#certain bits of it anyway. the great lake states have options

[bread--quest]

the thing that scares me about plains and flatlands is that like. ok if you're on the coast and you're distressed and you have to express your desire to escape the bounds of this mortal life you can always just go "I'M GOING TO WALK INTO THE SEA." this option is always available. if you are not on the coast but you're in a heavily forested biome you can go "I'M GOING TO GO INTO THE WOODS." right. and if you're conveniently situated by a mountain range you can even say "THE MOUNTAINS ARE CALLING AND I MUST GO." many such cases. right. but. if you're in fucking nebraska or something what are you gonna do?? where are you gonna go?? the other field adjacent to the field youre already in?? wheres the drama in that?? wheres the intrigue? these are the questions that plague me late at night

[venus-viz]

Helpless

Sirius x Reader

Overview: FluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluffFluff Sirius decides he wants to send you love letters while you guys are attending Hogwarts.

Word Count: 2,448

Warning(s): One curse word, that’s it. You’re safe here.

Note: The first two settings of this one shot take place during 5th year. You’ll know the setting of the third when you get there. Hope you enjoy reading. <3

Key:

(O/N) = Owl Name

Gif not mine

(No reposting, please!)

     The hundreds of fluttering wings entering the Great Hall cut off everyone’s conversations as they excitedly waited for whatever mail they might be expecting.  

    (Y/N)’s parents were busy on business trips as they had described in their previous letter, so she stayed focused on the delicious pancakes in front of her. Sweet, fluffy pancakes-her mind seemed to have gone numb because Lily was practically shoving her to the point where she could fall off of her seat. “Oi, Earth to (Y/N)!”  

    Finally snapping out of her daydreaming state, she turned to the redhead that glared fondly in her direction. “Something’s arrived for you, you were too braindead to notice.” (Y/N) pouted in response but took the piece of parchment from Lily’s outstretched hand.  Marlene attempted at peeking over her friend’s shoulder, trying to see the contents of the letter. Her actions didn’t go without (Y/N)’s notice, who blocked Mar’s view. A familiar fancy yet rushed handwriting filled the paper.

“Dear my darling dove,

I stole some parchment from Moony, I’ll have to be quick about this so I can send it before he murders me. I heard you talking to Evans about how you think getting sent love notes and letters is romantic, so I thought I’d start surprising you with some. I’m going to guess you smiled at that comment. Merlin, imagining it is making me want to see you already. Your smile is the only thing I continue living for, really. I got a little cheesy there, didn’t I? I’m not the best at writing but I want to make you feel like you’re loved, like you’re special. Being with you is one of the most wonderful things that’s happened to me, you’re truly the light of my life. Shit, I think I hear Moony. Going to have to cut this letter short, love. I promise the next ones will be worthy for a goddess like you.

Sincerely,

Your favorite Gryffindor”  

    There was a smile spread on (Y/N)’s face as she finished reading and looked over to a beautiful pair of grey eyes, the usual smirk on her boyfriend’s face. Sirius seemed to be satisfied with himself, winking over at her. Such a simple action but it sent butterflies coursing through her. The things that boy did to her. It will be one hell of a ride if he planned on sending more of those.      

     She then became suddenly aware of the giggle fits next to her as well as how dumb her loving expression must’ve looked to those around her. Marlene snickered. “I don’t think you need to tell us who it’s from anymore.” 

                                                          - - -

    Sirius had certainly lived up to the idea of sending love letters. He hadn’t missed a day so far. He’d sometimes even send more than one. However cheesy or cliché they were, she loved receiving them, nonetheless. She started to laugh softly to herself, remembering the rant he had went on during one of the letters about how he was certain Prongs secretly wanted him and not Lily.

    The weather outside was perfect. The warm sun wasn’t too intense, and a gentle breeze made the grass fly in the wind. A great day to work on Potions homework.

    (Y/N) sat herself under a tree that provided her with shade, the same tree she and Sirius would usually cuddle under until getting scolded for being out after curfew. Grinning at the thought, she opened up her Potions book, dipped her quill in some ink and got to work.

    Meanwhile, Sirius looked down upon her from the Owlery, admiring who he perceived as the most beautiful girl to ever exist. Letting out a love-sickened sigh, he leaned his head on the palm of his hand. He had started to forget the purpose of his trip when (Y/N)’s owl began pecking him lightly, an annoyed expression on their face. “Gah, okay, okay, you can stop now! Mangy bird.” He grumbled, scribbling words onto the parchment he had brought with him. (O/N) looked none too happy at his words, making their point clear as they poked him slightly hard on the head. Sirius scowled playfully in return. “I hear you, just let this dry for a moment.” During his waiting time, he decided to look out at where his girlfriend was again.  

    Some time passed by and stretching her arms up, (Y/N) realized that the sun had begun to set and that she’d been sitting out there for quite a while now. She took a moment to take in the scenery around her before packing up her things. The way the water out on the Black Lake glistened under the descending light especially caught her attention. She stared at her gorgeous surroundings until her eyelids began to droop.

    Startled awake, she realized her owl was nuzzling her arm affectionately in hopes of her noticing them. She smiled, petting them gently and then taking the parchment they were holding out to her. “Another letter from Sirius, no doubt.” She thought aloud. Unrolling the paper, she began reading.  

“Good evening, angel,

I can see you from the Owlery. That makes me sound like a creep, but I can’t erase it. You look so pretty today. Well, you’re gorgeous every day. Breathtaking, honestly. You’ll probably have such a cute blush while reading this. Maybe I should make it a goal of mine to get you bright, Gryffindor red. You look so concentrated on that Potions essay that I forgot about, which you’ll scold me for later. I love you so much. You’re so dedicated and passionate in everything you do. You’re so diligent and curious to learn more. Godric, the things you do to me. Remus poked fun at me for becoming soft, he even asked how I was able to see with all the hearts in my eyes. But how can I not be this in love when I have you? The most wonderful, intelligent woman in all of Hogwarts and you’re somehow mine. I just want to sing my love out to the whole WORLD. I can already hear you calling me dramatic, but that’s my middle name, doll. No, it is not Orion. Or Onion as Evans misread it. Anyway, you’ll be heading to bed by the time you read this, so I won’t make this too long.  

Take care,

Your lovestruck boyfriend”  

    Chuckling to herself, (Y/N) bit her bottom lip to try and stop her smile from going across her whole face. (O/N) nudged her teasingly, to which she rolled her eyes. “You have no right to comment, I saw you eyeing an owl last week when I went to visit you.” (O/N) turned suddenly shy and tried to hide their face while their owner started cracking up.

                                                         - - -

    Sirius nervously adjusted his black tie as he waited at the bottom of the stairway for (Y/N), thinking back on the past years they’ve experienced at Hogwarts. 7th year had finally come, and they’d all be graduating in a few days. They’d have to determine their future, but for now, they’d have a joyous time at their final school dance.

    Speaking of, Lily and Marlene just walked down, which snapped Sirius out of his train of thought. Mar’ started making a trumpet impression before she began to speak. “Make way for our glorious and precious princess that I’ll continue to protect after school is over, (Y/N) (L/N)!” Lily covered her mouth to muffle her laughter as her dramatic friend did jazz hands.

    Bashfully, (Y/N) stepped out from behind the wall she was using to not be seen and made eye contact with Sirius. His loving gaze admired her, and she couldn’t decide whether she felt more comfortable due to his presence or if she wanted to cover her face in fear that everyone would see her crimson cheeks. He then made it even harder to choose when he pulled out that charming smile on her, the one that just made her heart leap out of her chest.  

    “You look stunning, love.” He mused as she carefully walked down and over to him. The blush on her face intensified. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Sirius.”  

    Letting out a low chuckle that sent shivers down her spine, he held out an arm to her. “May I escort the beautiful princess to her ball?” (Y/N) accidentally let out a giggle at his extravagant act, mentally scolding herself for becoming a young teen for a moment. “Of course.” She responded as she wrapped her own arm under and around his. They stepped into the giant room that had been prepared for the students’ final, special night.

    Everyone involved in the decoration certainly went all-out. A beautiful yet blinding chandelier hung from the ceiling, highlighting the dance floor. There were rows of tables with white cloth covering them stood off to the side. They had been filled with over a dozen entrée options to suit everyone’s tastes. The ribbons and balloons were gorgeous shades of blue and white. James had suspected they might’ve used the same decorations from the winter festivities, but everyone paid him no mind.  

    However, despite the effort that had been put in towards the way this ball looked, Sirius couldn’t help but stare at (Y/N) the whole time. The way her outfit of choice fit her just right and how the moonlight along with the chandelier brought out her eyes. She was like a magnet, pulling Sirius ever closer to the brink of madness. He often jokingly wondered whether she was part Veela in disguise.

    “You going to stare holes through me all night or are you going to ask me to dance?” (Y/N) grinned at him.

    Laughing softly, he took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss upon it. “Right, how rude of me. Would you care for a dance, my love?” Giddily, she nodded.  

    Truth be told, Sirius had been forced by his mother to learn how to waltz, even if he didn’t have an interest in finding out how to do it. When he and (Y/N) got closer, she had made the off-hand comment that she didn’t know how to do the elegant dance, so he then became her tutor. He couldn’t help but thank the stars for having given him such a great opportunity to use the otherwise unneeded skill.

    Now, here they were, gliding across the practically glittering floor. Some people watched in awe, but to them, they were the only two people that existed in this moment. The only people to have ever lived. The only people that mattered.

    As they looked into each other’s eyes, they shared a mutual thought: they would never leave the other’s side.

    After a while of quiet dancing, (Y/N) decided to speak up and break the silence. “It’s so weird to believe that…we’re going to be leaving this place, you know? Hogwarts has just always been a second home to me - to all of us.” Sirius nodded in agreement and hummed to himself before responding, “It’s really a strange concept, isn’t it?” He twirled her in between thoughts. “I mean, we came here when we were eleven. Merlin, my hair was so bad-”

    Laughing, (Y/N) subconsciously twirled a piece of his hair between her fingers. “I don’t know, I think you looked quite cute.” Her laughter only continued when Sirius reacted with a disgusted look. “I’m sure my younger self appreciates the compliment but please don’t sneak into my bedroom at night and give me a haircut.” This only caused them to share a laugh together.  

    Smiling, (Y/N) decided to ask him something, “Hey, since our school lives are over, does this mean it’s the end of your endless letters?”

    At this, Sirius suddenly looked a little nervous, which was rare. She tilted her head curiously at his behavior. “Sirius? Is something wrong?”

    “No, no, nothing is wrong. I’m just…thinking of the right words to say, I guess.” He chuckled to himself, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “About those…I actually have one last letter I’d like you to read.” He started to reach for something in the pocket of his blazer and took up a folded sheet of parchment. (Y/N) made a motion to take it but he held it up too high for her to take. “Ah, ah, ah. I want you to read it in a more secluded area. You know, where people aren’t constantly twirling around us.” She laughed softly and they walked nearer to a window away from the dancing.  

    Sirius now handed over the paper, letting her gently unfold it. While her eyes went over all the words, he started fumbling with something else that was in his pocket.

“My love,

I write this to you in hopes that you’ll see how much I simply adore you. It’s the end of our last year here. There are so many fond memories tied to this place, many of which involve you. I could never imagine a life where I didn’t meet you. You’re so perfect and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I have flaws and I definitely don’t deserve you, but if you’ll have me, I want to be with you forever. I want to hold you close every moment I can and feel your soft hair in my hands. I want to protect you with my whole being and know you’re safe by my side. You’re my everything, (Y/N).

Will you marry me?”

    Her eyes went wide as she reread that last line in her head. She turned to see Sirius but found she had to look down. He had gotten down on one knee, holding the box open, his eyes full of love for the woman in front of him but also tinted with a bit of worry. The biggest grin filled (Y/N)’s face as she nodded vigorously and lowered herself to the floor to hug him. “Yes, yes, of course I will you big dufus!” Sirius looked taken aback by the sudden gesture, almost falling back, but he smiled softly and hugged her back.  

    After holding each other for almost a minute, they stood up and Sirius slid the ring onto her finger. Making sure it was on perfectly, he moved her hand close and kissed it. (Y/N) admired the symbol of her new life. Not because of its beauty, although Sirius did make sure to pick out the best he could find, but because of what it meant for their future. Their future that they’d live out together.

    “…so, I hope you’re ready for a new stream of letters dedicated to my lovely wife-”

    “Oh Merlin, Sirius!-”

[cottonpadenthusiast]

Dare to Touch

This is based around the usual truth or dare trope but with a bit of a difference. I hope you like it and enjoy xx

“I think my eyes are bleeding,” Ron groaned as Seamus and Dean snogged shamelessly to the cheers of the common room. It was a Friday night in the eighth year common room, and the game of Truth or Dare was in full swing. The room was alive with laughter and chatter, and the moon shone through the tall windows, illuminating the excited figures of the students. 

“You should be the one enjoying this. If I remember correctly, it was you who dragged me from my dorm where I was doing homework,” Harry retorted, however, it wasn’t really true. He was more likely to dive into the Great Lake, dressed as a fish, than finish that Potions essay.  

“If the two Gryffindors would kindly remove their mouths from each other, I would like to take my turn,” Pansy smirked, a cunning glint in her eye. Harry’s eyes wandered across the nervous faces of the students to land on the pale face of Draco Malfoy. The blonde was dressed in a navy woollen sweater and black leggings, his platinum hair tucked behind his ears and his cheeks rosy from the warmth of the room. The two smiled at each other. Harry had formed an unusual friendship with Draco since Halloween, when he had found the blonde mid-panic attack in an abandoned corridor. After Harry had helped Draco calm down, the two began to talk. And they didn’t stop until they felt the sun’s warmth on their cheeks and their eyelids heavy as a new day began. Barely a day passed where they hadn’t spoken since then and Harry now relied on Draco for things he couldn’t dream of discussing with Ron or Hermione. He didn’t realise how much he needed Draco until he tumbled into his life, filling an emptiness in Harry that he never known existed.

Draco had been providing sarcastic comments throughout the whole game, the only time he was silenced was when he was dared to kiss Ron. Neither participants had yet seemed to recover from the dare. Harry grinned at Draco, as the blonde mimed vomiting while pointing to Ron, before glancing back to Pansy.

