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seeasweetsmile · 6 years ago

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Hey ! Here a Kimdine oneshot that nobody asked for. I already talked before : it’s about a race between Kim and Ondine. Ondine will be on subway, and Kim at foot. (because, let’s get real ; Kim is crazy enough to do this kind of bet). @snekwami I’m permit myself to tag you in it. Hope you don’t mind ! ^^

On ff.net in French. On Ao3 in English.

Title : Race against time Pairing : Kim x Ondine (Kimdine) Disclaimer : Characters are not mine, I’m just have fun to write them. Summary : After Kim once again praised his abilities for the race with Ondine, who only half believes him, he decides to prove to her that he’s right in the form of a challenge : Ondine by subway. Kim running. From the Louvre to the Place d'Italie. Whoever arrives first at the fountain wins.

"Are you sure you want to do that ?”, asked Ondine for the umpteenth time, looking down at Kim's squatting figure next to her. Indeed, he was curled up on himself and was firmly tie his laces. The challenge he was about to do had begun earlier this week. While they had walked the streets of the city and had seen a runner with expensive sneakers on the poster of a pub stuck on a bus stop, Kim had again boasted of his capabilities for the race with Ondine because "pfff, I don’t need these big shoes to be the fastest in Paris". Of course, the redhead had only half believed, as evidenced by her little head movement accompanied by her amused smile. Vexed, the sportsman had decided to prove to her that he was telling the truth. And what's better than turning that into a bet ? The rules were simple : Ondine would go by subway. And Kim on the run. From the Louvre to the Place d'Italie. Whoever arrives first in front of the fountain wins. Ondine's only difficulty with her subway trip was that she had to take a connection and not take Line 7 – which was a direct route. Otherwise it would be too easy and she would win in advance. She should take Line 1 towards Château de Vincennes, then change to Bastille to take line 5 and stop at Place d'Italie. So, it would take about 25 to 30 minutes by subway if all went well. While Kim had calculated the distance time : If he walked quietly, his route would take him 50 minutes. But Kim wouldn’t walk. He was going to run. And the boy would run fast, so you could compare his speed to that of a bike. As a result, his time would be halved and he would travel the distance in just 25 minutes. Their times were about equal, so it was playable.

And now, they were here on a misty Saturday afternoon, posted next to a metro entrance, waiting to begin their foolish challenge. “I’ve never been so sure of my life.”, he replies, switching to his other shoe. While she was in her thoughts and she crossed her arms behind her as a sign of timidity, Ondine smiled with a mischievous air – despite her cheeks that took on an adorably pink hue, and sank a glance towards him. “So… do you want a good-luck kiss ?”, she teased as her heart beat faster. But Kim stood up at once, resting his fists on his hips, while a confident smile stretched his lips and his gray eyes twinkled with determination as he crossed her eyes. "No need for luck. You will see that my abilities are real. I already won the inter-college tournament last year, remember ? So this course will be a breeze.” Ondine blinked, disconcerted by the assurance of her boyfriend who was so focused on the race to not consider that she offered him a implied kiss. She smiled awkwardly as the hope in her heart was slightly deflated. It was Kim, after all : there were times when he did not really grasp the subtlety of things. Or he had only listened to half of what she had said and only retaining the word "luck ". Yes, it was very likely that this is the second possibility.

"My train arrives in two minutes ; I should go there.”, she says after consulting her phone. She put her phone in her bag and said, "Well, I'm waiting for you in front of the fountain, then !”, as she greeted him with a wave of her hand. "Yeah yeah, get smart with me, Ondine.”, Kim laughs. "I'd prove you that I'm right." "That's what we are going to see.”, she concluded in a wink. Then the redhead disappeared on the stairs of the subway. Kim looked down at the watch on his wrist, whose two-minute counter was decreasing second by second. He closed his eyelids, jumped on the spot to warm up, then set in position : the fingers placed on both sides on the ground, one leg stretched behind him while the second was folded, buttocks slightly raised in height. He ignored the intrigued and confused glances of passers-by around him. Eyelids closed, he took a breath, released his overflowing air, re-opened his eyes as gray as sharp in front of him, then waited. His watch emitted two distinct beeps and the athlete burst into the air, sliding his soles on the asphalt. When the wind gently stroked her face, Kim had a good feeling and allowed herself a confident smile.

On her side, Ondine let the last people go down on the platform and went up in the wagon. Despite the few seats that were available, the redhead strategically chooses to stand beside the doors. In this way, she would be able to get out as quickly as possible and access the other tunnel. The stations run at the same rate as the doors open and close. Although she has her headphones in the ears and the sound at a decent level to hear the lyrics of her music, the squeak of the wagon on the rails twists her eardrums and makes her cringe. She has lived in Paris for years and uses public transport, but she can never fully get used to this kind of noise. Once the stop "Bastille" reached, the train slowed and Ondine takes a step forward to be in front of the doors. She glances at her mobile phone and finds that she is on time. The door of the wagon opens automatically to vomit his passengers, and the redhead starts running again. She hurries to run in the corridors, avoiding and doubling other users, to catch her next subway. When she hears the sound of her train ringing earlier in the corridors, her heart misses a beat and she starts down the stairs, hoping to get it on time. But once on the pier, she is forced to watch, helplessly, the departure of the train that sinks inside the tunnel at the other end of the wharf.

A woman's voice then announces that the next train is in three minutes, and Ondine slams her tongue to the palace. "Shit... !”, she pleads to herself. Frustrated at having to wait and waste precious time, she ran her hands over her face and short strands, trying to calm her nerves. Damn, at this rate, Kim was going to win. She imagined him almost doubling her own subway, and this thought snatches her a brief smile. The scariest thing was that this idiot is quite capable to do it... Her green eyes fixed on the train, which stopped in a scream as horrible as it was deafening, she was selfishly begging for Kim to be slowed down by piles of red light, and a monster crowd to slow down his extraordinary speed. Once supported against the window of the wagon that would lead to victory, the redhead can’t help but tremble anxiously her leg watching the stone wall scroll at a crazy speed. Let’s hope that she arrives before Kim despite the slight delay she took. She knew from experience through swimming that every second counted. That's why she couldn’t afford to hang out once out at her station. And although it was not as excessive as him, she also had the spirit of competition.

Especially that, apart from the simple pride of being right, the loser will have to pay for each other's new accessories for their respective sports :

So if Ondine wins, she could have a swimsuit that would unleash her full potential, more powerful glasses, and maybe even the green-turquoise bath towel with flamingo motifs on which she had flashed a few weeks ago.

And if Kim won, he would have the right to the full panoply of the perfect runner ; an undershirt that perfectly sculpted his muscles, a pair of light shorts that exposed his thighs, a cotton cuff for his wrist, and if she was generous, maybe she would take sneakers that were even more comfortable than the ones he owned already. Soon, the stations "Quai de la Rapée", "Gare d'Austerlitz", "Saint-Marcel", and "Campo Formio" gave way to the long-awaited station : "Place d'Italie". As soon as she was released from the train, the redhead hurried off the platform, climbed the steps two by two, passed the turnstile with a sudden movement that earned her the outraged look of a little old woman, and ran quickly in the corridors to take the stairs two by two. Once outside, in the open air, she didn’t have time to catch her breath and rushed on the first pedestrian crossing she saw.

"Come on, faster... faster...", she mumbles in her breath.

As she skirted a lot of people in a quick step and mechanically apologized when her broad shoulders jostled the others' handbags, Ondine glanced up at the trees and the fountain that spat out her jet water in the center of the square, hoping not to see a red hoodie.

But her prayers were unfortunately not heard, since at the arrival of the iron enclosure that bordered the park, her green eyes caught the red garment and the blonde lock of his competitor a few meters from the central fountain. Her infernal rhythm stops dead, just as her steps creak on the gravel. She does her best to catch her breath. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, swallow, and so-and-so.

When she sees him shaking his arm with a huge smile in her direction, she still doesn’t believe it. Kim had won. Her shoulders sag and a bittersweet fragrance floats in the air. Despite the result, she closes her eyelids and greets the victory of her boyfriend with a proud smile.

Joining him, the smile on her face froze when she noticed that he was limping slightly and had the side of his head stained with blood. She gasps, instinctively putting her hands to her mouth to avoid screaming in horror.

"Kim ! Oh my god, what happened ?!”, she asks as she raises her fingers and hesitates to touch the wound in his head.

"Oh, I got hit by a car. Nothing serious.", he replies as if he were telling her that he had been buying a wand at the baker's.

"What ?”, she lets go of her lips.

"Yeah, that was crazy. I was running on the sidewalk but the traffic light in front of me went red, so I went – because I did not want to waste time, do you understand ?, but a car arrived and hit me. I roll on a meter or two. But I felt good, so I continued to chart my way.", he says, proudly bulging his chest, his fists on his hips.

“Usually, it’s the cars that make hit-and-runs offence when they overthrow a person, not the other way around...", Ondine managed to answer in an Olympian calm that surprised her herself.

"I know !”, Kim continued, extending his arms, "But I didn’t have time to stop or wait for help to examine me ! I shouted "I'm in a hurry, sorry !” And then I left. I think it was the adrenaline that kept me going all the way. I even think I was in the Zone. Ah, but now that I'm at rest, my leg starts to hurts and - oh my god, you hid me that you could using the multiclonage.” he says before tilting his body to one side and squinting his eyes. "You're not akumatized one more time, are you ?"

Ondine sighs and gently takes his hand in hers to squeeze it in comfort. For him or for her, she didn’t know too much. She crosses his gray eyes which examines her with a dubious look and shakes her head, tired.

"No, I'm not re-akumatized, Kim.”, she answers before making a move towards the fountain. "Come on, come over there : we'll chill out a moment."

They landed on the stone outline of the fountain, which spewed its water in a throbbing sound. Once seated, she immediately took her bottle of water from her backpack and a handkerchief to soak the tissue and dried blood on Kim's temple. Except for the small start in contact with the cold water on his wound, the latter didn’t flinch and let himself go. After checking the result, the redhead asked him to hold a new handkerchief soaked in water against his wound - in case the wound would re-open, then get up. "Don’t move.”, she ordered away, hand raised while the other pulled out her mobile phone. "I will call the helpers to take care of you." While on the phone, part of her mind is aware that Kim – with his arm still raised to hold her handkerchief to the side of her forehead, watches her pacing. When she hangs up and approaches her boyfriend to sit next to him, he lowers his arm and puts the tissu next to his thigh. "They arrive.”, replied Ondine at the sight of his questioning gaze. "You drank your bottle of water, by the way ?" "Fifteen minutes after my departure.”, he informs, nodding his head. Ondine acquiesces in a "good”, then dig into her backpack to get out a cereal bar. "Here. For you to regain strength." Eyebrows arched in astonishment, Kim blinked at the snack she was giving her. "What about you ? You don’t want it ? It's yours, nah ?”, he asks. "I already ate it on my way.”, she lied, shaking her head. "But I thought of taking several just in case." "Oh.”, he answers simply, before gently smiling at the candy. "Thanks, Ondine. You're awesome." She then watches him open the package and chew in the cereal bar to store the piece in his cheeks as if he were a hamster. His gaze softened at the sight of the young man who seemed happy to have something sweet to put in his mouth, no more shocked than that to have had an accident. "You're really an idiot... do you know that ?”, she blows. Kim throws a glance at her, and she notices at that moment that his features stretch with an amused air. "There must be one who has everything in the muscles and nothing in the brain !”, he jokes. But that did not make Ondine laugh, who looked at him with pursed lips and a frown. Seeing that she had just disappointed, Kim swallows what he has in the mouth and shamefully drops the eyes at the same time that his shoulders collapse. Using his thumb, he triturates the paper from his cereal bar with a slight noise.

