do you do that?” Nick asked, shaking his head.

“Photographic memory.” The man tapped his temple. “Which also means I’ll remember you precisely if you mess up my boxes.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Nick assured him then led the way toward aisle S.

It took them some time to locate box 5425, partially because many of the labels were faded beyond readability. When they found it, Nick had to stand on his tiptoes and stretch his arms to their full reach to nudge it off its perch on top of another box on the top shelf. He nearly dropped the box when it came free, catching it with one hand and fumbling for balance for a harrowing second. Once he held it securely in his arms, he smiled cockily at Alice and headed toward the nearest alcove in their row.

The alcove was centered in the row and seated directly under a flickering yellow light. Nick set the box down on the small table, barely large enough for a coffee date. The lights were sparsely spaced, leaving shadowy stretches between pools of yellow light. There were still several towering rows of shelving between them and the entrance, but sound carried well in the sepulcher-like room. He was spreading the contents of the box out on the table when he heard then entrance door creak open and a voice bounced down the aisle toward them.

“I’m clocking out for the day.” The old man called. “Put that box back where you found it and don’t tell anyone I left you unattended in here, and we’ll still be friends tomorrow.”

“You got it,” Nick replied, projecting his deep voice so it boomed through the archives. Then he turned to Alice with a wolfish expression, “I hope you didn’t want a chaperone.”

“All a chaperone does is keep an honest man honest,” she replied, appreciating just how close they stood at the small table. “I think you’re a man who will break as many rules as I let you, chaperone or not.”

“Maybe so.” He grinned sideways and chewed his lip as he opened the box.

It may have been a mistake, she realized, allowing herself to be shut away privately and in such close confines with this man. Her profession was dominated by men, she was used to working closely with men and attractiveness or lack thereof never entered into it. Rarely, at least. It was a foreign feeling to be dominated by hormones the way she was now. Her senses felt assaulted, a gate failing before a battering ram. The way he looked and the rich gravel in his voice were bad enough, but now in the close space, Alice couldn’t ignore the masculine scent that subtly infiltrated her nose. She didn’t know if the scent of pine and leather mingled with musk was cologne or if it belonged to him. The small table necessitated him being close to her, their bodies almost touching. He didn’t crowd her, but still the size of him was tantalizingly imposing with the minimal space between them. She felt the heat from his body on her skin when he leaned over to study the papers spread across the table next to her. It made her think of being overpowered, manhandled, taken, even – the things that modern empowered women were supposed to have evolved beyond but that the base part of them craved when they sensed a man masculine enough to give it.

Nick pulled a letter from the box, the paper brittle and yellowed with age. Protocol dictated he should be wearing gloves to handle it, but he didn’t want to leave Alice alone long enough to fetch a pair. Despite his bravado, he had always found these dark and mostly abandoned places inside the museum creepy. He never let it get to him or get in the way of anything he needed to do, of course. But it was still an unsettling sort of environment, surrounded by the dead and their effects, in a place where voices echoed and shadows creeped. It was easy to imagine wakeful spirits watching him from the corner of his eye, just at the edges of the feeble light.

Not unlike being inside a deep, dark mine, he thought as he looked at the letter. He read aloud to Alice, thinking he might have actually struck gold, at least in terms of finding something to keep their afternoon interesting.

October 13, 1882

Darlin Belle,

I’m sure missin you tonight. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this but I hope it will find its way to you. I’m gonna write you like you was here with me and I was just talkin to you over dinner. It makes me miss you less. Every time I think about bein home, all that is to me is bein with you. The men in the posse kid me for bein whipped by you but I can’t find a damn to give over it. Miserable lonely bastards, the lot of em. But I guess they didn’t leave no one behind to miss em when they died. I hope you’ll miss me and remember the things that were good about me. There aren’t many, so it shouldn’t be hard.

“That sounds romantic,” Alice said with a wistful lilt. “I’m not sure it’s useful for my purposes, but I like it.”

Nick grinned and nodded. He read ahead to himself, but decided not to share it with the woman who was now looking at him with a pretty, hopeful smile. Best not to spoil the mood. He read the next few paragraphs to himself, feeling a prickly chill drag along the length of his spine like ghostly fingernails.

It’s been snowin up here in these mountains for days and it’s up over my knees now. Sure makes me miss the warmth of your touch. There’s nothin finer than holdin you in my arms, smellin your hair like flowers and cinnamon, feelin you soft n warm. I think you might be the only thing that can thaw me out ever again. Here I gone and got myself all hot and bothered just thinkin about you. But the snow’s been a blessin for me. It made the blood trail of the one I wounded easy to follow. I found him holed up under a ledge and finished him off with my knife so as not to fire off a shot. Sound carries in these mountains. The snow got thicker after dark. Thick enough to hide my tracks from the rest who are huntin me.

They haven’t found my hideout yet, but they will. I have to beat em to the punch.

I ain’t got much time cause they know the mountains better than me. It makes hidin hard and ambushin harder.

Sorry my writins goin from bad to worse fast. My fingers are numb as hell.

Curious, Alice leaned in to look at the letter and read it along with him. Spender folded it back together with a snap, too rough for the old paper and cleared his throat. He hastily put it back in the box – in the bottom of the box, under some other more innocuous looking items. “I don’t think the rest is worth reading today.”

Instead, he reached for a pocket watch with a gold hunting case, beautifully engraved with an elk hunting scene. Holding it delicately in his hands, he popped open the cover and read the engraving aloud, “To my handsome sheriff. You carry my love for you wherever you go. Belle.”

“That’s beautiful.” Turning toward him, Alice looked into his eyes as she spoke. Though his composure remained steady on the surface, she saw the way his chest expanded, his jaw clenched, his throat bobbed. It gave her a feeling of power knowing Nick was just as affected by their proximity as she was, maybe even more. She told herself she wouldn’t completely give into hormones. But she could give a little. How long had it been since she’d made out with a man like a horny teenager during a study session? Probably not since she had been a horny teenager. She could live a little now. Resting her ass against the tale, she leaned back against it and looked up at him, intentionally giving him the image of her laying sprawled beneath him. It would be a perfectly innocuous posture if the air wasn’t so charged between them, the attraction so tangible. The way he swallowed thickly told her that it wasn’t innocuous to him either.

The next move was his, Nick realized. Smirking to mask the way his pulse thundered, he stepped closer to her, using the excuse of setting the watch down on the table near her hip resting against the table’s edge. He left his hand there on the table, and when Alice kept looking up at him rather than anywhere else, Nick knew he had her tacit approval to act bolder. With his next step, he positioned himself in front of her. His right hand still rested near the pocket watch that held less interest to Alice than the man. He flattened his right hand on the table beside her then planted his left hand on her opposite side. There was still space between their bodies, if only inches, but he now caged her against the table and loomed over her.

“Find anything that interests you down here yet, darlin?’” he asked, letting the huskiness in his voice reflect his mounting arousal.

Alice heard something that sounded like a faint scratch from somewhere inside the archives. It was hardly enough to pull her attention away from the stupidly attractive man who was doing his best to make her forget all the dating rules and run every base right here in this dusty archive.

“I don’t have enough information to know if I’m interested in anything yet,” she teased. Angling her chin up, she presented her jaw and neck in a favorable angle for kissing.

“What do I need to clear up for you?” he played along as he lowered his head, trailing his nose over her cheek and his lips over her jaw, kissing lightly and teasing her with the scratch of his beard.

A box shifted on a shelf deeper in the archive, as though something had bumped it or rubbed against it. Alice heard that too, but she didn’t care. Not when Nick’s lips had moved to her neck and were giving her goosebumps, making her breath come short and her spine tingle. Encouraged by the way her body arched toward his and the way her hands had flown to his shoulders, Nick hooked his hands behind her thighs and hoisted her up onto the table. Pushing her legs apart, he stepped between them, bringing their bodies together then letting his hands caress her thighs and back as he continued kissing her neck. Every part of his body was hard beneath her roving hands, each plane and ridge of muscle a new excitement to discover. She could feel how hard he was inside his jeans too, but she would save exploring all of him for another time. She had talked herself into a nice makeout session with a handsome stranger, but she hadn’t yet abandoned all of her morals.

Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, he cradled her head while he exerted that subtle masculine control that could make a woman want to submit to him. Nick teased the side of her neck with his teeth, also teasing her restraint. He grinned against her skin when he pulled a soft moan from her throat, beginning to lose himself in the feel of her body against his, her soft skin under his callused hands.

When she moaned, Alice heard a strange response from somewhere in the dimly lit room. Something like a wet huffed breath, or a sloppy inhale. It sounded like a large dog snuffling. It was unmistakably not something she could attribute to the old room or hear ears playing tricks on her.

“Nick,” she whispered, not from arousal but trepidation. “Did you hear that?”

“’Course, darlin,’” he muttered dismissively as he nosed and kissed along her collarbone, his fingers digging into her thigh.

“What is it?” She was starting to pull back, making him tighten his hold on her.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” he spoke against her skin, trying to placate her. He hadn’t heard anything, but if there was something, it was probably a fucking rat the size of a wiener dog. They had those fuckin’ things in New York. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that. Giant rats wouldn’t do a damn thing to keep her revved up for him. Forcing the thought from his own mind, he resumed kissing her, rubbing his words in with his lips. “It’s an old place. There’s bound to be some weird noises.”

“Listen!” she whisper-yelled, grabbing a fistful of his thick hair and yanking far too harshly to be mistaken for anything sexy.

He winced and frowned at her through one eye, the other was squeezed shut from the pain in his scalp. “You could just tell me to fuckin’ stop, you know?”

“Listen,” she said again, this time her whisper was barely audible. She heard another scrape and maybe another sniffing breath. But everything was quieter now, more subtle. As if whatever was making those faint noises was trying to be stealthier.

“That could be anything,” Nick said at full volume with a laugh on his voice. His voice seemed to boom throughout the archives, sparking off Alice’s inflamed nerve endings.

She clapped a hand over his mouth, hard enough to make him flinch. Her body was bolt upright, incidentally pressing her body flush to his, her every muscle taught. She knew her system had shot into a fight or flight response, but she didn’t know why. Her consciousness hadn’t registered anything that warranted such a reaction, a few odd sounds in an old museum was hardly noteworthy. But something about what she heard struck a chord in her core, deep in her subconscious where instinct reigned. Every sense she had sparked like live electric wires, screaming at her to run away as fast as she could, but she didn’t know what she was running from or even which direction to bolt. Her eyes were wide and terrified when they met Nick’s and she whispered, “Something’s in here with us. Listen. We have to get out.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement and he kissed her palm still held over his mouth. Taking her wrist, he plucked her hand away and kissed her there on her pulse point. He did it teasingly, but he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, “I spooked you good with that story about the Museum Beast.” He smirked and teased further, “I thought you were a big girl who could handle some campfire tales.”

“Can you not hear anything over the sound of your hard on?” she hissed, placing a restraining hand on his chest. “Listen, and try to think with the right head for a minute.”

Nick laughed, he always had a weakness for the feisty ones. He was about to tell her as much and steal another kiss when he heard it. A kind of snuffling, like someone with a runny nose, but also different and unmistakable. Growing up in Wyoming, he had spent plenty of time outdoors around wildlife, hunting, fishing, and hiking. He’d heard that sound once before when he’d come face to face with a grizzly around a bend in a trail. Given their poor eyesight, grizzlies tended to grunt and sniff their way along, their way of assessing their environment. He didn’t believe what his mind registered. There couldn’t be a fucking bear in a New York museum. But he also couldn’t rationally attribute the sound to some wheezy curator or a congested janitor, especially not when paired with a stealthy padded footfall.

“We need to run.” Alice fisted his lapel. Her voice had dropped below a whisper to an urgent breath.

“No, darlin,’ don’t run.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her off the table, returning her feet to the floor. Taking her arm, he pulled her behind him, placing himself closest toward the strange noises and whatever creature made them. He began to back slowly away down the aisle, pushing her behind him, trying to keep his steps silent. His mind raced frantically, but he forced his body to remain in control, repeating, “Don’t run.”

“Can we fight it?” she asked, touching his back from behind, trying to calm herself by keeping contact with him

“We may have to,” Nick gritted, unsure what to do since he had no idea what was creeping toward them from a few rows away. “Just don’t run. If there’s some kind of animal in here with us, the worst thing you can do is run.”

