#exhaust sytems

[undergrounddynamics01]

Transform Your Ride: The Ultimate Guide to Custom Body Kits

Custom body kits have become an essential aspect of automotive culture, allowing car enthusiasts to transform their vehicles into personalized masterpieces. Whether you're looking to enhance performance, improve aesthetics, or both, a custom body kit offers the perfect solution. This article explores the world of custom body kits, including their benefits, popular types, and tips for choosing the right kit for your vehicle.

What Are Custom Body Kits?

Custom body kits are aftermarket parts designed to modify the exterior of a vehicle. The purpose of a body kit is to alter the vehicle's appearance and, in some cases, improve its aerodynamics and performance. Custom body kits are available in a variety of materials, including fiberglass, carbon fiber, and polyurethane, each offering different benefits and characteristics.

Benefits of Custom Body Kits

Enhanced Aesthetics: Custom body kits allow car owners to express their unique style and personality. From sleek and subtle modifications to bold and aggressive designs, body kits can significantly alter the appearance of a vehicle, making it stand out on the road.

Improved Aerodynamics: Some custom body kits are designed to improve a vehicle's aerodynamics, reducing drag and increasing downforce. This can lead to better handling and stability, especially at high speeds.

Increased Resale Value: A well-designed and professionally installed body kit can increase the resale value of a vehicle. Enthusiasts often seek out unique and customized vehicles, making them more desirable in the market.

Performance Enhancement: Certain body kit components, such as spoilers and diffusers, can improve a vehicle's performance by providing better airflow and reducing lift. This can enhance the overall driving experience and make the car more enjoyable to drive.

Popular Types of Custom Body Kits

Full Body Kits: Full body kits include all the necessary components to completely transform the exterior of a vehicle. This typically includes front and rear bumpers, side skirts, and sometimes a spoiler. Full body kits offer a cohesive and uniform look, making them a popular choice for complete makeovers.

Lip Kits: Lip kits are a more subtle option, consisting of front and rear lips, side skirts, and sometimes a spoiler lip. They provide a more understated look while still enhancing the vehicle's appearance and aerodynamics.

Wide Body Kits: Wide body kits are designed to give a vehicle a more aggressive and muscular stance. They include wider fenders and extended bumpers, allowing for the installation of wider wheels and tires. This not only improves the car's aesthetics but also its handling and stability.

Custom Hood and Trunk Kits: These kits focus on modifying the hood and trunk of the vehicle. Custom hoods often feature vents and scoops for improved airflow and engine cooling, while custom trunks can include spoilers or other aerodynamic enhancements.

Choosing the Right Custom Body Kit

Selecting the right custom body kit for your vehicle involves considering several factors:

Material: The material of the body kit plays a crucial role in its durability and performance. Fiberglass is lightweight and easy to mold but can be brittle. Carbon fiber is strong and lightweight but more expensive.

Fitment: Ensure that the body kit is specifically designed for your vehicle's make and model. Proper fitment is crucial for a seamless installation and avoiding any potential issues.

Style: Choose a style that complements your vehicle and aligns with your personal taste.

Budget: Custom body kits can vary significantly in price. Set a budget and consider the cost of both the kit and professional installation, if necessary.

Quality: Always opt for high-quality kits from reputable manufacturers. Poor-quality kits can lead to fitment issues and may not provide the desired performance or aesthetic benefits.

Conclusion

Custom body kits by Underground Dynamics are a fantastic way to personalize your vehicle and enhance its performance. Whether you're a seasoned car enthusiast or just starting your customization journey, there's a body kit to suit your needs and style. By carefully selecting the right materials, style, and quality, you can transform your ride into a true reflection of your personality and taste. So, take the plunge, and give your vehicle the custom look it deserves!

[battleangel]

Why Do We Wear Hospital Gowns?

For the exact same reason that soldiers are required to wear uniforms in basic training, upon graduating boot camp and when deployed, why Catholic, prepatory and charter schools demand their studenrs wear uniforms, why all prisoners wear the same prison jumpsuit and why corporate America demands that employees "dress professionally".

To dehumanize, to control, to break, to debase, to unnerve, to enervate, to denigrate, to drain, to exhaust, to fatigue, to numb, to deindividualize, to commodify, to homogenize...

Hospitals, K-12 indoctrination centers aka schools, corporate America and prisons all have the following in common:

����‍♂️Bland identical drab uniforms/gowns/prison jumpsuits/"business professional"/"business casual"/"dress to impress" designed to dehumanize and strip away all aspects of the individuals personality (Catholic, prep & charter schools).

🧟‍♀️Constant, overly bright fluorescent lights proven to deplete melatonin levels, disrupt our natural circadian rhythyms and cause insomnia and sleep disorders.

🧟‍♂️Blind unquestioning adherence to authority figures. Dissent is suppressed and when it occurs is harshly punished.

🧟‍♀️Forced cheer, spirit days, volunteer days, holidays with visitors and movies shown, pep rallies, bake sales, celebrity visitors to distract, pizza parties, team lunches, annual holiday parties all to obfuscate and distract from how objectively depressing and unnerving these environments are and to keep the inmates from complaining too loudly.

🧟‍♀️Overly matrixed organizational hierachy, execessive bureacracy and red tape so that things are endlessly and hopelessly siloed, creativity and innovation are stifled.

🧟‍♂️Authority figures with god complexes that are overly disciplinarian in nature and are afforded the "Father Knows Best benevolent Santa Claus" benefit of the doubt for no objective reason simply because we put our trust in teachers, principals, coaches and doctors; we fear the prison guards and wardens but we also fear our coaches, school disciplinarian, vice principal, principles, supervisors, +1s, VPs, Officers, ExCo, SLT & CEO and we fear our doctors as well as they are presented as holders of the magical talisman to whether we live or die.

🧟‍♀️At all times, you are an empty vessel to be poured into by your teachers, school counselors, coaches, band directors, school disciplinarian, principals, doctors and prison guards and wardens -- they are there, at least this is the lie, to guide, instruct, teach, coach, mentor, advise, build up, influence, grow, improve, better, transform, correct, discipline, build resiliency grit courage perservarance, give hope, educate, elucidate -- they are there to simply blindly control you.

🧟‍♂️Every room looks identically exactly maddeningly the same -- every cubicles exactly the same and every cubicle row, every classroom and every deck, every locker, every hospital room and every jail cell -- same room dimensions, same size, same prison bars, same sparse mattress, same thin pillow, same desks, same cucible partitions, same cucible walls, same windows, same hospital beds, same curtains, same color walls, same gray carpeting -- as far as the eye can see, everything is identical, same, a carbon copy, endlessly repeating. Its literally designed to be maddening.

🧟‍♀️Schedules are dictated -- recess, breaks, prison yard, lunch, 15 minute breaks, cafeterias, rush hour, 9 am start time, 5 pm finish time, coffee break, water cooler conversation, lunch trays, carton of milk, apple juice box, gym, school bell, PA sytem -- you arent allowed to get food for an hour at 10 am, or leave three hours early even if you've finished all your work, you cant work in your car all day in the work parking lot, you cant come in at 1 pm and work until 9 pm, you cant spend your lunch hour sitting by your locker silently reading, you cant spend the pep rally alone in the library quietly reading a book, you cant spend your lunch hour in a locked bathroom stall reading your manga, you cant spend the pep rally in your car in the school parking lot reading a comic book, you cant take a 3.5 hour lunch and then make the time up the next day by working an extra 3.5 hours -- at all times, your time is completely controlled by the school/company/hospital/prison yet the mandated schedules and breaks are completely contrived and are not determined to maximize efficiency, it is only meant to totally control you, strip away your individuality, dehumanize you, dim your aura, psychically attack your psyche aura and energy and ensure you never come anywhere close to experiencing your ego death, self-actualizing, self-awakening, ascending and discovering your true self and truly opening your eyes for the first time by opening your third eye.

🧟‍♂️Unreasonable schedules, unrealistic demands to tax you as a person, overwhelm you, depress you, shut you down, unnerve you, drain you, exhaust you, numb you, suppress you, repress you, trigger obsessive/compulsive/neurotic/self sabotaging/harmful/mindless addictions and behaviors to keep you firmly ensconced in their pharmaceutical, psychiatric, oncological (cancer), opiod/"pain management", fast food, fast fashion, big box retail, retail, agricultural, entertainment, gaming, movie, music, television, sports, beverages (soda/juice/coffee/alcohol), tobacco & vaping, sugar, waste management, wheat, consumer electronics, cosmetics, household products, self care industrial complexes.

🧟‍♀️See these systems (hospitals, K-12 schools, corporate America & prisons) for the capitalist structures they are. Capitalism cannot be held up without these four systems underpinning and propping it up.

🧟‍♂️All four systems endlessly feed, create and reinforce the fear of death as they all massively profit from it. Realize that death is a beautiful transformation and while the transition and process of death itself may be challenging, there is even beauty that can be found in that, as you are still transforming while dying in death, from your temporary physical human form which you are shedding like a caterpillar to spread your beautiful butterfly wings and fly as the limitiless eternal energetic being you were prior to temporarily manifesting physically as a human in your "life" in "reality", our current world and universe. You originated from the dreamscape and you are an eternal being that came to our current reality to just learn and remember who you are and that you are a limitless energetic being with a boundless imagination -- which is all the dreamscape is. Its your mind and your imagination so its anything and everything. "Reality" is just a virtual simulation of the dreamscape. So, there is no need to fear death or dying or the "after life", there is no need for endless and often times extremely invasive, harmful, painful, dangerous and traumatizing execessive "medical" interventions like radiation, chemotherapy, hormone treatment, extremely invasive and damaging surgeries leaving you permanently scarred and bruised with phantom pains sometimes never returning to your pre-surgical state, harsh drugs that can shut down and/or suppress your immune system, give you cancer, blood disorders, damage your internal organs and cause organ failure, cause structural muscoloskeltal damage weakening and damaging bones causing serious falls, osteoporosis, lower bone density, broken bones, fatal falls and much much more -- for what when you're going to fucking die anyway? Just live your life every moment to the fullest, live hostically, be in nature, move and express yourself creatively every day, eat fresh vegetables and fruit drink apple cider vinegar and water eat mixed nuts and granola bars eat oatmeal 80% of the time take a break and eat whatever on the weekends just doing this will resolve 90%+ of physical and mental DIS-eases and for anything else you have to die of something see a doctor use discernment use your ancestral Akashic wisdom if the intervention is sensible try it if it is invasive harmful damaging toxic and potentially fatal (most of them) then dont do it have some cbd gummies have some weed brownies light some candles and incense have some edibles have some psychedlics like ayuhasca DMT spend time outside in nature meditate listen to sound bath healing listen to mhz audio stretch do yoga do breathwork create stuff move dance draw paint blow bubbles hula hoop pole dance do headstands and handstands and just enjoy it while it lasts like a rollercoaster cause thats all this very temporary life is...

[appmonk]

MOON in the REINS (Libra) BALANCE

A P P A L A C H I A N M O N K

Moon Report:

MOON in the Kidneys

*Organs: Kidney, ureter, urinary bladder, veins, skin as an organ of touch, pancreas, lumbar region, insulin, glucagon, buttocks.These organs are now more sensitive so provide them with extra care.

Libra women tend to have graceful lower spines and curvaceous buttocks, and Libra men have well-shaped, muscular backs.

Virgo's ruling planet Mercury has dominion over the brain and the nervous system, it also controls the links between the mind and the functions of the body.

Leo's ruler, the Sun, has always been associated with the heart, back, and spinal column. It also influences the spleen and the entire body's vitality. The sign of Leo is characterized by growth, vitality, and good health. As a rule, Leos live healthy lives, however, they must learn to slow down in later years to avoid the risk of heart attack.

Libra's cell salt is sodium phosphate, which equalizes the balance of acids and alkalis in the body and rids the body of waste material.

Eat : Good food sources for this mineral are strawberries, apples, raisins, almonds, asparagus, peas, corn, carrots, spinach, beets, radishes, tomatoes, wheat, brown rice and oatmeal. Librans function best with a high-protein diet that is low in fat, sugar and acid-producing foods. You should eat lots of broiled fish, seafood, and poultry (not too much beef or pork), low-fat cheeses, yogurt, plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, salad greens, and wholegrain breads. They should drink plenty of water to keep their systems flushed out and free of toxins.

Don't Eat : Librans's sensitive skin show the effects of lack of sleep, rich food, and too much alcohol. They and should avoid alcohol and carbonated drinks which are bad for the kidneys.

LIBRA IS AN AIR SIGN

Air rules the nervous and circulatory systems and the function of movement, peristalsis, urination and breathing. Air people are easily stimulated, with quick and extremely sensitive minds that are easily thrown off balance and overwhelmed.

