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fountainpenguin · 5 months ago

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"I was climbing, now I'm falling- I've been pushed off by a man who has made it to the top and now defends it 'cuz he can…" (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 38 - “Tuesday: Tango's Long Night”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Tango layers more anti-viruses in Scott's player file. This goes against everything he knows about corrupted code... Should he keep going? ... Or, without consent, do what he knows will actually save this man?

Meanwhile, Pearl balances Rhetoric, Scott, and Grian visiting her unit at the same time. Yeah, this is gonna go well.

# 1 of 7 of our monthly intermission chapters

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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Tango

🌕

Location: His studio, West Bailey Wall, Bottom Floor

🖤 🖤 🖤

Tango does not often regret choosing a path of codework. He loves modding. He loves adding pretty details; he loves giving people what they want and polishing the rough edges off blocky faces and backs and butts. His species is classed as avian, though he last respawned under a waxing crescent and lacks the wings and feathers to show for it. He's got tiny talons, blaze rods, and hair that shifts into flames, and that's it. Coding the fluff-tipped tail he wears now was a challenge that captivated his brain since the start. How do add twitchy muscles to lower back? Apply tail to butt, haha. Meld it in. Let the mind control it. Do it beautifully so it's elegant and won't drop frames.

His tail isn't dexterous, but he wears it like a trophy- Adding a mammal tail to a species that’s meant to have feathers there, and not only making it twitch and curl instead of hang, but look natural, is one of the most difficult things you can ever do with aesthetic mods. He's thinking of forcing out the wings he would have under a stronger moon, but never really got around to it. The conversion time takes a kabillion years. You gotta be careful with wings anyway- they release a lot of body heat. Between's a lot cooler than the Nether, so you might fall over and croak. You ever seen strider wings? Yeah, guess how much heat they put out, even if they are tough and resilient around lava. Anyway.

Let's just say it's a good thing his office doesn't have a window. He works with a lot of film in here, so darkness is peak necessity. He's got two copper bulb lights up tonight. The glow's hazy, but at least it keeps his attention on his work, eyes all goggled up and tongue pinned beneath his teeth. Working with player files isn't like working with redstone wiring, with all its tangled tubes of dust and tiny caps that easily get lost and spill all over the stupid floor. Nah.

Code work uses the coding table, and it's a whole lot less messy. You don't need to be super accurate. It's a lot easier to tap a delete key and remove a string of words than it is to rip out a chunk of wires and get all huffy when your machine stops working. They should sell more partly assembled redstone machines in the market- more than, like, comparators. Except all the serious redstoners still won't buy 'em in case corners were cut in the process and because they have to take 'em apart anyway to modify 'em, so there you go. Fiddling and tweaking can really suck you in. It's kind of like making banners you're printing on your soul.

Tango does not often regret choosing a path of codework. But it's a good thing he doesn't have a window. He glances up only on occasion, staring at the chipped, gunpowder-streaked blocks that separate him from the rest of the world.

I should be with the pack right now.

Hey. Little recap for you: Most people aren't going to bed tonight. The hub flower got skadoodley-yoinked. Without its roots hooked in, everyone's comm is black; they're all off the system. There's no way on a server right now. There's no way out of one either. The phantoms are under contract; they can't just log people out right now. Hope they got fed, then.

Eh, they'll be fine. They've got souls in storage. Tango keeps working, checking details on his screen and typing on the table keyboard. What time is it? The sun's officially gone-zo at 14k. That was a while ago.

Do you remember our biology fritter-fratter from before Dog's Life began? 'course not- That was a long time ago. Well, no worries! we'll cover it again. See, the Nether doesn't have a day-night cycle. The heat waves shift. Sometimes the dimension cools. There's never a schedule to it, but when the heat's down, it's down (whether it's been hours, days, or weeks since the last lull). Nether creatures group together for sleepy times. If Tango played on some of those raw servers where traits are turned up to max, he wouldn't even survive the Overworld- Not without a lot of prep from his friends on the other side. Thank goodness for vanilla servers that even out the playing field.

Blaze don't really hang out alone in Between. When they do, they have to keep their internal fires up, and that can really drain the metabolism. The pack is warm. The pack is safety. And Tango's fingers tremble as he blinks his lashes, pushing through the dimension's fading warmth. Nightfall is here. Capture the Flag will be winding down. It's time to go to sleep.

He does his work. He chose this path. Scott's crystal floats on the crying obsidian block beside him, casting a white glow over his workspace. The goggles tune it out a bit. Tango yawns wide (like one of those lions in the emerald savanna biome), then realizes what he did and shakes his head back and forth. "Brrrr! Whatchu doing?" He smacks himself in the cheek. Hard. "Come on, man- He needs you."

He keeps typing. Scott's code is layered in anti-virus protections. Lots of stuff to dig through. Tango's got a book on the edge of his desk, open to a page about data conflicts, and he's still checking and closing loops. Scott didn't want to amputate. He didn't want a graft. "More anti-virus protections," he said, and he was serious.

"Are you sure? That- That probably won't work. If you wait too long, there's no chance a graft will take. That kinda sets you up for like, either being an allay with a prosthetic or just a vex."

"No grafts, please. Just tell me where to sign."

"Okay, buddy… but that's against medical advice. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"He prob'ly would've listened to Etho," he mutters, typing more. "I swear, everybody thinks I just do visuals: slap a little colored fire on this guy, slap some wings on her… Hey, just because I work in the aesthetics department, it doesn't make my license any less legit. I've been doing this almost as long as he has." Who scrubbed in to save Impy? Who helped him and Skizz with the soul-sharing? Who once patched BigB up when he got shot in the neck? That was a Tango original. Just me. Why is he even doing this? All evidence in book and mind is screaming that this isn't going to work.

Fingertips stall. Blank stare. Soft breathing.

Scott would've listened to my medical advice if I was Etho. Should he have tried harder? Should he have done more? He got the signature, Scott confirming exactly what he wanted. He really shouldn't go against that. It'd be medical malpractice at this point.

… Even though the anti-viruses aren't going to stop him from becoming a vex.

Which he's trying to avoid by using stupid anti-viruses.

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

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pisupsala · 2 years ago

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 6 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 5.3k

Library

Chapter 6 - It’s Just The Time for Dancing

The next few days pass quietly for you. Which is a good thing, really. Your lip still hurts from biting it so hard. Luckily, it didn’t swell much. You need a few days to get back into your daily routine, making sure you are where you are supposed to be, and you’re seen by the people who need to see you. The tram driver on your morning route, the lady at the bakery on the corner, your co-workers as you clock in, the security guard reading the newspaper under his desk—everything is normal, everything is routine, everything is as it should be.

Except for the American pilot you have hiding in the loft. But no one needs to know about that.

You exhale heavily, puffing out your cheeks as you look at the wet streaks your mop leaves on the marble floor. Finally back on the evening shift, you spend the hours after dark mopping floors, dusting shelves, wiping down desks, swiping ration books, polishing brass doorknobs, collecting forgotten cups, forging two new identity cards, dusting shelves and taking out the trash.

It’s an unpopular shift for many reasons. On a bad day, you’re cleaning until midnight. And it’s generally a creepy place. The Ministry of Interior is housed in an imposing, modern-looking building that, at best, looms ominously over the city from its position on top of one of the hills surrounding the river valley. And at night, when the building sits deserted, a chill sets over the place. Many of your coworkers speak of strange sounds, like the ghostly ticking of typewriters echoing through the halls and strange shadows moving in locked rooms.