The common room was silent as Pansy’s eyes roamed the room before landing on Harry. Her smirk grew. This couldn’t be good. Her brown eyes then glanced to Malfoy and she looked practically gleeful. Oh no. Ohnonononono. Harry had already heard enough about his apparent “crush” on Malfoy from Ron and Hermione over the past few months, and he did not need Pansy adding fuel to the flame. Not that he had a crush, obviously. Everywhere Harry went with Draco they were surrounded by whispers and rumours of a secret relationship, but neither had brought it up. Harry assumed Draco thought the rumours as stupid as he did. Harry didn’t have feelings for Draco and Harry knew Draco didn’t have feelings for him. It was as simple as that.

“Harry.” Harry looked up from where he had been boring his eyes into the ground, begging Pansy to somehow forget he existed. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Truth or Dare?”

What should he do? He knew the dare would include Malfoy in some manner but he also knew that anyone who had chosen Truth from Pansy had been forced to reveal some of their deepest secrets, thanks to the stolen bottle of Veritaserum each participant had been forced to take. He didn’t have a crush on Draco to miraculously reveal so Truth would be the safer option. But what if she asked something else, something about his past with the Dursleys or how Sirius died? He couldn’t deal with that either.

“Dare,” Harry eventually replied.

Ron nudged his side. “What are you bloody thinking?” The ginger hissed.

Pansy grinned widely. “Good choice, Potter.” The common room was silent in suspense, the only sound Harry’s thumping heart in his chest, as Pansy held the attention of the room. I dare you to...” please not kiss Draco, Harry begged internally. Please not kiss Draco, please not kiss Draco, please kiss Draco... wait what?! “Not to talk to or touch Draco for one full day.”

Harry’s heart stopped. “What?”

“I dare you not to talk to or touch Draco for a day,” she repeated. “Starting from 1:24, which is the time exact right now, and ending at the same time tomorrow. Draco, to make it easier, you aren’t allowed to speak to Potter either.”

“But this isn’t my dare!” Malfoy protested.

“Draco, I think you will want to go along with this one.” Pansy glared at the blonde, her words holding a deeper meaning. Draco rolled his eyes before agreeing to go along with the dare.

“But...” Harry’s mind grappled to find a trick, some sort of way to catch him out as the common room giggled around him. It seemed... easy. It might be strange not to talk to Draco for a day but it wouldn’t be that hard. He would just have to avoid him in the corridors and the Great Hall. Nothing horrendous. “...that seems simple.”

Pansy arched an eyebrow from opposite Harry. “Oh really? Well, Potter, we will just have to see how simple it is. Oh and just so you know, if you even utter a word to Draco, I will personally destroy everything you hold dear.” Her face went dark and serious and Harry knew with certainty that this was not an empty threat. He gulped.

Harry glanced over at Draco to see the same confused expression mirrored on the pale face. Harry was about to comment on the absolute weirdness of Pansy’s dare when he remembered. He couldn’t talk to Malfoy. As Harry met Pansy’s gaze, a victories look in her brown eyes, Harry realised this was going to be harder than he had thought.

Harry plonked himself down between Hermione and Neville in the Great Hall, the smell of toast and porridge making him instantly hungry. He barely said “good morning” before grabbing food from the platter and stuffing his face. A part of him was still not used to receiving this much food after ten years with the Dursleys.

“Harry, I swear you are nearly as bad as Ron,” Hermione stated, a slightly disgusted look on her face as Harry bit into his fifth slice of toast.

Ron looked up from the opposite side of the table, where he had just gone onto his third round of food. “Hey!”

“What? It’s not like you can deny it.”

“I need to eat. I’m a growing boy.”

“More like a greedy one.”

Harry laughed. “Ron if you don’t stop eating, you’ll be the size of Hagrid.”

“You know what,” Ron stated, slamming his fist on the table,” I will not stand for this bullying behaviour.”

“Don’t worry, mate. You can’t stand anyway. The weight of all ’at food will pull you down,” Seamus interjected, causing a burst of laughter from the group.

Harry’s attention was pulled away from the commotion as Draco sat down opposite, with Blaise close behind. Harry grinned.

“Morning-“ Harry stopped. Shit. He wasn’t meant to talk to Draco. He had forgotten about the dare in his flurry to grab as much food as humanly possible. “...Blaise,” Harry recovered, pointedly looking at Blaise and plastering a fake smile on his face.

Blaise looked up, seemingly surprised by the greeting but then smirked when he realised what had happened. “Morning, Potter. It seems someone nearly forgot about the dare.” Harry blushed. It was only the beginning and he had nearly messed it up. If he didn’t want to be the victim of Pansy’s wrath, he needed to get a grip and quick.

Harry glanced a look at Draco, whose face was slightly flushed but was smiling with amusement at the dark haired boy. Harry was certain his face now matched the dark red of his school robes.

“Good morning, Hermione. Hello, Hagrid-oh wait, it’s you, Ronald. I mistook you for Hagrid. I must say, there is a striking resemblance,” Draco said slyly, smirking as Ron shouted insults at him and the table for laughing.

Harry didn’t dare to laugh along with Malfoys joke. He didn’t trust himself. This was already proving to be much harder than Harry had anticipated.

For the rest of breakfast, Harry faced Hermione, never turning once to the blonde near him. Instinct begged him to look, just once, at Draco, but he couldn’t give in. Not at the start. Not when there seemed to be more than just his safety at stake.

Harry’s first class of the day was DADA, which, thankfully, Draco didn’t take. Things seemed to be going smoother and Harry began to think that the day wasn’t going to be too bad after all. However, Harry’s main worry was free periods. The two friends always went to the eighth year common room during their free periods together, when everyone else was in class and the common room was empty, apart from a few students milling around. It was Harry’s favourite time of the day and his heart squeezed painfully when he realised he wouldn’t be able to lie on the sofa near the fireplace, watching as Draco told a dramatic story, like he usually did. Harry loved watching Draco’s hands flail about and how every word went along with a facial expression and how they both usually ended up laughing on the floor together. Harry thought Draco looked the most gorgeous in those moments. It didn’t mean he felt anything for him though. It was just an observation. Everyone knew Draco was good-looking. 

As Harry sauntered through the doorway to Potions, his mind wandering, a blob of blonde caught his eye. Oh, Merlin. Why do I do this to myself? In his concern over how to spend his free period, Harry had completely forgotten that Draco was in his Potions class. And that hey sat at the same table. And that they were partners. Wonderful.

Harry quickly sat down, ignoring Draco’s presence entirely and by the quiet from the other boy, Draco seemed to be doing the same thing. The two boys sat in an awkward silence, while the rest of the class chatted around them. Harry was startled at the sadness he felt for being so close to Draco, yet unable to utter a single word to the boy. It almost felt like he was grieving him.

Slughorn entered the classroom. “Quiet, everyone. Quiet. Today you are going to be brewing Fire-Breathing Potion with the help of your partner. All the ingredients and directions are listed on the board. This is an extremely volatile potion, so you must be very careful. You may begin.”

Harry groaned. This was not going to end well. How was he meant to brew a potion when he couldn’t even talk to his partner? Harry spun around when he heard a pointed cough from behind him. Draco had all the ingredients in his arms and was nodding towards the cauldron.

“Oh.” Harry swiftly set a flame underneath, before reaching for the ingredients in Draco’s arms, careful not to touch the other boy. He set them down in front of him, before grabbing the mint and began chopping.

Cough. Draco was again glaring at Harry, while pointing to the first instruction. “No.1- Chop the mint into strips.” Harry glanced down at the chopped mint in front of him, before giving Draco a confused look, unsure of what he was doing wrong. Draco rolled his eyes and reached for Harry’s tanned hands. Harry knew that Draco was about to grab his hands and show him how he was meant to do it like he always did when Harry messed up. However, the blonde’s hands stopped, hovering closely over Harry’s own as he remembered the rule of the dare. No touching. Draco sighed, before pulling away, taking the mint along with him.

As Draco began slicing the mint into thinner strips, Harry wondered why he wasn’t more relieved. Draco could have messed everything up by touching him, but a part of Harry thought that maybe Draco touching him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe it would have been worth it.

The bell rang and Harry sighed, relief filling him. The rest of the lesson hadn’t gone well, to say the least. The potion had ended up being a foggy brown, instead of the bright, fiery red it was meant to be, and Harry had received more glares from Draco in one hour than in the last year. What made matters worse, almost everytime a scathing look was sent in his direction, all Harry wanted to do was whisper one of their shared jokes or make fun of one of their classmates just to make Draco smile. More than once, Harry had the strange urge to reach across and run his thumb between he blonde brows, easing away the small creases between them. This dare really was messing up his brain.

Harry began packing his bag, the class filtering out around him, as he wondered whether to go to the Quidditch Pitch during his free. Suddenly, he became acutely aware of Draco hovering close beside him, as the silence of the classroom hung close around them. Harry slowly lifted his gaze to Draco, who was staring intently at Harry. Something heavy and alive filled the air around them, and it was nothing to do with the Potions’ fumes. Harry found himself leaning closer, closer to Draco, his heartbeat speeding up rapidly, until Draco looked away, shattering the moment. The blonde nodded his head towards the door and walked out. 

As Harry followed behind, his body still buzzing from the tension, he tried to dismiss the moment from his mind, telling himself it was just a trick of his imagination, it didn’t matter. But if it didn’t matter, then why did Harry feel like it held something important, something neither of them could grasp?

Harry trudged behind Draco as they entered the empty common room. Harry planted himself on the sofa where Draco was seated, sitting dangerously close to the blonde, but neither moved away. The blonde was staring intently at the floor, as Harry fidgeted awkwardly beside him. Harry had thought the silence and Draco’s presence would soothe his nerves, the way it usually did, but Harry felt strangely nervous. The moment from earlier still hung in the air around them and neither would, or could, talk about it. It was agony.

Harry glanced at the melancholy figure beside him. His eyes traced the soft, blonde hair, the long, black eyelashes and the small curve of Draco’s nose. Harry’s gaze landed on rosy lips, and his breathing hitched. He couldn’t look away and he didn’t want to, as he realised how beautiful Draco was and how had he not noticed this before?

Harry’s mind was whirring, grasping to find an explanation for everything he was feeling and wanting, when his gaze dropped to the pale hand, inches from his own. And without thinking, without even considering the dare that had caused everything leading up to this, Harry slowly inched his hand closer to Draco’s. He gently brushed his pinky against the pale one, partly to test the waters, and partly to remind himself that this was real. That this moment, and this want, was real.

Draco stopped breathing. Harry waited for the confusion, the anger, the refusal. What he didn’t expect was for those long elegant fingers to wrap around his own. Nor did he expect to feel like his whole body was on fire from one simple touch.

What is going on? Do I... like, Draco? Harry thought, before realising that he already knew the answer. He had known the answer for a while, he just wasn’t ready to see it.

Harry glimpsed at Draco to see that the other man was watching him intently. Grey eyes flashed, reminding Harry of a long-awaited thunderstorm, as he moved closer and closer to Draco, all regard for the dare now forgotten.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, voice full of want and longing, shattering the silence that had been suffocating them for so long. Harry couldn’t wait any longer, he had already waited long enough for this, for him. He pushed his lips against Draco’s and the world crumbled.

Harry kissed Draco in the way he had somehow wanted to for a long, long time. Draco’s hands curled into the black curls, as their two hearts hammered in their chests, and Harry wondered how he had not realised, not known, that this had been waiting for him. He reached up and brushed Draco’s cheek, as his other arm wrapped tightly around his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, as they pulled away, their breath ragged and hearts pounding.

Draco brushed a lock of Harry’s from his eyes. “Why? What for?”

“For not realising earlier about... this. About us.” Harry couldn’t meet Draco’s gaze, embarrassment for his own stupidity flushing his cheeks.

“Oh, Harry. That isn’t your fault. Sometimes with feelings, people can be a bit... oblivious. You don’t need to apologise.” Draco pressed light kisses to Harry’s forehead. Harry tried to hide the grin that was spreading across his face.

“Thank fucking Merlin! I was beginning to think Harry was more stupid than I had thought.” Pansy slammed open the common room door, causing Harry to practically leap into Draco’s lap, as the rest of the eighth years filtered through.

“Yeah, Harry. You lasted longer than any of us expected, to be honest,” Dean added, Hermione and Ron by his side.

Blaise sauntered over, leaning against the chair opposite. “You didn’t touch or talk to Draco for exactly eleven hours and fifty-three minutes, to be precise. I was betting on the seven-hour mark. I suppose I overestimated your intelligence and Draco’s patience.”

“Wait... everyone was in on this?” Harry asked, glancing at each of his friends.

“Obviously, Harry. We were sick of watching you both pining after each other, but never actually doing anything. Pansy came up with the idea of the no-touching-or-talking thing. You are always playing with Draco’s hair and hugging him and always talking with him, it seemed taking that away would be the best way for you to realise by yourself how much of a crush you have on him.”

The pair blushed, as their friends laughed around them. Harry buried his head into Draco’s shoulder. “Can you please tell everyone I am no longer talking to them? And that they are all big bullies,” Harry said, causing another round of laughter.

“You may call us bullies, but we are the ones who just ended your single life, Potter. However, as punishment for not going through with the dare, both of you are banished to Potter’s bedroom for an hour, where no one is allowed to disturb you,” Pansy announced, a conspiring glint in her eyes.

Harry glanced to Draco, his smirk mirrored on the blonde’s face, before grabbing his hand and pulling him up the stairs towards the dormitories, stopping to kiss him as they reached the corridor. 

Harry might not have been able to touch Draco for over ten hours, but as they tumbled into his bedroom, he promised himself that he would make up for all the lost time. And now seemed as good a time as ever. 

[bydesignmiral]

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While Far Cry’s emergent gameplay recipe remains addictive, there is a certain amount of sameness to it. It’s not The Witness, but these simple challenges allow for quiet moments of thought amidst all the chaos. The name of the quest is the clue, and after swimming to the other side of the lake you’ll find a sniper perch placed just right for peering through a back window in the shed at the lock which can be shot off, providing you access. On one of these sidequests, called Long Shot Lockpick, the goods are locked away in a shed high up on stilts overlooking a lake. To complement the combat, some light environmental puzzle solving is required to find lucrative treasure stashes. Hey, I tried.I like games with big possibility spaces. One of my funniest moments was when I rescued a woman being held hostage by the cult and, just as she was thanking me, a wolverine jumped on her face out of nowhere and mauled her to death. That’s not a complaint – I like games with big possibility spaces. That story takes place on an open-world map that, in true Ubisoft fashion, is packed with so much to find and so much happening at any given time it’s easy to get distracted from the mission at hand. Instead of leaning on stereotypes, the people you encounter are well-written, and most are charismatic and funny. Rural America isn’t being ridiculed or laughed at here.