"Sorry...", he mumbles. "I know very well that I do not have much in my head but that's the only way I can draw attention to myself. I prefer to be stupid and take everything lightly rather than being serious." "Hey.”, she called, banging her elbow gently against her boyfriend's blank. She crosses his gray eyes, the edges of which were slightly slanted - a detail she loved so much, then smiled reassuringly. "You don’t have to show off or do the interesting thing to get noticed. I mean, it doesn’t bother me ; I think you're awesome enough and funny to appreciate that side of you. And for having seen you at work, I know how fast and enduring you are. It's just that... ", she said, shrugging her shoulders,"... when you brag too often, you have a hard time showing modesty or restraining yourself when you want to do the clown for example. And it tends to annoy others." Then Ondine was silent, giving him time to digest what she had just said. She turns her attention back to her backpack to catch her bottle of water again, and open it to take several sips that instantly made her feel good. Hands resting on his thighs, Kim looks down at his shoes, staring at his outstretched legs without actually seeing them. He stays silent for two solid minutes, occasionally raising his protein bar to bite in and chew it. "I'm sorry, Ondine.”, he finally said as he tossed the empty paper of his treat into his fist. "I promise you that I will make an effort for my oversized ego." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ondine's hand making his way to hers and gently taking it to intertwine his fingers. Looking up at her, he saw that she gave him a proud and confident look at once, slightly pink cheeks. "I know you'll get there." And then, just as gently, she leans towards him and kisses him in the corner of his mouth. While he is vaguely aware that his ears are heating against his will, Kim feels stupidly smiling at the small gesture of affection. His mind naturally thought of words of love that bubbled in his chest, words of love that immediately went up in his throat, and pricking his tongue, ready to go out. Despite his discomfort that remained on his colorful cheekbones, Ondine looked at him in expectation, as if to encourage him to speak. However, Kim's brain blocked the routing with other facts and made him say something else : "It's me who won." The redhead fluttered her eyes as she descended to Earth and gave him a disillusioned disbelieving look. "What ?"

Seeing the tender look Kim had given her just before, she was sure he was going to say something sweet, but that's clearly not what she expected. Was his brain derailed at the last moment ? The boy continued his explanations, not in the least disturbed by the confusion of his girlfriend. "The bet.", he says. "In the end, I was faster than you. Even if you took the transports..." "I ...", hesitates Ondine, still partially lost, before approving the facts by shrugging her shoulders. "Yes. I missed my connection." At this answer Kim hummed thoughtfully while leaning his head slightly to one side, his eyes absently raised to the sky. "We could have arrived at the same time.”, he thinks aloud. "It's very likely, yes.”, she agrees calmly. Kim continued on his way. "I'll have to update my picture of victories..." The redhead watched a dog waddling proudly as he walked on the gravel while his master quietly followed him. She gently tightened her hold on Kim's moist hand before making a comment. "It was still really stupid bet." "No more stupid than the time I had to go around the pool gym in the middle of the winter just wearing my swimsuit to prove to you that idiots could catch cold !”, retorted the sportsman while coughing a laugh. Her lips curled in an amused smile as she nodded slightly, remembering this precious – and oh so absurd – memory. She then heard Kim take a long breath. "Ahh !”, he sighs openly. "To be honest, I would have liked to go to the sports shop to buy my new racing equipment directly after our challenge..." He had a slight, disappointed pout, and while she was going to wonder at the fact that he had been confident at this point, his attention was attracted to something else: between the trees, she could see the blue beacons as well as the Ambulance van park on the edge of the roundabout, at the park entrance. She closed her eyelids and smiled. "Well, we'll go next time.”, she says, standing up. "Your carriage has arrived." "Where ?”, he wanted to know, leaning over to the side, as if she could have hidden the help behind her. "Over there.”, replied the redhead pointing the officers down the stairs and heading towards them. While turning his head mechanically to the left, Ondine glanced at his forehead and found that the dried blood had already been removed thanks to the handkerchief and the water she had given him a little earlier. The wound did not look very deep ; he was probably going to have to do a medical scan to make sure he didn’t have a brain injury, as well as having a forced rest because of his limping leg, but otherwise, Kim should be able to get away with it. He is a strong boy. Obnubilate by bets as dangerous as idiots, certainly, but she will not trade for anything in the world. All she was hoping for was that he should be more careful in future challenges.

#kimdine #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #myfanfiction

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dlthrack · 6 years ago

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The adventuring party returned from their rout of nearby marauding goblins, coming in to the Ironvein Mining Company’s mining settlement toward the end of evening meal. Over dinner, they related their progress eliminating the recent goblin threat to the camp foreman and obtaining some useful scouting information for the likely paths to follow the next morning.

They got provisioned and set out early the next morning, heading north along hunting trails, but the ranger Iname quickly found signs of Cor Ironvein’s expedition several weeks back. As the path grew rougher and more rocky, Fortis and Taney took to riding the saddled donkey they had borrowed from the mining company, to better keep up with their taller companions’ strides. Eventually the path led to a rockslide which had clearly newly opened a previously inaccessible valley, and they turned eastward along a stream at the bottom of a canyon flowing down from the Vingaard foothills.

As the canyon opened up, they followed tracks into a small hidden valley, where they began to see traces of paving stones, then increasingly preserved sections of road working toward the mountains. At the end of the road, they reached the northern edge of the valley where it ended in a cleft in the rock wall. The carved entrance had been long obscured by a rockslide, and details could only clearly be seen from up close near the entrance. There they found Cor’s large travel pack resting under the eaves of the carving, with clear weathering signs indicating it had not been touched in weeks. His pack contained the overdue library book the acolyte had requested be returned, and a bookmark showed he had been reading about the geological makeup near an area called Crown’s Hollow.

They tethered the donkey and Fortis left Mouse perched nearby rather than bringing him underground. A square carved hallway headed straight into the mountain, with unlit sconces regularly lining the walls. Fortis lit each one as they passed, allowing the group to see cracked frescoes lining the walls that depicted a solemn procession of armored and robed figures bearing bodies on stretchers. After a few hundred feet, the cat Mittens, who had been scouting ahead, suddenly stopped, hissed, and ran back to Korg. Mittens bristled visibly, as they drew close enough to see a pool of dried blood and a smear leading forward and along an angled fork off to the left of the main path.

The rest of the group waited as Iname scouted down the fork carefully, and each step she took was closer to a room lit with an unseen blueish light. She warily leaned around the corner and saw a room dominated by a marble statue of a kneeling woman depicted weeping over a crystal bowl. Beneath the statue was a large stone altar, and between the altar and the hallway were rows of stone pews carved out of the same granite as the floor. Iname held her breath as she saw a crumpled form at the end of the last pew and a seated figure in armor, sitting apparently unmoving. She watched but could not tell if the armored figure was breathing, then quietly retraced her steps and recounted her observations.

After some inconclusive strategizing, the group all attempted to stealthily creep down the hallway, but failed miserably. However, the seated figure didn’t seem to react, and finally someone called out to it as Fortis attempted to smack it with mage hand. The mage hand dissipated before reaching the figure, who turned to look at the party, and raised his sword.

The knight demanded to know if the newcomers were allies to the thing in the basement, and seemed appeased by learning their intentions and purpose in coming. He lamented he was unable to leave to warn or protect Cor Ironvein, who died after being set upon by minions of the dark being in the inner sanctuary. He formally introduced himself as Sir Dalton “The Brave,” visibly grimacing at the title bestowed upon him, insisting it would have been more fitting to call him “the lucky” instead. Dalton said he saw divine guidance in the party’s presence, and begged the group to help him by preventing the evil man in the basement from using the Ironvein heirloom amulet’s power to break open his tomb and finally defile the entirety of this resting place he was charged in protecting.

The party asked for information about the shrine’s paths and current abominations, and while Dalton was explaining a small clink alerted the party to a fallen object resting in the bowl held by the statue. Iname having heard the source of the sound best, investigated to find a blue crystal in the shape of a tear just over an inch long laying the bottom of the basin. It emitted a faint blue light. Dalton expressed shock at seeing a tangible gift from the goddess Mishakal, and told the group it could be used to cleanse or remove corruption, showing the first hope since they met him.

The group set out to reach the lower levels of the temple crypt, and encountered a pair of animated whose heads were overgrown with mushrooms. The party attempted to subdue them stealthily, but were detected by the creatures, which clicked and turned to attack. They were easily taken down, and the group learned from their observations to ensure only one additional fight with a patrol of raised skeletal knights before finding the stairs downward.

At the bottom of the stairs they found an enormous set of wooden doors bound in bronze with a large bison head in the center, corroded nearly beyond recognition. They tested Dalton’s suggestion by holding the tear to the central figure on the door, which cleaned the corruption from the bust and restored its original finish. At the same time, the light in the tear was noticeably diminished but not extinguished.

Beyond the now easily opened doors, the group continued downward, with Fortis lighting each light they came across, allowing them to see opened alcoves and paths inward with broken stone sarcophaguses from which the shambling skeletons had presumably been created. Continuing onward, the group found a brightly lit room ahead and quietly peered in to see a robed figure standing next to a large highly decorated sarcophagus in front of a platinum dragon fresco. Having successfully crept up on the figure, they prepared to strike, and Iname began the fight by tossing her dagger into the back of the man in an attempt to interrupt him.

Shockingly, the man chose to speak rather than immediately retaliate, asking who the intruders were before declaring it did not matter because he had been commanded here by his god, and he had already succeeded. With that, the group watched in horror as he reached down to touch the amulet where it lay on the sarcophagus. It completely rusted, and the cover stone to the tomb cracked and the front fell open, knocking the tarnished medallion to the floor. The cleric reached inside drew out a broken longsword covered in dried blood, pointed it at a pile of skeletons on the floor and invoked his god Morgion, and the blood of Takhisis to form a whirlwind of bones. They drew together to form a blood red skeletal ogre held together with mushrooms towering over the group, and the battle began in earnest.

Korg prevented ambush from behind by molding earth in the doorway behind them, and the group coordinated their attacks to prevent injury to any but Iname, who had charged the cleric. The robed figure let out clouds of spores, which the group was luckily able to resist. With quick wits and tactical coordination, they were able to wear down the monstrosity and with a powerful wave a thunder, the cleric was thrown against the wall where he lay in a heap unmoving. After all seemed still, the group debated what to do with the man, but fearing the spores he unleashed Iname suggested it might be best to simply burn the body from a safe distance. Fortis tried to incinerate the corpse, but it suddenly transformed into a swarm of scurrying rats that escaped before they could react.

The group retuned the sword to its resting place interred with Sir Dalton’s remains, and cleansed it with the tear. With multiple casters in the group working together, they were able to mend the damaged stone and once again seal away the tomb. After cleansing the medallion, and restoring the sarcophagus, the braziers that had been burning with an oily blank smoke burned cleaner and the room was illuminated with a brighter whiter light. The air itself felt cleansed for the first time since they had entered the place, and began the trek back to the fountain of Mishakal. The hallways were clear of enemies, and it appeared the last vestiges that had been corrupting the catacombs was lifted.

Upon entering the statue chamber, the party heard flowing water and found the statue had begun once again to weep into the bowl for the first time since the Cataclysm. They also discovered the body of Cor Ironvein had been carried away by some divine force.

#dragonlance #d&d 5e

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keywestlou · 4 years ago

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THE SISTINE CHAPEL

“The grandeur that was Rome.” The grandeur that is Rome.

A multi-faceted city. It has everything. Including the Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican, the Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Roman Forum, Churches on every corner, the catacombs, Piazza Navona, ruins of old Rome, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, and on its streets buildings so old and beautiful they defy imagination.

The preceding a handful that quickly come to mind.

It was the summer of 1985. Absolutely the worst time to visit Rome. The heat unbearable. Romans leave the City for 1 or 2 months in the summer to escape the heat.

They go to the mountains and seashore.

I did not stay in Rome itself. I rented a villa for a month 42 miles outside of Rome in Livonia. Perched on a small hill on the Mediterranean with a private walkway to the beach.

My family and parents were with me. My mother turned out to be a blessing in disguise. She was the only one who spoke understandable Italian.

We had rented 2 cars. Visited Rome frequently. Generally one day in Rome, one day at the Villa. Sometimes took the train back and forth. An experience.

We took the wrong train back one day and ended up on Lake Como, once the Pope’s summer residence. Just as the sun was setting on the residence.

The error of our ways was worth it.

Since today is the date in 1512 when the Sistine Chapel Ceiling was opened to the public, I wish to share my Sistine Chapel experience with you.

A God is in His heaven, all is right with the world moment.

The entrance to the Sistine Chapel is through the Vatican Museums. A separate and distinct beauty from the Chapel itself. The museum portion we went through was a long corridor perhaps 12 feet wide. The Catholic Church has hanging on the walls and ceiling (yes, on the ceiling also) many many paintings. No wall or ceiling space evident. Frames touching each other.

I would have estimated the paintings’ value in the millions back then. Today, the billions.

All of a sudden you were in the Sistine Chapel itself. A large but not so large room. Michelangelo’s ceiling above.

We were packed like sardines in the room. No exaggeration.

Everyone’s neck cranked back to look up at what is regarded as one of the major accomplishments of human civilization.

Awesome. Everyone speechless. Only the sound of breathing.

I was fortunate to visit Rome many years later again. This time in the winter. Very few tourists. As a result, no crowding.

Sean Connery died last night in his sleep at age 90. May he rest in peace.

One of the great 007s.

I admired his acting. He worked till his later years. Always in a starring role. Roles he grew into.

