#banners orlando

[visualsignsandgraphics]

Temporary Banner Signage is Beneficial While Your Exterior Sign is in Production

We recently got a call from Your CBD Store, a new business opening in Clermont, FL. They were looking for Channel Letters for the exterior of their building so they could advertise their business and new location. They were so excited about having an exterior sign that could boost their traffic and hopefully boost their sales but once they heard how long the process could take, they worried about how their business would be advertised.

There is a lot that must happen with Channel Letters before the installation day, sometimes the process can be lengthy. Depending on the situation and area the process from start to finish can take up to two months.

The process of Channel Letters tends to go like this:

1.     The Site Survey: to measure the wall and get a sense of the location.

2.     The Design Process: Going back and forth with the customer to get the perfect design.

3.     Obtaining the Permit: When everything is approved, and we are ready to get started on production we need to get the required permits for that area which can take up to a month.

4.     Production: Once the permit has been approved, we can start production. To ensure that the sign is perfect the process can take up to 2 weeks to a month to do.

5.     Installation Day: Once your sign is ready to go it’s time for installation day!

Permitting is the part of the process that can take the longest time, depending on your area and the rules it can take up to a month to be approved. Starting production before your permit is approved can be risky so overall the whole process can take up to or over 2 months depending on your area. Since the whole process of exterior signage can be a lengthy process, we recommend businesses use temporary signage. Your CBD Store decided to go with an outdoor banner which allows them to continue advertising and promoting their business. These banners can be produced very quickly in most cases and aren’t crazy expensive so it’s a great temporary solution another plus is they can be reused!

Banners are a great option if you are planning to invest in channel letters or if you even want to use that as your exterior signage! Here at Visual Signs, we try and come up with the best solutions for you. Call us today for a FREE Quote (407)-305-2161 or learn more about banners, HERE: https://visualsignsandgraphics.com/banners-and-flags-orlando/

Source: https://visualsignsandgraphics.com/why-temporary-signage-is-beneficial-while-your-exterior-sign-is-in-production/

[kingoftieland]

ALL ABOARD The Incredible Hulk Coaster! 🎢

[paper-mario-wiki]

took these pictures of a banner being flown behind a plane in Orlando today, but after i took the pictures the plane wasnt in them and also every part of the banner that wasnt text is now transparent? i swear it was white when i took it.

anyway it made my pictures look fucking sick.

[asiogie]

long post vidcon ramble about dream branding and the vidcon dteam booth 🥹

i can't get over how the dream branding staff talk about dream 😭 they speak of him so fondly and with so much love 😭💕 the designer of the cat beanie told me that dream insisted that it be very loose (because he has a big head) and very soft and also it Had to be rainbow. i told him that i crochet and when the beanie is too tight it makes your hair frizzy and he laughed and said "yeah that's what dream said" 😭

the designer of the blue smile more crewneck (i really wish we got their names) was so happy to see me and snow wearing the crewneck and even happier when we told her it was our favourite design.

there was another staff member who was AWESOME at interacting with the crowd when dream was in the booth and kept the energy up while we waited to meet him

another staff told me it took them 6 hours to set up the booth and that they put a lot of love and effort into it. all the banners and displays were printed in orlando and brought over!

anyways ramble over i just wanted to say i appreciated the effort they put into their work and the enthusiasm they had for the whole weekend 😭 they had thousands of people coming through that tiny booth and yet i never saw any of them lose that energy

[reptiles-of-the-mind]

❦ welcome to my blog!! ❦

My name is Eve!! You may learn about me below—

IDENTITIES: Lesbian; genderfae; ace-spec; soft butch; xenogender

PRONOUNS: she/her; he/him; they/them; fey/fem/feyr/feyrs/femself; ve/vim/vis/vis/vimself

PERSONALITY TYPOLOGY: INFP; 4w5; sp/sx; 459; IEI-Ni; ELFV; Phlegmatic-Melancholic

MENTAL STATE: Synaesthesia; questioning/in diagnosis ADHD

INTERESTS: Art history; art practice; literature; reading poetry; writing poetry; MoistCr1TiKaL / penguinz0; philosophy; spirituality; music; film; opera; aesthetics; perfumes; languages; personality typology; clouds; tattoos; Wikipedia; making plushies; liminality / weirdcore / nostalgia (my sideblog for this is @skeuo-neuo-97 :3)

FAVOURITE THINGS:

☙ BOOK: Orlando by Virginia Woolf

☙ WRITER: Michele Leggott

☙ FILM: The World To Come (2020) dir. Mona Fastvold

☙ SHOW: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

☙ SONG: Oceanic Feeling by Lorde

☙ MUSICIAN: Lorde

☙ BAND: The Beatles

☙ ARTIST: Nicolas Poussin

☙ ART MOVEMENT: Renaissance / Pre-Raphaelite (i can't choose)

MISCELLANEOUS: Forever optimist; free Palestine; pantheist, atheist, non-theistic Satanist, secular humanist; taken; Aotearoa; my favourite colour is brown; I love double exclamation marks, em dashes, and oxford commas; my heart's home is in the clouds; art is my favourite thing in the world <3

DNI: Mspec lesbian haters; proship; NSFW-focused blogs; radfems & terfs; current fans of DSMP or Harry Potter; Taylor Swift stans/defenders (casual fans are okay); pro-Israel

LINKS: Spotify for my full music taste, Letterboxd for my full film taste

credits— icon by @calamityedits ; dividers by @cafekitsune ; turn it into art by @demiiwhiffin ; dni banner by @longe-boy (deactivated)

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Trumps of the Tropics: Brazil’s Far Right Plots Its Return

As president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro was often called the Trump of the Tropics, an association the Bolsonaro family actively cultivated. From the moment he was elected in 2018, he loudly celebrated the United States — in his first year in office, he even saluted the U.S. flag — but he saved his most intense loyalty for one American. When he met President Trump at the United Nations in 2019, he told him: “I love you.”

Before assuming power, Bolsonaro was an anti-democratic ideologue and former military man with a decades-long career in politics; Trump was a real estate developer and a media personality. But over the six years that Bolsonaro drove the news cycles in Latin America’s largest nation, he gave journalists a long list of reasons to equate the two men. Both made a show of praising authoritarian leaders, past and present, and liked to style themselves as defenders of law and order while acting as if the rules didn’t apply to them. Both formed an alliance with the religious right late in their careers and enlisted their sons to help push their respective agendas. Both frequently took to Twitter to attack their enemies, troll traditional media and rile up their supporters. And both retreated to Florida when things got tough.

For decades, the Brazilian right had looked to the United States, and when Donald Trump began to transform the rules of political discourse, it took note. “We learned to have the courage to speak up,” says Damares Alves, an evangelical pastor who served as Bolsonaro’s minister of human rights, families and women. “We began to be more incisive on the question of abortion. We learned we could be more direct about the question of arming the population. We realized we could take a tougher stand against the left-wing transformation taking place across our continent.”