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The vibe is more like an ‘80s action movie that happens to be set in a conservative state. But the story doesn’t seem to be making any grand statement about current events or political ideologies. There are a few things you can point to as commentary on rural America’s relationship with guns and the Second Amendment, and I’ve encountered one character who is a satire of a stereotypical Trump supporter (he has a mission called Make Hope Great Again). Now, is Far Cry 5 an especially political game? I don’t think so. There are also a few original gospel songs sung by the cult choir that are both catchy and creepy. While most of the original soundtrack is the pretty standard action movie stuff you might hear in an episode of 24, the menu music is a very pleasant bit of acoustic Americana that I would listen to even if I weren’t playing. unless you die a lot.The vibe is like an ‘80s action movie that happens to be set in a conservative state. But this being a first-person game, you won’t see much of yourself in the campaign anyway. The one exception is a Far Cry Primal-style caveman/woman outfit, which is fun – I wanted to see more of that. You unlock more as you progress, so it’s not as dire as it initially appears, but they are few and far between and rarely much more than a shirt or jeans.

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Alas, it’s merely a cosmetic decision, as either way your character will be mute (so there’s no custom voice acting) and most people will refer to you as “The Deputy.” And for a series as bonkers as Far Cry, the customization options here are a little conservative. I like that, for the first time in a Far Cry game, you can choose between a male or female protagonist and do some light customization. But the story ends up in an unforgettable place, making this an open-world adventure that is worth seeing through to completion. He doesn’t have any particularly memorable lines, and his motivation for wanting to end the world is murky. This dark corner of Montana is controlled by a man named Joseph Seed, a zealot leader who hasn’t left quite the same impression on me that Vaas or Pagan Min did in the previous two Far Cry games.

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Rounding out my technical complaints would be long load times – upwards of 60 seconds – on both PS4 and PS4 Pro, a couple glitched missions I had to restart, and the one time Far Cry 5 completely froze on me. You can also count the number of unique cultist goon faces on one hand, so expect to be shooting the same faces over and over.

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In fact, other than resolution on a 4K TV, there isn’t a stark difference between the PS4 and the Pro at all. Even on the PS4 Pro, it’s hard not to notice all the magically appearing trees as you stroll through the wilderness. It’s generally good enough, but I was sometimes distracted by the pop-in caused by the density of the landscape. Even comparing it to another recent open-world Ubisoft game, it’s not quite as attractive as Assassin’s Creed Origins. With all of that scenery and action, Far Cry 5 is a nice-looking game, but it isn’t on the same level as, say, Horizon: Zero Dawn. Being stranded and hunted by well-armed militia was a very cool moment.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #67

UPDATE 67: They Lose Anyways

Last time Grue notified Skitter there’d be a meeting between all the villainous factions in Brockton Bay, to discuss what to do about the Slaughterhouse Nine. Hookwolf is organizing this meeting. Let’s continue!

You know, now that I think about it, I wonder if Hookwolf will tell he was visited by the Slaughterhouse Nine. True, many already know that, and I’m sure many know who else has been visited except for, like, the person Coil has in that vault, but Hookwolf outright admitting it would be different, I think. Not sure if he would or not.

In her years of life, Skitter doesn’t remember ever riding a boat, and wonders if that’s sad. Not very sad, I think. I live in a city where there’s a major natural park nearby and I have never gone there. It’s simply something you haven’t done. And now she’s doing it! Having fun, too. It’s like riding Heckpuppy’s dogs, just that a boat won’t turn its head and bite your face off. Heh, guess she’s never had the experience of falling overboard, even if it’s just a motorboat. Those are no slouch when it’s about staying aboard, you have to be sitting down all the time.

Heckpuppy is here too, with her dogs and the wolf pup. She’s actually taking it around! Guess it’s going to be part of her animal crew from now on, even if it was a gift from the Siberian. That horrendous woman better not think that’s a sign Heckpuppy is going to join. Nobody seems to have noticed yet it’s a wolf, at least Skitter doesn’t notice. She thinks it’s just a puppy.

Our boats weren’t out on the ocean.  We traveled through the area downtown where Leviathan had collapsed a section of the city. It was now more or less an artificial lake.

Guess this big hole downtown’s going to turn into a permanent thing. True, getting rid of it would be rather difficult, but given this is a world where parahumans exist...well I thought they’d have managed to drain and fill that lake. Maybe it’s too tall of an order for the current parahuman population of Brockton Bay.

Since it’ll be a while before the boat reached the destination, Skitter has time to reflect and notice for quite some time she had been in an almost constant state of anxiety, for a variety of reasons that weren’t related to being a superhero or a supervillain. Sounds like the common teenage experience! I was lucky not to have too rough of a time, but this sounds a lot like complaints and tales people I know have told me about their high school times. Turning into a villain didn’t exactly make her life calmer.

So why could I feel calm now?

I think it was that realization that there were moments where I was helpless to act, oddly enough.  This boat? Speeding across the Endbringer-made lake?  I had to be here.  There was no other option, really.  As I clutched the metal rim of the boat with one hand while we soared forward, the wind in my hair, I could accept the fact that I couldn’t do anything in this time and place to get Dinah out of captivity sooner.

With that in mind, I surrendered myself of that responsibility for the present.  Much in that same way, I cast off all the other worries, great and small.

Different people, different mindsets, I know, but I find it interesting someone can feel like this in such situation. Personally I’d be feeling more anxious in those times where I don’t have the luxury of making choices or being in control of my situation. There’s something about having one narrow path in front of me and nothing else, it makes me nervous. Skitter here is different, though, that same narrow path is a source of reprieve because she can just follow along and not worry about anything else – because there’s no time to worry about anything else! It’s liberating in some odd way, I suppose.

Besides, the calmer she is, the better. She’ll have a clearer mind to think and plan ahead. This meeting is bound to be very important, in many ways. If she can focus on it, then she’ll take the information and use it more efficiently.

I had forgotten this meeting was in the middle of the night. There’s something about going on a boat in middle of a ruinous artificial lake that’s a bit unnerving, like I fear in one moment or another the characters will crash against some rubble. Doesn’t happen, they arrive to the spot. It’s a building that isn’t completely submerged, part of the top is still dry and standing, if tilted. Not the most comfortable spot, but at least it’ll lessen the odds they’re interrupted. Then again, if they’re attacked, it’ll be harder to get away. Nothing is 100% safe when parahumans and the such are involved, I’d say.

Hookwolf’s group, being the ones who organized this meeting, are already here. There’s Hookwolf, almost fully covered in metal and hooks in what I’m sure is mostly for intimidation purposes, Stormtiger, floating in the air alongside the rubble Rune’s making float, and Cricket, who’s currently bleeding out in a corner of the roof. Okay, she isn’t. She’s sitting on the edge with Victor and Othala. I don’t remember who are those last two, but that’s not really important.

Faultline’s crew is here right now too, and with their armor and clothing covering more of their bodies than usual. Worth noting that everyone is covered in cuts and injuries, some of them hiding them better than others. The Slaughterhouse Nine’s shenanigans won’t be hidden, no matter how hard anyone tries to, I’d say.

Purity is doing her part as a living beacon, flashing and using codes to know who is approaching. Every group who mentioned they might attend were given a different code, that way the odds of someone...inconvenient...coming to join them are significantly lessened. Not perfect, but it’s a good security measure.

All at once, an incoming boat made its presence known.  As though a switch was flipped, there was the sound of something that sounded like the combined noise of radio static coming from a bank of speakers, an eighteen wheeler with the muffler off and an onrushing train.  It wasn’t just noise – the vehicle flickered with flashes of electricity and lights that people could probably see from anywhere downtown.

Seeing it approach, I had no doubt it was a tinker contraption.  It was the size of a small yacht, but it looked outfitted for war, with what looked like tesla coils crossed with old school tv antennae fueling its forward momentum and sending arcs of electricity dancing over the waves in its wake, as though it was riding on a current of lightning.  Various guns had been placed haphazardly around the upper deck, each manned by a Merchant.  Skidmark stood at the highest deck with Squealer, the driver.

...wow. Simply...wow. Okay, they’re still around and with enough standing to not be shunned by everyone else in the villain circuit in Brockton Bay. I’m both surprised and disappointed. And, of course, subtlety and stealth isn’t the Merchants’ game. If there was any intention to keep this meeting hidden from the public and anyone else who shouldn’t know about it, well, they may as well start distributing pamphlets  to pedestrians and use megaphones to talk, because no way someone didn’t notice the moving spotlight currently crossing the lake.

As expected, Hookwolf isn’t pleased to see the Merchants didn’t take seriously his instructions to keep a low profile, and although it isn’t mentioned in the narration, I bet he regrets inviting them.

Skidmark smirked, raising his chin to give it an arrogant tilt, “We did.  My Squealer built a box that cancels out light and noise at a certain distance.  Nice and in your face up close, almost invisible and silent when far away. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Honestly, I’m surprised they bothered to do that. Maybe they did grasp how bad the situation is, but still, they definitely did this to be a nuisance to everyone else. Cocky jackasses. As if driving the equivalent of a freight train to a secret meeting wasn’t enough, they also start confronting the people they have a bone to pick with. For example, Faultline. Skidmark isn’t happy to see the guys who crashed their party.

He even demands to know who hired her. Leaving aside the demand for oral sex he managed to get in here, that’s not a bad question! Personally I’d love to know. There’s a possibility Faultline’s crew did this for their own reasons, what with a few of them being Case 53s, but since they’re mercenaries, it’s also possible they recovered those documents for someone. I can’t imagine who. Maybe it’s even someone who hasn’t appeared yet in the story. Or for Cauldron, if by some twist it turns out the Case 53s still have a certain measure of loyalty towards them, but I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.

Fautline didn’t answer him.  Instead she looked at Hookwolf and asked him, “Did we really need to invite him?  Does he contribute anything to this discussion?”

“He has nine powers on his team,” Hookwolf responded.  “Ideology isn’t important.”

...hate to admit it, but Hookwolf is right. The Merchants do have a number of parahumans that isn’t to be taken lightly, and since the Slaughterhouse Nine are the common foe here, they may not have the luxury of turning away people who can help fight back. True, not everyone in that team’s going to be useful in terms of horsepower, buuuuuuuut a clever strategist can do something with them. No guarantee the Merchants will agree, although they just showed enough will to follow instructions by not attracting heaps of attention to them, but no harm in trying to get them to help as long as they’re not the cornerstone of anything.

Hookwolf intervenes before they start ripping each other’s head off, telling them to cut it out and stop harassing each other. The Travelers appear not long after that. Hello, Trickster, Sundancer, Ballistic! And Genesis too, I suppose Genesis is responsible for the creature they all came riding on. Now this is what I like, it’s a flashy and interesting way to arrive, and doesn’t involve making lots of noise or blind people with light. Neat!

Coil was the last one to arrive. Here I had thought he wouldn’t come, that he would leave this to the groups under his command and get the information from them while he dealt with who knows what plans, but he’s here. Although...it’s a bit of a stretch, but if he hadn’t come, someone could have suspected there were informants. A stretch, but he would want to avoid it no matter what.

Now that Coil is here, that means everyone is here, right? Hookwolf says they aren’t, that there’s someone else still to be here, and Victor makes a fireball to signal someone else far away from the shore.

Othala touched Victor, and Victor raised one hand.  A fireball appeared in it, then disappeared as he clenched his hand.  He repeated the process two more times.

“Who are you signalling?” Purity’s asked.  Her hand flared with light, ready to fire.

Goooood question. Let’s see...I think all the major groups are here already. Those villainous parahumans who aren’t here are those who work by themselves – rogues. The only one I can think is that Circus person...and I’m not even sure if Circus is a rogue. The only other people I can think are the Protectorate, which is unlikely. I can’t fathom Hookwolf would try to contact them, and I doubt the Protectorate wouldn’t try to have a representative in this meeting, something that wouldn’t fly well with every other villain here.

All in all, I’m unsure who Hookwolf is signaling. No idea.

It wasn’t the Nine.  It was the good guys.

Ah. He did contact the Protectorate, and they didn’t send just one representative. There’s a whole lot of them. Miss Militia, Battery, Clockblocker, Weld and Triumph. That’s the Protectorate and the Wards. I doubt Hookwolf informed anyone about this, but it’s not like anyone can storm out right now. Everyone will have to grit their teeth and accept it.

Miss Militia comes with bad news, apparently, since she arrives and says there’s a problem, Hookwolf says there are two.

Hookwolf pointed at the Travelers, then pointed at Grue and the rest of our group. “They’re being cocky, think they’re being clever.  Figure we should get all this out in the open, at least so you’re aware.  You too, Coil, Miss Militia.”

Interesting he addresses Coil on the same level than Miss Militia, as if he knows Coil has as much control over the city’s situation as the heroes. Maybe Coil’s mastermind-y tactics aren’t as subtle as he’d like them to be.

Hookwolf pointed at each of us in turn, “Grue has been making attacks against my people in the upper downtown area.  Howling has been heard in the Trainyard.  Bitch. Regent was sighted in the college neighborhoods.  Skitter made a move to take over the Boardwalk and claim it for herself. Tattletale is either abstaining, or more likely, putting herself in the middle of the Docks and keeping her head down.”

Stop tattling on the other villains, Hookwolf, that’s unsportsmanlike. This is stuff I’m sure the Protectorate and the Wards already know, anyway. Battery over there saw Skitter take over the Boardwalk area, that guarantees the heroes know. To the Protectorate Hookwolf may be making himself look like somebody who can’t deal with trouble by himself. I mean, the Slaughterhouse Nine are one thing and it’s understandable he’d seek the Protectorate’s help – global threat – and the Undersiders are much less dangerous and much less important in the big picture, despite their meteoric ascent in relevance in Brockton Bay. Deal with the small potatoes by yourself, Hookwolf!

Hookwolf’s tattling is coming useful for us readers, since he finally says something I personally wasn’t aware of, but should have guessed.

“Downtown we’ve got Ballistic attacking my people in the upper downtown neighborhoods, north of this lake here.  Sundancer was spotted in the shopping district, Genesis at the downtown coast, near the south ferry station. Trickster has been driving looters out of the heart of downtown, the towers.  You seeing the pattern?  All of them alone.  Most of them making moves to take a piece of the city for themselves.”

Of course Coil was making the other group in his payroll help take over the city. I think I didn’t guess because they had appeared at Coil’s headquarters all this time, like they have been staying there instead of at their headquarters in each area. I mean, what with the one locked in the vault...would they want to be so far away from her? That’s what I had thought, I think...

