#South by Southwest Interactive

[clairwil]

Hacking and tracking fingers, automobiles, with Daito Manabe and Kaoru Sugano

Yamamoto, Daito Manabe, and Kauru Sugano discuss the use of open models for creative collaboration during South by Southwest Interactive 2013. At Omni Hotel in downtown Austin, Texas. There was a point in time when I understood this. Now it remains as a mysterious poem. Poem Note Daito Manabe Daito Manabe and MIKKO Manabe artist Genome data Github MAD fan fiction videos, about 600…

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[specialagentartemis]

Hey, would you be willing to elaborate on that "disappearance of the Anasazi is bs" thing? I've heard something like that before but don't know much about it and would be interested to learn more. Or just like point me to a paper or yt video or something if you don't want to explain right now? Thanks!

I’m traveling to an archaeology conference right now, so this sounds like a great way to spend my airport time! @aurpiment you were wondering too—

“Anasazi” is an archaeological name given to the ancestral Puebloan cultural group in the US Southwest. It’s a Diné (Navajo) term and Modern Pueblos don’t like it and find it othering, so current archaeological best practices is to call this cultural group Ancestral Puebloans. (This is politically complicated because the Diné and Apache nations and groups still prefer “Anasazi” because through cultural interaction, mixing, and migration they also have ancestry among those people and they object to their ancestry being linguistically excluded… demonyms! Politically fraught always!)

However. The difficulties of explaining how descendant communities want to call this group kind of immediately shows: there are descendant communities. The “Anasazi” are Ancestral Purbloans. They are the ancestors of the modern Pueblos.

The Ancestral Puebloans as a distinct cultural group defined by similar material culture aspects arose 1200-500 BCE, depending on what you consider core cultural traits, and we generally stop talking about “Ancestral Puebloan” around 1450 CE. These were a group of people who lived in northern Arizona and New Mexico, and southern Colorado and Utah—the “Four Corners” region. There were of course different Ancestral Pueblo groups, political organizations, and cultures over the centuries—Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde, Kayenta, Tusayan, Ancestral Hopi—but they generally share some traits like religious sodality worship in subterranean circular kivas, residence in square adobe roomblocks around central plazas, maize farming practices, and styles of coil-and-scrape constructed black-on-white and black-on-red pottery.

The most famous Ancestral Pueblo/“Anasazi” sites are the Cliff Palace and associated cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde in southwestern Colorado:

When Europeans/Euro-Americans first found these majestic places, people had not been living in them for centuries. It was a big mystery to them—where did the people who built these cliff cities go? SURELY they were too complex and dramatic to have been built by the Native people who currently lived along the Rio Grande and cited these places as the homes of their ancestors!

So. Like so much else in American history: this mystery is like, 75% racism.

But WHY did the people of Mesa Verde all suddenly leave en masse in the late 1200s, depopulating the whole Mesa Verde region and moving south? That was a mystery. But now—between tree-ring climatological studies, extensive archaeology in this region, and actually listening to Pueblo people’s historical narratives—a lot of it is pretty well-understood. Anything archaeological is inherently, somewhat mysterious, because we have to make our best interpretations of often-scant remaining data, but it’s not some Big Mystery. There was a drought, and people moved south to settle along rivers.

There’s more to it than that—the 21-year drought from 1275-1296 went on unusually long, but it also came at a time when the attempted re-establishment of Chaco cultural organization at the confusingly-and-also-racist-assuption-ly-named Aztec Ruin in northern New Mexico was on the decline anyway, and the political situation of Mesa Verde caused instability and conflict with the extra drought pressures, and archaeologists still strenuously debate whether Athabaskans (ancestors of the Navajo and Apache) moved into the Four Corners region in this time or later, and whether that caused any push-out pressures…

But when I tell people I study Southwest archaeology, I still often hear, “Oh, isn’t it still a big mystery, what happened to the Anasazi? Didn’t they disappear?”

And the answer is. They didn’t disappear. Their descendants simply now live at Hopi, Zuni, Taos, Picuris, Acoma, Cochiti, Isleta, Jemez, Laguna, Nambé, Ohkay Owingeh, Pojoaque, Sandia, San Felipe, Santa Clara, San Ildefonso, Tamaya/Santa Ana, Kewa/Santo Domingo, Tesuque, Zia, and Ysleta del Sur. And/or married into Navajo and Apache groups. The Anasazi/Ancestral Puebloans didn’t disappear any more than you can say the Ancient Romans disappeared because the Coliseum is a ruin that’s not used anymore. And honestly, for the majority of archaeological mysteries about “disappearance,” this is the answer—the socio-political organization changed to something less obvious in the archaeological record, but the people didn’t disappear, they’re still there.

[mapsontheweb]

Spaniards and Portuguese in India and the Malay Archipelago, 1498-1580.

“Historical atlas”, William Shepherd, University of London Press, 3rd ed. 1924

by cartesdhistoire

Muslim merchants from Gujarat, based in Cambay, dominated maritime trade in the Indian Ocean in the 15th century, supported by Hindu and Jain financiers and an organized network of correspondents. The Malabar coast, a major pepper supplier, served as a hub for commercial interactions between Arab merchants from the Gulf of Aden or Oman and Chinese merchants – or their intermediaries – from Sumatra and Malacca. Muslim merchants primarily engaged in the spice trade.

The arrival of Vasco da Gama in Calicut in 1498 disrupted this system. In 1502, King Manuel entrusted him with commanding a second expedition aimed at eliminating all Muslim presence in the Indian Ocean. The Sultans of Gujarat and the Deccan sought assistance from a Mamluk fleet to counter the Portuguese, but it was defeated before Diu in 1509, paving the way for Portuguese conquests of Goa in 1510, Malacca in 1511, Hormuz in 1515, Diu in 1535, and Daman in 1539.

The Portuguese occupied the southwest coast of Ceylon from 1505 to access cinnamon, establishing a fort in Colombo in 1518. They controlled the north, west, and south coasts of the island, key areas for the cinnamon and precious stone trade.

The Moluccas were another target because the Banda Islands produced nutmeg, while Ternate and Tidore produced cloves. The Portuguese established privileged relations with the sultans of Ternate and Tidore, facilitating their settlement in Amboyna and Timor, despite the capture of Malacca from Sultan Mahmoud Shah.

The Portuguese monopoly endured until the emergence of the English East India Company and the Battle of Swally in 1612.

Meanwhile, Spain remained engaged in the spice race, aiming to connect America to the Moluccas and their spices. Following expeditions in 1525 (Loayza) and 1528 (Saavedra), Spain secured a definitive return route in 1565 (Urdaneta) and established settlements in the Philippines in 1571.

[quixoticall]

To Hell I Go

MASTERLIST // PROLOGUE

Suggested Listening: Anything Zach Bryan but particularly, “Open the Gate”, "Nine Ball" and “Oak Island”

WC: 6.9k Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, injury, a bit of Billy redemption I'm sorry idk how that happened, major character death (not really tho) p in v smut, oral (f and m receiving), barn sex, Steve and Sunshine being sassy with each other, parental death

Author’s Note: Hi!!! First, I want to say how grateful I am for the positive feedback. I love writing this story and I am so glad you enjoy reading it so far!! I wanna give a quick disclaimer, I did minimal historical research and am mostly going off vibes and the fact that I’ve spent most of my life in the American Southwest/South and come from a long line of cowboys and ranchers.

Reblogs and comments are always cherished and they are incredibly motivating!

“Excuse me, Miss, I’m hoping you could help me.”

The seat next to you shifts, bringing your attention away from the blurs of jagged mountain edges and gnarled Joshua trees you were watching from the train’s window.

You turn towards an unfamiliar face: angular and delicate, framed by tawny hair that’s cut much too short to be decent on a young woman.

You know better than to call attention to yourself so you just nod politely and hope this interaction is brief.

If your demeanor comes off cold, the girl does not seem to register because she launches into a flurry of words.

“I’m with the Sheriff’s office and few towns over, see, and there’s been a slew of train robberies recently. Have you heard about them?”

You shake your head minutely, your eyes stay trained on the cabin door, hoping Max comes back to pull you away from this interaction.

“Really? You haven’t? It’s all anyone can talk about! There’s been a series of train robberies around Fairbanks and Wilcox. Passengers have been robbed of their valuables and once they even robbed the safe onboard. We reckon it could be the Creel gang but we don’t have too much evidence—“

“Pardon me, but what Sheriff are you working for exactly, Miss…?” You cut her off.

“Buckley. Name’s Robin Buckley and I work for Sheriff Hopper, of course, have you heard of him at least?”

“Can’t say I have. What exactly do you do for Sheriff Hopper, Miss Buckley? It’s unusual for a young lady to be working for a sheriff is if not?” You query. But then again, the girl, herself was unusual, dressed in a man’s shirt tucked into a patchwork skirt with a pair of trousers peaking out underneath and talking fair more than appropriate.

“Well… I’m his secretary of sorts and his deputy’s too.”