Excess Air

Overactive, restless, sensitive minds and nervous exhaustion plague air signs, as does dry skin, hair and mucus membranes, insomnia and memory loss from systemic overload. Excess air benefits from scheduled windows of quiet, with minimal stimulation, to allow the nervous system to recharge itself.

Take

lightly steamed vegetables, nuts, croutons.

Avoid

Raw foods ,Grains, rootcrops, yeasty foods, refined sugar.

Remedy

enzymes which help in proper absorption of nutrients.

Low Air

When the air element is low, there is difficulty with the flow of energy through the body. A weakened nervous system benefits from mineral supports such as calcium and magnesium, and circulatory stimulants. Eat plenty of raw foods, vegetable juices and sprouted seeds. Oats in any form−oatmeal, oatstraw tea or oat tincture, are tonifying to a weak nervous sytem without being sedating.

Take

Gingko, cayenne, garlic, ginger, yoghurt, kefir.

Remedy

dandelion root or angostura bitters .

Tree pose (Vrikshasana)

*from mooncalendar.astro-seek.com

**farmersalmanac.com/calendar

[walkingthroughthevalleyoflove]

Happy Birthday

Every "Happy Birthday" was like salt ground into the wound. I never told anyone because I know it's people's way of saying that they wish the best for me, but right now... what is happiness? This birthday was happening whether I was happy or not. Life has been hard. Life is suffering. Life ahead feels painful. I felt pretty far from any sense of celebration.

I’m exhausted to the bone, I’m feeling lost and sitting in the unknown with no sense of drive, with a heart full of sorrow. 

I’ve been through a massive health journey over the last few years which made me functionally bed ridden and operating through brain fog that was akin to severe brain injury for nearly a year. This period took an extreme toll on my vitality and physical strength. This was one of the most challenging times in my life and left me feeling like a shadow of the person I know myself to me. I’m most likely over the worst of it but still in need of various rehabilitation for my body, mind, and spirit.

I recently finished my last round of medication and started to reorient towards figuring out my life on the other side of this. I’m not entirely how to proceed when the stamina and drive I used to have are currently just a memory.

When Tigre choose to leave this world my life shattered into pieces again. Tigre was my deepest love and my family. The loss of the central person in my life, the person who held me every night, and who I shared the joy of life, is a pain that is beyond measure. 

I’m in deep grief and feeling adrift with very little energy to work or make plans for the future. I am working through medical debt, the cost of therapy, and  rehabilitation for my body. Beyond the depletion my body already experienced my hair is now falling out, my right eye developed a constant twitch, and crying in public is nearly an everyday occurrence.

Through all of this I find sanctuary in my personal relationship with the Divine. Right now the only place to turn is towards inside. I’m going to spend a month in silence to commune with a deeper current of Intelligence. Through the darkness of this chapter it is the place where I can find my source of strength. 

In my long history of Working with plant medicine has helped me in a multitude of ways and while

This work has helped me navigate the medical sytem and stick to my guns in the face of no confirmation from doctors 

To helping me know how to step into the week of ceremony to honor Tigre’s passing to 

And a recent experience that took the pain from a horrific scream that lived in my body to a deep dull home. I stopped racking myself over the coles so much and while the immensity of the pain is not gone it is there is notably more acceptance. Waves of nausea and vertigo still happen but not everyday. 

What I really want for my birthday is a chance to go away and 

I’ll be leaving the country for a little while to make this pilgrimage. To do this and shoulder all of the rest of these needs I’ll need to gather the resources to make it happen. Some of my friends put together a Go Fund Me that has been getting quietly passed around for the past few weeks and today for my birthday I’m putting it out here.

People have been asking me how they can support me and this is one of the most helpful ways to participate. However, I want you to know that this isn’t an ask for people to dig deep into their pockets. If you don’t have it to give, please, please don’t. This is only for people who can and want to throw in to help me do the things that it will take to turn this lead into gold. 

And if this isn’t feasible then sharing this opportunity with people who may want to contribute is welcome and a prayer spoken aloud or a candle lit on my behalf is also great. Thank you for loving me.

[mangolover]

Hi! Your writing about Bennett was awesome!!! And I was wondering maybe I could request Bennett x reader headcanons (maybe modern AU) comforting reader who is stressed about school/upcoming tests? Gender neutral. If it's too complicated then I'm so sorry! You absolutely can decide to not do this request! But please let me know if you decide so I will know if I should expect it!

Hey!

I’m really glad you liked it! I honestly adore Bennett so I’ll write for him whenever I get the chance, hehe. And I lowkey didn’t know how much I need this until I wrote it and read it.🥰

I really like this idea and I hope you’ll like this headcanons. Also I’m sorry if you only wanted hcs, but I just can’t manage to write them without having a little drabbles/scenarios in between.😅

But without further ado, here is Benny comforting us! (I think he may be my comfort character at this point👀)

Bennett comforting his s/o that’s stressed about upcoming exams

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Warnings: mentions of dehydration, (lowkey) starvation, exhaustion, slight mentions of blood and injury

Spoilers: none I believe

Modern AU

Please drink some water, get some rest and eat something. It will all be okay.

Also this is based on the school sytem in my country in Europe. I’m not as lucky as some of you that don’t have much subjects. I have 18 subjects lol. :’D

Bennett

You had to cancel yet another one of your dates because you had to study for the upcoming oral exam that was next week. You had to learn all the materials you learned this year so far and refresh your memory of the last year’s.

But that was only one subject, you had 12 other classes that had upcoming exams and all of that got you on the edge. You would study 24/7, sometimes even forgetting to eat until you had a feeling like your stomach acid was eating away the stomach itself. And not to mention low-key dehydration, exhaustion and stress leaving you with severe headaches.

You felt really bad because you just didn’t feel like you know everything that you needed to know to get a good grade. This year was important to you since the next year is your last year and if you wanted to get in good college, you needed to ace those two years.

And so, your overthinking and stressing has once again left you no choice but to pull an all-nighter and take a raincheck on your movie date.

You pulled out your phone and opened the texting app, sending Benny a text.

‘Hey Benny, I’m sorry but I’ll have to take a raincheck on our movie date tonight. I don’t think I’m ready for the upcoming oral exam and I’ll probably just stress during the whole movie so I’ll study the whole night and we can have this date soon then.’

You felt guilty as you hit sent and waited for Benny’s reply. Soon he was online and he opened your text. You saw him start typing and your mind went into overthinking mode once again. What if he gets upset? Maybe I could study during the movie so I can spend some time with him!

‘Hey y/n.’

‘Don’t worry it’s fine! I know how important this is to you, don’t worry about it okay? Just please don’t overwork yourself and don’t stress so much, I believe you will do amazing! 👍’

How can he be so fricking adorable?

In reality, Bennett was really worried about you. He put away his text book and stared at your message. You canceled so many dates lately and when you did see him, you looked so tired, your eyebags visible from a mile away. You probably didn’t sleep enough. Not to mention hydrate.

He really considered going to your house to comfort you, but as he got up from bed to start getting ready and making his way to you, he fell on the floor and had a breakthrough. Eureka!

He instead decided to go visit you tomorrow and bring you your favorite food and some fruit flavored water. And then, he will bring some rom-com movie you two can enjoy and cuddle you to sleep. And as a cherry on top, he decided to bake you your favorite dessert!

If only our Bennett wasn’t so unlucky and clumsy.

Not only did he mess up the dessert, letting it stay in the oven for a tad bit too long, he grabbed the wrong movie, instead picking up a copy of the cartoon Ice Age. And he fell and scratched his knee on his way to your home. So, when he finally got to you, he only teeny-tiny bit looked like a mess.

But fear not because he will comfort you even if that’s the last thing he do!

After you recovered from the first shock of seeing him show up with some delicious, hot and fresh food (that has not been affected by any elements) you took care of his little bloody scratch.

After that you two ate the food, even eating some of the dessert that has not been burnt, at least you didn’t eat the burnt ones, Bennett probably ate them and gave you only the best ones. He made sure you drink plenty of water and went to pharmacy to buy you some painkillers for your aching head.

And then, finally, movie time.

“Uh… y/n, I-I made a mistake. I accidentally grabbed the copy of Ice Age… I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s exactly what I need right now, I love that movie!”

You two got comfortable in your bed, you laid your head on Bennett’s chest, hugging his torso. One of his hands was around your waist, keeping you close and the other was rubbing your arm in soothing motion. Your legs were intertwined and Benny made sure you were extra comfortable.

The movie started and about half way in he could feel your even breathing and hear little snores coming from your slightly opened mouth. That’s what he wanted. He wanted you to get some sleep so he decided to carefully turn off the TV so you two could get some rest. But in his clumsy attempt to not wake you up that’s exactly what he did.

“Uhm, what’s wrong?” your voice was hoarse and with thick layer of sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he gave you his dazzling smile, “nothing’s wrong. Let’s rest for a bit.”

You hummed in approval and snuggled closer into his chest, letting his rapid heartbeat lull you to sleep as he watched you with flushed cheeks.

Man, he’s really happy he managed to help you relax for a bit, he loves you and he can’t bear the thought of you stressing so much to the point of risking getting sick.

He kept you close and warm while you slept. His affection giving you the much-needed comfort.

When you wake up be sure he will make sure you have a proper meal and drink a lot of water. Then he will study with you, making you laugh a bit by being his goofy, positive self. And then he’ll try asking you questions about the stuff you’re learning to prove to you that you do know enough for a good grade.

Expect a lot of compliments like “You’re so smart y/n!” and “Good job, y/n! I knew you could learn this!” and a lot of words of encouragement.

And for every correct answer you get a hug, kiss on the cheek and a smile or laugh from Bennett, to help you motivate.

If you actually get the answer wrong, don’t worry! Benny’s here to make you laugh! He would say stuff like “Don’t worry y/n, I’m sure you’ll get the next one! You’ll still ace this exam, I believe in you!” AND his adorable smile. If you however still feel down, you’ll get a tight embrace and a peck on the tip of your nose.

And don’t be afraid to ask him to do this “study dates” more often because he loves seeing you being happy and relaxed while also helping you, and he’s also having a lot of fun giving you your rewards.

Also is it obvious I prefer cartoons over rom-coms?

[anotheraldin]

You seem exhausted. Hope you are taking care of yourself and have a strong support sytem

Salaam!

I'm not necessarily exhausted anon. I feel ok but just kind of "coasting" through life, if that makes sense. I'm content but I would definitely like to feel more things.

[askmerriauthor]

Starbound AU World and Character Lore Notes

More things worth being aware of for characterization and such, either based in canon lore from Starbound itself or extrapolated off reasonable evidence to support the notion.  Part 1 here.  Part 2 of ??? submissions:

Economics in a Post Scarcity Setting So as discussed in the previous post, the generation of matter and material goods is a trifling affair.  Additionally, energy production and consumption is moot.  Starbound exists in a truly post-scarcity setting where things still have value based on their usefulness, but that value doesn’t become an exclusionary facet.  As far as I can tell there’s basically no genuine poverty; there’s plenty of people who live rough (particularly the vagabond remnants of the Human species in the wake of Earth’s destruction) but it doesn’t appear to be out a lack of resources.

There is an economy in Starbound; their system of currency is “Pixels”.  Pixels, simply put, are energy condensed into a stable, tangible block of yellowish pseudo-matter.  When combined together in to larger volumes they are formed as bricks, generally ranging amid values of 1k, 2k, 5k, and 10k total.

So what does this mean in the setting?  Well, Pixels aren’t used to trade for goods - they are the goods.  All manufactured material wealth, goods, and comforts in the setting are generated via a method called ‘Pixel Printing”, which is basically a mix between 3D printing technology and Star Trek’s replicators.  Remember back in the first post where I explained that matter and energy are 100% interchangeable?  Yeah, that.  If you need something, you just print it out from a Pixel Printer station using Pixels as the fodder to produce a given item.  So the “cost” of the item isn’t necessarily its actual value, but rather how much energy is used to make up its physical form (and perhaps address any additional service costs related with the use of the machine).

Now just because people have all this amazing access to technology doesn’t mean that there’s no desire for wealth.  There are mega-corporations in the setting and individuals do covet Pixels to line their coffers with.  As in any scenario, the greater means you have available to you, the more comfort and security you can live in.  So there is an actual economy surrounding Pixels and the production of goods-and-services for individual consumption, though access to said Pixels is pretty easy overall.  There’s even a refining/recycling process in which raw ore (base/precious metals, radioactive elements, etc.) can be converted into Pixels directly.  So what this likely means in-setting is that any goods sold on the market are either re-sold whole to a buyer who wants them (as used/damaged goods do still exist very commonly about the galaxy), or are recycled down into core components/raw energy to then be converted into Pixels.

Aside from Pixels, there are other naturally-occurring elements which bear value to the people of the universe.  Their value is based on their usefulness; things like raw ore, fuel, diamonds, naturally-grown food, animals/animal byproducts, and other materials that presumably cannot be generated via Pixel Printing are still precious and sought-after.  Food apparently can be produced via Pixel Printing, but there’s still a high presence of naturally-grown/produced edibles in the setting alongside artificial foodstuffs.  Might just be a matter of personal preference/accessibility or cultural preservation.

