#customization should not be an excuse to offer the bare minimum of features in the base product

[sawvidae]

ngl i dont get how aseprite became THE pixel art program for desktop when its so goddamn barebones

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: There’s actually none (I hope). I know. I’m surprised too.

Authors Note: This is so dumb. I’m aware. Look, I’ve been dealing with a horrendous writers block and shattered confidence and I made Paul Sevier gifs to ease my pain. It turned into this. I just wanted to try something a little cute and fluffy to get back into the swing of things. So... here it is.

*

It was going to be a long night.

Stuck on the Wednesday evening shift for the third time this month, you mindlessly fiddled with the pen in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, your mind drifted away from the present moment, wondering why your boss seemed to dislike you so much to keep you here past 6pm in the middle of the week. He’d always been adamant this was prime selling time for this boutique suit store, with corporate clients needing to do their shopping outside of normal business hours.

You, however, knew keeping this place open was senseless, barely seeing more than a few unenthusiastic customers in these agonizingly slow stretches. Working on commission also made you all the more bitter about being paid minimum wage to stand behind a counter and doodle sketches of imaginary clients dressed in the outfits you personally tailored. This isn’t where you thought a Bachelor of Arts in Fashion Design would take you, that’s for sure.

“H-hello,” you heard a deep voice quietly greet you, startling you into focus. “Are you busy? I… think I need a little help.”

Eyes flickering up from the notepad, you were sure your pupils blew wide at the sight of the man in front of you. Standing at an imposingly large height, his hair a severely murky shade of black, with honeyed irises shining brightly behind delicate spectacles.

A human personification of tall, dark and handsome. Well, except for the clothes.

The stranger wore the layered combination of a grey tweed jacket and argyle patterned sweater, arranged over a particularly heinous, mustard-coloured button up. While the ensemble made you internally cringe, it gave him an air of intelligence, like the kind that hangs around stuffy, old college professors who have more academic accolades than you have fingers and toes.

“Me?” you coughed out, knowing full well you were the only other person in this tiny little shop. “Uh, yeah. I mean- No, no I’m not busy. What is it you need help with?” Even when you stood, the man towered above you, making you silently begin to calculate the high-numbered measurements you’d need to fit him in something.

“I have an important meeting scheduled for Friday. You know, the type you need to wear a suit to?” Evidently the thought of it made him nervous, as you noticed his cheek twitch slightly, his eyes scanning momentarily at the garments filling the space. “I’m… uh… not so great with clothes.”

Clearly, you chuckled inside your head, holding the word from your tongue. “You want me to pick out something for you?”

He took a defeated breath, his mouth twisting into an awkward yet wonderfully endearing smile. “Would you mind? Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble!” you burst, maybe a little too excitedly. “It’s my job!” Bounding out from behind the counter you’d been imprisoned by, you moved directly to the section of classic navy business suits. Slim line. Something to accentuate his well-built frame, rather than hide it away. You had to pause, swivelling back around to the dumbfounded man. “Is price an issue… uh…?”

“Paul,” he answered for you, slowly moving to where you stood. “And… I suppose not. Probably should spend the money on something that will last. If you think it’s a good idea.”

Oh thank god, you mused without showing the relief on your face. He’s not some rich asshole trying to flash his cash. “A good suit can last you five years, if you treat it right.” Your hand reached over to graze one of the deepened blue sleeves of a jacket at your left. “And a classic colour will never go out of style.”

Paul let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I think you’ve already noticed how lacking in style I am…” He glanced to your nametag, murmuring your name with a goofy smirk curling his lips. You’d never seen a grown man, especially not one of this stature, appear so adorable. It was horribly distracting.

“I’m sure you have expertise in other areas,” you stumbled, realizing only when the words came out how offensive they might seem. Yet Paul conceded to your comment, his rumbling laugh making your chest feel tight.

“Debatable,” he shrugged. “I’m just glad I found some qualified personnel to help me in this instance.”

Oh boy. Humble and charming? You were in so much trouble. Surely someone as sweet as this had another waiting for them at home. “I’m sure your partner could help you pick out something nice too.”

“Not an option in my case.”

Shit. Single too. You were truly fucked.

You turned, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat by focusing on finding an outfit that would contain his longer limbs. Plucking out a matching jacket and trouser set, with an ivory, collared button-up, you offered them to Paul, his features having melted into a sweetened look of intrigue. “Go and try these on. There’s a changeroom just behind the counter. See how they feel, and we can go from there.”

He nodded, taking the pieces with both of his large hands and shuffling away to where you’d pointed to. No sooner than the latch had locked were you dashing to where your phone was sitting at the register, flitting out a rushed text message to your favourite co-worker.

There was rustling you heard emanating from the changeroom stall, doing your best to ignore the urge of picturing Paul, a man you’d met only minutes ago, gradually slipping off his clothes to reveal the toned muscles underneath. You grimaced at yourself, shaking your head to banish the imaginations. God this was unprofessional.

Finally, a response lit up on your phone screen.

You laughed softly through your nose, about to type a reply when you heard the lock click open again. The breath in your lungs was stuck as Paul made his way out, the expensive textiles draping over his burly frame in a way that made your whole body tense.

He rustled a hand through his hair, looking up to you while fidgeting with the starchy material stretched over his chest. “Does it look okay?”

After all these years working this job, the enticing novelty of attractive men in well-fitted suits had slowly worn off, especially when most of them treated you with about as much respect as the used gum they spit out onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, all those preconceived notions were gone. On Paul, this ensemble instantly became the most captivating thing in the entire universe.

The inside of your mouth flooded with saliva, having to swallow hard before speaking again. “Great… it looks… great.” You did your best to conceal a settling exhale. “What do you think? How does it feel?”

Paul shifted to look at his reflection in the mirror, pupils trailing up and down, flexing his limbs in an attempt to get a proper impression of the new apparel. “It feels really good. Makes me look… sophisticated.” He turned to you, his expression unsure. “Right?”

Your smile was sparkling, nodding to his question. There was a small amount of work to do, noting how in your effort to make sure everything complemented his physique, you’d oversized him. The waistline of the jacket needed to be taken in, the shoulder lines sitting slightly off, and the trouser length needing to be taken up slightly. “A couple of adjustments and it’ll be perfect.”

“You mean taking it to be tailored?”

“No need.” You pulled out the wheel of berry pins from your pocket, kneeling down on the floor next to Paul’s feet. “All our tailoring is included in the price. Done completely in house.” You began to fold the bottom edge of his pants, pinning it to an adequate length. “I can have it ready for you tomorrow, all ready for your Friday meeting.”

“You do all the tailoring yourself?” Paul asked as you slinked another pin through the fabric.

“Sure do,” you chirped, moving onto the other leg. “3 years at a design school taught me a few things about cutting and sewing.” With the hemlines in place, you straightened in front of him, plucking out a roll of measuring tape from your other pocket. “I just… need to take a few measurements to properly alter the jacket.”

His cheek twitched, the line of his jaw seeming somewhat strained. “Sure. F-fine. Do what you gotta do."

You went with determining his arm length first, feeling out the boney point of his shoulder and striping the lined tape all the way down to his wrist. Then, after taking a deep inhale, you curled your arms around his hips, focusing hard on the little black numbers to ignore the fact Paul’s breath had started to skate over your skin with this close proximity. It was when you were lining up the thickened stripes indicating his chest circumference that you made the mistake of peering up, finding his alluring stare fully concentrated on you.

There was a moment. A spark to waiting kindling. Where impulse could have led you to do a dangerous thing. You’d never been the hasty type, never acted without considerable thought. Usually so shy and composed, never making the first move. Although right now, you could scarcely hold yourself back, desperate to know the sensation of Paul’s lips, how they’d move over yours, what they tasted like.

No. This was so inappropriate.

The compulsion was about to wither away when you felt a hand skim up your waist, the lightened touch shooting a thrill over your skin.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice called from your side. “How much are these dress socks?”

You immediately stepped back, smacked into reality again. “$12.99. Exactly what it says on the box.”

The older gentlemen scrutinized the packaging, lids narrowed until he finally saw the numbers plastered at the border. “Oh, right. Eh, a little expensive for my taste. Thanks anyway.”

Flustered, you began to coil the measuring tape into its resting spiral, forcefully glaring at the floor. “I’m all done. You can get dressed into your own clothes now.”

In your periphery you saw Paul regarding you with a gentle nod, walking back into the changeroom without another word. Every part of you wanted to sink beneath the wooden floorboards, so horrendously embarrassed you could feel a smoldering heat prickle at your cheeks. Only to relieve some of the nervous energy, you ran to your phone.

Again, Paul was exiting out of the stall just as you were going to submit your reply, placing the neatly arranged garments over the counter. It was difficult to look directly at him, having to summon all remaining shards of your courage to drift your eyes up to his face. “Was there anything else you needed?”

His mouth parted, only to quickly snap shut, scratching at his hairline in the seconds it took for him to give you a response. “No. Nothing else. Unless there’s something more you think I need.”

You shook your head, wishing you could give another answer just to keep him here. “You’re all set.” The full price of his items flashed on the monitor in front of you, spouting it to him as your fingers flicked across the keyboard to finalize the purchase, with a personal discount that wouldn’t show on the receipt.

“When should I come by to pick it up?” he queried, passing you his credit card. “Oh, but there’s no pressure. Whenever you have the time is just fine.”

An idea flared. “If you give me your number, I can text you when it’s ready.”

“That works for me.”