This catches your attention and once again your eyes glaze over the peculiar girl. If she was here it was likely Steve or Hopper would be too and if that was the case, you had to lay the lowest of lows. Your eyes scan the cabin of the train, looking for any sign of the sheriff or his deputy.

“What is it that you do, Miss?” She stutters out, blushing under your gaze.

“I’m a governess,” you explain, smoothly, rehearsed. “My ward and I are traveling to California currently.”

It’s the role Creel had assigned as part of his plan. You the governess and Max your ward.

It was a deceptively simple plan: you and Max would board the train, disguised as harmless members of society. Then, once on board, Max would sneak off and make sure the luggage carriage was unlocked from the inside giving Tommy and Carol the opportunity to sneak on during the train’s first stop.

The two would have the opportunity to loot through passengers’ luggage and then Billy would be waiting for them a few stops later, to help them escape.

Against your own doubts, the plan had worked three times thus far but with you’re not sure how much luck you have left with what the Buckley girl has just divulged.

Almost as if by summons, Max appears at the carriage door, face calm but eyes panicked. Behind her you spot the source of her distress: Deputy Harrington.

He’s taller than you remember, you can see that now that he’s standing. Broader too, but undeniably, impossibly him.

“I’m sorry Miss Buckley, it was real nice talking to you, but I’ve got to be going now,” you say hastily picking up your skirts to step around the girl.

Stumbling into the aisle, you hurry to the opposite vestibule door, hiding your face as best as you can.

You’re almost out the other end of the carriages when something posses you to look back, perhaps habit or something worse.

Eyes lock, recognition flashes and yells erupt.

“Stop!”

You are out of the train car in a flash and onto the open vestibule. Knowing you have no place to run but the engine room at the front of the train, you decide to climb upwards onto the flat top of the traincar. You’re not too far from where Billy is meant to be, if you could stay hidden until then you had a chance.

You launch yourself at the thin, metal ladder, weighed down by your pretty, impractical traveling clothes.

You struggle onto the roof and crouch low to brace yourself against the destabilizing wind and rattling movements. Heavy bootfalls trail behind and you rush towards the next car, bracing yourself to either fall or jump.

“Sunshine? Is that really you?” You turn around once more—Orpheus cursed yet again—and for a moment time has gone backwards.

Steve looks equal measure heartbroken and confused.

“What are you doing here?” He bellows over the clash of scrapping metals and whipping winds.

“What are you doing here?” You shrill back.

“I’m… I’m the deputy,” he says as if that’s explanation enough.

“Well la-di-dah.”

He is unaffected by your sarcasm and inches closer, a little awed, a little stunned.

“What are you doing here?” He repeats.

What are you doing here? In this unrecognizable life with the weight of the world on your shoulders?

You could tell him. It’s Steve after all: your life-long confidante, the keeper of your sins. (What’s a few more sins and secrets between the two of you?)

There is no “two of you” anymore though and this is not your Steve either, standing in front of you, brandishing a badge. This is a stranger, an enemy even. This is the bastard who killed your horse and who is working with your most loathsome foe.

You edge away from him, towards the end of the roof.

“I’m robbing a goddamn train,” you finally respond before gathering your skirts and leaping.

You land, just barely, in a piled heap of frills, then right yourself in a rush before taking off running.

He doesn’t follow.

_______________

You trailed behind Steve into the stable.

“Steve I’m not going to hold you to a promise that we made when we were sixteen, if you don’t want to marry me, just tell me, I won’t be mad,” you yelled after him. And you loved him enough to make that true.

Your words stopped him dead in his tracks in the middle of the straw-strewn floor.

“Of course I want to marry you,” he said, eyes sparkling but mouth downturned in a frown. “I’ve wanted to marry you since I was thirteen.”

Your heart softened at this.

“Then what was all that about?”

You had agreed that you would finally reveal your courtship to your family when you got back from finishing school. The two of you had been loving each other in secret for three years now— seeing each other in the cracks of time between your schooling when others wouldn’t suspect. It hadn’t been something you had outwardly discussed, the secret. It was just something both of you were too shy to bring up. It had seemed so good, so pure. Something you didn’t want to be questioned over or given grief about or held against you. But once you were done with school, it felt like adulthood began and you could start loving each other in plain view. Get married even. It was time to tell your family, the two of you had decided together.

Except before you could’ve broached the subject at dinner that night, Steve excused himself from the table, suddenly. There was a mare with a broken leg he desperately needed to check on. Bullshit.

“Your father started talking about setting you up with that Carter fella and I lost my nerve,” Steve sighed. He looked at you with an apology etched in his warm eyes.

“He was only saying that because he didn’t know about us,” you soothed. You drew closer, reaching a hand up to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows.

“No, he was saying that because he wants you to marry you off to someone with money, someone in ‘society’. They didn’t send you to that fancy school just to end up with some ranch hand orphan,” Steve argued back but there was no heat left to him. He just sounded despondent and defeated.

You knew there was some truth to what he was saying. The expectation for you to marry well had always existed, unspoken but present still. And while you would hate to disappoint your parents, it wouldn’t be for nothing and there wouldn’t be anything lost. Your family had money of its own, your sisters’ future did not rely on you securing a rich husband and you let Steve know as much.

“Plus, Daddy’s a good man, he’ll want me to be happy and you make me happy, Steve.“

He smiled at you for the first time that night and it felt something like sunshine.

“You’re right,” he admitted, finally and he took your gentle hand in his work-worn one. One, two, three kisses dotted your cheeks before he pulled you close lips slotting hotly together. His hand gripped the stiff fabric of your bodice hungrily, the pressure drawing soft moans from your mouth.

Your back was against the wall the next instant and Steve’s lips were burning a trail of kisses down your neck. One of his hand traveled from your waist to your thigh, hitching it high around his hips and his lips found yours again. You tightened your leg around him to pull him closer, chasing the sweet friction of his body against yours. He whined into your mouth lowly in response. The next moment, he had pulled away from you and you whimpered at the loss. He was in his knees, his hands wading against your voluminous skirt.

He found your stocking-clad thighs underneath the fabrics and wasted no time in finding the edges of your undergarments.

“Can I?” He asked, earnest and hungry.

You nod feverishly.

“Words, darlin’. Give me your words.”

“Yes, please, Steve, yes.”

Steve disappeared underneath your skirt and you gasped when you feel his hot lips against the soft skin of your stomach. Your underthings were gone in an instant and his mouth traveled lower. Your legs parted and one thigh ended up on his shoulder.

This was new. Something you and Steve had never done, not for lack of wanting and now that you were here, it was sloppy and fervent and perfect.

His mouth locked onto where you need him the most. His lips, soft and malleable, latched onto your hot cunt and his tongue moved to circle your clit.

Your head rolled back against the weathered wooden wall.

“So sweet, so pretty,” you felt him mutter against your skin.

“More,” you pleaded and suddenly you felt his hand circling your slit, so close to where you needed the pressure.

“Inside, Stevie, please.”

“You want me to fill you up, darlin’? You want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Yes, please,” you moaned.

“Tell me who you belong to first,” he ordered. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, I’m yours, Steve,” tears welled in your eyes from the desperation.

“Damn right, you’re mine, sweet thing. No one else’s.” As he said that, a finger breached into your tight heat and began to slowly pump in and out.

The stretch became even more delicious when Steve added a second finger. You vaguely thought to yourself that you wanted to feel like this forever and you felt a sense of release approaching.

You cupped a hand against your mouth, stifling the moan that rips through when the rush finally hit you. Your legs wobbled, nearly giving out. Steve peppered a final set of kisses around your body before reappearing from underneath your skirt, eyes heady with lust. You trailed down the wall to sit across from him, eyes fixed on the bulge in his pants. You crawled closer, while Steve watched you with eyes transfixed. You placed a hand on either thigh parting them slightly so you could sit between them.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” you told him, thumbing his waistline.

“Yeah?” He said wantonly while his head lolled against his shoulder.

“Will show me how you like it?”

He nodded eagerly as you unclasped his belt buckle. He helped you undo his pants and free his cock from the confines of his pants.

You had heard things about sex, at school, from your more adventurous classmates and knew the basics well enough to put some into practice.

You reached out to palm the length of his cock, a gentle, experimental tug caused Steve to hiss in response.

“Put your mouth on it, for me darlin’,” his drawled.

You obeyed readily and took his tip into your mouth.

Groaning, he leaned back on one palm while the other threaded itself through your hair. You bobbed your head a bit and with his encouragement your movements grew and became more fluid. You tried your best to navigate the sheer length of him. He was larger than you had ever imagined and you could feel his tip pushing at the back of your throat while you used your hand to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

He watched you with lust-filled eyes, “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Wanna keep you there forever,” he muttered as he pushed your head lightly, making you gag which elicited another moan from him.

“That’s it, honey, gag on it.”

You could feel him throbbing inside your mouth as you sped up.

“C’mere, I need your sweet little pussy around my cock, right now,” he urged suddenly, pulling your mouth away. You obeyed, eagerly, and he guided you onto his lap legs straddled on either side and skirt bunched up around your middle.