Fuel and Energy Consumption While the methods of conversion between matter and energy are 100% efficient, that isn’t to say there aren’t still inefficient methods of energy production at use in the setting.  Starships use a fuel called “Erchius”, which is an unstable isotope found on otherwise barren moons throughout the galaxy.  It’s unclear exactly what this fuel is, but it exists in both a liquid and solid crystalline state.  The liquid form basically provides a single unit of fuel while the crystal form provides two.  Whether it is naturally a liquid that eventually crystalizes to a more condensed state or if the liquid is a run-off from the crystal isn’t known.

Erchius fuel is the means through which faster-than-light (FTL) space travel is obtained.  It is possible that it is also used to power teleportation relays, but that isn’t known for sure.  What is known is that Erchius crystals are an extremely valuable commodity and mined seemingly exclusively by the Lethia Corporation - a Hylotl megacorp which owns and operates an unknown number of lunar Erchius mines throughout the galaxy.  As mentioned before, Erchius fuel is unstable and appears to have radioactive/mutagenic/corrupting side-effects on those who are exposed to its raw form for too long.

Also, it’s directly correlated with eldritch abominations possibly from another reality/nightmare dimension, and Ruin itself.  So it’s basically Hell Energy ala Doom.  Use responsibly, kids!

Because of the way FTL travel currently works compared to previous incarnations, it can’t really be examined too closely in terms of consumption and expense.  In past builds the amount of fuel used per FTL jump directly correlated to the distance traveled, but in the most recent build it’s just a flat cost.  This may change in the future, so there’s not much use in speculating at the moment.  It is entirely possible to exhaust your supply of Erchius fuel, however, so running out of gas is always a possibility.  Well... sort of.

You Never Run Out of Gas Energy use in this setting is highly efficient, if not perfect in the majority of cases.  It gets to the point that items which use energy via batteries (weapons, vehicles, teleportation nodes, construction sytems, etc) basically never run out of fuel once supplied with it.  Even guns that shoot bullets and grenades never run out of ammo - they just spawn their own ammunition and don’t have any reload functionality.  At most an item may need a cooldown period before it can be used again, which can be interpreted either as a hyper-efficient fuel source recharging itself automatically, or a piece of technology requiring a period of time to recalibrate itself following extended use so as not to burn itself out.  

When it comes to starships, their core energy system appears to be functionally limitless.  While you do have a finite amount of Erchius fuel required for FTL travel across the cosmos, your ship is fully capable of moving swiftly amid planets within the same solar system in a timely fashion at no additional cost.  This likely means that the ship is capable of moving at near-to-light speed on its own 100% efficient energy source, while exceeding light speed requires Erchius fuel to achieve.  Whether Erchius fuel and FTL travel is mandatory in-setting to actually traverse from one system to another or if it’s simply a matter of convenience vs. time cost isn’t clear, but presumably one could travel among the various star systems at impulse power over a substantially longer period of time if forced to do so by circumstances.

[christopher-bryant]

tales from work

Me, supervising and surveying the layout: So you guys have to exercise these valves once a year.

Plant worker: Yeah.

Me: It looks easy enough but why are there 2 guys spinning the wrench?

Plant worker: Well sometimes it could be rusted out or just tough to turn so often it takes 2. Depends though.

Me: I would hate walking in a circle like that. Good thing no one has vetriloquist haha.

*dead silence*

Plant worker: I'm sorry?

Me: You know, ventriloquist. The thing with people getting dizy.

*silence*

Me: Oh come on. Hitchcock has a movie named after it.

*silence*

Plant worker 2: Did you mean vertigo?

Me: ......Well I knew it started with a v.

----------------------------------------------------

Plant worker: These membraines weigh at least 75 lbs each.

Me: Yeah but its a good trapazoid work out, right?

Plant worker: What?

Me: The back muscle?

My boss: Trapezius.

Me: Close enough.

-------------------------------------------------------

Me: Hey guys! They sent me down here to let you know that something screwed up the system and pretty much all the logs since Jan have been wiped out. Don't know how but this is why I told them we need to back everything up.

Plant worker: So what does that mean?

Me: We need yall to enter everything again. Have to back and start on Jan. Everything has to be entered radioactively.

My boss, on her two way radio, exhausted: Retroactively.

Me: That too.

----------------------------------------------------

My boss on her two way: Did you figure out why they took off the r o 2 unit off line?

Me: Yeah they have this sytem off because the thing um. What do you call it? When they were putting the pipe filters back in, the part...thing. It uh....it hit the ground and it uh...its in pieces. They're fixing it up because it uh....thing. (imitating snapping something in half)

My coworker, interrupting: It broke?

Me: Yeah thats it. Couldn't think of the word. Thanks.

[undergrounddynamics01]

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[derekharrison-blog1]

Prime 6 Free FLAC Converters For Mac OS Users 2019

The way to convert FLAC to AIFF on-line with FLAC to AIFF Converter? If one is used to listening to soothing music within the automotive over FM radio, then an MP3 of the same played on earbuds could sound improbable. But even with a pair of low cost $25 cans, FLAC can make an enormous difference with audio that has extra complex sound constructions. That is now not the realm of the music elite. See Win ninety eight and Win 2000 to download software appropriate with earlier variations of Windows. Loss-much less audio data compression options, such as FLAC or ALAC (as being chosen right here in iTunes), could not cut back the file size as a lot as lossy codecs like MP3 or AAC — however neither do they sacrifice any precise audio knowledge, and so the quality stays each bit nearly as good as the CD, WAV or AIFF original from which the compressed file is Technical Editor Hugh Robjohns replies: The primary AIFF is, in concept, a bit-correct copy of the CD audio and may sound equivalent to the CD. In apply, the accuracy of the rip depends upon the cleanliness and quality of the CD itself, and the potential of the disc participant and ripping software program. The second AIFF is a 'capture' of the output from the AAC file decoder. There isn't any 'up-conversion' as such: lossy information codecs resembling AAC throw information away and it could actually't be retrieved. The OPPO common Blu-ray gamers are is designed with components optimized for audio performance. The flagship BDP-105 options an all-new analog audio stage powered by two ESS Sabre32 Reference Digital-to-Analog Converters (DAC), balanced (XLR) & unbalanced (RCA) devoted stereo outputs, a Toroidal linear power supply, and asynchronous USB DAC enter. These excessive-grade parts are housed in a rigidly constructed metallic chassis and work collectively to ship exceptionally detailed and accurate sound high quality together with reference quality video. I exploit a software called iDealshare VideoGo for Mac to convert FLAC to AIFF, Apple Lossless , WAV, MP3, AAC on Mac. Audio file converter tools are also useful in case your favourite music app in your telephone or pill would not support the format that a new track you downloaded is in. An audio converter can convert that obscure format right into a format that your app supports. Open your FLAC files in xACT, All2MP3, or Tunesify, and start the conversion process. Because it's extremely exhausting to hear any artifacts at higher bitrates, we did not embody high bitrate audio files. On the subject of backing up your uncompressed information, for now at the very least, you have to to keep them saved on a physical drive or a web-based backup service equivalent to Backblaze or Crashplan This is because no on-line music lockers that I do know of presently assist them without compression.

Whenever you desire a quick video conversion, drop a video file on to the application you created. This M4A converter for gerard44g4946.wapsite.me Mac means that you would be able to convert M4A purchased from iTunes retailer to each other fashionable audio codecs, paying homage to MP3, AAC, AC3, AIFF, FLAC, WMA, OGG, AMR, ALAC, and so forth. With the skilled M4A converting instrument, it's also potential to change MP3, AAC, FLAC, WMA and totally different audio information to M4A format on Mac. If you want to import FLAC to iTunes with the quality of FLAC audio intact, you possibly can convert FLAC to Apple's own lossless audio format, ALAC (Apple Lossless Audio Codec). When you care more about file dimension, you may convert FLAC to a more frequent format like MP3 to gain more compression charge and smaller file size. Irrespective of you change FLAC to ALAC or FLAC to MP3, all meta information (title, composer, and so on.) embrace album cover artwork might be stored. This implies ALL the audio content material is similar to what was in the supply for the conversion to FLAC. As others have mentioned, FLAC, ALAC and AIFF all contain the identical data and you can convert between the formats all you need. Nothing is misplaced, like when you compress flacpack to aiff converter a lossy format like mp3. Notice: This technique does not apply to compress MP3 audio file. If you wish to compress MP3 to smaller file measurement, you might refer to Step 2. Select FLAC as the the format you need to convert your AIFF file to. Click "Open Folder" button to locate the converted FLAC files, and drag and drop the transformed FLAC information to iTunes, then you'll be able to play FLAC in iTunes or sync FLAC to iPhone, iPod, iPad via iTunes. Fairly possibly the best free audio converter accessible, Freemake Audio Converter is actually the simplest to make use of. Extremely recommended".

Apple losless is proprietory (however not restricted) to Apple, ALAC is restricted to sixteen bits @ forty four.1 khz. If the sytem path you at present personal will settle for the iTunes app and that is all you plan to use it for, you are good-to-go. I have been utilizing it this way for many years, and I've been blissful, however new increased decision formats (FLAC) are here and are way more widly accepted. So I'm keeping an open thoughts for the long run.

[latanyawile4-blog]

FLAC To CDA Converter

As Wes Phillips lately reported on this web site , CD gross sales are down and authorized downloads of audio files are up. Stereophile has been criticized greater than once for not paying sufficient consideration to the topics of MP3 and other compressed file codecs, reminiscent of AAC , and for offering no guidance in any respect to readers about methods to get the very best sound quality from compressed downloads. Hamster is a free audio converter that installs shortly, has a minimal interface, and isn't exhausting to make use of. Sure, the all well-known iTunes, the most popular media participant and organizer from the Apple Inc. It will probably do nearly every thing and convert CDA to mp3 format isn't an exception. Similar to WMP iTunes also can routinely convert non-playable audio files into playable codecs.

To repeat or store thecda files to Windows 8 computer, you will need to convert CDA to MP3 or WMA (compressed lossy audio) or convert CDA to WAV, WMA lossless, FLAC (compressed lossless audio) and many others. Android supported audio formats include MP3, AAC, AMR, FLAC (Lossless), MIDI, Vorbis and WAV. The file extensions of Android audio can bemp3,.aac,.amr,.flac,.wav. What's CDA? Standing for Compact Disk Audio, CDA isn't an audio format, however a file extension, which provides accessible information to an audio CD. CDA files don't embrace any precise pulse code modulation (PCM) data but only track length and time the truth is. That is the reason why your computer prompts you of CDA playback error whenever you try to repeat CD tracks into laptop and then play them without CD. Unfortunately,cda recordsdata could be performed solely from a CD-ROM. Your LAPTOP or Mac can't straight play CDA recordsdata, so chances are you'll think about to convert tracks in CDA to another audio format for better saving. MP3, as a generally-used audio format, which uses compression to save lots of a lot space. Want to convert CDA to MP3? For higher CDA to MP3 conversion, you can rely on this text and find some efficient methods. The first thing you have to know isCDA files are not audio recordsdata, they're only a way that Windows makes use of to allow you to access an Audio CD index. Once I say that they aren't audio files, I imply that they do not contain sampled sound in any respect! This means that you can't convert them to a different format (such like MP3), simply because they don't comprise audio samples! How to convert cda to flac converter free download for windows 7 recordsdata to MP3? Should you copy aCDA file to our hard drive and attempt to play it with an audio participant, nothing occurs. And for this reason you need FreeRIP to extract audio tracks from an Audio CD and convert CDA information to MP3. Each are encoded music files, however the vital difference is that a FLAC file is lossless, where no musical info is lost within the compression process, whereas an MP3 file even on the highest bitrate supported by the format (320k) is a lossy compression, cda to flac converter free download for windows 7 the place the original file data can't be reconstructed from the MP3 file. This M4A audio converter converts from over 50 source formats together with MP3 to M4A, WAV to M4A, RAM to M4A, AC3 to M4A, AMR to M4A, OGG to M4A, FLV to M4A and extra. M4A is often utilized by Apple gadgets just like the iPod or iPhone. What I do is I remaster the unique or not too unhealthy files before I put it into a 320Kbps file that sound wonderful in an Ipod or my car and even in my home sytem with nice results In some instances its higher than it was before.I consider that format is the way in which to go It gives glorious high quality and the files will not be too massive. MP3s are convenient, however irrespective of how excessive the bit fee, they're still lossy music recordsdata. We'll present you the way to rip your music CDs to FLAC information, that are superior in sound quality. FLAC:Free Lossless Audio Codec (FLAC) is a popular file format for audio data compression. Being a lossless compression format, FLAC does not remove data from the audio stream, as lossy compression codecs similar to MP3 and AAC do. The Any Audio Converter can also be an advanced CDA to MP3 Converter, which reads audio tracks from your CDs and permits you to save them to your laptop in a variety of digital formats including WMA, MP3, Ogg, Wav, or FLAC audio files, helping you exchange CDA information from a CD to MP3 format successfully. For really previous automobiles, the outdated audio cd format will do. It is a certain type of cd that reads like a vinyl and with onlycda files to mark the start and end of every observe. You can burn one using Nero and other related tools. I have not tried converting the flac's towav information, which can clear up the problem. But I have dozens and dozens of CD-R's to burn and in my own stubborness don't have the endurance to transform the flac's to wav's even when I were to delete the wav's afterwards. Convert FLAC audio file and alter Bit Depth (24-bit FLAC to sixteen-bit), Sample Price to suit your needs with Bigasoft Audio Converter on Mac or Windows. Numerous methods can be found if you want to convert CDA files to MP3. Nevertheless, keep in mind that not all functions carry out precisely the same. There are pitfalls and disadvantages you need to take into account with every method. My favourite CD player, the previous Panasonic that can't play track 1, could have stumbled over the presence on the CD of six folders that K3b created that precede track 1, i.e. the folders CDA, FLAC, Full CD, Information, cda to flac converter free download for windows 7 MP3, and Ogg Vorbis. I'm undecided what they are for.