Erasing all evidence of the conversation you’d been having, you brought up the number pad, handing your phone over. Paul swiftly typed in his details before placing it back in your palm. ‘Paul the Suit Guy’ the contact read, unable to stifle your laugh.  

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His eager expression made your heart quiver through a beat.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “I’ll see you then.”

Paul waved his hand in an awkward flourish to signal his goodbye, eventually moving far enough from your vision for you to finally take a full, relaxed breath. In a dazed hurry, you keyed in your returning message to your co-worker.

It was the precise moment your thumb had pressed into the ‘Send’ button that you realised your recipient wasn’t the one you’d intended.

You’d sent this message straight to Paul.

Fuck. Oh fuck. This was bad.

While you were scrambling to formulate a believable excuse, a new message popped up onto the screen.

Tags for my lovelies who might tolerate this nonsense: @tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @blowthatpieceofjunk @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @blackberries45 @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynzandtonic @beskarbabs​

[akjensen-writes]

holdin’ out for a hero

short story - wlw [Whitney/Taylor]

TW - suicide idealization (brief)

“That’ll be 13.95.” 

Taylor says it automatically, feeling more like a robot than a person. She waits patiently as the customer across the counter inserts their card into the reader. It buzzes several times before the card is removed. She glances at her watch as discreetly as possible. Her red cashier’s vest reads ‘I dig Mr. Pig’ and if that isn’t bad enough, she’s got another three hours left until the end of her shift. An end that can’t come soon enough, for so many more reasons than sheer boredom.

Thursday nights at the Piggly Wiggly, aka the Pig -- pronounced “the Peeg” from the heavy accents of the locals -- are never very busy. They carry the same droning, languid feeling that Taylor can hear coming from her own voice, and she spends more time staring at the clock and contemplating her own existence than actually doing anything.

She’s been here for four years, which is approximately three and a half too many, with no escape plan in sight. The pay is dismal, but it’s a job, and in a small southern town, that’s really all she can ask for. But she’s trapped, and every day the walls seem to close in on her a little more. If this is the best she can do, then she isn’t sure what the point is anymore. 

Chris, the cashier in the next lane, methodically swipes product across his counter with mind-numbing precision. Cereal, beep. Bananas, beep. Eggs, beep. All in a steady, even rhythm. Boring, beep. Useless, beep. Taylor taps her fingers on the counter. The same ‘80’s mix of songs rotates over and over again on the dated speakers. She wonders how many times she’s listened to it all the way through at this point. A thousand, maybe. She knows she can recite every track, sing every lyric, and that in and of itself is nothing to be proud of. 

Bonnie Tyler’s rasping voice cuts into the silence. I’m holdin’ out for a hero ‘til the end of the night. 

“Aren’t we all, Bonnie?” Taylor mutters to herself. “Aren’t we all?”

Tonight is the night, she thinks, as she plasters a smile on her face and hands the change over to her customer. Her lane is once again empty. The fluorescent lights buzz above her as she stares into space. Tonight is her last shift, for good. Tonight is her last anything. She’s going nowhere, and doesn’t even have the energy to care about it anymore. It’s not like it would matter. She could disappear off the face of the Earth and she doubts anyone would so much as blink.

It isn’t sadness, really. It’s just nothing. Deep, dark, nothing.

“Hey Taylor, I’m headin’ out.” Derek, the weekday manager talks as he’s coming around the corner. He always does that. He starts his sentences while he’s at odd places in the store, appearing just as his thought trails off. His beady little eyes dart around nervously as he glances at her register. It’s a silent reminder to thoroughly count the money before she turns over the key. He’s nice enough, Taylor thinks, even if all he does is sit in the back room and watch reruns of old ‘90’s cartoons. Nice enough is all it takes in this town, apparently. But a small pang of sadness hits her in the chest as she thinks about the fact that she’s never going to see him again. 

“Have a great night,” Taylor says, nodding at him, trying to commit his squirrely features to memory. He has a small chin and scruffs of facial hair that he only keeps to look older than he really is. These are the two distinguishing features that stand out as somewhat noteworthy. In that moment, she feels sorry for him. “Thanks for everything, Derek.” 

She feels weirdly nostalgic, nudged on by the anticipation of tonight being the end of everything. Derek has done exactly nothing for her, except leave her alone, which she supposes is something to be thankful for. He narrows his eyes in suspicion as he looks her over. 

“Uh, sure,” he replies, frowning. “Just don’t forget to lock up, okay?”

It’s such a trivial request, but it fits, somehow. Don’t forget to lock up. Don’t make a mess. Just get it over with quickly and be done, will you? We don’t have any time for this. 

Taylor almost smiles. 

The sound of a throat clearing breaks the moment. She turns her attention back to her line. JenandJudy are standing there, wearing identical flannel shirts, staring at her with sweet, expectant smiles.

“How’s it goin’?” they ask, together in perfect unison. Taylor nods at them and starts scanning their items. A case of beer, and a bottle of whiskey. They’re probably going to the woods for a bonfire. 

They all went to high school together, and at one point, Taylor assumes Jen and Judy were separate entities. But for as long as she can remember they’ve been together, their names a one word anomaly. JenandJudy. They’re the kind of lesbians that have now merged identities so ferociously, there’s no telling where one ends and the other begins. It’s borderline creepy, the way they almost look like twins at this point, but no one ever comments on it out loud. Taylor assumes that’s just what happens when you fall in love, but something about it seems a little...much.

Not that she would know.  

“You should come to the clearing,” Jen suggests, with Judy nodding emphatically. “We’re headin’ there in a few.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Taylor verbally agrees, while mentally declining. The clearing is a dump, almost literally, where everyone in town gathers as an excuse to do something other than sit at home. Taylor hasn’t been there since she was 15. JenandJudy smile, satisfied at doing the bare minimum in extending the invitation. 

Judy’s arm stays protectively around Jen’s waist. She watches her with starry-eyed fascination as her girlfriend pays. ‘Look at this incredible specimen!’ her eyes seem to exclaim, like it’s the singular most fantastic thing she’s ever witnessed. ‘She pays for groceries better than anyone I’ve ever seen! Can you believe it?’

Taylor snorts to herself. She isn’t mad, or even put off by it. It must be nice to have someone who thinks you’re fascinating, even when there’s nothing remotely amazing going on. The jealousy is warm and cozy, like a blanket she can pull snugly around her shoulders in her hour of need.

“See you later!” they announce, gathering their alcohol and heading for the door. Taylor waves a final goodbye.

“How do you tell them apart?” a voice teases from somewhere behind her. She turns, and instantly she’s met with bright hazel eyes that seem so sharp, they could probably dissect her right where she’s standing. Taylor swallows several times, unsuccessful in her attempts to get her mouth working properly. She smiles weakly, shrugging. “I’m just kidding,” the blonde stranger says, running her fingers through her hair. Taylor catches the way her slightly tanned cheeks flush, and a warmth runs through her chest. 

“It’s a good question,” Taylor says, glancing back out the door where JenandJudy have just left. “At this point, I don’t think I can.”

“Fair enough,” she giggles, and Taylor’s heart, inexplicably, flutters. 

Sexy customers are not really a thing at The Pig, and when it happens, it’s almost like spotting a unicorn. In all the years Taylor has been working here, it’s only happened half a time, and that’s because the woman in question was wearing so much makeup that Taylor couldn’t make an accurate assessment. 

She’s suddenly acutely aware of her horrifying vest, and the fact that her brown hair is disgusting, all matted and greasy against her scalp. Of course this would happen tonight, of all nights. The final night. Why couldn’t she have made an effort, just this once? Maybe she should have planned better. But she knows no amount of planning would ever prepare her to lock eyes with someone as stunning as the girl in front of her now.

She adjusts her dark framed glasses and tries to focus on doing her job without saying anything horrifying.

There are only two items to scan: a sympathy card and flowers. Taylor glances up at the stranger and notices her wringing her fingers together, looking around the store with a sort of forlorn expression. She clears her throat. 

“These are really pretty,” Taylor offers, gesturing at the flowers as she scans the other item. She doesn’t know why she comments. She usually makes it a rule not to get involved in other people’s purchases. It’s none of her business. Whenever she goes shopping, she’s so conscious of what’s going through the clerk’s mind that she almost can’t stand it. But this feels different. Magnetic, somehow, like she’s drawn to this girl, like not saying something is a worse transgression. Besides, she started it. The conversation feels like it has to go somewhere. 

“You think?” the girl replies, taking them with a skeptical smile. It’s a lavender themed wildflower bouquet. Classy, in Taylor’s not-so-expert opinion. “I wasn’t sure.”

“They’re great,” Taylor assures her.

“They’re for my friend,” the girl explains. “Her cousin died, and I wanted to stop by and do something nice for her, you know? But I’m the worst at these things. I never know what to freakin’ say.”

“Sometimes just showing up is enough,” Taylor says, and she means it with everything she has. She wishes more people would understand that. Just being there means everything.

“That’s a good point,” she replies, looking thoughtful. “It’s always nice to know that people care. I wish we didn’t always wait for funerals to show that to each other, you know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It’s too late, and then what?” the girl asks, almost exasperated. “It’s not fair. People should just be nicer to each other.”

“They should,” Taylor agrees, her heart pounding as they make eye contact. The girl smiles, a dazzling, dreamy smile, and Taylor’s insides melt. “She’s lucky to have you.”