He rubbed circles on your thighs as he eased you down onto his cock. The stretch was foreign but not painful, however, with every inch burned a little more. It was delicious. With some coaxing on Steve’s end you had managed to take him fully and your thighs were flush against his. You felt so full, tears were beginning to dot the corners of your eyes.

“Doin’ so good for me, honey,” he praised, cupping your face to wipe the tears away. “Now, I just need you to ride me.”

His hand moved lower, digging into hips as you began to rock against him. The burn had given away to a delicious friction and you wanted more. Your hips moved quicker against his drawing out a deep groan from Steve. He then pulled you close, capturing your mouth in a searing, wet kiss.

You rocked against him, finding a steady rhythm, whining keenly as a heat grew in your lower stomach.

“Hush baby, someone’s gonna hear,” Steve muttered, strained, before placing his hand over your mouth while only made you burn even hotter.

You felt your release coming up on you again. “Steve,” you panted against his palm, “I’m gonna… “I’m gonna.” You were so wrecked you couldn’t even complete a sentence.

“I know sweet thing, I know, you’re doing so good for me,” Steve soothed in response, “me too.” And with that he began moving his hips up to meet your thrusts with his own.

It had turned into something rough and fast, each thrust reaching deeper than the one before.

You finished, grasping for purchase at his shirt as you rode out the feeling. A few moments later you felt a spasming inside of you as his body went suddenly rigid and then relaxed.

The two of you untangle yourselves, panting as you came down from the bliss.

“Steve?” You probed, a little later when the two of you were propped in an exhausted heap against the wall.

Steve hummed in response.

“Is yours bigger than normal or are all of them like this?”

He was speechless for a moment before breaking out into full guffaws. Your own giggles erupted into full peals of laughter that could not be contained.

Eventually after the laughter had subsided and silence had overtaken the two of you while you became lost in thought, Steve murmured your name.

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna talk to your father tomorrow, man to man and ask for your hand, I promise.”

That was the last time you saw Steve Harrington.

_______________

“Max is missing,” you announce, to no reaction.

You continue, “we need to go find her.”

Deputy Harrington and his lackey had foiled the train robbery.

You had managed to get away along with Tommy and half the loot, thanks to Billy’s good timing. Carol and Max had not been so lucky.

In the days after the scuffle, the crew had hung low and part of you hoped that Max had managed to get away somehow. She was willful and resourceful. But, it had been nearly five days and there had been no sight of the young teen.

“We don’t go back for anyone,” Billy drawls through the cigarette in his mouth, “thems the rules”

“She’s your sister, Billy,” you insist.

“Her mama married my pops and then

they both died, that don’t make us blood,” he grunts.

“Fine,” you huff, disgusted, “I will go back for her then.”

“No you will not,” Creel murmurs from behind you as he enters the small rundown kitchen and both you and Billy shrink back a bit involuntarily.

Creel—Henry Creel, although you don’t dare call him by his first name—is the head of your entire operation. He is a terrifying type of man in that there was something otherworldly about him, as if one day he’d peel his vest away to expose winding gears in his ribcage or angel wings along his back.

Lifetimes ago, Creel had been a society man, his family’s name well respected in West Texas, but there had been some unknown incident that had resulted in the deaths of his parents and sister leaving him as the sole keeper of the Creel name and fortune.

Soon he had started setting up betting houses, prying on gamblers, cheating them out of money and then running them into the ground when they inevitably couldn’t settle their debts.

He was a grifter among men and a king among grifters. Add to that some bootlegging, a bit of robbery, and a touch of murder and Henry Creel ruled over an empire of crime. Of course, he needed folks to do his bidding which is why he came to collect the members that made up his gang.

Creel collected members for his gang carefully, only picking the most talented and they had to be ruthless but not as ruthless as him because he needed his crew to fear him, to obey him.

He turns to you and speaks, slow and measured, “You are my best shot by far and I cannot risk losing you, especially for such an insignificant cause. So, I don’t want to hear another word about this, understand?”

“Yes,” you agree tightly, fists balled tightly at your side.

“Wonderful,” he smiles, long, unfurling and mirthless.

_______________

Creel seemed to want to make sure you didn’t go after Max because the next day he sent you to pick up some packages for him at the boarder. He had emphasized the value of the items and the expectation for everything to be returned to him speedily and in tact. You didn’t bother asking what the parcels possibly contained, it was better that you didn’t know anyway.

The trip had been uneventful enough, the handoff occurring under the cover of pitch black night somewhere in the Rio Grande Valley. There were three packages, long and cylindrical, wrapped in soft leather that clanged when they moved. You strapped them to the sides of your saddle and set off, whispering a quiet thank you to the young woman that had dispatched the goods and riding through the night.

There’s only 50 miles left between yourself and the Creel House when you hear it. A steady gallop coming from behind you, accompanied by the jingle of spurs. You know who it is without having to turn around.

“Excuse me, Miss, but you look familiar,” Steve calls out as he appears at your side.

You ignore him but he continues, “You look like a girl I knew back when I was a youngin’ back home—look just like her, actually. A rancher’s daughter—pretty thing. Last I heard she married some rich fella, left her town and never came back.”

Your jaw clenches.

“You’ve got the wrong girl. I ain’t married,” you hold up a ringless hand for emphasis.

“I can see that,” the deputy next to you muses.

“And I ain’t no rancher’s daughter either,” you add.

Steve chuckles dryly at this, “My mistake then, Miss, must be my mind playing tricks. But y’know who else you look like? One of the Creel gang members that robbed a train out in Wilcox last month.”

“Yeah? Well, you look like the bastard who killed my horse,” you snap back and he falters.

“Apologies for that,” he responds sounding truly ashamed.

You scoff at what little good his apology does you and pull at your reins. He is matching your stride for stride with all the ease in the world, which is making it near impossible to lose him.

You are familiar with this path though, having ridden it dozens of times while working for Creel. You know that while the path may be clear now, there is a patch of brambles coming up that is a difficult maneuver for anyone unfamiliar with it. Anyone who has traversed it before however, would know that there a steep and unseen descent that, if going too quickly, would result in a very painful tumble into a patch of cacti. That was your only chance of escape, you just needed to make sure Steve kept his pace and was distracted enough to not see the trap you were setting.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to surrender, Miss,” he declares, claiming your attention again.

“And I’m gonna have to say no, Deputy Harrington.”

“You can’t do that!” He huffs.

“Says who?”

“Me! The deputy!”

“I’ll make you a deal then,” you call out spotting the briar patch in the short distance, “if you can catch me I’ll go with you willingly. Promise.”

You yank hard at the reigns and dig your heels speeding up before suddenly veering off to the right sharply. Steve had picked up considerable speed and by the time he sees the bramble and cacti it’s far too late. His horse is left struggling for footing and he tumbles downwards into a nest of needles and spines.

“Apologies for that!” You yell over your shoulder before riding off in the opposite direction. You spend the rest of the way back convincing yourself you’re not even a little bit sorry.

_______________

“Steve didn’t show up for his morning chores,” Lottie informed you over breakfast. “You wouldn’t happen to know where’s he’s at, would ya?”

“No! Me? Why would I know?” Your answer spilled out a bit too quickly, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind and conscious.

Hattie wrinkled her nose, “Because y’all are attached at the hip.”

“Right. Well, I haven’t seen him. Maybe check with Eddie?” You suggested to the excitement and delight of your sisters who were enamored with the slightly older ranch hand who had come to employment a few months back.

The two were practically tripping over themselves to go find him. They returned with Eddie in tow and still no inkling of where the other ranch hand might’ve been.

“Sorry, Miss,” Eddie drawled, “haven’t seen ‘im since last night. Seemed like he had a good night though,” he smirked, “was sighing up a storm. But his boots are gone and a few of his other things too.”

You thanked the three and sent them off to continue the search.

Steve had never missed a day of chores in his life, that itself was vexingly peculiar but, your father was also gone all morning and based off the previous night’s promise, you were inclined to believe they’re together, so you didn’t panic, but you were still worried.

When your father returned later that afternoon alone, you rushed to meet him at the door.

“Daddy, Steve didn’t talk to you about anything today did he?” You asked casually as he laid his boots by the door.

“Naw, haven’t seen him all day,” he looked perplexed, “although the girls tell me he’s missing.”

This was when your worry transformed into panic.

Supper time came and went and Steve was still unaccounted for. The same was true the following morning.

By midday, you had plead with Eddie to let you into their shared room to search for any sign for where he might be. Your mind was overflowing with worry and confusion.

Eddie escorted you and you watched, with pity in his eyes as you riffle through Steve’s things desperation mounting with each overturned blanket or skimmed-through book that led nowhere.

“Wait, what is that?” Eddie pointed at the headboard where it seemed like a thick glossy piece of paper was tucked between the bedpost and the wall.

You wiggled it out and extend the edges open for the two of you to see. It was a poster, the type that hung in saloons and public squares.