[allenhawks6838-blog]

Konwertuj AIFF Na MP3 On-line Bez Instalacji

Methods to convert FLAC to AIFF online with FLAC to AIFF Converter? Do your eyes cross once you see all the audio format choices to choose from within the Bandcamp download menu? The good news is that you would be able to DJ with all of them, however every file type provides completely different audio resolution, file dimension, http://www.audio-transcoder.com/ and software compatibility. This is an easy breakdown of audio file varieties particularly for DJs, including how far more you may expect to pay if you want to step up from MP3s. Click on Convert button to begin to convert FLAC to AIFF or different audio format you desired. A conversion dialog will seem to point out the progress of flac to aiff conversion If you wish to cease the method, please click on Stop button. After the conversion, you possibly can click on the Output Folder button to get the converted information and switch to your iPod, iPad, iPhone, mp3 player or exhausting driver. This one's a bit of difficult: notice that flac is in encode mode by default (it's important to specify -d to decode) so this command really recompresses back to -force is required to be sure you really need to overwrite with a brand new version. Why would you want to do this? It allows you to recompress an present FLAC file with (normally) higher compression choices or a newer version of FLAC and protect all of the metadata like tags too.

First, don't feel bullied into buying quite a lot of kit since you think it's best to. Second, the place doable strive 'blind' exams, to test totally different headphones and audio system out on music you enjoy. You might find a £50 pair of headphones is ok and - to your ears - no worse than the £200 pair. Similarly, do some blind exams on file compression, as a result of there isn't any point in re-ripping your complete music assortment to Apple Lossless and desperately chopping down the albums you'll be able to retailer in your iPhone if it seems you may't inform the distinction between such files and the identical music encoded as 256 kbps AAC. The OPPO universal Blu-ray players are is designed with elements optimized for audio efficiency. The flagship BDP-105 features an all-new analog audio stage powered by two ESS Sabre32 Reference Digital-to-Analog Converters (DAC), balanced (XLR) & unbalanced (RCA) dedicated stereo outputs, a Toroidal linear energy provide, flac to aiff converter without losing quality and asynchronous USB DAC enter. These excessive-grade elements are housed in a rigidly constructed metallic chassis and work together to deliver exceptionally detailed and correct sound quality together with reference quality video. Apple losless is proprietory (however not restricted) to Apple, ALAC is restricted to sixteen bits @ 44.1 khz. If the sytem path you currently own will accept the iTunes app and that's all you plan to make use of it for, you might be good-to-go. I have been using it this way for many years, and I've been blissful, but new increased resolution formats (FLAC) are here and are much more widly accepted. So I'm maintaining an open mind for the long run. Audio information are available quite a lot of different codecs. Some are lossy, comparable to AAC and MP3; they save area compared to the original files, but some of the original data is misplaced throughout compression. Some formats are lossless, reminiscent of Apple Lossless, FLAC, and SHN; these information can be transformed again to their authentic form without the lack of a single bit. Lastly, some are uncompressed, reminiscent of WAV and AIFF; they characterize the exact information from a CD or a grasp. Agree and disagree. Technically it's true that converting FLAC files necessarily means you cannot play those recordsdata in iTunes. Nevertheless it's not true that the data is pointless, as the vast majority of folks wanting to play FLAC information on iTunes are looking for FLAC-quality music on iTunes, and do not care about the precise extension. Now that you understand the difference between every format, what must you use for ripping or downloading music? Generally, we advocate using MP3 or AAC. They're suitable with nearly each participant out there, and both are indistinguishable from the original supply if encoded at a excessive bitrate. Except you might have particular needs that suggest otherwise, MP3 and AAC are clear decisions. Another bonus feature is which you could download the HAP music switch app to your COMPUTER to sync and duplicate all your tracks onto the HAP-Z1ES over Wi-Fi. The next time you download a new track or album from Excessive-Resolution Music companies similar to HDtracks or Qobuz, it can mechanically be transferred. If you'd like to obtain high-decision music to your COMPUTER or Mac, you may need to discover apps like JRiver Media Middle, BitPerfect and Audirvana Plus. When you've got a large music library (both CDs and Excessive-Resolution Music files), the HAP Music Transfer app is straightforward to include into your current system.

[stuckimaginationuniverse]

You're a warden to the galaxies most vile prisons

The planet/system lives in poverty. No one in the entire system have little to no access off planet.

Considered a "developing" planet, its sytem never recovered from the old republic wars. The entire system was enslaved for decades and stripped and abandoned. Those left behind dwindled leaving a dying planet and exhausted system.

These people are trapped, sick, uneducated, etc.

This system and planet is home to a prison that existed before the old republic(often changed locations cause why not), and exists serving the imperial empire and beyond.

At this point, you run a planet wide work camp

(Will update later)

[thcscout]

Medical Marijuana 2x4 Scrog Grow tent - Day 41 Flowering

Medical Marijuana 2×4 Scrog Grow tent – Day 41 Flowering

Flower Tent Tent: 2’x4’x5′ Lighthouse Hydro tent Light: 600w HPS – with 4 24W CFL 6500k Reflector: Sun Sytems Yieldmaster II Ballast: Lumatek 600W Digital Intake: 4″ Hurricane with horticontrol filter Exhaust: 6″ Hurricane

Soil& Ferts

Soil:Fox Farm Ocean Forest mixed with Happy Frog Jump Start. Fert: General Organics Vegan fert

Thanks for viewing and I appreciate any comments and suggestions.

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter Thirty-Three)

Description: It is a day to give thanks. But our heroes know they must always keep on their guard

Tagging: @mysteli @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @princesstopgun @endlesshero1122 @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11 @feartheendlesssummer

Notes: Whew! This is a long one! ^_^; Once again, I want to thank @endlesshero1122 for inventing five characters and giving me full permission to use them. Dylan, RJ, Ysa, Zig (not Ortega!), and Alex are those characters, and you will all be seeing a lot more of them. :)

Chapter 33: Days of Plenty

Grace

“May I come in, darling?”

The question shakes me out of my momentary stupor. “I...I suppose so.” I take the chain off the door and pull it open, stepping aside. My mother steps inside, the heels of her pumps clicking on the hardwood floors. I shut the door behind her. It has been awhile since I've seen her. I take her beautiful white suede coat, trimmed with faux fur, and hang it on the coat rack by the door. Months, at least. She has aged some in that time; a few more fine lines, a few more gray hairs. But she is still flawlessly put together in her sophisticated royal blue dress suit and pumps, with her hair swept back in a French twist. She is clutching a designer briefcase, with her name engraved on the edge in an elegant serif font. I can't help but feel shabby in my sweater and mom-jeans, standing in the foyer of a luxury London flat that has definitely lost some of its showroom quality thanks to baby-proofing and two busy parents who can't exactly keep up with cleaning.

“...Would you like some coffee? There's a fresh pot brewed and everything.”

“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely.”

I lead her into the kitchen, only to immediately regret my decision when I get in there and remember what a disaster area it is. I move toward the cupboard to find a coffee cup, hoping my body blocks the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Not that it will make much difference with the countertops covered in half-cleaned spills and the floors unwashed. To my horror, I turn away from the cupboard and find I am too late to stop my mother from putting her hand down right into the sticky remains of an apple juice disaster from yesterday morning. Aleister and I had blotted up the amber puddles on the countertops and the floor with almost our entire supply of clean tea towels, but we were both running late. By the time we got home, we were both too tired to do anything more. We figured that no lives would be lost if we waited until morning to dig out the kitchen cleanser and the mop. But then, neither of us were expecting guests. There's a pit in my stomach as I offer my mother a hand wipe. At least we keep boxes of those stocked in every room.

“I'm sorry about that. I was trying to fill Reggie's sippy cup with apple juice yesterday, but somehow, I managed to drop the bottle and we didn't have time to give it a proper cleaning. I was planning on doing that this morning...”

“I see...” My mother accepts the wipe, delicately blotting her perfectly manicured hands, and conspicuously moving away from that area of the counter. I wince as I hear the soles of her shoes squelch in the sticky residue on the floor. “...Have you considered hiring a bit of domestic help? Perhaps a nanny or a housekeeper?”

“We have a several babysitters on call for when we're both working,” I say firmly. “We haven't found that we have need of a housekeeper right now.”

“The soles of my shoes might disagree,” she quips.

“Well, the soles of your shoes don't live here,” I snap. As her eyes narrow slightly, I take a deep breath, forcing a smile as I hand her a cup of coffee. “Why don't we go into the living room? I can't promise it will be immaculate, but at least you're not likely to find apple juice puddles in there.”

As we head into the living room, Aleister emerges from the bedroom with Reggie in his arms. He smiles politely at my mother, though his gaze is lukewarm as he regards her.

“Mother Hall. I thought I heard your voice. What a surprise.”

“Aleister.” My mother and husband come together to peck each other obligingly on the cheek. Mom smiles at Reggie, tickling him under the chin. “And Reginald Mason Rourke. How handsome you're becoming.”

“Can you say hello to your grandmother, Reginald?” It appears that the diamond tassel earrings dangling from my mother's earlobes have caught Reggie's eye because he squeals excitedly, reaching for one with surprising speed. Luckily, Aleister is faster. “Now, Reginald, 'say hello' does not mean attempt to steal her lovely earrings.”

“No harm done. I am glad that you are home. I was honestly hoping to speak with you both. Will you join us in the living room?”

“Do you have time, sweetie?” I ask pointedly. “If you don't, I can fill you in later.”

“I am the C.E.O. Well, one of them. I can take a few extra minutes.”

We continue into the living room, where Mom sits on a cuddly toy lion when she sinks into an armchair. She doesn't say anything about it, but she does make a very pointed face as she sets it aside. Aleister and I sit on the sofa, with Aleister balancing Reggie on his knee.

“I am here,” my mother says, looking at Aleister, “because your father has been in contact with me.”

Aleister looks up sharply. I feel my chest go tight, and my hand flies to his.

“You mean...recently?”

“Early in September. He wanted me to look into a former employee at Mansingh Transglobal. The mother of your friend, Alodia Chandler.”

The silence that follows her announcement is so thick that even Reggie seems to sense that something isn't right. He goes quiet, his chubby little face scrunching up uncertainly. When he starts to squirm and whine, Aleister lets him down to crawl around on the soft carpet at our feet.

“...What did you find out?” I finally manage to ask.

“Not a lot. Cassandra Chandler was a computer science major who worked as a researcher. She died about the time I became the C.E.O. There doesn't seem to have been much that was extraordinary about her, and it isn't exactly hard to believe that Everett Rourke would be interested in her since his obsession with her daughter is not exactly a secret.”

“No, I suppose it isn't,” Aleister concedes. “But then why bring this information to us if you don't think there is anything substantial to it?”

“Because for one thing, you deserve to know that your father has been in contact with me. For another, Alodia Chandler is a friend of yours. And you two experienced Rourke's obsession with her firsthand. You might not know much about why he was obsessed with her, but you know more than I do.” She opens her briefcase, and pulls out a sheaf of papers, held together with a binder clip. “Here's what I could find on her. Perhaps Alodia will be interested in it.”

“...Thank you, Mom.” I accept the papers.

“Well, I have taken enough of your time and my own. I must be off.”

“Of course. I'll walk you to the door.”

I get my mother's coat and show her out. After watching her go, I return to the living room. Aleister is leafing absently through the papers she left us. I come up beside him to put an arm over his shoulder.

“I think I may have to hold off on those sketches. I feel like I should go through those papers today.”

