#i started as a new player and I've exhausted nearly all of the places I can currently get diamonds (through only chapter 5 of Hard mode)

[drinkthehalo]

Goodbye to the McKittrick Hotel

April 16, 2011. My friend Tammy had told me she'd seen an incredible production of Macbeth that she was certain I would love. I walked into the McKittrick Hotel that Saturday night with no idea that I was entering a place that would change my life forever.

What an extraordinary, fruitful place of creative energy it was. How wild, almost unbelievable, that such a place survived in New York City for nearly fourteen years. 

My first impression: You have to walk around and climb stairs and wear a mask? How can you do Shakespeare without dialog? Until I realized the dialog was in the dance, and the rave shocked my jaded sensibilities, and I was in a tiny room with a beautiful sobbing naked man, and then I went home and dreamed about it and knew I had to go back.

Then the parties. Halloween 2011 was the best event party I had ever been to - welcoming, engaging, fun. For fourteen years the McKittrick became my Halloweens, my New Years Eves, my May Fairs (I didn't even know that was a thing), that wonderful exhausting year of 2016 when they did Supercinema almost every month. The parties became more elaborate, the costumes, the set designs, the stories, the interactions, the performances. The Paisley Players, the epic ballroom extravaganzas, the tableaus in the walled garden...

Remixed (the first) remains the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. November Rain at the banquet. The Imperial March in the maze. Diamonds are Forever, forever...

The Boy Witch party made me cry and cry. Two nights only and it was probably the best thing I've ever seen. The carousel on the ballroom stage, the fire, the lady in pink tights, the lost love. Every time I hear that version of Crazy in Love, I feel that emotion again.

At the Clue party, Maximilian led us through the floors, and we watched Neil Patrick Harris chop off his own head in the Macbeth bedroom.

Fourth of July 2012, after the show, a marching band played as we climbed six floors to the roof to reveal a beautiful secret garden where we watched the fireworks. Gallow Green was magical in the early days, with Paul Corning's gardener watering plants and occasionally leading people away, and Annabella planting herbs and making potions with us.

One day after the show, Lulu put a stamp on my hand and told me to go to the elevator. I took it up and a character led me into the Heath for the first time. We'd go there for drinks or dinner, watch Elizabeth Lindsey glide through the space like watching a portal into a film noir, follow instructions on secret notes and hope to win the lottery. (Once I did; Ginger took me, blindfolded, to High Street, and I still have the memories of discombobulated absurdity - and a spoon with my name engraved on it.)

Then they put a cozy little Scottish lodge on the roof, with bunk beds and blankets and heaters, and a forest out back with a canoe? in a tent. We'd huddle around the fire pit, or sprawl on the bed. All the books were pre-1939. At some point there was a room full of board games. My friend Matty would sit at the desk writing his dissertation and people thought he was a character.

I watched Rosemary's Baby on the rooftop, curated by Amy Poehler, and Vertigo in the ballroom, shivering in the air conditioner.

Calloway started doing these "salons" in the Manderley after the show, with songs and narratives and recurring characters and Hans dying every time. Then one day the email said something about "McKittrick Follies," and I showed up and characters were singing and telling stories and everyone was drinking and talking into the night.  

I can't believe we were so spoiled by that boundless creative energy for so long. For months? years? we had a weekly Follies, then... biweekly? Sunday afternoons we'd sit on the beds in the Lodge drinking mulled wine before going down to the Follies; then Wednesdays I'd work late and walk into the Manderley at 10pm, or go home and walk up the High Line to come back, listening to the show crowd's excited chatter as they exited, entering to music and humor and drinks that flowed and flowed and flowed. So much extraordinary talent, all concentrated in this one place and sparkling off of each other, creating and creating and creating.

Ginger was so funny. Lily's voice was beautiful. Mallory was the bawdiest thing. Nick's Maximilian was a true original. Conor and Austin were so awkward and snarky. JWW has the most dear, sweet, unique style. I can't list everyone; I can't believe we were blessed with so much. 

There were so many incredible singers and musicians over the years. Kat Cunning. Lisa McQuade. Julia Haltigan. Stephanie Amoroso. Onalea Gilbertson. Every iteration of the Manderley band was full of wildly talented musicians. I was lucky enough to see Cibo Matto in the Heath, and Leslie Odom Jr in the Manderley. The place was absolutely punching above its weight in terms of talent.