Cheyenne Rodeo, was printed along the top in thick lettering along with, Winner Rewarded in Cash Prize.

Underneath that, in smaller print and circled in pencil were a series of dates a week away.

“Shit,” Eddie muttered over you shoulder.

_______________

“Shit,” Billy mutters behind you. “It’s that mutton-punching deputy again.”

You groan and turn to look. Sure enough, coming up around the bend was Deputy Harrington and his trusted Secretary Miss Robin Buckley.

You and Billy are tucked behind a barn and while you’re clearly visible he is unseen.

“I’ll handle this,” you say firmly and Billy is quick to protest but you cut him off, “Billy, I swear to God, if you don’t let me handle this I will shoot your weasel off while you sleep.”

He recoils immediately, “I’ll wait here then.”

“Be ready to make a run for it,” you advise nodding to his horse, Pistol.

You take a moment to breathe deeply and straighten your posture in your saddle before ambling into the dirt road.

“Howdy,” you call out to the pair who are fifty paces away, their figures outlined bright with sunshine.

“Hello!” Robin Buckley greets near cheerful with a boisterous wave, “It’s good to see you again!”

“Don’t you have anything else to do besides following me around?” You question, squinting at Steve.

“Got wind of some stage coat robberies along this road and as the deputy, it is my duty to come and investigate,” he responds haughtily.

You scoff, “Duty?” You gesture at the angry red scratches that litter his body, clear remainders from your previous run in. “Was it your duty to get into a fist fight with a barn cat, Deputy Harrington.”

He reddens, tugging at his collar higher pulling your attention to his appearance. It’s the first time you’ve gotten the chance to take him in fully, head on, without having to flee in the opposite direction.

He’s dressed neatly in a blue buttoned shirt with maroon trousers and a fine set of suede chaps. A tan vest showcases his glinting silver, official badge. His hat and boots look worn but clean. He looks good, neat, well-kept.

A clear contrast to your mismatch, threadbare clothes and your wind beaten face and unkempt hair. No wonder he barely recognized the first time you crossed paths.

His eyes rake over your body, as if he’s read your mind and suddenly you drowning in self-consciousness and struggling to keep yourself from running a hand through your hair.

Twinkling laughter cuts through your tense regard for one another. Miss Buckley seems amused by the exchange.

Steve glares at his partner, “Robin, c’mon.”

She puts her hands up in guiltless surrender. “Sorry but you never mentioned she was funny.”

They divulged into a low argument that you only catch pieces of.

“—said charming not funny, she’s definitely both—“

“—find my suffering amusing—“

“—never tell you anything—“

“—thats fine, Red will tell me—“

Your ears perk at the last statement from Robin.

“Max? You have Max?”

The two exchange an uneasy gaze.

“Miss Mayfield is currently being detained at the county jail for suspected involvement in the Wilcox Train robbery.” Steve declares, inciting your outrage.

“She’s a child, Harrington!”

“She’s a suspect and besides, you can see her soon enough because you are under arrest.”

This elicits an eye roll from you.

“Not this game again,” you grumble.

“This isn’t a game,” he argues and to prove his point, unsheathes his pistol.

You stiffen at the sight but keep firm.

“Deputy Harrington,” you start, tone measured, “you and I both know that Henry Creel will not take kindly to his best markswoman being detained and he is not someone you want to make an enemy of, trust me, you won’t survive it,” you emphasize for his benefit, not your own, “so why don’t we part ways here and maybe you two find something more your speed. Maybe there’s a child nearby cheating at a game of jacks you can arrest and—“

A shot rings out, loud and disorienting, making your ears ring. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Billy, who had since appeared from behind the barn, that unloaded his gun, not Steve. He hadn’t hit either the deputy or his secretary, however he had managed to spook their horses enough to cause enough commotion and confusion for the two of you to slip away.

“C’mon!” You hear Billy shout, snapping you out of your stupor and with only final glance back, you urge your horse forward leaving Steve in the dust, once again

_______________

The news came, as all terrible news does, on a raining Sunday afternoon.

Up until that day, you had maintained your hope that Steve would come back, protecting it like a tepid flame in a storm.

But all hope was extinguished when your father handed you a torn news article. It only had four words printed on it: Cheyenne Rodeo Claims Casualty. Above was a photograph of a young man rough riding a bull. It was grainy and small but the photo was undeniably him. Steve. That four word title and photograph were all that you were afforded, the only thing that had been ripped out of the Wisconsin Tribune.

“No, no,” you shook your heard frantically, “it can’t have been him. Where’s the rest of the article? I need to see the rest of the article,” you demanded.

Your daddy sighed, grievously, “that’s the only thing Uncle Tony sent me.”

“Steve’s not dead, Daddy! He can’t be!” You shrill, “He’s the best bill rider to ever be.” Steve wasn’t supposed to meet the same end as his father, he was better than that.

“I’ll go to Wisconsin,” your father soothed, “I will find out myself.”

“Can I come with you?” You asked.

“I’m afraid you’ll slow me down, darling and besides it’s far too dangerous. But don’t worry, I’ll do what needs to get done.”

“Will you bring him back?” You pleaded, sounding like a petulant child.

“As long as he wants to come back,” your father warned back, watering the seed of doubt that had been growing in your chest since the morning Steve had disappeared.

Your daddy was back two weeks later. Alone. One look at his apologetic and grievous face and you collapsed onto the soft mud.

Steve was dead. Your father had confirmed it. He hadn’t been able to track down the newspaper but he had seen the certificate and he provided a singular printed death announcement to show you.

Steve was dead.

He had left and died with no explanation or reason. You would never know why he had done what he had, perhaps it was pride or recklessness, no one could say.

He had the privilege of living and dying by his own whims and follies and you were left behind with the messy work of grieving him and putting all the pieces back together.

_______________

“I appreciate what you did back there.” The words come out stilted and uncertain when you say them aloud. You can’t even look at Billy when you speak, instead your eyes face forward, focused on the terrain in front of you instead of the man riding at your side.

You’re not used to thanking Billy and it doesn’t seem like he’s used to being thanked based either.

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, as he shielded his eyes away. He looks like he wanted to say something else but the words were stuck.

“Out with it,” you urge, “whatever it is you wanna say.”

That was all the permission he needed to ask his totally unabashed question.

“Did you and the deputy fuck?”

“Billy!” You chastise, heat rushing your cheeks.

He shrugged, “You said ‘out with it’. And it just seems like you two know each other… well, is all.”

“We don’t know each other,” you answer hoping he drops this as quickly has Max had months before.

“C’mon darlin’, don’t bullshit me.”

You sigh.

“We may have crossed paths once or twice before.”

“Is that it? If you ask me, there’s some history there. Does he owe you money or something?” He presses, laughing.

“You sure are goddamn stubborn, y’know that?”

He smirks at you, a perfect picture of roguish handsomeness, “I’ve been told, yeah.”

Shaking your head disparagingly, you choose your next words with care,

“We knew each other when we were kids. And kids say things they don’t mean, they make promises they can’t keep and eventually those promises get broken but that doesn’t mean the world ends.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit dramatic?”

You laugh, “Max used to say that all the time.”

He joined into your laughter, “Yeah, kid was a pain in the ass but she had a way of keeping you humble.”

It was true. In your deepest moments of self-pity and despair, Max always managed to bring you back to reality in her unique, biting way.

You sober at the thought of her, imprisoned, “You really don’t care that she’s locked up?”

Billy exhales heavily, “it’s all the same to me. I told you we ain’t kin.”

“Bullshit,” it’s your turn to call. “If y’all ain’t kin, why didn’t you just leave her behind when your parents died?”

Billy stiffened. “I was fourteen scared shitless and she wouldn’t leave me alone. If I woulda known how things shook out, I woulda dropped her at some orphanage to keep us from this mess. Maybe she’s better off where she’s at.”

“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”

“I dunno,” his tone darkens, a previously unseen vulnerability on display, “is this the life you would want for your kin? Or yourself for the matter?”

The conversation dies after that.

_______________

You had spent three years trying to mend your grief following Steve’s death.

Nothing quelled your spirit and everywhere you looked, you couldn’t help but be reminded of him.

You stopped riding and shooting. You gave up reading. You would ruin your chances with every suitor that your daddy sent your way by refusing to talk altogether, no matter how much your parents tried to convince you that it was time to declare yourself engaged. You weren’t ready, you kept insisting to your parents despite their attempts to find you a match, perhaps you would never be ready.

It had taken three years for the Steve-shaped wound to finally beginning to scar over, you couldn’t stand another heartbreak. Regardless, one came anyway.

Your father was dying. An illness had set in that was eating him away. In the span of a few months he had become bed-bound and weak. It was just a matter of time, was what the town doctor had told you.

You did your best to be a solid pillar for the rest of your family, braving your father’s bedside care when the others couldn’t stomach it, taking over the ranch’s books and ledgers when your father fell to delirium. Grief was familiar enough that you knew how to manage around it.

