#bristol clothing suppliers

[fallonbeatriz5489]

Wholesale Clothing Manufacturer Bristol

Discover reliable wholesale clothing manufacturers in Bristol, providing trendy, customizable fashion for businesses and boutiques at affordable rates. https://www.alanicglobal.com/uk-wholesale/bristol/

[luizdavid2042]

Bristol Wholesale Clothing Manufacturer

Known for high-quality materials and craftsmanship, ensuring durable and stylish clothing. https://www.alanicglobal.com/uk-wholesale/bristol/

[eshaunabarber]

Alanic Global: Leading Clothing Supplier in Bristol

Alanic Global is a top-rated clothing supplier in Bristol, offering a wide range of trendy and high-quality apparel for men, women, and children.

[alanicglobal]

On The Lookout for A Clothing Manufacturer in Bristol? – Establish Connection with Alanic Global

Alanic Global leaves its mark as one of the top-rated clothing manufacturers Bristol to offer an extensive collection of snazzy clothes.

[wilsondavidsworld]

Bristol Bliss: Wholesale Clothing Suppliers in Bristol for Urban Elegance!

Elevate your inventory with the latest trends from our curated collection of clothing wholesalers in Bristol. Crafted for urban elegance and style, embrace the local flair.

[apparelmanufacturer]

Alanic Wholesale is one of the top-notch Wholesale Clothing Manufacturers in Bristol

Alanic Wholesale is one of the top-notch Wholesale Clothing Manufacturers in Bristol, the UK, with a premium quality custom clothing collection.

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VI *Mature*

Summary: A decision is made for the next step in your and Henry’s journey, and the events that happen afterwards, will have lasting consequences for everyone involved.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 9,773

Chapters: I II III IV V

Warning: Futuristic!AU, Dystopian!AU, Language, Angst, Fluff, Dark themes, blood, torture, kidnapping, interrogation, imprisonment, mentions of past violence and sex

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write something like this.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think! Thank you to @wondersofdreaming​ for being lovely, being my beta and putting up with my crazy muse! You’re amazing!

Even though you woke up in bed alone, you could hear Henry shuffling and rummaging around the room. But, you didn't open your eyes or move as you listened to him. You didn't want the magic that had culminated between you during the night to vanish, ruined by Henry forcing you to return to London with him, and starting another blow out argument.

That wouldn't end with another round of atomic sex.

When the room was quiet again, you rolled over onto your back as the sound of the toilet flushing filled the room and the sink came on. You sighed, looking out the bright window, the sun starting its slow ascent into the sky.

“You're awake.” Henry's chipper voice said as he came out of the bathroom, fully clothed. “How'd you sleep?” He asked, smiling at you.

“Better than I have in the last several days.” You replied, forcing a smile back at him.

“Same.”

He could see the conflict inside of you amplify so much more, and felt his heart grow sore. The magic was started to evaporate into the air between you.

“I don't want to rush you. But,” He sighed, carding a hand through his curls. “It's a long walk to where we're going, and only so many hours in the day.” He told you, fidgeting and chewing on the corner of his lip.

You hesitated for a moment, sighing heavily, before throwing back the duvet and getting out of bed. “I want to take a shower first, if that's okay with you? It's been a while since I had one.”

“Of course.” Henry nodded, hoping the hot water would help soothe you some.

Nodding, you took your previously discarded clothing and took them into the bathroom, softly closing the bathroom door behind you, just needing a moment of privacy. You put your clothing aside and stared at your fragmented reflection in the mirror, the tired smudges under your eyes and the just plain tired and melancholy shine to your eyes. Letting out a hard breath, you started the shower, and even though the water was still cold and heating up, you stepped underneath the icy spray, shivering once before just standing there and letting it wash over you.

Your body was so sore and worn out from walking and the ongoing situation, but you could also feel the throb between your legs from having sex with Henry; it wasn't entirely uncomfortable or painful, but it was unmistakably and noticeably there, none-the-less. The water finally heated up and you washed yourself the best you could with the meager options to do so.

“Yeah?” You called out, at Henry's soft knock.

Henry opened the bathroom door. “This is the only towel the room has.” He said, holding up the towel he had dried himself with the night before.

“Oh, thanks.” You smiled at him, turning off the shower and stepped out, taking the towel from him.

“Of course.” He smiled back at you, then actually dared to kiss you on the cheek, before going out again.

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach at the warm touch of his soft lips on your damp cheek; it felt nice. Drying off and getting dressed, you joined Henry back in the room and found him opening his backpack, removing your shoes from inside. Smiling, he held them out for you to take, which you did, your fingers brushing as you did. The air between you and Henry was starting to get thick again, you could feel the anxiety inside of you start to grow, wanting to bolt and run for Bristol; Henry be damned. Henry was also on edge, trying to fight the feeling to grab you and throw you over his shoulder, marching you both back to London, to end this rising disaster.

But, both of you fought it.

Henry opened the room door for you and you stepped out into the hall, before going down the stairs and returning the room key to the front desk, a woman was running it this morning, the previous front desk clerk nowhere to be seen. Both of you paused at the hotel entrance, taking a deep breath and exiting into the cool morning air.

“Let me see.” Henry said, pulling out his mobile and bringing up the Runner map. “There's a supply store right over there.” He pointed across the street to a store front, the front window boarded up with plywood. “See if we can scrap up some breakfast.” He suggested, throwing you an encouraging smile.

“Okay.” You nodded, but didn't smile back.

Crossing the street and opening the supply store door, a soft chime of a bell as you did, the supplier appeared from the back, giving you and Henry a look, but didn't say anything to either of you. You roamed around the makeshift shelves lining the space, while Henry found where they stored the food and grabbed a couple of things, for breakfast and the trek. Going back outside, you and Henry found a relatively intact park bench and sat down, splitting a blueberry muffin and a bottle of water for breakfast.

Sighing, when the food was gone, you got up and turned towards London and started that way. Henry stared at you for a moment, still seated on the bench. His lips slightly parted as he watched you start in the direction of the capital city, he was thoroughly surprised by your decision to return to London with him, without him making you, or doing his best to convince you into it. It made his heart both skip a beat, that you had chosen him, but also stop, because you had chosen him over your brother.

Frowning, Henry stood up, he had already made his choice, a long time ago. So, he caught up with you as you continued to walk down the cracked and uneven sidewalk, grabbing the back of your elbow and pulling you to a stop. You turned to look up at him, your face was angry, but your bottom trembled with held back tears. Sighing softly, Henry folded you up into his arms and hugged you against him, letting you cry yourself out into his chest.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered softly, stroking your hair. “But,” He cleared his throat. “You're heading in the wrong direction.”

“I know which way I'm going, Cavill.” You replied, sniffling up at him.

“I know you know where you're going, love. But, you're not going in the direction you want to go in.” He clarified, pressing his lips to your warm forehead.

“I picked you. Mikey knows the bullshit he got himself into.” You huffed, frustrated you were even talking about it. “Made bed and lie in it, all that jazz.” You told him, rubbing at your eyes.

Henry smiled down at you, tipping your head back a little bit more and kissed you soundly on the lips, before putting his hands on your shoulders and turning you towards Bristol. “We are going this way, Nugget.”

“Henry.” You sighed, shaking your head.

“Neither of us will be able to live with the choice of just going back to London.” He replied, softly. “You won't be able to live knowing you could have prevented your brother's potential death, and I wouldn't be able to live with knowing you chose me and possibly resenting me for it, and I can't stand the thought of him getting hurt.” He explained to you.

“Stupid as he might be for becoming a Runner, in the first place.” He added, with a roll of his eyes.

“You're really going to go to Bristol with me, to get my dumbass brother?” You asked, turning back to him, and lifting a skeptical brow; sure he was just testing you.

“Yes.” He nodded, giving you a serious face.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” He retorted, lifting his own brow. “I told you, why.”

“I don't believe it.” You replied, folding your arms.

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “You just want to hear me say, I love you.” He chuckled, seeing straight through you.

“I did.” You grinned at him.

“You silly girl.” He sighed, smirking. “Come on, we only have so much time to reach the next safe place.” He said, kissing you again, took your hand, and started walking towards Warmley.

“And, I love you.”

It had taken a while, and many things had come to light, but you and Henry finally made it to Bristol.

“So, how do we find him, now that we're here?” Henry asked, resting his hand on the small of your back protectively, as you both stood to the side of the bustling street.

“I have no clue.” You sighed, for the first time, you were starting to feel discouraged. “What do you suggest, High Marshal?” You asked, looking up at him with half a smug smile and half pleading with him.

Henry took a deep breath in as he looked around, biting his lip. He had been thinking about how you both were supposed to find your brother once you arrived, ever since he decided he would go with you to Bristol in search of him. You couldn't just start asking anyone and everyone, it would invite more attention than Henry wanted to attract, especially with people out looking to harm you.

“I might know someone.” He sighed again, rubbing the side of his tired face.

“Who?” You asked, blinking at him.

“Someone I went to school with.” He explained, taking your hand and leading you through the crowd. “He was once a Beta Marshal, until he was found to be letting Runners through his Sector, for a portion of their profits. He probably would have just been fined for it, if he hadn't attempted blackmailing an Alpha Cleric that was presiding over his case. So, he was stripped of his offices and banished to Bristol.”

“I'm just not sure if he's still here, or if he's even still alive, for that matter.” He told you, side eyeing a guy that tried to nudge him in the ribs. “It's been nearly three years.”

“Well, how are we going to find him?” You asked, pressing closer to him.

“Most people that held a high office that have been banished to Bristol hide in the lowest Sector, to try and avoid others they might have sent here themselves.”

“And you know all of this, how?”

“I'm a High Marshal, it's my job to know these things.” He replied, gripping your hand even tighter as the crowd thickened.

You thread your way through the Sectors, until you reach the unguarded and trashed gate of Sector Fifteen. Bristol had a trashy vibe to it as you walked its crowded streets, but the almost empty streets of Sector Fifteen were, by far, worse. The dark, dank and foul smelling air hung heavily in a haze, that made your eyes water and the back of your nose sting. You could feel Henry's body tense beside you, going into full protective mode, on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, for any possible and would be threat to either of you.

“Who is this guy?” You whispered to him, too frightened to speak any louder.

“Ramsey Kellan.” Henry replied, his jaw tight.

“Lost?” A raspy voice asked from behind them.

“No.” Henry growled back, turning towards the voice. “Looking for an acquaintance.”

“Oh, and who might that be?” A sleazy and rail thin man replied, looking you and Henry over.

“Ramsey Kellan.”

“What do you want with Remy?”

“That's between him and I.” Henry hissed, glaring darkly at the other male.

“I'll tell ya where to find him.” He answered, his eyes shifting over to you. “For a price.” He chuckled, showing a mouthful of black and missing teeth as he grinned at you.

“Or I could just beat it out of you.” Henry barked at him, his hand practically crushing yours.