*******************************************************************************************

That little bitch, Warren thought petulantly as he walked down the dim hallway. The hallway that stretched on for the length of a city block. It was such bullshit. He hadn’t walked this much since he got kicked off his co-ed flag football team in junior high. Fuck her, he thought again as he kicked at a piece of crumpled paper on the tile floor, missed, and stumbled sideways. At least no one was around to see him. His uppity date was nowhere to be found. She had the gall to shove him away when he tried to fondle her boobs before running away from him. The ungrateful bitch. Warren had used his lunch hour to help her sneak out of high school, had paid her admission into the museum, and wasted his afternoon leading her around the exhibits and thrilling her with his acumen. She owed him a feel. He would just tell all her friends she sucked his dick in his car and have the last laugh.

Sullenly picking at the chipped black paint on his stubby fingers, he turned down yet another pointlessly long hallway. Despite being as blonde as a California It Girl and having a dumpy potatoesque physique, he thought that his crooked guyliner and black skinny jeans that revealed a tantalizing glimpse of a sweaty plumber’s crack gave him the hot goth look the girls liked. Not so much the girls in his peerage at college – they were stuck up bitches anyway, already hounding after the guys who were studying law at Harvard – but the girls who were just about to graduate from high school, just turned eighteen, maybe a little homely and desperate for a date to prom. Those were his preferred prey. He usually had some meager success with them, before their fathers found out about him and heartlessly separated them. It enhanced his view of himself as a tragic, long-suffering Shakespearean love interest who had turned to goth rock to bemoan his existence.

Since Warren had somehow managed to get turned around inside the maze of hallways until after it closed for the day, the museum was also devoid of employees. He thought it was only a matter of time before he ran into a security guard. He had a story lined up for why he was inside after hours, a grand tale that emphasized his victimhood. Maybe he could even end up with his name in the paper over it. That would really impress the girls.

Now, Warren lumbered along a random hallway, trying to find his way to an exit. He needed to find an elevator first. He had sneaked into some kind of service elevator with the girl and gone down several floors in his search for privacy. He thought he was in some kind of storage area or basement now, every room he passed was vacant save for troves of weird antiques. He had found the door to a stairwell a few turns back down the hallway, but he wasn’t about to walk up several flights of stairs. His day had been shit enough so far without climbing stairs.

After what seemed like an eternity, he came to a pair of double doors marked B Archives. He couldn’t remember the last time he had walked so far. He must have put in over two miles inside this stupid museum already. Like, a month’s worth of walking. Maybe there was a desk inside with a chair he could rest in even if he couldn’t find an employee to lead him out of this suckhole.

Success! Inside the B Archives were rows of forgotten looking shelves that Warren couldn’t give a shit less about, but there was also an office with an open door and the promise of a desk and cushy chair. The lights were on inside, giving him the additional hope that some diligent employee still remained there after hours.

“Hey?” he called out to anyone who might answer. His voice echoed eerily down the rows and off the tile like tumbleweeds rolling down the streets of a ghost town. “Is there anyone here? I need some directions to the way out.”

Something sounded in response from far back in the archives, down one of the dim rows. It sounded like a startled step, like he had caught someone off guard and they had turned around fast.

“If you could call a guard or even just tell me how to find the exit, that would be great,” Warren shouted. He walked toward the sound, down toward the back of the archives past the ends of the phalanx of aisles. A strange feeling began to creep into his senses, like the uneasy feeling he got when he watched horror movies alone. The feeling that had made him instigate a rule that he didn’t watch scary movies after nine. He even thought he heard the sound of something breathing heavily. Maybe he needed to ration his porn intake too, now he was blending porn sound effects with horror reactions. He mumbled to himself, “Who wouldn’t be creeped out by all this stupid old shit?”

Warren hadn’t paid attention to the way his walk had slowed without him meaning to or the way his mouth had gone dry. He jumped like he had bumped into an electric fence when one of the lightbulbs overhead surged then dimmed. He was glad the girl had run off now, so she couldn’t see him sweat and his hands shake. He heard something down the aisle to his left, something like a single impatient rap of nails on a desk.

The flickering of a waning yellow bulb drew his attention down the aisle. In the flickering light, it looked like something was moving in the aisle, just beyond the reach of the light on the far side. Something crouched and hulking in the shadows. It must be a trick of the dim light. That and being a little freaked out from being stuck down here all alone for what felt like hours. Still, Warren wished he had worn his smudged glasses. He didn’t wear them when he was trying to impress a girl because they weren’t cool.

He was focusing too hard on the shadows. Focus too hard on something and it can seem like the thing is moving. It was a common optical illusion, and the flickering light didn’t help. It made the weird shape in the shadows look like an animal with its head lowered, stealthily sneaking toward him down the aisle.

“Fuck this,” Warren exclaimed, throwing his hands up like an overwrought woman. He didn’t need to be in the creepy old room in the creepy old museum basement. At least the never-ending hallways weren’t filled to the brim with weird antiques.

Down the aisle something sniffed, like someone with a runny nose. Something definitely moved just beyond the light.

“Shit’s probably haunted,” he decided. That made it easier. He was a staunch Ghost Hunters fan and he’d learned a thing or two from them. Forcing a laugh, he added, “Suck my balls, ghosts!”

Turning on his heel in a flippant insult to the ghosts, he walked briskly back the way he had come. He heard something else, seemingly misplaced inside the haunted archives. He very distinctly heard the sound of a footfall and what sounded like a muffled voice, maybe two if one was whispering, coming from deeper down one of the aisles. But it was immediately overshadowed by the sound of a heavy body rushing down the aisle with the flickering light, and nails scraping on tile. Or claws.

Looking back over his shoulder, Warren saw a huge dark body moving fast down the aisle toward him in a kind of lope. An animal, grunting and running toward him. His mind couldn’t process all the details, or it didn’t want to. What his mind hitched on were the teeth. When the creature ran through the scant pool of light, vicious exposed teeth glinted inside its snarling jaws.

Warren ran.

The beast lunged after its prey with the instinct of a predator to chase after a fleeing animal. Warren felt it when the beast gave chase, like the stale air had chilled and all the ghosts inside the archives were watching him. Claws scrambling on tile and heavy galloping echoed behind him, punctuated by grunts.

Warren could see the exit door. It wasn’t far. He could make it. Trying to make his legs pump faster, he looked back over his shoulder. The creature had rounded the end of the aisle and was charging straight at him in large bounding strides. It was bigger than a lion with terrible yellow eyes and teeth like ivory daggers. And it was close.

With a sob, Warren tried to eke out more speed from his already failing legs, but his steps were clumsy and his breathing labored. All that walking all day had done him in. Something slammed into his back, heavy and sharp at the same time, sending him careening forward face down onto the tile. His back felt like it was on fire, stinging and melting at the same time with hot fluid slicking his shirt to his skin.

Crying, Warren looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the creature’s mouth open as it came in for the killing bite. But the beast sat on its haunches, poised like a giant cat, flicking a broad reptilian tail from side to side and drumming the claws of its forepaw on the tile. It watched him with evil yellow eyes, and it waited. With another blubbering sob, Warren staggered up to his feet and tried to run again. He didn’t get as far this time, only a few steps. The beast bounded after him, swiping one of its razor-clawed paws at Warren’s legs. Warren felt his flesh tear as his feet gave out from under him and he collapsed again. He had played enough gory video games to guess the beast had clawed through his calf on one leg and severed his Achilles tendon on the other.

The creature paused again, watching its crippled prey with a curiously cocked head as the pitiful human crawled away, one foot turned the wrong direction and flopping lifelessly on the floor, leaving a wide swatch of delicious smelling blood in its wake.

Warren couldn’t stand back up this time, and he barely had enough gumption left to crawl. After a few desperate flailing attempts, he turned over and flopped onto his back. He stared at the horrendous beast, his watery eyes meeting those of fearsome yellow. With a sickening horror that churned in his bowels he realized what the beast was doing. It was playing with him. The fucking monster was toying with him like a cat with a mouse. The beast cocked its head to the other side as it gave an impatient flick of its tail. Just like a cat with a mouse, the fun was over when the mouse stopped running.

Warren swore he saw an excited gleam flash inside those eyes as the monster lunged at him one final time. He looked into its ravenous eyes, as a heavy weight landed on his chest, pinning him in place. He felt his body being ripped open from throat to crotch with a sound like tearing burlap. The pain was extraordinary, but he couldn’t close his eyes against it.

Gruesome wet smacking noises filled the archive and Warren’s body jerked, tugged from someplace deep inside. He tried to scream but couldn’t with his diaphragm slashed open. Warren was still very much alive when the monster started eating him.

*******************************************************************************************

Nick could hear it clearly now, a heavy body moving with great stealth and wet breathing. Closing in on them from a couple aisles away. There could be no doubt, no mistaking it for the noises of an old room or for scuttling vermin. He had placed his body between the approaching animal and the woman. It was a protective male instinct and gallant, but not an act that would be overly helpful if the thing attacked them. A human’s top speed was equivalent to a chicken. If an Olympic sprinter would have a hard time outrunning a rooster, Nick had no delusions that he could outrun an apex predator. All running would do would trigger it into attacking. He also didn’t think he could fight it off, not if it really wanted to attack. He didn’t have a weapon and humans were really quite feeble animals without their tools. He knew the ways a man could try to survive a predator attack – play dead with a grizzly, fight a black bear, shout at a lion to try to scare it off. None of them would work if the animal really wanted to get him. Then, a man could only hope the animal lost interest before it killed him. Balling his fists, he decided that if it came to a fight, he’d fight until his last breath. Or until he was torn apart.

“Hey! Is there anyone here? I need some directions to the way out,” an unfamiliar voice sounded through the archives.

Nick froze, every sense piqued. He reached behind him and grabbed Alice’s hand, squeezing tightly, silently willing her to stay calm and quiet. He didn’t know the woman and he hoped to hell she had enough sense to stay still and silent, not to yell back toward the stranger or to run in his direction. A mistake like that would be their death sentence. Alice squeezed his hand back, reassuring him, and placed her other hand on his back. The monstrous beast had stilled, its attention captured by the noisome intruder instead of the quieter, more boring quarry. It sniffed the air, assessing the stranger.

Each heartbeat pounded in Nick’s ears like war drums, each second an agony as they waited for the monster to decide which prey it wanted to hunt. With frightening quickness, the beast turned and vanished into the shadowy depths of the aisle.

Keeping hold of Alice’s hand, Nick turned to her and met her eyes. Very deliberately, he brought his forefinger to his lips in the universal gesture for utter silence. He tugged her with him down the aisle in the opposite direction the creature had gone. They heard the stranger’s voice asking the room if someone could tell him how to find the exit. Nick led Alice away from the stranger and away from the beast.

The unknown man was toast. There was nothing Nick could do, and he wasn’t going to waste the life of a woman trying to save a man he didn’t know. He was also smart enough or shellfish enough to value his own life over that of a foolhardy stranger. He hoped the fool would distract the monster enough for them to sneak around it and make the exit themselves. His mind raced ahead of his feet, thinking past the exit to the museum. If they made it out of the archives, they would find themselves back in a long, straight hallway with nowhere to hide and no chance of outrunning whatever the hell this animal was.

To reassure himself, he felt his pocket for the museum key card. He didn’t know if it would help them, but without it they had no chance.

The stranger’s footsteps echoed through the archives as the man started walking down along the ends of the forest of aisles. Nick gambled that the beast’s attention was fixed on that sound and that victim. Pulling Alice along beside him, he trotted down the aisle as swiftly as he could while keeping his footsteps light. For such a large man, he could move stealthily, a skill ingrained by a youth spent hunting with his father and refined by a stint in the military. He was pleased that Alice matched him in both pace and silence. He ran to the far end of the aisle, listening to the intermittent mutterings from the idiot bumbling around at the front of the vast room. The beast could no longer be heard, which worried him, but he had gambled on this hand and now he had to let it ride.

The back of the archives was notably darker than the front and even in between the aisles with the temperamental lightbulbs. An animal stink hung in the air along the back wall, as if the animal used this shady area as a trail of sorts. They moved quickly past the ends of the aisles in the direction of the exit. Nick was a step ahead, still holding Alice’s hand. Looking down each aisle they passed, the archives flashed in time with their steps, giving a visual picture of the room pieced together in morse code.