The girl takes her change and shrugs. As she gathers her items, she pauses and nods at Taylor again. “Thanks for listening to me ramble,” she says. “Genuinely. I haven’t come to this grocery store before, but I just moved from across town. I think this is going to be my new regular spot. I’m sure I’ll see you around soon.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Taylor promises. 

Her eyes follow the girl to the exit. She watches her carry her items carefully, her other hand fishing in her jeans pocket for her keys. Taylor stares long after she’s gone and decides that maybe, just maybe, she can hold on for a little longer.

----

The charming stranger returns a week later, on an unassuming Tuesday evening to do a routine stock of groceries. Taylor is working, holding on to the hope of being able to see her again. If that makes her pathetic, then she’s already mostly made peace with that. She sees the stunning blonde sashay in around 7pm, wearing the exact same outfit as she wore when Taylor met her: a red zip up sweatshirt, white tshirt, and jeans that seem to be tailor made for her. Taylor’s mouth is instantly dry, her insides pulsing like the walls of a night club. The girl glances at her phone with a focused expression, before placing it in her pocket. 

Taylor wonders idly if she normally shops on off hours like this, but she supposes she’ll figure it out sooner or later. That’s the thing about always working at a place so integral to people’s lives: the routines become part of her. She knows Mr. Jensen, the math teacher, always shops on Wednesday mornings because he has two free periods and hates crowds. He stocks up on Folger’s coffee like they’re going out of business, and he has a particular affinity for Corn Flakes cereal. 

Taylor can tell you about most of her regulars. She knows their preferences, their routines, their schedules. She even knows their moods. An extra bottle of wine for the dark haired lady who works downtown? A rough week. Lactaid milk for the balding guy that lives in her apartment complex? His mom is coming to town. 

All this without saying much more than “paper or plastic?” and “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Hey!” a now familiar voice announces. Taylor turns, and once again is taken by mystery girl’s marvelous hazel eyes. She’s smiling like they’re in on a tremendous secret, even though there’s nothing coincidental about running into her here. 

“You’re back,” Taylor greets, trying to keep her voice steady, like she hasn’t been counting down the minutes until she could see this girl again. She absolutely has, but no reason for her to know that. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yup,” the girl says, piling her items on the conveyor belt. “Most importantly--” she reaches into her cart and picks up a bottle of wine. A red blend from Napa. That tracks. Pretty girls from out of town drink smooth red wines. Everyone knows that. 

She slides over her ID and Taylor scans it quickly. Not too quickly to notice her name, though. It’s like a slight-of-hand card trick, the way she does it without moving her eyes. The result of years of on the job training. She can’t say the Pig didn’t give her at least one weirdly applicable skill.

The blonde’s picture beams back at her. Whose DMV photo comes out this gorgeous? Taylor bites her lip as her gaze flickers to the flawless face in front of her. Nice to meet you, Whitney Matthews, of Cherry Grove Court. According to her license, she’s 24 as of April 4th, making her two years older than Taylor. She slides the ID back and rings up the rest of her items. The haul is mostly produce, almond milk, eggs. She’s clearly a responsible eater, one of those people who seem to be into wellness. She probably does yoga. Taylor sneaks a glance at Whitney’s legs. 

Definitely yoga.

There’s a few frozen pizzas and a surprising appearance from a large bag of skittles. Taylor grins as she rings them up. 

“I love skittles,” Whitney says with a teasing smile. “Don’t judge me.”

“Who doesn’t love skittles?”

“Thank you,” Whitney nods, approving. She grabs her bags and puts them back in her cart. “Same time next week?” She chuckles when she says it and Taylor’s cheeks flush, as if this is a standing date the two of them now have. 

With a nod she replies, “I’ll be here.”

Whitney gives her a little wave, and Taylor wonders if she’s like this with everyone. Is she a serial conversationalist, making flirtatious small talk with every clerk in town? Or is this something a little more significant?

She knows what she wants the answer to be.

---

From then on, every Tuesday, like clockwork, Whitney comes into the Pig and does her usual shopping trip. She always seems to wear her signature red hoodie and jeans, like she’s got her own version of a grocery uniform-- only hers isn’t mortifying and ugly. Quite the opposite, if Taylor has anything to say about it. It’s casual and sexy which is a combination only Whitney can pull off with such ease. She usually has her hair up in a ponytail, but sometimes she comes in with wavy, sunkissed locks, and Taylor can’t seem to shake the desperate need to run her fingers through it.

Today is a skittles day, which means Whitney’s in a good mood. These are the weeks Taylor loves the most. This is when Whitney gives her teasing smiles that stay on her face a little longer than usual, and offers tidbits about her day. She’s a nurse in the orthopedic wing at the hospital, she says, and this week she got to scrub in on a really complicated sounding surgery. A knee reconstruction, or something. It’s so impressive that Taylor almost forgets she’s supposed to be scanning groceries, lost in the idea of Whitney out there doing good, saving lives. She feels inadequate in comparison, but can’t seem to dwell on it while Whitney is here looking at her like she’s the only person in the world she wants to talk to. 

Sometimes, on weeks like this, she’ll share her weekend plans, or talk about something she’s planning to cook. She likes to go hiking, which isn’t a surprise. She also loves Italian food. Taylor listens and catalogues everything in a mental Whitney spreadsheet that she keeps in her brain, in case she ever has a reason to need it.

She hopes one day, she will. 

Some weeks, though, Whitney only buys the staples, and her smile is a little slower, her eyes a little muted. She’s more tired, or stressed, or something that Taylor can’t detangle, and those are the weeks Taylor wishes didn’t have to exist. On those days, it’s almost like the little light in Whitney flickers, too exhausted to be kept on at the normal brightness she exudes. She quietly greets Taylor, and thanks her when the transaction is done. She puts her bags in her cart and slowly shuffles out of the store, leaving Taylor alone with nothing but Bonnie Tyler crooning in the background. 

Turn around, bright eyes.

“Shut up, Bonnie,” Taylor mutters, disappointed.

---

Taylor tries to avoid working Saturdays because the Pig turns into an overrun madhouse of exhausted mothers, screaming children, and bleary eyed white collar workers who can’t sneak away from the office any other time to do their shopping. The lines are nonstop. The shelves are in a perpetual state of near-depletion. Everywhere she looks, it’s a disaster, the store ground zero of a perfectly executed attack.

But the extra cash is necessary if Taylor is going to go back to school. She decides to get serious about it on a random night when her shift ends. Whitney had been in, elated from a successful day caring for a patient with a broken leg, and something in Taylor just clicked. Maybe this isn’t everything her life has in store for her. Maybe the Pig isn’t her last stop.

Nursing probably isn’t a good fit, she’s squeamish around needles and doesn’t think she can handle that much potential death. It’s ironic, considering her state of mind a while ago, but the two ideas remain disconnected. She considers teaching, or journalism, or maybe even accounting. She’s always been good with numbers. The options are suddenly endless.

She’s giddy at the prospect, and it seems to overflow into her work. She’s chatting with customers for no reason today -- asking more than the obligatory questions, and even going so far as to compliment a lady’s hair cut. Everything feels brighter, somehow. 

The morning goes by in a blur of produce codes and aisle clean ups, but the pace is strangely satisfying. It’s already 2pm by the time she checks her watch, which is astonishing. Her face hurts from smiling at so many people, but that’s a nice problem to have. She turns her attention to the next customer and her heart catches in her throat.

“Twice in one week, lucky me,” Whitney says cheerfully, smiling a hundred watt smile as she places the divider on the belt to separate her items from the person behind her. “How ya doin?”

“Great,” Taylor squeaks, her voice cracking horribly. She clears her throat and studies Whitney’s stuff. A birthday cake and some wine. Taylor’s stomach drops. She glances at her watch. April 4th. “How--how are you?”

It’s Whitney’s birthday, but she doesn’t want to bring it up. She doesn’t want to explain why she knows it, why April 4th is ingrained in her memory. It isn’t for any creepy reasons, honest. She just finds Whitney fascinating on every level. And a little sexy. It’s not a crime to be invested.

Whitney shrugs. “Oh, you know, doing okay,” she says, and it isn’t very convincing. She looks suddenly defeated, and Taylor wants so badly to help. 

“Got any plans tonight?” she asks, hoping it might coax something out of her. She wants Whitney to be doing something extraordinary, to have a day that celebrates her, the way she deserves. But her demeanor stays reserved. 

“Dinner with my parents, and my sister,” she says softly. “Nothin’ crazy.”

“And cake, of course.”

“And cake,” Whitney agrees. “Of course.”

The receipt is printed, and Taylor finally cracks. She wants to ask about her family, about her sister. Is she older or younger? Is she anything like Whitney or completely the opposite? Does she get along with her family?

“Is it your birthday?” is all she asks instead, the only question she already knows the answer to. She blinks at Whitney carefully.

Whitney’s cheeks flush as she nods. “The cake gave it away, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” Taylor replies.

“Pretty sad, I know, buying my own cake,” Whitney shrugs. “It kind of snuck up on me this year.”

“No, it’s not sad,” Taylor says, trying her best to reassure her. She carefully places the cake in a bag and gently ties the top. Their hands touch as Whitney takes it, and a jolt goes through Taylor’s core. She swallows heavily, trying to gain her composure.“This way at least you know you’re getting one you like, right?”

“Very true,” Whitney finally smiles. “Something about bakery frosting, I swear. I don’t even care what kind of cake it is, but this frosting is addicting. My mom is probably baking something, so she’s going to be so pissed.” She laughs at that, and Taylor joins her, for the simple fact that Whitney seems to finally be cheerful. 