You don’t mind, though. Possibly because you were the source of those phenomena. The national police and gendarmerie are headquartered here, and for all the reorganization for efficiency in the last few years, civil servants will always be too overworked to really notice (or care) about small discrepancies in the paperwork. Or they are crooked, which makes getting ration books near child’s play. Plenty of crooked cops sell them on the black market, so they usually keep a stack stashed away somewhere—a somewhere you’re bound to find as a cleaner—and it’s not like they can report them missing.

And it’s really nice of them to have all the forms prepared like that—it saves you a lot of time filling in travel permission forms, adding a stamp here, making a file disappear there, and creating two new identities with legit personal numbers.

Because all the forms are the same and most people working here fill them in on autopilot, they most likely can’t recall which they actually did, or which might have been slipped into there by you. The efficiency of the system has made it so monotonous that it dumbed everyone involved down, ironically.

It’s the day shift that generally gives you the shivers. When the place is filled with men and women with sour faces and their ill-fitting suits, complaining about the workload, dutifully submitting their reports on people and signing off on another arrest, another cog in the machine of the regime.

No, you’ll take ghosts over those beasts any day.

Carefully reaching under your tabard apron, you adjust the ration books tucked between the waistband of your skirt, making sure your sweater is covering them. First, you have to finish mopping this hallway, and then you will wipe down the desks in the offices on this floor, paying extra attention to the desk of the officer handling identity cards.

You take your time mopping. It’s natural to want to work fast as the adrenaline starts pumping in anticipation of… well, committing a crime. Even if you believe it’s for the greater good, identity fraud is not a small crime. Besides, the more people filter out of the building, not wanting to spend a minute more here than necessary, the less noise there is.

The empty, almost gaping halls and cold marble floors might feel might be spooky in the way they eerily echo the smallest sounds, but they also make it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on you.

Slowly, lowly humming, you work your way down the hall. The dirty water sloshes in the metal bucket as you carry it into the stairwell, leaning your mop against the wall. You wait for a moment, listening for any sounds from the other floors. It’s quiet. Good. Fishing a dusting rag from your apron. Time to get those desks cleaned.

By the time you reach your destination, your heart starts beating harder. You force yourself to breathe calmly—don’t let fear rule you. You’re going to need a steady hand.

You wait a moment in front of the office door. Still not a sound.

Now you hurry. With quick movements, you pull out registration forms from different folders, so the ID numbers are not consecutive, and therefore will be easier to… lose in the filing system. Sitting down at the desk, you stretch and flex your fingers.

Calm.

You start diligently filling out the forms on the typewriter—the quicker, the better, because this is the noisy part. New names, new birthdays—new people. Carefully, you unscrew the cap of the too-fancy fountain pen, hesitating for a small second before copying the signature from one of the other papers on the table with a flourish. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t look quite perfect—actually, it’s better. It bears every mark of a hastily processed form by an overworked civil servant trying to get home at the end of the day, the authentication stamp smudging the still-wet ink, mindlessly filed away in the wrong folder. Everything just deliberate enough to make it look indistinguishable from regular incompetence.

You hesitate to remember when your brain switched gears like this, always looking to find a loophole, always looking to find a way around other people and essentially exploit their behavior. In high school, you once cheated on a biology test by peeking at your deskmate’s test paper. It was an inconsequential pop quiz. The deskmate in question was your best friend Eva, who would later get into med school. But still. You barely slept for the rest of the week until you got your grade because you were so scared the teacher knew and was going to fail you publicly.

It feels strange. Foreign. Like that fear you felt so profoundly at 16 was only a pebble skipping in the pond. You mull over the hollow feeling as you start filling in identity cards with a neat looping script, where it feels like that same pebble has been sinking deeper and deeper into dark dread. Every time you think you might have found the bottom of your greatest fears, something inevitably happens that pulls out the rug from under you.

Like Rooster.

His very presence feels like another rug pull.

And to your growing annoyance, despite every problem he poses, instead of working on some sort of solution, your mind wanders to that warm skin, that crooked, cocky smile—and god, that broad chest, those powerful arms, how comfortably close he seems to get to you and how some part of your brain is itching for more.

Just as you finish up, leaning your elbows on the polished wood as you resolutely screw the cap back onto the fountain pen, almost as if you’re hoping to screw a top onto your wandering thoughts.

You hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps, that are too close for comfort. You were so lost in thought you didn’t notice. Shit.

As you shoot up from the chair, swiping the identity cards from the desk and stuffing them into the waistband of your skirt, you hastily straighten your apron. In a flurry of movements, swiping the forms off the desk and stuffing them in the back of the first open file drawer, you go to grab your dusting rag, but with that, knock the fancy fountain pen off the table.

As the black pen with the fancy gold trim clangs loudly against the marble floor, you see the cap pop off in an almost comical, slow-motion way. The black ink splatters out over your shoes and socks. You curse, wide-eyed, ducking behind the desk, desperately trying to mitigate some of the horrendous mess you just got yourself into. The ink is staining your fingers and palms as you try to hide the absolute massacre you just caused. Your blood is rushing in your ears so hard you cannot even hear the footsteps anymore, and you can only hope that they passed you by now, that they didn’t need to be where you are, and they didn’t see you in the first place.

“Is someone in here?”

You are pretty sure you can feel the blood physically drain from your face—the deafening rush is suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable silence. The security guard, who is usually halfway down a bottle of cheap liquor at this hour and somewhere off in dreamland, has decided tonight to actually do his job.

Slowly, you get up, clutching the pen between your ink-stained fingers. You want to look up and see how the guard reacts, but you force yourself to keep your gaze trained on the toes of your dirty shoes.

You are known as the slowest cleaner. Kind of clumsy. That’s why you’re typically the last to leave. You don’t discourage the rumor—even though it stings. Sometimes you lean into it. Every time you feel a little bit less like yourself.

“Miss Anna?” The guard doesn’t even seem surprised. His voice sounds like brittle paper—he is an old man, after all. Back bent and fingers almost pulled into claws from a lifetime of heavy labor, his uniform seems to hang off his wiry form. You don’t actually know his name—the rest of the staff just refers to him as the gamekeeper, after the brand of cheap herbal brandy he seems to favor to keep him company on the night shift.

“I’m sorry sir, I…” You trail off, jerking your hands slightly in a graceless motion, drawing attention to them. “I just wanted to take a look.”

“Oh, you unlucky girl,” The guard sighs, part empathetic, part exasperated. “Clean up, you are going to miss your last tram.”

You nod, hurriedly starting to clean the mess with your dust rag.

“Is your bucket in the hall?” The guard asks, not unkindly. “You can mop up the mess quicker.” Nodding, you start moving towards the door, where the guard is still standing. He looks up and down at you, clicking his tongue as his gaze lands on your splattered shoes. “Just a bit of vinegar when you get home, and blot it out carefully.” He offers, in an almost fatherly tone.

“Thank you, I didn’t know that,” You smile awkwardly. “I thought I just ruined these.”

Water and soap work just as well, you know, but it’s best just not to say.

“Run along now.” He dismisses you as he starts down the hall, the other way from you. “People might get suspicious if you hang around too long.” The gamekeeper croaks, not looking back at you.

Your luck is up for tonight.

***

Bradley is bored.

Never in his life has he been this bored. In school, in detention, church on Sunday, every endless ocean crossing, where there’s no land in sight, and he’s just surrounded by a wide expanse of nothing on the horizon. Because at least there are always people around.

In his plane, up in the sky, he is pretty much alone. But even there, he can see his fellow aviators whiz by, he can hear their chatter on the radio. Even up there, he is never truly alone.

He doesn’t like being alone.

He also doesn’t like being bored. But the small room under the roof has little in the way of entertainment for his lonely days. Finally, he has a place where he can recuperate in peace at least.