The day your father died, it was sunny and bright which seemed like a cruel joke. Your sisters cried while you organized the funeral. Your mother refused to leave her room for three days, finally coming out in time for the service, hair impecable and wearing her best dress.

The funeral was well attended, of course it was. Your father was well known and respected in your community and you recognized everyone that came through the church doors that day in one form or another. Except for one man.

He was tall, imposing. Well dressed, but not showy. He stood in the back, the entire service, and then after that too. He waited until it was just your family left before he approached.

“Hello,” he purred, reaching out to kiss your mother’s hand, “my name is Henry Creel, and I’m here to talk about a debt that needs settling.”

Men were rotten. It was a fact truer than the blue sky. Most rotten men had the shame to be upfront about it, but not your daddy, it turned out.

No, he turned out to be the worst kind of rotten—the kind who hid all his ugly behind a gleaming veneer of false honor and integrity until all the rotten caught up to him. And then, he had the audacity to die and leave the consequences to you to deal with.

Turned out, your seemingly pious father had a penchants for gambling and, according to Creel, he was quite bad at it because he had left an outstanding debt the size of the moon. What made it worse was that he kept pushing payment off in a strange dance the two had: Creel would demand payment, your father would barter for a bit more time, claiming he was waiting for some money he had in the works, the money would inevitably never appear and then they would go back to the start. Henry Creel was angry, he had made clear. And he would be receiving his rightful payment, regardless of your father being six feet under.

“Hand the ranch over to me,” he offered your mama, “and all the debts will be settled.”

“Not a chance,” you challenged, “the ranch is worth more than what my father owes you.”

Creel regarded you for the first time, and you could see the machinations of his brain whirring.

“There has to be another way,” you proposed, trying to sound sure and steady when you felt neither of those things.

“Perhaps,” Creel began, “Perhaps, we could come to a different arrangement. Tell me girl, do you have any skills of note?”

You swallow thickly at the question, unsure what answer to give.

“She can shoot,” Lottie volunteered, “real good, too.”

“And she a fast rider,” Hattie added.

“She went to this fancy finishing school in El Paso, too. They taught her how to be a proper lady and a wife,” Lottie supplied.

“And she’s pretty—“

“Hattie,” you interrupt, “that ain’t a skill.”

“ I know but I couldn’t let Lottie say more than me!”

Creel chuckled, unamused, “ The little one is right, if yielded correctly, beauty could be a skill.”

You blanched. The way he said that paired with his lecherous smile didn’t sit right with you.

In the end, you were given a choice: you could sell the ranch and let your family fall into a sure poverty, or you could work for Creel, doing the rotten work that men like him needed done.

The choice was made and you were once left paying for the sins of another man.

You rode off behind Henry Creel into the unknown night a few hours after your father’s funeral, reminding yourself the entire way that you had made the right choice and hoping you’d be better than your father at being rotten.

[serpentface]

Do you have anything already set or thought out for sea-travel in the setting? Is it common, kept mostly in coastal regions or are longer voyages on larger vessels also a thing? Bonus question, and I know that it may be difficult inland especially during a drought, but can any of the characters of the white calf story swim (well or poorly)?

Yeah the majority of interconnected world powers rely on sea trade

The core continental mass in this world is about the combined size of Eurasia + Africa (though laid out very differently (sorry for still no map)) but much of its central-eastern interior is divided by a network of seaways formed by the movements of the continents (picture the Mediterranean - Red Sea but More) on which the majority of travel and trade relies. Other tradeways exist in the open ocean, though mostly close to the coasts and mostly routes to and from the entrances to the Inner Seaways.

Most long distance merchant ships will rely exclusively on sailing, without rowers. I don't really have exact sizes for common merchant ships pinned down, but it's not going to surpass the size of anything widely used in the 'ancient world' (certainly smaller than the biggest found in ancient Rome, as there is no single world power here big enough to necessitate that much imported grain to sustain itself).

Broadly speaking, there are VERY few voyages performed out into the open ocean, outside of fishing/'whaling' ventures and journeys to known inhabited islands connected via trade. As far as the vast majority of peoples know, there's nothing of much interest out there- a continent in the far north is known by most seafaring peoples but is rarely interacted with, and another exists on pretty much the opposite side of the globe from everything else and is virtually unknown (has caelin peoples as its sole sophont inhabitants, dispersed by flight).

Few people have reason to travel great distance outside of the context of trade. Long distance immigration is rare (with the exception of caelin peoples, again due to flight), the vast majority of mass movements of people are done on smaller distance scales or via gradual dispersal, the furthest common travel distances still being relatively close along sea routes.

Like as an example: Imperial Wardin's ethnic makeup (in terms of established populations) is: Wardi (themselves a collection of dozens of tribes largely assimilated into a national identity), Wogan, Cholemdinae, Jazait, the Hill Tribes (<<< all these are native to the region for at least a millenia), Burri, Titen, Kos (contemporary immigrants, or descendants of Imperial Burri occupiers, originating from across a narrow sea to the west), Yuroma, Ummo, Yanti (people from the coastal Lowlands just to the southeast along the White Sea), Ulelilwa (a people from the largest island chain in the White Sea, to the southwest) South Finns, Askosh, Ubiyans (some people from around the Viper seaway). There's a great variety of people here, but those that exist in significant established populations stem from around the three seas that directly border the region.

AS FOR SWIMMING:

Tigran isn't a strong swimmer per se but he's good at holding his breath and floating around, he grew up next to a river and would play in it as a kid. Doesn't have many opportunities to swim these days but likes being around water.

Brakul is a pretty strong swimmer, also grew up around rivers and learned to swim at a young age and enjoys it. He fails at a piss-drunk attempt to drown himself at one point because his treading water and floating instincts kick in (though moreso because the water is like 2 ft deep and mostly mud)

Etsushir is a VERY strong swimmer, most Jazait practicing traditional subsistence methods are taught to swim from a very young age, and he spent most of his life as a fisherman and several years specifically as a pearl diver.

Faiza made a conscious choice to learn to swim and sometimes would swim in the sea as a pastime back home. She loves the ocean and is a very strong swimmer, will go out much farther than would be considered safe or recommended.

Palo avoids open bodies of water (with sunlight sparkling on water one of the very few specific seizure triggers he can identify) and is also too skinny to float effectively, probably could not swim.

Hibrides finds bodies of water that you can't see the bottom of gross and creepy and avoids even touching them, much less swimming. Definitely can't.

Janeys hates being wet in anything harsher than a warm bath and would die on contact before he could even get around to death by drowning.

Couya is under the impression that if she ever had to swim she would simply Know How, but definitely wouldn't.

[kawaiijohn]

Woo yay yippieeee even :(

From James spann Twitter (above imbed):

WEDNESDAY MORNING UPDATE: Milton remains a catastrophic category five hurricane early this morning with winds of 160 mph. The hurricane is about 300 miles southwest of Tampa, and is moving to the northeast at 14 mph. A Storm Surge Warning is in effect for... * Florida west coast from Flamingo northward to Yankeetown, including Charlotte Harbor and Tampa Bay * Sebastian Inlet Florida to Altamaha Sound Georgia, including the St. Johns River A Hurricane Warning is in effect for... * Florida west coast from Bonita Beach northward to Suwannee River, including Tampa Bay * Florida east coast from the St. Lucie/Martin County Line northward to Ponte Vedra Beach From NHC Milton is moving northeastward at 12 kt in the flow between a mid-to upper-level trough over the northern Gulf and a ridge located over the Greater Antilles. This motion should generally continue until Milton makes landfall in Florida, which is likely to occur late tonight or early tomorrow morning. After the hurricane reaches the coast, a turn to the east-northeast is expected as another trough approaches the system from the west. Milton should exit Florida and move over the Atlantic waters tomorrow afternoon and accelerate eastward after that. The NHC track forecast is nudged a little to the north of the previous one to be in better agreement with the latest models. It should be noted that this forecast is based on the model fields, not the interpolated models which appear to be too far south. Users are urged not to focus on the exact landfall point as the average error at 24 hours is about 40 miles. The global models agree that vertical wind shear is expected begin to increase over Milton later today, and that should cause some weakening. However, there is high confidence that Milton will remain a very dangerous hurricane when it reaches Florida, and maintain hurricane status as it moves across the state. The cyclone is expected to become extratropical over the Atlantic on Friday and gradually weaken. The NHC intensity forecast is similar to the previous one and near the high end of the model guidance. Milton's wind field is expected to grow considerably in size while it moves across Florida. Additionally, a large region of tropical storm and hurricane-force winds could occur on the northwest/back side of the storm since Milton will be interacting with a frontal boundary and beginning extratropical transition. Damaging winds, life-threatening storm surge, and heavy rainfall will extend well outside the forecast cone. This is a very serious situation and residents in Florida should closely follow orders from their local emergency management officials. Evacuations and other preparations should be rushed to completion. Milton has the potential to be one of the most destructive hurricanes on record for west-central Florida. Key messages *A large area of destructive storm surge, with highest inundations of 10 ft or greater, is expected along a portion of the west-central coast of the Florida Peninsula. If you are in the Storm Surge Warning area, this is an extremely life-threatening situation, and you should evacuate as soon as possible if ordered by local officials. *Devastating hurricane-force winds are expected along portions of the west coast of Florida, where a Hurricane Warning is in effect. Milton is forecast to remain a hurricane while it crosses the Florida Peninsula and life-threatening hurricane-force winds, especially in gusts, are expected to spread inland across the peninsula. Preparations to protect life and property, including being ready for long-duration power outages, should be rushed to completion. *Heavy rainfall across the Florida Peninsula through tomorrow brings the risk of catastrophic and life-threatening flash and urban flooding along with moderate to major river flooding, especially in areas where coastal and inland flooding combine to increase the overall flood threat.