Aleister looks up at me. “Do you think whatever's in here is that important?”

“I don't know. Just...something about this doesn't feel right. My mother was acting strangely.”

“Was she?”

“It seemed so to me...”

Aleister sighs, rising to his feet. He approaches me and takes my shoulders gently, bending to kiss my cheek.

“I have to leave for work now, darling. Perhaps you can agree to wait until I get home so we can go over those papers together?”

It's my turn to sigh. “You really want me to wait?”

“Yes, darling. Two heads will be more effective than one. Besides, I want you to be able to work on your sketches today.”

“In between keeping our son out of trouble and making our flat a little more presentable?”

“Precisely. Let's worry about puzzling out the mystery of Alodia's human parent together.” He pauses for a moment. “...Besides, if we find something, we may be tempted to call her, which might not be entirely welcome while she is trying to make a good impression on her in-laws—not to mention the fact that she is at least six hours behind us.”

“All right, fair.” I am quiet for a moment, frowning. “...Hey...Mom said your father contacted her in early September. That was before they confiscated his phone, right?”

“Yes, I believe so. ...Why do you ask?”

“...Like I said. Something just doesn't feel right.”

Michelle

If I have to be at the hospital working instead of with my family on Thanksgiving, at least I'm working the noon-to-midnight shift, which means that for once I can be the one making sure Sean has a decent breakfast before seeing him off and crawling back into bed for a couple more hours' sleep.

“Oatmeal,” I inform him, setting the bowl in front of him, “and whole grain toast. A nice carb-o-licious breakfast to give you energy for the game today.”

He grins at me. “I have the best fiancée.”

I come up behind his chair to wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Your fiancée wishes she could be at the game today cheering you on, instead of at the hospital.”

“I know, babe.” He leans back into my embrace. “But you're doing great things at the hospital. You know how insanely proud I am of you.”

I admit I feel a smile playing around my mouth when he says that. “I know.” I kiss his cheek. “...I hope you know I'm proud of you, too.”

“I do know. But it's really nice to hear it, too. ...Think you'll have a couple minutes to watch a little of the game?”

“It's hard to say. You know how unpredictable a hospital can be.”

“Of course. Want me to wait up for you tonight? It's only gonna be a little after midnight when you get home.”

“You're gonna be exhausted after the game.”

He shrugs. “I'll still wait up if you want me to. I'll rig up some device to keep me awake.”

I snort. “Some device?”

“You know, some pulley sytem connected to my head or my shoulder that will turn on the stereo super loud if I start to nod off.”

He demonstrates, drawing an invisible pulley system in the air with his fingers, and then pretends to be nodding off, a theatrical snore interrupted by a vocal imitation of a loud metal riff. I laugh.

“No need to go to those kind of lengths. If you're up when I get home, I will be happy to see you. But if you're tired, you should sleep.”

“All right, I'll sleep. If I am tired.”

“Good boy.”

“...I love you, Michelle.”

“I love you, too, Sean.” I give him another peck on the cheek, and go to sit down across from him where my own breakfast is waiting. “Now eat your oatmeal. You've got a big game today.”

Estela

These past few weeks have been like a dream. Me and Tio Nicholas and Mom together in a peaceful San Trobida. Having Quinn here with us only adds to the utopian atmosphere. In fact, in the moments when the chimera wavers and worries about the world outside creep in, having someone else who was on La Huerta with me has helped to keep panic from setting in. Besides that, she has been a general boon to have around the house, helping with the chores and just generally being a joy. There are moments when I worry that I am keeping her here against her will. I promise I've told her that she doesn't have to stay if she would rather go back to her own family, especially for Thanksgiving. But apparently, she has spoken to her parents, and encouraged them to make Thanksgiving romantic occasion for the two of them. Since I am clearly not holding her against her will and thus I cannot release her, the only thing I can do is to make sure she knows how much I appreciate her presence.

On Thursday morning, I wake up early to make her pancakes. I've never been much of a cook, but with her and Raj giving me a few lessons, I've at least overcome my fear of the kitchen enough to follow a recipe. I prepare a breakfast tray, garnish it with a flower in a cup of water, and carry it up to the guest bedroom where she has been staying. She's still asleep when I get up there. To my chagrin, just my entering the room isn't enough to wake her. I linger in the doorway with the tray in my hand, wondering whether I should wake her, come back later, or just stay here. It seems my hesitation makes the decision for me, because after a moment or two, Quinn starts to stir. I feel myself standing up straighter as she turns her bleary gaze on me.

“Estela?” She sits up, blinking. “What's going on?”

I clear my throat, holding out the tray. “Um...this is for you...” I wince at myself. What am I doing, standing in the doorway, holding out the tray as if I expect her to come get it? I cross the room as quickly as I can without spilling anything to set the tray over her lap. She smiles, laughing a little.

“What is this?”

“...Breakfast. It's...to say thank you. For coming with me to San Trobida, and for staying with us these past couple weeks. You have been very helpful around the house, and my mom and tio can't say enough good things about you. So...thank you.”

“Oh, Estela, it's my pleasure. Really. Having your long-dead mother return home and revealing the details of our vacation through hell to your uncle seems like the kind of thing the presence of a friend could help you navigate more easily.”

“And so it has. ...And even if I don't need to thank you, I do want to.”

She pats the bed beside her. “Well, why don't you start by sitting down and helping me eat these pancakes?”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pushing a small cup of warmed syrup in her direction. She picks it up and drizzles the stuff over the pancakes.

“I was thinking...that you and I could make a day of it today. I could take you into the city and show you some of the sights. ...What do you say?”

She grins. “I can hardly think of a better way to spend a day that begins with breakfast in bed.”

I smile back. “Good. Because I want this day to be special for you. Also, if you had said no, that would have been decidedly awkward.”

Raj

Shooting an episode of a cooking show is never a one-day affair, but every show handles their schedule a little bit differently. Some chefs choose to set aside a block of a few days and knock out several episodes in a single day of shooting. That's not so practical for me, since I like to travel for my episodes. But I still have to shoot each episode several times over before there's enough that the wizards in the editing department can splice the best bits together into a winning episode. By the time we have enough footage for the Rome episode, I am worn out, and I can tell Lila is, too. Neither of us feel safe leaving her on her own, even if we are in Italy, but I can't exactly invite her to help with the episode, either. We feel even less safe putting her in front of a television camera. So, she's spent a lot of time just sitting around, and I know well that boredom can be even more exhausting than work.

On the last day of shooting, we're finished before noon. I help the crew clean up, then leave the set to look for Lila. I find her sleeping on the couch in my dressing room. I shake her shoulder gently.

“Lila? Wakey-wakey.”

She blinks at me and yawns, stretching. “Are we done for the day?”

“We're done for the episode.”

“Mmm.” She pushes herself upright. “On to the next one?”

“In due time. But we've got a bit of a break now. About a week.”

“So, what will we do until then?”

I grin. “Something that I hope you'll like. How would you feel about a holiday in Tuscany?”

Alodia

I wake up with the sun Thanksgiving morning, only to find that Jake and his family are already awake. I can smell cooking from downstairs. As I make my way down, I can hear the familiar sounds of the Macy's parade broadcast coming from the television in the living room, as well as voices from the dining room where the family has gathered for breakfast.

To my great relief, my late night awakening never becomes a topic of conversation during breakfast. I am greeted warmly and welcomed into the meal, where they ask me how I am feeling and if I slept well. No one questions it when I reply that I slept very well, thank you. I make quick work of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, and help Bernadette and Rebecca with the breakfast dishes. We have to hustle, Bernadette says, because we don't have much time to dawdle before we have to begin preparing dinner.

“Are there going to be many people?” I ask, meticulously loading plates into the dishwasher.

“Depends on what you consider 'many',” Rebecca replies.

“It's the usual crowd for us,” Bernadette says. “Frank's brother Pete and his girlfriend, my brother Emile with his wife and their two boys, my mom, and a couple of our old friends who don't have anywhere else to go for the holiday.”

“Well, that's bigger than most Thanksgivings I ever had growing up. It was usually just my aunt, my uncle, me, and Diego. Sometimes his parents came too, but they didn't really do Thanksgiving themselves so that wasn't often.”

“Well, you're gonna get the full McKenzie experience this year,” Rebecca quips. “And if that isn't enough to make you regret marrying my baby brother, nothing will.”

“Oh, boy. Jake did mention it was going to be chaotic. Anything I should be forewarned about?”

“Well, you're not the only one who's meeting the family for the first time. Uncle Pete's girlfriend  is someone we've only “met” over Facebook so far.”

“She seems like a nice woman, though,” Bernadette adds. “Her name is Aubrey. I think she's from Chicago originally. About twenty years younger than Pete, but once you get to be a certain age, that's not much of a difference.”

“Hey, as long as everyone is legal and consenting, I don't pass judgment,” I remark. “Well, not moral judgment, anyway. I admit to having my opinions on whether what people are doing is altogether wise, but only when it involves people I know well.”

“Sound policy,” Rebecca says approvingly. “Anyway, you'll be in good company with Aubrey. Now, about Uncle Emile and Aunt Lorraine...”  

* * *

Once the dishes are done, I head back upstairs to get dressed. I've packed a long floral-printed  sundress with an empire waist and a matching shrug. I add some subtle jewelry, a touch of makeup, and sweep my hair back into a French braid. I brush my teeth and head back downstairs, where the parade has been replaced on the television with a football game.

“Is this the Condors' game?” I ask, coming to sit beside Jake on the couch.

“They're not playing for a couple hours,” he answers, taking my hand and kissing it. “But don't worry. I made sure Pop knows we're die-hard Condors fans. ...You look beautiful, by the way.”

I grin and kiss his cheek. “I'll do then?”

“Absolutely. You're gonna knock 'em all dead.”

It's not even noon when the McKenzie guests start arriving. The first is an old neighbor, Sidney Everly. To describe her as an elderly widow calls up an image that is quite contrary to her actual presence. The moment I am introduced as Jake's wife, she squeals and pulls me into a hug that can only be described as crushing. Clearly, her slender, stooped appearance belies her strength.

“So someone finally snapped up Jake McKenzie! And he's put a bun in her oven!”

“Okay, okay, Sidney, don't swarm her,” Jake chides, gently but firmly separating us. “Remember she is pregnant.”

“Oh, phooey, she's not going to pop,” Sidney scoffs, but she doesn't try to hug me again. “All right, Bernadette, put me in the kitchen and set me to work!”

Next to arrive is Jesse Atwood, an equally animated bachelor who comes with a violin case and tray of exquisite-looking handmade chocolate eclairs topped with berries and dusted with powdered sugar. He is quickly followed by Bernadette's younger brother and sister-in-law, Emile and Lorraine Landry, with their teenage boys, Neil and Ethan. Seventeen-year-old Neil is friendly and seems eager to get to know everyone in the room. Ethan is fifteen years old, and I'm not sure if he's going through a surly teenage phase or if he's just overwhelmed by the number of people present, but he arrives with earbuds firmly in his ears and barely glances up from the game he's playing on his phone when I'm introduced. The family doesn't seem phased by this, which tells me that whatever it is, it's not personal, so I leave him be.

Finally, Frank's brother Pete shows up with his girlfriend Aubrey, a short, slim woman in her late forties with dark brown hair cut just above her shoulders and styled in a fluffy perm. She grins when we're introduced and shakes my hand. There is relief in her soft gray eyes.

“Glad to meet you, Alodia. I think you and I are the major curiosities here tonight.” She leans in a little closer. “Though I think you're probably a little more of a curiosity than I am. No offense.”

“None taken. Between my backstory and my baby bump I expect to be fielding a lot of questions tonight.”

“Come on, everyone!” Sidney calls from the kitchen. “There's a feast to be prepared! Anyone who's helping with the cooking, in the kitchen! Everyone else--”

“Everyone else will please heed my instructions and not Sidney's!” Bernadette says firmly, though I can see a smile on her lips. “Alodia, sha, maybe you can help serve up some cider and snacks?”

Sidney, Bernadette, Rebecca, Jesse, and Emile take over the kitchen, preparing mostly sidedishes while Frank and Pete take turkey-duty outside to the grill. I spend a little while running cider, beer, and platters of appetizers out to the living room and to the men out by the grill. To my surprise, Ethan immediately comes to help me, though he doesn't take his earbuds out. Jake has been in the living room chatting with Neil. About my third trip out to the living room, he catches my hand.

“Hey, Princess. I know Mom and ol' Sidney can turn into a pair of Major Generals when they're cooking together, but don't let 'em push you around.”

I smirk. “You really think they can push me around?”

He actually seems to consider that for a moment before smiling. “I guess not. But don't you push yourself around, either. Promise me you'll rest if you get tired?”

“Promise. But if you're really concerned, you could come give me a hand.”

He chuckles. “Okay, fair.”