“Hey, no need for violence, man.” The guy huffed, looking disappointed. “He lives over there.” He pointed down the street to a dingy building, over half the windows were missing from it. “Third floor.”

You expected Henry to turn and start that direction, but he didn't move, staring after the guy as he walked away. Only when he vanished from view, did Henry turn on a dime and started inside. You climbed the three flights of stairs to Ramsey Kellan's floor, looking at the name on each of the flat doors until you finally came up to the scuffed door with 'Kellan - 309' on it in black, block letters.

“Stand right there.” Henry told you, pointing to a spot beside the door. “Don't say anything or make a peep.”

“Why?” You asked, narrowing your eyes up at him.

“Because I asked you too.” He replied, heaving a sigh and looking at you, the pinnacle of his exhaustion showing through his blue eyes.

“Fine.” You sighed back and did as he asked.

Taking one more deep breath, Henry lifted his fist and knocked on Kellan's door. It took a moment before the door jerked open and a thin male appeared. He looked at Henry for a moment, his expression angry, before it widened with shock and horror.

“Cavill?”

“Kellan.” Henry replied, looking the former Beta Marshal over.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ramsey asked, blinking at his former colleague.

“Looking for you.” Henry answered, folding his arms over his chest.

“Don't tell me the straight laced Henry Cavill has fallen from grace?” Ramsey laughed, thoroughly amused at the thought of it.

“Not exactly.” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “I need your help finding someone here in Bristol.”

Ramsey's look hardened some and he shifted uneasily. “Who?”

“A Runner for Jaxon Quinn, Michail Keagan.”

Ramsey gulped thickly, his eyes shifting around, unable to meet Henry's stern glare. “I can't help you, Henry.” He mumbled and started to close his door.

Henry's hand shot out, preventing Ramsey from closing his door. “I know that's a load of shit. You've had the low down on every Runner there is, and I know you still do. So, you're going to tell me where to find him.”

“And what do I get out of it?” Ramsey hissed back. “Last time, I lost my job and my livelihood. This time around, I’d lose my life. So, what can you give me, Cavill, in exchange for the information.”

“Maybe, I tell the Marshal Council you helped me bring down one of the top Crime Bosses England has. Perhaps with a word like that, from a High Marshal with ties to the Cleric and Royal Councils, it could get you back into London.” Henry told him, keeping his voice low, but stern.

“You think you could do that?” Ramsey asked, sounding desperate and surprised.

“Only if you tell me what I want to know.” Henry told him, narrowing his eyes. “And if you lie to me, I'll make sure Crime Bosses and Bristol are your last worry.” He added, the dangerous threat dripping from his voice.

You heard the gulp and whimper that came out of Ramsey, you saw the sheer look of evil on Henry's face as he said it, and had to slap a hand over your mouth to hide your giggle, biting your lips. You were terrified and surprised by the pure authority Henry had pulsing off of him, even more so than usual, but part of you was also turned on by it.

“Come in, I don't want the neighbors to hear this.” Ramsey said, opening the door again.

Henry turned his head, looking at you, then motioned to the open door. Nodding at him, you pushed off the wall and stepped in front of him, giving Ramsey a tight smile as he blinked at you, surprised.

“Who the hell is this?” He snapped, looking over your head to Henry.

“None of your business, so move.” He barked back, pushing Ramsey out of the way.

You shyly smiled at Ramsey as you slipped by him, after Henry, who breezed into Ramsey's flat, looking around it with unmasked disgust. He turned in the middle of Ramsey's living room, tightly folding his arms against his chest, glowering at the former Beta Marshal, with screaming High Marshal authority. You felt sheepish as Ramsey closed his flat door and turned towards Henry, standing between them, in what could easily be no man's land.

“What do you want, High Marshal Cavill?” Ramsey asked, with smug mockery.

“I want you to tell me where I can find Michail Keagan.” Henry replied, the crease between his brows deepening. “He's an Adjutant Runner for Jaxon Quinn, here in Bristol.”

“You can't just waltz into a city like Bristol, and start demanding people tell you where top Runners are at, Cavill.”

“That's why I came to you, Kellan. You're already doing the waltz, so tell me where he is.”

“And if I don't?” Ramsey asked, narrowing eyes at Henry and rolling his shoulders.

Henry's arms dropped to his sides and he took three giant steps towards him, suddenly reaching out and nabbing Ramsey by the shirt, then slamming him against the nearest wall. Ramsey grunted, all the air left lungs as his back connected to the concrete wall. He was dazed for a second, black and flashing spots in his blood shot eyes, blinking rapidly to clear them away, and trying to focus on the rage he felt coming off of Henry.

“I'll beat your face in.” Henry hissed, his teeth gritted and blue eyes smoldering.

Your mouth dropped open, blinking at the rage Henry was exuding as he pinned Ramsey to the wall. It was no wonder that the blue of a flame burned the hottest. But, you were worried that Henry might actually harm Ramsey, and as much as you wanted to find your brother, you didn't want anyone getting hurt for it.

“All right, all right!” Ramsey squeaked and slumped against the wall, practically shrinking before Henry. “I'll find him for ya.” He gulped, frightened and shaking.

“Good.” Henry replied, his voice low, and moved away from him, still tense.

Chewing on his lip for a moment, before slowly sliding along the wall towards his coffee table, where his laptop was sitting, Ramsey flipped it open and sat down on the couch, he typed quickly, his fingertips clacking on the black keys as he squinted at the screen. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure everyone in the building could hear it, while you watched him work. Henry stood in place, eyes burning into Ramsey, like it would make him work faster, as seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

“It looks like this Runner is living in Sector Three, while he's being trained to be an Adjutant Runner.” Ramsey finally said, rubbing at his face. “With his handler, Knox Monroe. Who is a very hardcore Runner. I really wouldn't go messing about with him.”

“Why?” You dared to ask, eyes darting to Henry.

“Knox has brought in more revenue than any Runner, for the last five years running.” Ramsey replied, looking up from his laptop screen. “He was caught, once, and the Hernandez family bailed him out.” He looked up at Henry. “You know how serious they have to be about him, if they're willing to keep him in such an elevated state, instead of tossing him out of Bristol on his ass.”

“I do.” Henry nodded, his expression and body language never changed, but there was a small twinge in his stomach. “Where in Sector Three are they at?” He asked, without hesitation.

“Are you--” He started to protest, but stopped, seeing Henry's face, and took a deep breath. “Sector Three, block twelve, there's a pub there, the Black Bone. Knox frequents it often enough and I'm sure, with how close a handler is to their Runner, he'll bring this Keagan with him. All you have to do is use your special High Marshal skills and stake the place out, until they show up.”

Henry shrugged his shoulders and rolled his neck, processing all the information that Ramsey had given the two of you. “I hope you're not lying, Ramsey.” He sighed, settling a tired eye on him.

“I'm not, Henry.” Ramsey sighed, rolling his eyes at him. “Especially, if you can get me out of this hell hole.”

“We'll see.” Henry huffed at him, turning back towards the door. “Come on.” He said to you, opening the door and letting you step out into the hall first.

The man you and Henry encountered walked around the corner of a building, moving out of your sight, but peeked around the corner, watching you and Henry enter the apartment building he directed you too. Narrowing his eyes at the building, he quickly turned away and hurriedly walked through the streets of Sector Fifteen. Rudely bumping into people to get them out of his way, before he finally reached the nearly pristine gate to Sector Fourteen, flashing his pass ID at the guards and breezed through as they opened the gate for him.

Swinging around a corner and kicking open the door of a bar, he sallied up to the bar, slapping his palms to the sticky and worn counter.

“Gideon, where's Aries?” He asked and leaned over the counter, reaching beneath it and grabbed the neck of a bottle that was there. “I need to talk to him.” He added, sitting back and spinning off the cap of the whiskey bottle.

“He's upstairs, where he always is, you dumb-fuck.” Gideon, the bartender, barked back at him, yanking the bottle out of his hand as he started to chug it down. “So, get fucking lost.” He barked, wiping the head of the bottle off with the hem of his shirt and secured the cap back on, storing it in its previous place.

He smiled up in Gideon's face, winked at him, then shoved away from the bar, twirling on his heels towards the back of the bar. Yanking open a hidden door in the wall, stomped his way up the stairs and pounded on the closed door at the top. After several minutes of relentless pounding, the door swung open to a burly male.

“Fuck you want, Atlas.” He hissed at him, his lip curled with distaste.

“I need to see Aries.” The man, Atlas, said, licking his lips and looking back at him. “It's important.”

“Get lost, Atlas.” He huffed and started closing the door.

“Who is it, Danny?” A voice in the room behind him called out.

“It's me, Aries!” Atlas yelled back, grinning smugly at Danny. “I have some information you might want!” He added, pressing through the door.

“Let him in.” Aries sighed, slumping back in his high backed chair. “What is it, Atlas?” He groaned, watching Atlas sashay into the room, picking through the various bottles strewn across the long, black table, until he found one that was reasonably full.

“There was a guy and a chick, in Sector Fifteen.” He said, taking several deep gulps of the clear liquid. “Huge fucker too, and she was a teeny thing. Cute..”

“What's the point, Atlas?” Aries huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't have all night.”

“Well, it was the girl, you see.” Atlas replied, leaning against the edge of the table. “She looked familiar, and I don't mean, seen her in the whore house, familiar either.”

“I care why?”

“Because, she looked like that girl you got a memo on from the higher ups.” Atlas answered, grinning at Aries with smug confidence.

Aries's hand dropped from his face and looked across at Atlas, studying him. “Danny, hand me that memo tablet.” He said, holding his hand out to him, without taking his eyes off of Atlas.

Danny left the room for a quick moment and returned carrying the black, sleek tablet and carefully rested it in Aries's hand. Aries closed his hand around it and the screen came to life, he messed with it for a few minutes, before sliding it across the table to Atlas.

“Her?” He asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Looks like her.” Atlas nodded, bending over the tablet.

Aries snapped out of his chair and strode across the room, yanking on a jacket. “Where did you see them?”

“Sector Fifteen, they were looking for Kellan.” Atlas explained, twisting around to follow him as he moved around the room.

“Fucking Ramsey.” Aries huffed, angrily. “Get him out.” He barked at Danny and pointed at Atlas as he made for the door.

Aries stormed down the stairs, shoving open the hidden door and scaring the new patrons that had come in after Atlas had gone up. He paid them no mind as he stormed out of the bar and towards Sector Fifteen, hoping to get to Kellan's flat before you and Henry left. But, he knew by the time he did get there, that you both were long gone. He still went up to have a visit with Ramsey though, wanting information.

“Aries!” Ramsey squeaked opening the door and found him there. “How's it going, man? It's been a--”

“Cut the shit, Kellan. Tell me where she is.” Aries hissed, cutting to the chase.

“Who?” Ramsey frowned at him, genuinely confused.

“The girl that was seen here today, with another fellow.” Aries explained to him, his eyes darkening.