As president, Bolsonaro seemed eager to import as much of the MAGA movement to Brazil as possible. So when Trump supporters attacked the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, to protest a “stolen” election, many Brazilians worried that Bolsonaro supporters might try something similar. That’s exactly what happened. On Jan. 1, 2023, when Bolsonaro’s opponent, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, leader of the left-wing Workers’ Party, took office, Bolsonaro skipped the ceremony, holing up instead in the Orlando suburbs, at the home of a mixed-martial-arts fighter. For weeks, Bolsonaristas had been camping out around the country, under banners calling for an “intervention.” In an echo of Jan. 6, they chose Jan. 8 to occupy and attack government buildings in the capital, Brasília, even though the transition had already taken place and the buildings were largely empty. Military police officers arrested more than 1,000 people, and Lula quickly reasserted control of the country.

Bolsonaro, like Trump, now faces a host of criminal charges for trying to impede democratic elections. Trump has been convicted in one case, but only Bolsonaro has been deemed ineligible to run for president. In June 2023, Brazil’s electoral court ruled that his attacks on the voting system disqualified him from running for any political office until 2030. He is now facing hundreds of other court cases. In February of this year, authorities confiscated his passport after arresting several former aides accused of plotting a coup, making another escape to Florida impossible. Bolsonaro took refuge for two nights in the Hungarian Embassy in São Paulo, perhaps hoping to leverage his relationship with Prime Minister Viktor Orban (one of many friends he shares with Trump) if flight became necessary.

While Bolsonaro is barred from the political arena — at least for now — the movement that he unleashed is very much alive. Bolsonaristasdid well in the election that he lost, demonstrating that the movement was bigger than the man, and they now have real power at federal and state levels. Because congressional politics in Brazil are byzantine — there are 23 parties in Congress, and members can shift allegiances quickly — it would be difficult for Lula to govern even if Bolsonaro’s right-wing Liberal Party were not the largest party in the legislature. As things stand, the Bolsonaristas routinely complicate things for Lula, as they try to pull the country back to the far right.

In 2023, Bolsonaro’s allies began working to create a kind of Bolsonarismo sem Bolsonaro, or Bolsonaro-style politics without Bolsonaro. In interviews in the capital late last year, a rough philosophical and tactical division emerged. One group wants to show that it is moderating its positions and committed to responsibly governing the country; another is doubling down on the kind of fiery rhetoric that drives engagement online and reproduces tropes familiar to observers of right-wing media in the United States.

Continue reading.

[leifygreeens]

What song/genre of music do you think of when you imagine the bachelor/ettes? If there was a specific artist or band for Sam, who do you think they'd be?

Oooh—I actually have thought about this! I have a playlist just for when I'm writing blurbs about the stardew valley characters, and no I don't care if any of these are predictable because I think they're accurate lmfao.

Sam

2014 Five Seconds of Summer, Shawn Mendes, and Why Don't We. His general vibe is young, reckless love. If there's a specific song in mind, I think of him as a mix between 5sos' End Up Here, She Looks So Perfect, If I Can't Have You by Shawn, and Why Don't We's Fallin' (Adrenaline)

Seb

I think he's a mix between 5sos' Voodoo Doll, Troye Sivan's Strawberries and Cigarettes, Taylor Swift's Style, and the last 90-ish seconds of Sleep Token's The Summoning. Also Conan Gray's Overdrive. He's still young and reckless, but he's a little more subdued and all over the place.

Alex

One Directions' Steal My Girl, Shawn Mendes' Wonder, and Harry Styles' Watermelon Sugar. Even though they're pretty heavy with gendered language, I have no issue imagining Alex with varying farmers while listening to these songs.

Elliott

His love definitely swerves more toward obsession and worship, so anything by Hozier, no question about it. But also Can't Take My Eyes Off You by Frank Valli is heavy Elliott energy.

Shane

Everybody Wants You by Johnny Orlando, Someone To You by BANNERS, DogBird by Madds Buckley, and Lauv's I Like Me Better. Like Seb, Shane's pretty all over the place as well. Also he makes me cry ahaha. hm.

Harvey

Harvey gave me a little bit of trouble when I first started writing. I had to think about him quite a bit to land on a genre/song for him. Anyway, Ophelia by The Lumineers, Ready Now by dodie, and The Way You Look Tonight by Michael Bublé are all Harvey coded. END ME

Maru

In My Mind by Lyn Lapid, Bubble Gum by Clairo, and Space Girl by Frances Forever. I imagine her as a pretty inexperienced and romantically repressed character (I wonder why Demetrius) so all of these songs have a certain level of melancholy about them, which is very Maru for me.

Penny

She by dodie, Conan Gray's Heather, and Lonely by Noah Cyrus. Repressed, just like Maru, but for different reasons. Never had the opportunity to really live her life, you know? Lots of insecurities and feelings of inadequacy my poor babie nO but I usually only listen to those when I'm feeling a little down. You can trust that I don't always write angst for her, and when I don't, it's loooots of early Taylor Swift.

Abigail

Very punchy, "powerful woman" type songs. Namely UPSAHL's People I Don't Like, Beautiful is Boring by BONES UK, and American Horror Show by SNOW WIFE. She has opinions and she's going to let you know what she thinks—but make no mistake, she is a loyal and good person to her core. She's just got an attitude sometimes.

Haley

Sabrina Carpenter. That's it. lmao no i'm kidding Diamonds Are Forever, Nonsense, Looking At Me, and Girlfriend by Bea Miller. I love me a mean, confident lesbian, but she does soften up the more you get to know her, and I always listen to Isabel LaRosa's I'm Yours when I want to go that route with her. I also think of her when I listen to Dress by Charlotte Sands.

Leah

Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machines, Light My Love by Greta Van Fleet, and Constellations by The Oh Hellos. She's got a certain whimsy about her, but she's still a very grounded individual. She and Elliott have a similar vibe to each other, but where he's the smell of salty sea spray and plum juice dripping from your fingers, she's frayed picnic blankets and the smell of grass after it rains.

Emily

Now this might be controversial, but Señorita by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello is always gonna make me think of her. I'm Born To Run by American Authors, Enchanted by Taylor Swift (her version, obviously), are also both some of the easiest songs for me to think about her. She definitely believes in soulmates and fate, and probably makes jewelry or sews while thinking about you.

[paoofthestars]

Finally... finished updating and now I'm confident enough to share my girl again. So here she be!

Viviana P. Addison

Yeah, my artstyle and outfits are kinda inconsistent but for the most part this is accurate and up to date.

More character info below if interested! ⬇

Likes

Bunnies

Her close friends

Satisfied customers

Openness

Strawberry flavored sweets

Dislikes

Duplicity

Pettiness

Late stage capitalism

Fast fashion/false body image

Abandonment

General Character

Vivi is the type of Addison that prioritizes more on customer satisfaction over anything else. She is super nice towards everyone and a people pleaser, but do not mistake her kindness as a weakness.

Vivi will know whether you're being genuine or not. She'll playfully poke fun at, and brush off those who try to put her down until they get fed up and leave. (If bigotry is involved) she might secretly blackmail you if you're harassing her or her friends too much.