“I hope you have a really great birthday,” Taylor says, handing her the receipt. 

“Thanks,” Whitney takes it, her nose scrunching as she smiles. “I’m glad I saw you.”

Whitney exits, and Taylor’s eyes follow her for a few seconds. She wonders, briefly, if Whitney is happy.

---

Conversations have never come easy to Taylor. People are fascinating, but only from a distance. She likes to observe, to formulate an idea of a person curated from the tidbits they choose to share. She’s always been told she’s a great listener. Mostly, it’s because she doesn’t have a choice. She doesn’t want to say something stupid or awkward and disrupt the connection she has with someone. Instead, she nods along, perfectly content to absorb whatever people feel like sharing.

Whitney doesn’t seem to mind Taylor’s silence. She’s warm and genuine, always patiently nudging the conversation ahead and navigating when Taylor prefers to coast. Granted, they don’t sit down and have long heart to hearts, but their connection is purposeful. They speak with intent; Whitney always seems to focus on Taylor and only Taylor when they speak. She isn’t on her phone or reading over her shoulder or flipping through a magazine. She even goes as far as pausing on unloading her groceries in order to finish her thought, or wait for Taylor’s response. She’s probably the worst to stand behind in line, because she never seems to be in a rush. She simply exists in the moment, thoughtful and patient and kind, allowing herself to simply be.

Their routine continues week in and week out. Whitney comes into the store, seeks out Taylor’s line, and pauses to catch up. They’re cautiously toeing the line from acquaintances to almost-friendship, a gray area that Taylor knows is going to eventually require a leap. But just seeing Whitney’s face light up when she holds up two bags of potato chips one Tuesday night in late May is enough for Taylor to be grateful. 

She’ll take Whitney in any form she can get, even if it’s just as the adorable customer with the dazzling eyes who gets overly excited about a potato chip sale.

“Buy 2 get 2, I’m so freaking pumped!” Whitney exclaims, placing them down on the belt and grinning in triumph. She doesn’t usually buy chips, so Taylor’s eyebrow raises in question. 

“What?”

“You don’t usually buy them,” Taylor shrugs, scanning the package. Lays BBQ and Wavy. Interesting.

“My friend is having a barbecue and I’m on snack duty,” Whitney says, surveying the rest of her items with a frown. She places her hands on her hips. “What am I missing?”

Taylor follows her eyes and takes note of the contents: several kinds of dips, and what looks like one of each type of chip flavor the store carries. She shakes her head and grins. “Did you leave any on the shelves?”

“Very funny,” Whitney rolls her eyes.

“Sweet tea?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t see it,” Taylor frowns, searching again. 

“What?” Whitney tilts her head thoughtfully to the side before her eyes widen. “Oh! Sweet tea. Sweet tea! I thought you said sweetie.”

Whitney’s cheeks flush, and the muscles in Taylor’s stomach clench at the unexpected endearment. She’s warm and tingly all over, and might actually pass out, now that she’s processing the whole exchange. Whitney reacted so naturally, like tossing out ‘sweetie’ is just something they casually do.

Taylor chuckles, shaking her head. “They basically sound the same, yeah,” she agrees, and Whitney holds her hand loosely over her mouth. 

“I’m an idiot,” she says. “No, I don’t have sweet tea. Should I?”

“Sort of a requirement around these parts.”

“Dang, the more you know.” Whitney glances at the drink aisle and back to Taylor. 

“No worries, I’ll go get it for you,” Taylor says, already turning toward the aisle. She slips past several customers and heads for the back of the store. She could navigate with her eyes closed, but she still picks up the pace so she doesn’t keep Whitney waiting. She grabs the biggest one she can find and heads back to her register. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” Whitney gushes, and Taylor feels her cheeks burn. That’s her, the friendly neighborhood sweet tea proctor. 

“It’s not quite the real deal, but it’s damn good,” Taylor says as she rings everything up. 

“The real deal huh? You’ll have to tell me how to do that,” Whitney says. She places her card in the reader and grins. “I’m obviously not from here originally.”

She has a smooth accent, but not one Taylor can easily place. Her voice isn’t nasally like a northerner, but she talks faster than most of the people around here. It’s actually been driving Taylor crazy for weeks.

“Where are you from?”

Whitney gives her a teasing smile, her full lips twisting as she grins. “Guess.”

Taylor thinks about it more. Their eyes meet and her heart flips, the way it always does when Whitney’s around. She squints and sighs. “California?”

“Nope,” she replies, her smile radiant. She’s positively giddy at the idea of this game. “Guess you won’t find out.”

Taylor holds out her receipt. Whitney reaches for it, and Taylor pulls it back at the last minute. “How about now?”

Whitney’s mouth hangs open playfully as her eyes widen. “Taylor!”

She almost drops the receipt. It’s the first time Whitney says her name, and it sounds incredible coming from her lips. She has never been more thankful for her ugly name tag than right at this moment. She wants to ask her to repeat it, to find some way for her to say it over and over and over. Taylor. Her name is suddenly majestic.

Whitney grabs the receipt, catching Taylor in her tailspin. She flashes it in victory. “Don’t worry,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “I’ll tell you sometime.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Taylor says as Whitney gathers her bags. “Bye Whitney.”

“Later, Taylor,” she replies with a sweet smile, and Taylor’s entire body vibrates with something magical.

---

The summer is a whirlwind of activity. Besides the holiday rush, this is the only other time where Taylor notices a deluge of milestones. Graduations, weddings, christenings, all seem to be taking place in June, July and August. She recognizes Mrs. Johanssen from the library, coming in for a graduation cake. It’s for her son, she beams, he’s graduating from college, can you believe it? Taylor smiles and rings it up, sending her on her way with congratulations.

Mr. Hood, the hulking owner of Smash Fitness, comes in one morning for a dozen pink roses and a pink balloon. It’s for a christening, he says, blushing. His muscled hand is surprisingly gentle as he cradles the stems of the flowers. His arms practically burst through the sleeves of his suit. His baby girl, he gushes. Did she want to see pictures? Taylor obliges, and smiles, and wishes him the best. His eyes are misty as he thanks her and heads out on his way.

It’s a strange phenomenon to be present for the significant events in people’s lives without really knowing them. But Taylor shares something with each and every person, experiencing pieces of their joy as if she’s actually present for their celebrations. It’s one thing about this job that she’s grateful for. There’s an unexpected connection now, and that makes it mean something. 

Whitney comes into the store more often, celebrating her own set of milestones. Taylor watches day in and day out as she buys graduation cards, and birthday cakes for family members, and a wedding card for another cousin. The wedding is going to be in Napa, she tells Taylor, starry-eyed. Isn’t that cool?

Taylor smiles, thinking of Whitney in a beautiful bridesmaid’s dress. Not the kind that awful brides make their friends wear so they look frumpy in comparison. But the real classic kind, a deep blue or a maroon, maybe, that would fit her like a glove and make her tan skin look incredible. She nods along with Whitney’s excitement, hoping for pictures, even though she knows that’s far fetched.

Taylor gives her the receipt and her bag and wishes her a great trip. She feels the way Whitney keeps her eyes on her as she starts to ring up the next customer in line. 

“Can I text you?” Whitney asks softly, so softly that Taylor almost thinks she’s imagining things.

She turns to face her, and sees Whitney’s hopeful smile as she holds out her phone. “If you want,” she says. “I thought I could send you pictures from the wedding.”

“Yeah,” Taylor says. She has to shake her head to make sure this is really happening, but then she nods, taking Whitney’s phone. She puts in her number and hands it back. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” Whitney says, staring at her phone briefly before nodding, satisfied. “I’ll do that then.”

For the first time in months, Taylor catches the music on the speakers. 

Somewhere just beyond my reach, there’s someone reaching back for me.

---

The following Tuesday, or Whitney day as Taylor secretly refers to it, is awful, because Whitney is out of town. She wakes up in a sour mood, despite the fact that they text now, which is a significant step in a fantastic direction. It just isn’t the same, knowing she won’t see her face in person, or get to listen to her talk about her day with a wry smile, or get teased for still not being able to guess where she’s from.

The day is long, but at least Whitney is diligent with her messages. That’s one thing Taylor was happy to discover with this whole development. Whitney doesn’t just text -- she writes. She sends her silly messages, almost a stream of consciousness that Taylor can actually picture her saying in person. It makes getting through her shift infuriating, for the simple fact that she can’t focus enough to reply. Even though that’s absolutely all she wants to do.

She asks for Taylor’s opinion on Wonder Bread, and what there is to wonder about, but then she answers her own question since she’s clearly sitting here wondering about it. She asks about Taylor’s work schedule. She tells her about the California weather. She sends a picture of a palm tree. She apologizes for sending so many messages. 

Taylor quickly sneaks a look at her phone and tells her it’s okay. She likes them. 

Finally, she sends a picture of her in her dress. Taylor’s face blazes. Whitney’s hair is done up in an elegant updo, a few pieces curled perfectly to fall along her cheek. The dress is magnificent -- a coral color that makes Whitney’s eyes pop. She’s got a sly teasing smile, like she wants to appear unsure that looks amazing, but knows she looks beyond.

“Dammit,” Taylor mumbles to herself, closing her eyes and trying to keep steady. It’s all she can do to stay rooted to the spot instead of hopping on a flight to who knows where California and trying to find her. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” she replies, which doesn’t convey what she wants to say at all. In a fit of embarrassment, she pockets her phone. 