Ramsey blinked at Aries a couple of times, his brain struggling to compute what Aries was saying. Who was the girl with Henry? He thought, his chest tightening. He refused to tell him who she was, and he seemed seriously protective of her. She must be someone of importance if Cavill was so protective of her, if Aries was so interested in her.

“I don't know who she is, Aries. Honestly.” He mumbled, running a hand down his face. “She came with a former colleague of mine.”

“And who might that be?”

“Henry Cavill.” Ramsey blurted out, obediently. “He's a High Marshal for the City of London.” He explained to him. “He came to me, with her, looking for a Runner. A Runner called Michail Keagan. He works for Quinn and is being trained by Knox. In Sector Three.”

“There's an active High Marshal in Bristol, looking for a Runner?” Aries asked, looking thunderstruck at the notion.

“Yes, Sir.” Ramsey nodded, gulping and fidgeting in place.

“Hernandez is going to lose his fucking mind.” Aries replied, raking a hand through his hair and turning on his feet. “I have to warn him.” He said to himself, already planning on going straight to Sector One to warn Hernandez about it, and you being in the city.

Within their grasp.

“Mr. Hernandez, Aries Novak to see you.”

Benji Hernandez looked up as he hunched over his desk, arms braced against the dark cherry wood. Rubbing at his tired face, he pushed off the desk and waved his hand for Aries to enter, rounding his desk to drop into his high-back leather chair.

“You can leave, Johnny.” He dismissed his assistant, then motioned to a chair before his desk. “Sit, Aries.”

“Yes, Sir.” Aries nodded, obediently and quickly taking the offered seat. “I have some very important information for you, Mr. Hernandez. I'm sure it'll make your day a sight better.” He rushed out, a bubble of excited and nervousness energy.

“What is it, Mr. Novak?” Benji sighed, lifting a brow at the other man.

“That girl you've been looking for,” Aries grinned, making the Devil look like a sweetheart. “She's here. In Bristol, of all places, and with a London High Marshal!”

Benji blinked at Aries a couple of times. “That little bitch is here, in my city!” He growled, his shoulders tensing.

“Yes, sir. She very much is.” Aries nodded, smiling even more. “One of my men saw her and the High Marshal at a former Beta Marshal's flat not three hours ago, in Sector Fifteen.”

“Where are they now?” Benji hissed, leaning forward, hand reaching for his phone.

“Kellan said, he gave them directions to the Black Bone pub in Sector Three. They're looking for Knox and his new Runner, Keagan.”

“Why are they looking for the two of them?” Benji asked, narrowing his eyes at Aries.

“He doesn't know, neither of them told him the reason behind it, just to tell them where they could be found.” He explained, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs, being near Benji had always given him the shakes, mostly because he knew what he was capable of.

Benji picked up the black receiver of his phone and pressed it to his ear with his shoulder, punching the glossy numbers with the tip of his index finger. “Ashe, I want you in my office. Now.” He barked into it, then slammed it back down into the cradle. “Aries, get out.” He huffed, jerking his head towards the door as he got up out of his chair and strode across the room to a table of decanters and glasses.

“Do-don't you wa--” Aries started to stammer.

“I don't want anything out of you other than what you've already given me, Mr. Novak.” Benji answered, cutting him off, as he poured himself a drink. “Unless, you're withholding something more?” He asked, turning back to Aries as he brought the full glass to his lips.

“No-no, sir!” Aries yelped, the blood draining from his face.

“Then, get the fuck out.” Benji huffed, rolling his eyes and downing the rest of the strong brown liquid.

Nodding his head, like a broken bobble-head, Aries pulled the door open as a man on the other side raised his hand to knock. The two men gulped and nodded at each other, then traded places.

“Ashe!” Benji called out, sounding a bit happier to see him than he had been to see Aries. “Come in and close the door.”

Ashe gave Aries with a short nod and closed the door on him. “How can I be of help, Mr. Hernandez?” He asked and folded his arms behind his back, giving Benji his full and undivided attention.

“There's someone of great importance in my city and someone else that can cause some other issues with her. I want you to go down to the Black Bone pub in Sector Three. I don't want you to grab them as soon as you see them. Watch them, then when they leave, grab them and bring them back here to hold.”

“Of course.” Ashe nodded. “Who would that be, sir?”

Benji crossed back to his desk and removed a tablet from his drawer, turning it on and flipping through it for a moment, before holding it out to Ashe. “That's her. She was in Twist's warehouse in London, waiting to be sold, when someone came in to look at Twist's collection, picked her out of the line-up and purchased her.” He explained to Ashe. “Not five minutes after purchasing her, Twist's warehouse was raided by the Marshal Council.”

“Come to find out, the guy who purchased her was working for the Council. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be an issue, but being that she was purchased during a Council Raid, she's a witness and can fuck my family's entire operation in London. So, I had a hit put out on her, if she's dead, she can't testify. Which would make the consequences of the trial less disastrous.”

“So, you want me to kill them?” Ashe asked, studying your face on the tablet's screen.

“No, I want you to bring them back here and put them in holding.” Benji replied, leaning back against the edge of his desk. “I want to find out what I can from them. See, if they know anything about the trial Twist and his men are being sent too. We might be able to cut out a few more people from the jury and not take such a massive hit to our operations.”

Ashe nodded and handed the tablet back to his boss. “I'll get on it right away, Sir.”

“Good.” Benji smiled, pleased.

“Eat.” Henry said, setting a plate of food in front of you.

“Why?” You frowned at him.

“Because, you look suspicious and it's hard to look suspicious when you're eating something.” He told you, handing you a fork and knife. “We don't need any attention to be drawn to us, while we wait for Knox and your brother to show up. So, eat your food and leave the room watching to me.”

“You're the boss.” You chuckled, nudging his knee with yours.

You and Henry had entered the Black Bone pub twenty minutes before, ordering food and drinks, while Henry put his vast experience of surveillance and undercover work to use, taking regular bites of food and sips of water as he pretended to stare at the flickering tv screen mounted above the bar top, showing some sporting event that took place in Bristol. While his actual attention, from his peripheral vision, was on the single entrance and exit the pub had. No one had come in or gone out since the pair of you entered the half packed establishment. You had already done a quick sweep of the patrons that dotted the place, none of them were your brother or looked like the picture of Knox that Ramsey had shown you just before you left his flat, in Sector Fifteen.

“There's enough grease in this to oil a car.” You commented, pushing the food on your plate around with your fork.

Henry's face broke out into a massive grin, his shoulders shaking as he laughed at your comment. “We already know you purr like an engine.” He teased back, making reference to the sound you had made the night before, as he pleasured you.

“Oh, dear god.” You giggled, your face hot with embarrassment. “Henry.” You grinned at him, shyly.

“It's the truth, and you know it, Nugget.” He chuckled back at you, his shoulder gently brushing yours as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“You wag that tail, like you're a Puppy.” You teased him back, rolling your eyes at him.

Henry had opened his mouth to make a comment to that, when the bell above the door rang and the door opened. His mouth snapped shut and his body language changed from that playful relaxation, to suspicious and high alert tension. His blue eyes darted to the new patron as they stepped into the pub, a male, about Henry's own height, but slimmer, though by no means less built. There was an air about him, that Henry felt on the other side of the room, a professional air, but that could be a by-product of the life he lived before being marooned in Bristol. But, Henry wasn't completely sure of that, and cast his eyes back to the tv, as the man scanned the room.

“Don't look over there.” Henry hissed as you started to turn your head towards the door.

“Sorry.” You mumbled and took another sip of your water. “But, you don't like him.” You pointed out, feeling how rock hard the muscles of his side were against yours.

“I don't let anyone in here.” Henry replied, forcefully relaxing himself. “Other than you.” He added, the corner of his lip twitching up into a soft smile.

“Well, as long as that's true.” You chuckled, resting your hand on his thigh.

Henry rested his hand on top of yours and gave you a sweet smile, squeezing it gently. “Since I met you.” He whispered, softly.

“Aw.” You cooed at him, turning your hand into his.

Squeezing your hand again, Henry turned his eyes back to the tv, watching the new patron move from the door to the bar, motioning to the bartender and ordering something to drink. The longer the man was there, the colder the feeling running up and down Henry's spine got, making him shiver with worsening paranoia.

“Are you done with your food?” He asked, looking at your plate.

“Yeah, I'm done.” You nodded, pushing it away from you.

“All right, we're going.” He said, standing up.

“But,” You started to protest, but the look on Henry's face said it all.

Nodding, you got up and followed him out of the pub, trying to keep up with his long strides as he hurried down the street, before taking a sharp turn into an alleyway. You frowned at him as he stopped at a brick wall.

“Come here.” He motioned you closer with his fingers. “Take this.” He pulled a plastic room key out of his back pocket and slipped it into your front pocket.

You frowned up at him, shaking your head. “What are you doing?” You asked, getting an anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Meet me back at our room.” He told you, lacing his fingers together. “If I'm not back in an hour, do not come looking for me. Stay in the room, don't answer the door, unless you are sure it's me.” He instructed you, quickly.

“Henry?”

“Give me your foot.” He rushed you.

“Henry?”

“We don't have time, so give me your foot.” He barked at you, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold his temper.

Gulping, you placed your foot into his cupped hands and he boosted you up, to straddle the top of the brick wall. “Henry?” You panted, your anxiety turning into panic, realizing he wasn't going to follow after you.

“You'll be fine, just do what I told you to do.” He answered, taking a calming breath and squeezing your ankle, trying to reassure and calm you, as he looked back to the entrance of the alleyway and saw the guy from the pub appear.

“Go now, I'll be right behind you.”

“And if you're not?” You gulped, hands shaking.

“I will be. Now, go.” He told you. “I love you.” He whispered, softly.

You glanced up at the approaching man as he started towards you and didn't look all that happy. “I love you too.” You whimpered back, then disappeared on the other side of the wall.

“Good girl.” Henry sighed to himself, turning to face the guy, his quick footsteps echoing off the brick and metal surrounding the alleyway as he rushed Henry.

Henry had enough time to tense up his body, before Ashe bull rushed him, sending them both into the brick wall Henry had just sent you over. Grunting as his back connected to the bricks, knocking some of the air out of his lungs, Henry slid his body to the left as Ashe's fist came out and breezed by his head, crashing knuckles first into the grimy bricks behind him. Ashe howled and growled, drawing back his scrapped and throbbing hand, ugly black and purple bruises already forming on the swollen and bloody digits. Taking his distraction, Henry jabbed his own fist hard into Ashe's unprotected side, feeling his ribs crack under the force of his blow, and making Ashe double over, then drove his knee into Ashe's gut.

“I do mean to ruin your day.” Henry laughed, grabbing a handful of Ashe's blond hair and forcing his head back. “But, you're not going to get your filthy hands on her.”

“I'm afraid to disappoint you, but we will get that wee bitch.” Ashe panted, hand reaching into his back pocket and yanked something out of it, pressed it to the side of Henry's thick thigh and pressed a button on the side.