I learned to drink in the Manderley bar. When I first went, the only drink I knew how to order was a Sex on the Beach. I had my first gin gimlet at the Manderley Bar. The Professor, Brandon Tyler Harris, asked me what gin I liked, and I didn't know, so I tried them all and discovered that it's Hendricks. Then I switched to smoky mezcal margaritas, and drank them for years, occasionally starting trends. Later it was scotch sours, smoky Laphroaig, heaven in a glass. At the Heath they'd had my all time favorite drink, long gone; something with Scotch, orgeat, and a cabernet float... I'm at the age now where I've largely had to stop drinking; the era of alcohol in my life will always be tied up in the McKittrick.

If it weren't for Sleep No More, I wouldn't have gone to London and made many of my dearest friends; would never have experienced Shanghai the way I did, with local friends to guide me.

Lily Ockwell brought me on the Manderley stage on my birthday. The lights were very bright. Could she have imagined how utterly terrified I was? In a good way.

At my 100th show, Kit/Ginger bought me a drink as soon as I walked in.

Gus from front of house overheard me talking about an upcoming trip to Shanghai and invited himself along. We had so much fun, we took a trip to Costa Rica the next year.

After my cat Lucifer died, London gave me the biggest hug as soon as he saw me.

At Austin Goodwin's Juilliard graduation performance, the whole evening was so beautiful. All these extraordinary young people who'd worked so hard, accomplished so much, brimming with possibility for their futures. I wanted so much to be one of the families, full of pride and love for someone I'd helped nurture. When I wrote a tumblr post wrestling with the decision to have a child, Austin sent me a message telling me he thought I'd make a good mother. It is one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me, and helped me make one of the hardest decisions I've ever made.

Once on new years eve, Anabella gave me a Tarot card - Ten of Pentacles. I knew when I got that card that it was about my desire to have my own family, a child of my own. I put it on my fridge as inspiration and it's still there next to pictures of my kid.

I met my best friend on High Street, looking in the window of the tailor shop, watching Paul Zivkovich as a clown. This is the friend who is now in my will to take care of my child if I die.

I say I'm not creative, but the McKittrick brought out the creativity I do have. So many words in this blog. Several interviews for academic papers or articles. A box full of costumes in my closet: Andrea Alden in the Infidelity Ballet scene; Medusa out of a bunch of plastic snakes I painted and attached to a headdress; Vampire Willow; a Baz Luhrman Capulet; Mrs White. I see photos and find myself wearing costumes I don't even remember.

In early 2020, I hadn't been going to Sleep No More for a while, but when covid got scary, suddenly that's where I had to be. I was there until the day I showed up and the doors were closed.

I genuinely wonder, will I ever be as good at anything in my adult life as I was at following the Macbeth loop? I knew just where to stand, to view a perfect wide shot, to see a close up at a respectful distance. I loved to follow Macbeth down the corridor into the rave, a shadow halo'd in red, arms out against the tin walls. And to follow him out, running full speed, enraged and out of control as the music swelled and he went into the speakeasy to kill Banquo; there was no room for anything but adrenaline and utter absorption in the moment. To follow the Macbeths down the stairs as they screamed and shoved and kissed chocolate blood all over each others' faces. To stand still in the bedroom as they danced and fought around the room, the audience swarming around them, everything moving around me from close up to wide shot to close up. 

Will anything bring as much peace as a Porter loop? I could always go there when I was sad. The hotel lobby was my favorite space. So dark it was almost black; figures emerging through the shroud of darkness. The tiny office, the papers and pencils. The sweet silliness of that character, the eternal hope. The overwhelming sadness. To be the one not chosen. Trapped, unable to change anyone's fate, watching and witnessing.

I used to think, there's a lot of downtime in this loop between the big moments like the cabaret, but in the end I realized, there is no downtime. Every moment is beautiful. I'd go there just to see the ominous deer loom over him as he reset the dining room, or to see those white sheets moving through the darkness like abstract art.

Zach McNally's Porter was my first 1:1, in 2012. I remember watching the tears down his face during the cabaret and thinking, wait, this character is as important as the Boy Witch. On Saturday, I watched him fade away into the shadows for the last time.

At the very last show, Andrew Robinson's Porter cried along with the audience as we watched him trace his hand. At the end, he cut his toast into a tiny heart and gave it to Danvers. She burst into tears, cut it in half, and they ate it together.

Boy Witch ended for me when my favorites left; it was all memories, echoes of the past. I'll never forget Conor, who always saw me, no matter how far away I stood, and always created some little moment to make my night special. 

(I used to rarely watch the shower scene, and once he ran up to me in the bar and told me, you paid for your ticket, you can watch what you want to watch.)