It’s been over a week now.

Recuperating means laying in bed mostly, starting at the ceiling. The pain is getting less, but his energy is falling too. Sometimes Bradley moves through the room, leaning out of the small window, smoking. There’s not much to see but other rooftops, a few church spires on the horizon, and the blue sky.

He tries to stretch his sore muscles carefully, almost scared he’ll lose every part of his health (and vainly, physique) if he stays idle too long. There’s nothing much he can do about his ribs, the dull ache gets a little less every day, but they take a long time to heal. He has time in spades, he thinks bitterly. Bradley’s ankle was a different story. It looked horrendous in the first days he got to the safe house: swollen, hot, blue-ish bruises forming under the skin.

As your cool fingers graze over his ankle, you tell him to keep it elevated. If it doesn’t get better in a few days, you’ll find someone to help. Bradley doesn’t want his ankle to be broken, but he likes your soft and kind touch. He craves more of your touch. It’s in such stark difference to your serious expression and earnest tone.

When he’s alone again, sometimes he thinks of home, allowing himself to finally dwell on some thoughts he buried a long time ago. It’s strange—Bradley traveled many places with the Navy, never feeling particularly homesick. Probably because deep down, he was always convinced he’d return. He had to, right? It’s bad luck to dwell on death, but it’s foolish not to fear it. But now… now he’s dwelling on it. The thought of never seeing his home again, never visiting his parent’s grave again leaves him feeling hollow.

And guilty.

He meant to visit the grave site before he shipped out to Britain, but a particular blonde and bourbon caught his eye and he decided to wallow in that, rather than his own grief. Now there is no blonde, no bourbon, just him.

And sometimes you.

You are like a breath of fresh air.

Sure, you still don’t smile much—not as much as Bradley would like any way, and he entertains himself by getting a reaction out of you. But he looks forward to the moment when he hears your footsteps coming up the stairs. It’s been only a week and something, but Bradley is pretty sure he could pick out you padding up the stairs—gracefully, determined—in his dreams.

You bring him books to pass the time. They are old, dog-eared copies, some passages highlighted with a pencil, little notes in the margins in neat script, sometimes long-winded, sometimes no more than an exclamation mark or little cross. Bradley spends almost as much time reading as half daydreaming about you sitting at a desk, or sprawled out on a sofa, tapping a pencil against your lips, mouthing the words on the page. There is nothing particularly scandalous about those daydreams, if anything they feel strangely homely. Comforting. You’ve spent hours with these books, and they’re keeping him company now. A little bit like some part of you is with him all day. He likes that.

It’s small comforts until he hears your footsteps come up the stairs—sometimes you come around dusk, other times you keep him company in the morning.

You never tell him anything about what you do, or where anything comes from, dismissively waving your hand in reply, face unreadable. Food appears at his door every day like clockwork, but you stay mum on how it gets there.

When Bradley looks over your ink-stained fingers one late morning, catching them as you wave them through the air in that practiced nonchalant manner, he runs the pad of his thumb over the faded ink and red skin—you’ve clearly tried to scrub it off unsuccessfully—a beat of silence passes between you.

You can feel it in your bones.

Bradley notices how your palm flexes under his touch like you want to touch him back. You’re looking at him, lips parted ever slightly, breathing shallow.

“What did you do?” He asks softly, inadvertently breaking the spell. Bradley tries to ignore the sting as you immediately drop your hand from his, averting your gaze. Every time he thinks he might have found a way in with you, like he just about manages to catch a glimpse of what you are like underneath all the bits of untruth, diversion, and armor you seem to have wrapped around you, you seem to pull up your walls even higher.

The next few times you come to visit, you keep your distance from him. You ask about his ankle, but your hands stay put.

“It’s getting better.” He looks at you pointedly, sitting up in the bed. You don’t move from the chair at the small table on the other side of the room. “The swelling is as good as gone, and it doesn’t hurt when I walk.”

“That’s good.” You sound at least a little bit relieved. But you still don’t move from your spot.

That’s okay, Bradley tells himself. The why has him conflicted. Is it okay because you are his handler, and more interested in staying alive than him? He respects that, even if he’d still like to tease you a bit anyway.

A darker side chimes in: it’s okay. He can wait—snug on his perch. He’s a patient man.

And they always come to him in the end.

You will come to him.

Guilty, he shakes off the thought as soon as it rises. That’s not fair. It’s not a drunken tryst in a bar where he doesn’t have to think about what makes you tick, what makes him tick, and it’s mutually understood that that moment will be all it’ll ever be.

This is different. He depends on you. He can’t get a grip on you.

And quite frankly?

It scares the everloving shit out of him.

It exhilarates him.

“You look pretty nimble on your feet now.” You comment as you come into his small room one early evening. It’s sometime in late February, meaning Bradley has been missing in action for a month.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready to dance again.” He smirks, playfully extending his hand to you. Of course, you skillfully parry his gesture. There’s a playful glint in your eye as you shoot him a stern look. Undeterred, Bradley tucks his hand back into his pocket casually, as he watches you move around the small room.

“I got you something, Rooster.” You start, a little hesitantly. That catches Bradley’s attention. You are rarely hesitant when you speak to him—if you don’t want to answer or talk, you usually just don’t. “A few somethings, really.”

Somewhat bashfully, you hand him a large can of peaches. Fruits in winter wartime are somewhat of a rare treat, and typically when you happen upon some you use them for trading. It’s good to be in people’s good graces, or even better, have them owe you a favor. But this time, you figured Bradley might appreciate them. And you kind of want some yourself.

That’s the reason you kept the peaches. Right? You kind of want them, but you’d feel bad not sharing. And Bradley is the one cooped up in a safe house for weeks now. You’d be going stir-crazy in his position. Even though he appears as annoyingly positive as ever when you see him.

“Nice, where’d you get these?” He weighs the large can in his hand, his eyes keenly following your fingers as you unbutton your coat and unpin your hat, gently putting them away on the neatly made bed. You meet his gaze, before you force yourself to look away again.

“I brought two forks.” You reply instead. “You have a can opener here, right?”

“Yeah, it’s on the table.” As he puts the can down, he frowns for a moment. “Do you ever get tired of deflecting every other question?”

It comes out a bit sharper than Bradley wanted it to, and judging from the surprised look on your face, it cut a bit deeper than he had wanted it to. Your eyebrows raised, mouth open like you’re about to say something, but you seem to have frozen in the moment.

Tired? You think. Try utterly exhausted. Not one version of your life is authentic or complete—the handler, the roommate, the cleaner, the neighbor, the coworker, the friend, the daughter—you keep secrets from everyone everywhere, tell so many lies that it’s like you’re living all these different lives, and by god, you so desperately want to talk to someone about everything. But you can’t. You can’t even bring yourself to answer the most basic questions anymore without going down a list in your head if it’s safe to share that information or if it’s just easier to let a lie roll down your tongue instead.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you actually rendered speechless,” Bradley jokes lightly, breaking the too-long silence, trying to inject some levity back into the situation, almost nervously looking away from you and focussing on opening the can. You blink slowly and lick your lips. You want to tell Bradley about everything, what you really think, what you really feel, so there’s one person on this goddamn earth who will actually know you. But you bite your tongue and shrug instead.

“I would have actually answered you this time.” You reply, trying to match his joking tone. Bradley grins at you, as he places the opened can in the middle of the small table, and pulls out one of the chairs, gesturing you to sit down. Unable to keep a smile from tugging on your lips, you sit down, and Bradley pushes your chair in.

You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your stomach.