At least this should keep the heat away from Coil! Hookwolf is warning him too about their activities, he may think the Undersiders and the Travelers are working together instead of with Coil! The two less known groups in Brockton Bay collaborating to take over the city! I almost wish it was true, instead of them working for Coil, because that sounds like it would have been an interesting plotline! Not that working for Coil so Skitter has the chance to free Dinah is a plotline I don’t like, of course.

The Protectorate pretty much say this doesn’t matter – global threat in the city, gotta have priorities!—and that his information has been duly noted, and all Grue and Trickster say is that they had started to do all this before the Slaughterhouse Nine came to town. So yeah, now I see, Hookwolf may have been trying to make the Protectorate deal with this by arguing the Undersiders and the Travelers were taking advantage of this particular crisis to take over the city. That’d certainly break the unspoken rules there are in times like these! Different than what Armsmaster did, but the spirit of such actions would be the same if they were true. Good thing Battery witnessed Skitter’s actions, back then before the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived, or else Hookwolf’s insidious actions would have more weight!

What was Hookwolf’s game?  Had he brought everyone here under a different pretext so he could ambush us on this front?

Nah, more like he decided to kill two birds with one stone. 

After Miss Militia again says that isn’t any of her concern and that they need to focus on the Slaughterhouse Nine problem. Doesn’t make anyone else who heard this forget it, though. Purity and the Merchants, who each have their reasons to be upset someone may be taking over the city, are giving them the stinkeye. Guess Hookwolf may have gotten what he wanted, people will start trying to counter this situation once the more urgent problem is dealt with.

Hookwolf said, “Then agree to a truce.  So long as the Nine are here, you’re hands off your territories, no fighting, no business. We can arrange something, maybe you all stay at a nice hotel on the Protectorate’s tab until this is dealt with. That’ll mean we can all focus on the real threat.”

Stay in a hotel until the Nine were dead, arrested or driven out of town.  He couldn’t seriously expect us to do that.

That would make them all lose face! I can only imagine how disappointed and baffled the people in Skitter’s territory would be if she had to leave and go rest at a hotel. What’d Charlotte and Sierra say? Good thing it’s unlikely the Protectorate would agree to such thing, especially if they’re the ones who have to pay.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Coil answered, after a moment’s consideration.

Thank you, Coil! This is good, since he’s the one in charge, he’ll be able to arrange stuff for everyone to continue their conquest operations intact. One step ahead of Hookwolf!

“I’m inclined to agree,” Coil answered, after a moment’s consideration.  “Perhaps now is an opportune time to share this information: I have sources that inform me that should Jack Slash survive his visit to Brockton Bay, it bodes ill for everyone.”

“That’s vague,” Faultline spoke.

“I’ll be more specific.  Should Jack Slash not die before he leaves Brockton Bay, it is very likely the world will end in a matter of years,” Coil spoke.

And just like that, the Slaughterhouse Nine are much more important than the Undersiders or the Tricksters in everyone’s minds – or at least that’d be the case if they believed Coil’s statement. Must admit, even if you know Coil is not the kind to be joking around, you’d take this with a grain of salt. Could be a clever subterfuge. Nobody’s going to take it at face value.

Miss Militia reveals Coil had contacted them to say that, which should give some validity to the claim, but not that much. What she wants to know is what the source is. No way he’s going to mention Dinah, the whole thing with the bank robbery was precisely to keep hidden Dinah’s kidnapping. The heroes may suspect Coil has her, if they have a reason to think he was involved in that kidnapping, but they don’t know for sure he does, I bet.

“More information?  Yes.  I have sought further details and pieced together a general picture of things.  Jack Slash is the catalyst for this event, not the cause.  At some point in the coming years, Jack Slash kills, talks to, meets or influences someone.  This causes a chain of events to occur, leading to the deaths of anywhere from thirty-three to ninety-six percent of the world’s population.”

Aha, right. I wonder...was it confirmed Jack Slash will lead to the end of the world after he leaves Brockton Bay? Maybe something happens in Brockton Bay, instead of after he leaves, in which case it’d be much more urgent to get rid of him. Just in the little time those nine/eight have been in the city that man has already influenced and talked to many people. It’s not impossible Purity, or Theo or Bonesaw could be the cause of the end of the world, in some roundabout way. For example, Bonesaw is dancing on the palm of Jack’s hand, so to say. She’s trying to do what he told her to do, and she has skills that could easily lead to the end of the world. If...If Bonesaw convinces/forces Panacea to work with her and they create a horrible pathogen or something, does that count as Jack being the catalyst, since he encouraged Bonesaw to mess with Panacea’s mind? Guess he being the catalyst is kind of a vague thing. Heck, for all I know the reason the world ends is because it’s overrun by seventy million copies of Hack Job, and he’s the catalyst because he brought Oni Lee to Bonesaw.

At least it’s certain that killing him will delay the end of the world.

“Dinah Alcott,” Weld spoke.  All eyes turned to the metal-skinned boy.

While Coil explained that stuff, Weld investigated and found information about Dinah. The cat is out of the bag! She had told some people she can see the future and that it hurts her when she does, so now Weld makes the association and deduces Coil has Dinah somewhere. Clever boy! This should give more validity to the warning, too. Predictably, Miss Militia is not happy Coil may have Dinah in his clutches.

“I did not kidnap her.  I offered Dinah training and relief from the drawbacks of her abilities on the contingency that she immediately cut off all contact with her family and friends and provide me a year of service.”

Hahaha, okay, I snorted noisily when I read the ‘I did not kidnap her’ part. Someone with less restraint than me would have shouted ‘bullshit!’. The rest doesn’t sound completely outlandish, I guess, but there’s no way anyone will believe she’s with him because she wants to. Him refusing to let them contact Dinah won’t help make it more believable. Suddenly everything seems more difficult for Coil, doesn’t it?

Now everyone knows ‘Coil has a precog’, so now what? He does point out he wouldn’t have revealed this very vital tidbit if he wasn’t certain Jack Slash had to be dealt with. Hookwolf pounces on that chance to press on the demand the Undersiders and the Traveler stop taking over the city, and Coil agrees.

Coil’s response caught me off guard.  He was throwing us to the wolves to maintain his anonymity in things.  I felt my heart sink.

He’s not going to stop, Skitter, that I’m sure about. He’s just going to change strategies and make you and the rest keep holding those territories, in a stealthier manner.

Coil was apparently willing to delay his plans, or pretend to delay his plans while he carried them out in secret.  But I would be giving up my territory, condemning Dinah to more days, more weeks of captivity.

...okay, the more she says it the more I wonder if maybe she’s right. I just said I’m sure he won’t stop, and now I’m starting to have doubts. What’s up with this wishy-washy opinion I have, geez. I for one hope Skitter’s fears are unfounded.

Thankfully, Trickster points out that they have everything to lose and nothing to win, while everyone else who isn’t the Travelers or the Undersiders will have time and resources to prey on said territories and do whatever they want. He’s right, everybody totally would! Hookwolf brought this up precisely because he was being inconvenienced, if the problem goes away, then he can continue his plans. Simple as that! And everyone else will do the same.

“No,” I murmured, barely audible to myself.  I could see some of the other Undersiders -Grue, Tattletale and Bitch- turn their heads a fraction in my direction.

“No,” Grue echoed me, his voice carrying across the rooftop.

Skitter says no because her desire to free Dinah would have serious setbacks if she agreed, Grue says no for completely different reasons, his are because they’d be putting themselves in an ugly situation. Nobody wants to lose the progress they had so far.

“No?” Coil asked, his voice sharp with surprise.  Was there condemnation in there?  It was  very possible we weren’t going the route he wanted.

Guess he didn’t see this coming! And he’s letting himself show surprise! Truly a twist in his carefully constructed plans. He’s not going to be pleased with the Undersiders.

Nobody’s happy with the Undersiders and the Travelers keeping an advantageous position, and berate them for placing money, power and/or control at a higher priority than the entire world. They do remark they’re willing to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine; all they want is to keep their territories, the problem is that everyone’s starting to think they’ll take that chance to expand their territories – which...they would, yeah. They’re not wrong about that. Gotta secure them territories.

They don’t believe they won’t betray a truce. Eh...you know what, agreeing to a truce would be bad, anyway. I bet Hookwolf would take anything he could use as a sign they’re breaking the truce, and tell everybody about it.

Hookwolf was manipulating this.  He wasn’t as subtle about it as Kaiser had been, it was even transparent, what he was doing.  Dead obvious. At the same time, the scenario he was suggesting was just dangerous and believable enough to the Merchants, to his Chosen, and to the Pure that they couldn’t afford to ignore it.  Coil couldn’t talk sense into them without potentially revealing his role as our backer.  Even the heroes couldn’t counter his argument, because there was that dim possibility that he was right, that they would lose control of the city to villains if we continued to grab power.

Pretty obvious I didn’t give enough credit to Hookwolf’s machinations, precisely because of how transparent they are – leaving aside that I had misinterpreted them at first, let’s not talk about that. Still, he’s getting what he wants, so what does it matter it’s transparent and that everyone surely knows they’re doing what he wants? It’s working and that’s dangerous enough.

We were fighting for Coil’s plan and Coil wasn’t helping.  He remained silent, inscrutable, sticking to the situation that worked best for him and him alone.  Damn him.

Absolutely unsurprising.

The argument loops into circles. Accept the deal! No! You really should! We won’t! Skitter tries to appeal to Miss Militia to intervene, arguing they can’t let innocent civilians be preyed by Hookwolf and others. That seems to work.

She turned away from me and called out, “I would suggest a compromise.”

The arguing stopped, and all eyes turned to her.

“The Undersiders and Travelers would move into neutral territory until the Nine were dealt with.  But so would the powered individuals of the Merchants, the Chosen, the Pure, Coil and Faultine’s Crew.”

...hm. You know, that’s not a bad compromise. Honestly I’d support that – because there’s no better option to keep the people safe. If you take away the protection, you also have to take away the danger, and that’s what’d happen. The Protectorate would even take care of all the costs! Come on, everyone, it’ll be like a sleepover! The Big Villain Sleepover, lasting a few months and what not. If only these people could be trusted not to bite each other’s head off if kept in the same area.

She also tells Armsmaster was targeted. May have been a mistake when it’s about trying to get to a compromise.

“What you suggest is too dangerous,” Faultline said.  “We’d all be gathered in one or two locations for them to attack, and if Armsmaster was attacked, we could be too.”

She’s got a point there, and like three fourths of the people here lived know it very well. I suppose that shoots down the compromise idea. If only it had worked...

Coil also helps bury the idea by saying someone who’s considering joining them could consider getting rid of everyone else to prove their worth. Would be possible, yeah. Grue points out they’d be vulnerable, if they’re singled out, and Coil saddles that particular responsibility on the Protectorate. Hah! Smooth, Coil.

“No.  I’m afraid that compromise won’t work,” Hookwolf said, squaring his shoulders.

Miss Militia glanced my way.  She didn’t say or do anything, but I could almost read her mind: I tried.

To drive the final nail in the Undersiders and Travelers’ collective coffins, Hookwolf makes everyone say they’re banding together against the common threat, implicitly making clear to everybody the Undersiders and Travelers are outcasts. Miss Militia also agrees to a truce as long as no civilians are attacked. Thank goodness this was stated.

There’s nothing else to be discussed. No matter what they say, they lost, and nobody will listen to them. I must say, this went the opposite of what I expected: I thought Coil wouldn’t be in the meeting, and that the Undersiders would inform him of everything, but looks like it’ll be backwards, I think, just that Coil’s information will be peppered with a nagging for them inconveniencing him here. Oh well! And so the Undersiders leave. What a disastrous evening for them.

This was kind of an exciting chapter, it went places I hadn’t expected, which is always nice. I’ll stop for now!

Next time: in two updates

[pcurrytravels]

Las Vegas: A Love/Hate Thang (Chapter IV - A Question of Love, Pride & Knowledge) (Part II)

Hello once again. So in Part I of this chapter I started off talking about having Love, Pride AND Knowledge in/of Las Vegas, but I had so many things to say about the love and pride parts that the post grew way too long for me to talk about the knowledge part. Here, I will be talking more about that part, let us begin:

As I’ve already stated a few times, there’s a number of things I tend to envy about other cities both within and outside of the U.S. Like how just about every other major city in the world has some sort of rail system and we don’t (that stupid monorail doesn’t count). Or how everyone else seems to appreciate variance in their architecture while we use the same set of five bland and generic blueprints for any structure that isn’t a casino here. Or how history and culture can almost literally be felt in the air in most places versus here where all that can be felt is corporate, commercial and trendy modernity. Or how most other cities like to identify their neighborhoods and we don’t.

Yeah, more about that last one: Now, I understand that Las Vegas isn’t really a big city and that it’s also relatively new. Then again, a metropolitan area of two-million people (and still rapidly growing) is pretty far from what I’d call a small town (even if the rule of six degrees of separation is very much in effect mode here *groans*). Also most other cities in the Southwest and West Coast aren’t all that much older than we are. Matter of fact, this place was officially settled in 1905, i.e. 113 years ago, so it’s not like we haven’t had time to naturally develop, define and identify districts and neighborhoods like other places do. So really, what’s the excuse? 

Oh wait scratch that, our city is divided up into distinctive neighborhoods: There’s DTLV, which further consists of East Fremont, 18b Arts District, The Naked City, John S. Park and Huntridge. The Eastside can be divided up into the University District, Cambridge, Paradise Palms, Francisco Park, Sunrise and so on. The Westside has Charleston Heights, Rancho-Oakey/Medical District, The Old or “Historic” Westside, Berkeley Square and The Lakes. We also now have a Chinatown (which is more of a Pan-Asian district really) in addition to slowly emerging East African, Central American, Caribbean Latino, South Asian and Pacific Islander enclaves. Ask the average Las Vegan about all of this however? Chances are they’d probably have no idea what you’re talking about.

So, how would the average Las Vegan describe this city, you ask? Simple: The Strip, Downtown, Summerlin, Henderson, Westside, Eastside, Northtown, Southwest, Northwest/Centennial and that’s it. Occasionally, some will refer to Spring Valley, Green Valley and Aliante, but even those are slowly becoming obscure. Spring Valley has more or less been (ignorantly and lazily) divided into three: the older, more working-class portion that’s east of Rainbow is considered Westside, the newer, more affluent portion that’s west of Rainbow has been merged with Summerlin, and anything south of Trop on either side is part of the Southwest. Green Valley and Henderson are more or less considered one and the same these days (they aren’t). As for Aliante, given its location and, ahem, demographics if you will, many will insist to you it’s just an extension of Northtown (the classism and closet racism runs thick in these parts). 