Stay safe y'all.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I would like to hear you elaborate :D

-Sky Floor

Well don't mind if I do! :D (Y'all are spoiling me tonight <3)

The noble families and divisions of Hyrule were like this:

To the northwest of the castle lay the Mountains and Forests of Peace, a land coveted for its sacred history. Legend claims that gods descended from the sky here. (The Breach of Demise is here, but at this stage it’s hidden in narrow canyons and forgotten to the world, except for legend – the Master Sword rests here, and hasn’t been touched since Skyward Sword Link placed it there). It’s run by House Serenne. This land would later be the place where Link, Hero of Power, uses the sword to maintain the seal on one of the pieces of Ganon’s soul, and the Temple of the Sacred Sword will be built there in the future. The area is known for its religious history and attracts many pilgrims. Its primary staple, therefore, is tourism. It also houses the Sages, which gives it a great amount of political power.

Directly north of the castle is the Lost Woods. The forest is mostly left alone, but the area outside of it house several villages, and it has a heavy military presence. The people who live here are used to fighting against the strange creatures of the woods and the occasional beast, as well as hunting or their resources as there isn’t much space for farming. They’re hardy and produce many soldiers for Hyrule. It’s known as the Woodlands, and its run by House Laruson.

Northeast of the castle is Death Mountain. King Ozen foolishly auctioned this land off to a rich Hylian family, infuriating the Gorons, though they didn’t have the ability to fight the entire Hyrulian army. It’s run by House Ishita. Zelda works to break the Ishita hold on the area, as Goron uprisings become prevalent after the war when they see weakness they can exploit.

To the south is Lake Hylia, a massive body of water with a few fishing villages lining its shores. These villages also trade with the elusive Zora. South of the lake are more settlements, but they’re not part of Hyrule. They offer trade with the fishing villages, though. This area is run by House Mabe.

Central Hyrule is still ruled by the king. It houses Kakariko Village and is a bustling place for trade. It also boasts the largest population of wild horses and has a booming horse business as a result. Lady Lon is the richest rancher in the land.

To the southwest are the Wastelands – an area that is mostly devoid of settlements except for the few who managed to make a home there. They are among the hardiest of Hyrule, and they are the few who interact with the Gerudo. No noble bothered to claim this land, and it’s therefore run entirely by the marshal of the area. After the war, this area is heavily reinforced and populated by soldiers, bringing trade and business to the area. A general is in charge of the Wastelands until Zelda places a noble in its care – Lady Muni of House Ishita, who agreed to it when she recognized that Ishita was going to lose its power in the Goron lands.

The Gerudo desert is massive – it spans the southern border of Hyrule in its entirety. It has several cities within its expanses, and its center of trade is in the Wastelands. The largest city is Lagema Town, and the two other settlements are Lanayru Village and Roosen Village. Lanayru is the farthest away, resting in the southeast, while Roosen is directly south and Lagema is the southwest. Roosen deals with Ordon Province, an independent province from Hyrule, while Lanayru sits in what remains of the Lanayru Desert. The magic of timeshift instruments has been lost, but glowing crystals and mysterious discoveries of the past still tantalize the few who manage to make it out there. Lagema has a rough history with the Wastelands, sometimes trading and sometimes stealing from them. Lagema is the seat of authority for the Gerudo people. After the war, all three settlements have been destroyed. Hemisi builds Gerudo Town in the southwest, while a scant amount of Gerudo survivors refuse to listen to her rule because of the actions of her father. She leaves them, protecting the rest of her people. Eventually, the Gerudo rebuild themselves but have a shaky relationship with Hyrule.

The Seven Sages

The Sage of Light – Traditionally a member of the royal family. The sage’s seat has been empty, and King Ozen had planned to fill it with Zelda when she came of age. Zelda does traditionally fill this role, though it’s not made official until the other sages try to put someone in there to get power. Eventually is filled by Zelda’s daughter, Missa.

The Sage of Shadow – Peloz, a female Sheikah who is very powerful in magic. Aunt to Chief Impa. Very strongly in league with the royal family. Did not like the coup, and did not acknowledge Zelda as the rightful ruler until Link married her.

The Sage of Water – Bansen, a Hylian male from the region of the Wetlands, where Lake Hylia is. He has good relations with the Zora, a mysterious water species of people that Hyrule has had trouble having any kind of relationship with. He’s pretty neutral in terms of loyalties; tries to do his duty, but he won’t sway the Zora one way or the other, and he does not want to get involved in the political war brewing, but also doesn’t want his life to be a living hell, so he’ll sway for whoever pressures him the most.

The Sage of Time – Another traditional position of the royal family. Tradition was broken when King Ozen gave it to one of his lovers, Ora. She holds no magic over time, but it was an open position to be filled. As such, she’ll do anything to maintain this position as it gives her prestige and power. Usually does so by sleeping with whoever she needs to. She tries this with Link and it does not go well. However, they can’t just throw her out despite the dishonor she tries to push on Link, and he despises that. It’s another point of contention between him and Zelda. Eventually, Zelda finds a way to get rid of her, and Sonia takes her place.

The Sage of Fire – Kuzu, a Hylian male from House Ishita. Given the fact that Zelda seems keen on giving the Goron lands back to the Gorons, lands which belong to House Ishita, Kuzu is very staunchly against her.

The Sage of Spirit – Ophea, a member of House Serenne. Her family traditionally fills this role, which is another reason they managed to become powerful enough to rule the entire region. Clearly not going to be in favor of Zelda since she overthrew the man who gave her family more power.

The Sage of Lightning – Originally Elkan, a warrior known as the Thunder Knight due to his booming battle cry and powerful fighting abilities. Staunchly loyal to the royal family. Died during the war. One of Zelda’s first tasks is to replace him at the end of the war, and she chooses Elkan’s son, Molik. Molik is not as strong a warrior, but he is just as proud and wishes to do his part. His loyalty to the queen is what earns him this position.

[windriverdelta]

Climate of ASOIAF and its interaction with geography

It is notable that despite the multiyear seasons that per Martin aren't due to physical phenomena, Planetos has an otherwise very Earth-like atmospheric circulation pattern - colder towards the poles, warmer to the equator, with a girdle of storms around the poles that move eastward, and tropical storms that hit Westeros from the southeast during autumn.

Hereby I'll hypothesize that a) the Lands of Always Winter have a size between Greenland and Antarctica, probably closer to the latter, b) the Narrow Sea has a warm northward ocean current, b) the Doom of Valyria didn't cause a volcanic winter, but changes in geography might have, c) the Planetosi equator runs from the Summer Isles westward through the Sunset Sea, the Saffron Straits and Jade Sea all the way to Sothoryos, w/o an "Americos" or Ulthos in the way and d) a continent between Essos and Westeros is almost certainly much smaller than Westeros if it exists at all.

:readmore:

For the record, I am assuming a continental configuration similar to, but with differences explained below, Werthead's in the Atlas of Ice and Fire blog, notwithstanding that as a Mercator projection it makes the Lands of Always Winter too large - and as I argue below, too small and with Ulthos incorrectly intersecting the equator:

The first thing to note is that per GRRM the Lands of Always Winter are probably larger than Greenland. In fact, given that the northernmost ice-free areas mentioned seem to correspond to the 70th meridian, it's possible that it has an area comparable to Antarctica. So that map might undersell their extent. The fact that the soggy Neck and the stormy Bite are located at around 50 degrees north might support this evaluation, since in the real world the Antarctic storm belt is centered at about that latitude. If we assume that Bran III AGOT was describing the Frozen Shore when he speaks of a "frozen shore", this might imply that permanent ice extends to 60 degrees north. The Thenn and Milkwater valleys might be equivalent to the McMurdo Dry Valleys, then. Granted, a somewhat smaller extent is also possible, depending on how far south sea ice extends in Westeros. Martin has also said that Essos does not extend to the far North; that is, the Shivering Sea surrounds the Lands of Always Winter like the Southern Ocean surrounds Antarctica, except that the North interrupts the ocean at Westeros.

Now there is a thing in Antarctica that doesn't seem to exist in Planetos: The Amundsen Sea Low. This is a semipermanent storm system that forms where storms running around Antarctica pile up against the Antarctic peninsula, and is one of the reasons why sailing conditions at Cape Horn are so treacherous. Given that the North is almost certainly a more effective block than the Drake Passage/Antarctic Peninsula, one might expect the "Sunset Sea Low" to be even more potent.