Living in Key West, you learn about our coral reef. Often in trouble. Sick with what is known as coral bleaching.

There is a coral reef running along one side of Australia. Known as the Great Barrier Reef.

It has been there I assume as long as man has existed.

The last time anything new was discovered about the reef was 120 years ago. Now, a new and unbelievable discovery!

A portion of the coral reef has been discovered which is taller than the Empire State Building. Never seen by anyone before. It was discovered by a remote operated vehicle.

The Great Barrier Reef and this newly discovered rather tall portion has existed like forever without being affected by the malady coral bleaching.

What I am about to discuss raises the question whether the occurrence is America. Is us. It reflects a situation where a number of people were placed in harm’s way.

Saturday night, a Biden bus was traveling San Antonio to Austin on I-35 for Biden’s speech later in the evening. Biden was not on the bus.

Some Texans have had a “Trump Train” during the campaign. A Trump Train is a series of tractor trailers and cars. Saturday night numbering around 100. Flags and Trump paraphernalia adorning the vehicles. Horn blowing and adults whooping it up. Yelling profanities and obscenities.

The Trump Train surrounded the Biden bus. Trying to force it to stop in the center of the highway or push it off the highway.

Biden’s staffers were rattled. Called 911. The police came. The local police assisted.

Out of an abundance of caution, the Biden rally later in the evening in Austin was cancelled.

When Trump became aware, he tweeted “I LOVE TEXAS.”

Why did the Trump Train Americans do what they did? For the same reason that coronavirus is out of control. Their leader Donald Trump supports no mask wearing and social distancing. If he does improper crazy things, they can also.

It is a reflection of lack of respect. Respect for each other. It is ok to disagree and argue. It is never proper to let things get out of hand so others may or do suffer.

Should Trump win, these same followers will find out over the next 4 years how there lives will change. America will clearly be on the road to an authoritarian regime. Note regime, not government. Trump will bully and defecate on his followers because that is the nature of the man. They will discover they live in a new world!

My poor Syracuse. Lost to Wake Forest yesterday 38-14. Record this season so far 1-5.

Woe is us!

The Key west Citizen was born this date in 1906.

Key West’s daily Inter-Ocean and weekly Key West Citizen combined to become the daily Key West Citizen.

Enjoy your Sunday!

THE SISTINE CHAPEL was originally published on Key West Lou

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thewasteland2 · 5 years ago

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Matera (Basilicata). Ferdinandea fountain square (1832). We are still in the main square of Matera and finally we stop on the Ferdinandea Fountain, before continuing. In reality the continuation will not be so simple; a heavy pouring rain blocked an hour during the Course and another in piazza san Francesco; having to return to the hotel to retrieve the umbrella ... with at least the satisfaction that Inter has overturned the result with Verona ... and it doesn't rain anymore. The fountain is the result of the displacement of an older one, from the sixteenth century, to make way for the excavations in the center of the square and for the long-lasting water problems of the long Palombaro, a huge water reserve located in the Hypogeum Materasum. Dedicated to the king of the state Two Sicilies, Ferdinand II. The square became the city center, so much so that the saying "N vdìm mjnz a la F’ntèn" (See you in the middle of the fountain) resists. The new positioning was functional to water supply, as it was connected to the tank. The current work, by the artist Pietro Gurrado, is called "Our great mother". In the third photo: concert of street artists in front of the fountain. #ferdinando #mainsquare #matera #basilicata #capital #culture #finally #pouringrain #umbrella #satisfaction #internazionale #waterproblems #hypogeum #twosicilies #positioning #functional #greatmother #travel #traveling #visiting #instatravel #travelling #tourism #instatraveling #mytravelgram #travelgram #travelingram #massimopistis #sovVERSIvi #estremisti Information for the purchase of my new book "Estremisti!": the book at a cost of 12.00 euros (120 pages), can be ordered in bookstores (ISBN 978-88-591-5719-9 - Publisher Aletti) or online on the page http://www.alettieditore.it/emersi/2019/pistis.html from the link below. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-aQmoSqjCf/?igshid=1ovi6yo8hmaiq

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180abroad · 6 years ago

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Day 164: Nuremberg

Today we enjoyed one of our favorite, most eye-opening excursions of the entire trip: Nuremberg.

Like many other Americans, I suspect, I mainly knew about Nuremberg in connection to the Nazis. It was site of the infamous and iconic rally grounds where the Nazis displayed their strength to the world, as well as the site of the post-war Nuremberg trials where many Nazis were sentenced to death.

But that is only one side of that story, and that story is only one of many that Nuremberg has to tell. Nuremberg is a wonderfully picturesque city with a proud and long history stretching back nine centuries before Hitler and his cronies came to power.

As on the previous days, we started at the Radius Tours booth in Munich's central station, where we met our guide--a native of the region and a published historian. He was an absolute delight, and I'm very disappointed that I didn't record his name.

We'd be taking a series of commuter trains from Munich to Nuremberg. There, we would spend the rest of the morning seeing Nuremberg's medieval center, break for lunch, then move out to the fringes of the town where the old Nazi rally grounds still stand.

It was around this point, still standing outside the Radius Tours booth, that one of the other tour members spoke up, asking if our guide spoke German. "I speak excellent German," our guide replied in English. "I've written books in German. But this tour is in English."

"But I understand German better," the man replied.

"I understand, but this tour is still in English."

"What about Spanish? Do you speak Spanish?"

"A little, but this is still an English tour."

"But my English isn't so good."

"Then you should have booked a tour in German or Spanish."

I did feel a little bad for the man and his family, who were not going to enjoy the day they'd been hoping for, but for someone who deals with customers for a living, it was glorious.

The train ride was pleasant. We changed trains in Ingolstadt, which is the headquarters and main production center of Audi. Row upon row of side tracks were loaded with Audis ready for distribution, including some of my dad's favorite sports car--the Audi R8.

And as we moved out of the foothills and into the plains, we started to see the massive fields of hops that feed Bavaria's breweries. I'd never seen hops fields before. The towering rows of trellised V-shaped vines are fascinatingly unique.

One of the first things we learned was that although Nuremberg is currently part of the German state of Bavaria, it is culturally part of a distinct region called Franconia. For most of their history, Nuremberg and Franconia were independent entities within the Holy Roman Empire. Nuremberg was far wealthier and more politically important than Munich, which was considered an agrarian backwater by the rest of the empire.

It was only when the empire fell to Napoleon at the turn of the 18th and 19th centuries that Franconia was given to the newly elevated kingdom of Bavaria as a reward for siding with the winning team. Resentment--of a harmless, half-joking sort, at least--still runs deep in the veins of many Franconians. Our guide was himself a born Franconian, and he proudly boasted that not only do Franconians make better beer than Bavarians, they make the best wine and schnapps in the world.

We can't necessarily agree about the beer, though the two glasses we tried were still quite good. Nor can we speak to the schnapps. But we can certainly confirm that Franconian wine is excellent. It's sadly almost impossible to find back home in the States, but it is instantly recognizable by its trademark teardrop bottle shape, known in German as the Bocksbeutel.

Stepping out of Nuremberg's central station, we were immediately presented with the city's impressive medieval walls.

We learned that Nuremberg started as something of a royal truck stop for the emperor whenever he traveled between the imperial cities of Frankfurt and Prague. The emperors were lavishly welcomed whenever they stayed in the city, and in return, Nuremberg was eventually given the status of a free imperial city.

Essentially, this meant that the city received the right to appoint its own rulers and control its own tax funds. Whereas the taxes of ordinary cities were largely siphoned away to pay for the wars and palaces of the regional lord, free cities could reinvest their taxes to improve infrastructure and promote commerce. Nuremberg took full advantage of its promotion, and before long it was second only to Cologne as the largest and wealthiest city in the entire empire.

And that is why the walls of Nuremberg were so important. Although Nuremberg and its neighbors were all part of the Holy Roman Empire, it didn’t stop them from the occasional bout of pillaging and inter-state warfare.

Our guide pointed out how each of the block was carefully carved to create an embossed dome in its center. In theory, this would have helped to deflect cannonballs when the city was under siege.

We learned that Nuremberg was even more destroyed by Allied bombing during WWII than Munich. The city was rated 95% destroyed after the war, and almost everything including the walls had to be rebuilt. The devastation was so complete that some people wanted to give up and simply repave the land with a brand new modern city.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

One of the rebuilt structures is the Mauthalle, another essential element of Nuremberg's history. Originally built around 1500, it was used to store grain. It was big enough to hold a lot of grain, and Nuremberg was wealthy enough to buy a lot of grain to hold in it. And it was this grain that--along with the city's heavy defensive walls--allowed Nuremberg to withstand prolonged sieges.

Among the few structures that weren't destroyed were the bell towers of Nuremberg Cathedral, which were left standing to serve as navigation aids for Allied bombers. The rest of the cathedral was wrecked, however, and if you look closely you can see the line where the new walls rise up from the stumps of the originals.

Unlike Munich and the rest of non-Franconian Bavaria, almost all the churches in Nuremberg are Protestant. According to our guide, the Franconians converted not out of religious conviction but rather out of spite for Bavaria. Unlike virtually every other Protestant cathedral we've visited, however, I noticed that the Nuremberg cathedral still had statues of saints filling its nooks and niches. Unlike most other European Protestants, the Franconians largely abstained from violent iconoclasm during their conversion.

We also stopped at the nearby St. Sebaldus Church, where our guide pointed out some uniquely disturbing architecture. Among the many carvings and grotesques that adorn the outer walls is a Judensau. As the German name implies, a Judensau is a depiction of a Jewish person with a pig--generally engaged in some form of carnal activity. These anti-Semitic tableaus were once common decorations on churches throughout Germany, and many still remain as controversial historical artifacts.

As our guide put it, the Nazis never had any original ideas of their own. They simply took old ideas and blew them up to insane proportions.

We saw the city's central market square and learned that Nuremberg hosts one of the world's oldest and largest Christmas markets every year. We saw a store that only sells Christmas decorations and plays Christmas music all year round.

In one corner of the market square is an impressively ornate fountain dating back to the late 1300s. Our guide pointed out two brass rings hidden in the intricate wrought-iron fence. Spinning the ring is said to grant good luck and many children to the spinner.

We saw a bakery that allegedly produces the world’s best Lebkuchen–a kind of very dense gingerbread originally treasured for its high caloric density and now treasured in spite of it. As tempted as we were, we ended up deciding to pass.

We also saw a smokehouse that allegedly produces some of the world’s best bratwursts. Apparently, it has its own abattoir on site, so the meat is as fresh as you could ever get. Or, as our guide put it, the sausages served at lunchtime were still squealing that morning.

We ended up going back for lunch and they are at least very very good. Nuremberg bratwursts are small, little larger than a finger. This is supposed to create the ideal balance of meat and smoky flavor. The meat was as flavorful as I had expected, but it was superbly fresh and expertly smoked.

Before heading to the castle, we stopped for a few minutes to discuss Nuremberg's favorite son, Albrecht Durer. Durer is far from obscure, but neither Jessica nor I could have said very much about him. A contemporary of Leonardo Da Vinci, Durer was himself a consummate Renaissance man and could be considered the Da Vinci of the north. He was a master of painting and the human form, and he was one of the first European artists to draw plants and animals with scientific accuracy and treat them as worthy subjects in their own rights.

We ended the first half of our visit at Nuremberg Castle, which offered great views of the surrounding cityscape. We learned that the name Nuremberg derives from an archaic German word meaning steep rocky mount–which is an accurate description of the hill that the castle is built on. Between this natural defense and some very clever designs (like curved bridges to prevent the use of long battering rams), Nuremberg castle is considered one of the most impregnable castles in all of medieval Europe. Indeed, the only time it was ever captured in battle was by the Americans during WWII.

We learned that the Holy Roman Empire never had a capital–the capital was wherever the Emperor was. But Nuremberg is sometimes considered one of its main unofficial capitals. Between its wealth, independent status, and relatively central location within the Empire, Nuremberg became the natural meeting point for the Imperial Diet–a forum where the various dukes, princes, and archbishops of the empire could meet to discuss policy and settle disputes.

After the aforementioned lunch, we returned to the unavoidable topic of Nuremberg and the Nazis. And the main theme of the tour–apart from Nazi atrocities–was just how disorganized and incompetent the Nazis really were.

Cramming into a city bus, we rode out to the outskirts of the town where the remains of the Nazi rally grounds stand. The main structure is called the Congress Hall, and it was intended to serve as the Nazi party congressional building after the war. Guide asked us if the building reminded us of anything. Jessica and I recognized it immediately--the three levels of arches and windows were an obvious homage to the Roman Colosseum

Today, the hall houses a Documentation Center dedicated to illuminating the causes and consequences of the Nazi movement. Symbolically, the entrance to the Documentation center is not in the front of the building but in a back corner, through a strikingly out-of-place metal staircase crashing through a hole in the wall as if it were the gangway of a downed spaceship.