Nick stopped suddenly, causing Alice to collide with his back. He was so solid, she didn’t even knock him off balance, like running into a warm sculpture. He didn’t so much as look down at her, his wide eyes fixed down the aisle. Thirty feet away from them down the aisle, a hulking silhouette crouched in the center. It looked black in the feeble light and had no discernable features, but they could tell it faced away from them by a broad crocodilian tail flicking back and forth as it watched and waited. Nick didn’t dare move again, not even to step back behind the end of the aisle. It was blind luck the beast had been so focused on the stranger that it hadn’t seen or heard them creeping up at its back. His heart thundered so loudly in his own ears that he thought the beast must surely hear it too.

“Suck my balls, ghosts!” the fool shouted from the end of the aisle, then he started marching away back toward the exit. The beast’s tail stilled, as it watched its prey retreat.

Nick squeezed Alice’s hand, a signal to make ready. The stranger hadn’t taken three steps when the beast launched itself forward down the aisle, entirely focused on its prey. Nick whispered urgently, his voice little more than a growled breath, “Now, we run!”

Nick charged ahead, sprinting full tilt down the back of the archives, pulling Alice along with him. She gripped his hand tight, letting herself be all but dragged along, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. There was no other way she could keep pace with his long surging stride. Their running footsteps were overshadowed by the sharp sound of claws scrambling on tile and a heavy pounding gallop, then by the sobbing screams of the stranger when the beast caught him. There was no mistaking the anguished cries that filled the archive like a whirring saw in a butcher shop.

At the end of the room, Nick careened around the last aisle, his boots slipping on the tile, and pushed himself even harder down the last straight stretch along the wall toward the door. The screaming continued, now imbued with a gurgling wet quality and sickening chewing and crunching. Alice had heard sounds like that before on National Geographic shows featuring lions over a kill. A meaty abattoir smell engulfed them as they raced down the aisle, bringing them closer to both the beast and the exit.

There was open space at the front of the room, where the beast presently feasted on its dying prey. About fifteen feet worth of open floor between the ends of the aisles and the exit door. There was no option of hiding or stealth when they crossed it. Nick made a mad dash when he reached the end of the aisle, bursting out onto the open floor like a pheasant breaking cover in front of a hound.

The beast reared up from its kill, startled by the two humans erupting from the aisle. It took a second to assimilate these new targets, enough time for them to cover half the open floor. Gnashing its bloody jaws, the beast lunged after the two new fleeing morsels. It landed on forepaws slick with blood, its front legs slipping and splaying out on the tile. Its wet claws found no purchase on tile, and the beast fishtailed before getting its balance.

Nick turned loose of Alice’s hand a step before the double doors and barreled into them with his shoulder at full speed. The doors exploded open, shooting splinters of wood out into the hallway, with Nick falling through off-balance. Alice jumped through on his heels and he pushed her ahead of him as he recovered his footing and ran. Reaching into his pocket for the museum badge, he heard the beast grunting and scrambling through the broken wooden doors, very close behind them.

The nearest door down the hallway was marked obscurely Lab 754, a single door with no windows and a scanner beside it. He didn’t know what was inside, but he knew they couldn’t outrun the monster down a straight hallway. Grabbing Alice by the waistband of her jeans, Nick skidded them both to a stop at the door. His fingers felt clumsy when he articulated the badge over the scanner. A militant light flashed red and an insolent tone told him the card was declined.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Nick growled as Alice’s nails dug painfully into his arm. Turning the badge over so his gawky picture faced outward and the barcode on the back faced the scanner, he pressed it against the scanner again and gripped the doorknob in a blanched white fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hulking creature charging down the hallway at them, eyes gleaming yellow, teeth glinting white.

A green light flashed, taking too long to approve their entry with a pleasant tone. The beast was another stride closer, close enough to see individual drops of blood slinging from its jaws. The lock slid open with a metallic click. Nick wrenched the doorknob and yanked the door open toward him. Alice rushed inside, but he shoved her ahead of him anyway as he slipped in behind her. The beast crashed into the open door, slamming it shut right behind Nick’s back with violent force. He had thrown himself inside and barreled into Alice, all but tackling her to the floor as he fell and sprawled over her. He cringed involuntarily at the sound of the beast colliding with the wooden door, hunching over Alice beneath him.

All doors opened outward in public buildings like the museum, pursuant to fire code regulations. And most of the doors in this older basement area of the museum were thick, sturdy wood. The door shuddered ominously, but it held.

Nick looked down at Alice from the position of a lover with his hands planted on either side of her head, his hips pinning her down, their chests touching and their noses nearly so. “Are you alright? We have to keep moving. That door won’t hold for long.”

“Waiting on you,” she said breathlessly, shoving on his broad chest to push him back.

The beast roared and hit the door again. This time splinters shot into the room from the dying doorframe like tiny javelins.

Nick pulled her up with him as he pushed up to his feet. They each looked around the room, trying to quickly assess their surroundings. Fluorescent light lined the ceiling instead of weak yellow bulbs. A long central table ran the length of the room piled with what looked like various artifacts and fossils, including the impressive skull of a sabretooth tiger. Chairs were pulled up to the table at intervals, demarcating different workstations. The air inside was cool and crisp and a subtle whirring indicated a local air system. A shop broom leaned in the far corner, its bristles chalky white with bone dust.

“A restoration lab, damn it to hell.” Nick slammed his hand angrily on the tabletop. “We won’t find anything useful in here.” But he began looking anyway as he made his way through the room.

Alice lingered behind him, turning on several bright lamps placed over the table and pointing them at the rapidly weakening door. She turned on one of the drills on the table, leaving it to buzz and bounce across the tabletop. Nick looked at her with a frown and she shrugged and told him, “It might buy us a few more seconds.”

The back of the room ended depressingly in a simple wall. Nick glared at it as if he could burn a hole through the plaster with his anger. He grinned sardonically at Alice, “The hallway makes a U bend. The service elevator we came down in is probably less than twenty away on the other side of this wall. You don’t happen to have a battering ram hidden in your brassier, do you?”

“That would be my other bra,” she said, looking back at the door as it took another thunderous hit, this time accompanied by the squeal of the metal hinges bending inward.

Nick leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling in frustration. His body jerked like he’d been startled and he ran to the broom standing in the corner. Grabbing it, he sprinted back to the far wall, holding it like a spear. Using the wide, bristled head, he rammed it straight up above his head and into the square air vent in the ceiling. Another hard thrust and the vent crumpled and fell out of the ventilation shaft, leaving a gaping square hole in the ceiling ten feet above their heads.

“Here!” he told Alice urgently, clapping his hands together before linking his fingers to form a stirrup with his hands. The beast struck the door again, tearing a hole through the wood. It pawed through the hole with its claws, scraping and tearing at the wood as it snarled in frustration.

“Can you get up there too?” Alice asked as she placed her foot in his hands.

“Don’t think about it,” Nick grunted as he hefted her up into the square vent like she was nothing but a doll. She hoisted her high enough to bring her chest level with the inside of the vent. Planting her elbows on the flat metal and kicking her legs, she struggled inside. Laying on her stomach, she looked back down through the square hole at Nick below.

Bending his knees, he jumped straight up into the vent opening. It was at the far reach of his vertical jump, but his fingers caught the metal lip. But there was no purchase on the slick metal and his hands slipped off almost instantly. Alice leaned down into the opening, reaching a hand down to him.

“Get out of the way!” he waved her hand away. She began to protest, but he shouted, “Can you curl two-thirty-five? Then I’ll only pull you back out with me.”

The beast crashed into the door a final time, bursting into the lab in an explosion of splinters. It halted immediately when the brilliantly bright spotlight hit its eyes, sitting back on its haunches and shaking its head.

“Give me the broom!” Alice said.

Grinning with understanding despite it all, Nick shoved the head of the broom up into her hands. The beast snarled and swiped the light out of its eyes, then turned its attention to the jumping drill and its grating, high-pitched whine. Alice maneuvered the broom so its handle spanned the square opening, wedged as tightly against the sides as she could get it. The beast crushed the drill with its teeth, shaking its head with the drill in its mouth like a dog with a squeaky toy, then throwing it aside. Fixing its ferocious yellow eyes on Nick at the far end of the room, it charged.

Nick bent his knees, looking up at the broom handle inside the vent. He would only get one shot. Swinging his arms, he jumped up with everything he had. The beast swiped at Nick’s legs as he caught the broom handle, but he jerked them up just in time. Using the broom handle like a pull-up bar, he hoisted himself up into the ventilation shaft. Alice shoved herself backward to make room for him as he lunged forward into the small space, making sure his long legs were clear of the opening.

The beast jumped up after him, slamming its head into the metal of the shaft, denting it upwards. Roaring in frustration, it jumped again, making another dent. Then it reared on its hind legs and clawed at the metal. The sound was a terrible, deafening squeal inside the shaft, ringing in their ears. There was enough space for them to crawl on their hands and knees, and Alice crawled frantically away.

“Can’t beat the view,” Nick quipped, following right behind her.

The beast tried jumping at the vent once more before apparently realizing it was futile. The silence when it stopped was much more unnerving than the banging and scratching and snarling had been.

It didn’t take long for them to come to another vent. Looking through the metal slats, Nick quickly assessed they were now over the section of hallway that housed the service elevator. He easily yanked it open and dropped down through it to the floor. Alice lowered herself down feet first until she felt him catch her legs in a reassuring bearhug and let her slide the rest of the way down his body. Holding her against him, he grinned at her and jerked his chin to the side, “Look what we found.”

The service elevator was no more than fifteen feet away. As she sighed with relief, collapsing into Nick’s arms, Alice heard the now familiar sound of clawed feet scrambling on the tile. “It guessed where we were heading!”

They sprinted to the elevator and Nick punched the Up button over and over. The arrow above the doors illuminated green and the bell dinged. But the doors were old and slow to open. The beast rounded the corner of the hallway in a fury of claws and teeth and lather, charging at them with its horrible teeth bared in a snarl. But claws for all their ferocity did not keep traction on smooth tile. When the beast rounded the tight corner, it did so in an uncontrolled skid. The beast scrambled to keep its balance, but it had charged into the corner too fast. Its shoulder slammed into the opposite side of the hallway as it slid, paws flailing haphazardly beneath it, buying its prey an extra second to live. Nick shoved Alice inside when the opening between the doors was still too narrow for him to fit. Even as the doors still opened, she was pushing the button for the upper floor. Nick slipped inside as the beast ran him down, only one good lunge away.

Nick and Alice pressed themselves to the back of the elevator, watching helplessly as death charged at them and the doors closed too slowly. Their view between the doors narrowed with terrible sluggishness until all they could see were those slitted yellow eyes and bloody frothing jaws. The beast lunged at the gap in the doors, striking the metal with a horrendous crash. Saliva and blood spewed through the opening, splattering Alice and Nick, just as the doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.

The doors opened to a main hallway on one of the upper floors, home to the biggest and most popular museum exhibits. Large windows lined this hallway admitting the moonlight and there was enough light in the individual exhibits to allow the security cameras to identify a thief if needed. Many smaller hallways branched off this main one, each leading to an exhibit. They were near the entrance to an exhibit that glowed green in the dim light, labeled Rainforest. A metal stairwell door was beside the elevator.

“Now at least I know where we are,” Nick could have laughed with relief. He ducked into Alice and stole a quick kiss from her lips.

“Freeze!” A militant voice sliced through the silence in the hall. “Put your hands up!”

They turned to see a short and corpulent museum security guard standing behind them, holding a revolver trained on Nick. He had just rounded a corner of the hallway and shuffled toward them as quickly as his pendulous gut would allow, his utility belt jingling with every labored step. Using his gun, the guard gestured from Nick to the far wall, and ordered, “Turn and face that wall right now. And I better see your hands while you’re sniffing plaster. Move!”

“There’s something in here with us,” Alice said, trying to calm the guard. “You need to take us all out before it finds us.”

“I’m sure there is, honey,” the guard sniggered and took a belligerent step toward Nick. “I gave you a command, hoss.”

The security guard held his gun on Nick, the barrel shaking in his uncertain grip. He was the most dangerous sort of person to hold a man at gunpoint – nervous and unfamiliar with a weapon or with apprehending a suspect. Those were the men likely to shoot first and ask questions later, or even shoot accidentally when they shook hard enough to spasm their trigger finger.