A few minutes later, he and I are sitting at the kitchen table together and peeling potatoes. After a short while, Neil, Ethan, and Aubrey come to join us. Neil dominates the conversation for awhile, filling everyone in on his preparations for college. But when the conversation starts to reach a lull, Ethan surprises me by filling the silence.

“Do you know if your baby is a boy or a girl yet?” he asks me.

“Not yet,” I reply. “We're going to learn that next week.”

“Have you done the wedding ring test yet?” Sidney asks.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “The what?”

“You tie the mom-to-be's wedding ring on a piece of thread and dangle it over her belly. If it swings back and forth like a pendulum, it's a boy. If it swings in circles, it's a girl.”

“Are you sure?” Aubrey asks skeptically. “I'd always heard it was the other way around.”

“I can look it up on my phone,” Neil offers.

“Oh, there's really no need,” I chuckle. “I don't have a wedding ring.”

Sidney gasps. “You mean Jake didn't even get you a ring?!”

“...Uh...we weren't exactly married in a traditional ceremony.”

“We have a handfasting ribbon,” Jake adds. He briefly explains the handfasting ceremony, naturally replacing anything suspiciously Vaanti with something that sounds more like it was thought up by college students. “I still have that ribbon.”

“You do?” I'm startled and I don't hide it. “You've never mentioned that to me. Where is it?”

“I had it framed to keep it preserved. I put it in a safe place at my grandparents' place. ...I never thought of going to get it when we moved to California because...well...I had you back. And there was a lot going on.”

“Ohhh! You should get it as long as you're in Pearl River!” Sidney exclaims. “It's not like you're far from your grandparents' place.”

“That's actually not a bad idea,” Jake concedes.

“I wouldn't mind seeing that ribbon again,” I agree.

“Maybe you could do the ring test with that, just with a regular ring,” Ethan suggests. “Maybe the ribbon will have the same kind of...energy you need.”

“Oh, there's no need for that test,” Bernadette scoffs. “She's carrying high. It's a girl.”

“Well, the old lady on the plane yesterday agrees with you,” Rebecca snickers.

“Hey, we're not listening to the old lady on the plane!” Jake says firmly.

“Why, what did the old lady on the plane say?” Neil asks eagerly.

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Well, I ended up getting airsick while we were landing, so I was throwing up into a paper bag while everyone was getting their things.” I go on, describing the old woman and her daughter, to the amusement of everyone except Jake.

“The old bat is wrong, by the way,” he grumbles. “Alodia looks as beautiful as ever.”

“I have to agree with Jake,” Sidney declares. “If that baby's stolen your good looks, then you must be too pretty for anyone's good. I think you've got a boy.”

“Whether or not her looks have been stolen, girls do cause more sickness,” Bernadette insists.

“What have your cravings been like?” Sidney asks.

“Well...peanut butter's been the big one...” l

“There, you see? Protein. That means it's a boy.”

“Not American peanut butter, sha,” Bernadette scoffs. “You know how much sugar is in American peanut butter?”

“Well, I have been especially fond of peanut butter cookies,” I point out.

This goes on for awhile. Everyone chimes in with the various wives' tales they've heard for predicting the baby's sex. They ask me about my moods, hair growth, breakouts, stretchmarks, and whatever else they can think of. Neil even looks up a Chinese sex-prediction chart on his phone that asks for my birthday and the month we conceived in, which my best guess places in July. That chart tells me I'm having a girl, which pleases Bernadette. Of course, no matter what the wives' tales say, she remains convinced I'm having a girl. Sidney is of the opposite opinion, and Rebecca seems to agree with her.

“Y'all are being ridiculous!” Jake declares, exasperated. “Even once we know the sex, it's not like that's going to predict their personality or anything like that.”

“Jake's got the right of it,” Jesse agrees, stirring the gravy on the stove. “Maybe y'all should keep the sex secret until the baby's a few months old.”

“Are you gonna keep the name secret, too?” Sidney scoffs.

“We wouldn't have to,” Jake retorts. “We've already chosen the name, and it's unisex.”

“I hate unisex names.”

“Sidney, you have a unisex name!”

“That don't mean I like it!”

“Well, girl or boy, our baby is River Skye McKenzie, and that's that.”

Sidney considers that. “Well, okay. That's a good name.”

“Good for a boy, but even better for a girl,” Bernadette declares haughtily.

“You're impossible, Mom,” Jake sighs.

“Yes, I am. Now go see if your Pop needs help with the turkey.”

Grayson

I prepare a small meal to take to my father for our Thanksgiving dinner. Well, actually it's more like a Thanksgiving lunch, since I am going to be eating with him early in order to make it to Rochelle's apartment on time. I did tell him I had been invited to another dinner later in the day. He didn't ask where I was going, but I suspect he knows. I have never made my affection for Tahira a secret, which does kind of worry me now. But all I can really do is swear that I will never let myself be used against her.

I arrive at the mansion where I grew up—the one that now serves as my father's prison—and make my way up the walk, clutching the cooler full of Thanksgiving food. I put it down to ring the doorbell and bounce lightly on the balls of my feet while I wait, breathing warm air into my cupped hands. I should have worn gloves, but I was running late getting out of my apartment, and by the time I thought of it, it was just too late to go back. The seconds melt into each other, and I am just about to ring the bell again when my father answers.

“You're late, Grayson.”

“...I'm sorry, dad. The turkey took longer than I was expecting.” I heft the cooler with a grunt and all but waddle through the front door. Dad raises an eyebrow at the cooler.

“What's in there?”

“Food. Thanksgiving lunch. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a pumpkin pie. Traditional fare. I also bought a bottle of wine.”

“Hmm. Anything that will require reheating?”

“Most of it hasn't had that much time to get cold. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to warm the vegetables.”

“Very well. I suppose you had better bring that stuff right into the kitchen. I know how eager you are to get onto your other dinner.”

I grit my teeth, needled by the thinly-veiled barb in his words. “Well, it isn't like I'm going to eat and run,” I assure him, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Of course not. Shall we eat off the fine china?”

While the food rewarms, we take the our time setting the dining room table. We spread out a white tablecloth of Irish linen with matching placemats and napkins. We lay out the silver cutlery and the antique china plates that I can remember adorning the holiday tables of my childhood. Each plate is uniquely painted with pictures of various fruits and flowers in beautiful pastel colors. In a moment of nostalgia, I claim the one with the ripe peaches surrounded by raspberries for myself. That one was always my favorite. My father doesn't comment on my choice, but I do see him smile fondly at the plate for a moment. He lights a pair of beeswax candles in crystal candleholders. I carve the turkey in the kitchen and arrange it on a platter. Then we lay out the food and take our seats. For a moment, neither of us move.

“...Do you think we should say grace?” I ask hesitantly.

“I suppose.”

“We don't have to,” I say quickly. “It's only that it's tradtional...”

Dad doesn't respond. He pulls the bottle of red Zinfandel toward him and snatches up the winged corkscrew. I wince a little as he jams the sharp end of the screw into the cork, but I make myself focus on how much the corkscrew looks like a little person or a human-shaped robot with two long arms. As dad twists the robot's head, it raises its arms as if in some stiff, jerky dance. And then as Dad pushes its arms down, it detatches itself from the bottle, taking the cork with it. Dad places it aside with the cork still attached and picks up the bottle.

“Say when,” he instructs me as he tips the bottle over my glass. Dark red liquid flows from the bottle's mouth and sloshes in the basin of my wineglass. I cut off the flow at half a glass. Dad raises an eyebrow at me for a moment before moving to pour a larger glass for himself. He sets down the bottle and begins filling his plate with turkey, potatoes, stuffing, and beans. After a moment, I do the same.

“I suppose,” he says at last as he picks up his knife and fork and begins slicing his turkey into bite-sized pieces, “that you shouldn't have too much to drink if you are going to be driving to Tahira's dinner before long.”

“...No,” I agree. “That wouldn't be responsible.”

He pauses, glancing sidelong at me. “...It is Tahira you will be spending the evening with, isn't it?”

“Among others. Her mother will be there, and Dax Darcisse and Poppy Patel.”

“But Tahira is the one you really want to see.”

“Is that your oh-so-subtle way of asking if she and I are finally seeing each other?” I quip, hoping to disguise my discomfort with this line of questioning.

“It hardly seems like the best idea to be dating someone you work with. Much less someone who works for you.”

“We're both smart people, Dad. We know how to keep our personal lives separate from work.”

“Don't be naive, Grayson. No one actually knows how to do that.”

I feel myself stiffen. Deep breaths, Grayson. You don't want a fight to sour your mood before you see Tahira.

“Well, we'll just do our best then, and deal with any problems as they come up.”

“...You know what she is, son.”

I almost drop my fork as my veins turn to ice, but I manage to keep it together. I lower my fork to my plate, its prongs still sporting a lump of mashed potatoes.

“What she is, Dad, is a woman I care for deeply, and have done since we were in college together. She is smart and fun and kind and—“

“Powerful,” Dad adds. He puts down his fork and knife, leaning back and tenting his fingers. He fixes me with a penetrating stare. “Let's not beat around the bush, Grayson. Tahira is Dragonness. You know she is.”

I sigh. I consider feigning surprise, but it's probably too late for that. Besides, I'm not sure how much good it would do. Is it really that much more dangerous for my father to know that I know her identity when he already knows it himself? Suddenly, I feel exhausted.

“...What do you want me to say, Dad?”

“I only want you to be honest with me.”

“...Then yes. I know who she is. And I know you know, too. ...I also know the real reason you attacked Northbridge was because you wanted to use her power to bring Mom back.”  

“And I suppose she told you that?”

“Yes! She did! Are you going to deny it?”

“No, in fact. I am not going to deny it. Nor will I deny that my plan did not work out as I had expected.”

“And what were you expecting?”

He sighs, letting his hands drop onto the table to rest on either side of his plate. He picks at a bit of turkey skin hanging off the edge of the plate.

“I had believed the power to bring Helena back existed in the world on the other side of the Prism Gate. ...The world where Dragonness was born. I had hoped that if we managed to make it there, we would find her people. Find a the power necessary. Alas, that was not the case.”

I don't answer. I pick up my fork and knife and tear into the turkey on my plate, covering my silence by stuffing my mouth with the meat. Dad watches me eat for a moment.

“...Do you not approve, Grayson?”

I choke down a mouthful. It gets stuck at the back of my throat, but I force it down with a deep drink of wine. I set my glass down and stare at my plate.

“...Mom is gone, Dad.”

“She doesn't have to be.”

“Yes! She does! She's dead!”

My father's eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “You watch your mouth, son.”

“I'm only saying what's true! Mom is dead! She has been dead for years! It's not like I'm happy about it, but it's a fact!”

“All this from the boy who wasn't willing to do what needed to be done in Bayside for fear that some people would have to pick themselves up by their bootstraps and move on.”

“Dad, you were talking about displacing living people from their homes! Do you realize how many lives you snuffed out on the day you decided to attack Northbridge?! Eight! Eight people died because you can't let Mom rest!”

My father eyes me steadily. “I could bring them back, too.”

I feel a chill cross my shoulders. “...What...? What are you...?”

“There is a way, Grayson.”

“Dad, no...please...” I reach across the table to cover his hand with mine. “Let it go. Please. Please don't make Tahira suffer to bring Mom back.”

“I don't mean Tahira. ...There is another way.”

I can feel my heart spasming in my throat. “...Dad...please. I don't know if you just never grieved Mom properly or what, but...all I've wanted for years is for us to be a family!”

Dad puts his other hand on top of mine, grasping it firmly. “And we will be! As soon as I can find the power to bring her back, we--”

“No!” I pull my hands back sharply, feeling tears burning in my eyes. “Not us and Mom! Mom is gone! I mean you and me! You're still my father! I am still your son! We're still a family! Or we could be if you would let Mom go and look at me!”

For a moment, I think I actually see genuine remorse in my father's face. It's only a flicker, just for an instant, but even when it vanishes, his expression is softer somehow. Gentler.

“...You don't understand,” he says softly.

“No. No, Dad, I don't. ...I don't understand why you turned your back on me when I needed you most. How one day we could be so close and you could show me so much affection...and then as soon as Mom was in the ground, it was like you turned cold as her grave. For years, I thought you had stopped loving me. For years, I thought I had done something wrong.” I can't hold back a few tears as the scared little boy I used to be comes to the surface of my mind, bringing his hurt, his abandonment, his confusion. “I realize now you were just in pain, but...but the fact is you still haven't dealt with that pain. ...This...isn't how Mom would have wanted us to be to each other, Dad. She would have wanted us to hold each other. Support each other in her absence.”

“She would have wanted to be with us!”

“Of course she would have! But she isn't! God dammit, for all you accuse me of not being realistic, you can't even accept...” I trail off, my voice strangled by unshed tears that clog my throat. My head drops into my hands on the table.