As a writer and general “web-worm” if you will, with all of the extensive research I’ve done on various topics, one thing I’ve come to realize is how much everything “reflects” so to speak. Language? Culture? Fashion? Politics? Societal Roles? Music? etc.... All of these things and more influence and are because of each other more or less. 

You may be asking what I’m getting at here, yes? Well, I’ve already indirectly alluded as to how the identity and culture of my city has been buried beneath a shallow, vapid and artificial shell in the previous posts of this series, which is where we come to a theory: The reason why so many of these neighborhoods aren’t regularly referred to/identified, let alone even known, whether due to being forgotten over time, laziness or the long-standing, stubborn insistence on sloppily dividing this entire city into five or six primary quadrants, is because acknowledging these areas would show that something actually happened organically and naturally in Las Vegas, thereby betraying the “fantasy” of being a place where everything was made/built overnight. 

The honest truth of the matter is, artificiality is HIGHLY valued here. The majority of our populace just simply doesn’t place value on anything that wasn’t created with the “build it and they will come” philosophy in mind. I mean, the High Roller is widely regarded as an icon of our city and it hasn’t even been around for five years for goodness sake. You see, unlike just about everywhere else in the world where people actively give things meaning on a daily basis, here, we have to literally be told how to feel about them. (Hate to sound petty, as I am a legit fan, but I honestly wonder if the Golden Knights would have even been as successful as they have if it weren’t for them being explicitly marketed as hometown heroes by local media long before they even hit the ice, just saying) Otherwise, we either don’t know or don’t care. This right here is what we have to blame for the messy situation in regards to neighborhood identification, and by extension, why so many locals don’t even know their own city. 

Even I will admit to you there’s many things about my city I simply don’t know. Granted, I don’t have much of a social life beyond my day job and the internet so that could be a big part of why I’m out of the loop in certain areas, but still. Example: A few months ago, I remember talking with a former coworker who happened to be of Indonesian descent. She gushed to me about the large Indonesian community in town and all the cultural offerings and I was just sitting there like......where? 

Given a number of circumstances, so to speak, Las Vegas’s population is skyrocketing with no end in sight. The thing I fear most is, aside from increased rent (the valley only has so many housing options), lack of housing stock (the valley only has so much room for expansion) and how much harder it’s gonna be to find a job (the valley never had that many great jobs to begin with), is our city’s identity getting buried even further. If the trends I’ve observed throughout my life are anything to go by, 90% of people relocate here because of one sole arbitrary reason (be it cheap housing, The Strip or The Raiders) and that’s it. 90% of pre-existing locals (well, prior to Oct. 1, 2017 and the Golden Knights anyway) simply don’t know or care about their city. For this city to be growing at the rate it is, this is a deadly combo yo. Things are changing once again in Vegas, but I’m not sure if I can really say they’re good or bad this time. 

A pro to all of the people moving in is more diversity and culture. That being said however, would it really be our own? Although people from literally all over the world have moved here over the years, the vast majority of transplants, past and present, have been from California, and it doesn’t look like that’s gonna stop anytime soon. I mean, when it’s $500k or more to buy and/or $2000 a month to rent rundown houses, condos and apartments in the GHETTO, I certainly don’t blame them one bit for fleeing to a town where one can easily find a fairly new home in the nicer parts for $200k. The issue lies in the fact that as time goes on, Vegas becomes less like Vegas and more like a miniature L.A. This is going to sound VERY provincial and xenophobic of me, but frankly, I’m tired of Californians making this place a carbon-copy of California. I’d prefer to take the 4-hour bus ride/road trip and/or 1-hour plane ride so I could have the real thing, thanks. 

Okay, I got a bit off track there, lol, but anyways, given that it appears Vegas Natives are going to remain a minority in their own city, it will most likely be outsiders who will identify and define things for both the foreseeable, and unforeseeable future. Ironically enough, I honestly don’t think I have a right to feel very upset about it when so many of my fellow natives and locals have simply allowed this to happen thanks to their apathy and lack of knowledge in regards to their own city. In countless other places, such circumstances would cause quite the uproar, but here, it’s whatever. So all I can do is shrug and keep it moving at this point. 

After all, it appears I really have no choice but to simply accept this paradox. Our culture is one very much based on trends and the material. Our local identity is one of people and things that all come from somewhere else. Our image is one of fantasy and imagination. As one person, I just don’t have much control over it. Over the next ten years, Vegas is going to be more different than ever. Maybe the next generations of new arrivals and natives will be the ones to finally ground things in place. Maybe the Golden Knights and the Raiders will assist in strengthening the local community. I don’t know. All I can really do is hope. Otherwise (note that I’m cringing as I’m writing this), I’m just going to have to learn that it is what it is. Until next time. 

[outdoorlearning-blog1]

The Wiper Fly Fishing Experience

Wiper, the mixture striped bass/white bass, is increasing a great deal of fame in fishing hovers across Colorado and encompassing regions that have wiper fisheries. The best fervor is most likely found among the generally little hover of fly fishers who seek after them. When you discover these fish, tricking them with a fly isn't troublesome. The amazing battle that involves is something that will nearly make you wonder for what reason you'd fish for whatever else.

Presently, wiper are genuinely strange fish and volumes have not been composed regarding the matter of fishing for them. Similarly as with a fishing article, writers offer data dependent on their experiences, welcoming a variety of other strategies, bits of knowledge, and conclusions. It appears everybody I converse with about wiper have their own contemplations that have been detailed not by magazine articles and fishing appears, yet from their very own missions. This article is not much. I have placed in numerous hours behind the reel looking for these steamrollers, and coming up next is an accumulation of my experiences.

Finding the fish:

The most significant thing in a fishing is finding the fish. In case you're fishing trout in a waterway you search for pockets and runs of the correct profundity, size, and water speed. At the point when smallmouth fishing in a lake, you search for certain structure and profundity relying upon the season, or you study with your hardware. Whatever the situation, on the off chance that you discover the spots where the living is simple and the nourishment in abundance, you will discover enormous fish.

It is regularly expected wiper travel continually and arbitrarily around the lake in schools at commonly high speeds taking out whatever nourishment they go over. My contemplations are this is halfway right. I have seen their tutoring attitude and their speed of movement. One minute they will bust close to the surface 50 yards toward the east, and the following you will see them blazing underneath your pontoon and onto the west. Be that as it may, I don't think it is totally arbitrary. Those baffled by this idea, keep it together. This may not be a simple fish to find, yet I don't believe it's a poop shot.

Each fish has some degree of vitality preservation composed into their DNA. In the event that they didn't, they would deplete themselves swimming about openly throughout the day. Consider trout in a waterway - the greatest fish will take the best spots where ebb and flow is slight yet conveys a lot of oxygen and nourishment so they can continue becoming huge and fat.

Wiper are the same. They have spots and examples on each waterway that give what they need - nourishment. With minimal current to talk about when all is said in done, scrounge is the key. They are less similar to bass that they need spread and structure to snare fish. They are progressively compelling tutoring and adopting a group based strategy to taking care of. The best case of this is the point at which they corral baitfish to the surface, narrows, or other kind of trap so they can play out their mark "busting" feast.

Introducing Flies to Wiper:

Introducing to wipers with a fly isn't advanced science. Consider the fly and arrangement you use to be an instrument. At the point when you are fishing to wiper in the upper water section, present your fly there. When fishing to wiper down profound, present there.

The sort of fly pole you use is dictated by what you're tossing. You will frequently need to cast far, so I'd suggest not going lighter than a 6wt bar. In case you're discovering wiper identifying with the surface you will need to toss poppers or high-riding streamers, therefore a 6wt is satisfactory with gliding or short sink-tip lines. In the event that you need to angle a couple of feet down, tossing a 150-grain RIO 24-foot sink tip is the ticket, and again a quick 6wt pole ought to work. At the point when you have to get further, say 5-10 feet down, tossing a 200 or 250-grain RIO sink tip would work and you will need to utilize a 7wt or 8wt pole basically to have the option to deal with the weight of these lines. Go to a 300-500 grain line to get further, moving up to a bar between a 8 and 10 load to convey the heap. With a very much made pole with some spine, you ought to have the option to play even the biggest wipers accessible in the state.

Having a fly pole with a solid spine is basic for handling the greatest wipers Colorado brings to the table.

The primary factor with what tippet to utilize is quality. I am not a firm adherent to pioneer timidity when fishing streamers to stillwater fish. For whatever length of time that you're not utilizing phone link and you're not fishing very moderate, I don't figure wipers will be deflected by your tippet. I will regularly utilize 15-20 pound fluorocarbon tippet which for me has not severed on a strike yet. The most noticeably terrible error you can make is to go excessively light and sever on a fish. I'll utilize a few feet of 40-pound mono circled to two or three feet of 20-pound mono circled to the fluorocarbon tippet. So commonly my whole head isn't significantly more than 6 feet in length. Anyway when I fish on or approach the surface, I will go longer.

The Fight:

The wiper battle is the thing that you wanted. These fish take a fly in what was depicted by Dennis McKinney's DOW Open air's Diary article "Wiper Watch" as a U-turn style, which I totally concur with. The underlying take is a hard pound, as though they hit it going 30 MPH the other way. Setting the snare ought not be an issue as they will in general snare themselves.

[la-appel-du-vide]

02•19•20 - QUEENSTOWN

This morning was a crazy one. We woke up later than planned, and by the time we left for the airport, we were supposed to already be there. And THEN the TRAFFIC. We hit rush hour completely, and were in a line of cars five miles long. Insta-stressed. We waited, and waited, and waited, and we were convinced we’d miss the flight. We moved 10 feet in 20 minutes. There was an empty lane to the left of us, that said “Transit Lane – T3 from 6:30 AM-10:00 AM” and we weren’t sure what it meant, but we decided to risk it and assume it was a carpool lane, so we took it. We FLEW past all of the traffic, and were on the freeway in a matter of minutes. Cut our drive time to the airport down from 32 minutes to like 14. Come to find out later, that was definitely against the law. T3 means you have to have at least 3 people in your car to use that lane. Oops. It was an honest, risky, mistake. But it was honestly the only thing that saved us making that flight.

We didn’t even have time to refuel our rental car, so we had to drop it off knowing we’d have to pay a bunch extra for gas as a result. But it was either that, or miss the flight. You do what you gotta do! Turns out, this whole car rental has been a nightmare. A couple days later, we were charged $667 for this dumb car. We tried to ask the Budget office in Queenstown what had gone wrong, as we were quoted somewhere around $450, and realized we had ZERO paperwork from Budget Auckland to prove there was even a contract. They didn’t offer us paperwork, they didn’t email us paperwork…. So frustrating. And they spent almost an hour looking for the rental in their system before they eventually found it. What a waste of time and money. We are going to try and dispute the insane charges, but we’re doubtful it will get better. UGH. PSA – Rent your cars super far in advance, from refutable companies, and GET ALL THE PAPERWORK. TAKE LICENSE PLATE PHOTOS. SO. DONE.

Flying into Queenstown – it looked absolutely beautiful!! So green, so many mountains, shining lakes… little did I know that this would become my favorite city of the entire trip. We landed and picked up our final rental car, and walked out into the fresh Queenstown air. As happy as I was to be there, my stomach was also a bit in knots, because this was BUNGY DAY. I’d been denial about bungy jumping the entire trip, and kept pushing the thought of it into the back of my mind during this day as well.

We weren’t able to check into our Airbnb early, or even drop off our stuff, so we just had to take it with us downtown. We parked and started walking through the cute streets, looking for a place to have lunch. It reminded me so much of Park City, but bigger, and with a gorgeous body of water (not sure if it’s a lake or the ocean or what, but regardless…. Stunning). We had some churros, and ate lunch at one of the 200 restaurant options in the area. And then… it was go time.

So here’s the thing – I also thought I would never bungy jump hahaha. But when you’re in New Zealand, home of the original commercial bungy jump, and home of bungy jumping in general, you just have to do it. We drove 20 minutes up to the Kawarau Bridge, where commercial bungy jumping was started on the bridge after it was closed to traffic. It was the perfect day to do it – I SUPPOSE – because the sun was shining, the water below was the most beautiful of blue, and there were large crowds watching and cheering everybody on.

It’s not that I’m afraid of heights, they’re really fine by me, but more the concept of going head-first that had me hesitant to do it. So I took it in steps. Booked the jump a few months back, but hey! That doesn’t mean I have to go through with it. Drove to the bridge, but hey again! Still don’t have to do it! Got checked it – but could still back out. Got the equipment on – doesn’t mean I have to jump! You get the point. I was in denial up until the point I flung myself from the platform. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We got there about an hour early, and since they’re so busy, we just had to wait it out. We sat out on the viewing deck, watching people jump one after another. Ironically, watching them jump made me less nervous. It looked fun – once you get yourself off the platform! The best part was watching the old people do it! I knew that if they could be that brave – so could I hahaha. The record age is 91!! Wow.

When we checked in, they had to check our weight so many times – which is comforting to know that they want to be certain they have everything right to keep you safe. I wanted to go first, so that I’d have Beach with me up at the top for encouragement. I was way more nervous than she was. The problem was, they ended up splitting us up at the top anyway into two separate lines, so I couldn’t even talk to her if I wanted to! Rude. (; Another problem, I had to tuck my shirt into my bra so that I didn’t flash everyone while I was falling haha. Not exactly the look I was going for, but better than the alternative (;

When it was my turn, they had me sit down so they could wrap the towels and harness around my ankles. It was tight, and I was freaking out, but trying to stay calm. The guy in front of me was absolutely freaking out, but they were able to talk him through it and get him to jump. They said he was the 113th jumper that day, making me the 115th, and that no one had had any problems, and we would be just fine. That’s also comforting. He also told me only about 1% of people end up backing out at the last second, and I knew I couldn’t be one of those people.

He asked if I wanted to do a water touch and I said yes. He gave me two choices: A – he goes conservative and I might touch the water or I might not or B – he makes sure I touch the water, but there’s a chance my whole head goes in too. For some crazy reason, I chose B. Who am I?!?

Then I stood up, and shuffled my way over to the edge, trying to stay cool and collected – but yeah, I was freaking out hahaha. He counted down from five, told me to keep my chin down and my arms up, and then told me to jump. I’m honestly shocked that I jumped at the first count of five. I never do that. I think I just wanted the anxiety to be OVER. But I was brave, and there I went.