“Turn around now!” the guard shouted again, spittle flying from his lips, his jowls quaking.

The guard was too far away from Nick to make a grab for the gun or knock it away. So, he turned, faced the wall, and planted his hands flat on its smooth surface. He made a great effort to keep his voice calm when he spoke over this shoulder, “Look, buddy, there’s something after us. Something chasing us. Something monstrous. None of us are safe here, including you. You have to get us all out right now. Arrest me and charge me with whatever the hell you want, just get us out.”

The guard spoke into the radio clipped to his belt, “I caught someone sneaking around inside the rainforest exhibit. Looks like a pair of lovebirds who broke in to get it on. I need backup. The guy’s giving me hell. He’s a big bastard too. Threatened my safety already.”

“Ten-Four,” a voice crackled through the radio static. “Sending backup. Just cuff ‘em and keep ‘em where you have ‘em until backup gets there.”

Risking a bullet, Nick growled, “Look, you stupid bastard. You can get all the backup you want and you can arrest me. So long as you get us the fuck outta here, and you do it now! We need to move, goddamnit!”

“The big guy is making more threats,” the guard radioed.

The sound of a door being shoved open inside the stairwell echoed behind the door. It sounded like it came from a flight or two below. Alice heard claws scrambling up the stairs. She met Nick’s cool eyes and she winked.

“Excuse me, sir,” Alice said to the guard in a demure tone. “Our friend’s in the stairwell. Go see for yourself. He’s the one you want to arrest.”

“What the Christ are you all doing in here?” the guard scoffed. “Bunch of assholes ruining my night to have a goddamn orgy!”

The scrambling reached the nearest steps, the sound of a heavy body closing in on the door. The guard heard it too. Keeping his gun pointed at Nick’s back, he stepped to the stairwell door. Grabbing the doorhandle, he yelled with gusto, “Hey asshole, this is museum security. I hear you in there. I’m gonna open the door and I better see your hands!”

He didn’t need to open the door. The door exploded open with a metal screech and a monstrous creature burst from the darkness of the stairwell, aiming for the blustering guard. The guard yanked the trigger when the beast struck him with the force of a wrecking ball, sending a bullet into the wall as man and beast went careening together twenty feet across the floor. Its body had passed Alice by inches, close enough for her to smell the fresh blood and older rancid death on its scaly hide.

Nick shoved away from the wall, grabbing Alice’s arm and running with her in the opposite direction from the carnage. The guard was screaming, but it lasted only as long as a few of their running strides before it was cut off with a wet gurgle and replaced by a sound like an overfull trash bag bursting.

They ran into the thick of the rainforest exhibit, where they were surrounded by vibrant dioramas and luscious vegetation. The windows on this floor admitted silver moonlight, allowing them to see it very clearly. Birds of every color of the spectrum were frozen mid-flight, golden jaguars prowled, and ancient Amazonian architecture formed a visual feast. The highlight of the rainforest exhibit was also the centerpiece of the exhibit hall. A huge glass terrarium filled with tropical vegetation housed an army of living butterflies. Thousands of beautiful butterflies of kaleidoscopic colors flitted through the plants inside in a living whirlwind of colorful wings.

They ran past the butterflies to the far end of the exhibit where another hallway branched off. Nick pointed down it and whispered, “The old west exhibit is just down that way. The guns in there are all functional, and a few of the gunbelts still have live rounds. Maybe…”

“Will the bullets still fire after sitting for more than a century?” Alice asked skeptically.

“As long as the primers haven’t gone bad. Or gotten wet. And the cartridges have remained sealed, and the gunpowder hasn’t leaked out.” He grinned sardonically.

“So, probably not,” Alice surmised.

“Probably not,” Nick agreed. “But do you have a better idea?”

The beast entered the rainforest exhibit with its nose held high, sniffing the air. Nick pulled Alice to him and backed against the wall, hiding them as best he could behind an Amazonian monolith decorated with carvings of ancient deities. The beast froze, its eyes fixed ahead, its posture rigid. It looked as if it stared right at them through the length of the butterfly terrarium. With an excited grunt, the beast swiped at the end of the glass cage, breaking it open, and jumped inside. Thousands of butterflies came to life like confetti, fluttering around the beast that had disturbed them. The beast was captivated, cocking its head curiously at the butterflies, flicking its tail as it swiped its paws at them and tried to chomp them between its jaws. It jumped and twisted and twirled inside the terrarium like a cat confronted with a thousand laser dots. It grunted happily as it pounced on a large Monarch then snorted when another flew at its nose.

Slowly, Nick pulled Alice with him toward the hall leading to the old west exhibit. They edged along the wall at a crawling pace so as not to draw the beast’s attention while it chomped and swiped at the whirlwind of butterflies. The old west exhibit came into view at the end of the hallway, horses and cowboys and bison materializing in the dim light. Nick brought his lips to Alice’s ear and told her, “You go grab all the guns you can find. I’ll start looking through the gunbelts for live rounds. .45’s and 30-30’s are going to be our best bets for a match.”

She nodded her understanding as another sound boomed through the hall. The sound of several running footsteps and the clink of metal. Narrow beams of light bounced around inside the old west exhibit from flashlights held by running men.

Nick stopped short, his hold on her arm keeping Alice beside him. He pulled her down with him when he dropped to his knees, raising his hands above his head in a clear posture of supplication, just as several armed security guards ran into the hallway from the old west exhibit. The light hit Nick’s face, momentarily blinding him, as the men rushed them, guns drawn. Alice looked behind them and saw a huge shadow looming in the entrance to the rainforest exhibit, watching them with gleaming eyes. The guard’s light didn’t reach it and they were too focused on Nick to notice the real threat. The shadow seemed to disintegrate back into the darkness like a receding nightmare. The beast must be intelligent enough to avoid confronting so many drawn firearms. Or it was simply biding its time for the right moment.

“You’re under arrest!” the lead guard shouted as he rushed Nick. Turning him bodily around, he shoved him to his stomach with his face pressed into the tile and yanked his arms behind his back.

“We didn’t do anything, you idiot!” Alice said futility. “There’s something in here with us.”

“Save it, lady,” the guard said gruffly. “You both have the right to remain silent and I suggest you fucking use it.” He prodded his gun rudely into Nick’s back and cuffed his hands. “I heard all about you on the radio. Some big bastard resisting arrest after breaking in. And I saw some of your handiwork already.”

“You have to listen, it wasn’t me,” Nick gritted. “There’s some kind of animal in here with us.”

“Yeah, get started on that insanity defense right off the bat, you murdering sonofabitch,” the guard hissed. “Just keep talking so I can testify to all your bullshit.”

Two guards came and hefted Nick up by his arms, yanking them painfully back and straining his shoulders. Alice looked at him when he stood, giving him her steadiest and most reassuring gaze. “Don’t tell them anything. It won’t do you any good. Let your lawyer do the talking for you.” She winked at him for the second time that night. “I promise you have a good one.”

*******************************************************************************************

 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some buddies!

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @reylokisses @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @thepalaceofmelanie @reveluving @fax4life27 @vedavan @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @lumberjack00fantasies

[paradoxproductions]

A pixel bug background!! Intended to be seamlessly tiled. Featuring the following bugs:

A rubber ducky isopod

A garden worm

A dairy cow isopod

A north american leech

A white spotted Sawyer beetle

A carpenter ant

A june beetle

A fire ant

Example of it in use! It is super cute! I recommend you open it in a new tab to clearly see the pixel elements.

Feel free to use as a background on your carrd, spacehey, etc, with credit to my carrd here!

Reblogs preferred over likes, especially if you're gonna use it! | kofi/tipjar

[lonestarflight]

Space Shuttle Challenger rollout ceremony at Rockwell International's Palmdale Facility.

Date: June 30, 1982

"Commander Paul J. Weitz (far right) and the other NASA astronauts who will fly the new space shuttle Challenger — from left, Dr. Story Musgrave, pilot Karol J. Bobko and mission specialist Donald H. Peterson — attend turnover ceremonies, at Rockwell International's final assembly site in Palmdale, Calif."

"She is named after HMS Challenger, a British corvette that was the command ship for the Challenger Expedition, a pioneering global marine research expedition undertaken from 1872 through 1876. The Apollo 17 Lunar Module, which landed on the Moon in 1972, was also named Challenger."

-Information from Wikipedia: link, link

She was built as Static Test Article 099 (STA-099) and was a prototype of the light weight orbiter (OV-103 to OV-105). It underwent vibration tests designed to simulate entire shuttle flights, from launch to landing. When it was determined the design changes learned from STA-099, the Construction of Columbia and the Approach and landing tests meant the Enterprise (OV-101) would be expensive to refit into an operational orbiter. It requires a complete tear down and rebuild to bring it up to the latest design specs and delay the completion of Discovery and Atlantis by 12 months. It was found it would be cheaper to refit STA-099 and only delay the completion of the other two orbiters by 6 months.

Lessons learned from the first flight of Columbia (OV-102) led to her being 2,200 pounds (1,000 kilograms) lighter than Columbia, although still she was 5,700 pounds (2,600 kilograms) heavier than her sister Discovery (OV-103). Upon completion, She possessed fewer thermal protection system tiles and carry 2,500 lb (1,100 kg) more payload than Columbia.

Construction date milestones (STA-099):

1972 July 26: Contract Award to North American Rockwell

1975 January 6: start long lead fabrication of aft-fuselage

1975 November 21: start structural assembly of crew module

1976 February 16: start fabrication of forward-fuselage

1976 June 14: start structural assembly of aft fuselage

1976 August 2: start structural assembly of forward-fuselage

1976 October 1: start assembly of vertical stabilizer, Fairchild-Republic

1976 October 1: start assembly of wings, Grumman

1976 October 16: mid-fuselage on dock, Palmdale

1977 January 25: aft-fuselage on dock, Palmdale

1977 January 28: simulated crew module on dock, Palmdale

1977 March 16: wings on dock, Palmdale

1977 April 1: lower forward-fuselage on dock, Palmdale

1977 April 6: upper forward-fuselage on dock, Palmdale

1977 April 1: vertical stabilizer on dock, Palmdale

1977 May 20: forward landing gear doors on dock, Palmdale

1977 May 26: aft payload bay doors on dock, Palmdale

1977 May 31: body flap on dock, Palmdale

1977 July 22: forward payload bay doors on dock, Palmdale

1977 September 30: start of Final Assembly

1977 September 30: mating of vertical stabilizer, Palmdale

1977 November 7: forward RCS module on dock, Palmdale

1978 February 10: completed final assembly

1978 February 14: rollout from Palmdale

Testing as STA-099:

1978 February 14: delivery to Lockheed for testing

1978 August 11: complete test preparation, Lockheed

1978 August 14: start coefficient tests

1978 September 29: finished coefficient tests

1979 August 6: complete limited testing

1979 October 5: complete setup and thermal tests

1979 November 7: delivery to Rockwell for conversion to Challenger (OV-099)

Conversion date milestones (OV-099):