The week is painfully slow, but somehow, they make it to next Tuesday. Taylor is on her “lunch” break, a 4pm slot that is closer to dinner, but no one cares enough to be technical about it. She’s sitting at one of the tables by the deli, which she does on occasion when the store is slow. The employee break room is dark and depressing, with a TV that only plays 3 channels, 1 of which is Fox News on repeat. She’d rather face awkward conversations and customer questions than Tomi Lahren, thank you very much.

She feels someone standing near her and she glances up, practically choking on her sandwich when she realizes it’s Whitney. She’s radiant, smiling like she’s got a trick up her sleeve and Taylor is so overjoyed she almost stands up to hug her. She isn’t much of a touchy feely person, but Whitney has her head spinning in so many directions, she might just make an exception.

“Hey!” Whitney exclaims, claiming a chair for her own and plopping down. “Can I sit here?”

“You already are,” Taylor says, chuckling. Whitney rolls her eyes. 

“Smart ass,” she says. 

“You’re here early,” Taylor says, checking her watch.

“I didn’t go to work today,” Whitney says, shrugging. “I took an extra day off. Jet lag is a bitch.”

Taylor nods as if she understands, but she’s never been out of the state. She takes a sip of her soda to try to steady her nerves.

Whitney taps on the table nervously. She’s fidgety, and gorgeous, and Taylor wants to just reach across the table and hold her hand. She doesn’t. She knows it would be weird, or something. It’s confusing. She’s pretty sure Whitney feels the crazy connection between them, but it’s also something she’s going to have to act on. Taylor doesn’t want to make anything uncomfortable.  

“I’m not really good at this, and I know I should have done this a long time ago so I’m just going to ask--” Whitney starts, her eyes darting from the table to Taylor and back down again. “Um--”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask yet!”

“I feel like I know you,” Taylor replies, shrugging. She doesn’t care what Whitney is going to ask. She already knows her answer is always going to be yes. 

Whitney pauses. “Yeah,” she agrees, an airy chuckle escaping her lips. “I feel like I know you, too.”

“So what were you going to ask?” Taylor’s stomach is in knots, but the good kind that comes from anticipation and excitement.

“Oh right,” Whitney bites her lip, like she’s trying to keep the words contained before blurting them out in an incoherent jumble. “Would you want to go out sometime?” Another breath. “With me, I mean?”

As if Taylor would want to go out with anyone else. 

“It’s still a yes,” Taylor says softly. Whitney meets her eyes and a look of relief passes over her face.

“Yeah?” Whitney scrunches her nose and grins. “When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow I finish at 3,” Taylor says. “I’m free the whole night.”

“Tomorrow it is,” Whitney slaps the table with a snappy grin and stands up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a ton of shopping to do.”

Taylor nods her goodbye and takes another sip of her drink. 

Forever’s gonna start tonight, Bonnie Tyler exclaims. For once, Taylor thinks she might be right.

---

The most disorienting experience is shopping at another grocery store. Their layout feels twisted and wrong, the lights a weird, new-age dimness that makes her forget what time it is. Taylor peruses the aisles slowly, going over her list with precision. 

She doesn’t like to shop at the Pig too often since she knows everyone there. It just turns into an hour of unnecessary conversations then two hours of jumping in to actually work, even if she’s off. Tonight she’s on a schedule. She only has a few hours before her night class at the community college. She’s almost finished with her first year, which is crazy. Accounting, which is smooth and satisfying, the numbers crisp and clean and honest. 

But she’s also taking creative writing, too. She has too many stories to keep in her head. 

The frozen aisle is up next. She places three frozen pizzas in the cart, grinning to herself. They taste like cardboard, but she isn’t going to complain. She stocks up on almond milk and eggs, and gets all the fresh produce. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s Whitney, reminding her about dinner tomorrow, as if Taylor could ever forget. Tomorrow is Whitney’s birthday, and she’s been planning a weekend trip for them for months. She’s going to surprise her and take her to Florida where, it turns out, Whitney is from. It only took several agonizing months to pry that information out of her, but Taylor finally landed on a quality guess. 

She thumbs through several cards, none of them saying exactly what she feels, but she ultimately settles on one with two puppies. Can’t ever go wrong with puppies. She tosses in a bag of skittles and heads for the check out.

The clerk is a quiet girl who smiles at her briefly before scanning her items. Taylor fixes her shirt, a nervous habit when she doesn’t know whether to make conversation or not. She absentmindedly fiddles with the buttons, wondering if this shirt is hers or Whitney’s. It doesn’t really matter.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the girl asks, her bored eyes still focused ahead of her, trained on the screen. 

“Yeah,” Taylor says, confidently. “Yeah, I did.”

[cleverwolfpoetry]

Psycho-pass Movie Novel Chapter 4 - Final Part

Sorry, sorry, sorry for making you wait for so long, it may take me some time but I’ve not stopped working on Psycho-pass novels at all. Two jobs and a family are not easy to handle. Anyway, here we are with the final part of chapter 4.

As always, the sentences in italics are the characters thoughts.

4

The line of vehicles had been arranged in a huge elevator as it was. It didn’t give the sense of being on the top of a building, that huge elevator. Large as a soccer ground, it was climbing steeply the city tower, heart of Shambala Float. When the elevator came to a stop with a loud sound, the top floors of the city tower opened up to the eye with their magnificent view. The sky gardens of Krita Yuga. A lot of green — not artificial, but real plants growing everywhere. One could tell at first sight they were real because of the taste of the refreshing air.

In the pictures: the huge elevator and the sky gardens of Krita Yuga.

The rest after the cut…

Positioned across the large courtyard, the Chairman’s official residence was a compromise between the colonial style and a medieval palace. Got off the car, Tsunemori’s group stepped into the Chairman’s official residence. Rather than human soldiers, security drones made in Japan were overwhelmingly larger in number. Under Nicholas’ guidance, she advanced all the way to a special parlor.  

“Excuse me”

Walking through a thick door made of the best mahogany wood, she stepped firmly onto a luxury carpet.

Chuan Han, the SEAUn’s Chairman, was already sitting at the head of the table far from the entrance.

“I am Tsunemori Akane, Inspector at the Japanese Ministry of Welfare’s Public Safety Bureau”

“I am Chuan Han”

Han went to offer his hand to Tsunemori who was standing up. She answered with a rather unconvinced smile.

“Surely I didn’t think that the Chairman would have met me personally”

“The thing is that I am very interested in you”

“Ah…”

Han sat down. Then, he invited Tsunemori to take a sit too.

A dictator, leader of the military clan — . Though she had been told so, she hadn’t realized straight away*. An intelligent elderly man, well-trained for his age and dressed in a custom-made suit that really suited him.

“Our Shambala Float. How is it? I would really like to hear your impressions as an inspector from Japan, birthplace of the Sibyl System”

“I think that even with limited machineries and materials, you’re searching for the best way. However, you still have many things left to do…”

“Ah ah ah, this is harsh”

Han laughed in a businesslike manner.

“…this time, I’ve been told I can receive your help in the international investigation?”

“The man you’re after, I heard he’s a terrorist who’s supporting the guerrilla, isn’t it?”

— the fugitive Kougami Shinya.

“…we have such a suspicion but…”

“About the measures against guerrilla in this country, I simply want to repress it. I don’t call that an investigation”

Even while laughing, Han was intimidating her with an inner glow in his eyes.

However, Tsunemori also stared back at him without flinching.

“Won’t I receive help?”

“…of course you will, you’ll receive unstinting aid. Only, the situation of this country and even its foundation are different with the ones of your country. I hope I can get your understanding at least on that”

“…I understand”

“In case you go out of this special district of Shambala and visit the key facilities, always act together with the guard that’s been arranged here”

“Together…with the guard?”

“Is it a nuisance?”

“No…”

Han looked towards Nicholas,

“I’m counting on you. Treat her right”

“Leave it to me”

5

It had been arranged that Tsunemori would stay in the residence for foreign important guests located in a corner of Krita Yuga’s sky gardens. Despite its name of vip guest house, hers wasn’t a place where people with a status of heads of state or ministers stayed for the night, but a relatively modest sleeping quarters for the retinue. RELATIVELY MODEST* — .  And yet, it was doubtlessly the same class one could find in the suites of first category hotels. A loft structure built in a cottage-style mainly made of grained wood. She could enjoy the city view from the big windows.

The self-moving suitcase had reached the room first.

“Open case”

At Tsunemori’s words, the suitcase opened on its own.

The contents were scarce, the bare minimum. However, Tsunemori noticed a pouch she didn’t remember placing inside that case and let out a doubtful “mm?”. When she picked it up to examine it, she saw it was accompanied by a card with Karanomori Shion’s kiss mark.

On the card, the sentence “open it if you’re in trouble”.

“Geez, Shion-san…”

She appropriately took off her shoes and clothes and lied down on the bed.

“Ha…”

Tsunemori opened the documents she had previously prepared in Japan on her portable terminal. Visual and written data got displayed one by one on the holographic monitor.

— Chuan Han. Former General of the Army. The Shogun leading the military which has fought for the hegemony on the union.  

He gained the support of Japanese Government on condition that he created a special district governed by Sibyl within SEAUn’s territory and overwhelmed the rival powers. He founded the newborn Parliament.

However, the voice opposing to the political power obtained through the military force hasn’t stopped, and the situation within the territory is unstable as ever. Even in the special district of the maritime Shambala Float, the arrangements for a strict defense are ongoing by means of a collection of unmanned weapons…

The terrorist group who entered Japan illegally…after all, I guess they are members of the antigovernment guerrilla. Han’s power base lies just in the Japanese Government’s support. The distant Sibyl System is the one supporting Shambala Float. Military drones. So, has Tōkyō become a target of retaliation terrorism…?