Henry's entire body became rigid and trembled, his eyes losing focus and twitching as several hundred volts of electricity coursed through him. Clicking the stun stick off and watching Henry slump against the wall and slide to the ground, Ashe stood up, flipping the stick in his hand, then pocketing it again, before removing his mobile from his front pocket.

“Hey, Sully. It's Ashe.” He chuckled, squatting down in front of an incapacitated Henry. “I didn't get the girl, but I did get the High Marshal, and I'm sure after a 'talking to' he'll fork over where to find her.” He explained to his handler, giving Henry a gloating pat on the cheek.

“I know he's not ideal, but he's a fucking High Marshal, think of the shit he knows, other than where the girl is? Benji won't be that pissed off about it, we'll get her once we've talked the good Marshal into telling us.” He laughed, poking Henry in the chest.

“Sweet! Send the boys over. He's a beast.”

A few minutes later, a group of guys arrived in the alleyway with Henry and Ashe, flanking Henry, who was still out for the count, and hauled him out of the alleyway and into a van, before speeding out of the Sector, back to Sector Three, where Benji and his team waited to interrogate him on where you were now hiding.

Your lungs were burning, by the time you ran back to the room you and Henry had rented in the Sector when you arrived. You hoped with all you had that Henry would be there waiting for you to open the door with some witty remark on how long it took you to get back, with your nugget sized legs. But, he wasn't and your already throbbing heart felt like it had been sent through a paper shredder. You let yourself into the room, locking it behind you and paced the room, a million worst and best case scenarios running through your head on why he wasn't back yet.

“Come on, Henry.” You gasped, chewing your lip to bits and wringing your hands. “Please, knock on the door.” You begged, staring at the room door. “Please, please, please.” You whimpered.

But, the knock never came. Not an hour later, or even three hours later.

You considered going back out to look for him and half opened the door to do so, before shaking your head and closing it again, knowing Henry would be pissed if he found you weren't there when he got back, or if you ran into each other on the street. So, you stayed locked in the room, restlessly pacing or staring out the window, hoping to see him approaching the building from the sidewalk five stories below.

“He's fine.” You mumbled to yourself, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “He's just toying with me. He's just standing in the hall, waiting for me to bolt out of the room, so he has something to tease me about. Claim I'm not good at listening.” You tried convincing yourself, hugging his shirt to your chest.

“The jerk, he can wait out there all night, for what I care!” You yelled, hoping he heard you.

A stinging slap rang out in the air and Henry's scruffy cheek burned, like it had been singed by molten lava. Henry grunted as another burning slap connected with his other cheek, snapping his head painfully to the side.

“Wakey Wakey, Mr. Cavill.” An overly jolly voice cooed inches from his face. “Nap time is over.” The jolly voice turned sinister. “I think our sleeping beauty needs a little more help walking up, Emilio.”

“Doable, Boss.” A deep voice laughed.

Henry's eyes flew open and doubled over with a weak gasp as an iron blow struck the center of his chest, and the audible creaking of his ribs. He whimpered and moaned, a thick string of drool dripped from his lips. He leaned forward in the metal chair he was tied to, his arms bound by the wrists around the back of the chair and his ankles tied to the front legs, that like the back legs, were heavily bolted to the cement floor.

“Good morning, Henry.” Benji smiled at him.

“Ho-how--” He panted, trying to get air back into his screaming lungs. “How do you kn-now my n-name?” He gulped the thick saliva in his mouth down, his throat sore.

“I know to you, Mr. Cavill, Bristol is just a back water, shit-hole. But, we do have a great deal of the same technology you Londoners do. So, fingerprint identification isn't a foreign concept to us.” Benji sighed, shaking his head as he walked around Henry.

“Where am I?” Henry gasped, sitting back and flexing his arms, testing the strength of his bonds, only to get a stiff punch to the face.

“Easy, Emilio.” Benji called, patting Emilio on the shoulder. “We don't want to tire Mr. Cavill, before he can be so nice as to answer our questions.”

“I'm not telling you shit, Hernandez.” He growled, jerking his body in agitation.

“Oh, how intuitive of you to deduce who I am.” Benji laughed, stopping in front of Henry. “You must be a top notch High Marshal in London.” He smirked, taking a seat in a chair several feet in front of Henry. “Well, I know you are, I've read your files and your work history. You have quite the prowess for undercover work, used to be SWAT as well, before transferring to Homicide.” He said, reaching back for the tablet one of his men was holding, taking it from him.

“What was it that you transferred, Mr. Cavill?” He asked, scrolling through files that should have been private and sealed.

“Get fucked.” Henry barked at him, his broad shoulders straining.

Benji chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Says here, while on a raid in London's Sector Thirty, there was a shoot out in a warehouse and you were injured, almost died as a result.” He rested the tablet on the thigh of his crossed leg.

“I'm not telling you where she is.” Henry said softly, staring Benji straight in the eyes. “So, you can save your breath.”

“Oh, it's not my breath you'd want to save, Henry.” Benji said, lowering his voice and resting forward. “It's yours.” He grinned, his brown eyes lighting up. “I wonder, if that wound still gives you trouble?” He inquired, drumming his fingertips on the back of the tablet.

Henry didn't say anything or move, just stared Benji in the eye, his lips sealed. The Crime Boss could do whatever he liked to him, he wasn't going to tell him where you were, even if it ended up killing him. No matter how much pain they caused him for it. Henry would protect you with his body and his life.

“Do what you will.” He told Benji, resolved and at peace.

Benji's eyes darkened, realizing that he wasn't going to be able to 'sweet talk' or coax Henry into volunteering the information about your whereabouts. He knew it wasn't going to work, but had given it a shot anyway, hoping Henry would be intelligent and want to save his own life and a good amount of pain.

“All well.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders at Henry. “Where was that wound?” He hummed, turning back to the tablet. “Abdomen, left side. Through and through—oh! It took out one of your kidneys! Well, it's a good damn thing you're a High Marshal with a father in the Cleric Council and a mother in the Royal Council! All that money, power and influence, so you could get the best organ transplant care.” He said, shaking his head and enlarging a photo taken of Henry, not long after he had surgery to treat his injuries.

“What was it?” He asked, looking up at Henry. “Organ donor? Organ regrowth or an Organ replacement?”

“What's the difference?” One of Benji's men blurted out, without meaning too.

“Well, you see.” Benji laughed, in an uncommonly good mood. “An Organ donor is when some nice and caring person donates their kidney to the recipient. Organ regrowth is when a large team of doctors and scientists grow a new kidney for the person that needs it, and organ replacement, is a device, made out of hardware and biological software to look and function like the required organ or body part. Think of it as the kidney equivalent to a prosthetic leg.”

“All of which are insanely expensive.” He added, then looked back at Henry. “So?”

“You obviously have access to all my medical reports, so why bother.” Henry hissed at him, unamused.

“Because, I want to have a conversation with you, Mr. Cavill. So, satisfy my curiosity.”

Henry licked his lips, his upper lip twitching as his anger slowly built in the pit of his stomach. “Replacement.” He growled out, his hands squeezing into fists, cutting off most of their circulation.

“So, a special, bionic kidney for the special High Marshal.” Benji sat up straighter, his eyes and face bright with wonder and interest. “I want to see it!”

“Sir?” Ashe gasped, head snapping towards Benji.

“I don't mean cut him open, you idiot!” Benji barked, the sparkle of his face dimming with his flare of annoyance. “The scar, you brain-dead buffoon.” He yelled, throwing the tablet at Ashe. “Cut his shirt off!” He snapped at Emilio.

Grinning, Emilio grabbed a box cutter off a metal table covered with various items and approached Henry. Sliding up the razor-blade, Emilio grabbed the bottom hem of Henry's grey short sleeve t-shirt and slid the paper thin blade up, cutting through the thin fabric. Henry winced, hissing and bared his teeth as the tip of the blade nicked the skin of his sternum, a thick bead of bright red blood dripped down his chest, disappearing into the patch of hair of his belly; the elastic band of his boxer briefs soaking it up.

Emilio tore away the rest of Henry's shirt and discarded it, as Benji stood and closed the gap between them, seeing the neat and thin scar above his left hip, a slightly puckered dot of scar tissue in the center of it, where the bullet entered. Pressing his lips together, Benji rounded Henry's chair and made him sit forward, straining his arms and saw the thick scar on his back, from the surgery to remove his damaged kidney and replace it with the engineered one.

“Fascinating.” He cooed, touching his cool fingertips to the burning hot skin of Henry's back. “I wonder?” He hummed, then promptly sucker punched Henry in the back, landing it squarely on the scar.

Henry howled in agony, arching his back away from Benji, the cut on his chest bleeding more as the skin of his sternum stretched. His breathing was ragged as Emilio jabbed his fist into Henry's stomach, almost choking on the air stuck in his throat, eyes watering furiously.

“So, it does hurt.” Benji laughed, pressing his fingers into the forming bruise and moved back around to see his anguished face.

“Let me punch you in the fucking kidney, and tell me how it feels, you piece of shit.” Henry barked, spitting at him.

Emilio clocked Henry across the face, opening a gash on his cheekbone and snapping his head sideways, making his neck ache and throb. “Spit at him again, and I'll cut your fucking tongue out.” He growled, grabbing a handful of Henry's sweat soaked curls and yanked his head back, making his scalp burn.

“Where is she, Henry?” Benji asked, pulling out a handkerchief and wiped the wad of spit off the tip of his shoe, before tossing the square piece of fabric into the bin. “This will go so much easier, if you just tell us where she is.”

“I'm not going to tell you, so you can do whatever you want with me.” Henry wheezed, glaring up at Benji. “Torture me. Kill me. I don't care. I'll never tell you anything.”

“Are you sure you want to play this game, Henry?” Benji asked, stroking his jaw as he regarded him.

Henry's body went slack and slumped in the chair, mentally centering himself for the pain and chaos that was no doubt about to rain down upon him. All so he could keep you protected, and god he hoped you were. Henry prayed that you had listened to him and went back to the hotel room, baring yourself inside until, and if, he was able to get back to you. He feared that Ashe had more people with him that saw you go over that wall and followed after you, tracking you back to the room, if you even made it that far, and were somewhere in the building he was clearly in, being tortured as well. His Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed down that overwhelming fear. He couldn't let that negativity breed inside of him or it would tear him down and he would lose to Benji and his torture even faster.

“I'm not telling you, where she is, or even where she might be.” He replied, finally. “For all I know, she's nowhere I'm aware of. She's an extremely self-willed girl, and doesn't listen. So, even if I were to tell you where I think she is. She couldn't be. She could be anywhere at this point.” He told him, almost smugly.

“Bristol is a big place.” He added, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Emilio got a running start and the punch he landed square to the center of Henry's face, busting his nose and blackening his eye. Henry coughed and spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, his chin resting against his bare and bloody chest.

“Why are you and she in Bristol?” Benji asked, lifting a brow at him.

“To fuck your mother.” Henry replied, spitting blood at him, but came up short.