Vivi's also not just a pretty face either, she'll defend her friends and loved ones whenever it gets feisty and is not afraid to lose some feathers from it. She's also the mediator of the Addisons' friend group whenever they get into a heated argument. It's rare to see her genuinely furious. But it gets scary when she does.

Vivi gained her "Mama" nickname because she has a similar mom-like demeanor and discipline towards the Addisons at times, and how maternal she can be with younger people.

Vivi sells soaps, lotions, fragrances, and candles. There's another section of her store that's slightly hidden that sells more intimate products such as adult toys and apparels.

Relationships

Orlando S. Addison (Orange): A therapist friend and voice of reason when Vivi is under the weather. Super helpful buddy for his info-gathering and feedback. Asks Vivi to make her his muse for his seamstress projects from time to time. Nickname: Orly.

Sunny V. Addison (Yellow): HUGE prankster and energetic with no filter. A ball of sunshine that pulls the heartiest of laugh out of her. Makes impressive graphic animations and voices one of Vivi's advertisements. Nickname: Sunshine.

Jaylene B. Addison (Blue): Closest friends with Vivi (besties). Very flamboyant and admires Vivi's femininity and strength. Takes her for photoshoots for both of their banner advertisements. Nickname: Bluey.

Pierre C. Addison (Pink): Cocky and a (friendly) bully for healthy competitiveness. Develops feelings for Vivi over time. Helps each other out with how to gain more traction on their websites (sometimes, clickbait is involved). Does tea and culinary sweets and Vivi is the first test subject. Nickname: Pinky.

Samson E. Addison (White. Now known as Spamton G. Spamton): first close friend and first relationship partner with Vivi. Fairly shy but enthusiastic and passionate about his interest and his future potential. Not so lucky with his advertising job, but Vivi helped him from time to time and give him financial aid when it's dire. Nickname: Sammy, Spammy.

Swatch: pleasant butler administrator who understands the value of customer satisfaction. Vivi became his current valued customer after Spamton ran away from being evicted, disappeared from the Mansion, and knew how Spam treated her. Enjoys having a chat with her and gives work, general, and personal advice. Vivi promotes his Color Café on social media. Nickname: Swatchy ( when he's off work).

"Divorce" Ark and Current Year

When Spamton became a Big Shot, it was perfect through the year 1997. But then he started to neglect his relationship with Vivi, alongside with the other Addisons for the sake of pursuing more on his new advertisement carrier. Spam became more blunt towards the Addisons on competitiveness. But with Vivi, he was more avoidant about his antics and making up excuses in fear of hurting her.

But the more he became busy, the more neglectful he became with the relationship. It came to a point that she had enough and separated. From there, they've never seen each other again. Since Spamton escaped from being evicted and disappeared.

That's not to say she didn't suffer emotionally and didn't miss him. It took years for her to open up and heal. she's still willing to give second chances but this time it's platonic. She'll be more enforced and vigilant of Spamton's antics.

She's currently starting a relationship with Pierre (Pink).

[tacky-jack-with-a-hat]

I see you are taking requests 👁️👁️

Hand over the angsty Loui stuff 🔫🤠 (u don’t have to I promise-)

Don't threaten me with a sad time 🔫🤠 /j

Loui has never learnt to process his emotions. Only hide them.

He learnt this from his father but he still has these expectations as a state, especially next to Florida who is constantly being wild, dramatic and dangerous.

If Florida is doing something bad they go to Loui so he can "intervene". If Florida makes someone upset the victim will also be mad at Loui. If Florida gets hurt it's Loui's fault for not stopping him-

Loui tries his best to hide his anger and pain which only fuels his suffering until he explodes and starts yelling and venting. Loui rarely gets mad at his friends but when he does it's terrifying.

Most of the mature states and Texas know when to give him his distance, before apologizing at a later date.

Florida on the other hand freaks out and due to trauma of being abandoned will do the opposite of the other states to convince Loui to stay which will irritate Loui more.

Not to say that their relationship is toxic but Loui leaves a lot unsaid which only confuses Florida who struggles to read his friend's reactions.

One time Loui told Florida to go away and like in every film ever, Florida interpreted it as something permanent so flew all the way back to Orlando with all his stuff without telling anyone.

This caused mass panic amongst the states because the last place you want Florida is outta sight.

Loui felt immense guilt for "lashing out" and only panicked further as the other states questioned Loui, reinforcing the idea that it was "his fault".

Florida meanwhile was upset crying with sunglasses at Disneyland, voice cracking every time he spoke to an employee. Eventually he got drunk with a tattoo artist who took Florida to his studio.

Loui kept calling him but Florida never answered.

After 2 months they saw each other again at the statehouse. Loui explained everything whilst breaking down.

Florida then pulled down his trunks to show a poorly drawn tattoo of a daiquiri with a banner saying "LA State" on his thigh. The entire tattoo was upside down and clearly written from Florida's perspective.

Florida explained he was going to come back sooner- but he got tetanus. Being a state he couldn't actually die but now he has to get vaccinated every 10 years. Loui was concerned but slowly went at ease just how calmly and humorous his friend was talking.

They hugged each other tightly. Until texas walked in and questioned why Florida was in his boxers hugging Loui.

Loui has opened up more in recent years, but not immediately and he still feels immense guilt every time he drives Florida to the hospital for his shot. He got an upsidedown flamingo tattoo with "FL" in support of his friend (although he hired an actual artist this time).

[desirepathzine]

Jeff Buckley Saved My Life in Orlando, Florida by Randi Eversole

In March of 2016, I was on a charter bus, headed towards Orlando, Florida. I was a senior in high school. The trip was with my Southern Baptist evangelical church choir. I did not want to be there.

The choir tour was a non-negotiable part of every year, a way for all of the concerned parents of young church goers to ship their kids off during spring break so they would spend it in service of the Lord and not mingling with all the other degenerates who were out of class. Ostensibly it was a week full of "volunteering" to some degree, singing at shelters and nursing homes, paying money to sing contemporary christian worship music in historic cathedrals. touring around whatever major city from the safety of the bus, so on. The trip was to a different scary big city every year. Prior to Orlando I had found myself in Chicago, the year before Chicago we'd done an actual tour, saving souls in Jacksonville/Florida, Savannah/Georgia, and Charleston/SC.

By the time we were halfway through Chicago, I had started to articulate issues I had with this mission, and indeed the Southern Baptist denomination of Christianity as a whole. By the time a senior trip to Orlrando, FL was announced, I saw it for what it was: an excuse to take a bunch of kids to Disney World under the banner of Christianity.

For the 12 hour bus ride to Orlando, I had prepped a few albums to listen to, as I usually did when headed somewhere new. I had discovered many favorite artists tucked away at the front of the bus (they usually made all the students sit in the back, but I was prone to motion sickness, so I always ended up at the front with all of the chaperones, who largely left me alone).