1979 January 2: start long lead fabrication of crew module

1979 January 5: contract Award to Rockwell International, Space Transportation Systems Division

1979 June 21: start structural assembly of crew module

1979 November 7: delivery from Lockheed, Palmdale

1979 December 7: demate payload bay doors

1979 December 14: demate body flap

1979 December 21: demate elevons

1980 January 18: vertical stabilizer returned to Fairfield-Republic for reworked

1980 January 25: body flap returned to Downey facility for reworked

1980 January 25: payload bay doors returned to Tulsa for reworked

1980 January 28: start instrumentation removal and prepare mid-fuselage for reworked, Palmdale

1980 February 1: complete aft-fuselage demate Palmdale

1980 February 1: aft-fuselage on dock, Downey

1980 February 1: elevons on dock to be reworked, Grumman

1980 February 4: start instrumentation removal and prepare wing for modification, Palmdale

1980 February 8: demate forward RCS module, Palmdale

1980 February 15: complete demate upper forward fuselage, Palmdale

1980 February 23: upper forward fuselage on dock to be reworked, Downey

1980 March 21: forward RCS module on dock to be reworked, Downey

1980 May 30: complete preparation lower forward fuselage modification, Palmdale

1980 September 1: start body flap modification, Downey

1980 November 3: start of final assembly

1980 November 3: start initial system installation crew module, Downey

1980 November 21: complete modification lower forward fuselage, Palmdale

1980: December 12: complete rework aft-fuselage, Downey

1981 February 2: start initial system installation forward RCS module, Downey

1981 February 13: left outboard elevon on dock, Palmdale

1981 March 1: body flap on dock, Palmdale

1981 March 27: vertical stabilizer on dock, Palmdale

1981 March 30: elevon rework complete, on dock, Palmdale

1981 July 2: upper forward-fuselage on dock, Palmdale

1981 July 10: payload bay door on dock, Palmdale

1981 July 14: crew module on dock, Palmdale

1981 July 17: complete body flap modification, Downey

1981 July 21: aft-fuselage on dock, Palmdale

1981 July 24: body flap on dock, Palmdale

1981 October 23: complete airframe modifications, Palmdale

1981 October 23: completed final assembly

1981 October 26: start initial subsystems test power-on, Palmdale

1981 November 2: start initial subsystems test, Palmdale

1982 January 29: complete initial subsystems test, including Delta F, Palmdale

1982 January 31: forward RCS module on dock, Palmdale

1982 February 21: right-hand OMS/RCS pod on dock at Palmdale for thermal protection system installation

1982 March 3: left-hand OMS/RCS pod on dock at Palmdale for thermal protection system installation

1982 April 16: complete subsystems test, Palmdale

1982 April 30: complete final acceptance test, Palmdale

1982 June 21: complete configuration inspection, Palmdale

1982 June 30: rollout ceremony from Palmdale

1982 July 1: overland transport from Palmdale to Edwards

1982 July 5: Delivery to KSC

NASA ID: 2650-A, 13-219

Photo from the Phoenix Aviation Research Facebook page: link

source, source, source, source

Posted by Stephen Isherwood on the "Space Shuttle Challenger - The Legacy and History of OV-099" Facebook group page: link

[defaultsalsamusic]

i'm in the process of preparing and starting a new neighborhood based on the sims 1's old town and wanted to share and record my progress! i need to give a shoutout to @tvickiesims' old town sims recreated which i am using as the basis of this file! in addition, the neighborhood itself was created by @kalisasims and cleaned by sunraidersims.

anyways! i first started with the hick family which i actually did a lot of major changes to. the main thing is that i've started to merge the lore with the broke family of sims 3 in hopes to eventually be a part of the pleasantview broke family.

i've never played the sims 3, but i was slightly inspired by the sims 3 broke family's home with the multiple buildings. i also put each building on a foundation (a pain in the ass, i had to shift the main building one tile because it just wouldn't let me put a foundation there) since there is no way a house like this should be at ground-level. the new shack is not very substantial but i figure i'll add to it as the family gets more money. i also replaced the interior bathroom with an outhouse (a sims 1 recreation by @crispsandkerosene) and a dorm shower which makes a huge mess so idk if i'll keep it that way. but! makes more room in the house.

(also ngl i moved to another lot a little further from the main strip of old town because it didn't fit the business district aesthetic i want for that area...... i'm sorryyyyy)

ANYWAYS to now introduce the cast:

first we have elden hick from the original family. i changed his look a bit and aged him down to a teen but he is still CC-free. i made him a pleasure sim and changed his personality and interests to match his sims 1 (usa) version. he is 0 neat/5 outgoing/7 active/8 playful/5 nice.

elden is a bit of a rebellious teen who is head over heels with his girlfriend, flo. he is not very ambitious, which is a pain point between him and his mother.

also seen here is leroy the rottweiler. i'm not a fan with the default sims 2 dog breeds so i replaced the original leroy with a male rottweiler designed by PharoahHound. leroy's personality is between doofus and genius/hyper/independent/aggressive/pigpen and is the youngest of the family's three dogs.

back to the human sims, next we have mama hick and (a character who was not in the sims 1) baby named skip broke. :) mama is a elden's mother is an adult popularity sim in about the middle of her life stage. mama used to be a celebrity in sim city, but has since fallen from fame after losing her fortune (and having her son ngl). mama's interests and personality are based on her north american sims 1 personality which is neat 2/outgoing 4/active 2/playful 7/nice 7.

the mother of skip and elden's girlfriend is none other than flo broke! flo is basically a female dustin broke with dyed red hair (genetically blonde). like elden, she prefers a bit of a punk style. she is a family sim and has a personality of 5 nice/6 outgoing/4 active/3 playful/6 nice. she loves both elden and skip, but her relationship with mama is difficult. mama blames flo for being a bad influence on her son. still, mama let flo live on her property once she got kicked out.

another of the three dogs is bobo the male australian shepherd, who is the oldest of the three dogs. like all the dogs here, the previous bobo was replaced with a new one (this one was made by DemittiNix with minor color edits). bobo's personality is doofus/lazy/independent/aggressive/in between pigpen and finicky.

finally, the last and middle dog is duke, the male german shepherd! duke is edited from Fifar and probably the most edits i've done on any sim in this family. tbh i am pretty proud of it, though fifar did do most of the work! duke's personality is doofus/lazy/in between independent and friendly/aggressive/finicky. pretty much all the dogs here are aggressive and independent so they are definitely a challenge!

the house i feel has a lot to be desired but in general i'm really looking forward to actually playing this family!

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 373: Evolution Concerns

We’re just worried that her growth chart is beginning to look logarithmic came the message, the most recent in a series of alarmist communiques from a technician at their daughter company in the US.

Kristina Zhestakova had received the first text as she’d been talking with prospective recruits, young women in their second and third year. She was now between meetings, walking down the hallways of The Medical University of Warsaw. The school was her alma mater and she recognized most of the landmarks, the twists and turns of the old passages, the labs and classrooms. Many of the professors were new; the plaques on the office doors had been largely replaced by female names. Twenty years, she thought with a nod, had brought on some welcome changes. 

You are working on the sequencing data? she replied, relying on the translation software of KOLECTV’s encrypted messaging app. Her English had improved over the last couple decades, ever since she’d been tasked with establishing the company’s first North American facility on the island off Mexico's coast, but she still preferred writing in her native Polish. She was glad this technician - Marcia was her name - used the secure proprietary messenger as she’d been asked; not all at this upstart American company Evolution Pharmaceuticals did. 

Yes we have the bloodwork. Working on it but it’s complicated, came the tech's next message. They all knew that MM-1A’s eldritch origins complicated things, making the polymerase chain reactions difficult and keeping them from using the Sanger or NGS. The witches and their ways tended to do that, make everything either too easy or too much of a chore. But KOLECTV’s science had learned and become powerful. We’ve already identified the location of the breath and the voice. 

Yes. Doctor Zhestakova’s heels <click-click-clicked> on the tiled hallways of the medical school. Ostensibly, she was still, in title, Senior Vice President of Biotechnology at Gray Global Enterprises, once an American shipping empire that was now little more than a shell company for a good-sized group of the collective’s holdings. KOLECTV, technically, was one of those. However, in the early days, like a tick it had drained GGE’s resources and quickly came to dwarf its parent company and now controlled its interests. It was now an enormous, if still shadowy, network with tendrils not only in the medical and scientific industries around the world, but deep in other businesses, banking and politics.

The hope was that, soon - especially after the victorious results in the recent American elections - KOLECTV would finally shed the false auspices of GGE and begin to reveal itself. It would  grow in power tenfold, it knew, when it could step out of the shadows on its six-inch stilettos and begin to claim its empire. When it is done send the sequencing package to my team at Coronado. 

Of course Doctor. We’ve also located multiple other newly active gene loci, of unknown phenotype expression, the technician’s next message explained. Dr. Zhestakova knew what that meant, other potential abilities budding within the subject. 

She’d spent many of her early years with the company, after being sent to America soon after medical school for project “Bridesmaid”, and then setting up and studying at their island research facility, KOLECTV’s first in the New World. The project, nearly twenty years prior to today, had ultimately resulted in the takeover of GGE and the facility was now one of many jewels in the crown of the movement. Dr. Zhestakova had been not only an operative (088) in that operation and an integral player in building the prototypes for what the women of the new world could be, but an early beneficiary subject (Program, 3133j) as well.

Send it all. But tell no one else, for now. I want Coronado to go over it so we can develop an isolation plan. Dr. Zhestakova knew that Oksana and others in KOLECTV’s higher ranks were made nervous by her tendencies towards self-autonomy and transgression; she’d seen the old files they kept on her. She knew that her independent streak, coupled with her Program-gifted intelligence and with what they called her “relative lack of empathy” was seen as both a powerful opportunity for the movement but something they struggled to keep in check. She knew her file also described her tendencies for excessive behaviors and indulgences. Those, over the past decade or so, she’d made good progress in controlling, reining in. 

She could really use some vodka. 

The height? The explosion in strength? We’re not worried? came the technician’s concern.. 

Fuck the height and strength. I’ve seen the monsters they’d made, the failed experiments in Siberia and Kazakhstan. That can be dealt with when the time comes. Let the other abilities manifest first, so we learn, glean, farm. No we are not yet concerned.

Others would be, she knew. Others would be very concerned. Dr. Zhestakova could only do so much, but she had been trying her best to keep the snowballing irregularities in Project MM-1A's case “under the radar”, as they might say in the US. If they were to attract notice, the project could get shut down; Kristina knew there was so much potential to be culled, so much that could be achieved. Just imagine, she found herself thinking, an army of superwomen not only bigger, taller, stronger than any man alive, like we’d planned…

No, the possibilities might go well beyond that.

…but impervious to heat, and harm, and bullets…

And in a rare moment of heart-pounding speculation…

Imagine an army of women that can fly…

=========================================

for more on the enigmatic, psychopathic and high-functioning alcoholic Dr. Zhestakova,  as well as “Project Bridesmaid”, please see required reading “Trophy”

[todaysdocument]

A wounded American serviceman salutes a United States representative as the serviceman is released from Viet Cong custody on March 5, 1973.

Record Group 127: Records of the U.S. Marine Corps

Series: Black and White Photographs of Marine Corps Activities in Vietnam

File Unit: Divider/Subject - 280 - Operation Homecoming (Repatriation of U.S. Marine POWs)

Image description: A servicemember raises his hand from one of his crutches to salute a man in a dark-colored uniform whose back is to us. They are outdoors in a tiled area. In the background we can see North Vietnamese soldiers, and other people watching the event. 

Transcription: 

Hanoi, North Vietnam

5Mar73

4x5 Negative

OPERATION HOMECOMING---A wounded American serviceman, released from Viet Cong custody, salutes a United States representative.

DEFENSE DEPT. PHOTO (MARINE CORPS)

ECC A900047

127 GVB-280

[hekate-brimo2]

Spes Novum (Aka my Supervillain Story based on the Synoverse by @wingedcat13) Chapter Two is up on AO3 here, but I’m making sure to put it here on Tumblr as well

Several hours passed before I saw Kayla again. I had destroyed several heavy-bags in the gym, and sent more than one set of throwing knives through my target. Eventually I ended up behind my desk, keeping an eye on newsfeeds for any updates about The Patriot and American Girls’ locations. Carson sauntered into my office around nine pm, putting down a plate of food I neither asked for nor wanted.

“Cook insisted I bring you this, said you’d be hungry. I said you’d be too upset to eat.” They said, plopping into the chair across from me

“I know what you’re doing.” I answered, picking up the fork and tearing into the food out of spite

“It’s working though, isn’t it?”

“Cook knows Bangers and Mash reminds me of home.”

“Hmm.”

“You didn’t come in here just to bring me dinner, Cook would’ve done that herself.”

“She wants to talk to you. Kayla.”

I hummed in response, chewing thoughtfully on my sausage

“You don’t have to do it.” Carson murmured, knowing I’d know how they felt

“She is my guest. Thank Cook for me, I’ll finish this when I return.”

I tread through the hallways carefully, lowering the gravity beneath my feet to keep them from tapping too hard on the tile floor. I reached the infirmary quickly, it was a small room, with only three available beds, but was well stocked for all it needed to do. I looked in a nearby mirror and studied myself. I was wearing my costume: a light purple jumpsuit, tight against my skin. My arms were bare, exposing the silver fractal scars I’d received from the Space Between Space. Around my throat and ankles were silver magnetite cuffs that would cancel out my power in the event I lost consciousness, or lost control. Finally, over my mouth and extending below my neck, was a breathing mask, which automatically activated in zero-oxygen environments. I hoped I didn’t look scary showing up like this.