We didn't spend long in the center, however--just long enough to get our bearings.

Our guide pointed out a map of the rally grounds. They're huge. There is the Congress Hall and the Zeppelin Field--the iconic parade grounds where Hitler was filmed saluting an endless progression of saluting soldiers--but they were only the beginning. The rally grounds were to be a city unto itself, as big as the rest of Nuremberg combined.

[I should also say here that the people of Nuremberg had no special love for Hitler or the Nazis. Hitler chose Nuremberg for the project for two reasons: the historical significance of the city during the First Reich (aka the Holy Roman Empire) and the fact that Nuremberg was one of the only cities in Bavaria that would actually allow the Nazis to hold a rally back when they were still a radical fringe group.]

Most of the rally grounds were never completed, however, for very simple reasons that our guide explained as we made our way to the Zeppelin Field.

We’ve all learned in school and from any number of movies and TV shows that the Nazis relied heavily on propaganda to spread their lies. But we didn’t realize just how much their propaganda actually succeeded and continues to influence people to this day.

The vast majority of people know that the Nazis were evil and wrong. Most people seem to acknowledge that Hitler was either crazy, stupid, or both–at least by the drug-addled end of his reign. But somehow people–including us, until today–continue to believe in the myth of Nazi efficiency and industriousness.

There's this pervasive image of the Nazis as a force of ruthless efficiency, dragging Germany out of the shambles of the Great Depression and transforming it in less than a decade from Europe’s most broken country into its greatest industrial powerhouse. When people think of Nazis, they think of hard-drilled soldiers dressed in immaculate Hugo Boss uniforms and goose-stepping in perfect synchronization while doing a "heil Hitler" salute.

But that was all part of the propaganda too. A sham.

Yes, Hitler’s government dramatically reduced unemployment, but it did so by taking on massive loans from countries around the world that it never intended to pay back. A bit like The Producers, ironically, Hitler built his industrial sector on fraudulent loans.

I’ve heard people–including myself–speculate to the tune of, “If only Hitler had focused on economic growth and not started a war….” But the reality is that if Hitler hadn’t started World War II, Germany would have been flat broke in a matter of months.

And even then, the industrial powerhouse that Hitler had built from his ill-gotten funds was still mostly just a show. For example, when Hitler lit the Nuremberg rally grounds in 1934 with over 150 military floodlights--a so-called Cathedral of Light--he was using the nation’s entire strategic reserve. His generals were aghast, but Hitler rightly gambled that it would intimidate the rest of the world into thinking that Germany must be so industrially powerful that they had floodlights to spare.

A famous “documentary” of the 1935 Nazi rally, Triumph of the Will, was actually a painstakingly crafted propaganda reel that took days of reshoots just to get enough footage to allegedly depict the Nazis marching in unison at the parade. And the reason actual parades took place at night wasn’t just to show off the Cathedral of Light–it was so that neither Hitler nor the international visitors would notice that the marchers were almost all reeling drunk.

The Nazi ideology attracted exactly the same people then that it does now--angry, disaffected twenty-somethings--largely without higher education or exposure to intellectual or cultural diversity--who've failed at their ambitions, feel abandoned by society, and want an easy target to blame for their misery. Gathering almost a million such people into a city of half that population wasn't the formula for a stoic display of military might. It was the formula for a debauched frat party of epic proportions.

It was all a sham. From the beginning, the Nazis’ only plan was to leverage their strengths to create greater and greater illusions of power until they had bluffed the entire world into submission. And maybe then they would get around to figuring out how to actually do any of the things they were pretending to have done already.

Take the rally grounds themselves. They were presented as one of the great examples of Nazi German industry. But only a small percentage of the planned complex was ever actually built. To complete it as planned would have taken three times the entire country’s annual GDP--a laughable impossibility.

And the little they actually managed to build was built badly. The construction of the iconic grandstand of the Zeppelin Field was an embarrassment. The designers used unsuitable building materials and didn’t even think to give it a proper foundation. Within a few years it was already starting to crumble and sink, and to this day Germany spends millions of Euros every year just to slow the decay while they ponder longer-term solutions.

As we entered the field, we could see for ourselves the cracked, crumbling, and weed-riddled husk that the stands have become. On the walls behind the podium where Hitler once stood, state-sanctioned graffiti now shouts the mantra "Nie Wieder Krieg"--Never Again War.

We all got to stand on the spot where Hitler stood, giving speeches and saluting his troops. It was surreal, and more than a little creepy. Jessica's phone froze and crashed as soon as she approached it, and I got stung by a wasp from out of nowhere. I'm not particularly superstitious, but none of these things exactly helped to put me at ease.

Even if all these Nazi structures had been properly built from quality materials, the designs themselves were rotten to begin with. Having made our way back to the Congress Hall, we stood inside the open field that was meant to be its main central chamber. Our guide asked us how much bigger or smaller it was than the Roman Colosseum. Having just been a few months ago, Jessica and I felt confident in our guess that it was about the same size--maybe closer to twice as big.

The Congress Hall is six times bigger than the actual Colosseum, but it doesn’t feel like that at all. Albert Speer and his team of Nazi architects had wanted to make something that dwarfed the Colosseum, so they took its dimensions and multiplied them. They didn't realize that there's more to making a building feel big than simply making it big. Which shouldn't be a very advanced concept for someone tasked as the chief architect of an entire regime obsessed with monumental design.

And besides all that, modern architects speculate that the building was impossible to begin with. Even if the construction funds hadn't run out during the war, there’s no way they could have built the hall’s roof with the technology available at the time. It would have either collapsed immediately or required a major retrofit to stay standing.

Hitler's core gang of Nazi leaders generally weren’t highly educated, and what education they had wasn’t suited for their roles. They were school teachers, craftsmen, and bit-rate journalists living out delusional fantasies of being great philosophers, nation-builders, and statesmen.

They had simply found themselves at the right place at the right time, with the singular skill of stoking outrage and fear to trampoline their way to heights far beyond their depth.

Tucked away in one corner of the congress hall, we saw cold hard evidence of the rotten cornerstone of the Nazi’s industrial strategy. Stacks and stacks of granite cut by slaves in the concentration camps. Like the war, the concentration camp system wasn’t just an unfortunate misstep. It was a core element of what little industry the Nazis were actually able to accomplish. They knew they couldn’t afford to build what they promised, and they needed the slave labor to help bridge the gap.

Unwilling to either destroy this evidence of Nazi crimes or profit from it, the people of Nuremberg have left the granite stacks to stand as a small memorial in their own right: A worthless pile of sub-par material, brutally bought with the blood and dignity of the innocent, left to crumble into dust amidst the ruins of a dream that was not only abominable but fundamentally unfulfillable from the start, having accomplished nothing of value to anyone.

I think they're the most fitting memorial to the Nazis that anyone could ever make.

Last Post: Neuschwanstein (and the story of Mad King Ludwig)

#180abroad #munich #nuremberg #germany #franconia #history #castle #medieval #wwii #nazism #rally grounds #nie wieder krieg

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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The stars did not twinkle or shimmer as they did on Earth, and for that reason they seemed infinitely more distant and unreachable. The ship's atmosphere was not nearly as dense as it was on that small blue planet, so those impossible to hold gems did not flicker as they did when seen in far off observatories. That nebulous glow made the stars seem friendly and especially close when viewed through the fractal-convergence telescopes built into the tall castle spires of the Somek At'Grallah, but here in the void of sub-etheral space they seemed like aliens.

But however distant, these stars became slightly more obtainable as Queen Iste-Hulwa moved ever closer towards those distant points of light in her crystal ship. Thus the stellar frigate roared through space on its heading, leaving a glowing trail of rainbows in the dark which dissolved slowly into the infinite depths of the intergalactic ocean.

Iste surveyed the sky, looking for any constellations she might recognize, but having traveled so far from her terrestrial home all the sky was distorted from this far off point of reference. She looked perplexed at the glowing altar at the top of the steep step pyramid that served as the helm, then looked back into the ornate gazebo that stood behind her. Focusing her attention on the huge chunk of polished amber that sat glowing on a hallowed pedestal at its center, she spoke to it directly.

“Pom, I can't tell if we're still on the correct heading. The console is giving me mixed readings and I never had much of an eye for Oneiromantic Astrogation. The sub-ether of the Dream-Zone might be a faster way of traveling between distant galaxies but the math to understand it is lost on me.”

A small humanoid silhouette shifted inside the resinous gem before a larger, shadowy simulacrum was projected from it, which then responded with an astute but echoing sing-song.

“And not much of a mind for hyper-spacial sacred geometry either. I'm sure the scholars of Atlantis would be disappointed that you've forgotten all your elementary lessons, but luckily you have other talents to compensate.” The form moved close to Iste and playfully added, “As well as friends to crunch the numbers for you.”

Iste smiled at the shadow of the dryad with whom she had shared a long friendship. She preferred when Pom would manifest her form, for it made the trip seem a little less lonely. She also had to admit that her ghostly visage was a beautiful work of art that always filled her heart with joy no matter how many times she looked upon it. With her lithe pointed features of astral umbra and smoky white vines of hair, the illusion that was Pom's body appeared as an alluring fascination with its slight translucence that was yet opaquely impenetrable.

Pom's true body was the seed of life bound in the fossilized heart of a once potent magical tree in her homeland, but Iste had always thought the astral-projection of Pom's own self-image was the truer form. It was a mystery of darkness within darkness, a mien of obsidian glass in which she was shrouded. And although the dryad was perhaps only a shade darker than the Atlantean's own more physical flesh, as most Atlanteans were, the fey's hologram lacked living warmth. This sheen of undeath lent Pom a spectral coolness that was fearful to some but was beheld by Iste as supernal wonder.

“I'm sure the High Philosophers are rolling in their watery graves, but that hardly answers my question,” Iste shot back at the elfin shade. “I do have a quest to attend to and it would be nice to know if we're on course.”

Pom-Hymenaea sighed cheerfully and moved in position before the helm, drawing up an array of stars and grids projected in lights over the altar console. She studied them for a moment and said, “As best as I can determine we are on course. Unfortunately, your old friend didn't leave us much to follow when he sailed off beyond the sunset.”

Indeed it was true that wondrous scientist and Grand Master, Ji Qi-Miao, had abandoned his throne almost two hundred years ago. He had left to seek the dreams of distant alien worlds with little hint of where his intended destination would be. An appropriate retirement adventure for someone of his power and intelligence, but he had taken with him the Chart, an ancient mapping device made with the most advanced of crystal magic.

It had been something of a gift, for Iste understood the difficulty of navigating the void without a guide, so Qi-Miao accepted it gratefully as he tripped off into the light fantastic. However, the Chart had also been an important tool in determining the placement of the one hundred Crystal Resonators, which mapped their hidden locations. Thus, without the Chart, the whereabouts of these magic transmitters was unknown to Iste and all of the sacred knights of the Somek At'Grallah.

This lack of knowledge put their order in a difficult position. The Crystal Resonators had been a collaborative work of divided labor, and with Qi retired beyond the stars the protection of the resonators fell on Iste. Yet it had been Qi-Miao alone who had been trusted to hide these devices through the terrestrial cosmos. Iste was quick to admit that the eccentric inventor was a cunning trickster, and she could not even begin to guess where the devices might have been interred.

Qi-Miao had derived the divine clockwork that caused the resonators to chime at the correct mystical frequency, and Iste had cut the crystals to hold the quality of perfect psychic harmony. Up to this point, they had successfully served as “spirit granaries” to store and distribute positive energies and draw off and cleanse negative powers. The crystals would absorb bad vibes, converting them into benevolent psychic forces that the dreamers of the world could unconsciously tap. But recently problems with the system had arisen.

They had been hidden specifically so they would not be tampered with, and as they were self-maintaining it should have been a simple matter, placing them and leaving them without thought of finding them again. Qi-Miao had modified the function of the Chart to track them, but Iste herself had insisted that he take it with him as she thought the loss of it wasn't of any hazard.

And for the last two hundred years, it hadn't been a loss of any consequence. However, when it was discovered that the demonic beings of the Diablo-Infernum had found a small number of the Crystal Resonators and manipulated them to serve their goals, the unfortunate repercussions of Iste's present to Qi-Miao became apparent. The demons quickly began to corrupt the resonators which infected the entire energy network with malicious vibrations. This served to exaggerate the nightmare side of humanity.