Sitting across from each other, fishing slices of peach out of the opened tin, Bradley can’t help but study you. You look relaxed—chin resting on your palm, foot tucked under your leg on the chair, taking a small bite from the peach slice on your fork. Bradley is leaning on his elbow, bent slightly forwards, toward you as he casually lifts another slice out of the can. He is dressed so casually, his white shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. He seems perfectly unbothered to sit around with his undershirt on display—you can’t even complain. You’re just glad he isn’t going around shirtless. Right?

It’s one of those strangely intimate moments, that if it weren’t for the reality of the situation, could be… almost romantic. At a table together, sharing a dessert (of sorts), and talking about the books Bradley has been reading. You try not to have your mind addled by the notion that this is the closest thing to a date you’ve been on in almost two years. You try not to let the flutter in your stomach grow every time he says your name in that deep, velvety voice. You try to keep your heart from jumping in your throat every time he catches your eye with that lopsided grin on his face to see if his joke landed.

“There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Best to get back to business. “Now that you’ve healed enough to walk again-” “And dance again.” Bradley interjects playfully, leaning just that little bit closer to you over the small table.

“...and dance again.” You deadpan, the soft look in your eyes taking the sting out of your words. You sigh lightly before you continue. “You need to learn your way about the city. Where to go, where the escape routes are, and look like you belong when you walk around. We might get into a situation where there’s no one to take you, so you need to be able to do this by yourself.”

Bradley frowns. “What do you mean, if there’s no one to take me? Aren’t you supposed to be my handler until…”

He trails off, seeing the pained look on your face. You don’t say anything, and Bradley is actually grateful for that right now. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat a bit awkwardly.

“So, uhm -” You shift in your chair, sitting up a bit straighter. “I brought you some things. A map—wait, let me get it.” You get up, feeling strangely anxious. You grab your purse off the bed and take it back with you to the table. “So, here’s the map. It has the most important things, like the train stations and major roads marked.” “Thanks.” Bradley nods as he takes the map from you. He recognizes your neat script on the map, marking several landmarks. “Anything I should pay special attention to?”

You feel relieved Bradley is not joking right now.

“Mostly these two train stations and the surrounding areas. Either of these will most likely be part of your escape route.” You bend a bit further over the table, finger tracing the two marked points on the paper. Bradley feels like he should move back a bit, as he already knows that if he looks up now, your face will be close to his. He isn’t sure you are all that aware, focus on the map between you. He should really be a gentleman about this, but he’s also enjoying your proximity to him, and he’d like to enjoy it a little bit longer.

In the end, you make the decision for him, leaning back again.

“How quickly do you need me to have this memorized?” Bradley asks, looking up at you. You avoid his gaze. “We’ll start with the first route to the main train station tomorrow, so the sooner, the better.” You reply, still not looking at him, but rather at your own hands as you fidget. It’s strange to see you nervous, and Bradley wonders what is making you so anxious right now.

“I also got you new papers.” You push a small booklet toward him.

“Oh, you got me like a fake identity and everything?” Bradley curiously leafs through the booklet.

“Yeah, it’s legit as far as most police will be willing to look.”

“So what’s my cover story?” He asks curiously, a smile playing over his face again.

“It’s nothing special, so don’t read too much into it,” You shrug, trying to stop yourself from talking too fast. “It’s best to stay close to the truth anyway. When we go out, you still can’t talk, so I got you veteran status. We should be able to chalk it up to shell shock or something if we get stopped.”

You pause as Bradley nods.

“Also we’re married now.” You blurt out. Bradley’s head shoots up, eyes wide. “I - I mean our fake identities are married.” You amend, lamely.

You cringe, it seemed like such a good idea when you forged the identification cards, but now you’ve said it out loud, it almost feels like an admission of… something. To your mortification, Bradley just starts laughing. Of course. It’s preposterous, after all. He only likes to tease you, and you deluded yourself into thinking he might actually have any feelings for you. This means you must admit that you’ve developed feelings of your own.

Preposterous, indeed.

“Well, I suppose I could do a lot worse than you, sweetheart.” He is still laughing. You have difficulty wiping the hurt frown off your face, so you just look away. There’s absolutely no reason you should be taking this so personally, but you are embarrassed that Bradley laughing actually… hurts. It feels like you’re being rejected.

“I do have one question.” He adds, as he stops laughing, voice a lot more serious. You scrape together the courage to look at him, mouth set in a hard line. Bradley has a completely serious look on his face. “Why, pray tell, are we married, Anya?”

You take a breath, trying really hard to keep the hurt and embarrassment from creeping into your voice. “Because it looks weird for a man and woman to walk together without talking. No one will buy we’re friends—let alone dating—if we walk around mutely.”

“Fair,” Bradley admits. “But we have a bad marriage, then?”

“What?”

Bradley is momentarily taken aback by your sharp reaction, but grins at you anyway. It seems like this whole situation has you a little off-kilter, and he wants to rock your boat just a little more to bring the spitfire out. You look so offended, lip curled up in disgust, that the suggestion that your marriage must be bad. It’s adorable.

“We don’t talk, so our marriage must be bad, right?” He questions, doing his best to be serious.

“You think not constantly talking equates to a bad marriage, Rooster?” You question him back, a cutting edge to your words. Bradley loves how riled up you suddenly are.

“I think communication is important, Anya.” He replies smirking, leaning forward again. He’s pretty sure he just saw your eyebrow twitch.

“I agree, but being comfortable in silence together doesn’t mean there’s bad communication.” You retort in a low voice. You have no idea how you got to discussing what entails a good marriage instead of exit routes, but it has your stomach in twists. Bradley seems all too comfortable. Ass.

“Of course, and there are plenty of other ways to communicate.” If at all possible, Bradley’s smirk grows. The implication of his words hangs heavily between you. You should pull back now and end this conversation. This is probably what he always does, you think bitterly. There’s just no one else to focus his attention on. But you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting to you like that.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough how compatible we are, Rooster.” The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. You close your eyes for a moment to stave off the crushing embarrassment, before resolutely getting up, smoothing down your skirt, absolutely not wanting to sit here while Bradley laughs at you again.

There’s no use in editing your words, backpedaling that that was really not what you meant—it will only make it worse, and you will inevitably dig yourself into a deeper hole with him. Bradley gets up from the table at the same time, grabbing you by the elbow as you move past him. You inhale sharply as his large warm hand wraps around your arm.

You tug your arm sharply, but you don’t really stand a chance against Bradley’s grip. He’s not even holding onto you that tightly.

“Let me go, please.” Your voice is flat, words measured carefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Rooster. But I’d like to go home now.”

Bradley’s heart sinks a little bit. There it is again, your walls pulled up higher than ever before.

“It was just a bit of fun, Anya.” He tells you softly.

“Of course.” There’s a forced airiness to your tone. You jerk your elbow again, and he lets you go this time. You move past him, grabbing your coat and hat off the bed, before turning on your heel and going straight for the door. You snatch your purse off the table as you try to keep yourself from sprinting to the door.

Hand on the doorknob, you stop for a moment. Letting out a deep sigh, you turn around. You are overreacting.

“Sleep well, Rooster.” You tell him genuinely. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, face concerned. When your eyes meet, his lips quirk back up into a smile. A nice smile this time. You feel your own lips pull into a smile in response as you turn away again.

Everything about him is so magnetic, it’s pulling you out of orbit. You know it’s because you’re allowing yourself to become too comfortable around him. But he makes it so easy.