“Kayla.” I said in greeting to the teenager, who was sitting upright in the bed-that-was-also-a-gurney. She had a bandage extending down her left cheek, which meant Doniphon had operated already, and was satisfied with the restructuring of her bone.

“Maestrum Gravis.” She replied in kind, turning over the book she’d been reading

“Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan, an interesting choice. I imagine Doniphon talked you into it? He makes every new person he meets read at least the first page. I was told that you wanted to speak with me.”

“I… wanted to thank you.”

“Really? For what, young one?”

“You… you didn’t have to react the way you did. D…Doniphon says you were practically steaming when you saw my black eye, and… uh, Carson? I think was their name, said they were surprised that you didn’t kill my parents, even after I asked you not to.”

“I keep my promises. Did Doniphon mention that your cheek will scar?”

“He did, but that’s fine. Scars are cool.” Kayla said, smirking

“Indeed.” I responded, flexing my arms and making the lichtenberg figures ripple

“Um… I guess I should ask… am I your prisoner now?”

“Why would you think that? No. You were granted sanctuary, originally by my Aide de Camp, but by granting you a bed in my infirmary I continued that offer, and will continue it for as long as you wish.”

“Oh! So… what does that mean?”

“It means you are under my protection for as long as you are within my territory. Granted that territory is not large, there are larger fish in this pond than I, that Shadowmancer claims most of the Western Seaboard, but I have my humble little territory here in Humboldt Bay, and some of Northern California. The Redwoods are home to a Native Hero, the last remaining Whilkut Warrior, who calls himself Blue Lake Rider, but anything North and West of here is mine.”

“Oh… thanks. Why, uh… why did you do that for me?”

“Well… let me answer that question with a question. Why did you come here?”

“I… I needed to get away from my parents, this was… the best option I had.”

“Your best option was a Supervillain?”

Kayla was silent at that, and we sat in it for a moment.

“Your life is your own, Kayla Moore. From here on out, you know that you are welcome in my home whenever you like, if you wish to stay, then stay. I will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe. Sleep on it, and tomorrow we will make plans, if that is what you wish.”

“Thank you, Maestrum.”

“While you’re here, call me Beren.”

I left then, not returning to my office, but instead to my quarters. I shed my costume and showered, leaning against the tile wall and considering the situation. There was so much to do to secure Kayla’s future, I would have to contact one of the I.L.L.E.G.A.L. Lawyers in the morning, they were the best. Emancipation papers would have to be drafted, and living arrangements made. Hell, we’d have to find the girl some clothes first.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tank top hitting the floor. I shook myself out of my stupor just as Carson stepped into my shower.

“You’re thinking too hard.” They said, joining me under the stream of water, and snaking an arm over my shoulder.

Carson was smaller than me in a lot of ways, shorter, thinner, but somehow they managed to hold me in ways that made me feel small. We’d both transitioned upon discovering the inconsequence of the gender binary, but Carson’s transition was more emotional than physical. Mine was physical as well, which they knew perfectly, demonstrating that knowledge as their hand dipped between my legs and caressed the surgically crafted folds of my vulva. I hummed, pleased, and leaned back against Carson as they continued their ministrations, working me ever closer to an orgasm as they attempted to drive away my thoughts. Soon enough, my own wetness joined the shower’s stream, and Carson removed their thin fingers, wrapping arms around my torso. I held them there as well, as we let the water fall.

“Beren,” they called, later as we lay in bed. “What can we do for her?”

“We can protect her,” I began, voice growing hard, “We can give her time. We can present options. She can have whatever life she wishes, and we will provide it as best we can.”

“That sounds like something parents should do.”

“Then we shall be her parents, in all but name. Well, we shall be better than her parents.”

I felt Carson’s tears against my chest as they said the next four words.

“I always wanted kids.”

I woke early the next morning, extricating myself from Carson’s long limbs just as the sun peeked over the horizon, lighting Humboldt Bay on fire. The view was one of my favorites, and one of the reasons I’d bult my lair here. I watched for a moment, and then stepped into my closet to change.

I did not wear my costume to breakfast, it was a concession I’d made to Cook as soon as she’d joined my retinue. Instead, I pulled on a pair of jeans, and one of the tank tops Carson swore I looked good in. I pulled a flannel over top of it, knowing the air would be cool this early, and went to join Cook and Doniphon for breakfast. This was our ritual: Cook was awake before all of us, as she was the one to provide the food, and the coffee, we would all eat as we watched the sun rise, quiet mostly, but eventually conversation would erupt, about news, or about plans. Afterwards, Tom and I would go to the kitchen and clean our plates, and any mess Cook still had, which was always minimal, and Cook would retire to her quarters to nap. That morning we were joined by an extra face.

“Kayla, Cook, Tom. A pleasure to see you this morning.” I said politely, stepping onto the balcony we traditionally used

“Mornin’ Boss.” Tom answered, raising his coffee cup

“Good Morning, Gravis.” Cook said, cutting into her eggs

“Good Morning, Beren.” Kayla grumbled, holding her coffee with both hands.

Tom and Cook both raised an eyebrow at me, which I shrugged off. I sat down across from Kayla, and began eating my own breakfast. Cook had gone for simple, with eggs and toast, three slices of turkey bacon for me, a sausage patty for herself, and real bacon for both Kayla and Tom. Once the sun was halfway above the horizon, I met Kayla’s eyes and said “Kayla, I was considering your situation last night, and realized that you are probably wanting a new wardrobe, or at least your old clothes. If you are willing, I will happily escort you to buy some, or I will make the effort to retrieve yours, if you’ll give me your old address.”

“I… uh, I can just go get my stuff. It’s no big deal.” She answered, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of me going to her old house.

“I would rather not risk you encountering your parents again. They have harmed you once, enough that my medic had to reattach a bone to your skull.”

“No violence at my breakfast table.” Cook said, glaring at me

“Apologies, dear Cook.”

“Um… is there… I don’t really want to run into them either. There is some stuff I want to get from home though.”

“I’ll make a call, once we’re finished here, and see if there’s anyone who can distract your parents for a few hours, while you retrieve your things. How did you get from your home to here?”

“Oh! I can fly. Not sure where it comes from, neither of my parents can.”

“Powers are rarely that simple, young one. I’m sure Doniphon can tell you all about the genetic mutations that cause them, but that is for later. Once you’ve flown back, join me on the beach, there are other things we need to discuss.”

“Yes… uh, Beren?”

“Yes dear?”

“I don’t… I know you don’t… use masculine or feminine pronouns, so I don’t want to call you Sir or Ma’am, but… what do I use in place?”

“If you feel the honorific is necessary, then… Doctor or Professor would be fine, I’ve been both, though I’m sure Duke revoked my Doctorate when I was branded a Villain, and I’m certainly no longer tenured at U.C. Berkeley. I would prefer you only use Maestrum around other Supers. If none of those suit you, Mx is always acceptable.”

“Okay.”

“Very well. Tom! Shall we collect these ladies plates and wash whatever mess Cook has left us with?”

“Will do, Boss.”

[videoworm]

I was wondering why North American roofs always look so flat and 2d and turns out they use shingles. THOSE NEVER GET USED HERE people all use tile - even on new houses (those ugly white concrete cubes - unless they have a flat roof) I want to know why

Shingles:

Tiles:

Tiles are unquestionably prettier but my guess is shingles are easier to transport and install. Some roofer pls come and explain the details

Edit: North American Family homes ALSO have trim on EVERYTHING. anytime I see someone build in The Sims I'm like "this house looks so USAmerican"

[blurban-form]

Movie Theatre

From “Movies”… where we find Bluey and Bingo don’t have the attention spans necessary to sit through a movie. We get to see a number of details inside the theatre.

Note the fairly universal-to-movie-theatres wacky-pattern carpet; these hide stains. Also, neat to see some movie posters. Is Winton’s Dad an actor?

Note the Winton Dad spy movie premieres on 02-02-2020.

Instead of THX audio reproduction standards, they have BRM sound in their movies (as in Joe Brumm, Bluey’s creator)

Movie Theatre Dunny

As in a few other episodes, during the story we get to see a bathroom. The tiling looks a lot like the bathrooms in North American theatres, only predominantly done in white rather than black tile.

Note the effect of the hand driers on Bingo. Bingo gets super-floofed. Looks like those hand driers are very effective. (Like a Dyson as compared to an old-school World Dryer)

Everyone is Nice

Lastly, another instance of the “Everyone is Nice” trope that I’ve mentioned before; the other movie theatre patrons are very nice/patient about the Heelers running around and causing trouble during the movie, they seem to be ok with the distractions!

Good thing it wasn’t a crowded evening at the theatre, this must be a matinee, and luckily not a lot of people in there — primarily a crowd/family of the blue-grey variety of dogs I’ve come to think of as “spectator dogs”…

(Nice attention to detail in this one, although I’m sure Bluey’s Mum and Dad would have practiced having Bluey and Bingo sit through a few movies at home on TV before trying out taking them to a theatre…)

[mybeingthere]

Donald K. Sultan (born 1951) is an American painter, sculptor, and printmaker, particularly well known for large-scale still life paintings and the use of industrial materials such as tar, enamel, spackle and vinyl tiles.

Donald Sultan was born in Asheville, North Carolina in 1951. Both of his parents were interested in the arts. His father was a tire company owner who painted abstract paintings as a hobby, and his mother, Phyllis actively pursued theatre. It was through his mother that Sultan developed an early interest in theatre. "I was acting and then I learned how to make theatrical sets and paint them," he recalled, "I did apprenticeships in different professional theaters."

With his father's encouragement, however, Sultan chose to pursue art professionally, and he earned a BFA degree from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in 1973 and an MFA from the Art Institute of Chicago in 1975. While still in school, Sultan grew dissatisfied with traditional methods of painting and began experimenting in technique, surface, and media, which eventually led him to use industrial tools and materials.

[msclaritea]

Five Guys was founded in 1986 by Janie and Jerry Murrell. Jerry and the couple's sons Jim, Matt, Chad, and Ben were the original "Five Guys". The Murrells had a fifth son, Tyler, two years later. Today, all five sons, the current "Five Guys", are involved in the business: Matt and Jim travel the United States visiting stores, Chad oversees training, Ben selects the franchisees, and Tyler runs the bakery.

The first Five Guys was in Arlington's Westmont Shopping Center. Buns were baked in the same center by Brenner's Bakery. This location closed, in favor of another in Alexandria, Virginia, at the intersection of King and North Beauregard Streets, which closed on September 21, 2013.

More followed in Old Town Alexandria and Springfield, Virginia, making five locations open by 2001. Their success encouraged the Murrells to franchise their concept the following year, engaging Fransmart, a franchise sales organization. Former American football player Mark Moseley, who had gone to work for Fransmart after his football career, played a key role in Five Guys' expansion and went on to become the company's director of franchise development after it ended its business relationship with Fransmart. In early 2003, the chain began franchising, opening the doors to rapid expansion which caught the attention of national restaurant trade organizations and the national press. The expansion started in Virginia and Maryland, and by the end of 2004, over 300 units were in development through the Northeast. Over the next few years, the chain rapidly expanded across the entire United States and into Canada, reaching over 1,000 locations by 2012.[needs update][citation needed]

The first location outside North America opened in the United Kingdom in July 2013, in London on Long Acre in Covent Garden. The chain now has more than 150 restaurants in the UK. Five Guys also has locations in the Middle East and has continued to expand in Europe. In late 2017, Five Guys opened its first restaurants in Germany, with a branch in Frankfurt and another in Essen.

Five Guys, one of the top three burgers in the U.S., opened its first Korean store in Gangnam, Seoul, at 11 a.m. on June 26, 2023 with a countdown shout. As of 2024, there are a total of four branches in Seoul.

Five Guys Enterprises has several affiliated companies that are not part of a consolidated group, but are under common ownership. Five Guys Operations was founded in 2012, Five Guys Holdings was founded in 2007. Five Guys Foods UK Limited was incorporated on March 12, 2013. FGE International, FGO International BV, and FG Coöperatief U.A. are based in Amsterdam. FGH International C.V. is located in Bermuda.

Five Guys had a 39,900 square feet (3,710 m2) headquarters in Lorton, Virginia, overlooking the Occoquan and Potomac Rivers, that was specially designed to convey the corporate brand. According to the architect, "The lobby mimics the typical Five Guys restaurant with red and white tile, tall tables, Freestyle Coke machine and signature peanut boxes." In 2023, they moved their headquarters to a new location in Alexandria, Virginia.