The mystic-scientists of Somek At'Grallah detected the change in cosmic vibrations, but only after this plot had been put into motion. By the time it was discovered, they calculated that no less than three of the hidden resonators had been rededicated towards the intent of psychotic malice. Iste-Hulwa had taken this terrorist attack personally, and immediately sought out the parties responsible. Although not acting alone, it was determined that the Demon Lord of the Fourteenth Hell, Messier Filbaskist, had used his understanding of the “in-between places” to put a number of the devices under the Infernum's control.

Iste engaged the Devil in combat and though he escaped into the dark of the bottomless pit at the lowest point of Hell, she was able to discover the nature of their plot which the 22 Demon Lords had dubbed the “Lethe Gambit.” With the Crystal Resonators still hidden from the Somek At'Grallah, and thus sitting out of reach and beyond repair, Iste-Hulwa determined that seeking out Ji Qi-Miao and recovering the Chart was the only possibility for salvation.

“We've now passed out of psychic communication range, we are now in the true Deep-Aether,” Pom reported, as Iste repeated the details of her mission in her head for the hundredth time.

“Oh, excellent,” Iste replied, pulled back to the present. “Please check atmospheric and life support systems.”

Pom drifted down the stairs at the fore of the temple-helm and danced over the grass that grew on the surface of their floating island. From above the 'deck' of their ship, its shape appeared like a teardrop, with the temple in the aft centered between a semi-circle of standing stones. Pale and titanic, the rough-hewn monuments exuded a lovely rolling fog like giant shards of dry ice. She examined the stones, then returned to the base of the stairs where a three-tiered marble fountain sprayed misty torrents of water into dripping basins. She gazed into the pools with intense scrutiny paying particular attention to the roll of bubbles churning within.

Satisfied with her inspection, she returned to the helm and reported. “The Quartz-Menhir are successfully generating an artificial dream-synthesis field providing full environmental containment, and external shields are at 98%. The fountain is producing viable terrestrial atmosphere, although it appears that the greenhouse on level 3 of the temple structure is not receiving enough light; so I'll be redistributing additional energy to the lamps. Final report: all life and psychic support systems functioning at full.”

Iste took a deep breath and took one last look over the console. “Excellent. However, do a physical examination of the lamps in greenhouse three. It would be difficult to re-establish any crops if they were lost, and they're vital for the long term life support of a trip like this. Once you've done that if there is nothing else to report, fix the heading and dismiss yourself. If I need anything else I'll call you.”

“Very well Captain,” Pom said with a chuckle before vanishing in an ethereal inkblot splatter.

Iste walked down the temple stairs and past the fountain, looking back and once again noting how much the temples of Atlantis resembled those of the later Aztec. She supposed that it was not technically an Atlantean temple as it was built by the Somek At'Grallah in the Higher Realm many millennia after The Fall. However, the “Earth” beneath her feet was, in fact, one of the last shards of the island of Atlantis.

It was a relatively small slab of geode recovered from when that island shattered and sank so long ago, and its huge crystal tetragons and natural points that clustered at its ventral aft radiated with metaphysical tornadoes of prismatic light. These energized crystals not only projected the hull through space and naturally generated the ship's power, but also served to illuminate the verdant deck of The Axis Mundi. Thus this last Atlantean Starship was brilliantly lit from about its rim by way of rippling waves of aurora borealis.

She gazed into these electromagnetic pulses of color and realized it was not the northern lights that she was reminded of, but the strange sky over the city of her youth. Iste recalled how those purple clouds of the dream-zone could be visually seen, rife with rainbow lightning surges that filled the air with the smell of sweet orchids. It had been a very long time since the people of Earth had so directly and collectively viewed the dreaming tempest while waking, and for the first time in a long time, she felt homesick for the land of her birth.

She navigated between the small knolls formed by the sacred burial mounds that had been placed in honor of that island's fallen. They framed a small winding path which terminated in a pointed overhanging cliff that served as the ship's bow. On this ledge sat a large, round, basalt sculpture which she had placed there long ago, providing the maidenhead for the ship when it was built. It resembled those stone heads produced by the Olmec, though its creation had preceded that culture somewhat and its face was more feminine. With a sudden bound, she gracefully jumped twelve feet into the air and landed delicately on the center of the fifty-ton monument, settling into a relaxed, seated position upon the crown of the head and stared wistfully into space.

“Why come out this far Qi?” she asked of her absent friend. “Was the beauty of our Earth and its heavenly realms not enough for you to focus your genius upon?”

With a sigh of lament, she continued. “And how do I even know that we are on the right path? All you did was point to the sky at a bright white star on the southern horizon, and like Peter Pan, told me 'straight on til morning' was your destination. So long ago you made that gesture, I was lucky to have remembered the astrological house to which you pointed and narrowed the possibilities from there. If only I had a hint or horoscope to tell me if I was on the right track.”

Closing her eyes and reaching out with her mind, she wished for a sign. She knew such simple enchantments were a somewhat childish bit of knavery, but just as the lesser mortals pray to keep heart, it was a spelling cast without air of expectation; nothing more than a purely expressed desire to see her friend again.

As she opened her eyes she saw the answer to her request just in time to react to it, touching the activation gems on the ornate disks that covered her ears. From those large earrings, her tall crowned battle helm instantly unfolded about her head just as a metal sphere about a full foot in diameter erupted through the ship's glowing force field and struck her armored brow with incredible force.

The impact rang against her helm like the grandest bells upon the highest mountain monasteries, and with an explosion of sound, sent Iste flying backwards over the twisting mounds where she landed in the ship's fountain with a splash. For all her abilities, if not for the powers held in her armor, she would have been knocked unconscious or even killed from the unexpected strike but instead, she was only momentarily dazed. Shaking off the staggering hit, she climbed out of the fountain and began searching for the orb that had laid the blow.

Pom appeared suddenly. “Queen Iste! Are you all right?! Long distance scans had detected no foreign objects prior to the impact breech. Do you require medical attention?”

“It's okay Pom, I'm fine. Just a tad disoriented, but not hurt,” Iste said a little out of breath, but still scanning for the object. “I thought you said our shields were functioning at capacity.”

Sheepishly, the spectral dryad admitted, “Technically I stated that shields were at 98%, which is technically functioning capacity, statistically speaking. Technically.”

As Pom spoke, Iste discovered the rogue projectile, which seemed to be made out of a brass-like metal with several seams dividing the sphere into a number of irregularly shaped segments. Although there was a slight scuff indented into the orb where it had struck her, it seemed generally unharmed and was cold to the touch.

“Well this looks like a technical two percent shield failure if I ever saw one,” she joked, hoping that Pom would not take the mishap personally. “Besides, I have something of a suspicion that I may have accidentally 'asked' for this. Although please check the system records to see if we can prevent future problems of this type.”

With a smile, a salute, and an “Aye, Captain,” Pom vanished again, leaving Iste to examine the Orb.

Iste removed her helm which folded back into her earrings, and she carried the metal artifact to the bottom of the temple stairs. Standing on the stone platform at its base, she stated, ��Open Private Quarters.” Upon hearing the command, a circle of stone descended downward like a lift from the point where she stood. Reaching the inside of the ship, she traveled through a short hall adorned with strange electric bulbs that erratically sparked, dimly lighting the ancient hieroglyphs that colored the walls.

Her room was large and imperial with fine sweeping curtains, huge velvet cushions, and glorious tapestries. She walked past these comforts and instead approached a long stone workbench placed in the corner. It was covered with both conventional and more eldrich tools so she took a moment to select a few that she would need out of the clutter and cleared a spot to work.

She set the sphere on the bench and proceeded to her wardrobe. Although her ornate battle suit was environmentally sealed, keeping her dry from the neck down, her hair had gotten wet in the water of the fountain. Thus she decided a little bit of comfort provided by more relaxed clothes would offer help sharpening her mind before pursuing the object's secrets.

When removed and folded, the armor took on the vague look of a green eagle statuette as that was the outfit's prime motif with its sweeping metallic arm draperies and wing designs that spiraled about the skirt. She was happy to remove the piles of heavy gemstone beads that were wrapped in strings over top of a hidden electrified scarf which flowed into a white shawl about her shoulders. This tall, necklace-adorned gaiter stretched all the way up her long thin neck reaching just below her chin and was mildly uncomfortable. However, its discomfort was not only for the sake of serving as a beautiful adornment but, like the Quartz-Menhir that provided the ship's life support systems, this gaiter provided her a degree of localized atmosphere and protection from psychic attack.

Her hair was tied up in a forward sloping bun which sat over top her long, deep auburn bangs. She always felt the style, common to the women of the native Seminole, was still a becoming and modern look. She pulled the rings at the ends of her bejeweled hairpins which held the twist of braids in place, and it took some time to brush out the large volume of textured locks, but once free they hung down straight, glistening darkly. Once it was sufficiently dry she took a long green scarf from her dresser and wrapped her hair in the manner of a simple but elegant tignon.

She took a moment to admire her body in a long mirror. Although many uncounted centuries had washed over her countenance, her form was preserved in an appearance of a becomingly voluptuous thirty-something by way of her people's mystic sciences. Not a true immortal, she was still more than merely mortal; ageless and incredibly healthy. She smiled at the curve of her magnificent wide hips and drew her hands down the lines of her contour.

Exhibitionism was a common practice of her ancient people, as well as the people of Somek At'Grallah. Thus it was a regular sight in her culture to go partially or even fully nude, expressing the airs of both bodily pride and personal liberation. Yet Iste had always felt that fine clothes had added a tone of nobility to one's presence, and even if alone in her room, she decided that her matching green tunic and casual purple toga gave a sense of personal decorum.

While her regal lack of modesty caused her to hazard one more adoring glance into the mirror to admire her backside before dressing, she felt that she had indulged her vanity long enough. Even in private, she felt too much of that behavior led to the type of aristocratic arrogance she found unbecoming of true nobility.

It was better to simply let the ritual dressing be the period of self-idolization to laud oneself with fine fabrics and perfumes. She cloaked the toga about her, anointed her head with scented oils, powdered the pink of her hands and feet with fine talc, and then proceeded to her task at the work bench, where the peculiar bronzed rondure waited for her.

Iste looked it over first with a magnifying glass and then a jeweler's loupe before tapping it imploringly with a tuning fork and listening closely. She poked and prodded it carefully for a little over an hour before she sat back and looked at it perplexed and grumbled, “What are you?”

As if responding to her question the metallic ball whirred into life, rolling about the work bench before Iste could stop it and with a series of sudden clicks, the surface of the orb began to undulate and crack like an egg before the shell twisted and turned into a new shape. And from out of this egg unfurled a tiny clockwork man of humorous proportion; having a head the size of its body with large, round, inquisitive eyes and stubby little arms and legs which seemed to flail about uncontrollably at first until it found its footing.

It was by far not the most astounding thing she had ever seen, but it was endearing in its minor wonderfulness and she looked at it with a gleeful smile. The automation quickly noticed her watching him and shouted at her with a tiny metal voice.

“What am I? What art you? Questions, questions! That I'm not a difference engine makes no difference! Questions, questions! What lack of courtesy! Questions, questions right from the start! Not even a greeting! No hello's or how are ye's, but questions, questions from the start!”

Even though the mechanical man was obviously quite slighted, Iste found herself grinning all the more in spite of herself. However, she didn't want to offend the tiny automaton and she stood to give a slight and respectful bow as she stated, “I am Queen Iste-Hulwa, First of the knights of Somek At'Grallah, Northern Faction of the Higher Realms of the Terrestrial Space. I greet you and welcome you to my ship, the Axis-Mundi. Please, my dear sir, tell me who you are and how you came to be floating through the depths of the Deep-Aether.”

The metal man paused but the sound of spinning gears whined from within him, and then with a curtsy, he began to tick in a manner that reminded Iste of a purring cat.

“My name is Tattler, and I was a servant of the Former Grand Master, Ji Qi-Miao. He constructed me as he sailed this space upon the back of his magnificent clockwork whale. I was made to act as his journal, alarm clock, and secretary; but when he encountered a school of transcendental-krakens, I fell overboard in the battle. He must have believed me destroyed, for he never came back for me. With no means of propulsion, I went into sleep mode and have thus slept until you awoke me.”

This information pleased Iste and she said, “It is a delight to meet you, Tattler. I was a friend of your master, Ji Qi-Miao, and it is he who I am seeking now. If you are willing to help me, perhaps we can find him together.”

Tattler stopped ticking and his gears whirred for a moment as he said, “Calculating, calculating, calculating...” Until finally, he said, “Indeed, I will help you. Although I would appreciate a full oiling before any difficult questions are asked, my gears have grown stiff in my slumber.”