“Sleep well, Anya.” He tells you in that same deep voice that makes your insides quake as you slip out of the door.

note | It's been a while~ sorry <3 more will be coming soon.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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yatescountyhistorycenter · 2 months ago

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The curious case of the short-lived Combination Vender Company

By Jonathan Monfiletto

From furniture for stores and schools to carriages and buses to metal fixtures and more, the Penn Yan area has been the site of various industrial endeavors creating a variety of interesting products. One such venture was the Combination Vender Company, which was at one point located on Water Street in the building that is now the site of Water Street Wines & Spirits.

Though it seems to have begun with promise, the Combination Vender Company also seems to have come in like lion – putting out a roaring good product for the Yates County area and beyond – and seems to have gone out like a lion too, with a ferocious argument between the company’s founders. The Yates County Chronicle of August 31, 1904 features the first reference to the Combination Vender Company in a Yates County newspaper, though it is unclear when the company started. That edition of the Chronicle notes Combination Vender recently moved from the Commercial Iron Works, located on Commercial Avenue in the Lake Street corridor after the 1872 Jacob Street fire, to a building on Water Street owned by C.H. Conklin.

A few months later, on February 8, 1905, the Chronicle carried an article titled “Penn Yan’s New Industry” and subtitled “Davis Brothers and F.B. Townsend Doing a Rushing Business on Water Street.” The article describes Combination Vender as a new industry that opened on Water Street after beginning in Beebe’s carriage factory the summer before. The Water Street building had previously been occupied by the Penn Yan Wine Company but now was the home of a firm managed by brothers Jacob and Lewis Davis and Frank Townsend, who invented the machine the company patented on October 25, 1904 and produced in its factory.

Though newspaper accounts call the machine a slot machine, it wasn’t something you would see in a casino even though in practice it might work that way. In essence, the machine was – as the company’s name suggests – a vending machine. According to the Chronicle, the vending machines had four compartments to carry four different commodities, such as candies and peanuts and more. Items cost one cent each, so a person put in their penny and chose the item they wanted. The machine received the penny and carried it back to the drawer and retained it. Then, the desired item fell through the opening into the hand of the person.

Interestingly, the machine also had a magnet that attracted steel or iron or tin and thus prevented fraudulent coins from being used to obtain items. Since a penny is made from brass and not magnetic, it moved through the machine as intended.

At the time of the 1905 article, the company employed 13 people and and had 1,000 machines ready for shipment, with a total of 3,000 or more orders. The Chronicle detailed the company’s process for making the machines on Water Street: On the first floor, oak woodwork for the machines was cut to the right size by circular saws and into the right shape by a machine carrying different knives. Then, the wood was smoothed and polished by a revolving wheel. On the second floor, the iron and brass were prepared, with the iron cut into shape by metal dies. On the third floor, the machines were put together, varnished, and prepared for sale. At that point, every part of the machines was made on Water Street except for the enameled iron front – made by the Lisk works in Canandaigua – and one little casting made in Buffalo.

Combination Vender had moved to Water Street in 1904 to “largely increase its capacity,” according to the Chronicle, and indeed by the end 1905 the company was reported to employ “fifteen or sixteen men” and its machine was touted as “one of the best on the market and … finding a ready sale in all parts of the United States.” The company incorporated in early 1906 with a capital stock of $100,000, with the Davis brothers and Townsend among the directors. “These gentlemen have an excellent invention, a money maker, and are to be congratulated,” the Chronicle said.

In December 1908, the Combination Vender building was the victim of an apparent arsonist in the Penn Yan business district. The engine room, where the fire ignited, and another small building were significantly damaged, and the building sustained water damage. However, a little more than a year later, in the first Chronicle edition of 1910, an article headlined “Prospering Industries” highlighted Combination Vender along with other industries and interests throughout Penn Yan and Yates County. the sub-headlines boasted, “Penn Yan’s Factories and Mills Show Marked Progress During 1909,” “Railroads Show Increase Over 1908,” and “Northern Central Business for November and December Gains $14,200. Factories Nearly all Busy. Outlook for 1910 Very Promising in all Industries.”

For the article, Combination Vender reported an increase in business from 1908 to 1909 and had “every reason to be assured of a prosperous year in 1910,” with no decrease in its workforce during the winter despite such a cut being the rule in similar factories. “This firm has a great deal of competition to meet, but its machines are satisfactory and increased business naturally follows,” the article states.

However prosperous 1910 may been for Combination Vender, 1911 appeared to usher in the downfall of the company. On May 31, the Chronicle reported the factory was shut down and the employees put on vacation because of strained relations between Townsend, the company secretary, and Jacob Davis, the company treasurer. Davis had apparently fired Townsend, giving the secretary “a notice that his services were no longer required,” but Townsend refused to stop working. Davis delivered Townsend another notice, this time accompanied by a witness, yet Townsend still refused to quit. Townsend stated his firing by the treasurer required the consent of the board of directors.

Davis called a meeting of the board of directors, which voted to discharge Townsend. The secretary still refused to step down, claiming the notice of the meeting must specify its purpose. With the factory slated to reopen the following week, Townsend said he would be there while Davis said Townsend would not be allowed to work and the factory would be closed again if needed. It was noted Davis held the majority of shares in the company, while Townsend was a stockholder and was also superintendent of the factory for some time.

The Penn Yan Democrat of June 9, 1911 sheds more light on Townsend’s side of the argument, stating the secretary had asked the treasurer for a sworn statement of the condition of the company but Davis failed to do so. While Townsend said he made the request in writing that March, Davis said he had no recollection of it other than presenting a statement to the board and giving it to Townsend to examine. However, at that meeting, Townsend said he asked Davis to swear to the statement, but Davis would swear only to part of it. This argument apparently led to Davis seeking to fire Townsend.

According to the Democrat, Townsend sought a penalty for Davis for his violating a law that requires the treasurer of a company or corporation to render a sworn statement under certain conditions. Townsend also sought back payment for his prior work for the company. Indeed, Townsend filed a lawsuit against Davis for the violation of corporation law. The presiding judge dismissed the action, however, stating Townsend, as a director of the company, had “every opportunity to acquaint himself with the financial standing of the company,” the Chronicle stated on December 13, 1911.

As reported by the Chronicle on June 4, 1913, the Appellate Division ordered a retrial, with this time the jury deciding the case in favor of Townsend and the presiding judge awarding $680 (equivalent to $21,298 in 2023 dollars) to Townsend as a penalty to Davis. This verdict appeared to ring the death knell for Combination Vendor.

On January 9, 1914, the Democrat reported a man was looking for a suitable building to manufacture gas fixtures, and one place under consideration was “the brick building on Water Street until recently occupied by the Combination Vender Company, this company having moved into the adjoining wooden building,” formerly occupied by Sanderson’s coal office. A year later, on January 15, 1915, the Democrat reported a fire destroyed the three floors of the Combination Vender building. Baldwin’s Bank owned the building and had it insured for $3,000, while Davis had the machinery and company stock insured for $8,000.

The last mention of the Combination Vender Company in Yates County newspapers came on December 3,1924, when the Chronicle reported a fire at Clumm’s Accessory Store – apparently located in the wooden building once the home of Combination Vender �� in which 500 of Combination Vender’s machines were destroyed. Davis, then living on Rochester, stored the machines there until they could be distributed in nearby areas, and some of the machines were recently purchased by a Rochester man. Instead, “all of these, charred by the fire and soaked with water, were dumped down through the two stories to the ground floor,” the Chronicle wrote.

#historyblog #history #museum #archives #us history #american history #local history #newyork #yatescounty #pennyan #business #manufacturing #industry #building #vendingmachine #slotmachine #combinationvenderco

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gcldfanged · 1 year ago

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[Continued from HERE.]