On September 24, 2020, the first Five Guys location with a drive-through window opened in Surfside Beach, South Carolina. The franchisee retained it from the former business in the building in light of COVID-19 pandemic safe practices.

In September 2021, Five Guys opened their first location in Australia. The chain also has plans to expand into New Zealand. In November 2022, Five Guys announced the relocation of their headquarters to the Carlyle neighborhood of Alexandria, Virginia.

Five Guys has received numerous awards in D.C. area publications, including "Number 1 Burger" by Washingtonian Magazine for seven years.[citation needed] The former US President Barack Obama is reportedly a fan, buying lunch for himself and his colleagues at the Washington Five Guys branch in 2011.

[leaves-lilies-and-esther]

Women of Ancient History

I got really interested and started researching this recently! There were a lot more people than I ever expected to find. Women have been priestesses, poets, artists, Olympians, swimmers, queens, and rebels since literally the dawn of time 💪

A few notes before this: because I'm trying to steer towards women who tend to be more unknown, I purposefully didn't include Sappho, Hypatia, or Nefertiti even though they were undoubtedly important.* Two exceptions here: one is Cleopatra, because I think that the modern image of her is essentially a caricature and the real woman is much more entertaining. The other is Queen Boudica, because... I just have a soft spot in my heart for her honestly. But others, like Agnodice of Athens, were excluded because there seems to be a consensus that they probably didn't exist.

Anyway, this also goes roughly in chronological order.

*= I understand that 'well known' is going to change in different parts of the globe. For example, Queen Boudica has greater name recognition in the UK, while Ba Trieu is well known in Vietnam. Coming from the North American perspective here

Enheduanna of Mesopotamia (2286 BCE)

The world's first ever named author was a Mesopotamian woman! She was born in 2286 BCE, and was the daughter of Sargon the Great (the first ruler of the Akkadian empire). Some people think the 'daughter' part might have been figurative. Regardless, at the time she was alive they were having trouble merging the culture of Ur and the newfound identity of the Akkadian empire with the traditional Sumerian practices. One of the ways to keep the population in check was through religion- which was why Enheduanna was appointed high priestess of the moon deity. The position would have been a great honor, and given her almost divine authority. She served in this role for about forty years, during which time she wrote 42 temple hymns and three epic poems- such as "Exaltation of Inanna". She notably changed the characterizations of the local pantheon significantly- drawing them closer to humanity, and elevating certain gods (like Inanna) above their previous station. She is also credited with the first use of first person in writing. Her work was studied and copied for years after her death, and influences a lot of other literature from antiquity.

Telesilla of Argos (510 BCE)

Yet another poet! Telesilla was very sick when she was young, and prayed to the gods to restore her health. She believed that the answer was in dedicating her life to the nine muses, and produced a really large amount of work. Unfortunately, unlike Enheduanna, there is very little of it that survives. She is referenced by several different historians: Pausanius, Plutarch, Athenaeus, etc. Beyond poetry, she is most famous for her role when the Spartans invaded Argos. They had, by this point, killed a lot of Argives- and Telesilla mobilized the women in defense. There are a couple of historians who argue that it was her music, rather than Telesilla's own initiative, which inspired this response. That being said, there are Ancient Greek accounts of women throwing stones and roof tiles at invaders, as well as women/kids/elderly attempting to defend the interior of the city while the young men defended the exterior. According to worldhistory.org, "nothing inherently improbable... that her name was famous both for her written work and her exploits at Argos against the Spartans strongly suggest that the account of Telesilla leading the women of the city into battle is based on a historical event."

Artemisia I of Caria (480 BCE)

Artemisia of Caria was a woman from Ancient Persia. Why is this significant? Well, women from Ancient Persia had significantly more equality than women in many other parts of the world at the time. They had significant roles outside of the house- women could run businesses, be officers in the army, etc. That's how Artemisia got to have a significant position as one of Xerxes I's naval commanders. During this period Greece and Persia were at war, and Xerxes I was considering how to approach the Greeks. As they were considering a naval battle, Artemisia was the only one to advise against it. She basically told Xerxes to form a blockade and wait them out until they starved (!). Xerxes I didn't listen to her. Despite this, Artemisia came along for the battle on her own free will. She was very successful, sinking a Greek ship. However, her original prediction for the battle proved correct, and the Persians lost. She was pretty well honored during her own lifetime for this. Beyond that, historians (including Herodotus) mostly mention her favorably. After the battle Xerxes had her ensure his son's safety as they returned to Persia, and we *think* that she returned to Caria and continued her reign there afterwards.

Hydna of Scione (480 BCE)

You may notice that I gave the same year for Artemisia of Caria- if you did notice, good job, astute reader! There's a reason for that! While Artemisia is the Persian side, Hydna is a greek heroine from the same time period in the war (though different battles...)

There are two different versions of Hydna's story. Both agree that her father was a famous swimmer and diver named Scyllias, who taught her to swim from a young age as well. In the first version from Pausanius, her skills became needed before the battle of Artemisium. In this version she volunteers to swim ten miles with her father to the Persian ships, and then cut the ropes and anchors with a knife. The ships smacked into each other in the water, or else ran into the rocks and were destroyed- allowing the Greek forces a significantly better shot at victory. In the other version from Herodotus, her father was working for the Persians as a diver to recover treasure- while also passing information to the Greeks. Then he and his daughter sabotaged the Persian ships just before the major battle. However, in either story, Hydna's fate was unknown.

Cynisca of Sparta (300s BCE)

Cynisca was a princess who competed in the Olympic games against men (and won). Women in Sparta had more freedom than in other parts of Greece- they were allowed to own property, inherit, commit adultery, and received more education and physical training. So- Cynisca had an uncharacteristic level of freedom. She used this to her full advantage, and excelled at chariot racing. While she used a jockey, her wealthy male contemporaries also used them (ie, it wasn't a unique scenario in any way). Regardless, she won at two separate Olympic games. Her grave read "My ancestors and brothers were kings of Sparta. I, Cynisca, victorious with a chariot of swift-footed horses, erected this statue. I declare that I am the only woman in all of Greece to have won this crown."

Iaia of Cyzicus (110s BCE)

Iaia was one of several female painters mentioned by Herodotus- along with Irene, Aristarete, Timarete, etc. I chose her for this because more seems to be known about Iaia as compared to her other female counterparts. She was born in Cyzicus, and also did ivory engravings. There was a big demand for art in Rome at the time, and she was a better artist than many of her male contemporaries. To quote Pliny the Elder, "no one had a quicker hand than she in painting." Not only did she remain unmarried throughout her life, but her art was well known for choosing to center women as subjects.

Cleopatra VII of Egypt (70/69 BCE)

I know everybody already knows the basic biography of Cleopatra, so I won't get into that. I mostly just wanted to focus on her accomplishments for once, because I feel like she gets a bad rap in a lot of media even though she was arguably pretty good. She was the only pharaoh from her dynasty who bothered to read and write Egyptian, she was noted for her public speaking skills, she understood several more languages, and was educated on "mathematics, philosophy, oratory, and astronomy" (quoting history channel here). Throughout her reign she maintained a vast network of spies- not just inside Egypt either- to make the best decisions possible. She stabilized the country's economy, and when drought hit she opened the royal granaries to the public. She oversaw the construction of parts of the Temple of Hathor, as well as temples to some Greek gods. Cleopatra also expanded the Library of Alexandria after it was damaged in a fire. The woman was a highly strategic ruler.

PS: if you're interested, you should also check out her younger sister Arsinoë IV. Her story is pretty fascinating and there's a Drunk History episode about her (basically, she tried to take over Egypt at like age 15- I'll leave the rest open).

Queen Boudica of Iceni (60s AD)

I know that she is super well known, but I've admired her since I was a little kid so she gets a spot. Boudica was the wife of Prasutagus. Everything was relatively peaceful until she was widowed, and her husband's wishes that the area be left to both Nero and his two daughters (Heanua and Lannosea) were ignored. Accounts vary about how the Romans reacted next- but Tacitus claims that Boudica was flogged, the house was ransacked, and her daughters were raped. The other Iceni locals were treated no differently and rebelled as a result, targeting the area around modern day London. They were at first very successful. Boudica reportedly told the troops "win the battle or perish: that is what I, a woman, will do; you men can live on in slavery if that's what you want." Eventually they were beaten by the Romans- while Boudica was not killed here, she reportedly took poison rather than be a Roman prisoner. I couldn't find what specifically happened to her daughters. It's a really grisly ending, but her bravery is still awe-inspiring.

Azadokht Shahbanu of Persia (240 AD)

She was the wife of Shapur I. As you may recall from the section on Artemisia I of Caria, women in ancient Persia had significantly more influence than women in other parts of the world. This doesn't come into the story as much here as it did for Artemisia, though. Azadokht is here because she is thought to have highly encouraged the building of Gundeshapur, which had a teaching hospital and library. This legacy lasted for hundreds of years after her death. Traditionally it was her husband's direction which led to its building, but there's evidence that it was Azadokht who brought in Greek doctors to influence how it was run. Azadokht was also apparently very skilled at sword fighting as well.

By the way, there could probably be a whole other post of similar length about women from ancient Persia alone. These women had a unique amount of freedom and they were taking advantage of it. If you want to read more about them, here's an article called Twelve Great Women of Ancient Persia.

Zenobia of Palmyra (late 200s to early 300s AD)

For some historical context: Palmyra is in modern day Syria, and considered to be ruled by a very unstable Rome. Palmyra itself was a trading city between Persia and Rome- Zenobia herself was born a Roman citizen (interesting side note: she also claimed to be descended from Cleopatra. The truth factor in that is unfortunately dubious...). She was married to an important political figure, who was assassinated in about 266 CE. Zenobia then came to power. She started claiming parts of Roman Egypt for herself, and then started eyeing other pieces of neighboring territories- basically adding them without regard for the unstable Rome which could do nothing about it. This was until Aurelian, whose reaction to this insubordination was effectively a rampage. There are loads of different versions of what happened to her after this. However, Zenobia's court remained imprinted on historical memory + was referenced a lot afterwards.

Ba Trieu (300 AD)

Ba Trieu was born into an upper-class family. She *may* have been orphaned as a child and raised by an older brother, but we don't really know enough to say for sure. During this period the Vietnamese were under an oppressive Chinese regime, and Ba Trieu decided at age 19 that she'd had enough and was going to rebel. Her brother tried to dissuade her, and she reportedly said, "I want to ride the storm, tread the dangerous waves, win back the fatherland, and destroy the yoke of slavery. I don't want to bow down my head, working as a simple housewife." She made a shocking amount of progress in the next two years in at least 30 battles, until the Chinese finally recognized her as the serious threat that she was. Everyone agrees that she died afterwards, though stories vary about exactly how.

PS: if you're interested in other women from the Vietnamese fight against the Chinese, google the Trung sisters. They're remarkable women.

Fatima al Fihri (800 AD)

Fatima was born in modern day Tunisia, and unlike a lot of the women on this list, she actually wasn't a queen/ruler of any sort. Her father was a merchant. When Fatima inherited a lot of money from the deaths of her father/husband, she chose to use it to use her money to build a mosque. Her town was overflowing with people at this point, so it was becoming a major need. It ended up also accommodating a library and university, which I believe is still open today. Because of its age and prominence, a lot of the practices which are today associated with colleges originated here. To quote an article from Morocco world news, "for a North African Muslim woman to establish such an institution, which she opened to people of all ages, social classes, and faiths, is testament to her exceptional vision... the rest of the world has Fatima Al-Fihri, the mother of intellectuals, to thank..."

xxxxxxx

Unfortunately, that has to be all for now- there were a fair number of other women who I wanted to include here, but couldn't because they aren't 'ancient' enough. (Jigonhsasee? Shajar al-Durr? Looking at you).

I also learned sooooo much writing this so I'm a happy girl right now. But that being said, if you see any obvious inaccuracies, let me know and I'll edit it. There's a lot of cases where sources vary about what happened, so I had to pick and choose. Also, because of the quantity of women in this- and some didn't make the cut- I was only looking at 2-3 articles per person, leaving room for error. There are some cases where some people allege that the woman in question didn't actually contribute enough to the thing she's famous for. Unless I thought this belief seemed to have a lot of evidence + appeared in multiple articles, I left her in.