That year, my album picks had included Grace, Jeff Buckley's only album. I had of course been familiar, you couldn't sift through a single Tumblr playlist without coming into contact with Hallelujah. I vaguely knew somewhere that he had passed, that he was all of my favorite vocalist's favorite vocalist, that sort of thing.

For whatever reason, somewhere in Georgia, I decided now was the time to listen to Grace for the first time. And my download of the album had somehow not copied Mojo Pin, the album's first track, to my iPod so I indeed did start the record listening to the title track. I quickly fixed this mistake on returning home. Ancient problems from a different time, truly.

I did not listen to another record for the rest of the week.

Here was a friend, a person striving for authenticity, an artist coming into his power. All of the things I desperately craved both to be and to be around. It was a balm and a shield against all of the empty expressions of the music I was going to sing that week, the manipulative key changes and nonsensical lyrics. Here was something real and special.

So many lyrics were reaching through time to hold my hand, the beautiful melodies and vocal acrobatics elevating me, taking me away from the bus window view of the interstate, to somewhere I felt safe and seen.

I was alone in many ways that week, alienated from the religion I was raised in, alienated from my peers who maybe at one point had been my friends but had steadily pulled apart from me in the latter months of high school when it became clear we were not going to be compatible adults, bunking in a drafty Hyatt Place with roommates I really didn't know at all, who argued ceaselessly when we were supposed to be sleeping. I had been relegated to a pullout couch in an attempt to get some space.

As any anxious and isolated neurodivergent teen girl would in the circumstances, I went on a deep dive that first dark night in Orlando, far away from home and surrounded by strangers, into Jeff, his life, his work. I listened to interviews to keep the noise at bay. In my search, I found a picture of Jeff, holding a phone, on a portable bed, presumably talking to a journalist, doing press. I tracked down the location. It was a hotel somewhere in Orlando, Florida.

(photos by Merri Cyr)

It was like waving at someone in another dimension.

Two days into the tour I looked down at the t-shirts we all had to wear, a mish mash of Bible references and key words in the shape of a cross, printed on ugly mint green and coral orange t-shirts (the orange stained my bra for weeks, it was horrible). The choir was given a 'theme' every year for the tours, one inspirational word that was supposed to drive the spiritual growth of 9-12 graders. The year in Chicago had been the "restore" tour (which is extremely problematic the longer you dwell on it). "What's the tour name this year?" I blearily asked one of the chaperones. "Oh, it's the Grace tour. Make sure you use the hashtag."

The tour was the first time I encountered an actively hostile audience during any of the shows. Looking back that seems strange, but nonetheless. We often performed for unsheltered folks, who were forced to listen to us boisterously praise the Lord as they tried to get something to eat or were otherwise seeking support. The show in question took place in a parking lot where an extremely questionable Christian charity group set up once a week to attempt to convert anyone who needed a hot meal. Somewhere in the hour long set of worship music, teenagers banging on trash cans under the guise of performing STOMP (yes, like the off-Broadway thing, which no one even knew because it was such a dated concept by 2016), a capella chamber music (I did that too), and emotionally manipulative skits, one of the people in the crowd started to yell. I don't remember the exact verbatim statements, but it was along the lines of "Why are you singing when we need food, need shelter?"

That night, at the mandated debrief/devotional portion of the night before they finally let us all go to bed, many of my peers expressed that they had never thought of the work that way, as something that could be potentially a nuisance, bothersome, something people were forced to suffer through in order to have their basic needs met.

That was a question I had been asking myself for over a year at that point, ever since pretending to "restore" Chicago in 2015. Did anyone really find inspiration in a bunch of white middle class teenagers singing their little hearts out over Coldplay instrumentals? Did the sloppy manual labor we tried to do at various places for people in need really benefit anyone? Did tired building custodians go back in the day after and correct the naive mistakes of suburban teenagers who were not given any option other than to figure out ways to be helpful? Much ink has been spilled over the epidemic of teenage-centered volountourism from churches, sending unqualified children to do labor to get closer to God, etc. I was tired of treating people less fortunate than this community like pawns to achieve karma points. I was tired of singing bad music. I was tired of feeling like a ghost.

When we got back on the bus, or returned to the hotel, or had mildly unsupervised free time at venues, I would check back in with Jeff. I listened to So Real over and over again, its simplicity was spellbinding. One night they carted us to Disney Springs, the shopping district on Disney property, to burn off steam before getting ready for another day of presumably hard work. I was too tired to traipse around, half-heartedly tagging along with folks that seemed indifferent to my presence. I sat down with a shaved ice and watched a pair of living statues performing in the humid evening, bronze and vaguely Victorian looking, glimmering under the ambient theme park lights. I watched them work a crowd while I listened to So Real and briefly became lost in a story that to this day I cannot recall correctly, some short-lived idea about statues yearning to be real. I started crying, not helped by the schedule that left us overworked and under-rested, and a lack of access to protein and actual nutrients beyond pizza.

Every night, I thought of Jeff on a hotel bed, years ago, in the same place as me. Was he alone? Did his worldview, the questions he screamed out towards the end of Eternal Life, his propensity for diving into the biggest emotions, isolate him like they isolated me?

It's easy to fall in love with someone who has passed, it makes it easy to assign them traits you admire or romanticize their short life. I don't think I fell in love with Jeff in that way, although it is undeniable that he was beautiful. I didn't need lips to kiss, I needed a shoulder to cry on, and it felt like there was a beautiful friend helping me chart a course out of self-loathing and getting mired in philosophical mud.

The last night of the tour, before the Friday fun day when all pretense of work is thrown out to go to a theme park or explore safely curated areas of the city, it was expected that somebody, a youth pastor or the choir director or a well meaning chaperone, would give a sort of pious pep talk, asking us if we really believed all the things we were singing, or were we just having fun on a spring break trip? Anyone who is familiar with Cry Nights at evangelical summer camp knows this tactic. Overstimulate and exhaust young people with still developing brains, feed them a steady diet of sweets and carbohydrates, and then the claws of emotional manipulation will sink so much deeper. And then make them go sing a concert with exhausted voices and clogged sinuses from crying, where their emotions and convictions will run so high, that surely no one in the audience will go unmoved.

That last pep talk reared its ugly head before the last concert, as I presumed it would. But I didn't really listen, while the tears flowed around me. In my head, I was sitting across from Jeff Buckley at the pullout bed, quietly centering myself, trying to find peace in the midst of the chaos. We smiled at each other and said nothing in this vision.

I returned home, glad to be done with youth choir forever, vowing ot never go back to the church I had been raised in. (and also I finally listened to Mojo Pin since it didn't make it onto my iPod)

I was trying my best to give myself grace under strange and infuriating circumstances. Jeff taught me how. Being curious and sensitive is a strength, rage can fuel beauty, seeking authenticity is a worthy journey. That this situation was temporary and I would not have to live my life beholden to the whims of a religious institution that actively benefitted from my fears. Grace, real grace, given freely without the expectation of a transaction, is beautiful. I returned home, a week before my eighteenth birthday, and began the long process of figuring out what I actually believed, what I actually valued, and pursuing the things that filled me with joy at full speed, a road that I am still traveling.