WHAT AN ADRENALINE RUSH. I’ve done a lot of things, but this tops the charts for the most insane adrenaline rush, and most terrifying experience, of my entire life. That free fall was insane – the water is coming at you so fast, and before you know it you get ripped upside down and snapped back like a rubber band. I DID touch the water, but only a little bit with my hands, so that’s ideal. My body was in a state of chaos, getting flip-flopped around like a rag doll. But I absolutely remember flying back up and standing straight up vertically somehow, and thinking that this was not what was supposed to be happening hahaha. No worries, I got absolutely ripped back the other direction in no time, but what a sensation.

It was actually such a blast. What a cool thing to do in such a gorgeous place. Then you have to grab onto a pole, and get pulled down into a little life raft at the bottom. Weird to be suspended upside down while they unhook you. I was QUAKING when I got into the boat. My muscles were all just shaking, probably from all the adrenaline.

They dropped me off at shore, and I got to watch Beach jump! Fun to see her do it – she was also so brave and went for it without hesitation. She told me that she had a moment where her heart stopped and she genuinely thought she was going to die during that free fall, and I could tell by her face when she landed in the boat that she was actually SHOOK. I’ve never seen something affect her like that, so that was freaking awesome hahaha.

We felt SO ACCOMPLISHED! Live more, fear less!!

We went and collected our photos and videos, which are awesome, and then hung out to watch a few more jumpers and relax. We had the best iced chocolates in the world (basically glorified Nesquik with ice, but it freaking slaps) and were absolutely on cloud nine the rest of the afternoon.

We drove back into town for dinner, and stumbled upon a massive line of people out the door. I stopped and asked someone what they were waiting for, and she let us know that Fergburger had been named the best burger in the world, and that there was never a time that people weren’t lined up out the door to try one. I’m not really a burger person, but who can say no to that? We jumped in line to find out if it lived up to the hype. Not gonna lie – it was a pretty good burger. Great sauce, great flavor, and I added avocado to mine so that always makes everything better. Who knew we’d try the best burger in the world today too!

Ended a fun, crazy day with dessert down by the water – and determined that Queenstown is absolutely perfect, in every possible way.

[watchingthesuperbowl]

Notes taken during Super Bowl XXX

PREGAME

This is another Channel 4 joint. Gary Imlach, Marv Levy, and Drew Pearson are the UK commentators.

Cowboys to receive the kickoff.

NBC had this game in the United States. Dick Enberg on PBP. Paul Maguire is the color commentator. Phil Simms is in the booth too, it seems.

FIRST QUARTER

First play is a pass to Jay Novacek underneath. Broken up by Carnell Lake.

Second down, intermediate pass to Michael Irvin. 20 yards, out to midfield. Irvin motioning that he couldn't see the ball because he was looking into the sun. Caught it anyway.

Michael Irvin can’t see.

Deion Sanders in at WR for the Cowboys now, so of course they hand the ball to Emmitt Smith. 23 yard run, to the Pittsburgh 28.

Third and long, jet sweep to Kevin Williams. Enberg calls it a reverse. (Grrrrr.) He's stuffed and the Cowboys will attempt a 42 yard field goal. Chris Boniol. Yep, got it. 3-0 Dallas, less than three minutes into the game.

NBC graphic: Team scoring first has won 21 of 29 Super Bowls.

Steelers heading into the sun in the first quarter. First play is a handoff to Erric Pegram for two yards.

Kordell Stewart in for Pittsburgh as a slot receiver. 1995 appears to have been the year of the multi-position star.

Steelers go five-wide on third down. Enberg says it's a revolutionary formation from the Steelers this year. That seems a bit overly effusive, no? I feel like run and shoot teams like the Falcons, Oilers, and Denver Gold would have gone five-wide with some regularity.

O'Donnell throws underneath on third and long. Receiver tackled immediately and it's a three-and-out.

Imlach asks Marv Levy how the Steelers should deal with the great Dallas offensive line. I love Marv Levy dearly - he's one of my favorite sports people of all time - but I think we've established that Marv doesn't have a bunch of answers for the Cowboys in the Super Bowl.

NBC graphic: Cowboys offensive line averages 333 pounds per person.

Maguire: Steelers say Cowboys' offensive strength is their run game. Cowboys say Cowboys' offensive strength is their pass game.

Aikman goes deeeeep on a post pattern to Deion Sanders. Perfect throw. Sanders makes the grab. 47 yard gain, inside the Pittsburgh 20.

Maguire: Aikman tells a story about practice, when he threw a pass to Deion Sanders as far and as hard as he can throw it. He was certain he'd overthrown Sanders, but when he went back and watched the film, Deion actually had to slow down to catch the pass.

Aikman to Novacek inside the 5. First and goal from the 3.

Next play, play fake to Smith, toss to a wide open Novacek. Easy score. 10-0 Dallas in the first quarter. Replay shows it was pretty clearly an illegal pick to clear space for Novacek.

Drew Pearson: Expect Steelers to pass more - need to open things up for the run game.

Levy: Novacek hid behind his line on the touchdown pass, lined up as a wingback right and crossed behind the line, and the Steelers lost track of him.

Maguire: This is a brand new field since the Fiesta Bowl. Players expected it to be tight, but they're slipping all over the place. Field isn't tight.

Steelers go no-huddle after a first down. Cowboys only have nine players on the field and have to call a timeout.

NBC promo: Next weekend, Gulliver's Travels starring Ted Danson!

Byron "Bam" "Choo Choo" Morris into the backfield for Pittsburgh. CHOO CHOO!!! Up the middle for six.

Third down, a pitch to Kordell Stewart. Short by a half-yard. What a weird call - why not just snap it directly to him, since he's a quarterback and stuff.

Steelers going for it on fourth and less than a yard. Kordell Stewart lines up under center and Neil O'Donnell lines up as a wide receiver. Again, weird. Everybody in the stadium knows you're not passing the ball to Neil O'Donnell. Why play with 10 offensive players? Anyway, it works. QB sneak.

Enberg: Bill Cowher is the youngest coach ever to take a team to the Super Bowl. 38 years old.

Third and 8, O'Donnell stands in and fires it to Andre Hastings. He has plenty of time. First down.

They go no-huddle again and the shotgun snap is about five feet over O'Donnell's head. Loss of 13.

Current drive: 11 plays, 24 yards, 5:07 and counting. 11 plays for 24 yards!

Last play of the quarter, O'Donnell to Corey Holliday. He's a rookie who had zero receptions in the regular season and, over the course of his career, had a total of one regular season catch.

First quarter ends. Dallas 10, Pittsburgh 0.

SECOND QUARTER

3rd and 13, O'Donnell rolls and is nearly picked off by Larry Brown. It's decision time on 4th and 13 from the Dallas 39. They'll punt. There are no good choices here, only choices that are less bad than others. Predictably, Rohn Stark blasts it through the end zone for a 19 yard net.

Enberg: Jay Novacek's mom collected aluminum cans all year so she could pay her own way to see her son in the Super Bowl. She didn't want him to have to pay for her.

Four passes in a row to Novacek. His mom's getting her money's worth.

Second and 10, Aikman to Irvin into Steelers territory for a first down.

Maguire: Emmitt Smith told his linemen that when they block, he doesn't want to see their stomachs. Just keep blocking straight ahead and Emmitt will find the hole.

Simms: Steelers are getting no pressure at all on Aikman.

Third and 5, Aikman is confused by the play call. Looks at the sideline quizzically, figures it out, and completes a pass to Moose Johnston for four and a half. It's a measurement, but it's almost certainly going to be short. He is. It's about eight inches short. Barry Switzer will go for it.

Moose Johnston gets it easily. Everybody expected Emmitt, Switzer crossed them up.

Aikman looks deep and Michael Irvin grabs it as he steps into the end zone. Offensive pass interference. He grabbed Carnell Lake on the way past him.

So what do the Cowboys do? They throw the ball to Jay Novacek. He's having another big Super Bowl. 19 yard gain.

Cowboy drive stalls there and Chris Boniol comes on for a 35 yard field goal attempt. Right down the middle. Three possessions, three scores for Dallas. 13-0, mid-second quarter.

During commercial break, Channel 4 plays a bit of the Navajo language broadcast of the game. Neat.

Drew Pearson: Players are probably using wrong shoes for this surface, there are a lot of slips. If it were me, I'd use Astroturf shoes because the ground is hard under the grass.

O'Donnell throws behind Yancey Thigpen on first down. Nearly picked off..

Pittsburgh goes three and out. Rohn Stark punts. While the ball is rolling, a Steeler comes from out of nowhere and clobbers a Cowboy in the back, sending him flying into the ball. The Steelers recover, but it's (correctly) ruled Dallas ball. That was weird. Pittsburgh players are flipping out, but c'mon. That was never your ball.

Levy says the Dallas player should have been nowhere near that ball, regardless of whether he was shoved.

Pearson: Steelers are confused. Don't know whether they want to run the ball or throw it. Dallas defense is dominating at the line of scrimmage and O'Donnell isn't hitting passes.

Greg Lloyd hits Emmitt Smith in the knee on a tackle on second down. It wasn't intentional. Emmitt is limping a bit.

Third and 10, Chris Oldham knocks down a pass intended for Irvin, who was behind the defense. Cowboys three and out for the first time.

Steelers take over at their 46. First down, O'Donnell misses an open receiver. Second down, it's a coverage sack. Charles Haley got him for a loss of 10. Third and 20, O'Donnell to Hastings for 19 yards. Maguire emphatically says they have to go for this. This is four-down territory, period.

A replay shows Deion Sanders completely whiffed on an attempted tackle on the third down play.

Fourth and inches, Kordell Stewart has no trouble picking up the first down on a QB sneak.

Second and 10, CHOO CHOO! Bam Morris blows through the line for around 13 yards. We hit the two-minute warning with the Steelers at the Dallas 30.

Third and 7, O'Donnell to Mills for six and a half yards. It's an absolutely horrible spot and the refs give Pittsburgh a free first down.

Enberg begins to talk about NBC coverage of this game on the World Wide Web, but Channel 4 cuts away mid-sentence. That was the first internet reference I've seen during a Super Bowl.

Third and long, O'Donnell finds Mills near the 5. Probably should have been overthrown, but it was a great catch. Steelers call timeout with 0:17 left in the half. They have no more timeouts. If they don't kick here, they need to throw into the end zone.

And they do exactly that. O'Donnell zips it through some traffic to Yancey Thigpen, who beat Deion Sanders. Deion shoved him into the path of the ball. Suddenly, despite the Cowboys' dominance, it's only 13-7. 13 seconds left - you'd think Pittsburgh squibs the kickoff and Dallas takes a knee on first down.

Cowboys run a reverse on the kick return. They get it to their 37.

Yep, Aikman takes a knee. 13-7 at the half.

THIRD QUARTER

Kickoff goes out of bounds. Steelers get it at their own 40 yard line.

CHOO CHOO! Bam Morris blows through tacklers like a freight train. 15 yard run gets the Steelers to the Cowboys' 35.

Steelers go five-wide on third and 9. Dallas blitzes and O'Donnell has to throw too quickly. Incomplete pass, so inexplicably they'll punt from the Dallas 33. Rohn Stark kicks it into the end zone because that's what happens when you punt from the opponent's 33.

Pearson: Steelers didn't really lose momentum on that drive. Didn't score, but they moved the ball.

Second and 11 for the Cowboys, the Steelers try to cover Michael Irvin underneath with a linebacker. Predictably, this doesn't work and Dallas gets 15.

Cowboys don't do much - just the one first down to Irvin - and they punt.

Steelers run on first down. Maguire says he cannot understand why the Steelers aren't running four and five wide receivers.

Second down, Kordell Stewart takes a handoff on a run/pass option. Doesn't have his receiver open, pulls the ball down and jets down the sideline for 12.

Maguire: Steelers are throwing plays away. I don't even know why they're running some of these plays. (Runs up the middle on first down, in particular)

Third and ten, Pittsburgh goes four-wide, Neil O'Donnell has plenty of time, and throws the ball right to a wide-open Larry Brown. He hit Brown right in the numbers. The problem is that Brown is a cornerback for the Cowboys. Brown returns it inside the Steelers' 20. First turnover of the game.

First play of the Dallas drive, Aikman to Irvin on the sideline. Steps out of bounds at the 2.

One play later, Emmitt Smith powers it into the end zone. Or so the officials say. He's clearly down before the ball crosses the goal line. Whatever. It's a touchdown. 20-7 Cowboys, middle of the third quarter.

Levy: Not sure the interception was a gamebreaker, but it's going to come down to how the Steelers respond. And the fact that they got called for a penalty on the kickoff return isn't a great sign.

Levy thinks Smith got into the end zone, for what it's worth. I disagree, but I respect Marv.

Pearson: I'm not saying the Steelers need to abandon their (run-heavy) gameplan, but they need to throw the ball a bit to open up space in the Dallas defense.

Maguire is still baffled by the Steeler offense after they hand the ball to Choo Choo Morris on 2nd and 13. They pick up the first down on third and long when Andre Hastings breaks a tackle.

Third and short, O'Donnell pitches the ball way the heck backwards to Erric Pegram. I really hate the call - going backwards to go forwards when you need a yard and a half - but he cuts it back for a first down.

Incredible catch by Ernie Mills out near midfield. He was wide open and had to dive with his arms fully extended to get to the ball. Miserable throw.

Fourth and yard and a half near midfield. 2:00 or so left in the third. Steelers go for it, run Choo Choo into the teeth of the defense, and he doesn't have a chance. Cowboys take over on downs, up 13 with 1:26 left in the third quarter.

...and they do nothing with the ball. Cowboys will boot it away after Rod Woodson makes a nice break on a third down pass to Michael Irvin. John Jett kicks it through the end zone.

Steelers pick up 12 on a first down pass to Mills. Deion Sanders, in coverage, tells his teammates after the play that was his fault, he should have done better. Third quarter ends, still 20-7 Dallas.

Pearson: Very surprised Cowher went for it on the fourth and one, particularly at midfield. Would have run a lead blocker.

FOURTH QUARTER

First play of the quarter, Choo Choo shows his nimble footwork. Dances to midfield.

One play later, Ernie Mills is nearly decapitated by Scott Case on a catch over the middle. He maybe drops the pass, maybe fumbles, but it's called a fumble. Tight end Mark Bruener recovers. The officials didn't seem to know what to do. It took them forever to make that call.

Later in the drive, O'Donnell scrambles, rolls right and finds Mills. Nearly picked by Larry Brown. He easily could have had three picks by now.

Third and short, O'Donnell to Thigpen now. Pittsburgh is moving the ball. A touchdown here and it's anybody's game. 12:00 and counting on the clock.