At that moment, the room interphone announced a visitor.

“Excuse me, may I come in?”

“Ah, yes”

A young girl dressed in modest maid clothing stepped into the room. She must have been around 14 years old, right? A healthy brown skin and lovely round eyes. She was wearing that collar showing she was a latent criminal.

“I am honored to look after you. My name is Nyan Yō. If you need anything, I’m at your service”

“I am glad to meet you too”  

“I can surely arrange your meal immediately. I don’t have to care about access restriction so, if you let me link to your portable terminal, I also shall be able to receive your order through that. Even late at night me or my coworkers will meet your requests. Besides, I was told by Nicholas-sama that in case you go out, as long as it’s a building classified as restricted or ‘the other side of the bridge’, there is no problem even if you move by yourself, Tsunemori-sama”

“I see”

“As the restriction on buying and selling of alcoholic products is going to start in a week thanks to the System’s influence, if you want to try some this is the right time. For the time being, you can control entirely the room features with the touch panel on your bedside table. If you need a holo avatar…”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“It’s a personal question so, is it right for you?”

“If I can answer…”

“This…life you’re leading at ‘Shambala’, is it happy?”

After smiling in a slight melancholic way, Yō answered.

“…of course”

“But, that collar… it must be a menace for you. In the worst case it could even take away your life*”

“If I can keep my psycho-pass stable enough I will be safe, isn’t it so?”

“…I’m sorry. Manners here are different from Japan’s, I can’t get used to it no matter what…”

“No, don’t apologize like this…”

“Does it mean that you approve a domination by means of Sibyl System? Even if it was that collar?”

“The inhabitants of this island, every one of them is really thankful to Chairman Han who introduced the Sibyl System”

“…”

“…not so long ago, there were no safe places everywhere in this country”

6

Night came on. The real investigation activity would have been tomorrow. Tsunemori had decided to eat dinner in the busy quarters of Dvapara Yuga lower stories. The bustling streets extended outwards from the base of the city tower. That was the place for middle class citizens with good hue and psycho-pass rather that for the wealthy class. It wasn’t as much a mess as the ‘outside’ of the city on the water but it was rather disorderly.

Tsunemori let her guard down if only just a little at the night view of the new refreshing country. Even the huge images casted by the Japan-made hologram devices had a rich exotic charm and the religious mood was quite strong. A combined atmosphere of labyrinths and a lot of towers — the lower story was like encircled by walls.   Even though it should have been a cramped space, the view of the holograms was open and distorted the sense of distance.

She roamed absent-mindedly around the bustling streets.

What a hot country — .

The hot air of the daytime still remained on the floor surface of the mega-float. She wiped lightly the sweat formed on her forehead and entered a street with stalls all lined up. There were some stalls selling food and others selling small furniture and accessories.

Tsunemori didn’t enter a restaurant but an eatery with a cheap appearance. She mingled with the local people and ate South-eastern Asia’s typical dishes. A Vietnamese spring roll* made of shrimps and vegetables. A salad with coriander and an acidic dressing. Curry with chicken and potatoes. The curry had a taste different from the Japanese one, the red pepper paste and coconut milk had been dosed with just the right balance. Even if she was tired, that dish tasted like she could eat as much as she liked.

— this heat makes me thirsty.

The sweaty shirt was sticking to Tsunemori’s skin. As in the upper stories the air conditioning was impeccable, it was not probable that this sensation could be tasted there.

Tsunemori, who had finished her meal, bought a bottled beer at a stall. She was slightly surprised because the old man of the stall used an anachronistic unfamiliar utensil called ‘bottle opener’. There was a small park on an elevated ground that allowed to look down on the bustling streets, Tsunemori leaned against a railing there and drank directly from the bottle. A cold beer. The carbon dioxide fizzed in her throat and a refreshing taste popped inside the chest.  

“…”

May I have gotten drunk — ? Tsunemori looked at the ghosts*.

Kagari Shusei, Masaoka Tomomi, Funehara Yuki had gathered around her before she could notice it. Everyone sent to Tsunemori an affectionate glance that seemed to ask her ‘Are you well?’  ‘Are you happy?’  

If Kougami Shinya was here, things would be completely like in the past— .

(ah…that’s right)

— maybe in my subconscious I was comparing the Division 1 I had been initially assigned to with the present Division 1.

A good team. The Division 1 from the times Tsunemori was still a newbie. Even now, somewhere deep in her heart, the feeling that they were the best team at those days was still remaining. Even after the Makishima case had been solved, she couldn’t get rid of that feeling. If Kougami, Kagari or Masaoka teamed up with the present Ginoza become an enforcer, what kind of job would have they done?

“That’s not good…isn’t it?”

Unintentionally, I can’t but think about things fallen apart.

Livening up, she swallowed the remained beer.

NOTES TO TRANSLATION:

*Though she had been told so, she hadn’t realized straight away: a little explanation of this sentence cause it may sound not clear. In Akane’s mind, Han’s interest for her doesn’t make sense. Why should a politician, leader of the country, dictator, etc., be interested in a common woman like her? At that moment, she doesn’t understand the reason and smiles unconvinced. Then Has tells her that he wanna hear her opinion about Shambala…well, there may be other reasons to be interested in her. After all he is one of the brains of Sibyl, but we can only make suppositions about it.

*RELATIVELY MODEST: I guess that after 4 chapters you already know why it’s written in capital letters. Same reason of all the other parts: in the book this sentence is written with dots above the kanjis.

*it could even take away your life: I’d like to point out this sentence in the text. Instead of using the verb 殺す (to kill), the author used the verb 命を奪うtake away your life (literally to steal your life). I like to think (but it’s just my personal thought) that it is a way to underline how Akane is always attentive to life and how she keeps it as precious, as her grandma used to say to her.

*Vietnamese spring roll: in Japanese namaharumaki (生春巻き), in Vietnamite it’s called Ram. Ram is always made from whole shell-on shrimp or chopped deshelled shrimp and some green onion, wrapped in rice paper and deep fried. Ram, like most specialty food items from central Vietnam, are not widely available in Vietnamese restaurant overseas. (from Wikipedia).

* ghosts: the word used in the Japanese text is   幻   (まぼろし) that means both ghost/ phantom and illusion/vision/dream. Both of the meaning are really fit for the situation. 

Thanks for reading and always supporting me!!!

For more psycho-pass translations you can browse the indexes on my website.

[artificialqueens]

Older (Biadore) 8/? - nellie

A/N: So, I lied and this is definitely not the final chapter. This chapter features Katya being weird and wise, and Adore having an emotional breakthrough (or an emotional breakdown). As always, thank you so so so much for all the feedback. You guys are amazing. I appreciate everyone who’s stuck with this even though I’m sure it hasn’t turned out the way you expected it to.

Adore expects her mom to lose it when she finds out Adore’s been kicked out of yet another school. But she doesn’t. Instead, she reacts with a quiet sigh.

“Well baby, if you’re not gonna study then you need to get a job.”

She should be relieved, but it feels worse knowing her mom has given up on her just like everyone else.

She nods, knowing it’s really the least she can do. She’s a useless waste of space, but at least she can be a useless waste of space who also brings home a paycheck.

Unfortunately, it turns out that 17 year old 90s grunge wannabes with no work experience aren’t in high demand.

She spends weeks going to every café, restaurant and store she can. She looks online and applies for everything entry level, but doesn’t hear back from anywhere. She even tries to sell her soul and work at McDonald’s – but even they take one look at her and tell her thanks but no thanks.

It doesn’t take long for her to find herself in Brooklyn. Manhattan was an obvious no from the start, and although she doesn’t really have a Brooklyn ‘look’ (whatever the fuck that is), at least it’s full of people who don’t fit in with mainstream society. Or rich hipsters, but she doesn’t really get gentrification and it’s not like she’s lived in New York long enough to have an opinion anyway.

Unfortunately, Brooklyn turns out to be more of the same. Every place she tries tells her they’re not hiring. A few at least ask for her resume, but since she doesn’t have one, she just smiles awkwardly and tells them she’ll be back. It’s useless. Nobody wants to hire her and she can’t blame them. She wouldn’t want to hire herself for anything either.

It’s about 2pm when exhaustion hits and she drags herself into the next coffee shop she sees. It’s quirky, filled with paintings and mismatched patterns. It’s also busy, so at least the coffee is probably decent. Adore takes a moment to admire the décor before remembering why she’s there and going to the counter to order.

A blonde woman wearing what looks like a patchwork jumpsuit gives her a bright grin. “Hi, welcome. What can I get you?’

“Um,” Adore says. “Coffee. And a job, if you have one.” She gives a wry smile, running a hand through her now ridiculously messy hair.

The woman laughs. “I do actually need some help. I had a girl who worked mornings, but she quit last week. Do you have any experience?”

Adore stares at the woman. This was not what she expected and she’s too exhausted to even try to sell herself. “No. But I just got kicked out of school and I really need a job. I’ll work for tips, I don’t care.”

The woman eyes her thoughtfully for a moment, before turning to the coffee machine and beginning to make her coffee. She’s interrupted several times by customers, leaving Adore standing there awkwardly, not sure whether their conversation is over. She’s weird, Adore thinks. Weird, but looking to hire someone and Adore is desperate.