[visualsignsandgraphics]

Promote Your Business with Vinyl Stickers Near Orlando By Visual Signs

Vinyl signage is one of the best ways to promote your business to new and existing clients. Vinyl signs can be used for many different purposes from promotion to wayfinding. As a leading vinyl sign shop in Orlando, FL, Visual Signs is a dedicated vinyl sign printing company that provides high-quality services that will meet your every need.

Just like with any type of signage, these are a great way to advertise your business, promotions, and new services or products to your existing and new client base. Let’s explore the five ways that businesses can use vinyl signage to promote their business.

Vinyl Banners

These are great ways to promote your business at events or at the front of your store. They can be printed in a variety of sizes, stand up tall against the weather, and can be designed with incredible graphics to attract clients. Custom vinyl banners are made to catch the eye of all who pass by, so you know that you���ll be getting your money’s worth with this type of attractive signage.

As they are made from durable materials, they are also made to be long-lasting. So, the return on investment is greater than any costs you’ll be spending. If they are made for promotional reasons, they can even be reused, making them effective even in the long run.

Vinyl Decals

This type of signage is especially great for people looking to add some excitement to their vehicles or office windows. They are a cost-effective way to keep your brand fun, engage with customers, and increase your impressions and revenue. They can be printed or designed in a variety of ways, which means companies can really get creative with them.

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Vinyl Lettering

This is a very professional but still exciting way to implement signage in your business. They are the perfect type of signage to use when your business is trying to establish a cohesive brand image. Doing so always makes certain that your clients remember your brand and tone, making your company a reliable business in their minds.

It is still a type of signage that is affordable and durable, making them a great choice for owners who want to keep their signage for a very long time.

Vinyl Stickers

These can be used to elevate your business and make it super engaging and fun for your clients and employees. They can be designed in many different formats, and colors, and can be used for promotional reasons or for informative reasons.

They are a great way to increase brand awareness and engage with your customer base. Building a community is important for any business, and vinyl stickers are a great way to do that.

Wayfinding Signs

Wayfinding signs are important for clients, no matter what your business is. They allow customers to make their way through your office or store with ease and confidence. If your clients have trouble navigating your office space, chances are they won’t want to return.

Even though they are made to be more informative, it is still very easy to get creative with them. They can be designed in many different shapes, sizes, and colors. If you ever decide to go through a rebranding and want to update them, they are very easy to redesign.

Your Local Vinyl Sign Shop in Orlando, FL

If you’re looking for a highly-rated signage shop in Orlando, FL, look no further than Visual Signs. We have a dedicated team of professionals that will listen to your needs, take your budget into account, and ensure that they get the best possible materials to make your sign perfect.

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Source: https://visualsignsandgraphics.com/custom-vinyl-signs-promote-your-business/

[vamp-ress]

Fic Rec: Haven/A Perfect Murder

Title: A Thousand Words + Scars Author: jasmineskie Paring: David Shaw/Shy Rating: NC17 Summary: This story is a sequel to A Thousand Words and takes place after the events in the movie A Perfect Murder. Warnings: Light angst Disclaimer: The characters of David Shaw and Shy are owned by Warner Brothers and Frank E. Flowers, respectively, and are borrowed without permission. Archive: Please don't. Note: Yes, this is the last chapter. I originally thought it would be an epilogue, but it turned into a little more than that. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and enjoying the story. I'm going to miss writing about these two guys, but I think this leaves them in a good place. :) Banner by jenlynn820

Taking different movies Viggo or Orlando starred in and crossing them has always been a little (but super-interesting) subsection of Viggorli fandom. This little niche should not be confused with the not so niche part of fandom where authors took certain movies to rewrite them for V/O (like "Dirty Dancing", but we'll get to that at some later point). This one is a Haven/A Perfect Murder crossover, one I really liked revisiting - even if I've never seen "Haven". I have seen "A Perfect Murder", though. I think a rewatch is in order.

The tone of this so subtle, it's a fascinating character study and it has a happy end. What's not to love?

[brasiliangp]

my uncle posting a picture with a maga hat and the star spangled banner playing in the background…..my brother in christ u are literally a brazilian born and raised and the only part of american soil u have touched was in orlando, florida. sit this one out.

[gaslightgallows]

2024 TBR Pile of Good Intentions

(crossposted to Patreon)

This year’s TBR pile looks very much like last year’s (hence the reused banner image) but last year was also a shitshow so I’m giving myself a do-over. Although looking back, I did actually manage to read two (2) of the books on last year’s list! I even wrote about How to Live Like a Monk for my patrons! The other one was Mexican Gothic… Y’know, I should really write about Mexican Gothic…

Lion’s Paw Reads: (aka books I’m planning to do patron content about)

Orlando, by Virginia Woolf

A Haunted History of Invisible Women: True Stories of America’s Ghosts, by Leanna Renee Hieber and Andrea Janes

The Haunting of Alma Fielding, by Kate Summerscale

The Octagon House: A Home for All, by Orson Squire Fowler

Other Reads (Fiction):

Our Wives Under the Sea, by Julia Armfield

The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories, by Susana Clarke

Radiance, by Catherynne M. Valente

Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsin Muir

Piranesi, by Susanna Clarke

The City We Became, by N.K. Jemison

Nothing but Blackened Teeth, by Cassandra Khaw

The Story of Silence, Alex Myers

A Psalm for the Wild-Built, by Becky Chambers

Viriconium, by M. John Harrison

Queer Little Nightmares: An Anthology of Monstrous Fiction and Poetry, Edited by David Ly & Daniel Zomparelli

What Moves the Dead, by T. Kingfisher *I actually finished this last week!

Phantastes: A Faerie Romance, by George MacDonald

Other Reads (Non-Fiction):

City of Sin, by Catherine Arnold

The Mutual Admiration Society, by Mo Moulton

Monster, She Wrote, by Lisa Kröger and Melanie R. Anderson

The Gilded Edge, by Catherine Prendergast

Dickensland, by Lee Jackson

I might also do posts on some of these other books, provided I get to/through them. If you’re at all interested in my thoughts on this assemblage of horror, fantasy, scifi, and very niche historical non-fiction, I hope you’ll consider subscribing and telling me what else I should be reading!

[spinus-pinus]

Great Egret Ardea Alba

4/6/2022 Orange County, Florida

Starting out this blog with my banner photo! This is one of my favorite photos I've ever taken, and one of my best in-flight photos (although this egret had just taken off, and so was not truly in flight). I watched this egret hunting on Lake Apopka, one of my favorite birding locations near Orlando.

[stravagatefaster]

A Sting in the Tail

The following short story written by Mary Hoffman is from the official Stravaganza-website, which doesn't exist anymore. It is accessible through the Wayback Machine, but I am uploading the short stories here to a) act as a secondary archive and b) to make them accessible to fans. If this story is ever re-published somewhere or I am asked to delete it, I will do so. This post will be unrebloggable, but feel free to link to it if you wish to add comments/discuss the story. I do not own the story, and it is directly copy-pasted from the old website.