Oddly, at my second-to-last show, I followed Macduff. Never a favorite, but the choreography is so good. Steven Bangerter looks and moves so much like Rob McNeill, and his sweetness balances out the character. How extraordinary to see the echoes of Rob, who was in the 2003 London production, so clearly and vividly, 21 years and who knows how many performers later. (I did not see the original production, but there are photos, and the first time I saw Rob in the Drowned Man I thought, wow, he moves like Macduff.)

I was noticing new things up until the end. Macbeth, upside down in the ballroom at the reset; the hanged man Tarot card. Macduff, lifting Sexy Witch in the ballroom and spinning her around, like Rob McNeill once did to me as we danced to the finale stage at the end of a Drowned Man.

After the second Remixed, I worked up the nerve to speak to Stephen Dobbie, asked him about the song choices, raved about how great they were. I'd forgotten that the November Rain video actually has a banquet scene in it.

One time I sat across from Felix Barrett at dinner and accidentally changed the ending of the show. I complained that the matron just closes the door to the pagoda and black masks hurry you away; he made a note on his phone and within days it was better.

Once, I had a long conversation with Maxine in the Manderley. (And a few brief ones in London.) Sunday night when I said goodbye, she gave me a hug and said, you've been here all these years.

I don't know why it matters that I met these people. I'm not trying to break into the arts. Maybe I just have so much admiration for the people who've succeeded, in a world that makes it so difficult. Actually if I could have been anyone in the building, it would have been Carrie Boyd; color-coded spreadsheets are my jam. What an unsung superstar. Her salon was the best.

Once after a roundtable, I found a note in my bag from Ilana. "Thank you for your heart and mind." I'd say the same to her.

I don't even know what else to write. Fourteen years of memories. After I post this, I'll think, oh I should have mentioned that other thing too. How can you sum up something that meant so much?

The McKittrick was at the center of my experience of New York City; of my mid-adulthood. I will mourn it at the same time as I marvel that it ever happened, that I found it as early as I did, and that it could possibly have lasted so long.

[dazais-guardian-angel]

There is no worse feeling in the world than spending a ton of money on a gacha game and not getting the thing you want

[phoenixplume117]

1994 AD

Mirai combed every inch of the temple… that she could.  There had been a lot of damage but so far all she'd been able to find was one miraculous, the peacock.  She was not thrilled when she'd found that one and refused to open it again.  The kwami had a flair for the over-dramatic and was whining about what he'd done to the temple and she just was not in the mood to deal with it. She'd tried to tell him it wasn't his fault but he wouldn't listen to her.  Eventually, she ended up putting him back in his box. Then, hid the box in the pillar next to her "bed".  

Every morning she would wake up, wash and gather snow to melt for the day.  Then she'd come back and make her way west, clearing the temple to the best of her ability.  

Last night she realized the pillars in the hall she made her home were some kind of retreat for the kwamis.  There were 25 pillars but the box she'd been the guardian of had only had 20 kwamis. She looked carefully and realized that some boxes must have had more kwamis in them.  Finally, she let Duusu go but she couldn't understand anything he said while he sobbed so she just stroked him until he calmed down.  

"If I leave you out are you going to be safe?" Mirai asked him.

Duusu looked around not quite sure if she was asking him, "Me?"

Mirai nodded, "yes, you. There is no one else here."

"Can I come with you?"

She would prefer if he didn't but, replied, "I suppose."

Together they made their way down some stairs she'd found the day before and she began clearing rubble away.  Every day for the past two weeks she’d done the same. She carried the rubble to a room that was destroyed but seemed safe enough to walk in.  So far she had become very well versed in old Madonna (or was it young Madonna?) as that CD was playing on her CD player as she walked back and forth with her bucket.  

“Mirai?”

“Hm?” she said, dumping the bucket into the empty room and walking back.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m a guardian-”

“A guardian! Why didn’t you say anything!” Duusu yelled flying around her. 

“I did.  I don't think you've heard anything I've said to you until now,” she told him patiently.

Duusu tried to see her logic but couldn’t, “so what are you doing?”

“I’m looking for…” she really didn’t want to use the term ‘survivors’ after all that would remind Duusu all his friends were gone because of Master Fu using his powers.  Which was what he had spent all the previous night crying about. She cleared her throat, “anything that needs a guardian to guard it,” she came up with.

Duusu looked at her rather dubiously then shot directly through all the rubble she was clearing.