“Here. I’m Katya, by the way.” Katya hands Adore her coffee with another bright grin.

“Thanks.”

Adore fumbles with her purse and Katya shakes her head. “No, this one’s on me.” She eyes Adore again in a way that makes her feel suddenly very exposed. “Here’s the deal. You can have one week’s trial. Unpaid. After that, if you’re any good, the job’s yours. I pay minimum wage and you’ll be working Tuesdays through to Sundays from seven to midday.”

Waking up at six every morning sounds more or less like hell to Adore, but it’s not like she has much of a choice, so she nods. A job is a job.

“Great!” Katya looks delighted. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at seven. Oh, and what’s your name?”

“Adore.” Adore tries to smile, but she knows she’s not that successful. It’s not like she doesn’t appreciate the offer, but working in a coffee shop wasn’t exactly in her life’s plan. This is it, she thinks. From one minimum wage job to another, until she meets some loser who knocks her up and then she winds up as a single mother just trying to get by. Forget her dreams. Forget wanting anything. People like Adore don’t get happy endings. They just get to survive until one day they don’t anymore and that’s it, game over, thanks for playing.

“See you tomorrow, Adore. And try to look at least a little happy, won’t you?”

Happy. Right.

***

Adore scrapes through her trial and although she thinks she’s failed, Katya offers her a job with another one of those impossibly big grins.

Of course, she says yes.

It doesn’t take long to fall into a routine. Up at six, which gives her just enough time to get ready and fight with New York’s inexplicable and inconvenient public transit system before making it to work at 7. The café opens at 7.30, so she and Katya have half an hour to open up and drink coffee, which Adore always makes so Katya can see how her skills are progressing. Katya drinks her coffee milky and sweet, which Adore personally finds disgusting, but she keeps her mouth shut. Even Adore knows it’s probably not a smart idea to be too critical of her boss.

Not that Katya would probably mind. Katya seems to find everything hilarious, and she has the most random sense of humor. Adore’s never met anyone quite like her. The café is always full of regulars and she remembers everyone’s names and orders, stopping to chat with them all about everything that’s going on in their lives.

(“People pay for a service,” she tells Adore one day as they’re cleaning up after the early morning rush. “It’s not just about coffee. Everyone likes to feel valued.”)

Adore isn’t as social as Katya and she’s terrible with names, but she smiles at everyone who comes in and does her best to be polite and helpful. It’s not really something that comes naturally to her, but she likes Katya and she doesn’t want to let her down.

The café is busy, but the work isn’t too difficult. Adore mostly deals with the tables, delivering food and clearing up, but she more or less just does whatever Katya tells her to do. Katya’s an easy boss to work for and Adore figures it could be worse.

***

“Adore! This coffee’s for Table 6.”

It’s a Sunday morning, far and away their busiest time. Adore’s barely had time to breathe, let alone pay attention to all the customers in the café. She nods, picking the cup up and taking it to her favorite table – it’s a little out of the way, almost hidden around a corner.

Then she sees who’s sitting there.

Bianca.

The cup falls from her suddenly numb hands, shattering on the ground and spilling hot liquid everywhere.

“Fuck!”

They haven’t spoken since the phone call. Adore’s thought about texting a few times, but she never knows what to say. It still hurts, but not as much as it did. She’d even begun to think she was moving on.

But now Bianca’s here, sitting right in front of her and Adore’s embarrassed herself yet a-fucking-gain, and really, could it get any worse?

She bends down to start picking up the largest pieces of the broken cup, feeling the mask fall back into place, pushing all her emotions down, down, down until they’re tightly locked away and she’s comfortably numb.

“Adore?” Bianca sounds uncertain.

Adore doesn’t look up. She has nothing to say to Bianca. They’re over and done and she doesn’t fucking care. She doesn’t care about anything. So she gets to her feet and gives Bianca a cool, impersonal smile as though they’re strangers who have never met before. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll get you another coffee as soon as I finish cleaning this up.”

A flash of something like hurt crosses Bianca’s face for a moment; Adore ignores it and turns on her heel, brushing past customers to get to the trash, dumping the pieces of coffee cup in before grabbing the dustpan and brush and paper towel. She pauses just long enough to mouth an apologetic “sorry” to Katya, before steeling herself to head back to Bianca’s table.

She half expects Bianca to be gone when she gets there, but of course she couldn’t be that lucky. Bianca is flicking through something on her phone and barely glances at her as she cleans up. It should sting, but Adore is invincible so she ignores it and merely flashes Bianca another cold smile once she’s done. “Have a nice day.”

Katya thankfully takes the replacement coffee to Bianca as Adore busies herself tidying things up that don’t really need to be tidied.

She can feel herself running on autopilot, smiling and chatting at customers without really knowing what she’s saying and somehow managing not to fuck anyone’s orders up. Time seems to be frozen and Adore’s shocked when Max walks in ready to do the afternoon shift (although technically Max starts work at 11am).

Adore makes it five more minutes before she mumbles some excuse and disappears out the back, sinking slowly to the ground and pulling her knees up to her chest. She’s still got an hour left of her shift, but she can’t do it. It’s taking everything she has just to keep herself together and she knows if she moves from this spot she’ll fall apart completely.

So she doesn’t.

She sits and she stares at the wall and she clenches her jaw hard and she thinks about anything except Bianca.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t look up when she hears Katya’s voice, aware that ignoring her boss probably isn’t a great idea but past caring. She flinches when Katya sits beside her, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge her presence in any way. Maybe this is what people mean when they talk about psychotic breaks and nervous breakdowns. Maybe Adore has finally fucking snapped and this is it. Maybe she’ll never speak again.

“So, I figured out you’re the teenager Courtney told me about. The one who broke Bianca’s heart.”

Adore inhales sharply. How the fuck does Katya know Courtney? More importantly, does the entire fucking world know about her and Bianca?

“Courtney and I are friends,” Katya continues, answering Adore’s unspoken question. “She lives just around the corner.”

Adore still doesn’t say anything. Obviously Katya is just working up to the part where she fires her. Having an employee like Adore has to be bad for business.

“We all do dumb things when we’re in love,” Katya says instead. “I once learned conversational Russian just to impress a guy I was dating, because I told him my family were Russian and then I had to keep going with the lie. I can pull out a killer Russian accent when I want to, now.”

Adore bites her lip to hold back a smile. She doesn’t smile anymore. Smiling is for people with emotions, and Adore has evolved beyond that.

“Denial seems like a great coping mechanism, but it fucks you up in the end. You can’t hide from your feelings, Adore. All that happens is you stop feeling anything. And then one day you wake up and you realize you’ve pushed everyone away and you’re all alone and you have a breakdown and end up trying to kill yourself and wind up on suicide watch in a psych ward somewhere. Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.”

There’s a lump in Adore’s throat. She tries to swallow around it, but she can’t. Nobody gives a damn about her, not really. They care about the problems she causes them but they don’t care about her. But Katya’s here, sitting on the floor with her telling her that she’s not the worst person in the world and Adore feels her façade begin to crumble.

She manages to bury her head in Katya’s shoulder before the tears start.

Katya’s arms wrap reassuringly around her, but she barely notices. It’s been so long since she’s let herself cry, and now she’s started she can’t stop. She cries over school and her failed dreams. She’ll never graduate, never get to college, never study music like she wanted. She cries because she’s disappointed her mom yet again and this time there’s no easy way to make it right. She cries over Bianca; hurting her, losing her, loving her. She’s a mess and she’s broken and she’s so, so lost and alone.

She cries until her head hurts, and then she cries some more.

It feels like hours before she finally pulls back, wiping her eyes. Katya’s shirt is soaked but she doesn’t seem to mind as she looks at Adore with the barest hint of a smile.

“Sorry,” Adore says anyway.

“You’re not alone,” Katya says, because apparently she has a knack for saying what Adore needs to hear.

Adore nods. She feels wrung out and it must be obvious because Katya gives her a genuine smile before helping her to her feet.

“Go home. Your shift is almost over anyway. Take a few days off if you need it, okay? Just call me and let me know.”

Katya’s so fucking nice that it’s only through sheer willpower Adore keeps herself from crying again. Instead, she nods again, not trusting herself to speak.

“Be good to yourself, Adore. Seems like maybe nobody’s been good to you in awhile.”

Adore swallows hard. “Thank you,” she manages, wiping a few stray tears away. “For everything.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Katya says cheerfully, sentimental moment over. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Adore goes.

***

It turns out that Adore doesn’t, as she’s always assumed, live in the real world. Instead, she lives in some stupid Hollywood movie full of unrealistic plots and contrived meetings. She knows this, because she’s not even halfway down the block when she literally runs into Bianca, almost knocking her over.

This kind of shit doesn’t actually happen to people. It’s the sort of story that you hear about sometimes, the type that begins with “my best friend’s sister’s cousin’s wife’s brother knew someone who…”

But evidently the world has it out for Adore and she’s barely even surprised when she and Bianca collide, because well, of fucking course that was going to happen.

“Sorry.” Adore’s still feeling emotionally spent, unable to summon up any kind of defence against Bianca’s overwhelming presence.

“Adore.” Bianca looks surprised and more than a little wary. Adore can’t really blame her.

She gives Bianca a weak smile, running a hand through her hair. “What are the odds, right? You break up with someone and suddenly she’s practically fucking stalking you.”

Bianca doesn’t smile back. “Funny.”