@holyguardian:

Aerith exhaled a sudden breath accompanied by a smile. It was almost a laugh, almost... but Jae's reputation was hardly something to scoff at. Wall market better knew him as head of The Commis. It was better not to ask too many questions, because the streets already buzzed with stories that painted a gruesome picture.

"Thankyou... for everything." The slums were the home she knew best. Sometimes she thought herself untouchable, but wall market had gang problems a-plenty. Most times their business had no affect on her. But Don Corneo's lackeys were scouting for yet another bride, and she stepped into a case of wrong place wrong time spectacularly. "I won't make a habit of stomping into trouble. For what it's worth, I am sorry if I have complicated things."

Jae kept his hand at the small of Aerith's back as they walked, guiding her through the alleys and to a narrow strip of concrete. Many storefronts had goods delivered at the back of their buildings and this appeared to be a similar spot. There was a single door open, casting bright light into the evening's gloom, steam and smoke pouring from the doorframe as they approached.

They entered what appeared to be the back of the house of a bustling restaurant, passing by wait staff furiously polishing glasses and bussers loading up industrial washing machines with dishes. Turning a sharp right, they were in a massive kitchen with a veritable army of cooks tossing noodles, basting fish, even spooning pineapple fried rice into broad leaves from bamboo to make individual servings.

The staff stood at attention like a row of soldiers as they passed, many voices booming formal greetings in unison:

"Annyeong-haseyo, Chef!"

Yoon didn't spare them a glance but nodded in general, drawling an informal 'Annyeong~' in response.

They passed numerous storage areas and walk-in fridges, though the freezer door was open as two burly men struggled with what appeared to be large cuts of meat wrapped in plastic, as well as a travel cooler dripping a meandering trail of blood across the tiled floor.

"Ya, what the fuck are you doing? Get that shit cleaned up!" he barks out angrily, kicking one of the butchers on the outside of his thigh.

"Sorry you had to see that, they're usually not this... careless," Jae-hyo apologizes, letting out a long-suffering sigh as they continued past, eventually reaching his private office in an adjoining hallway.

"Please, take a seat. Do you want something to drink- Coffee, tea, wine?"

He hasn't elaborated on much of anything and Aerith is sure to be confused, perhaps even a little frightened thanks to Dumb and Dumber getting fucking blood everywhere... All would be explained shortly.

#holyguardian #◈ rp threads #eheh heh she's going to play a very pivotal role in a little bit #I figured Jae is going to offer her a deal in exchange for protection from Corneo's goons #it'll be fun I promise

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l-1-z-a · 1 year ago

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The Sims 2 - GameSpy

Lifetimes of fun in one game

By Dave "Fargo" Kosak | 5/17/2003

It's always a trip to compare the reactions of the die-hard gamers on the GameSpy Forums to the reaction of the mainstream market when it comes to the original Sims. Many hardcore gamers never really got into this landmark game, but people around the world bought it (and all its expansions) in droves. The Sims was as much a toy as it was a game; it was like putting people in a fishbowl. It spawned a frenzy of online community activity, with people sharing houses, outfits, furniture and stories with one another over the 'net.

Count me among those addicts. There's something irresistible about guiding little people through little lives, making big decisions on their behalf. So I was stoked to see that The Sims 2 adds a great deal to the heart and soul of the game while retaining what made the original so compelling. Players will see two big differences this time around: The game is fully rendered in fluid 3D, and characters now live out their lifespan. Yep, your young handsome Sim will eventually grow grey and stooped. The latter change really enriches the "Sim experience."

Taking the Sims to a Whole New Dimension

Grandma lays in with the smack talk.Unlike the fixed perspective featured in the previous game -- where you could only rotate the camera 90 degrees -- Sims 2 is rendered in a full 3D engine where the player can zoom in, zoom out, and rotate the camera freely at will. The engine in the demo was immensely polished, with smooth animations and a great framerate. Marble surfaces were slightly reflective and the walls, floors, and furniture were rendered in extreme detail.

During the demo, we witnessed another new effect. It started to rain. The lighting of the scene changed as the dreary clouds moved in, and the Sims themselves all reacted with dismay as the raindrops came down. (The unfortunate Sim who opted to remain in the hot tub was in for a shock when the lightning struck...)

The new perspective allows you to really see the characters.Amateur architects will appreciate the new building options and the freedom they have to build houses in 3D. You can now build modular stairways with curves, for instance, instead of standard straight stairs. You can have multilevel foundations, including a basement. The pad they were showing off for the demo was a classy affair with a wrap-around deck outside the second floor that had a pine wood staircase along the outside of the house. You can also now build windows on any wall, including diagonally-oriented ones, fixing a pet peeve I had with the original. In the final version of the game, players will also have a lot more flexibility with decor. So when you buy a new couch or chair, you'll finally be able to upholster it to your tastes!

Another real advantage to the new engine is that you can zoom in way closer to the action. You can really see the Sims and their facial expressions now, so the whole experience is a lot more personal. This also helps to highlight the major changes in the new version, which allow you to customize Sims like never before and watch them change over time.

"You can play a whole lifetime now," Producer Margaret Ng explained as she showed off her family. "There's consequences now. What you do before will affect how you are now." One of her Sims, for instance, was a successful well-kept businessman who had eaten right and studied hard while growing up. Girls were all over him like paste on a science fair project. His buddy, however, was a slovenly guy porking out on pizza who had a gut to show for it. "But you can work on yourself..." Ng said. She brought her Sim over to the weight machine and, just to show off this feature, we were able to see him buff up before our very eyes.

So your Sims change based on their behavior. They also change with the passing of time. You can start a character at any age, and as you play, you'll watch that character grow and then grow old. Yes, you'll eventually die of old age ... but by then, your children (and even grandchildren!) will have hopefully grown into productive Sims of their own. "The key concept is generations," said Charles London, the Creative Director for the project. Unlike the previous game where babies grew into kids and then stayed that way forever, this time around you'll raise families from scratch and every new family member will become a playable character for you.

It was all fun and games before Teddy double-dipped the nacho cheese.Living out a whole life means that decisions you make early on are all the more important -- if you really want to rise to the top of a career ladder, you'd better do it before you get too old! Similarly, the way you raise children has a big impact on the game you're playing. A Sim raised in a good household will develop different habits and personality traits than one who grew up eating paint chips off the floor of the bathroom.

Talkin' 'bout My Generation

So, now you can get married, have children, and watch them grow into adults and have children of their own. This highlights another new feature of the game: Genetics! Sims will no longer be flat characters created by mixing a head with a set of clothes.

Instead, when you want to create a new character you have a great deal of freedom picking out facial features. You can "mix and match faces like paint," according to London, creating a truly unique Sim. Faces are completely sculpt-able. You can thicken a character's lips, give him bonier cheeks, or chisel his chin. You can even create something outrageous: The demo had a convincing Mr. T, Mr. Spock, and even a green alien with bulbous black eyes. Because of the new 3D engine you can zoom in and see these unique faces during gameplay, and no two people will have identical Sims!

The facial features and personality traits of a character form his or her "genes." When two Sims breed, the game mixes up their genes to create an all new Sim. The result is a kid that eerily resembles both parents, not unlike real life. The fun part comes when you breed bizarre couples: When an attractive blonde female Sim and the green-skinned alien Sim got it on in the genetics demo, the kids that were generated varied from wide-eyed pointy-eared humans to downright goofy looking green kids with black eyes.

If the character-generator and breeder alone sounds like a fun toy, you're in luck. Maxis is planning to release these tools to tinker with online before the game even ships.