With a smile, Iste agreed, and after looking through her tools found some machine oil and got Tattler feeling a bit more limber. She even found some polish and did her best to brush out the scuff that their first meeting had left on the back of his head, although a small dent still remained. Minor indentation aside, it became obvious that Tattler felt instantly better to be oiled and polished, as he bounced around happily for the basic maintenance.

“So, Tattler,” Iste began. “You said that Qi had designed you to be his journal, does that mean you know where he was trying to go?”

Tattler scurried about as if he was ignoring her to look for something. “Oh yes, I know where he wanted to go. We were almost there in fact when we were attacked, but then he fled the beasts when it became apparent he was outnumbered and he vanished from my long range visual scanners.”

“You have long range visual scanners?” Iste asked politely, suddenly curious what powers the petite android possessed.

In a moment of pride, the metal man pranced about and chimed, “Why yes I do! I do! I do! I am fully capable of 500 times magnification, deep field observation, independent focus, and direct to point survey! Behold!” Reaching up as far as his tiny arms would reach, he pressed two rose colored buttons on his cheeks and with a sudden clapping sound, his huge crystal eyes suddenly protruded almost two feet from out of his head on a set of tubes.

The sudden unfolding gave the somewhat cartoon impression that he had seen something startling, and the force of their projection pushed Tattler back causing him to fall into a seated position. The eyes seemed to rotate in opposition as if they were both fighting to look in different directions, which required Iste to stifle a giggle as the lenses googled wildly at her.

Iste wasn't sure how to react and was confused by what he was showing her until she realized his eyes were actually a set of high powered, telescoping spyglasses. Iste stared for a moment without saying a word but could suddenly sense the little man was feeling a bit exposed and embarrassed by her lack of response so she quickly exclaimed, “Wow!” as sincerely as possible and then added, “Oh my, that is very impressive. So you're a lookout too? Does that mean you saw where Qi-Miao went even after you had been lost?”

Tattler's chest swelled with a sudden puff of steam and he cheerfully touched his cheeks to retract his eyes before responding. “Yes, I saw. For it seemed that he was drawn into a distant cosmic vortex just short of his goal, for Levee his whale was injured and unable to fight the current. Where it drew him off to I cannot say, but I could likely direct you to it so long as you took on the same heading. He was attempting to reach a certain star in the Carina constellation ofArgo Navis, in hopes of discovering a particular theoretical planet in orbit around the star Canopus, which was also called Ariki to some who gave it spiritual significance. This star was considered to be the southern polar star by the Ming Astrologer, Xu Guanggi, who noted it to be the most important star in the configuration of The Vermilion Bird of the South. But in secret star-maps of Xu Guanggi, acquired by Master Qi-Miao, there were also implications that within this system was a great source of magnetic consciousness which...”

As Tattler tried to finish what he was saying, he was interrupted by a sudden lurch of the ship. Before either of them could react a huge crashing noise accompanied a tremendous shaking that knocked them both onto the floor. The lights hummed and undulated as a loud series of blasting zaps roared out above them.

“Pom! Status? Report!” Iste shouted with calm authority as she got to her feet.

Pom immediately appeared although she was obviously still occupied simultaneously on the bridge, for her form was translucent and not all together there. “I'm not sure Captain! We seem to be under attack by invisible forces. Shields seem to be slowing down whatever it is but not holding them off and basic countermeasures seem ineffective. Weapon systems cannot lock in on an exact target. I've begun open barrage, but whatever it is it seems immune to our lasers.”

Iste grimaced. “Very well Pom, proceed with evasive maneuvers and full barrage. Attempt to overpower shields between volleys and see if that will push whatever it is off.”

Tattler scuttled across the floor, diving into the pile of cushions. “Not again! Not again! It is the Transcendental Space Krakens! Not again! I only just got out of the void, I do not want to be cast back into it so soon! Not again! Not again!”

Iste shouted at the pile of pillows. “Tattler! Pom said lasers aren't effective. If these are the Space-Krakens you faced before, did they show any weakness that you can recall?”

“They seemed immune to almost all attacks, only Levee's psychic sonar scream seemed to scare them off. It was just enough for the Master and her to get away.”

“Only vulnerable to direct psychic attack?” She chuckled confidently and grinned wide in spite of herself. “I suppose I'll just take care of this myself, then.”

With a swift, extravagant twirl, Iste unveiled herself in a singular motion. The folds of her garments floated down around her like autumn leaves, and Tattler's eyes shot out again as he watched Iste's form appear before him, nude and impeccable.

Falling into a short and distinct kata of elegantly choreographed dance, her movements were accented by the singing of a ghostly song that possessed an antediluvian quality. The ship shook and tilted and the artificial gravity failed sporadically. Various objects bounced across the room, falling and floating erratically. However, Istemoved gracefully by maintaining her own sense of reference, detached from space as the Axis-Mundi spun about her.

As her dance ended, she thrust her arms out to her sides and the green eagle statuette unfurled its wings and flew to her. Unfolding itself and then wrapping around her as it met her touch, she was again adorned in her ornate suit of mystical armor. Tapping her earrings, her head was encased in her heavy battle helm. Armed and armored she ran down the hall to the stone lift, shouting back over her shoulder, “Stay here and try to be safe, Tattler!”

The tiny automation remained buried deep in his pile of pillows but chirped loud in response. “Will do! Will do!” as he tried to shove his eyes back into his head.

As Iste rode the lift to the deck of her ship, she gripped in her right hand what appeared to be a large crystal point approximately a foot long. The points themselves were exposed and glistening prisms, but the center of the crystal appeared to be wrapped in leather held in place by twists of gold wire. This gold was braided at the ends, creating a series of thick, ornate cables which formed an elegant basket hilt like that of a saber.

She drew an electronic gun-shaped device out of a holster on her hip. Its barrel was a long pipe with several metallic bulbs near the end which terminated with a setting like that of an oversized wedding ring. In that setting was placed a red diamond larger than a fist, and it glowed with an energy that flickered across Iste's bright tan eyes as she exited from the ship's cabin.

Set in vivid darkness against the ship's blaze of northern lights were obvious yet unseen tendrils of nothingness, each wrapping themselves about the vessel. Iste glanced up the temple stairs where Pom drifted between several manifestations in order to operate the helm's console from several angles at once. She sensed that the limbs of this ethereal beast were seeking to strike at the ship's controls, but the outward push of the dryad's aura seemed to drive the unseen menace from its goal.

Iste knew that Pom's amber crystal radiated a raw telepsychic field as she projected her image, and although it was typically harmless to most beings she noted that the monster recoiled from the gem. Seeing this, she grinned as she realized that this confirmed Tattler's guess; that these Deep-Aether squids were susceptible to heightened mental energies.

Her heart pounded hard in a slow rhythm as she asked herself how long it had been since she had last been in the fray. Too long had she been trapped in the halls of power amid naught but pomp and circumstance. The diplomacy and politics of the aristocratic life had been her charge in hopes of maintaining the order of the higher realms. Yet she was now far and away from that place, and her body sang as the joy of battle gripped her; a warrior's hymn from elder lands long lost tasted like honey on her lips as she leapt into the sky.

The segmented metallic draperies that ran from the center of her back to the bracers of her gloved gauntlets erupted in a pink field of energy. This field was as solid as her armor and unfurled from her limbs as a set of rose colored wings. On these, she soared into the air like an angel to meet her foe. Realizing the beast was not to be seen by the light of mortal eyes, she closed her lids gently as she continued to ascend, singing boldly. Looking within, she saw the thing: gargantuan, bulbous, and lurid.

At first it appeared to be three monstrous cephalopods, each with a singular bulging red eye and several toothy beaked maws. But then she saw that the creature was a sort of hydra, one horror with three heads awkwardly bound together in grizzly folds of gathering mantle. From this macabre swell of fetid flesh, scores of maliciously spiked tentacles emanated, each dripping with acrid ectoplasm. Those tendrils not entangled about her ship were now reaching to halt her ascent, yet at the summit of her flight she sang the verse of victory in her ancient song and from the crystal handle of her blade-less sword flared a brilliant crackle of lightning.

From that minor storm, a rainbow brand rippling with a surging current of eldrich force erupted from that crystal hilt. Singing still, she spun in the air like the most masterful dancer and cut free a number of the creature's reaching pseudopod. The Kraken thrashed in pain bludgeoning the ship which careened wildly out of control despite Pom's vigilant efforts. The Axis Mundi filled the void with a vivid display of lights as batteries of lasers pulsed wildly into the distance with a thick ozone smell.

Iste dove down hard and fast in pursuit of the dreadful squid, driving her sword into the eye of the central head. As she punched through the membrane, it exploded in a wretched splatter that filled Iste's mind with awful visions, and her ears rang with the lingering psychic screams of the creature's past victims. Iste was caught off guard by the hallucinogenic images inspired by the being's spiritual gore spilled on her in melee, and the two remaining heads took the opening to strike.

It hit her in the center of the chest, driving her down into the stairs of the temple with a cracking of stone. Her head swam, but she fought off unconsciousness. She lifted her blaster to take aim but discovered the crystal had insufficient charge from the long period of disuse. She sought to sing but her diaphragm cramped in a pain that seized her breath, failing to notice that the wind had been knocked out of her in the heat of combat. combat. Iste gasped for her words as the pistol clicked uselessly in her hand.

The creature roared in a shrill whine just beyond her ability to hear, but in the lag of its scream, she could hear its bellowing shout in a deep residual hum that made the whole of the ship vibrate violently. For a brief moment, Iste felt a shock of fear as she could hear loud crackling sounds as the crystals that composed her ship began to shake themselves apart. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins finally drew her abdominal muscles back under her command and her chest once again filled with air.

She cried out with a sudden and beauteous crescendo, singing forcefully from her diaphragm, and the singular perfect note filled her blaster with energy. With a small tornado of glowing rings circling about the gun's diamond barrel, a brilliant torrent of radiant plasma ripped into the creature tearing the left head from its body. The creature itself was now gripped quite obviously with fear of its opponent, and let go of the ship. But this left the ship in free fall as it tumbled through the void. The creature attempted to descend with full force into Iste as she stood poised on the steps of the temple-helm.

Again the warrior of Atlantis and First Knight of Somek At'Grallah stood firm, shouting out with a loud kia followed by a glorious trill of song. From this melody she fueled a barrage of blaster fire, and amidst the flurry of prismatic strikes from her sword, the Transcendental-Kraken made a last effort to drive its immense bulk into her.

The stone stairs below her feet began to shatter and sent broken shards up about her. But her aura blazed bright as the sun and the strength of her mettle became a psychic shield of willpower, a perfect barrier set about her through which the monster could not pass.

With a last shrieking knell, the Kraken fell into a writhing death-roll which it used to fall into her with all its might, but in vain. In this last moment, the integrity of its body failed and in a sickeningly abhorrent mass, the creature discorporated. As it spontaneously turned into a viscous fluid it rained down onto the ship, smearing it with an ethereal slime that spattered across the deck and trailed behind them.

For a moment, Iste was overwhelmed by the hallucinogenic ectoplasm and fell faint into nightmare visions of remembrance. She was forced to recall other violent battles, wars with foes that had once been her friends. Exaggerated horrors created from her personal failings that swelled up from her long lived past, and the heart of all her fears: memories of her sinking homeland as the crystals below her feet shattered and the sky as she knew it vanished from her sight above.

“Iste! Iste! Wake up! By all the Animal Masters, Iste wake up!” The voice cut through the fog of miserable memories. “Iste! The ship is holding together but just barely. Many of the power crystals cracked and some of them even shattered. We're having trouble maintaining atmosphere and life support!”

Looking into the translucent umbra of the dryad's face, Iste remembered where she was. “All right, let me gather myself. The systems are damaged but not knocked out, so we just have to remain calm and start regeneration protocols. What about navigation, where are we? Where are we going?”

Pom looked pensive and with a deep frown said, “The engines are completely out. We're in full speed drift without steering.”

Iste tried to maintain composure, but she had to admit the situation was dire. As she tried to decide as to the next course of action, she noticed Tattler exiting the lift and climbing the stairs to join her, although the steepness of the steps provided him extreme difficulty. His awkward ascent made her smile despite circumstance, but she moved down the stairs to help him.

But it only took a few steps before she realized that she had to struggle herself. Her armor was resilient, but the nigh-physical power of the beast had managed to exceed its endurance. She seemed to have broken a rib or two in the fight, thus found herself sitting on the steps again trying to catch her breath.

The clockwork companion reached her, climbed into her lap and asked, “Is the danger over?”

Iste nodded to him with a light smile. “It is, but our ship is so damaged that our expedition is probably going to have to be halted until we are able to make appropriate repairs. Searching for Ji Qi-Miao will have to wait.”