Steelers have to burn a timeout before a crucial third down play. That hurts.

What hurts worse is a sack by Charles Haley on that third down. Knocks Pittsburgh almost out of field goal range.

Norm Johnson attempts and makes a 46-yard field goal on a field with shaky footing. Nice kick. It's now 20-10 Cowboys. Steelers still alive.

Onside kick! Steelers recover! They've got it at midfield and coach Bill Cowher is PUMPED.

Enberg: 12th onside kick in Super Bowl history. Fourth successful one.

Steelers on fire now. Two great catches on the first two plays and they're inside the Dallas 30.

Third play of the drive, O'Donnell to Mills near the Dallas 20. Larry Brown hits Mills in the back and the receiver's knee twists. Mills is injured and the furious Steelers comeback has to take a break.

Steelers get inside the Dallas 20 on a punishing Bam Morris run up the middle.

O'Donnell to Thigpen, and the Steelers have reached the Dallas 5. Thigpen is decked by linebacker Dixon Edwards, but holds on.

First down, Morris to the 2. Second down, Morris to about the six inch line. He got royally boned on that call. He was in the end zone.

There's no such controversy on third down as Morris goes untouched around right end. He walks into the end zone. Suddenly it's a three-point ballgame. 20-17, mid-fourth quarter. (6:36 to be exact.)

Kevin Williams drops the kickoff and only gets out to the 12. Steelers fans in the stadium are going crazy.

NBC graphic: Cowboys have a total of 41 yards on their last five drives. They get 22 yards on the first play of this drive.

Second down, linebacker Levon Kirkland blitzes and runs into Aikman. Didn't tackle him, but blasted him backwards for an eight yard loss. Now it's 3rd and 17.

Incomplete pass on third down, Kevin Williams wants pass interference, the officials (correctly) say nope. John Jett will punt. The Steelers have 4:15 to get into position for a game-tying field goal. Plenty of time.

First down, Andre Hastings drops an easy one. He was wide open downfield.

Second down, O'Donnell hits a wide-open Larry Brown in the numbers again. Still a problem: Brown still plays for the other team. He returns it to the Steelers' 6. Looked like O'Donnell expected his receiver to break outside and he didn't.

Replay shows that if O'Donnell had thrown downfield, his receiver was so wide open that could have almost walked into the end zone. That's (probably) the ballgame.

Yep, it's the ballgame. Emmitt gets into the end zone on second and goal. 27-17 Dallas. That's Smith's 18th career postseason touchdown, tying Thurman Thomas for most all-time.

The Steelers need 10 points in 3:43. Not impossible, but certainly improbable.

First down, Andre Hastings fights for an extra five yards and stays in bounds instead of getting out and stopping the clock. Next play, complete to Corey Holliday. Holliday now has more catches in this game than he had in all of the regular season games he ever played combined.

Enberg: O'Donnell is #1 all-time in least interceptions thrown. Presumably this is in terms of INT%.

Steelers near the Dallas 40 as we hit the two-minute warning. Again, this comeback isn't impossible, but it's unlikely.

Maguire says he thinks Deion Sanders might take a year off from baseball if the Cowboys win this game. They did and he did.

Third down, Andre Hastings drops another pass. O'Donnell is limping after Cowboys DL Chad Hennings lands on him.

John L. Williams, one of the best receiving backs of his era drops a pass on fourth down. The ball was behind him, but he probably should have had it. Cowboys get the ball on downs.

Larry Brown named MVP. Was a 12th round pick in the draft, 320th player picked.

Aikman takes a few knees and the game ticks away.

Simms: The Steelers had many, many chances to win this game.

0:13 left, fourth down, and Dallas will punt because they have to do something. Dallas downs it with 0:03 left. The Steelers need 10 points in three seconds. Spoiler alert: They don't do it.

12th consecutive Super Bowl win for the NFC. (XIX-XXX)

Steelers lining up to throw deep on the final play. Why not, I guess. Brock Marion picks it off, not that it matters.

Final score: Dallas 27, Pittsburgh 17.

POSTGAME

Enberg: Pete Rozelle said his favorite Super Bowl was the 35-31 Steelers-Cowboys game in Super Bowl XIII. (For what it's worth, I agree and also have that game atop my list, at least through the first XXX Super Bowls.)

Marv Levy: Games in which a team has turnover differential at least +2, they win 94% of the time.

Imlach to Pearson: Are the Cowboys a legitimate Team of the 90s? Pearson: Yes, they're absolutely the Team of the 90s.

I think this is the first trophy presentation to happen on the field.

Jerry Jones: I want to tell all Steelers fans, and their owners and coaches, what a great team you have and how hard they fought tonight.

Jones: As talented as our players are, they're even more mentally tough than that.

Jones: Of my three Super Bowl wins as an owner, this is the sweetest. This was the closest game of the three.

Greg Gumbel to Switzer: Before the game, you told me whether you win or lose, you're not concerned what people think about you. Is that still true? Switzer: Yes, still true. I care about my family, and these guys are who I want to be with. The Dallas Cowboys.

[crazylemurinswitzerland]

Day 2: Lucerne

Not really my intention, but today ended up chock full of museums. The hotel had free breakfast and it was surprisingly good with a great range of options. Though these included a weird orange liquid that was just labeled "vitamin juice" tucked sedately in between the carafes of orange and cranberry. Maybe I will try it tomorrow but today I kind of feared it. It sounds like something a cartoon character or a small child would drink.

When I travel, I really love to know the history of a place. So I planned my first stop to be the Historisches Museum, the History Museum. However, on the way there I decided to pop into one more church, the Jesuitenkirche, Jesuit Church. This one was bright and ornate and kind of looked more like a palace--a palace for god, I guess. It also had these unidentifiable and slightly suspicious objects in a frame on the wall--small silver eyes, hearts, and legs.

I did a quick spin through then pushed on to the museum.

I thought I would get a nice organized history of the city of Lucerne and perhaps a bit of Switzerland, too. That was not to be the case. If Lucerne was a building and had an attic of "stuff"--this would be that attic. It felt a bit like a tall, square warehouse packed floor to ceiling with random things. I'm pretty sure the Ark of the Covenant is hidden in there somewhere. There is no signage. Instead, every item has a barcode and you are equipped with a scanner that displays information on a little screen. So you walk through, pointing your scanner at whatever takes your fancy like a greedy bride-to-be. And in this place, that could be anything. Old swords, fire-fighting equipment, ice skates, women's underwear, creepy carnivale puppets, dental equipment, altar cloths, old ration stamps, maps. I found one book called "Medicine for the Housewife".

Also, my scanner gave me this really disturbing description of an old birthing chair.

My god, why does the chair need so many openings?!! If I were giving birth, I have to say I'd be WAY more concerned about my own openings.

Anyway, it was actually quite fun "rummaging" around--though I spent quite a bit of time dodging a school group of children who were entirely more interested in the technology of the scanners than the "artifacts".

After the museum, over the river again. This time via another old wooden bridge that tells a story. Unlike the Kapellbrucke, the Spreuerbrucke is entirely original. Rather than relating the history of the city, the painted panels in this bridge display the “Dance of Death”--showing Death in the guise of a skeleton taking away all types of people.

I'm a sucker for wandering around old city walls--I guess because these don't really exist much in the US. Some of the Lucerne ramparts still exist and they made for a nice wander from the western edge of the Old Town back towards the east--and provided some nice views over the city as well as of a little neighboring urban farm. Cows, llamas, and chickens.

I was headed to see a lion, though. My destination was the Lowendenkmal, the Lion Monument. This was spectacular. In the late 1700s, Louis XVI, nice guy that he was, told the Swiss palace guards to lay down arms in the face of mobs of French revolutionaries. They were rewarded with complete slaughter. So much for neutrality. The Lion Monument was sculpted out of a cliff face in 1821 in remembrance of these 700 Swiss souls. The sculpture sits at the far side of a calm green pool and depicts an enourmous lion in the last moments of life, a spear jutting from his side. The expression on the big cat’s face is so sad--it’s quite moving--even with the dozens of tourists thronging around.

Next to the monument, is the Gletschergarten (the Glacier Garden), which actually was a bit of a disappointment, but it was free with the Swiss Travel Pass so not a big deal. The garden centers on a series of glacial formations that were discovered in Lucerne in the 1800s and also contains a museum dedicated to glaciers. It was kind of bland and left me a bit cold. Ha ha. See what I did there?

I had a bite to eat and discovered at about 2pm that I just wasn’t certain what to do next. Until then, I had stuck to the areas around the Reuss River, but, of course, I hadn’t yet really walked along the lake. With nothing else in mind, I decided to wander along the northern edge--gardens, a casino, and old stately hotels on the left, and bright blue water, boats and happy swans on the right. 

Eventually, I left most of the tourists behind. I decided I would walk to the next “boat stop” and take the boat back into the center of Lucerne. I walked quickly because I had 15 minutes to make the boat. But as I did so, I realized I was going to pass right by the Verkehrshaus--the Transport Museum. Though I’d read great things about it, I hadn’t planned on going. But...I was right there.

I’m glad I did! It is an enormous space, broken up into four main--huge--areas. One dedicated to train travel, one to road travel, one to sea travel, and one to air travel. Each area has dozens of full-size examples, modern and historical. One enormous wall was full of cars from all time  They looked like matchbox cars stored by a giant’s child.

There was also a quite good mirror maze that was somehow supposed to teach me about road safety, a very large and amazing snow plow train, an artistically displayed arrangement of road signs, and tons more.

Oh, also, they had these sample mannequin flight attendants. Complete with name tags. I'd like to introduce you to Barbara Zobrist. As a Swiss Air flight attendant, she is “well-versed in psychology, sales, enology, nursing, midwifery, childcare and care for the elderly, crisis management, personal protection, and much more.” She's like a doctor-ninja-barista of the sky.

By the time I left, it had started to thunderstorm. I quite enjoyed waiting by the dock for my boat back to Lucerne, with clouds tumbling over Mt. Pilatus in the distance and big drops of rain spattering the lake. But the time my boat docked next to the train station in Lucerne (sadly, only a 12 minute ride), the rain had stopped. It seemed like a nice time for a drink, so I spent about a half hour sipping an aperol spritz in Luz Seebistro, a cute little restaurant and bar in an old boathouse on the lake.

And that was the day. I made it back to my hotel just as the skies were opening up again, had a short nap, then grabbed dinner at a nearby bar.

[jacewilliams1]

One last airplane ride for Dad

We had slipped between two showers near Van Wert, ducking under a cloud that was surely about to burst itself, and emerged into open sunshine to the west, and a long, gray annular cloud laying across the Ohio farm fields ahead and below, looking a bit like an exhausted roll cloud, its enthusiasm depleted after the afternoon’s deluge, hovering too low to glide beneath, yet still a bit too Janus-faced to climb above. As expected, a line of training storms had redeveloped late on this August afternoon over northern Indiana, but they had not scooted along into Michigan as fast as I had hoped. Best we follow the sunlight for now and keep our options open.

Over the farms of Ohio, Mother Nature showed who was really in control.

The Fort Wayne controller said the precipitation further north, between us and our destination, Steuben County airport, was extreme; back toward the east it was light, at least on his radar. Pirouetting our trusty old straight-tailed Cessna 150 around and commencing to motor back the way we had come, I started looking for signs that that long, low roll of a cloud wasn’t as duplicitous as I thought. We only had about 30 miles to go as the crow flies, after a three-day trip from Vermont. We had spent the previous day weaving around rain showers and other remnants of a lethargic trough for a good part of the way, stuck between model train villages and the spectacular papier-mache topography of central Pennsylvania below and an annoyingly persistent ceiling above.

Thirty miles over the ground to Steuben County, and, as it happened, with a dash of not-so-subtle déjà vu, a bit over four decades back through time.

My grandfather Russell, Grandpa Green, my father’s father, passed away in August 1975. He had been in Tampa, working on city water system surveys, as he had nearly every summer for decades. He was an only child from a relatively loveless home, narrowly missing deployment during World War I, an engineer who spent most of his life teaching high school and college applied mathematics. He always seemed old to me, balding, with snow white hair and rimless glasses. His ability to sustain a handstand well into his 60s more or less escaped my notice as a child.

I had seen him a few weeks before he died, when I had flown over to Tampa from George Speer’s old Palm Beach Gardens airport. By that time, I had realized what a treasure of history he was, and I peppered him with questions over dinner. But I think I knew. I remember his grip as we shook hands before I climbed into my airplane, and I remember thinking, briefly, that I would never see him again. Within a few weeks, it was clear that when he shook my hand, he knew that for certain.

When he died, I was on a solo hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We knew things were not good; after my first night, I came down to civilization to call home and see what was up. “You’d better come home,” Dad said. I thumbed my way back to my old ’65 Volkswagen and set off on the four-hour drive back home.

Dad and I took off from Chester, Connecticut, in N5072D, our old 1958 Cessna 182, the next morning, headed for Steuben County Airport in Angola, Indiana. Angola was the home of Tri-State College, where my grandfather taught and where both he and my father obtained their engineering degrees. It was near Fremont, where the Jordan Cemetery was, and most of the family on my grandfather’s side was buried there. My grandmother had died four years before, and we buried my grandfather right next to her a couple of days after everyone had gotten there. The morning afterward, Dad and I set off back to Connecticut. He had to get back to work, and I had to get back to college.

The weather was going to be a problem. Neither of us, or the airplane, was qualified for instrument flight. In those days we were still intimate with the sound of hammering teletypes, and when you dialed… as in spun the dial on the phone… the Flight Service Station, a live person answered. But a weather briefing at the Steuben County airport was sorely lacking in visual aids. We ended up landing at Van Wert, Ohio, and later at Lima.

Sliding offshore to avoid clouds – surely they’ll break up…

As I recall, the weather we were encountering was not the weather we had expected, and the frequent stops were to review the situation and wait out some change. One way or another, we ended up going past Cleveland Lakefront airport a couple of miles out over the water at about 500 feet, to slip between showers; immediately to the east the clouds broke up and lifted. We climbed comfortably to 7500 feet, on top of a broken layer, and I distinctly recall that we were certain these clouds would disappear completely as we motored east.

At some point, the generator failed. And we didn’t notice, until the battery failed as well. And there we were; on top of what had become multiple layers of broken cloud, no radios, no fuel gauges, and about three and a half hours of flight already behind us. It wasn’t particularly hard to spiral down through gaps in the broken clouds; the real problem was what to do once we got down below the bottom layer. We were about 1500 feet above the rolling countryside with only a vague idea where we were. We spent 15 or so minutes wandering about looking for some kind of recognizable landmark or any usable airport. We found neither. And then we made what was probably the smartest decision we ever made: we picked out a good farm field and landed.