On the contrary, it seems like weather conditions west of the North are much calmer, with only sparse references to storms. That means that the "Sunset Sea Low" is weaker than the Amundsen storm system. This tells us a few things about Planetos:

There is probably no large continent west of Westeros. A smaller and/or mountainous continent in the middle of the storm track would weaken storms passing through. A large one conversely would spill cold air during winter and deflect warm sea currents (think the Gulf Stream), strengthening downstream storms. So we can assume that any "Americos" is no larger than Australia.

Warm oceans are distributed in a certain way. In the real world, the Amundsen Sea Low strengthens when water temperatures in the Atlantic are warm, and weakens when they are warm in the Indian and East Pacific. With the caveat that this assumes an Earth-like high altitude wind pattern in Planetos, this might tell us that water temperatures southwest of Westeros and in the Jade Sea are warmer than elsewhere along the equator - and warmer than the seas east of the Saffron Straits.

However, Corlys Velaryon's claim to have seen Elissa Farman's ship in Asshai - Elissa Farman travelled west of Westeros - suggests that there is an open oceanic connection from the Summer Isles westward to the Saffron Straits and thence into the Jade Sea. In fact, I think it's likely that the Saffron Straits extend along the equator and let warm water from the Sunset Sea drain into the Jade Sea. This would also explain the clockwise winds in the northern Jade Sea mentioned by sailors, since the trade winds from the Sunset Sea would be funnelled along the equator through the Jade Sea and turn clockwise like the monsoon into Yi Ti. Some of the warm water would spill through the Cinnamon Straits and Jade Gates into the eastern Summer Sea, forming a second "warm water pool".

Now onto the Narrow Sea. Given that westerly winds blow along the Shivering Sea, they would tend to push water eastward, lowering water levels around Braavos and driving a northward ocean current in the Narrow Sea. The warm water cooling and evaporating as it heads north would cause it to sink, forming a thermohaline circulation akin to that of the Atlantic Ocean. This would make the Narrow Sea much warmer than the Sunset Sea, and would amplify hurricane activity around the Stepstones.

In this context, it's interesting to discuss the effects the Doom of Valyria had on climate. Given that Valyria is never described as an archipelago pre-Doom and that the Doom caused an intense tsunami to its east, it's reasonable to assume that the entire archipelago is a volcanic caldera. One much larger than any volcano of Earth, probably more akin to the largest volcanoes of Mars. Its formation probably wouldn't lead to a "volcanic winter", however; volcanic winters don't scale up with the size of eruption and the involvement of all that water would weaken the cooling effect. It's reasonable to discuss the effects that the formation of the Smoking Sea and the other straits had on Planetos' climate, though: The boiling water and additional pathways for Jade Sea water to reach west would cause the Narrow and eastern Summer Sea to become warmer. This would increase precipitation over Westeros, Essos and Sothoryos (possibly explaining the rise of the Hoare-era Ironborn conquerors, Dothraki and decline of Gogossos) and storminess in the Stormlands (possibly explaining their decline during Arrec's rule).

[feeling-horsey]

>Equius: Hunt the Wolf (P3)

You have to remain impassive. This is a job. You are here to save more people from being harmed. There is nothing you can do for those already dead.

Logic does not quell your anger. It boils in you, heat and pressure tightening your muscles into rigid steel.

If you had been faster, STRONGER.. If you hadn't rested after the last job and instead went straight here-

The breath is let out slowly. You are letting your anger control your actions too much. You will kill the beast if you keep that up. Then what would you do? You have the area of the most recent attack. That is enough to begin your working. You head south. The innkeeper had only given a vague direction, but you knew little enough about the town that you doubted any specific directions would have helped. Once you were nearer, all you needed to do was demand someone point it out to you. They were compliant. You no longer need to interact with people. That is a relief. You duck into the nearest crack between buildings- not really an alley, but shielded just enough from view to disappear from it entirely without raising any alarms. You do not fear what they might do to you, but you have already left a mark here. No doubt, you knew, there would be tales told in the dark of you.. Especially after what you soon be doing. You flick into nothingness. The process is as quick and natural to you as taking in a breath- perhaps even moreso. It is your foremost ability, being nothing. It is what you are. The implication of that frightens you, as it always has. Once neither mortal nor immortal eyes can perceive you, you eschew the lie of being anything close to human. You ascend through vertical space. It's not really flight, not when you are like this. There is no rush of wind, no chill on your skin. If it weren't for your willingness to allow it, you would neither hear nor see nor comprehend things such as space or time. That endless void calls to you.. But you will not heed it. You cannot. From your vantage, you can see more clearly the lines that are carved through the fields. The village's farmland was more organized than you suspected it was. The field you had arrived in stretched along the south and southwest part of the village. More toward the north was a second field, which you knew would need to be some sort of bean, though you were too far to tell- nor did it matter. Separating the fields on the eastern side was a river, dotted with mills for working the grain. Further north, closer to the tree line of a forest were the billowing smoke stacks of charcoal burners. And finally in the last section was the empty field of fallow. The empty field and river were blessings. They kept the crop-yielding fields from being too close. There was no way the wolf would be able to pass through them, even though you suspected it did not infest the entirety of the grain. If the village had been accosted by a wolf near all of the farmhouses, more children would have gone missing than simply those of the Narrows. You merely had to hope it hadn't already moved on to stalk another family. Would you be you fast enough to save them, if it had? Would you be STRONG enough? And most importantly.. Could you ever live with yourself if you weren't?

[clairwil]

Deep thinking with Nathan Martin, of Recode, Deeplocal

Nathan Martin, once a punk hacker dude and now CEO of ad agency Deeplocal, thinks we should be nice to each other.  From the Deeplocal website. I thought I’d seen complex workflow charts working with engineering graduate students, but this kludge takes the prize. DEEPLOCAL Nathan Martin, owner of Deeplocal Recode Recode.com was based on Priceline and was a punk trick. Copy subbar codes;…

[avpdvoidspace]

currently thinking about cultural differences when it comes to avpd. I'm french-american and have lived in multiple places on both continents, I've noticed that I am significantly more stressed out being outside in the united states than I am in most of europe, especially in countries like france, belgium, etc.

in america, especially in the midwest/southwest/south, there is a big expectation to be friendly. smiling, making small talk, talking in a chipper voice, etc. because anything else is seen as rude! here it's very normal for a stranger on the street to approach you for whatever casual conversational reason while that rarely happened to me in western europe, unless I'm in a big city and they're trying to scam me.

living in the southwest US right now I have to have my friends order for me because I cannot put on a big fake smile or talk in that customer service voice :( it's not the server's fault but I'm very neutral-faced and monotone naturally and I also hate being asked personal questions. I KNOW it comes off as rude but I can't help it hrrrr... interacting with people is already hard enough without having to act happy and friendly. it's so draining and I feel kind of gross when I do it. it's like a more intrusive version of masking. I've had to move cities because the social culture is too much!

(of course these cultural things are relative and not every person fits into one ideal etc etc this is just my general experience)

I completely relate to this. I very very much prefer living in the Asian country I used to live in than the US, but at least if I'm stuck here for now, I live in part of the US where it's the norm to keep to yourself and mind your own business. Not a big smiling or cheerful area, which I appreciate but it's a tourist town so in the summer it's pretty miserable.

Tbh I've been in your position living in other places and I would just rather come off as rude. That's me though.

Depending where in the US, it's kind of middling in social expectations. There are definitely cultures that demand quite a bit more, but the US is certainly bad enough for me to want to return to the country I lived in before this.

[eopederson]

Another Eruption in Iceland

"After a lull in activity, fresh lava has once again poured from the Reykjanes peninsula in southwestern Iceland.

The latest eruption—the third in the region since December 2023—began early on February 8, 2024, with lava spraying up to heights of 80 meters (260 feet) along a 3-kilometer (1.8-mile) long fissure near Mount Sýlingarfell. The small peak is north of the fishing village Grindavík and east of the Svartsengi power station and Blue Lagoon geothermal spa.

The image above was acquired on February 10, 2024, by the OLI-2 (Operational Land Imager-2) on Landsat 9. Infrared and visible observations (bands 7-6-3) have been overlain on a natural-color image to help distinguish the heat signature of the lava. Still recent but cooler lava expelled near Grindavík in January appears black.

The topography around the fissure meant that much of the fresh lava flowed east into unpopulated areas rather than south toward Grindavík. Some lava also flowed west into the vicinity of the power plant and spa.

Earthen defensive walls protected both facilities, though lava did burn through a key hot water pipeline and two roads. According to the Icelandic National Broadcasting Service RÚV, authorities are in the process of restoring hot water to homes in the area after conducting repairs on the pipeline.