Picking up a long object from the table, Emilio swung it into Henry's stomach, and if the chair hadn't been bolted to the floor, it and Henry would have been sent flying backwards with the force. Henry wavered forward, slack and groaning in pain, shaking his throbbing head to try and clear it.

“I'll ask you again, why are you here?”

“Again, to fuck your mother.” Henry rasped, clearing his throat and licking his lips, tasting the cooper of his own blood.

Benji looked up at Emilio and nodded.

Grinning, Emilio dropped the pipe on the table with a clatter and retrieved his box cutter, his preferred method of extracting information from difficult people. The smallest shutter went down Henry's spine as he approached him, pressing the sharp tip to his jean-clad thigh. Henry growled deep in his throat, gritting his teeth and flexing his arms as Emilio slowly pushed it into his leg; breathing heavily and teeth tearing into his bottom lip, blood dripping down his chin.

“We can do this for a very long time, Mr. Cavill.” Benji said, crossing one leg over the other and tilting his head as he watched the blade of the box cutter disappear into Henry's meaty thigh. “Even after we find her. But, I find it curious that a High Marshal would go to such lengths to protect a Slave he bought, even if it was part of a sting operation.”

Henry blinked at Benji, the searing pain of the blade cutting through skin and muscle momentarily forgotten.

“Oh, yes. I know it was you that bought her from Twist. That you were the one that was undercover at the warehouse. It's all in the paperwork.” He explained, motioning to the shattered tablet laying on the ground. “The report your superior typed up after the fact, your own reports while undercover and afterwards. A high bred, high standing Londoner, with a life and connections anyone and everyone would die for, protecting some Slummer that was just part of the job.”

“Why are you protecting her?”

“Like you said,” Henry answered through clenched teeth. “It's my job. I'm supposed to protect her until she testifies.”

“Nothing more?” Benji poked.

“Nothing.” Henry seethed, his dull fingernails cutting into the skin of his palms.

He wasn't going to show or give away that he loved you, that would only cause more issues and add to the endless list of things Benji and his men could use against him, to torture and torment him into give you up. No, he buried those emotions and thoughts so deep inside of himself, it was as if they never existed to start with, building an iron-clad fortress around them and you.

“She means nothing to me, other than getting her to testify against you, then send her back to the hell hole she was born to and I can get my life back.”

“Well, if you tell me where she is, I can let you go.” Benji replied, regarding Henry. “I'll even have one of the boys drive you back to London, safe and sound, and you can go back to your job as a High Marshal.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Henry laughed at him. “My job is to stop you, and you'd let me freely continue to do so?”

“Yes.” He nodded, pressing his lips together. “All the Councils of London have been hindering my family's business for decades, and we're still sitting fat, happy and rich here in Bristol. So, one little High Marshal, like yourself, won't even be a thorn in my side. What do you say, Henry? Give us the girl and we'll have you home by morning?”

Henry leaned forward, never breaking eye contact with him. “No.” He said, softly, but with clear malice.

[hareinthechair]

What fabric is suitable for upholstery?

So you have found some fabric you love, but are not sure if its suitable for upholstery, here is a short guide to choosing a fabric. Not all fabric is suitable for upholstery; there are a few considerations you need to bear in mind.

Durability

Is your chair going to be used every day? Will there be feet up or multiple bottoms sitting on it? Or is it more of an aesthetic piece; a chair for a corridor or a chair to throw your clothes on at the end of the day? Different uses require different strengths of fabric. Fabrics are tested for their durability by using a rub or 'Martindale' test, A small device moves continuously on a section of fabric until a fibre breaks. The number of times the device moves is counted and then given as a grading . If you want a chair that is suitable for your domestic living room then 20,000-40,000 rubs will be plenty. If it is a chair that is for very occasional use then you can get away with 15-18,000 rubs. This number is usually displayed on the back of a fabric sample, in a fabric book or on the website. You can also contact the manufacturer or upholsterer to ask.

Fibre type

Fabrics are woven from fibres. These fibres may come from natural sources such as cotton, linen, wool and silk. They may be chemically derived such as Polyester, Nylon or Acrylic. They may even be a hybrid such as Viscose. What your fabric is made from will inevitably have an impact on the properties of the cloth (texture, durability, odour and stain resistance to name a few). For example if you need your fabric to be light resistant I would steer you away from silk, as it fades easily in sunlight.

Weave type

Upholstery fabrics are constructed by weaving yarn on a loom. There are a huge variety of different types of weave which impact the texture, durability, thickness and handle of the material. If you want something textured, cuddly and warm you might consider a Boucle. If you are looking for luxury perhaps a cotton or mohair velvet might be up your street. If clean lines and a smooth finish are more your thing perhaps a linen or if you love a unique designer print then you might be looking at a printed cotton.

Environmental considerations

You might have noticed that in general I like to recommend natural fibres. The reason being that synthetic fibres have a high environmental cost through their production from a fossil fuel to a fancy fabric. That is not to say they don't have some fabulous properties such as stain resistance and longevity. Environmental considerations are a mind-field and many fabrics you may think are more sustainable may in-fact not be. However looking for organic cottons, linen or British wool is a good start. It is always worth asking your supplier what the provenance of a fabric they produce is. Often smaller fabric producers who make batches or print to order can be a more sustainable option.

Cost

The cost of a good quality upholstery fabric can sometimes be surprising. It is however worth remembering that they are performance fabrics, good quality fibres will produce good quality fabrics. Sustainability is also a premium worth paying. Choosing the right fabric for the job is likely to last so much longer than using a quick fix and so may well be cheaper in the long run.

Love

If you are investing in getting a bespoke piece of furniture reupholstered you need to really choose a fabric you love. Don't always follow trends- think about what do you really love and what will make you happy in the long run. This might mean stepping out of your comfort zone or being a bit brave. It may also mean going for a classic colour scheme that fits with your interiors. Either way make sure you are happy and do order in a number of samples before you make your final choice.

My favorites

If you are not sure where to start here are a few of my favorite fabric companies to have a browse through

Printed Plain weaves

Bethie Tricks designs beautiful fabrics from the heart of Bristol. Her colourful prints are printed on organic linen and are certainly uplifting and colourful. St Judes Fabrics have a number of artist designers who have produced a beautiful range of printed linen union upholstery fabrics. You may even spot a scrap of their fabric on Pierre the Hare (in the Chair!) You may have read my chair story about Daphne Roach. Her locally designed classic yet contemporary designs are printed to order on sustainable fabrics.

Wool, the magic fibre

I am a huge fan of wool. It comes in so many textures, dyes well into beautiful colours, is durable, can be sourced locally and is inherently fire retardant meaning less need for nasty chemicals. A couple of my favorite places to source wool are Bute, Abraham Moon and Sons and Cable and Blake. You can see examples of Bute and Moon fabrics in my chair stories. Cable and Blake are a small company based in the Lake district pioneering the use of Herdwick sheep wool in upholstery fabric.

Sustainable options

There are a few great companies who are really leading the way in creating good quality sustainable upholstery fabrics. Camira is one of these. Have a look at their hemp and nettle fabrics! Haines Collection is a super website that sells on surplus high end fabric and stops it from being dumped. You can find some absolute gems here at much reduced costs. Well worth a look.

There are a few great companies who are really leading the way in creating good quality sustainable upholstery fabrics. Camira is one of these. Have a look at their hemp and nettle fabrics! Haines Collection is a super website that sells on surplus high end fabric and stops it from being dumped. You can find some absolute gems here at much reduced costs. Well worth a look.

Hopefully there are a few suggestions to get you started. None of these links are paid partnerships, just fabrics I have enjoyed working and living with and companies that I think are doing a good job. If you want more information or have any questions, just drop me an email.

[fallonbeatriz5489]

Bristol Clothing Manufacturers

Known for craftsmanship, Bristol clothing manufacturers create diverse styles, from casual wear to high-end fashion, with attention to detail. https://www.alanicglobal.com/uk-wholesale/bristol/

[luizdavid2042]

Wholesale Clothing Manufacturers Bristol

Manufacturers specialize in affordable, bulk fashion. They offer a wide range of quality apparel for all ages, ensuring trendy options for retail markets. https://www.alanicglobal.com/uk-wholesale/bristol/

[alanicglobal]

Alanic Global: Leading Wholesale Clothing Supplier in Bristol

Alanic Global is a top-rated clothing supplier in Bristol, offering a wide range of trendy and high-quality apparel for men, women, and children.

[opticien2-0]

Next, Homebase and Monsoon use reopening to unveil new look physical retail models

Homebase at Next: part of the new look world of physical retail (Image: Homebase)

As the UK’s non-essential retailers open their doors to customers this week, several retailers have been promoting how they are still wedded to stores, but that they are doing physical retail very differently to before.

  Next adds Homebase ‘small format’ stores

Cementing the growing tie up between fashion and homeware brands that has happened during the lockdown, Next and Homebase have teamed up to extend Homebase’s small format store roll out to include selling selected gardening products in Next stores.

  Six Homebase garden centres will open in Next stores in Shoreham, Ipswich, Warrington, Camberley, Bristol and Sheffield this week, coinciding with non-essential shops reopening.

  As well as expert gardening advice available from Homebase team members in-store, customers can take advantage of personalised hints and tips via plant care app, SmartPlant. With Homebase’s entire range of plants added to the app, extra help is available just by scanning the barcode.

  Damian McGloughlin, CEO Homebase, explains: "We’re delighted to be joining forces with Next and bringing our garden products and expertise to its stores. It’s all part of our wider commitment to make shopping with us easier and provide even more inspiration and expert advice. We’re a great nation of gardeners, with more and more people enjoying the benefits of gardening and being outside. The launch of these new garden centres means we’re able to offer more gardeners, both experienced and those just starting out, Homebase products in more locations across the country."

  In a show of its belief in the British high street’s future, Homebase is also set to open more of its small-format stores this week. A dual-branded Kitchens by Homebase and Bathstore, DECORATE by Homebase, and its first small-format Homebase store with all the everyday essentials will open right on the high street in Walton-on-Thames, Surrey. The openings will bring the total number of Homebase’s small-format stores to six across Guildford, Cheadle and Sutton.

  Monsoon promotes ethics and sustainability

British brand Monsoon used the 12 April store reopening day to unveil its new boutique store concept, located in the heart of London on Marylebone High Street. The store is a new location for Monsoon and , it says, brings a fresh new store experience to its customers as part of the reopening of retail in England.

  The store is part of a refresh of Monsoon, taking the brand back to its roots, celebrating its heritage, craft and commitment to sustainability and ethical trade. The Marylebone High Street location is the first in a series of new boutiques for Monsoon, with over 30 planned in key locations across the UK and Ireland.

  The architecture and colour palette of the store take inspiration from Monsoon’s heritage designs and long relationship with India. Installations in the store tell the stories of the brand’s product creation and craft, showcasing artisan wood-blocking and weaving techniques, with bursts of colour that represent the bold tones used by the brand since its foundation.