Mirai looked at the boulders she’d never clear alone and frowned.  She could use Duusu, but look where that had gotten Master Fu, and Duusu didn’t seem like he was ready to be utilized after that experience.  She let out a huff of breath puffing her bangs out of her eyes. Why hadn’t she packed scissors?

“Miraaaaaaai!” Duusu yelled from the other side of the boulder.

“Shh!”  Mirai responded, “I don't know if loud noises could make this place collapse or not!

“Oh!” Duusu spoke in a ridiculously loud stage whisper, then he came back through the boulders, “I can look for you so you don’t have to hurt yourself.”

Mirai wanted to rest but she needed to focus on the task at hand, “I’m fine, but I think that’s a really great idea, Duusu.  If you scout ahead it would save a lot of time.”

“Or you could just make an amok to clear the rubble away.”

[[more]]

Mirai shook her head.  No. She would not become Mayura, she would not become Nathalie.  She was Mirai Chime, that was all. Using Duusu was a bad idea, "I don't think that's a good idea, especially after what you've been through Duusu.  This way is better."

༻࿊༺

The next day when she had yet to clear even one-third of the path she decided maybe she had been hasty in telling Duusu no.  He was quite companionable, friendly and helpful.

Seeing Mirai's hair sticking to her forehead with sweat Duusu slipped back through the rubble down a corridor then through more rubble where he found the library.  

Although "library" was perhaps a generous term.  The books were all the same, a textbook of recipes and forms for powers.  Rules for raising effective guardians and psychologically "sound heroes. The pseudo-library also didn't have many books but what was most exciting was on the small table next to a long-ago forgotten teacup was a box from a miraculous set.  It looked like it belonged to Duusu's set. He desperately wanted to know who was in there but he couldn't fly through. It looked like wood but it was actually something else, a magical material that with words could even change its shape. Unfortunately one of its magical properties was kwamis could not pass through it.  Duusu blew a raspberry at the box, flared his tail and shook it at the unhelpful box then flew back to Mirai deciding whether he should tell her what he'd found… or not.

༻࿊༺

Mirai wiped her head as she hauled another bucket full of stones to the spare room.  Her triceps felt like they were on fire, in all the years as Ladybug she'd gotten full-body exercise but her arms and abs had always done the hardest work, but for some reason, this seemed so much heavier and harder than carrying people ever had.

"It's muscle exhaustion," she said out loud, "you're just tired, push through it, you'll get to the euphoria stage."

She dumped the stones and rocks and realized she'd been speaking out loud and groaned. "Great, now I'm talking to myself.  Am I going crazy? No, everyone talks to themselves, I think it's healthy, yeah. It's probably time for a break anyway," Mirai reasoned, walking back with her bucket.  

"Duusu?" She said softly when she got back to the large pile of rubble she'd been working on.  A frigid draft ran through the hall chilling Mirai, she rubbed her arms for warmth, "Duusu, I'm going back, it's getting cold, I'm going to start making lunch,” she called again and headed back to what she had begun to convince herself was her apartment.  The large room was warm from the huge fires. Thankfully the room was built in a way that made it safe to leave them unwatched. She set about making soup, she really missed Maman’s cooking and Papa’s bread. She heard her sniffing echo in the room and coughed to cover it up.  She wasn’t going to do it, she told herself, she was not giving in to self-pity. 

“Mirai!” Duusu said a few minutes later after the soup had begun boiling.

“Hmm?” she said.

“I found another box!”

Mirai stirred the soup and carefully took the pot off the fire then turned to him with a smile.  She’d been right, she was meant to stay, she was not going to be Nathalie, she would not be part of Hawk Moth terrorizing Paris for nearly 10 years, “Where?  Who is it? How many are in it?”

Duusu smiled, glad he’d told her, “On the other side of the rubble you’re using, there is a hall then, more rubble then, a library.  That’s where the box is.”

Mirai’s smile faded, “Oh, well, we’ll get there,” then she brightened, “Do you know how many are in it?”

Duusu looked confused, “It’s just a box, not a case,” then his lower lip began to tremble, “All the cases were destroyed.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay now, don’t cry, Duusu, look you found someone, a friend!”

Duusu looked at her with huge tear-filled eyes and nodded.

“Alright?”

Duusu nodded.

“Okay, so who’s in the box?”

Duusu blinked away his tears, “I don’t know.”

Without thinking, Mirai spoke, “Then how do you know it isn’t empty?”

Duusu looked at her as if the idea had never occurred to him and as that idea worked its way through his mind she realized her mistake before his eyes filled with tears and the saddest words poured from his mouth.