About seven hours after the eruption began, the MODIS (Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer) on NASA’s Terra satellite captured this image of a plume of gas and ash streaming to the southwest. This eruption was effusive—not explosive like the Eyjafjallajökull eruption in 2010—and the plume contained minimal ash, so it did not cause any disruptions to either domestic or international flights.

Volcanic plumes like the one shown here typically contain water vapor, sulfur dioxide, carbon dioxide, and small amounts of other volcanic gases. Researchers from the Icelandic Met Office and the University of Iceland have noted that, at times, magma has interacted with groundwater, adding to the amount of water vapor in the plume. The TROPOMI (Tropospheric Monitoring Instrument) on the Sentinel-5 Precursor missionobserved sulfur dioxide (SO2) within the plume, Michigan Tech volcanologist Simon Carn noted on X.

After the initial burst of activity on February 8, the intensity of the eruption faded. In an update on February 9, the Icelandic Met Office reported that seismic sensors had stopped detecting volcanic tremors and that a recent drone flight showed no activity over the eruption site—signs that the latest eruption was ending.

However, on February 12, the agency reported that the land surface above an underground magma reservoir near Svartsengi had again begun to swell by 0.5 to 1 centimeters per day, a rate similar to what was observed prior to other recent eruptions. “It is therefore highly likely that the cycle continues in a few weeks with another dyke propagation and a volcanic eruption,” the agency said."

NASA Earth Observatory image by Lauren Dauphin, using MODIS data from NASA EOSDIS LANCE and GIBS/Worldview. Story by Adam Voiland.

[mapsontheweb]

This task in Finnish geography finals.

via u/PureRip3

Based on the map of the imaginary world source 1.A, choose the incorrect statement in sub-questions 1.1 to 1.10. There is only one incorrect statement in each sub-task. Some of the statements refer to items a-i on Map 1.A. Correct answer 2 p., wrong answer 0 p., no answer 0 p.

1.1 Land cover 2 p.

There is one lake in the area.

Only the northern parts of the area are marshes.

There are no surface waters in Mordor.

The area is mainly covered by forest.

1.2 Topography 2 p.

Mountains separate Mordor from the rest of the map.

Minas Tirith (a) is located in the river valley between the mountains.

Mount Doom (b) is visible from the town of Minas Tirith (a).

Edoras (c) is located on the lower slopes of the mountain range.

1.3 River network 2 p.

The Ringló river (d) flows down to the southwest.

The Ringló river (d) is not a branch of the Anduin (e).

Anduin (e) flows from south to north.

Edoras (c) is in the catchment area of Anduin (e).

1.4 Weather and climate 2 p.

The weather in the Lebennin area is often warmed by warm downdrafts.

The climate of the Lebennin region is wetter than that of the Anórien region.

The prevailing wind direction in the Lebennin area is from the sea.

The seaside balances the temperatures in the Lebennin area.

1.5 Road network 2 p.

The road from Minas Tirith (a) to Edoras (c) passes through the forest in two places.

The area between Minas Tirith (a), Morannon (f) and the northern parts of Mordor has the densest road network on the map.

The road from Edoras (c) to the Ringlo river (d) is longer than the road to Mount Doom (b).

The southern part of Mordor has a dense road network.

1.6 Interactions between regions 2 p.

The southern part of Mordor is peripheral.

Morannon (f) is a key transport hub.

Edoras (c) is the northernmost town in the region.

From Edoras (c) to Minas Tirith (a) there is both a road and a water route.

1.7 Air directions 2 p.

Minas Tirith (a) is located west of Anduin (e).

From Minas Tirith (a), the bay shown on the map is to the south-west.

Minas Tirith (a) is located east of Mordor.

From Minas Tirith (a), Mount Doom (b) is to the north-east.

1.8 Scale 2 p.

A proportional scale would be more appropriate for this map, which can be zoomed in and out.

The scale line indicates how much distance on this map corresponds to 100 km in nature.

The scale line indicates that the area shown on this map is about 350 kilometres wide in a south-north direction.

The scale line indicates that if the width of this map in the east-west direction were 45 centimetres when printed, its scale would be 1:1 000 000.

1.9 Distances and areas 2 p.

Minas Tirith (a) is about 100 km from Mount Doom (b).

The distance from Minas Tirith (a) to the sea by river is less than 400 km.

The plateau south of Morannon (f), surrounded by steep mountains, is less than 2 500 km2 .

Nindalf (g) is about 3 000 hectares in size.

1.10 Elevation curves 2 p.

The highest point of the Ephel Duath mountain range (h) is about 800 m above sea level.

Nindalf (g) is less than 200 metres above sea level.

The summit of Mount Doom (b) is about 200 metres above the surrounding area.

In the mountain area designated as site (i), the western slope is gentler than the eastern slope.

[youngveinsworld]

contents page

this page will be updated with links as i make the posts !

2009

the early days of the young veins:

how the band got its name

the label

forming the young veins

writing and recording take a vacation:

the band talking about the album process

music that inspired take a vacation's sound

on songwriting

pictures from the studio

album listening party at angels & kings - 16 october

other:

halloween 2009 in chicago

picture/info tag for 2009

2010

tours:

spring tour with foxy shazam

summer tour with rooney

individual events:

first show as a band - 13 march

south by southwest (SXSW) - 19 march

performances with the like - may

album release party - 8 june

bonnaroo festival - 11 june

new york rooftop concert - 20 july

acoustic sessions

about the band:

photoshoots

the songs

the hiatus

masterlist of interviews

instruments used onstage

picture/info tags:

merch

the band performing onstage

the band offstage

with fans/fan interactions

recaps of specific concerts

2011

superbowl hero

ryan's work on 'the french album' (taisez moi by didier wampas):

general info

info about the songs

timeline of the album process

the taisez moi cd

side notes

if i have used a photo taken by you of the young veins performing onstage or with them after a show and you want me to take it down/blur your face out please inbox me! i always always where possible credit the photographer under images and link original sources but if you're not happy with your work being shared on my blog or you have privacy concerns about your picture with the band being reposted im happy to remove it!

i use the uk system of dd/mm/yyyy in the tags, so if you wanted to find pictures from the show on 7 april 2010 for example that will be under #07042010 rather than #04072010. apologies if this is confusing but otherwise i would constantly be tagging things wrong..

if you see a mistake in one of my posts feel free to let me know! i sometimes get place names wrong (especially connecticut i find that one really hard to spell) or other things like that. i dont claim to be a fountain of knowledge about tyv, just a fan who wants to keep all the young veins content i can find in one place!

and shoutout to prettyoddfever for the inspiration to make this blog! i see her account as such a valuable resource for fans of pre split panic so i wanted to make something similar for everything ryan has done post split

[syngoniums]

San Vicente Cemetery in Kyle, TX was established in the early 1900s for Latino residents. In this era of racially segregated burials*, individuals would typically be interred in small plots on the land of ranchers and farmers they worked for. San Vicente was founded in response to the need for a dedicated community graveyard. It's relatively narrow, but goes back much further than we initially expected. Unfortunately, the back half is badly overrun with invasive Japanese privet, which is toppling stones and making it difficult to reach some graves. The front half is well-maintained, however, and contains more recent burials.

Like most Mexican cemeteries, there are agaves. The blue pups, presumably A. americana, are located in the transitional zone before the privet takes over. The parent plant is gone, having either bloomed or alternatively died in the 2021 winter storm, but its stolons are going strong.

The green agaves are in the front of the cemetery by the gate. They are medium sized plants, but the leaves are broader than my fully outstretched hand thumb to pinky (about 20cm, or a little under 8 inches). They showed no damage from the December cold snap, which suggests full zone 8 hardiness. I entertained the possibility that they were A. gentryi or another hardy green species, but as luck would have it, Google Maps captured an inflorescense from this colony a few years ago:

This doesn't look much like the stalk of gentryi or montana, which have very distinctive large, fleshy bracts, but it does look a lot like A. americana's. That's not too surprising; the A. americana we know is really a cultigen**, a plant altered by humans. Its precise origins are unknown, predating European contact, but it's suspected the wildtype is A. americana ssp protoamericana, which is hardier and stockier than its graceful silver and blue descendants. Looking at protoamericana, it's easier to understand the relationship between the various forms. I can't say it's a definitive ID, but I'm happy to have made its acquaintance.

*Kyle itself is named after the Kyle family, local landowners and slaveholders. The slave cemetery is now rather euphemistically called Kyle Pioneer Family Cemetery, and is in a wooded area adjacent to the Kyle Community Cemetery. Skyview Cemetery, the site of the cedar elm-favoring Spanish moss, is a Black cemetery established post-Civil War, just south of San Vicente, and before Kyle Community. You can strike history from the textbooks, but the dead can still give testimony.

**Chasing Centuries: The Search for Ancient Agave Cultivars Across the Desert Southwest by Ron Parker is an approachable book tracing the history of pre-Columbian cultivation and use of agaves in the region of modern day Arizona, and works well as an introductory glimpse into the complexity of human interactions with this genus, which is sorely underappreciated in the U.S. They're so much more than tequila and landscaping!