​

The new boutique store features a curated collection of Monsoon’s women’s product, childrenswear and highlights from its homeware collection. The store will showcase the brand’s new artisan collection, Artisan Studio, made from 100% organic cotton, sustainable Lenzing Ecovero and sustainable viscose georgette.

  In addition, other pieces from across Monsoon’s range are featured that are new to stores and showcase the brand’s commitment to sustainability, highlighting its progress on a journey to over 70% sustainable fabrications over the next two years.

  The store will also feature a guest capsule from women’s brand EAST, which is designed from sustainable base clothes and uses upcycled quilts and offcuts from un-used fabrications, highlighting the brand’s considerate approach to product creation and to building a better future in fashion.

  While the store is designed as a showcase for the Monsoon brand and product, it will also highlight and support the brand’s charitable work through The Monsoon Accessorize Trust. On opening, 10% of the first month’s profits will be donated to the Trust, which supports and empowers individuals from disadvantaged communities across Asia and helps drive sustainable change through a range of education, healthcare and income-generation projects.

  Many of the projects are linked to artisans who bring extraordinary craft to the brand’s product; giving back to them and their communities is a very tangible aspect of Monsoon’s commitment to ethical trade. As a founding member of the Ethical Trading Initiative (ETI), Monsoon is proud to be at the forefront of driving sustainable improvements in working conditions and livelihoods for its suppliers in India and around the world.

  Peter Simon, Monsoon’s founder explains: “We are tremendously excited to open our first new boutique store concept. This has been a difficult year for everyone, but difficult times can inspire creativity, and that has certainly been true for us: this store is a bold new expression of Monsoon, taking us back to our roots and celebrating the joy and colour that is so rich in our heritage. This project has been a bright light for us over the past year and represents all the energy and passion that we put into our product and shows the direction for the brand. We are committed to retail, the experience and joy it can bring, and are really excited to see stores reopen, to welcome our customers back and to introduce them to our new boutique.”

[rahula56-blog1]

Nothing about writing business

Company writing is the writing of business. Writing company. It's not journalism, so now you can just stop reading if you're looking for it.

Here are the most important business writing styles:

  Public relations or relations with the media

It's all written to the newspapers. Corporate printing, for example, is a press release. The material of a corporation's website, whether used by journalists or the public, is always published.

  Corporate communication

Company messages for people who work with the organization internally or externally are written. Corporate communications to the internal public – employees, that is – include newsletters, in-house publications, corporate memoranda, email updates and intranet sites. External communications to shareholders, analysts and the media are targeted.

Annual reports and other financial statements, opinion papers and policy statements are examples of the communications of external companies. Speeches and presentations for both groups are also available.

  Marketing Communications

In particular, this is written in order to advertise a product or service. They are directed at the consumer or the client of the company. Examples of marketing content include brochures and other advertising materials (for example the material that a salesman leaves with prospective customers).

  Here are some tips on how to arrange a corporate writing concert:

  1. Become a member

Become a member of an association of business authors.

  2. Take your phone with you

Call organizations in your sector and ask about business partnerships. If no department exists, use a different word, such as public relations, public records, marketing, public administration, human resources or community relations.

3. But still follow big business.

All the big guys – brands like Sprint, Procter & Gamble, Bristol-Myers Squibb, Merrill Lynch – are generating magazines, newsletters, media, finance reports and more. Someone has to write it—Why don't you?

  4. Keep on to your subjects

If your background is an entrepreneur, let's say, go to business and finance consulting firms. Try skin care, makeup and hair care company if you're writing about beauty. Get in contact with sports equipment and clothing suppliers, if exercise is your business.

  5. Get into the people's circle

If you're thinking about it, you probably have someone in the picture that can get you hooked up.

[kentonramsey]

What The Demise Of Topshop Means To Me & Other Millennials

Topshop, once the buzziest store on the British high street, has become the latest COVID casualty – and the one that hurts the most. This week it was announced that the beleaguered Arcadia group, which also owns Dorothy Perkins, Wallis, Miss Selfridge and Burton, had gone into administration, putting 13,000 jobs at risk. A decade ago, the idea that Topshop, the jewel in Arcadia’s crown, could be on the brink of collapse would have been unimaginable.

In the mid 2000s, Topshop was at the peak of its popularity, collaborating with titans of fashion and music, from Kate Moss to Beyoncé. In an effort to prove that it was creating its own authentic trends, rather than being simply another catwalk copycat, the brand had its own much-anticipated spot on the London Fashion Week schedule. The show drew the top models of the day – the likes of Cara Delevingne and Jourdan Dunn – and Arcadia boss Philip Green sat on the front row, nestled between Anna Wintour and a bevy of contemporary It Girls.

But somewhere along the way, Topshop lost its lustre. The 90,000-square-foot Oxford Street emporium that was once the beating heart of London fashion, synonymous with cutting-edge clothes which could be worn by those within and outside the industry became just like any other fast fashion store, peddling unremarkable designs in cheap, disposable fabrics. My generation, once outfitted in head-to-toe Topshop, began to move onto fashion-forward, mid-range brands like Arket or Ganni, while younger Gen Zers flocked to online retailers like ASOS and Boohoo which had eclipsed Topshop with their ruthlessly low prices, rapid turnover and savvy influencer marketing strategies. 

It also become impossible to dissociate Topshop from the tax-dodging man behind it, who has been mired in controversy in recent years. The hammer blow to Green’s reputation came in 2015, when he sold the ailing BHS for just £1, only for it to collapse a year later, resulting in the loss of 11,000 jobs and a £571 million pension deficit. In 2018, Green faced flak for cancelling a feminist pop-up curated by author Scarlett Curtis at Topshop’s flagship store after he reportedly saw the display and removed it; a few weeks later he was named in parliament as the businessman accused of multiple counts of sexual misconduct and racial abuse. Green denied the allegations but his reputation was irreparably tarnished. Soon, Beyoncé would pull her Ivy Park clothing line from stores and Topshop would be forced to cancel a launch party for its collaboration with London Fashion Week favourite Michael Halpern. By the end of 2019, Topshop had experienced losses of half a billion pounds and the value of sales had dropped by 9%. The spell had finally broken. 

At the start of the pandemic, Arcadia’s cancellation of over £100 million worth of clothing orders from suppliers in some of the world’s poorest countries did nothing to cast the brand in a favourable light. In an age of more mindful consumption, it became hard to square shopping at Topshop with knowledge of Green’s tax avoidance and short-changing of pensioners while leading a champagne-soaked lifestyle of private jets and super yachts. Yet despite Topshop’s dramatic fall from grace, its collapse is tinged with sadness for millennials like me who grew up during its heyday. For those of us who came of age in the early noughties and 2010s, Topshop was our entry point into fashion, the go-to destination once we outgrew Tammy Girl’s sparkly slogan tees and through which we could envisage a life for ourselves beyond the humdrum of suburbia.

“Topshop was always on the horizon as the first place I ever wanted to buy clothes,” says Anna Loo, who works in publishing. “I feel like it was a gateway for pre-teens to discover your own style and it was where you shopped for the first time when your parents stopped buying your clothes. I used to go to the one in Cabot Circus in Bristol and that was like a classic weekend event with friends. We’d get on the train – it was only 15 minutes from Bath – and it was always so exciting to see what new stock they’d have.”  

“I used to work at Café Rouge when I was 17 and I’d spend all my tips money in Topshop on the weekend,” says Jess Kerntiff, who now works in fashion PR. “I remember when I managed to get one of the Kate Moss dresses in the sale – it was a short, strapless pink dress and I was so happy about getting it. I feel like Topshop was the only affordable fashion at the time that was super on trend.”

Topshop democratised glamour and style by making catwalk trends available at accessible prices to fashion-obsessed teens like me, who spent hours poring over runway photos on the now-defunct style.com. It also gave us iconic designer collaborations which have become the stuff of fashion lore, from Christopher Kane’s grungy, grommet-studded 2009 collection to Kate Moss’ many sell-out lines, which saw scores of young women queue outside the flagship store for hours (the one-shoulder buttercup-yellow chiffon dress can still be found on eBay). 

“Up until the age of 15 or 16 I thought it was just the epitome of aspirational cool,” says fashion writer Rosalind Jana. “This was the point where they’d just begun doing collaborations with young designers like Preen and the late Richard Nicoll. The Christopher Kane one is still particularly memorable. I was a big part of the fashion blogging community as a teenager and every single blogger was wearing either the studded minis or that tunic with the aggressive crocodile face.” 

For many millennial women, Topshop will be entwined with adolescent milestones, from buying your first pair of Jamie jeans (or Joni, if that was your preference – both garnered cult status) to shopping for your prom dress (mine was a rather risqué slinky powder-pink slip dress which, in retrospect, looked a lot like a nightie). “I remember a pair of grey spike-heeled lace-up ankle boots I bought in the flagship Oxford Street store when I was 13. I’d come to London with my mum for a modelling shoot and the chance to go to all of these big shops still felt super thrilling, and very far removed from the small village where I lived,” says Rosalind. “I wore those boots for years and weirdly, even though my feet grew two sizes, they still fitted.”

Despite having bought nothing from Topshop in recent years, some of my favourite pieces remain from there, including a pair of Chloé lookalike cut-out leather pointed toe ankle boots which I’ve had resoled not once but twice. In fact, it’s only halfway through writing this sentence that I realise I’m wearing a Topshop blouse, bought in the sale many moons ago.  

“I just think Topshop represents the kind of first foray into adult fashion for so many girls,” says Anna. “I think for a lot of people, Topshop will have been such a big part of their lives. It will be sad to see it go.”

“When I was at that age when Topshop was at its biggest, you would have thought that they would be untouchable,” says Jess. “So even though it’s probably been a long time coming, it still feels like the end of an era.”

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

The Flannel Shirt Is 2020's Unsung Wardrobe Hero

Which 2020 Fashion Collective Do You Belong To?

5 Plus-Size Models On Self-Love, Tokenism & Icons

What The Demise Of Topshop Means To Me & Other Millennials published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/

[merriammusicinc]

How To Clean Your Piano And Maintain An Acoustic Piano

Introduction

In this article, instead of looking at a specific piano, we're going to cover a much broader yet critical topic; how do you maintain an acoustic piano and keep your piano clean to guarantee the maximum life span and maximum enjoyment out of the instrument. Acoustic pianos are obviously not cheap, and just like a car, they require some care and attention to ensure the longest possible lifespan.

Acoustic Piano Mechanics:

With an acoustic piano, unlike certain musical instruments, the most important thing to keep in mind is that they are made of natural materials. Because they are made of natural materials, they react to things like temperature and humidity. With regard to temperature, it's important to make sure that the room housing a piano has a relatively stable ambient temperature. Heat sources such as direct sunlight or a fireplace coming on and off are not going to do any favors to a piano.