The new Sims were much more aware of their environment than ever before. As they walked around the room they looked at each other or at different objects. "They really have an awareness of each other ... they're social people. Er, Sims," said Ng. Zoomed in close, you could see a range of facial expressions as they interacted with one another. As before, the presentation is like real-life, but exaggerated and sometimes comical. When two Sims decided to bring on the nasty in the hot tub, the action was obscured by bubbles but you could see bare arms and legs flailing out occasionally. And the two of 'em looked pretty satisfied when it was all over.

One of the things that I've always felt appealed to devotees of the original Sims was the fact that you created a "story" as you played. You created a sort of family saga, almost without even trying. With the new additions to the sequel, that game element is strengthened. Every Sim's story has a beginning, a middle, and an end ... but the family lives on, generation after generation, leaving behind a shared history. If it all comes together, Sims 2 should be ten times as addictive as the first.

And that scares me.

Will Wright spoke to us about the game on E3 LiveWire. For a little more about Sims 2 and the vision behind it, you can listen to an archived audio interview with Sims creator Will Wright recorded at GameSpy on day two of the show, part of our LiveWire Audio Series. Sims Online may not have hit all the right buttons with gamers, but Sims 2 definitely shows that there's still a lot of magic in this franchise. Stay tuned to GameSpy for details!

-GameSpy

5/17/2003

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims2 #the sims 2 #sims 2 beta #rewiew #gamespy #rain #weather

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pennydontwannabeahero · 2 years ago

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Just a Hero, 4 years of work and an teaser of its opening

Pre ramble, I've been working on a world to set my stories in for about 4 years now, in that time ive done alot of details that im slowly noting down, ive made literal hundreds of characters many of them background with to much detail, and during it all ive also been planning a bunch of diffrent stories, and recently ive even started writing the first of them, im about 10 pages of a likely 50+ down, but due to a lacking social media presence ive not been able to get others thoughts on the story, so having recently made tumbler i figured i should try sharing it on here and seeing if i can acctual build a following for it, thank you to anyone who interacts with this cause its a big ass project and i want to go beyond just something ive written, even if its just a couple people. Ramble over and quick warning the story is written with a target age of 16 to 18+, its got swearing, light nudity, sex reference, substance abuse, violence, mild gore, and honestly alot of other stuff im probobly forgetting, theres little to none of these in the following excerpt just its worth giving for future warning beyond this is the opening to Just A Hero, thanks again to anyone that reads and im sorry for any formatting or spelling issues its copy pasted off the google doc i write it in

The world of Astera has many stories. Some about monsters, Some about gods, Some about kings, Some about villains and some about heroes and this one is about a hero, Technically.

The great steam city of Hektalia floating above the Eidelon plains was often noted for its mighty steam and clockwork machines, It was also known for legendary adventurers dressed in fine clothes and augmented with polished brass prosthetics and intricate transforming weapons. However there was something far more infamous from Hektalia. Its thieves and on this night through clear skies one runs down a street chased by a middle aged gentleman. Darting between the crowds of reveling drunkards a small girl no older than 6, She has short messy black hair with red highlights and atop her head a pair of fox ears as opposed to normal human ones, She wears a tattered black dress with some red adornments and from her lower hip comes four black fox tails, Her left forearm is in a badly made cast and sling, Her boots are light, Dirty and damp from where she ran through puddles, Across her shoulder a worn strap that leads to a satchel that klinks slightly from the objects inside it. From behind her shouts a commanding voice.

“STOP THIEF, PICKPOCKET.” The drunks don’t do much despite the shouts though a few accidentally get in the way of the gentleman bumping into him and breaking his line of sight of the girl. As it was with Hektalia if something was stolen no one much cared who owned it, Just who was more skilled in keeping it and to drunkards in this part of town a rich man didn’t need to keep it, After all he could always buy more.

Despite that the chase continued into back alleys away from the lights of the street, Small vents of steam make the ground damp and humid and tricky to see. The girl slips around corners doing her best to lose her pursuer. She ducks around one last corner into a dead end but with no sign of the man behind her she takes a breath and leans against the wall opening her stachel to examine what she stole. A wallet containing a few hundred shards, An ID card that she tossed away, A worn photo of what seemed to be the owner's family that she tossed onto the floor and ground into the dirt with her heel while scowling and a VIP card for the Hektalian servants market this too she tossed away. On top of the shards the wallet made of fine Astilian leather would sell for a couple hundred more enough to buy one of the nice burgers from the Byzantium style diner in the entertainment district. She put the wallet back in her satchel and pulled out the rest of her loot, A ring made of silver with a flawless ruby encrusted into it. This she slipped onto her finger despite its value. She liked red things and preferred to keep them. Lastly was the watch a golden and brass master work, The skeletal design showed the beauty of the clockwork that ticked and tocked in an almost relaxing way tracking the seconds that were passing in an ever moving world. Such things sold for a good number of shards, This one though seemed special the girl observed that it only tracked seconds not minutes or hours nor days or months just seconds ever passing. Her head tilted to stare deep into the clockwork distracted by the beautiful metal that reflected her red and light blue heterochromic eyes .

“Ah found you, You little thief.” The voice of the man she had stolen from who was now standing in the entrance to the alley. The girl almost jumped while tightening her grip on the watch before thrusting it back into her satchel and backing off deeper into the dead end.

“There’s no running any more you little brat, Give me back my things and I won’t call the police.” He held his hand out while looking down at her. In a gut reaction she tightened her grip on her satchel. She had defended her prize before but only against other children, Never an adult.

The man’s eyes locked with her own and he offered a soft false smile.

“You can keep the cheap jewelry and money, Just give me back my watch and I’ll let you go.” His voice was far softer now and the girl recognised the trick. Other adults had tried it to sound soft to make her feel safer than she was. She glanced around and saw an external staircase on the side of one of the buildings. Far too high up to reach for most people but she had a plan.

“Fine.” She looked down at the floor as she walked forwards slowly. Reaching into her satchel she pulled the watch out holding it tight in her fist.

“Stupid kid.” The man lunged for her and she swung her arm partly opening her hand to toss the dirt she had taken from her satchel into his eyes while dodging to the side. In the same motion as he fell to the floor she jumped up onto his back and from there with a deep breath she leaped up to the staircase jumping much higher than a normal person. She had always had an easy time jumping and leaping, Even falling as she didn’t feel the impact, Always landing softly no matter what, Though she never knew why it was a very useful ability.

“Damn it where did you go you little shit?” The man rubbed the dirt out of his eyes and looked around, Unable to spot her.

“I’m up here dummy!” The girl waved down as she danced around on the steps giggling at him.

“When I catch you I’m going to wring your dirty little neck, You filthy little piece of vermin waste.” He growled at her and began to run around to the entrance of the building.

“Good luck with that, Run run run as fast as you can old man, I may not be made of gingerbread but you’ll never catch me.” She called out as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop running along the rooves before jumping back down into the street and climbing through a window into the orphanage she called home.

“Been sneaking out again have you? You know if you keep doing silly things your arm is never going to heal.” The voice of a young woman was a comforting thing for her. The assistant matron, A nice lady who did her best to look after all the children there.

#writers #women writers #female writers #writers on tumblr #creative writing #origonal work #original character #fmlispent4yearsdesigningaworldandcharacters #amature writer

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tyrolitconstruction · 6 days ago

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Elevate Your Rental Fleet with Tyrolit's High-Performance Concrete Grinders

Introduction: Enhancing Trade and Hire Services with Tyrolit Australia

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One of the key challenges in concrete grinding is managing dust effectively. Tyrolit’s dust extractors and vacuums are designed to work seamlessly with our grinders, ensuring a cleaner and safer work environment, which is a significant selling point for customers concerned with occupational health and safety.