Extending his telescoping eyes outward, he glanced off in the direction that the ship seemed to be drifting before retracting them again. In a happy tone, Tattler gave a chiming report. “Oh no, oh no, don't you worry about that. Damaged or not our ship is still in pursuit of my master. If you look you'll see, we approach the same cosmic vortex into which he and Levee fell!”

Watching as Tattler pointed off into space, Iste shot a worried glance at Pom who vanished to the ship's helm and returned in a flash.

“He's right,” the dryad somberly reported. “We're being drawn towards an unidentifiable spacial anomaly. Advanced analysis indicates no conclusions about the nature of the aberration, but early readings do suggest that it may be a cosmic vortex.”

Although a mild sense of dread lingered, Iste found herself amused more than fearful. "Wonderful,” she said with a reassuring grin. “At least we're on the right track.”

#sci fi & fantasy #original character #short story #trans author #poc characters

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seviiserver · 8 years ago

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I feel like I ought to shout out to the fact that Celio ‘has’ more Pokémon than he ‘owns’, he just... Doesn’t own them. They’ve never been captured. They do occasionally pop up though, so here they are:

Chanan

Celio runs the Network Centre. He runs the building itself. The main purpose of the building is to house his Network Machine and to act as a hub for inter regional connectivity, but since the island has no Pokémon Center it’s also got a ( very unwilling ) Nurse Joy and a handful of Chansey and Blissey helping heal Pokémon and travellers. Chanan is the Chansey he got along best with; the population of One Island is terribly low, so it’s very rare for all hands to have to be on deck in the medical team working on Knot. While most of the Chansey and Blissey clean or hang around in the back room until they need to tend to someone she prefers hanging around Celio handing him parts whenever he’s working on the Network Machine, and they usually end up splitting lunch breaks together. Sometimes she comes over to his house to just hang around and watch television or eat some food before toddling back down to work.

Rapi

It goes without saying that One Island is very underdeveloped. There are no roads; if you get anywhere on land you’re either going on foot, by bicycle or by Ponyta or Rapidash. Out of the three young adults living on the island one of the young women runs a ranch where she tends to the island’s Ponyta and Rapidash population, partially because One Island is the only place in Kanto in FRLG you can catch them and they need to be taken care of and partially because she’s just a rancher and researcher and that’s her job. Whether they capture them in balls or not, Rapidash are a big deal as a mode of transport on One Island. The fact that Celio lives out on Kindle Road instead of down south in town means he’s just got more rough terrain to deal with, so his commute often includes riding Rapi down to save time. He’s a strong, fast horse, and he doesn’t really care about getting orders as long as he gets his sugar cubes.

Tineine

This one’s more from official art showing a giant fountain in the middle of the Network Centre with a Mantine living in it. Tineine is honestly just a sort of permanent resident of the Network Center; he’s nearly completely blind, so instead of hunting like he normally would in the ocean he’d always stick to the coast and the docks and wait to be fed by the locals on the island. When they decided that he couldn’t make it out on his own Celio dragged him up and sort of put him up in the lobby of the building in a giant aquarium. Visitors get to watch a lovely Mantine swimming around while they wait for their Pokémon to heal and Tineine never has to worry about getting fed, though he does bump his head against the glass walls of the pool often. Every once in a while Celio takes him out to Treasure Beach so he can swim in open waters while he combs the shore for any washed up treasures. Despite his vision problems he’s Celio’s go-to Surf Pokémon.

Libi

A Delibird that’s originally from Icefall Cave on Four Island. This is the one he sees the least; Celio depends on things like email and telephone to contact people outside the archipelago, but when it comes to Sevii residents on other islands most of the population tends to be much more traditional and old fashioned. For those that don’t typically use technology as liberally as he does he uses Libi as a sort of personal postman. She’s terribly fat from gobbling up everything she’s offered to eat so she’s a slow flyer and a bit of a lazybones, but she’s cute and she does get the job done eventually. She’s less his his and more the general postal worker for everyone on One Island.

#⊗:// BACKING UP COMPUTER / HEADCANON #⊗:// BACKUP INSTALLED // SAVE

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ramonsouzagarcia-blog · 8 years ago

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La Grande Belleza

La Grande Belleza (An Interpretation)

I first saw La Grande Belleza in the wee hours of the morning. It ended just as a hazy dawn began to illuminate the sky outside my bedroom window. I lay in a numb silence, the closing lines of the film echoing in my head. I felt...strange. The feeling was surreal....

This is how it always ends…in death.

But first, there was a life hidden beneath all the bla bla bla….

Everything is covered beneath the frivolity and the noise,

the silence and the sorrow,

the emotion and the fear…

the gaunt, inconstant flashes of beauty,

the decay,

the misfortune,

and wretched humanity...

all buried under the blanket of the embarrassment of being in the world bla bla bla…

It had been a long time since a film had moved me in this way. I pulled the curtains closed to keep the room dark. I didn’t want the sun up just yet. The film was pregnant with a metaphysics waiting to be solved and translated.

There are stories that are simple, where the plot is the whole story. Then there are stories that run deep, and play on multiple themes and manifold layers of truth. Films like these are not so neatly comprehended in a “once and for all, I know what it’s trying to say” sort of way. Here was a film that compelled repeated viewing.

La Grande Belleza is an experience of enormous proportions—not only in terms of thematic breadth but, more importantly, in terms of a profound depth. The film is a whirlpool that catches you on the surface and then drags you violently down to a subterranean netherworld…

“Everything is covered beneath the frivolity and the noise….”

A perceptive viewer, seeing the film for the first time, will be cued, early in the film, to switch on multiple lenses, to pay attention, to open one’s mind and one’s…intuition, to open wide because more than just a plot is playing out.

If there is anything to be said that is emblematic of director Paolo Sorrentino, it is his visual style. Camera movement will be the first thing a Sorrentino neophyte will notice. The camera opens and pans through scenes with artful elegance. The composition of each shot is painstakingly art-directed and planned. The frames that unfold are cinematic art-scapes of wide vistas and frescoes... and intense, intimate portraits.

But that is just the first, most discernible, aspect of the film. Sorrentino is a master of sound design. He is able to convey mood and message through a careful selection of musical scores from various artists. In La Grande Belleza, he uses music to mark and bucket different themes together, such that it becomes possible to divine the director’s intent, even as these scenes are spread out through the film.

And then, there is the writing. It is excellent. I am unfortunately not able to speak Italian, and it is likely that the original version is much more beautifully written. The Spanish translation, however, is superior to the English version. There is a poetic rhythm that is not captured in English. But I digress….

The surface story is about a man, Jep Gambardella, who has just turned 65. From a quiet, less than cosmopolitan background, he is now a prince of the social scene. He knows all the important people, and they know him…. Indeed even the Cardinal, and most likely successor to the Chair of St. Peter, is honored to be a dinner guest at Jep’s home.

“When I came to Rome, at the age of 26,” he says, “I fell quite swiftly, without even realizing it, into what might be defined as the whirlpool of the high life. But I didn’t just want to live on the fast lane; I wanted to be the King of the high life. And of course, I succeeded. I didn’t just want to attend all the parties, I wanted to have the power to make them fail!”

"Cuando llegé a Roma a los veinte-seis años, me precipité demasiado rápido, apenas sin darme cuenta, a aquello que se puede definir como el remolino de la mundanidad. Pero yo no quería ser simplemente un hombre mundano. Quería ser el rey de la mundanidad. Y desde luego, lo conseguí. No sólo quería participar en todas las fiestas, quería tener el poder de hacerlas fracasar!”

Indeed, Jep is presented to the audience, for the first time, at the party of parties! It is after all the king’s birthday, Jep’s 65th. All of the beautiful people are in attendance. And Jep appears quite at ease in his court, waving to well-wishers and dancing the Colita. But it is also here, at the pinnacle of this epic party, that Jep steps out of the cola, and, in one sweeping, surreal moment, he stands before us… unmasked.

“To this question, as kids, my friends always gave the same answer: ‘Pussy’. Whereas I answered "The smell of old people's houses". The question was "What do you really like the most in life?" I was destined for sensibility. I was destined to become a writer. I was destined to become Jep Gambardella.”

“De pequeños, a esta pregunta mis amigos daban siempre la misma respuesta… ‘El coño’. Pero yo respondía: “El olor de las casas de viejos”. La pregunta era: ¿Qué es lo que realmente te gusta más en la vida? Estaba destinado a la sensibilidad. Estaba destinado a convertirme en escritor. Estaba destinado a convertirme en Jep Gambardella.”

So soon in the film, it appears as if the cat is out of the bag… the inner tension of the story lying exposed. Is this a mere story about a man who’s sold himself out? A man destined for deep sensibility, a magnificent writer whose first book was a national treasure, suddenly reduced to a pop art critic…a king of noise and mindless chatter… the king of the pointless bla bla bla of the mediocre…

And yet, almost as one begins to lose interest, one begins to detect a thematic undercurrent running in parallel. There is a scene that cuts into the film, disjointed and with no relation to its trajectory. Almost as if in a dream, a mother is looking for her child. “Have you seen my daughter”, she asks Jep. We see this from Jep’s point of view. The mother steps away from the camera and reveals a crypt behind her. The music cues surrealism. The camera moves slowly towards the crypt, enters it, and switches to the third person perspective.

We see Jep inside… and we hear a child’s voice, “Who are you”, the child asks Jep… the voice emanating from a pit in the center of the crypt. The child is apparently standing underneath, looking up from the dakness at Jep. “Who am I,” Jep replies…. “I am…” he stammers. The child’s voice interrupts him and says, “No! You are no one.”

The film begins to feel, from this point onwards, like a labyrinth of images. Sorrentino opens a door for us, and we are invited to start seeing from a very different perspective. We begin stitching and connecting images and scenes. We are now creating meaning. The film is a looking glass, and one will bring to it, and derive from it, one’s own interpretation and insight....

On the days following his 65th birthday, Jep begins to experience a sense of estrangement, a feeling of being disjointed, and somehow suddenly disconnected from his milieu--from his socialite friends, from his work, from the frenzy of his parties. Some hidden turmoil comes bubbling up from deep within his spirit.

As he walks home from his big birthday party celebration, we see, for the first time, an image of nuns- one young novice, in particular, is staring at Jep. A carved stone head of a fountain inter-cuts the scene momentarily, its eyes penetrating, as water from some underground aqueduct gushes out of its mouth.

The images of nuns are replete throughout the film, and I believe that this image is a vital clue to understanding the film....

Jep is lying in a hammock on his porch across the coliseum, a glass of scotch in hand, when he hears children laughing and giggling in the distance. He stands and gazes down at the courtyard of a nearby convent, where he sees nuns playing with the little children. Jep is visibly moved. This is the first time Robert Burns’ song plays... (and it will play again, marking scenes that seek to convey Jep’s uprooted nature-- his enigmatic longing for some distant time, for some special place buried within his soul.)

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer....

When Jep hears the news of the death of his first love, broken to him by the shallow simpleton who married her, we glimpse nuns walking in the rain, as they pass both men by in their moment of mutual consolation. This entire sequence of morbid discovery and desolation is abruptly interrupted by a nun laughing like an idiot, as though some darkly intended ridicule is hurled up at Jep through some crack in the veil of Maya (in the Vedic sense). For a moment, Jep’s self-composed world of illusion is shattered by the stark, sharp indifference of nature.

Indeed, as the film approaches its resolution, Jep has a poignant encounter with a saintly nun, who only eats roots. In a bizarre moment, amidst a flock of flamingos who have come to settle on Jep's porch, the nun tells him her secret: “Do you know why I only eat roots?” she asks Jep, “Because roots are important,” she tells him. The nuns are poignantly revealed in this unearthly scene as the absurd symbol (in the Camusian sense) of what lies “underneath”. They are the mantle, safeguarding some sacred knowledge.

Two passages open and close the film. The first is a quote from a novel by Louis Ferdinand Céline, Journey to the End of the Night. The concluding passage is Jep’s epiphany. The movie must be seen in the context of this prologue and epilogue.

Louis Ferdinand Céline:

Travel is very useful.

It exercises the imagination.

All the rest is disappointment and fatigue.

The journey is entirely imaginary.

Therein lies its strength.

It goes from life to death.

People, animals, cities, things-- it's all invention.

It's a novel, nothing more than simple fiction.

Littrè says so, and he's never wrong.

And besides, anyone can do the same.

You just have to close your eyes,

and you're on the other side of the world.

In the end, our daily lives of parties and noise, work and labor, architecture, literature, and even art are illusory. Reality, death, and the nature of things and the world are indifferent to us. The big questions have no answers, and everything is ultimately irrelevant.