In terms of the mechanics of a piano, every single acoustic piano without exception uses a wooden key-stick and because of this, one of the most important things to do in terms of humidity is to keep the humidity in the home to within the range 35% to 55% relative humidity. Piano keys have bushing material that is made of felt, and every single time the humidity goes up or down, the felt either poofs up or dries out and gets scratchy against the steel. Either way, this is something that leads to sticky keys. Sticky keys are one of those problems that occur very commonly on acoustic pianos, and the biggest cause is humidity being out of range.

The second reason it's important to maintain the humidity is to keep the piano in tune. Whether an upright or grand piano, every acoustic piano's soundboard is slightly bowed as the strings are stretched across it set at a particular angle, which is referred to as the crown. As the humidity goes up, the soundboard starts to push up against the strings and actually cause them to go sharp. If it's too dry, the soundboard shrinks, pulls itself flatter, and the strings go flat.

Acoustic Piano Placement:

Another important consideration is the placement. For years, it was strongly advised to ensure that your piano was not placed against an outside wall. Homes weren’t very well insulated, so this was a genuine concern. These days, most homes are very well insulated, so this isn’t really a concern anymore in the majority of cases. Another common piece of advice was to make sure your piano wasn’t placed right next to a heat source; this piece of advice still holds true. If a piano is in the same room as a heat source, an external humidity unit may be required to offset the heat source.

Acoustic Piano Cleaning:

When it comes to cleaning an acoustic piano, the first thing that usually comes up is what materials are ideal and what if any chemicals should be used. The short answer in terms of spray is that you want to stay away from any type of a typical polishing or a typical home cleaning solution. This means no Pledge, no Windex, nothing with any acidity, nothing corrosive that would over time mess up the high-gloss or satin finish of an acoustic piano.

With that being said, there are piano polishes out there designed specifically for this purpose. Cory's is one company that's pretty common. Roland, the digital piano company actually makes a great piano care kit as well. They include mild cleaners, which not only remove fingerprints but also cut the grease really well. You're not going to have to scrub too hard - It's a quick couple of squirts, and it works beautifully for removing grime. If you don't want to go down the route of purchasing a specialized cleaner, then just a damp cloth will do the trick.

Now, what are you spraying this stuff on to whether it's just filtered water or a specialized cleaner? The answer is a Microfiber cloth. You don't have to go and purchase a super expensive one, but just make sure that it's really soft. You don't want it to have any kind of a rough surface or something that over time might start to wear down the furniture polish finish. I get questions about toothpaste sometimes, which may sound odd, but it was kind of a "MacGyver" trick to fix CDs that were skipping; put toothpaste on the back because it fills in the cracks, the toothpaste dries and then stops the CD from skipping. Don't do that! Not only will it not effectively fill the scratch, but you're going to see it, especially on a black piano. If you're at the point where the piano really does have deep scratches that need to be dealt with, there's not really two ways about it. You are going to have to just go and find a furniture refinisher with a high-speed buffing wheel. It's going to cost you a few hundred dollars in most markets, but you should be able to find someone who can do this very well.

Next, let's look at cleaning piano keys. The same thing with the outside polish, you do not want to use any type of a harsh chemical or cleaner on top of the keys, whether it's the white keys or black keys. There is instead specialized key cleaner for this purpose, often called key whitener or key brightener. Cory's, which is a supplier that a lot of piano stores have access to, also sell this type of product. They call it Key-Brite, and it helps them stay nice and white, and it also helps to cut the grease. If you don't have access to something like this you can do what my mom always used to do with my piano growing up. She would get a little bucket of warm water with a few dabs of dish soap, mix it up so that it was a little bit soapy, and then just lightly dab the keys with dry cloth/soft cloth. It doesn't have to be microfiber, but I would still stick with microfiber.

One final thing about the keys; most, if not all new pianos come with a plastic key, rather than the ivory keys of the past. The technology in the plastic has got to the point where the keys are not yellowing nearly as much as they used to. It used to be a no-no to have the piano keyboard in direct sunlight because that was just a virtual guarantee that within a few years, those keys were going to start yellowing because of the effects of the sunlight on it. That's not as much a concern as it once was from a discoloration perspective, but generally, it's still a good idea to not have the piano in direct sunlight anyway due to the humidity related reasons mentioned above.

Summary:

To sum everything up, an instrument made up of organic materials needs to be treated with a little more care - less like an appliance and more like a fine piece of art. Wood, felt, and metals all react to temperature, humidity, and moisture. The best practice is to keep your temperature with about a 5-degree span on either side of normal room temperature, 21.5 degrees, or 72 degrees Fahrenheit. In terms of moisture, you're going to try and keep that at the very lowest to about 35 but high-30s is best, up to about mid to high-50s in the more humid seasons.

The post How To Clean Your Piano And Maintain An Acoustic Piano first appeared on Merriam Pianos

2359 Bristol Cir #200, Oakville, ON L6H 6P8

merriammusic.com

(905) 829-2020

[sciencespies]

Can science break its plastic addiction?

https://sciencespies.com/environment/can-science-break-its-plastic-addiction/

Can science break its plastic addiction?

© Daniel Stier at Twenty Twenty and Miren Marañón at East Photographic for Mosaic

More

Lucy Gilliam has an infectious passion for environmental action. Today, she works in Brussels on environmental transport policy. But in the early 2000s, she was a molecular microbiologist in Hertfordshire. Like many in her field, Gilliam got through a lot of disposable plastics. It had become a normal part of 21st-century science, as everyday as coffee and overtime.

Gilliam was, in her words, a “super high user” of the sort of plastic, ultra-sterilized filter pipettes that could only be used once. Just as so many of us do in our domestic lives, she found she was working with what anti-pollution campaigners call a “produce, use, discard” model. The pipettes would pile up, and all that plastic waste just seemed wrong to her.

Science’s environmental impact had begun to worry her. It wasn’t just a matter of plastics. She also wanted to know why there weren’t solar panels on the roof of the new lab building, for example, and why flying to conferences was seen more as a perk than a problem. “I used to bitch about it over coffee all the time,” Gilliam tells me. “How can it be that we’re researching climate science, and people are flying all over the place? We should be a beacon.”

She tried to initiate recycling programs, with some success. She invited the suppliers in to discuss the issue, and worked out ways the research teams could at least return the boxes pipettes came in for re-use, even if the pipettes themselves would still be used and discarded. It felt like a battle, though. Sensing that progress was likely to be slow, she started to ask herself where exactly she could make change happen, and moved to work in environmental policy.

Scientific research is one of the more hidden users of disposable plastics, with the biomedical sciences a particularly high-volume offender. Plastic petri dishes, bottles of various shapes and sizes, several types of glove, a dizzying array of pipettes and pipette tips, a hoard of sample tubes and vials. They have all become an everyday part of scientific research. Most of us will never even see such equipment, but we all still rely on it. Without it, we wouldn’t have the knowledge, technologies, products and medicines we all use. It is vital to 21st-century lives, but it is also extremely polluting.

In 2015, researchers at the University of Exeter weighed up their bioscience department’s annual plastic waste, and extrapolated that biomedical and agricultural labs worldwide could be responsible for 5.5 million tonnes of lab plastic waste a year. To put that in context, they pointed out it’s equal to 83 percent of the plastic recycled worldwide in 2012.

The problem with plastic is that it is so durable; it won’t decompose. We throw it in the rubbish, it stays there. It is thought that there may now be more Lego people on Earth than actual people, and these minifigs will outlive us all. When plastic products like these minifigs—or pipettes, bottles or drinking straws—do eventually break down, they stick around as small, almost invisible fragments called microplastics, which also come from cosmetics and clothing fibers. A 2017 study found microplastics in 81 percent of tap water samples globally. In the past few years, in mountain ranges in the U.S. and France, researchers even found microplastics in rain. They have recently been found in the Arctic, too.

Modern science has grown up with disposable plastics, but times are changing. This autumn, the first wave of young people to follow the Swedish climate activist Greta Thunberg and go on “school strike for the climate” started undergraduate degrees. Universities can expect these young people to bring fresh and sometimes challenging questions about how scientific research is conducted. At the same time, many of those from Generation Z (those born from the mid-1990s onwards) are now starting Ph.D.s, and millennials (born from the early 1980s) are leading more and more labs. As more universities challenge themselves to eradicate disposable plastics, as well as to go zero-carbon, in the next few years or decades, scientific waste is increasingly being put under the microscope.

In a sign of how far things have moved on since Gilliam left her career in research, last November the University of Leeds pledged to go single-use-plastic-free by 2023. Recently, UCL has announced it will follow suit, with the only slightly less ambitious target of 2024. These new policies won’t just banish disposable coffee cups from campus, but a lot of everyday scientific equipment too.

Lucy Stuart, sustainability project officer at Leeds, says that reaction among researchers has been mixed, but they are gradually making progress. “For us, as a university, we are here to inspire the next generation,” she says. “Also, we are a research-based institution that is creating groundbreaking innovation every day, so we didn’t want to say the solutions aren’t possible, because we are the people that help create those solutions.”

The ambitious target has helped focus everyone’s attention, as has the clear sign that it has support all the way through the institution from the top of university management down. However, “We don’t want to implement top-down policies,” Stuart emphasizes. “We want individual researchers and employees to take ownership and look at the problem within their area, and then make a change.”

Elsewhere, many scientists are already pushing ahead on their own initiative. When David Kuntin, a biomedical researcher at the University of York, was discussing plastic waste with his lab mates, he soon found he wasn’t the only one who had noticed how much they were getting through.

“Using plastics on a daily basis—in science, it is kind of impossible to avoid nowadays. And someone just said, ‘Oh, we could fill a room after a week!’ and it got us discussing what we could do.”

One reason lab plastics are such a sticky problem is that they can get contaminated with the biological or chemical matter being researched; you can’t simply put them in the campus recycling bins with your coffee cup. Usually, lab waste plastics are bagged and autoclaved—an energy- and water-hungry sterilization process—before being sent to landfill. But, Kuntin says, not all plastic waste is too contaminated to recycle. Rather than simply classing everything as hazardous, straight off, he and his colleagues did an audit of the plastic they used, to see what they could decontaminate.

“The contamination we deal with is probably less dangerous than a moldy tin of beans you might have in your recycling after a few weeks,” Kuntin says. So, just as the team had learned that they had to wash their tins of beans before they put them in the council recycling bin, they learned ways to decontaminate their lab waste, too.

They developed a “decontamination station” with a 24-hour soak in a high-level disinfectant, followed by a rinse for chemical decontamination. They also looked at the plastics they were buying, to pick ones that would be easier to recycle. As a result of these measures, they’ve reduced the plastic they were previously sending to landfill by about a tonne a year.

“That’s 20 workers, 20 of us,” he says, sounding as if he still doesn’t quite believe that so few researchers could pile up so much waste. “We used a tonne of plastic that we can recycle.” They worked out it was enough to fill 110 bathtubs. And because they have also cut down how much equipment has to be autoclaved, they are saving energy and water, too.

“I think as scientists, we need to be responsible about what we’re doing,” Kuntin tells me. Not least, he says, because it is public money they are spending. “You can’t, with a clean conscience, just be using a tonne of plastic.”