Comprehensive Range of Accessories

To further enhance the functionality of our grinders, Tyrolit offers a wide range of tools and accessories. These additions allow customers to tailor their equipment for specific tasks, increasing the versatility and appeal of your rental offerings.

Why Hire Companies Choose Tyrolit

Hire companies looking to expand their inventory or upgrade their existing fleet will find Tyrolit’s equipment to be a valuable addition. Here are several reasons why:

Enhanced Customer Satisfaction: By providing high-quality, reliable tools, you ensure that your customers’ projects are completed efficiently and to a high standard, which leads to positive feedback and repeat business.

Trade Discounts and Support: Tyrolit values its relationships with trade resellers and hire companies, offering competitive pricing and dedicated support. This support extends from detailed product training to after-sales service, ensuring that you can maximize the utilization and lifespan of your equipment.

Local Expertise: As a company with deep roots in Australia, Tyrolit understands the local market dynamics and the specific needs of Australian trade professionals. This insight allows us to offer products that are well-suited to the local conditions and user expectations.

Conclusion: Partner with Tyrolit for Superior Rental Solutions

For hire companies and trade resellers, selecting an optimal supplier is just as important as choosing the best equipment for the job. Tyrolit Australia offers more than just tools; we provide a partnership that supports your business goals. By stocking Tyrolit concrete grinders, dust extractors, and accessories, you are not only enhancing your product range but also elevating the standard of your rental fleet.

Explore our offerings and discover how our equipment can transform your rental business, ensuring that when customers search for “concrete grinder hire near me” or “floor grinder hire,” it is your company that stands out for its quality and comprehensive solutions. Let Tyrolit be your partner in achieving success in the competitive trade and hire market.

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dbmrmark · 22 days ago

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walkaboutrojo · 1 month ago

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Four Seasons Shenzhen: A Haven of Luxury in the Heart of Futian District

Upon entering the Four Seasons Shenzhen, my immediate reaction was simply "wow." This five-star property, situated in the bustling and vibrant Futian District, is a true masterpiece in the world of luxury hospitality. With its sophisticated design, impeccable service, and a range of top-tier amenities, the Four Seasons Shenzhen stands as a gem amidst the city’s skyline. Opened in 2013, this hotel brings together elements of local Chinese culture and the high standards synonymous with the Four Seasons brand.

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Location: Futian District – The Heart of Shenzhen

The hotel’s location in the Futian District is ideal for both business and leisure travelers. It sits near to the Shenzhen Civic Center, with views of the city’s modern skyscrapers and green spaces. The hotel is also near key landmarks, such as the Shenzhen Exhibition Center and the famed Ritz-Carlton Hotel, highlighting the competitive luxury market in this area. The Futian District is a lively, fast-growing area with plenty of high-end shopping, dining, and cultural activities within easy reach.

Room Experience: Thoughtfully Designed for Comfort

Upon entering my suite, I was immediately struck by the sheer elegance and attention to detail. This is not just a place to stay—it's an experience. Each room is unique, as the hotel’s layout features various shapes and sizes. I was upgraded to a suite, and the design, complete with expansive views of Shenzhen, was impressive.

The desk area is spacious and functional, making it perfect for business travelers who need to work comfortably. However, the chair was a little stiff for my taste—functional, but not the most comfortable for long work sessions. But that was a minor quibble in an otherwise spectacular room.

The sitting area, with a sleek circular coffee table and soft blue accents on the walls, created a serene, calming atmosphere. This was topped off with a lovely personalized welcome note, fresh fruit, and Pellegrino, adding to the hotel’s attention to detail. The separation between the living and bedroom areas, done with frosted glass panels, offers a sense of privacy and luxury, making it a perfect setup for both relaxation and work.

Facilities and Amenities: World-Class Offerings

The Four Seasons Shenzhen offers an array of facilities that cater to any traveler’s needs. The hotel’s gym is one of the best I’ve encountered, with a complete range of free weights and cardio machines, perfect for maintaining fitness while traveling. The wellness center also includes a hot tub, dry sauna, and wet sauna, making it easy to unwind after a long day. However, fair warning—the hot tub can be a little too hot, so be cautious when entering!

For those seeking a unique cultural experience, the hotel also features an art museum on the first floor, adding a creative touch to the overall ambiance. The fusion of traditional Chinese elements with modern design throughout the hotel creates an elegant atmosphere, making it a beautiful place to explore and relax.

Dining and Service: A True Five-Star Experience

Dining at the Four Seasons Shenzhen is, as expected, a top-notch experience. The breakfast buffet offers a variety of international and local dishes, and the setting is both luxurious and inviting. The service, whether at the restaurants or elsewhere in the hotel, is flawless. From the housekeeping staff to the front desk, everyone is attentive and eager to assist.

What sets this hotel apart from many others is the sense of warmth you feel from the staff. Despite the polished, professional environment, the hospitality has a personal touch that makes you feel truly welcome.

Décor and Ambiance: A Blend of Modern and Traditional

The décor in the Four Seasons Shenzhen blends modernity with traditional Chinese elements, creating a visually appealing space. Marble corridors and stonework give the hotel a sense of grandeur, while vibrant murals and contemporary art pieces add a pop of color and modernity. The attention to detail in every aspect of the décor enhances the hotel’s luxurious feel without being overly ostentatious.

The rooms themselves feature minimalist yet elegant furnishings, with thoughtful touches like real fresh flowers and high-end toiletries. The electric toilet seat in the bathroom was a nice surprise—a small but appreciated luxury in five-star hotels.

Competition: A Friendly Rivalry

Located just across the way is the Ritz-Carlton, marking a friendly rivalry between these two iconic brands. Both hotels cater to high-end travelers, and while the Ritz-Carlton offers a more uniform design and style across its properties, the Four Seasons takes a different approach, incorporating local cultural elements into its aesthetic. In Shenzhen, this means a strong Chinese influence in the design and atmosphere of the hotel. Both brands are known for their exceptional service, and whether you choose the Four Seasons or Ritz-Carlton, you’ll be guaranteed a world-class experience.

Final Thoughts: An Unforgettable Stay

The Four Seasons Shenzhen offers an unparalleled experience for anyone seeking luxury in one of China’s fastest-growing cities. With its exceptional service, beautifully designed rooms, and excellent facilities, it stands out as one of the best hotels in Shenzhen. While it may not be the newest property in the city, its dedication to maintaining high standards of comfort and elegance ensures that it remains a top choice for discerning travelers. Whether you’re in Shenzhen for business or leisure, the Four Seasons delivers an experience that will leave you wanting to return.

Rojo Rating:

Location: 8

Facilities: 8

Amenities: 8

Décor: 9

Staff: 10

Food: 8

Cleanliness: 10

Comfort: 9

Uniqueness: 8

Value: 8

Total: 86/100

The Four Seasons Shenzhen is a luxurious retreat that offers everything you’d expect from this renowned brand. Its location in the heart of Shenzhen makes it ideal for both business and leisure travelers, and the attention to detail in every aspect of the hotel ensures a stay that you won’t soon forget. If you’re looking for world-class luxury with a local twist, the Four Seasons Shenzhen is the place to be.

#FourSeasonsShenzhen #LuxuryHotelsShenzhen #FiveStarLuxury #ShenzhenLuxuryStay #UrbanElegance #FourSeasonsHotels #ChineseHospitality #LuxuryLiving #ShenzhenViews #BusinessTravel #LuxuryEscape #ModernLuxury #CityRetreat #ShenzhenGetaway #FourSeasonsExperience #Youtube

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