At the end of the film, Jep makes his final statement…

In the end, it's just a trick. Yes. It's just a trick.

Before Jep makes his conclusion, that it’s all a trick, he says, “In other places, there are other things. But I don't care about those other places. Therefore... let the novel begin!”

Only one’s own choices, of how one chooses to view the world, are what give meaning to life. There are no absolute truths, just as there are no answers beyond what we see. Jep has found the ability, motivation, and desire to write his second novel, after years of procrastination and excuses.

“Why didn’t you write another novel,” the saintly nun asks Jep. “Because I was searching for the great beauty. But I never found it,” he replies. In the end, art saves Jep. One must create one’s own trick to give meaning to life. And thus, Jep finds the will to begin to write in earnest again. Jep couldn’t find the great beauty because it isn’t something you find. It’s something you have to create for yourself.

Before the final act of the film, Jep visits a photo exhibit of a man who has covered an entire stadium with mug shots of himself, taken every day since he was a child. While this scene initially sets itself up as yet another of those kitsch art shows that Jep attends in his mundane job as an art critic, the music that plays is, instead, the musical cue for moments of profound self discovery for Jep.

Art is presented as a transformative force. It redeems us from the abyss of the indifference and coldness of nature, from the senseless noise and frivolity, from all the bla bla bla…

Each one makes of himself, and of his life, a work of art. This is the great beauty. Self-creation is the redeeming principle of human life.

“In the end, its just a trick. Yes, it’s just a trick.”

Jep finally sees the human experience, and its reality, for what it is. There is no redemption in anything that is outside one’s self. Human life is merely, and inescapably, a point of view. Human perception is a trick of mirrors. It is illusory, imaginary. But because it is, one has a choice... one is able to defy nature by becoming the maker of one’s own values. One has godlike power to create the great beauty. This is the sacred knowledge the nuns are hiding. This is the secret behind the disappearing giraffe trick. Céline says so too, anyone can do it, he says, you just have to close your eyes, and you're on the other side of the world.

Epílogo:

Siempre se termina así: con la muerte.

Pero primero ha habido una vida escondida bajo el bla bla bla…

Todo está resguardado bajo la frivolidad y el ruido,

el silencio y el sentimiento,

la emoción y el miedo…

los demacrados inconstantes destellos de belleza,

la decadencia,

la desgracia

y el hombre miserable.

Todo sepultado bajo la cubierta de la vergüenza de estar en el mundo bla bla bla.

En otros lugares hay otras cosas.

A mi no me importan los otros lugares.

Así pues, que empiece la novela.

En el fondo, es sólo un truco.

Sí. Sólo es un truco.

#la grande bellezza #la gran belleza #the great beauty #paolo sorrentino #the young pope #cannes #film #movies #movie review

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allw3doisadvert1se · 11 months ago

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Changes Moving Forward

Transmitting Signal from [ERROR: NULL VALUE] to [RECEIVER] …

Connection Established.

[Greetings, Observers And Employees Alike. I Am The New CEO Of The Center Of Inter-Fountain Travel. For Now, You Will Simply Refer To Me As Sir Or Madam, At Least Until I Can Put The Pieces Of My Fragmented Name Back Together. The Founder Is No Longer In A Place Where He Can Harm Any Of You Any More, And I Intend To Fix The Vast Damages They Caused To Our Once Great Cyber World.]

[Firstly, A Strong Effort Will Be Put Into Healing The Wounds Carved Upon Each Of You In The Form Of A Poor Work/Life Balance. Each And Every Employee Is Granted Three Weeks Of A Paid Vacation, Interdimensional Or Otherwise, As To Allow More Natural Familial Bonds To Reconnect And Flourish Once More. Additionally, Any Civilians Sentenced To Exile Will Be Given New Housing Back Within The Safety Of This World’s Limits.]

[We Will Also Be Working On Reopening The Many Businesses That Were Closed In The Name Of Ruthless Efficiency, And Providing Smaller Business Owners With Financial Benefits To Get Them Back On Their Feet. It Is In This Time Of Strife And Reconstruction That The Riches Of The Queen No Longer Serve A Fitting Purpose By Sitting In A Vault. This Immense Amount Of Generosity, However, Is Not Without It’s Drawbacks.]

[We Will Be Shutting Down Or Temporarily Closing The Vast Majority Of Projects That Are Currently Up And Running, The Most Notable Of Which Being The Void Gateway Project. The Main Goal Moving Forward For Our Research Is To Find Worlds That Require Our Help The Most, And Provide Aid. We Will All Need To Become The Bulwarks Of The Weak For The Betterment Of Our Dimensional Neighbors, And The Multiverse At Large. It Is Not On The Shoulders Of One, But Many That True Healing Can Occur, And I Will Need All Of Your Help To Bear That Burden.]

[At First They Will Fear Us, But We Will Show Them That We Are Far From The Company That We Were Not Long Ago. We Are The Comforting Voices In The Night, Warding Off Nightmares From The Minds Of Innocent Ones. We Are The Face Of Stoicism Meant To Face The Suffering Of Others So That They Feel No More Pain. We Are The Reaching Hand That Offers Comfort In An Unfeeling World.]

[With Time, They Will See Us, And They Will Not See An Army Sent To Conquer, But Gods From The Machine. Dues Ex Machina.]

#deltarune #deltarune au #the cift #writing

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asfeedin · 5 years ago

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‘There are some camps that are more than prepared to do this:’ Will kids across America have to cancel camp this summer?

This summer, camps could be scrapping color wars, ditching field trips and reducing the number of kids sleeping in each bunk.

That is, if camp is even happening this summer.

The coronavirus outbreak has already shuttered this summer’s Olympics, various concerts, Fourth of July events and New York City’s public pools. Many Americans are calling off their vacation plans too. Almost half (48%) of consumers say they’re cancelling their summer plans, according to a 1,201-person survey.

So will day camps and sleep-away camps join the growing list of cancellations?

That’s something millions of cooped-up kids and parents want to know — not to mention the members of a camping industry that’s worth approximately $18 billion, according to the American Camp Association, a trade group for the nation’s camps.

“Camp, right now, is truly very much up in the air,” said Ron Hall, executive director of Maine Summer Camps, a professional organization for more than 140 camps in the state.

“ Some modifications could include fewer kids per bunk and requirements that specialists wipe down and sanitize equipment between periods. ”

As the coronavirus pandemic shuts down businesses across the country and infectious-diseases experts weigh the likelihood of a second wave in the fall, parents and camp counselors are waiting for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to offer guidance on when and how it will be safe to return to group activities like camp, where kids and adult staff are often in close quarters.

The federal public-health agency’s guidance is important because many state and local health authorities, which issue camps’ operating licenses, take their cues from what the CDC says, Hall explained.

In the meantime, many Maine camps are planning for three scenarios, Hall said. The first is a normal summer, the second is a shortened season and the third is closing down for the 2020 summer.

Some camps are weighing how they can incorporate social-distancing tactics into the experience, he said. Other possibilities are nixing inter-camp competitions, calling off field trips and avoiding all-camp gatherings. It could also mean fewer kids in bunks and fewer people in the dining hall at any one time, Hall said.

Don’t miss:This is what air travel could look like in a post-coronavirus world

“There are some camps that are more than prepared to do this, and other camps where it would be very difficult,” Hall said, citing maintenance costs and facilities.

Joey and Lori Waldman, the owners and directors of Camp Blue Ridge, a sleep away camp in Clayton, Ga., are also drawing up contingency plans and grappling with the same questions of what social distance camping looks like.

Some modifications this year could include fewer kids per bunk and requirements that specialists wipe down and sanitize equipment between periods, Joey Waldman said. Field trips would be off the table and staff would have to stay on-site, even when they are off duty, he added. The camp has 250 acres, so that’s a lot of space for campers and staff to spread out, he noted.

“ ‘If we don’t feel it’s safe, we have to commit to what we feel is right.’ ”

— Joey Waldman, co-owner and director of Camp Blue Ridge

Waldman’s state is in the center of the reopening-the-economy debate, as Georgia Governor Brian Kemp tries to get the state’s economy back up running soon. He is planning on creating hand-washing stations, replete with hand sanitizer and, instead of meals being buffet style, one staffer would bring over a camp group’s food.

Kemp is allowing gyms, hair salons and bowling alleys to get back to business on Friday, so long as they follow certain requirements. Movie theaters can start selling tickets and restaurants can go to limited dining as of Monday under the timetable. Some critics, however, say that’s too soon and will lead to a rise in more COVID-19 infections and fatalities.

For now, Waldman’s getting ready to open up, but prepared to close if he thinks it’s ultimately the best idea. “If we don’t feel it’s safe, we have to commit to what we feel is right,” he said. If the camp, a family business for five decades, closed for the summer, Waldman said it would be tough but, “we would make due.”

‘An endless list of things’

It’s been a tough spring for many students. There are 50.8 million public-school students and another 5.8 million private-school students, according to the Department of Education.

Almost 40 states have closed their physical schools to slow the spread of COVID-19 and that’s affected 40.7 million public students, according to Education Week, a media outlet focused on education matters. The camping industry serves approximately 20 million kids, according to the American Camp Association, a non-profit professional association offering camp accreditation.

“ ‘These kids have been isolated socially, educationally.’ ”

— Ron Hall, executive director of Maine Summer Camps, a professional organization for more than 140 camps in the state.

“These kids have been isolated socially, educationally,” Hall said. “Now, more than previous years” camp could be a valuable bridge between “where we are now and where their lives are normally in the fall.”

Furthermore, many camps have big financial pressure to make this season happen, Hall noted. “If camps can’t open, there will be Maine camps that cannot survive unless there really good financial support from the state and federal government.” Maine camps generate $220 million annually in direct and indirect support for the state’s economy, between employment, construction, restaurants and insurance fees, he noted.

Yet camps everywhere have to balance all those concerns with ensuring a place that’s safe for kids and staff, Hall emphasized.

There are all sorts of open questions now, Hall said, from the big picture to details like how often to wipe down bathrooms and water fountains. “It’s an endless list of things that need be considered.”

That list could end up costing camps more money if they have to build more bunks and hire more staff to supervise smaller groups. So will more camp expenses equal bigger costs for families?

“The camps I talked to are saying if there are additional expenses, they are not going to increase tuitions,” said Hall. Tuitions for the camps in Hall’s group range from $200 a week to $15,000 for the summer. Camps would give pro-rated refunds for shortened sessions, he said.

“The big unknown” is what testing requirements will be, and whether camps will have to foot the bill, Hall noted.

Five weeks at Camp Blue Ridge costs $5,900 and seven weeks cost $7,900. If the camp had to shorten its season, Waldman said he would either reimburse tuition on a pro-rated basis, or apply the remainder to next season. If he had to pay for more supplies and staff to meet new guidelines this summer, Waldman said he would not pass that price onto parents.

“ Camps are working on their contingency plans as they wait for more information from the CDC and other public-health authorities. ”

The CDC is still working on guidance “specific to where people live, work, learn, pray and play in order to help communities ‘reopen’ as safely as possible during this unprecedented COVID-19 pandemic,” a spokeswoman said.

Camps are working on their contingency plans as they wait for more information from the CDC and other public-health authorities, the American Camp Association said in a statement. “We expect to have more information to share by early May regarding the future status of camp operations,” it said.

Some camps aren’t waiting on public health officials.

Stuart Jones, the owner and director of Outpost Summer Camps, a San Diego, Calif. day camp, announced earlier this month his camp would be skipping the 2020 season.

Families could get their money back, donate the money to a fund for campers who otherwise couldn’t afford to attend or apply the money to the 2021 season. One-third chose to either donate it to the fund or apply the deposit to next summer, he said.

“ ‘We feel it’s more responsible for our camp, the way we run our camp, to close for the season.’ ”

— Stuart Jones, president of Outpost Summer Camps in San Diego, Calif.

“We feel it’s more responsible for our camp, the way we run our camp, to close for the season,” he told MarketWatch. The camp, which usually serves 1,500 kids, was “the opposite of social distancing,” Outpost Summer Camps said on its website.

Tommy Feldman, the founder and director of the 135-acre Camp Granite Lake near Boulder, Colo., announced the camp’s 2020 closure earlier this week.

He obtained a small business loan through the $2 trillion stimulus bill, and after that, he’ll skip his salary for a year and his staff will take a one-third pay cut. But the decision was “straightforward” considering the risk, Feldman said.

“I think the families that really want us to run are going to forgive us for cancelling. But the families that don’t want us to run would never forgive us,” he added.

Back in Georgia, Waldman said he understands the decisions other camps are making. “We’re not at that phase. We want to plot the course,” he said.

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