The farmer was thrilled. No one had ever landed in one of his fields before; it seemed like the high water mark of his entire summer. We quickly determined where we were on the sectional, and saw that there was an airport about ten miles down the river. Dad took a look in the tanks, saw we had a couple of inches of fuel left, and we decided to set off for the airport. Dad had plenty of experience from his teenage years hand-propping airplanes with no electrical systems, and of course that was the only option. First though, we walked the entire length of the field to make sure there wasn’t some hidden ditch that nobody remembered. And then I held the brakes, ran the switch and throttle, Dad propped us off and climbed in, and I lifted us gently and easily out of the farm field. A straight tail 182 is a magnificent airplane, particularly when it doesn’t have a lot of gas in the tanks.

Sure enough, in a couple of minutes there was the airport, and we rolled up to the fuel pumps hoping to keep our little secret… until we got out of the airplane and saw the leading edges thoroughly covered with cow manure. The farmer had wisely called ahead, of course, so there was no secret anyway. We fueled up, cleaned the leading edges a bit, Dad propped the engine once more, and later that evening we landed back in Connecticut.

That was 43 years ago, at pretty much the midpoint of my father’s life. This past winter, Dad finally finished his own journey, after a lengthy bout with Parkinson’s disease. He had absolutely no interest in formal funerals, ceremonies, wakes, or burials. He had, at one point, mentioned that he thought it would be nice if we affixed a small plaque to his parent’s gravestone out there in Indiana.

I spent the day after he died doing the things one does, particularly trying to figure out what to do with his ashes. I chatted with the cousins and sent messages to friends that I knew would want the news. One friend, a pilot at my airline, asked what the funeral plans were. I told her that we would probably inter Dad out there at the Jordan Cemetery in Indiana. Knowing something of his aeronautical passions, she texted back, “Oh, that’d be nice. He’d get one last airplane ride.”

And in that instant, staring at her message, I knew there was only one way Dad was going back to Indiana.

I hadn’t flown a light airplane in nearly three decades, but a couple of very talented young flight instructors at the local flight school soon had me straightened out. They each had just a bit more total time than I report on a year’s worth of first class physicals, but they know their stuff, and gently steered me away from pilot-induced oscillations and back to rudder-controlled stalls, with an occasional reminder about other faded memories like P-factor, primer strokes and control positions when taxiing in wind.

Suddenly, I was aloft over Lake Champlain, quite literally on my first solo flight in 28 years, with the approach controller putting the finishing touches on my Rip Van Winkle awakening by calling out crossing traffic, at ten o’clock, coincidentally also at 3000 feet, subtly nudging me to the realization that there was no TCAS, and that perhaps I ought to actually do something.

Getting reacquainted with a Cessna 150 after a lifetime flying airliners.

By a stroke of luck, my friend Doug Smith happened to have recently acquired a wonderful old straight tail Cessna 150, and he offered me the use of the airplane for the week or so I would need. Doug’s wizened old 150 was perfect. And pretty close to our 182 in shape and style, if not in floor plan and power. Manual flaps… I love manual flaps. Old radios. Airspeed in miles per hour. There were a few welcome additions… a shoulder harness STC. Great big sun visors that I’ve never seen in any 150 before. Dad and I had learned to fly together in a 1967 Cessna 150. A 150 of that vintage seemed like a perfect ship for the occasion.

And so Dad and I had set off on a Wednesday morning, starting a three-day aerial journey across America, retracing a good bit of his life, just the two of us, in a manner of speaking, taking a last airplane ride, making about 95 miles per hour give or take the wind.

Dad’s first flight had been a memorable ride in a PT-19 at Austin, Texas, given by his big brother, my uncle Wayne, the future physics professor, who was a C-46 instructor during the war. Dale Mollenkopf, the manager of Branch County Memorial Airport in Michigan, had taught Dad the basics of wrangling Pipers, Ryans and Aeroncas during his high school years, and in the blink of an eye Dad was an engineer at North American in Los Angeles, listening to George Welch describe his near-death experience the morning after a gear door popped open when flying an F-100 through a Mach calibration run.

By the time I came along, Dad was part of the powerplant systems group at North American’s Columbus, Ohio, plant, in what is now known as Air Force Plant 85. After straightening out the Navy’s fuel problems with the T-28, he was tasked with fabricating and running the fuel systems mockup for the A3J Vigilante, shortly after I had discovered fire by sticking my finger in the single candle on my first birthday cake. Ever the avid cameraman, Dad had photographed the whole sequence, leaving a wonderful legacy of my learning style in vivid black and white. Thus began the infusion of the family tradition of prudence.

And so it was that, 60 years later, on our second evening, we alighted on runway 28L at Columbus, immediately adjacent to Air Force Plant 85. The following day it rained quite a bit. Careful analysis of several forecast tools and discussions indicated that an afternoon respite in the showers would give us a chance to make a dash north to Indiana, with numerous alternates open along our route if things didn’t move as fast as we hoped.

Sure enough, the exhausted, breathless roll cloud was dissipating, but there was a crisp palette of grays in the sky beyond, while Fort Wayne was clearly visible in sunshine to our right. If that was light precipitation, we didn’t need to mess with it. And beyond that, what if we succeeded? Once we were on the other side of it, what would we find then? We puttered along for five or six minutes, cogitating, as Grandpa Green would have said. Let’s see… two hours airborne, at 5.6 gallons per hour, so we’ve got about an hour before we have to be on the ground if we want to land with any reserves.

Even if we could get around the precipitation, it would take 20 minutes to go this way, and another 20 to go that way. This was not a winning plan. Finally, I said aloud, “You know, Dad… I can’t think of one good reason why we would want to be over on the other side of that weather with an hour’s worth of fuel left. What do you think? Close enough? Let’s land and get a car.”

And with that, I keyed the mike. “Fort Wayne, Cessna 43T… you know what? I think we’re gonna come visit you today…”

More rain arrived as we got the airplane tied down, and the hour drive to Angola was rather wet. My cousin was at Ruby Tuesday’s, and we had a late dinner. The following morning, we revisited many of Dad’s childhood haunts, including the Branch County airport, where Dad had become briefly famous in his Air Scout troop after he succeeded in getting the APU started on the surplus, donated C-46, so the Scouts could power up the rest of the aircraft systems.

The trip home included many personal stops, like this one in Columbus, Ohio, where the North American plant still stands (left of runway).

We buried Dad that afternoon, back at the Jordan Cemetery, in front of his parents’ grave, next to his grandparents’ grave. It was just the two of us, my cousin Nancy and me. We didn’t have anything else appropriate to say, so I read aloud a poem, written by our grandmother and found so many years ago in our grandfather’s wallet. It seemed to fit. We then retired to a surprisingly delightful restaurant, Timbuktoo, of all the names in the world to choose for a restaurant in the farmland of Indiana, and we spent the late afternoon upholding the family tradition of solving most of the world’s deeper problems over dinner and coffee. Nancy drove back to Chicago that night.

The weather was good the next day. I took off at nine in the morning, stopped three times for fuel and arrived back in Burlington at around seven that evening. It was a long day, but peaceful, certainly no more challenging than a four-leg day in the MD-80. My landings had improved markedly, until the last one at Burlington, on a beautiful, clear summer evening, absolutely windless, smooth, and so I managed to squeeze three landings into one approach, just in case I was getting an airline pilot’s fat head.

It took a few minutes to unload 43T, to pull out my overnight bag, cameras and survival gear. I slipped the towbar around the nose strut and rolled the ship back into its tie-down. I had to knot the ropes back into the lugs in the ramp, since I had taken them with me. Window shades in place, pitot cover on, ropes snug, I gathered my kit and slipped out the back gate.

I had wanted to give Dad a simple, old school flight back to Steuben County, keeping faith with his curmudgeonly dismissal of modernity. And yet, in the end, there was the August weather again, stirring the pot, laying down the gauntlet, and one way or another we ended up making the same decision we did 43 years ago… to quietly and discreetly land, before we got into trouble, before we drew attention to ourselves. Funny, that. Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be all along.

The three pillars of prudence, taking counsel, judging of what one has learned, and exercising command, held great value for Grandpa Green, my father’s father. If I remember anything about him, it was that he had a prudent demeanor, and a prudent expression. His eyes belied an expectation of patience, honest effort, and cautious judgement. He strongly suggested questioning assumptions. He persistently urged the investigation of how you know what you know.

These ideas were the subject of many evening discussions, of which I was but a privileged observer, over copious amounts of coffee and curling pipe smoke. Drawing attention to yourself, on the other hand, was rather plainly frowned upon. Now that I think about it, I suspect that drawing attention to yourself was frowned upon by pretty much everyone buried in the Jordan Cemetery.

Alas, it seems that perhaps we arrived in grand style after all. In any event, Dad is home now. And, thanks to a simple old Cessna, so am I.

The post One last airplane ride for Dad appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2019/02/one-last-airplane-ride-for-dad/

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Review Game Far Cry 5

Ever since Far Cry 3, sneaking my way through outposts eliminating enemies one by one has been one of my favorite things to do in video games. I’m happy to report that systematically taking down murderous thugs is just as fun in rural America as it is in the Himalayas, and that Far Cry 5 is another great game in the open-world series Ubisoft seems most willing to have fun with. It may be playing a familiar tune, but all of these combat, physics, and wildlife systems all mix together to create unexpected moments of intense and hilarious action.

This time around you play as a sheriff’s deputy, part of a task force sent into the fictional Hope County, Montana. Rural America may not be quite as exotic or exciting a playground as a tropical island or a secluded mountain, but it’s a gigantic open world where things are constantly blowing up, wild animals are pouncing, and a never-ending supply of cultists are lining up to be your target practice. The mountains, valleys, plains, forests, rivers, lakes, and caves of Hope County make it a place where there’s never a dull moment.With all of that scenery and action, Far Cry 5 is a nice-looking game, but it isn’t on the same level as, say, Horizon: Zero Dawn. Even comparing it to another recent open-world Ubisoft game, it’s not quite as attractive as Assassin’s Creed Origins. It’s generally good enough, but I was sometimes distracted by the pop-in caused by the density of the landscape. Even on the PS4 Pro, it’s hard not to notice all the magically appearing trees as you stroll through the wilderness. In fact, other than resolution on a 4K TV, there isn’t a stark difference between the PS4 and the Pro at all.

You can also count the number of unique cultist goon faces on one hand, so expect to be shooting the same faces over and over. Rounding out my technical complaints would be long load times – upwards of 60 seconds – on both PS4 and PS4 Pro, a couple glitched missions I had to restart, and the one time Far Cry 5 completely froze on me.

This dark corner of Montana is controlled by a man named Joseph Seed, a zealot leader who hasn’t left quite the same impression on me that Vaas or Pagan Min did in the previous two Far Cry games. He doesn’t have any particularly memorable lines, and his motivation for wanting to end the world is murky. But the story ends up in an unforgettable place, making this an open-world adventure that is worth seeing through to completion.

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I like that, for the first time in a Far Cry game, you can choose between a male or female protagonist and do some light customization. Alas, it’s merely a cosmetic decision, as either way your character will be mute (so there’s no custom voice acting) and most people will refer to you as “The Deputy.” And for a series as bonkers as Far Cry, the customization options here are a little conservative. You unlock more as you progress, so it’s not as dire as it initially appears, but they are few and far between and rarely much more than a shirt or jeans. The one exception is a Far Cry Primal-style caveman/woman outfit, which is fun – I wanted to see more of that. But this being a first-person game, you won’t see much of yourself in the campaign anyway... unless you die a lot.

To complement the combat, some light environmental puzzle solving is required to find lucrative treasure stashes. On one of these sidequests, called Long Shot Lockpick, the goods are locked away in a shed high up on stilts overlooking a lake. The name of the quest is the clue, and after swimming to the other side of the lake you’ll find a sniper perch placed just right for peering through a back window in the shed at the lock which can be shot off, providing you access. It’s not The Witness, but these simple challenges allow for quiet moments of thought amidst all the chaos.

While Far Cry’s emergent gameplay recipe remains addictive, there is a certain amount of sameness to it. The tasks required of you, the weapons at your disposal, and the now-cliche supernatural dream sequences are all so similar to Far Cry 3 and 4 that there isn’t much by way of surprises in store. It’s still a blast to play, and the brutal combat remains ever so satisfying no matter where you are (thanks in part to the amusingly unrealistic ragdoll death animations) but Far Cry 5 doesn’t feel like a revelation because it doesn’t do a lot to set itself apart.

The structure of the main quest is a little different, in that in order to get to Joseph Seed you need to draw out and eliminate his three lieutenants (his siblings) first. Each rules over their own area of Hope County, and to get to them you’ll need to build up Resistance Points by liberating outposts, freeing captives, and otherwise killing their vibe. It’s a fun progression system that gives you a constant visual cue of the progress you’re making as you watch that resistance meter slowly fill. It also provides a very “video game” path through several bosses on your way to the final boss. Hope County is truly open, and you can make your way through the three different areas and bosses in any order you like.

The four cult leaders all have unique personalities and recruitment tactics, and make for perfectly suitable villains. Faith Seed, the one female boss, is probably the most interesting, as she employs a drug called Bliss to cause hallucinations in her victims, and those end up being some of the most visually interesting moments in Far Cry 5. Jacob Seed also won me over by the end of his arc. He’s an ex-soldier who doesn’t necessarily believe his leader actually talks to God, but who is happy to cull the herd and exterminate anyone he sees as weak. But I don’t expect any of these leaders will end up being remembered like Far Cry 3’s Vaas still is today as they’re not that visually interesting and, while much of the writing is good, the villains don’t have any real quotable zingers.

The entire story can also be played cooperatively with a real-world friend, and that’s when Far Cry 5 achieves a whole other level of crazy. Two players generate twice as much chaos, and it’s really fun to galavant around Montana with a buddy leaving destruction in your wake. It’s a drag that only the host player will get credit for completing missions. The guest will have to finish them again on their own (or go through again as host).

Further enhancing the replayability of Far Cry 5 is Far Cry Arcade, an entirely new mode separate from the campaign where you can create your own levels. It aims to keep you playing long after you’ve cleared out the Hope County map, but in its current state it’s a bit of a disappointment if you’re looking to play rather than create. The editing tools are very in-depth and a handful of different mission types can be created, but this isn’t something you can casually sit down with and whip up your own level. Creating something worth playing will take time, patience, and actual level design skills.