At the University of Bristol, technicians Georgina Mortimer and Saranna Chipper-Keating have also set up schemes for sorting and recycling lab waste. “The waste in the lab was very easy for people to see. They were like, ‘I do this at home,'” says Mortimer.

They have been trialling glove and ice pack recycling through a company that specializes in hard-to-recycle waste, including contact lenses, crisp packets and cigarette butts as well as the sorts of plastics that come out of labs. They are keen to think more about re-use and reduction, too, knowing that recycling can only take them so far. They have worked out how they can bulk buy whenever possible, to cut down on packaging waste, for example.

Plastics is only part of the sustainable lab puzzle for them. “We have a lot of ULT freezers, ultra-low temperature freezers,” Mortimer says. The freezers “have thousands, thousands of samples going back more than 20 years”. And they are all stored at minus 80ºC. Or at least they used to be. Anna Lewis, sustainable science manager at Bristol, showed them some research from the University of Colorado Boulder, demonstrating that most samples can be safely stored at minus 70, saving up to a third of the energy. They have now raised the temperature of their ULT freezers.

The Bristol technicians have also been thinking about what they’re storing in these freezers, how, and whether it needs to be there. “There are samples that have just been left there for years,” says Mortimer. We’ve been discovering what these actually are, if they’re still usable, consolidating the space.” This hasn’t just saved energy and money, it’s also made working with the freezers more manageable. It’s simply easier to find things.

Martin Farley held the first lab sustainability post in the UK, at the University of Edinburgh back in 2013. He now specializes in ways research labs can become more sustainable, working in a similar role to Lewis at a couple of London universities. He first got into the issue because of plastics, but quickly found a whole range of issues to work on.

Farley points out that these ULT freezers can use as much energy as a house. So if you’re worried about energy use in the houses in your street, you should be worried about it in the fridges in your university too. Ultimately, as the climate emergency intensifies, Farley argues, “every facet of society needs to change”.

Labs might not be a “behemoth” like the oil and gas industry, he says, but they have a significant and often ignored environmental impact. In a research-intensive university, Farley reckons the labs will account for about two-thirds of the energy bill. If a university is looking to reduce its energy use, research sciences are a good place to start.

“We have people recycling at home, and doing nothing in their labs. I did a rough back-of-the-envelope calculation,” he tells me, and, depending on your research area, “your impact on the environment is 100–125 times more than at home.”

Tracing back through the history of science, it’s hard to tell exactly when disposable plastics arrived in labs. “That’s a job of work to be done, to figure out when plastic starts to get used in scientific instruments, scientific material culture, and how, and how it changes,” says Simon Werrett, a historian at UCL who specializes in the materials of science. He says that there’s plastic in a lot of historical scientific objects, but because museums don’t catalog items in those terms, it’s hard to date it exactly. Still, he suspects science’s plastic problem followed everyone else’s.

Production of the thing we call plastic started in the late 19th century. Today, we’re increasingly used to seeing plastic as a threat to wildlife, but back then, if anything synthetic products saved nature from being chewed up by human consumption. As the game of billiards became popular, manufacturers looked for a way to produce the balls from something more reliable than the trade in ivory. One firm launched a $10,000 competition to find an alternative material, which led to the patenting of celluloid (a mix of camphor and gun cotton) by American inventor John Wesley Hyatt in 1870.

Hyatt formed the Celluloid Manufacturing Company with his brother Isaiah, and developed a process of “blow molding”, which allowed them to produce hollow tubes of celluloid, paving the way for mass production of cheap toys and ornaments. One of the advantages of celluloid was that it could be mixed with dyes, including mottled shades, allowing the Hyatts to produce not just artificial ivory but coral and tortoizeshell too.

At the turn of the century, the ever-expanding electrical industry was running low on shellac, a resin secreted by the female lac bug which could be used as an insulating material. Spotting a market, Leo Baekeland patented an artificial alternative in 1909, which he named Bakelite. This was marketed in the 1920s as “the material of a thousand uses”, soon joined by a host of new plastics throughout the 1930s and 1940s too. Nylon, invented in 1935, offered a sort of synthetic silk, useful for parachutes and also stockings. Plexiglass was helpful in the burgeoning aviation industry. Wartime R&D put rocket boosters on plastic innovation, and just as plastic products speedily started to fill up the postwar home, a plethora of plastic goods entered the postwar lab, too.

Werrett emphasizes that today’s problems are a product not just of plastics but of the emergence of cultures of disposability. We didn’t used to throw stuff away. Disposability predates plastics slightly. Machines of the late industrial revolution, around the middle of the 19th century, made cloth and paper much easier to produce. At the same time, people were becoming more and more aware, and worried, about the existence of germs—for example, after John Snow identified the Broad Street water pump as the source of a cholera outbreak in Soho, London, in 1854. Just as Joseph Lister pioneered the use of antiseptics in medicine from the 1860s onwards, disposable dressings gradually became the norm. “So you have things like cotton buds, and condoms and tampons, and sticking plasters,” Werrett explains, as well as paper napkins and paper cups. As mass production advanced, it soon became cheaper and easier to throw things away than to clean and re-use them—or pay someone else to.

Cloth- and paper-based disposable products arrived over a relatively short period, but the new throwaway culture they instigated paved the ground for the plastic problem we have today. Paper cups and straws soon became plastic ones, and the idea of “produce, use, discard” became normal.

Still, the introduction of disposable plastics in postwar science and medicine wasn’t necessarily simple. Looking at medical journals from the 1950s and 1960s, Werrett has found a few complaints.

“There’s a tradition that surgeons have a pair of gloves, and they use that for their whole career,” he explains. These gloves would have been rubber—first introduced by William Stewart Halsted at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Maryland in the 1890s—but designed to last, boiled for sterilization and repaired rather than disposed of in favor of a new pair. “By the end of their career, they’ve got repairs and stains,” Werrett says, “and that’s a sign or mark of your experience as a surgeon.” Then disposable gloves came in, and not everyone was happy to leave these marks of experience behind.

Nurses had to be taught to throw things away, rather than keep them, he notes. “It wasn’t self-evident that disposability was a valuable thing. If anything, the default is to re-use things. You have to train people to see disposability as a valuable practice.”

For those looking for a plastic-free future for science, a technological fix could well be found in the history. Back in Bristol, Georgina Mortimer has been eyeing up the old glass cabinets. “We’re trying to get back into glassware, trying to make it cool again within our department,” she says, smiling.

In Brussels, Lucy Gilliam tells me about her grandmother, who worked in a hospital lab, and all the dishwashing assistance she had to support their use of glassware. “And now we do it all by ourselves. We’re like little research islands. And you know, plastic—and single-use disposable things—is filling the gap of people.

“There was a time when we were doing really advanced science without using plastics. And it’s not to say that all of the science that we do now can be done without plastics. But there is science that we were doing back then, and that we’re still doing now, that could be done without plastics.”

Plastic has become apparently indispensable for modern science. It can keep materials protected, even when we transport them. It keeps us out of them (for materials we don’t want to contaminate) and them out of us (for hazardous materials that might hurt us). It can be molded into a range of shapes. Some areas of science—not least DNA research—have grown up in an era of disposable plastics.

In some cases, though, a return to glass might be the answer. “Use glassware—it’s there, it’s available, it’s sterilised,” Mortimer enthuses. “All the universities will have a glass room just full to the ceilings of stuff that we can be using rather than plastics.” Along with Saranna Chipper-Keating, she has been tasked with producing a whole-life costing exercise on glass versus plastics. In theory, it should be cheaper to re-use glass than to buy plastics again and again, especially as there are often costs associated with dumping these plastics.

But re-using glass means it must be washed and sterilized, and that takes resources, too. This is a concern for Lucy Stuart in Leeds; they don’t want their plastic-free pledge to simply replace one environmental problem with another.

In York, David Kuntin is also concerned about the knock-on effects of switching back to glass. “Every day, we use reagents like cell culture media, a nutrient broth that cells thrive in,” he tells me. These broths have been developed for decades, and since most cells are grown on plastic, that’s what the reagents have been optimized for.

On top of this, researchers like Kuntin are interested in the finest details of cell behavior—and what they’re grown on could have an influence. “We know that cells are very responsive to their environment, and they can sense things like the roughness or stiffness of the surface they grow on,” he explains. Unexpected changes in behavior could be misinterpreted as a consequence of an experiment, when really it’s just that the cells are behaving differently on glass.

Another problem is how much time re-using glass could take. Disposable pipette tips are just quicker. And time, along with water and heat, could cost the lab money. Ultimately, though, they don’t know until they do a full analysis. “We could do a whole-life costing exercise, and it may well be that plastics are so much cheaper,” Anna Lewis says. “In which case, we would need subsidies.”

Lewis argues that any real change will require a change in how science is funded, with universities ideally needing to demonstrate some level of sustainability before they could apply for certain grant schemes. There is only so far they can go working with the goodwill and interest of a few enthusiasts. She sees scope to address this, if not in the next Research Excellence Framework (for assessing the quality of research in the UK) in 2021, then in the one after that. Whether the ecological crisis can wait for us to slowly negotiate yet another decade of science policy is another matter.

Martin Farley certainly sees a stronger appetite for change from the scientific community, compared to when he first started greening labs, back in 2013. “Five or six years ago, when I told my lab mates I was doing this, people laughed. There was a little bit of interest, like ‘Sure, I’ll recycle more’, and some jokes. Now, I get emails on almost a weekly basis. People out of the blue that are saying, ‘How can I do something? I want to do more.'”

The University of Leeds is keen to link with other organizations, too. They’ve created a network around Leeds, including other universities, the Yorkshire Ambulance Service, the city council, and Yorkshire Water. They are also in discussions with one of the national research councils. Stuart says these sorts of collaborations are essential if they want to address disposable plastics on campus, because everything that comes in is part of the broader local economy. But it’s also part of the whole point of the project, seeing themselves as “a civic university”, ensuring that their research and innovation is used in a way that benefits the local area.

For researchers wanting to dive into the problem of plastic waste on their own, though, Gilliam has some simple advice: “First of all, see if you can get some buddies. Send out a note and convene a little meeting. Say, ‘I’ve seen these things, I’m concerned about it, does anybody have any ideas?'” In the event that no one will engage with you, she suggests you just start segregating some of your plastic anyway, putting it in a box and sending it back, sharing a photo on social media as you go. You might well find comrades in other labs if not your own.

“Start by doing something different, even if it feels like it’s really small and really pointless. Even small actions like that can have a ripple effect.”

Explore further

Scientists, here’s how to use less plastic

Provided by Mosaic

This article first appeared on Mosaic and is republished here under a Creative Commons licence.

Citation: Can science break its plastic addiction? (2019, November 8) retrieved 8 November 2019 from https://phys.org/news/2019-11-science-plastic-addiction.html

This document is subject to copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study or research, no part may be reproduced without the written permission. The content is provided for information purposes only.

#Environment