Adore bites her lip hard. She can’t fucking deal with this, not after everything. She just wants to go home and curl up in her bed and maybe sleep for a week before she starts the impossible task of piecing her life back together. “Look, I’m sorry. For what I did, for being a bitch before, for… everything. But I can’t do this right now.”

“I’m sorry if having to confront your fuckups is inconvenient for you,” Bianca spits, her eyes flashing.

Adore tries to say something. She really does. But she can feel the tears beginning to form again and she can’t do anything but hold her breath and close her eyes, hoping against hope that when she opens them again Bianca will be gone and she’ll be able to breathe again.

“Are you okay?”

Bianca actually sounds concerned and Adore shakes her head, breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She opens her eyes to see Bianca staring at her and it’s enough to make the tears in her eyes spill over. It’s fucking humiliating and she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes but it’s too late to pretend she’s not a total fucking mess and they both know it.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Bianca’s voice is gentle but authoritative and Adore obeys before she can think about it. Looking into Bianca’s eyes isn’t exactly helping, but she can feel herself calming down and she’s no longer breathing like she’s hovering on the edge of a panic attack.

“Bet you’re glad we broke up now.” The joke falls flat, but Adore still tries to sell it with a shaky self-deprecating smile.

Bianca gives her a strange look and then the universe tilts on its axis and suddenly warm arms are wrapped around her, holding her tight. Adore doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, but she anchors herself to Bianca anyway, letting her eyes close as she draws comfort from Bianca’s presence. Adore’s not sure how long the hug lasts, but it feels like a lifetime before Bianca pulls back. She misses Bianca’s warmth immediately, marvelling at the way she can suddenly breathe again.

“So, I think we should talk.” Terrifying words, but Bianca manages to make them sound like maybe talking won’t be the worst thing in the world. “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon? You could come over.”

Adore’s not really too sure what they could possibly have to talk about, but she finds herself nodding anyway. “Sure. Around two? I’ll be there.”

Bianca frowns. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

Adore laughs. She can’t help herself, the entire situation is beyond ridiculous and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. “I’ll explain tomorrow, okay?” she says, acknowledging Bianca’s confused expression. “I can’t now, I just…” she trails off, still laughing. Maybe she’s hysterical. It’s really the only plausible explanation.

“Okay.” Bianca looks suitably concerned, but she’s obviously worried about Adore’s sanity because she doesn’t press the issue. “Look, I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Adore tries very hard to smile at Bianca in a way that says I-promise-I’m-not-crazy-I’m-just-going-through-some-stuff. She’s not sure Bianca buys it.

Bianca hesitates for a second like she wants to say something, before obviously thinking better of it and giving Adore one final quick half-smile before she turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

Adore exhales slowly.

What the fuck.

[stunningvacationtips]

Tips for Traveling to India

India is a highly hospitable country. Right here, a lot of the individuals believe inside the old expression 'Atithi Devo Bhava'. It implies that a visitor is reflection of God. Ending up being a substantial geographic and cultural entity, India is house to a variety of varieties. It absolutely is, thus, substantial for the very first time vacationer to India, to have a look of several conditions in India. There are actually specific travel ideas that need to be complied with though traveling to India. Check out these travel tips to recognize added regarding India, its persons, foods, culture, custom-mades, weather condition, languages therefore on.

Other than that, mainly you could obtain which you had an excellent knowledge going to India. You may acquire your self at dwelling right here. In this traveling advisory we will inform you take a trip tips for India concerning practically just regarding every element of Indian traveling. Below is typically a detailed listing of points to keep in mind though you could be preparing a journey to India.

To check out particular attractions in India one wants more authorizations to: Andaman Islands, Gujarat, Ladakh, Kerala, as well as additional. Look for aid from your travel agent or consular office when preparing your trip.Safety is commonly a pretty considerable aspect to maintain in mind. Be mindful concerning choice pockets and also robbers in buses, trains as well as crowded places. Be extra conscious of dimly lit as well as singular locations.

Traveling to India relies on the areas of India you mean to check out. November-March will certainly be the maximum time to go to the majority of the nation India, weather condition wise. For a vacation to the north - mountainous areas of India, the months of April to October transcend fit as the environment is commonly cooler inside the North. For checking out the Southern portions of India, the top months are in between November to January, taking into consideration that the South will certainly be the coolest in these months. Among one of the most effective times to learn extra about Ooty, Darjeeling as well as various other hill areas, remain in March, April, October as well as November. If you are traveling to India in the program of the springtime or summer, it really is suggested to remain to capital stations.

Pre-travel to India (what to lug, tickets, hotel) Ideally, carry knapsacks for the reason that they're fast to lug and also have sufficient space.Ensure that your luggages and bags are efficiently identified and also have wheels beneath. Do not fail to remember the idea will be the journey to be comfortable. Typically have your important papers - keys, vacationers' cheques and earnings convenient. For anybody who remains in India from abroad you'll desire to have an understanding of the importance of mosquito repellents. The warm and damp weather Indian weather condition is ideal for mosquitos to breed. Carry mosquito repellents though traveling to India.

Health tips (inoculations, booster shots)

Get your self vaccinated for Liver disease A/B, Polio, Typhoid, Rabies, Measles, Mumps and also Tetanus. Bring medicines that your medical professional has actually suggested. Carry a 1st help kit as well as mosquito repellent.

In India

When in India you may should take additional care of your health. That would suggest to bring mineral water together with you. It's mosting likely to take some time to adjust to the environment as well as food right here, the health requirements likewise vary from place to area. Roadside vendors offering rubber bands to jewellery are found in a lot in India. Take care concerning the product that they market. Deal smartly with all and also effort and get the leading likely rates.

On the move

If you are a site visitor from abroad guarantee that you bring Indian Rupees. The religions of Indian rupees are five, 10, 20, 50, 100, 500 and also 1000. There are different profits exchange centers in city cities so money exchange won't be a challenge.Don' t trash. For any individual that is out shopping or relocating about inside the city streets you could purchase crisps in addition to various other eatery to conserve you from the hunger pangs. Do not discard food wrappers when traveling. Carry a polybag where you can accumulate the waste you make all with the day and dispose it off in a dustbin.Indians hold temples and also shrines in reverence. They take care not to damage any type of policies and regulation.

Bargain tips

Find bent on haggle with sentence. Discover to pay attention to your impulses particularly when it claims you could be ending up being marketed overpriced stuff. Take a look around 3-4 stores and also contrast prices prior to calming down to purchase.

Language

English is spoken inside the urban areas of India so foreign visitors will need to not have significantly of a difficulty. Hindi will certainly be the national language of India which is also comprehended by a vast population. Realizing the language makes your feature much less complicated. Driving

Your driving license is your recognition. Lug it. And also for those that wish to drive on the Indian roadways you might acquire an international driving certificate by way of Automobile Association.

Dress code

Bring bare minimum: 2 pairs of jeans, 4-5 tees, 1-2 linen t-shirts plus a coat if needed. If traveling in wintertimes do lug a jumper or a coat. Relax for those who need to have anything you could spend in Indian and assimilate with the citizens. Don't fail to remember to acquire sandals here that are very comfortable to move around in.

Traveling by train

The picture of the Indian Railways is bad. Individuals are normally full with problems like difficulties in appointments or that the info as well as truths is inside the national language producing it difficult for foreigners and various other individuals to understand. Exactly what have to have prompt interest are the unhygienic train line areas and also stations. Remain free from taking a trip inside the 2nd Class.

Shopping

There's a vast choice of merchandise out there in India. From clothing to furnishings to gold and jewellery, you call it and India has it. Each area has its very own specializeds. The initial factor as a visitor you do is obtain out just what is that and after that situate where you might get it. When achieved with which you can workout your bargaining abilities.

Dress Moderately. Revealing clothing are unacceptable and also could draw unnecessary stares from guys. Ladies with cigarettes are still a major handle this country. If your withins crave for a smoke guarantee that you excuse your self and also smoke in solitude. A minimum of ensure that the persons you could be with do not have a worry about that. For any individual that is taking a trip alone it really is suggested to feel right before venturing into deserted locations.

Adventure Travel tips

Just before establishing out for an experience make certain that you could be completely tailored up. If you are going up north for treks make certain that you could have cozy garments plus the tours are efficiently arranged.For anyone that is going to severe down southern like Andaman and Nicobar for scuba diving make sure that you may have every one of the permissions.Carry a map along with you. Don't litter high elevation locations. Save the atmosphere. Be Eco-friendly

Physical Misuse and great deals of such mishaps

There have been great deals of circumstances in India where immigrants try finding moneys exchanged unofficially inside the greed of finding remarkable exchange prices. However as quickly as the broker acquires the revenue he disappears right into thin air. Normally choose reliable identified places like Thomas Chef therefore on.If ever before you obtain associated with an authorities issue you could be pretty most likely to pay a hefty financial amount to acquire from it.In case of any kind of trouble get in touch with you are Consular office plus the closest Cops Terminal. The attitudes of authorities examiners could be surprising but hold your horses and also do not leave without having filing a problem. For those that have an Indian good friend who's perfectly linked in India after that which is a boon in such circumstances.If your taxi or rickshaw-wala fees you an excessive quantity of you can note down his number and also lodge a record with Deputy Commissioner of Authorities (Website site visitors). Unfortunately, there have been situations of fatalities of immigrants that had actually been cheated right before they had been killed and even females that had been right here on vacations as well as had been raped as well as killed. Preserve in mind that such extremes only happen when you let a stranger within your exclusive room. Don't consume alcohol a too much quantity of and move around in teams normally.