---

In 1450, the famous horse race of Remora was still run on the straight. Every other year on 15th August, companies from each of the city’s Twelfths massed at the Gate of the Moon in the south of the city and raced their horses north along the Strada delle Stelle to the middle of the Campo. On the alternate years they began the race at the Gate of the Sun and ran south to the same place.

That’s how, about a hundred years before, the race had got its name — the Stellata (short for Corsa Stellata, the Race of the Stars) — from its being run along the Strada delle Stelle. Of course, the whole city revolved around the concept of the stars, ever since Pope Benedict, following a decree of his predecessor, had built the broad Road of Stars that ran from the north to the south of the city, and the circular piazza at its heart, known as the Campo delle Stelle, the field of stars.

But in the middle of the fifteenth century, the Remorans were still happy to run their race in a straight line, although it meant that the onlookers saw only a short section of it and the Campo was the most popular place for spectators, because there you could see the finish line.

Fabrizio di Chimici was not yet the first Duke of Giglia and Remora was the unchallenged leading city of Talia. Ferrando, the first di Chimici Prince of Remora, who would one day dance with the Duchessa of Bellezza on the night she wore the glass mask, was not yet born.

So, although the Stellata was run according to pacts and plots hatched between different Twelfths, as it still was 128 years later for the race in which a twenty-first century girl from our world got involved, there was then no particular prejudice in favour of the Lady or the Twins.

In 1450 there was to be a Stellata Straordinaria, an extra race, run in September to commemorate an outstanding event. Maestro Giovanni Ortolano, the great sculptor and architect, had completed his starry pavement in the black and white striped cathedral and it was to be unveiled on the evening of the race. He had also designed a special Stellata banner to show his circular black and white masterpiece as well as the obligatory signs of all the Twelfths.

What fortune that would be — to win the star-sprinkled banner in the race of the stars! Every Twelfth was even more determined than usual to be the one that grasped the banner from the finish line and carry it in triumph to the Duomo.

And in no Twelfth did that desire burn more strongly than the Scorpion. It was the Nonna, the grandmother — the name given to the Twelfth which hadn’t won for the longest time. Poor Scorpion hadn’t won a Stellata that century.

“But this year will break our run of bad luck, I’m sure of it,” said Antonio, Horsemaster of the Scorpion. “And what a way to break it, to win Maestro Ortolano’s banner! Why, no one would be able to hold a candle to us after that.”

He was at a meeting with the Twelfths of the other Water signs — the Crab and the Fishes (for the Scorpion is the third Water sign of the Zodiac, not the water-bearer Aquarius, as you might think). Much liquid was consumed at these meetings, and that not of a watery nature. This one was taking place in a tavern in the Twelfth of the Crab, up in the north of the city.

The Horsemasters of Crab and Fishes, Giusto and Orlando, exchanged indulgent glances. They could afford not to contradict Antonio; the Crab had won six Stellate in fifty years and Fishes had won only last year. They knew in their hearts how Antonio suffered and how it was only his hope that kept him going. A dozen Horsemasters had come and gone in the Scorpion since it last had a win and every one of them had spent their few years as Capitano striving their utmost for victory and retired frustrated. Why should Antonio be any different? But no one was going to say that to him.

“What are you thinking of running?” asked Orlando.

“We have a new mare,” said Antonio. “A grey — pure white and delicate boned. Benedetta, we call her — the blessed one. And she will be our blessing if she wins. But we mustn’t have a long start; she is highly strung and wouldn’t cope well with a lot of hanging around at the start-line.”

His fellow Water Capitani nodded. This was a perennial problem. The horses with the heart and spirit to win the Stellata were the intelligent ones, who were often too nervous to handle the delays that could happen before a valid start to the race was declared. The more placid animals who could brook the false starts were usually lacking that extra spark that made a winner. The Scorpion had chosen the other option in the August race and their solid brown gelding Matteo had come second, which, in Remora, was almost worse than coming last.

They guessed that Antonio had paid a good deal of money for Benedetta; the Twelvers of the Scorpion were so desperate for victory that they had dug deep in their pockets for a new mount. But what would that leave to spend out on pacts and bribes? It was no good having even the best horse in the city if you hadn’t laid out enough cash on your agreements with other Twelfths.

As Antonio crossed the circular Campo on his way back home from the meeting, he took a detour off into the black and white cathedral. It was in the Twins’ territory, but that was all right. Twins and Scorpion were not allies but neither were they adversaries. It was much harder for Twelvers of the Bull, who had to cross into enemy territory every time they wanted to worship at the Duomo.

Workmen were busy in a side chapel, following orders of Maestro Giovanni. They were setting in one of the panels of his new pavement, sweating and straining with ropes while they lowered a segment of the astrological circle into place, shaped like one of the Twelfths of the city. (Like a slice of pizza, in fact, but no fifteenth-century Remoran would have thought of that comparison, since pizza had not been invented then.)

As he drew nearer, Antonio’s pulse quickened. He could see from the segments which had already been set into the floor, that the one being positioned now was his own, the house of the Scorpion. Surely this was an omen? He made the Hand of Fortune — thumb and little finger of the right hand touching — and swiftly pressed the middle fingers against his brow and breast, before crossing himself in the more orthodox manner of someone in a Christian church.

“Hey you!” shouted one of the workman rudely. “Clear off! No previews before the race.”

Antonio backed hastily away, though the preoccupied sculptor looked round mildly and smiled at Antonio, as if he didn’t mind his work being seen before its official unveiling. He wasn’t a temperamental artist, but his workers were very protective of him and proud of their association with such a great man.

The Horsemaster, after saying a fervent prayer for victory, came out of the cool shadowy interior and down the steep back steps outside the cathedral, past the baptistery, and skirted the rest of the Campo till he reached the entrance to his own Twelfth. Entering its familiar streets calmed him down.

The blue and purple banners still fluttered from flagpoles and hung from balconies, where Twelvers had left them out after the race last month; no point in taking them down with the Straordinaria coming so soon after. At every crossroads stood a statue of their totem animal, not the most beautiful, as Antonio readily conceded, but their own symbol after all. “In my tail do you see my true nature” was the motto of Scorpione, which each Twelver interpreted in his or her own way.

“Don’t underestimate us,” was Antonio’s reading of it; “Don’t write us off, because we’ll surprise you in the end.”  His heart swelled as he walked up the broad Via Scorpione to the Piazza della Fonte Nuova. All the Water Twelfths made much of their fountains and the one in the Scorpion, the “new fountain”, had been created at least two hundred years before by a sculptor whose name was now forgotten and who was known just as the “Master of the New Fountain”.

Antonio sat on the broad marble ledge around the fountain and took off his blue and purple scarf to dip in the clear water.  He dabbed his hot face with the cool wet cloth and looked at the intricate carvings of insects and small animals that surrounded the rim of the white marble basin with its inner ring of scorpions. “What a sculptor!” he thought. Then he stopped, with the cloth clamped to his head so that the water trickled down it in ever-warmer drops. If there had been anyone to see him, they would have thought their Horsemaster had lost his wits, but it was siesta-time and the square was empty.