I feel a touch on my shoulder, the palm of my father's hand resting gently on my back. I don't shrug him off, even though my head tells me I should. To have my father resting a hand on my shoulder to comfort me...it's like a mouthful of water to a man who has crossed the desert. Such unspeakable relief. And yet...so far from enough.

“My son...my boy...my child. Please, listen to me. I know I failed you. In so many ways. I failed your mother, too. But that is what I am trying to fix.”

Now I do shrug him off.

“No. No, Dad. What you're doing isn't fixing anything.” I lift my head, but I don't look at my father. “Until you get help, we're never going to be the family Mom wanted us to be. I'm sorry.”

He knows what I'm implying. That when he comes to trial, I am going to argue in favor of having him committed. But to my surprise, his only reaction now is a sigh.

“...It's okay, Grayson. It will be okay. I promise. I know how to fix everything now. When I am through, it will be as if all those lonely years never even happened.”

He goes back to his dinner, clearing his plate in silence. I look down at the meal going cold on my plate, the moist turkey, lumpy mashed potatoes and oily green beans obscuring the delicately painted peaches and raspberries. I don't feel like eating anymore. Something about Dad's reaction has me more unsettled than ever.

Poppy

“Come on, Dax! We're going to be late! Rochelle said dinner is at three o'clock, and it's now 2:20!”

“Okay! Okay! I'm coming!” Dax sighs, reluctantly putting aside his project. His eyes linger on the tiny object for a moment before he sighs again and starts to straighten up his workstation.

“Is that the thing you told me about?” I ask. “The hologram thing?”

“That's it.”

“How's it coming?”

“Well, actually. Really well. I even think I should have it ready to present by New Year's Eve.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I'm impressed. Considering you've only been working on it for a month now.”

“What can I say? I'm motivated. Also, the technology involved already exists, it's just a matter of making it more portable and easier to disguise.”

I put my arms around him, kissing his cheek. “That's a really nice thing you're doing for them, sweetie. I'm proud of you.”

He leans into my embrace, going quiet for a moment. “...I started to imagine what he described...being trapped on the outside...while...” He swallows. “...If it were you...or Tahira. I'm closer to the two of you than I've ever been to anyone. ...If one of you were hurt or sick and I was stuck on the outside...”

“Well, if you can pull this off, that won't be something they have to worry about.”

“I can pull it off,” he says with determination. “I know I can.”

“I know you can, too. Now come on. I am not going to be late for Rochelle's famous taffy-apple salad.”

Zahra

It's another jolly holiday at the Hsiao household. And I promise I'm not actually saying that ironically. I actually like my boyfriend's family, and I will readily admit that I am very, very lucky that way. Far from being what some racially insensitive douches would imagine, Kira and Huan Hsiao are not actually super strict, conservative “tiger parents,” like Asian parents tend to be on TV. A more accurate description of them would be snarky hippy goofballs. Well...hippies who still eat meat, I guess. So maybe not hippies.

But they are animal lovers. Their house is a crazy menagerie of four cats Nikky, Snickerdoodle, Tootle, and Buttercup; a German shepherd/collie mix named Tiffany; Mindy and George, a pair of rabbits; a parakeet named Tinker; and a ball python, hilariously named Monty—particularly hilarious because the python in question is female. We humans finish our Thanksgiving feast in the early afternoon, and Kira and Huan immediately set to work making sure the animals get their own. The cats are the most insistent, twining around Kira's ankles and yowling as she dishes Fancy Feast on top of Meow Mix and garnishes it with Temptations treats and catnip. And I know I've been staying at their place too long because I have started to recognize brands of cat food.

“Yes, yes, my little darlings,” Kira sings. “Food is coming!”

“Good god,” I groan. “Those things are cute when they're all purry and keeping my toes warm at night, but they are so friggin' noisy when they're hungry!”

“They're not that different from human babies that way,” Kira quips, carrying two double-bowls of catfood to the placemat on the floor in the corner. The cats immediately go quiet, digging into their feast. Kira calls out to Tiffany, who has been waiting patiently on the floor by the kitchen door. At the sound of her name, the dog leaps up on her paws, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as her tail starts to wag. Kira reaches into a plastic bag labled “Pampered Pets” and pulls out what I realize has to be a dog treat, but which looks enough like a cupcake that I want to eat it myself.

“Aww, you got Tiffany a pupcake!” Joey laughs.

“Of course! They're her favorite special occasion treats.”

Kira makes Tiffany sit and lie down before placing the treat a few feet in front of her nose. Tiffany licks her chops, her tail thumping eagerly, but she obediently waits for the signal before attacking her pupcake, wolfing it down in two bites.

“Oh, hey!” Joey leaps up from the table. “Let's go play Road From Xanadu! We gotta finish it before you guys go back to Northbridge!”

Craig pushes back from the table, stretching his arms over his head. “Nothing like video games after Thanksgiving dinner,” he agrees. “I'm in.”

Joey comes around to grab my arm, tugging insistently. “Come on, Zahra! We can't play without you since you're Amaya!”

“Well, you could make her an NPC,” I point out, even as I get to my feet.

“But then we'd have to start over!”

“Well, we can't have that. Let's go.”

The truth is, though, I'm a little reluctant to play. Road From Xanadu is this obscure RPG game set in this weird dimension where a bunch of people from various other dimensions and alternate timelines end up. From what I can gather, it's basically a dimension converging on all other dimensions. The main character is a badass warrior woman with weather magic whose whole mission is to get back to her own dimension in order to prevent a horrific disaster from killing her family. Along the way, she's tormented by visions of a past life that seem to be hinting that the disaster was actually an attack by someone from a past that she can't remember. It all feels a little too much like AU La Huerta for me to be totally comfortable, but Joey is super into it, so I've been trying to hide my misgivings.

We head into the living room where the fireplace is going, turn on the TV and the game console, and curl up on the couch with Joey wedged between us. The game loads up and the menu flickers up onto the screen in front of us. We search for the save marked ZCJ and load up our game. I frown as my character shows up on the screen, but without Craig or Joey's, and with a completely dark background.

“Wait...where were we again?”

“Illusory Cities,” Joey reminds me. “Field of Mirrors. Remember? We're trapped in the mirrors, and you have to get us out.”

“Oh...right...”

So my character wanders through a field of mirrors where her friends are trapped inside their dreams, trying to wake them up so they can move on to collect the next item in their fetch quest to build the portal that will take them back to her dimension. Craig and Joey yell hints and encouragement, and finally, I manage to break everyone out.

“Dude, Amaya is totally falling in love with Felix,” Craig declares, grinning. “I knew I chose the right character.”

“I bet they kiss before we stop playing tonight,” Joey agrees.

“You talkin' about Felix and Amaya or Craig and me? Because if it's the latter, you'll definitely win that bet.”

“Hey!” Joey holds up a hand in front of my face. “No kissing over my head. If you wanna kiss, you gotta warn me so I can move.”

Of course, by this point Buttercup has jumped into my lap and made herself comfortable, tucking her feet underneath her body and laying her head on my knee. I know from experience that she won't move until forced to by either her bladder or mine.

“I don't think that's happening any time soon, kiddo,” I sigh. “Okay, let's get back to it. We gotta find something called 'Wild Time'...”

Tahira

By a quarter to three, everyone has arrived at my mother's apartment except Grayson. My last three texts have gone unanswered, and I'm starting to get anxious, though I try to distract myself by setting the table. Finally, I feel a vibration in the pocket of my jeans, accompanied by the chime of my text alert. I fish my phone out of my pocket and read the message.

Grayson: Waiting outside. Am I late??

I exhale, feeling an easy smile curve my lips as reliefs flood through me in soothing waves. I thumb out a response:

Right on time. I'll come down to let you in.

I call over my shoulder to let Mom know where I'm going before I rush out into the hallway and down the stairs. Grayson is waiting outside the front door with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under the opposite arm. I grin as I hold the door open for him.

“As much as presents are appreciated, don't think I haven't noticed that you can't hug me while you're holding those.”

Stepping into the foyer of the building, Grayson immediately sets the flowers and wine on an end table and pulls me in for a fierce, needful kiss, dipping me slightly in his arms. I melt into his embrace, raising my arms to wind around his neck as I taste his mouth. He tastes like he brushed his teeth just recently. Finally, he straightens, bringing me with him, and reluctantly breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on mine.

“Okay, I forgive you. ...Trying to recreate V-J Day in Time Square?”

“...I love you, Tahira.” His voice is a whisper, and there's a weight to it that puts a lump in the pit of my stomach.

“I love you, too, Grayson. But...are you all right? Did lunch with your dad not go well?”

“I have to tell you something,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed. “Something Dad said has been worrying me since he said it. But...I don't want to spoil the holiday. Just promise me you won't let me leave without telling you tonight.”

My first impulse is actually to say 'okay', push his words to the back of my mind, and get on with my holiday. But even as I consider it, I know that I'll never be able to concentrate on having a good time with that hanging over my head.

“What do you mean? What did he say?” When he hesitates, I take his face in my hands, turning it toward me. “Please, Grayson. Don't hold back. I'd rather you just say it than leave me to imagine the worst.”

He hesitates another moment. A knock at the lobby door makes us both jump. We turn to look out the clear glass door and find a man balancing a foiled-draped casserole dish in one hand and waving at us with the other. His wife and two young children stand behind him, bundled up and bouncing against the bite of the chilly November air. He gestures to the doorknob. Grayson clears his throat, blushing as he pushes the door open. The small family scurries into the warmth of the lobby and toward the elevator. He sighs.

“We shouldn't talk out here,” he mumbles, not meeting my eyes. “Let's get somewhere we can talk privately.”

“...Yeah. Okay. Maybe it can wait until after dinner.”

He smiles, but it looks a little forced. Then his eyes light up and he scoops up the bouquet he had placed on the side table, placing it in my arms carefully as if it were a swaddled infant.

“Sorry I'm later than expected, by the way. I stopped to pick those up on the way.”

I can't help but smile as I regard the colorful bouquet in my arms, pink roses and miniature carnations arranged amidst snowy white chrysanthemums, yellow Peruvian lilies, lavender, statice, and huckleberry. I put my nose in the armful of flora and inhale a fragrant blend of perfumes.

“They're absolutely beautiful.”

His smile is genuine again as he casually takes up the wine bottle and offers me his hand.

“I couldn't resist a few roses,” he says, “but I've always thought roses alone were a little...well, boring. If I'm going to bring someone flowers, I want something colorful.”

“I approve of your choice.”

Everyone else clearly approves of it too, if their gushing reaction when we get back up to Mom's apartment is any indication. While Mom is busy hunting for a vase, and Dax and Poppy are helping her find the ladle she was looking for a moment ago, I see an opportunity and impulsively decide to to take it. I take Grayson by the hand and pull him into the bedroom. I shut the door, pressing the lock down for good measure.

“So, what were you going to say about your Dad?”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking cornered. “I...thought you said it could wait until after dinner.”

“I know. But I also said I'd rather know than spend dinner imagining the worst.”

For a moment he is quiet, and I think he is going to protest again that it should wait until after dinner. But then he nods.

“...We got into a fight, which will probably not come as much of a surprise. He knows that I know who you are, by the way. I didn't tell him, but he guessed and I didn't know how to deny it, or if it would even do any good.”

“It probably wouldn't have,” I agree. “It's okay. We'll deal with it. Was that all?”

“No. ...We were arguing about his obession with bringing Mom back. I was begging him not to make you suffer for it. ...He said that he didn't have to use you. That there was another way. Some of the things he said...it started to sound like he wasn't just talking about bringing Mom back. He was talking about rewriting history so she never died at all.”

I feel an electric chill skitter down my spine. “...That...that sounds like...”

“I know. ...I can't help but wonder if he's managed to learn something about the Janus Project.”

Aleister

I come home in the evening to find that the flat has been scrubbed top to bottom. In the sitting room, the evening news flickers on the television, the volume turned to something just barely audible. My wife is curled up on the sofa under a throw blanket, her glasses set aside on the coffee table beside the baby monitor. She appears to be dozing lightly, and as I approach, I can see from the screen on the baby monitor that my son is asleep as well, contentedly sucking his thumb in his crib. I smile, kneeling beside Grace and bending to kiss the top of her head. She stirs and stretches at my touch, smiling up at me.

“Hey, honey,” she says around a yawn. “There's tuna noodle casserole in the refridgerator. I already ate, but it wouldn't take much to heat it up.”

“You're a treasure,” I reply. She reaches over to fumble for her glasses, and I guide them to her hand. “I brought home macroons for dessert. Can I fix you a plate with some tea?”

“That would be heavenly. Could you also give me a hand getting off the couch?”

I chuckle, standing and offering my hand. She takes it, groaning a little as I help pull her to her feet. Once standing, she flops theatrically against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder and pretending to snore. I laugh.

“I am not surprised you're so tired. The flat looks beautiful.” I drape one of her arms over my shoulders and wind the other around her waist, pulling her close to my side as if I am helping her walk with an injured leg. “But I hope this was not just because your mother sat on a cuddly toy this morning.”