[liugeaux]

12 Years or $23,040

As of last September, I’ve lived at my current residence 13 years. That’s a long time, kind of. In the grand scheme of mortgages and lifespans, it’s a blip. Recently it occurred to me that at 13 years, 94 Fern Valley stands as the residence I’ve lived in the longest. That fact nearly broke my little brain. 

Memories and nostalgia are a strong force, and as much as we like to think our memories are 100% fact, everything we’ve ever lived through is tainted by the human lens of the emotions tied to each experience. In my mind, during my childhood, we lived at 1215 Tara Dr. forever. It’s my childhood home, where I have countless memories, it’s where I learned to human. It’s the home that appears most often when I dream. 

A storybook would romanticize that house as a warm blanket of a dwelling and probably even use the tacky wood-grain paneling to paint a picturesque 90′s upbringing. I’m not here to shit on how I was raised or even that house specifically. I more-so want to digest a more realistic understanding of my childhood home, so I can, for lack of a better term, be an adult about it.  

In 2023, my childhood home is considered to be in a “very” bad part of town, South Jackson. As part of Jackson’s 6th Ward, I was zoned for Key Elementary, Peeples Middle, and Wingfield High. Through the APAC program was able to attend Murrah High School in North Jackson, but for the most part, my early formative years were spent in South Jackson, a delightfully mixed, middle class, neighborhood, full of working-class Jacksonians.  

If I recall correctly, we didn’t overly worry about crime. I was able to walk back and forth to my cousin’s and grandparent’s house, down the street, without fear or bother. For the most part, I was free to roam as far as my bike would take me. My artificial boundaries being McDowell Rd and Woody Dr. 

I lived at 1215 Tara for approximately 12.5 years. We moved into the house just before my younger brother Ben was born in the Summer of 1989, and I moved out in early 2002 as I was entering my deliberately-independent college years. To a child, 12.5 years is FOREVER. I have so many tangible memories of the house, but so many of the fine details are lost to time. 

I don’t remember the color of the carpet, or the exact arraignment of the dining room, but I do remember the bathroom tile, the steps into the backyard, the unique sliding door to the kid’s shower, and the weird wood-post adorned “ledge” just inside the front door. All of these are deeply engrained in my psyche. “Hey, grab my keys, they’re on the ledge.” holds a surprising amount of space in my mind.

Recently I thought, “I wonder what’s up with my childhood home.” So Ariel and I took a trip to South Jackson to investigate. What we found was an abandoned house for sale, much like many of the houses in the neighborhood. Not a surprising revelation, but sad none the less. We could have probably gotten/broken-in, if we really wanted to, but I don’t think my heart was ready for an adventure of that nature.  

Instead, I dropped into the nightmare machine that is the internet to try and figure out what’s happening with 1215 Tara Dr. What I found and the emotions that came with it, are hard to put into words. But here I am, telling this story on a platform powered by words...like a fool.

Via the online property tracking sites, my childhood home is worth about  $23,040. That’s it, the cost of the most import place in the world for 12 of the most influential years of my life is worth as much as a Honda Civic. I don’t know why, but when I read that, my heart was broken.  

I don’t know if it was the betrayal of the American Dream or the underlying knowledge that my parents paid a mortgage on the property for about 15 years and likely paid much more than $23,040 only to not own the house. Putting a dollar amount on that house deflated a part of me that I didn’t know existed.

I'm not trying to make this a referendum on so called “white flight”, and I'm not even trying to spin a narrative about Jackson, MS. This is purely a conversation with myself about value and what it means to be successful. In reality, my parents could have moved us out of South Jackson in 1989 when we moved to 1215 Tara, however both Ben and I would have missed out on living so close to so many loved ones. Sure, we would have found a life wherever we ended up, but there's a real discussion to be had about what we’re supposed to hold dear. 

I know many people that are comfortable distancing themselves from their immediate family and consequently only seeing them on holidays or at funerals. From what I understand that’s a perfectly fine existence, but it’s not one I’ve ever experienced. Was that 15 or so years “worth it” for my parents? They didn't know at the time, but they were sacrificing more financial freedom in their later years by keeping us in a house that would ultimately lose its value. *Insert kitschy hindsight quote here* 

I feel like looking at this on a monetary level is too clinical and ultimately removes the human aspect of homeownership. That house was home, and during my childhood years it felt like it would be that way forever. My parents have been at their current house for over 15 years now and as comfortable as I am in it, it's never going to feel like home. 

As a capitalist country we're taught that investment is a good thing and that hard work leads to success. We have freedoms and comforts that other countries can only dream about. Yet, it’s possible to follow all the rules, work hard, put your money where you're supposed to, and still come out the other side with nothing to show for it, but a small down payment on a more cumbersome debt. 

Seeing the tiny current value of that house combined with my inherent (yet shrinking) cynical nature, leaves me feeling like my family has been a cog in a  system designed to exploit anyone willing to put money into it. The more realistic way to see it, is that all investment is inherently risky and my family was just unlucky. Sure, but why do we believe in a system so wholeheartedly when ultimately success is so dependent on luck? 

I'm getting off base, which is easy to do, especially as a homeowner. Did I choose the right house, neighborhood, city? My 13 years of investment in 94 Fern Valley continues to seem smart, but when will our trusted system pull the rug out from beneath me? More importantly, how do I get ahead of it if it does, or does it even matter? My children have built a life here, they're safe here, 25 years from now I want them to be able to return here, if needed. I want them to use my hard work to benefit their children and grandchildren. Those are great sentiments, but what societal pitfall Is cold-heartedly waiting to ruin that possibility? 

Capitalism has conditioned us to believe that an investment without appreciation is a failure. Is it though? I’d argue that our collective humanity is the only thing that matters when romanticizing youth. “Things were better when I was a kid,” “Kids today are ruined by smartphones,” or “Remember when children actually played outside?” All of these quotes sound like profound observations of the current state of the world, but they’re actually just nostalgia tugging at a sub-conscience longing for formative years.  

If we weren’t so obsessed with prices, and unemployment, and inflation and longing for a “better time.” It would be much easier to look at problems objectively and create solutions to fix them. Instead we romanticize situations that were never ideal in the first place, simply because they’re tied to memories that are proven to be faint, at best. Hell, I don’t even know if this is the forum for the crippling bitch session tied to that idea.

There I go, getting off-track again. Back on topic: You know, inflation just occurred to me. Doing a quick Google search for inflation rates since 1989, revealed that $23,040, 2023 dollars is really around $9,834 1989 dollars. I don’t know what to do with this information, and I don't know why I do this to myself, but it seems important to this discussion. I think the only healthy way the digest everything here is to lean on the ethereal nature of memories and the power they have to neutralize tangible loss. I just made that up, so come with me now.

When an elderly person dies we mourn the individual, but we use our memories to give their life and our relationship with them meaning. It's a uniquely human trait to find meaning in the intangible and ultimately that's what I have to do here. No one can take away my experiences from that house and no dollar amount can erase the importance of South Jackson to my core upbringing. I can't imagine that anyone whose childhood home APPRECIATED in value, is having feelings of dread. So why should I? 1215 Tara gave Ben and I it’s best, and regardless of what the future holds, 94 Fern Valley will give MY children it's best.

The memories we create here will transcend anything that ultimately happens to this building. I think I'm finally done. I don't know if I’ve made a coherent point, or if I can even follow up on the feelings I’ve put out there. Either way, it’s something I 110% needed to get off of my mind. Here's to hoping Lucas, Maddie, and Fox don't have to have the same conversation with themselves. It's uncomfortable, it's existential, and it bumps into the all important “meaning of life” question, and that will shake you to your core.

[lonestarflight]

Space Shuttle Development, Phase B: North American Rockwell and General Dynamics B9U/NAR-161-B

North American and General Dynamics B9U / NAR-161-B proposed their final Phase B shuttle proposal on June 25, 1971.

"The fully reusable 'B9U / NAR-161-B' configuration would now weigh 2,290t at liftoff vs. the Phase-A limit of 1,587t and the total estimated cost of the development project had doubled, to almost $10 billion. The thrust of the space shuttle main engines had to be increased from 1,850KN to 2,450KN. Part of the problem was the shuttle now would have to be a much more versatile and capable vehicle than originally anticipated, since the space station and the manned lunar/planetary program evaporated in 1970. Critics in Congress contended that it was 'a project searching for a mission.' As a result, the new space transportation system was instead increasingly being promoted as a low-cost 'space truck' for unmanned NASA & USAF satellites."

"The North American Rockwell 'NAR-161-B' orbiter was designed for carrying a crew of two plus up to ten passengers in the forward crew module. Note the four deployable landing jet engines on top of the vehicle; NASA was planning to use modified F-15 or B-1B aircraft jet engines on some missions and for ferry flights from test sites or alternative landing fields. But the jets would be omitted for heavy-lift missions since the additional weight greatly reduced the shuttle's payload capability. The thermal protection system was based on silica tiles. The blended wing/body design was chosen for uniform load distribution. It would have produced a 2300-kilometer crossrange capability to satisfy USAF reentry requirements; North American also decided to replace the wingtip fins with a single vertical tail. The 2,450KN main engine thrust upgrade was motivated in part by the need to have a single engine-out abort capability. Analysis showed that the orbiter still would be able to return to the launch site after a single orbit in case one of its two main engines failed during ascent, but only if the engines were powerful enough. Unlike McDonnell-Douglas (who proposed to use RL-10s), North American favored a brand new oxygen/hydrogen 45KN-thrust orbital maneuvering system (OMS) engines. Three OMS engines would have been carried for orbit insertion, orbital changes and the de-orbit burn."

"General Dynamics' final 'B9U' booster design differed considerably from the earlier straight-wing 'B8D' concept. The landing jets were moved from the nose back to the delta wing in order to reduce the launch drag & heating effects and to minimize the jet engine exhaust effects on stability, control and drag. General Dynamics felt the delta wing would provide better stability & control over the entire flight regime than the B8's straight wing. It would also create more room for the main landing gear and jet engine installation. The gross liftoff mass was 1,886.2t including a jet fuel load of 62.2t for the 850km flight back to the launch site. The high staging velocity (3300m/s) and altitude (73.8km) created some problems since the booster would have to be very large, require a relatively advanced thermal protection system and carry lots of jet fuel for the return flight. The contractors also examined downrange landing sites or in-flight propellant transfer in order to reduce the amount of booster jet fuel. NASA also seriously considered a proposal to use gaseous hydrogen rather than jet fuel since it would have saved thousands of kilograms, but decided against the idea in the end since it would have increased the technical risk."

North American Rockwell Phase-B shuttle orbiter docks with modular space station.

"Payload capability (without landing jets): 29,484kg into a 185km 28.5 deg. Orbit; 18,144kg into a 185km 90 deg. polar orbit; 11,340kg into a 500km 55 deg. orbit with landing jets installed on orbiter and 20,411kg without landing engines.

Cost per mission: $100-200/lb. [1970 rates] or $950-$1900/kg in 1999. 75 missions/year max. Space station rescue mission capability within 48 hours of emergency call.

Liftoff Thrust: 2,606,810 kgf. Total Mass: 2,188,488 kg. Core Diameter: 10.4 m. Total Length: 98.0 m.

Stage Number: 1. 1 x Shuttle R134C-1 Gross Mass: 1,886,200 kg. Empty Mass: 290,000 kg. Thrust: 29,370-32,233.575 KN. Isp: 442 sec. Burn time: 209 sec. Isp(sl): 392 sec. Diameter: 10.4 m. Span: 43.9 m. Length: 82 m. Propellants: Lox/LH2 No Engines: 12. SSME Study

Stage Number: 2. 1 x Shuttle R134C-2 Gross Mass: 383,260 kg. Empty Mass: 121,560 kg. Thrust (vac): 5,624.8 KN. Isp: 459 sec. Burn time: 264 sec. Isp(sl): 359 sec. Diameter: 4.6 m. Span: 32.6 m. Length: 62.8 m. Propellants: Lox/LH2 No Engines: 2. SSME Study

- information from "INTRODUCTION TO FUTURE LAUNCH VEHICLE PLANS [1963-2001]" by Marcus Lindroos: link

SDASM Archives: 08_00941, 08_00943, 08_00944

Mike Acs's Collection: link, link

Numbers Station: link, link, link, link, link

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Boeing image: 71SV13043