“Sculptor!” he said out loud. The very Guild with which his Twelfth was associated was that of the sculptors — one reason it was so lavishly decorated with good models of its difficult-to-portray insect. And had a sculptor not just smiled on him — the very one whose work this extra Stellata was to celebrate?

“A second omen!” thought Antonio, amazed that he hadn’t made the connection before.

*  *  *  *  *

In the stables of the Scorpion a young boy, no more than fifteen, was brushing Matteo the brown gelding. The horse would almost certainly not run in the Stellata again, having proved not quite fiery enough to win, but he was a good riding mount and would never be sold. The boy, Ciro, was very fond of him. And of all the horses in the stables. He was a Scorpion himself, born in the Twelfth and baptised twice, like all Remorans — once by the priest in the church of St John the Baptist and once by the Horsemaster in the Fonte Nuova with his fellow Twelvers looking on.

Not this Horsemaster, of course, but the one of the time. Ciro was no kin to Antonio — in fact he was no kin to anyone, but an orphan the Horsemaster had taken on to help at the stables. He was a devoted lover of horses and hoped to ride for the Scorpion in the Stellata himself one day. Meanwhile, he tended the beasts and knew them all by name and by nature. Benedetta now was a lovely creature and Ciro had great hopes for her in this special race. He burned with his Twelfth’s shame at being such an old Nonna and longed for victory.

Ciro was too young and restless to spend his afternoons sleeping; he found it more relaxing to brush swishing manes and tails in the warm silence of the stables which smelt of horses and the sweet almond oil he had rubbed into their coarse hair before brushing it.

*  *  *  *  *

Antonio stepped into the church of San Gianbattista to offer up thanks for his two good omens and utter an even more fervent prayer for victory. The church was empty and peaceful. The two statues, one of the Baptist, with his coarse hairy tunic, and the other of the Lady, holding her miraculous Child, were both draped and adorned with offerings — trumpery gold necklaces, flowers, lace and other trinkets.

On a moment’s impulse, Antonio tied his wet neck cloth around the saint’s foot and prayed as he had never prayed before. In the silence of the church, he seemed to hear the high whinny of a horse. He looked round nervously but there was no one else there, neither four-legged nor human. The only time a horse came into this church was for the blessing before each Stellata; Benedetta would stand there herself in a week’s time, living up to her name.

Then Antonio shook himself and hurried out of the church and along the narrow cobbled streets back to the stables. He hadn’t gone far before he heard the sound of approaching music and the feet of many people and some horses on the cobbles.

It was a haunting music, of flutes, drums and fiddles and, as the music-makers rounded a corner, Antonio realised who they were.

“Oh no!” he moaned to himself. “Zinti!”

The travelling people who came from the east of Europa (and some say from even further east originally) were no more than tolerated in Remora. They were always around at the time of the Stellata because it was held, unfortunately as most Remorans thought, on the same day as the Zinti’s major festival — the Day of the Goddess. They liked horses and could do anything with them, but they were not interested in the great race or the spectacular procession that preceded it.

The Zinti gathered in the City of Stars to stay up all night on 14th August, worshipping their goddess and greeting her consort, the sun, at daybreak on the fifteenth. Their ceremonies and rituals were over long before the race began, which is why they were allowed to carry them out in the circular Campo.

But their presence made native Remorans uneasy. The Zinti were strange people, nomadic, carrying all their possessions with them — and those possessions mainly outlandish colourful clothing and musical instruments. They slept in the open air under the stars; no member of their tribe ever lay down in a house, although they would accept hospitality in the daytime. They were always courteous to citizens and caused no trouble in the city, but their coming made Remorans restless and their departure always brought a slight feeling of relief. Antonio had no idea why these ones were still in the city nearly a month after the August Stellata.

Still, he raised his hat to them as they passed him and the man who seemed to be the leader of this group returned the courtesy with his own red velvet cap. He looked keenly into Antonio’s face as their paths crossed and Antonio had the strangest feeling that the stranger could read the secrets of his heart.

And that was an uncomfortable thought — because at that moment Antonio was thinking, “Surely to meet the Zinti in the Scorpion is a bad omen to set against the two good ones?”

Now in his head he seemed to hear a voice say, “Why so? The Zinti bear no ill will to the Scorpion, or any other Twelfth,” even though no one had spoken out loud.

Antonio stopped, ashamed of his discourteous thought, and the group of Zinti halted too, their music dwindling to a close.

“Capitano?” said the man with the red cap, squashing it back on his long light brown hair. Antonio was surprised that his position was known, although officially Horsemasters assume the title of Capitano only in the week of the race. He had again the disconcerting feeling that the Zinti knew so much more about him than he did about them.

Now he had to say something, so he invited the colourful group back to his stables for refreshment.

“That is very kind,” said the man in the red cap. “Let me introduce myself. I am Indro and we are Manoush.” He gestured to his companions, who smiled and doffed their many colourful hats and made elaborate bows. Soon, Antonio found himself at the centre of the group of Zinti, or Manoush as they preferred to be known, feeling like a cabbage in the middle of a bouquet of spring flowers.

Ciro was astonished to hear the sounds of many people entering the stable yard and even more so when he looked out and saw the outlandish company that the Horsemaster had brought back with him. It was not yet the end of siesta-time and Antonio’s wife, Stefania, looked bemused to be called out from the house and asked to entertain about a dozen strangers. But she saw the light in Antonio’s eyes and didn’t argue.

Soon the little band of Zinti were sitting at the stone table on the terrace behind the Horsemaster’s house, jostling elbows as they drank ale and ate bread and cheese and olives. The impromptu meal over, they got out their instruments and played while Indro serenaded their hosts. Stefania, now in a clean apron and with her hair combed, turned pink with pleasure. Ciro watched wide-eyed from the stables, where three strange horses were now munching hay alongside the other Scorpion animals, as the Zinti got up and danced around the yard, playing their flutes and fiddles; nothing like that had ever been seen in the Scorpion stables before.

By the time they left, Antonio had stopped thinking that the Zinti were a bad omen. And Ciro had decided there was nothing he wanted more than to join them.

*  *  *  *  *

Benedetta didn’t like the heats at all — the crowds, the noise, the banners and the other horses. It didn’t bode at all well for the race itself. Gloomy Scorpion Twelvers were shaking their heads and thinking they had not spent their money wisely. But real disaster did not strike until the night of the last heat, the Prova Generale.

The Rincorsa, the mount who entered the race at a running start, was the Scorpion’s enemy, the Archer. And because fate had decreed that Benedetta was in the eleventh position, the Archer’s jockey cut at the Scorpion’s man with his whip as the horse ran past. The Scorpion’s jockey flinched, Benedetta reared and, as her forefeet landed back on the track, her leg got entangled with that of the water-bearer’s mount.

Within minutes, Antonio knew that his horse was lame and would be unfit to ride in the next day’s Stellata.