“There are some ways Mom can still get to me,” she admits. “...But I was also trying to keep busy so I wouldn't be tempted to peek at the files she left us. Besides, the flat needed a good scrub. I just hope my back doesn't regret it in the morning.”

I guide her to a kitchen chair and stand behind her for a moment, rubbing her shoulders. “I'll tell you what, darling. Why don't you have a nice hot bath while I have my supper, and then we'll look at the files together over tea and macaroons. Deal?”

“Deal.”

* * *

Grace takes her time in the bath, and when I finish dinner, we both get into our pajamas. Curled up on the sofa with a pleasant fire going, two cups of hot tea and a tray of macaroons, it's almost easy to forget what we're actually looking for with the documents spread out across our laps. Not that we seem to be finding much that is obviously incriminating.

“I am quite surprised to hear myself say this, but it seems Alodia's mother was in fact quite an ordinary woman.”

“Well, I don't know about 'ordinary,'” Grace remarks. “According to everything here, she was a genius at computer science. She headed nearly eighty percent of Mansingh Transglobal's computer science projects in 1995.”

She passes me the page she's looking at, and I skim over it. A few project names jump out at me.

“ 'Project Jupiter'...'The Trojan Project'...Anything with a Greco-Roman theme might bear looking into further. With the Trojan Project, I'm inclined to guess it had something to do with computer viruses. ...Perhaps an attempt to develop some sort of antivirus software.”

“Or digital condoms,” Grace suggests, grinning. I snort, poking her shoulder lightly.

“Trojan always was a terrible name for a condom.”

“Huh...now this is interesting.”

“What is?”

Grace holds up the page in front of her. “Apparently Cassandra Chandler worked on one of the most advanced digital painting/rendering programs of the early nineties. She won an award for her own digital art. And...oh! I think Mom included samples...” She turns to a few glossy photo prints. “Wow. This is beautiful.”

She passes me a picture of a digitally rendered sunset over the ocean. “Impressive. The colors, the shading...very advanced for the early nineties.”

“And look at this moonscape. It's so lifelike, it's like looking at a photo.”

“Clearly, she was very talented. ...Perhaps we should send this to Alodia. I'm sure she would like to have some piece of her mother to hold...on...to...Grace...?”

Grace is staring at the photo in front of her, her dark eyes wide. I peer over at the picture and feel my breath catch in my throat. It's another beautifully rendered piece of digital art, a portrait depicting a young woman posed beneath a palm tree. It is as clear as a photograph, or a Holbein portrait. Her blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her pale skin...

“Good heavens...but...that's...”

“Yeah,” Grace agrees. “It's Alodia.”

Michelle

It's hard to have a totally good day when you're working at a hospital. Even if none of your own patients die, it's hard to ignore the fact that people do die there every day. And yet, at the same time, people are born there every day, too. Lives are saved, or changed for the better with surgeries that improve quality of life. It's difficult to have a totally good day, but if you know where to look, it's hard to have a totally bad one, too. For me, today managed to even out. I was busy, which kept my shift from dragging too much, but now I'm definitely feeling it. Now, what I really want is to go home, put on my pajamas and curl up in bed with Sean so I can fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

I finally get home at nearly a quarter to one. There's a note in Sean's handwriting taped to the door of our apartment when I get there:

Hey, Beautiful. Left something on the coffee table for you. Love you! --Sean.

I smile, folding the note and tucking it into the pocket of my jacket. The first year we were dating back at Hartfeld, he was always getting me little gifts to leave in my room at the sorority house when we were both too busy for a real date night. They were never expensive, but they were always meaningful and romantic. A refridgerator magnet with my name on it, a caduceus keychain, a bunch of lilacs from the hedge that grew on campus, my favorite spinach bread from the bakery in town, or a stick of rock candy from the old-fashioned candy shop next door. Lately, he seems to have picked the practice up again. Except now, I try to reciprocate more often.

The apartment is dark when I get inside. I turn on the light in the foyer, slip off my shoes and hang my coat in the closet. I make my way into the living room and switch on the floor lamp. On the coffee table, an Easter basket has been lined with tissue paper and repurposed to hold a small collection of bath items—body wash, lotion, and spray that all appear to be the same scent; an orange-infused sugar scrub for my hands and feet, and two bath bombs. I pop open the body wash and inhale the subtly sweet aroma of orange blossom, chamomile, and vanilla, sighing rapturously. I'm going to get Sean something really special to thank him for this. Some nice cologne or a new duffle bag for away games...or maybe a gift certificate for a massage at my favorite spa. I reach into the basket to pull out the bath bombs and hold them to my nose. As I do, a sticky note that had been attached to one of the fragrant spheres comes loose and flutters to the ground. I pick it up, squinting slightly to make out the writing in the somewhat dim light of the floor lamp:

Hi, Beautiful! =) Turn on the TV and press play! Don't adjust the volume! Love you! – Sean

I pick up the remote and press the power button. The TV flickers to life, and a frozen image of Sean in his Condors' uniform appears on the screen. I recognize the Condors' home stadium behind him, and on the edge of the screen, I can make out the hand of a sportscaster holding up a microphone. I press play.

“Sean, do you have any final thoughts before the game gets underway today?”

The volume is loud enough to make me jump a little, worried that I'm going to wake Sean. But, since his note explicitly told me not to adjust the volume, I resist the urge. On the screen, Sean smiles warmly into the camera.

“First of all, I just want to wish a happy Thanksgiving to my amazing fiancee, Dr. Michelle Nguyen. She couldn't be at the game today because she's busy being an amazing doctor at the hospital. But if you're watching, babe, I just want to tell you that I'm so proud of you and I love you with my whole heart.”

The big light flicks on overhead, making me jump. I turn to see Sean smiling at me from the doorway that leads into the kitchen.

“We won today,” he says. I smile, pausing the recording and going to kiss him.

“That's wonderful. And thank you for the gifts. But why are you still awake? You must be exhausted.”

He shrugs, kissing me back and lacing his fingers at the small of my back. “I had a nice long nap after the game. I wanted to be awake when you got home. I've got a little surprise for you.”

“Another one? I know I was bummed about working on Thanksgiving, but you don't want me to get spoiled.”

“And what if I do?” he counters with mock-haughtiness. I snort.

“Well, in that case, who am I to argue?”

He keeps one arm around my waist as he leads me through the kitchen to the dining room. As we approach, I realize that I can see candlelight flickering inside. The first thing I notice when I round the corner and Sean turns up the lights is Tricia, grinning from her seat at the end of the table. The table is spread with my favorite tablecloth, decorated with a centerpiece of pillar candles draped with evergreen branches, pinecones, and clementines. Though the table is crowded with chafing dishes and a decanter filled with some kind of spiced cider, they've managed to find room for three place-settings. Delicious smells that had been previously masked by the scent of the bath bombs in the living room fill the air. Tricia gets up, coming to fold me in a warm embrace.

“Happy Thanksgiving, honey.”

I feel tears coating my eyes as I hug her back. I think my smile might actually split my face apart. “Oh, Tricia! You're awake, too?”

“Well, someone had to make sure the food was edible. I couldn't leave that in my son's hands.”

“Hey!” Sean feigns offense, lightly poking his mother. “I helped!”

I pull back, wiping at my eyes. “You both should be sleeping,” I chide around a mindlessly happy chuckle. “But as long as you're both awake, what are we eating?”

“It's kind of a Thanksgiving breakfast-for-dinner deal,” Sean explains, going to lift the cover from each dish in turn. “Apple-pumpkin pancakes, turkey bacon, and a skillet with potatoes and green beans. Plus cider to drink.”

“Thank you. Both of you. This is...I think this is exactly what I need tonight.”

Sean comes to take my hands, kissing my forehead. “I know you've been feeling overworked lately. I want to make sure you know that you can count on me when things get rough. Whether it's by getting you a few bath bombs, helping my mom cook you a nice meal, or just by holding your hands and listening. I want to give you what you need so that you never feel alone like did before.”

I wind my arms around his torso, resting my head on his chest so that I can hear his heartbeat.

“I know I'm not alone. And that's exactly what I'm thankful for tonight.”

Tahira

Grayson's words are still bothering me the morning after Thanksgiving. I didn't repeat them to anyone at dinner last night, and I did my best to bury my anxiety. But clearly I'm not hiding it that well this morning, because Mom feels my forehead and wonders aloud if I want to stay home from the soup kitchen. I force myself to smile.

“I'm fine, Mom. Just nursing a turkey hangover.”

“Well, you don't feel warm,” Mom admits, but she doesn't look entirely convinced. “But you still don't have to come. Grayson and I can manage the food just fine.”

“It's okay. I want to come. Since I was ten years old, I've only missed one Black Friday at the soup kitchen. I'm not going to miss this one just because I'm sleepy.”

When Grayson arrives to take us over to the soup kitchen, one look in his eyes tells me that I'm not hiding my anxiety from him very well, either. As we're loading the Thanksgiving leftovers into his car, he finds a moment to take me aside.

“Are you all right?”

“Not you, too,” I groan. “I already had Mom feeling my forehead this morning.”

“...You're worried about what I told you about Dad.” It's not a question. There is an unmistakeable note of guilt in his voice. I put a hand on his arm.

“Hey. I'm glad you told me, okay? ...But yeah, it worries me. ...If he knows about the Janus Project, he might know about my cousin, too. I'm worried about how he came by that information, too.”

“I'll work on getting that out of him,” he promises, enfolding me in a hug. “I'm not just going to leave it where it is.”

“I know.” I nestle in his arms. “...You'll still stay and help at the soup kitchen though, right?”

“Of course! I'm not going to bail on you and your mom and the hungry citizens of Bayside just to interrogate my dad.”

I can't help but chuckle. “I'm so glad you have your priorities in order.”

* * *

We arrive at the soup kitchen by ten in the morning. For the next couple hours, we help the breakfast crew clean up, and then set to work laying out the lunch food. We're not the only ones who have donated our Thanksgiving leftovers. On top of that, there are canned goods and non-perishables that were collected by the Bayside public schools and churches, so there is plenty to work with and plenty to keep me busy until the people start arriving. Most of the diners come from the local homeless shelter, but there are also Bayside residents who regularly choose between paying rent and buying groceries. The Grand has been a big help in the area, but it takes time for a local economy to recover from hardship. While Mom and I serve food, Grayson helps people find places to sit and cleans up after them when they finish.

For a little while, the work keeps my mind occupied. Then the lunch rush slows to a trickle, Mom goes into the back to wash dishes, and my thoughts start to catch up with me. It's almost a relief when I see the doors open to admit a group of kids, but as they gather up their trays and make their way to the line, I start to think that they may be here without a parent or guardian. No one appears to have followed them in.

There are five of them, four boys and one girl. They all look like they're one family, all dark-haired and olive-skinned. The oldest boy doesn't look any older than sixteen, if that much. The others all look to be around ten or eleven, though the youngest boy might be as young as seven. I make myself smile in spite of my concern, counting out five plastic plates to spread out on the countertop in front of me.

“Good afternoon,” I say brightly. “What can I get for you?”

“I want turkey and stuffing!” one of the boys yells, bouncing excitedly in place. “Oh! And I want those cherries! And a brownie! And can I have grape juice, too?!”

“Slow down, RJ!” the oldest boy hisses. “Give the lady a chance to catch up!”

Eventually, RJ's plate is loaded with everything he desires, and I can turn my attention to the other children. The boy who looks about RJ's age is much more polite and reserved in his requests, and the youngest boy is so shy that he blushes as he points to each dish that he wants. The oldest boy puts his arm around the girl's shoulders.

“What do you want, Ysa?”

The girl shakes her head. “I'm not hungry.”

“I know you're not feeling well, but you gotta eat something, okay?”

I smile sympathetically at her. “Not feeling well?”

“My stomach hurts,” she replies, pouting slightly.

“Well, how about some soup? Split pea? Chicken noodle? Tomato? Broccoli chedder?”

“...Tomato...” she says after a moment. I ladle out a cup of creamy red soup, and stack some Saltines on the side of the plate. With all of them served, the kids take their trays to the nearest table they can find.

A sudden chill across my shoulders makes me shudder. For an instant, it occurs to me that I might actually be coming down with something. Then, a sharp, gnawing pain in my gut tells me what's really going on. I groan internally. Menstrual cramps. I'm an alien superhero from another dimension, and I still get menstrual cramps. So unfair. Maybe I should find Grayson and have him take me home. I know from experience that I probably won't be much use until I can either get some Midol or putting a heating pad on my belly.

“Well, this all looks like shit.” The familiar voice breaks into my thoughts. My head snaps up and my eyes lock with Caleb's, peering out from underneath the hood of a heavy winter coat. He smirks. “How ya doing, sweetheart? Can I get some grub?”

[digitalpensil]

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