He was in despair. Consulting with his jockey, he knew there was no choice but to run Matteo again, even though he thought their chances slim. Matteo had run no heats and had been eating too much to be a good racing choice. But anything was better than scratching at this stage. Matteo would run in the morning heat and then the Scorpion’s jockey would register his name with the mayor and there would be no backing out for horse or rider.

Antonio took no pleasure in the dinner held in the Scorpion that night. The wine ran as freely as usual, the food laid out on the blue and purple tablecloths was as good as ever, but Antonio’s heart was not in it. He had treasured such high hopes this time and now their expensive grey mare was lame and they had to run a last-minute horse. He resigned himself to the Scorpion remaining the “grandmother” for nearly another year.

But in the early dawn light Ciro was woken from his sleep in the hayloft above Matteo’s stall by a soft whistle. He slid down the ladder and found himself face to face with the man the Zinti called Indro. The man searched the boy’s face, then asked, “Is it true the Scorpion’s horse is wounded?”

“Aye, lame,” said Ciro, his heart leaping at the thought that this strange man might have some subtle horsecraft that would cure Benedetta.

But Indro was shaking his head. “That is bad luck, indeed,” he said. “What will you run instead?”

“This horse, Matteo,” said Ciro. “He’s a good one, but he hasn’t been prepared for the race. Antonio has little hope of victory.”

“Tell the Horsemaster I shall meet him up at the Gate of the Sun, for the morning heat,” said Indro, and was gone before Ciro could ask why.

The last heat was run and Matteo, surprised to be asked to race so early in the morning, came last. Antonio sat on the marble bench around the fountain in the Campo, with his head in his hands. He had run behind the horses all the way from the Gate of the Sun and been greeted with bad news by the Scorpion’s jockey as soon as he reached the Campo. Now he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.

The man in the red cap, who had also been at the start of the heat, sat down beside him. “You must register the horse and jockey now, I think,” he said quietly. Antonio nodded.

“I have an offer to make,” said Indro. “You can of course go ahead with your brown horse and your chosen jockey or you can take me and my palomino, Malassa. I will ride for the Scorpion if you want.”

Antonio knew it would be madness to change jockey as well as horse on the day of the Stellata. To trust one of the Zinti. And it would cost him a fortune in pacts broken. But he looked at Indro and saw that he was slight of build and not tall; he could be a jockey. And the Zinti’s skill with horses was legendary. He remembered the palomino from a few days before and she had been beautiful.

“What do I have to lose?” asked Antonio.

*  *  *  *  *

The Stellata Ortolano of 1450 became famous in the history of Remora and its Race of the Stars. There was a sensation at the registering of mounts and riders when the Scorpion announced it would be running Malassa, ridden by Indro Vivoide, instead of Benedetta or Matteo and its previous jockey, who stood glowering nearby, in spite of the large bag of silver Antonio with which had paid him off.

And it was the Manoush, dressed in blue and purple, who led Indro’s palomino mare into the church of San Gianbattista that afternoon for the blessing. “Dia! Dia!” went up the cry when the mare relieved herself on the red carpet, for there was no more lucky sign in the rituals surrounding the Stellata.

Antonio was marching in the solemn procession before the race, dressed in his best ceremonial clothes, behind the drummer and the ensigns waving the giant banners of Scorpione, so he was already at the finish line when the race began from the Gate of the Sun. Ciro had gone with him and heard the cry of “Ottimo!” which meant that a clean start had taken place first time.

He was gripping his master’s hand so tightly that afterwards Antonio found the boy’s nails had drawn blood, but he didn’t notice at the time, because he was screaming encouragement, along with all the other Remorans massed in the Campo.

And suddenly, there were the horses! A blur of colours and sounds and they swept up to the finish line so tightly bunched that none but the official positioned there could tell who had won.

And then, “Scorpione! Scorpione!” echoed round the circular Campo and Antonio nearly fainted with joy. Even his deposed jockey was thumping Indro on the back; the great drought had ended and the Scorpion was the grandmother no longer.

The Duomo roiled with bodies and flags as the special Stellata banner was borne in triumph up to the altar. Antonio couldn’t see his successful jockey; he himself was carried on the shoulders of enthusiastic Scorpions and he expected that Indro was enjoying the same acclaim somewhere in the cathedral. Eventually the priest’s bell brought some sort of order to the mob and the short service of Thanksgiving began.

The next stop was to take the banner to their own church in the Twelfth. But first the priest led the way through the crowd to a corded-off side chapel, where a canvas cloth lay on the floor. Antonio was at the front when the cloth was removed and joined in the gasp as Giovanni Ortolano’s masterpiece was revealed in its entirety for the first time.

The Duomo echoed to the applause and the sculptor himself stood with head bowed to receive it. When he looked up, he exchanged glances with Antonio and came over to clap him on the shoulder.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You are the Capitano of the Scorpion, aren’t you? I saw you here earlier in the week.”

“Thank you, yes,” said Antonio. “And congratulations to you too. The pavement is magnificent.”

It was almost the last thing he could remember about that night. The feasting and drinking in the Twelfth went on till dawn and most Scorpions had spectacular hangovers the next day. Antonio had a vague recollection of toasting Indro but couldn’t remember his being at the feast.

And strangest of all, next day Ciro was nowhere to be found. He was never seen in the Twelfth again and nor was the little band of Zinti, at least not in Antonio’s lifetime.

The Horsemaster continued in his post for eight years and retired after two more wins; the luck of the Scorpion had really changed with the Stellata Ortolano.

But the oddest thing was that, although everyone agreed that Scorpion had won the Stellata Straordinaria of 1450, after a few years everyone was a bit hazy about the horse and jockey who had ridden for them. Including Antonio.

As he got older, he sometimes said that it had been Benedetta, sometimes Matteo. (It was before consistent written records of the Stellata were kept.) When asked the jockey’s name, sometimes he said it had been a young boy called Ciro, other times he gave the name of the jockey who should have run in the race.

One thing he was clear about till his dying day: there had been three good omens for the Scorpion that year. He had seen the workman lowering the section of his Twelfth into Ortolano’s masterpiece pavement, the sculptor had smiled at him and he had met a band of Zinti on his way to the stable.

And when people said, “But surely the Zinti are a bad omen? Aren’t they a wandering and untrustworthy people?” Antonio never missed the opportunity to give them a lecture on acceptance and hospitality towards strangers.

“After all,” he said. “No one can deny they brought me luck.”

*  *  *  *  *

Note: Readers of City of Stars will notice that the celestial pavement has been moved in this story, from Santa Fina to Remora. In fact it is the other way round: Ortolano’s masterpiece was moved from the cathedral in Remora to the one in Santa Fina after part of the Duomo floor subsided and the pavement was in danger of being destroyed. The move was supposed to be temporary, and indeed the problem in Remora was soon sorted out, but the next Pope was sensitive about having such a non-Christian work of art in his Duomo and somehow by 1578 it had become a fixture in the place where Georgia saw it.