“I killed them all!”

Mirai gasped, pulled the kwami to her chest and rocked him shushing him.  “Shh, shh, come on, we’ll eat later, let’s go check the box okay?” but Duusu was miserably inconsolable and deeply committed to his emotions.  Mirai sighed and stood up carrying the sad kwami she walked over to her pallet. She reached under the pillar for the box she’d hidden and pulled out the peacock brooch and pinned it with some difficulty to her Starter jacket and simply called out, “Duusu, Transform Me.”  She looked down at the little kwami before he was swept away to power his amulet, his face looked delighted and it helped her own feelings of doom. She sighed in relief, then giggled, then began laughing happily somehow she registered as an adult because it was December the Miraculous must consider her 18 she assumed.  She'd learned about this when she'd studied. She didn't have a 5-minute limiter. Or a basic super-suit, as she or her team had worn when she'd been Ladybug. In her hand was the feathered fan she’d need to create the amok to clear the way. She walked toward the rubble she’d been working on for the better part of the week and picked up a small but distinct piece of stone, then pulled a feather from her fan and began creating an amok that would be able to easily clear the rubble, she added a few features, like lights and a stabilizing pole in case the roof caved while it was clearing, then began clearing the rubble quickly.  The huge pile was cleared in less than an hour but like Duusu had said there was another huge pile of rubble before they got to the library. It took two hours for everything to be cleared. Mirai figured if she had done the work without using Duusu’s amok it would have taken a month to get to this room. She wondered what time it was, she didn’t know how to work the fan the way she used to work her yoyo. She looked around the library and picked up the box on the table and turned to go back to her room, even though transformed she was getting cold. Once in her room, she detransformed.  

Duusu looked at her then to the box in her hand.  “You did it!”

She smiled and said what he needed to hear, “I couldn’t have done it without you.  You did a lot of the work and your sentimonster moved all the rubble.”

“Sentimonster?”

"Avatar?" She remembered she'd seen that word on Duusu's page when Master Fu had been her teacher.

Duusu smiled understanding, "Really?"

Mirai put the small pot back on the fire then with Duusu floating at her shoulder she walked over to where she kept most of her gear.  She sat down and opened the box and felt her heart fall when she saw the purple stone with four beautiful wings resting on the red fabric.  Then suddenly Nooroo manifested.

"Master Liu?" he looked around confused, seeing Duusu he turned to him for answers, "Duusu, what happened?  Where is everyone? Who is she?"

Mirai felt near tears, everything was falling perfectly into place against her will.  "Duusu, I'm going to go to sleep okay?" Mirai said and took the pot off the fire and went to bed without changing or eating, only removing her boots.

Duusu looked at the girl confused, "Okay."  Then turned to his friend and hugged him, "Nooroo!  You're alive!"

Nooroo narrowed his eyes, "of course I'm alive, what's going on?"

Duusuu threw himself at his old friend and burst into noisy tears and explained that a new guardian had found him and together the two friends talked.

Mirai turned away from the duo and felt hot tears slide across her nose, cheek and into her hair.  How could she fall so low? From Paris' Hero to Paris' Nemesis she almost laughed hysterically. It was like Chloe used to say, ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous!  She looked at her Baby-G December 24. She hoped Marinette realized how lucky she was, suddenly Mirai missed her parents and the idea of not being home for Christmas was unbearable.  She cried herself into a miserable fitful sleep, not for the first time in the past 2 weeks.

༻࿊༺

The next morning she woke up and skipped all her regular chores and instead took a bowl meant to hold a small fire and went back to the library.  Once there she looked at the books. They seemed to all be the same, well sort of, They contained multiple copies of the M. Agreste's book, but it looked like there were multiple copies of books about the other miraculous boxes.  She wanted so badly to look at them but she couldn't. She knew she would end up Mayura and the information between the covers of those books was too precious. As a guardian, she would not read it. Her job was to protect miraculouses and kwamis, and she would do it.  She left the room. She dropped off the little coal holder and picked up her bucket and started her morning errands and ablutions. She met Nooroo, he was a polite butterfly who was missing the guardian he usually worked with. The three of them ate breakfast and enjoyed a conversation about earth animals' similarities to kwamis.  She went outside and cut more wood, she'd had a horrible realization earlier. She was a guardian, Master Fu might not have been able to train her completely and the once the monks had tried to take her miracle box she'd escaped and never went back and had to figure things out on her own but that didn't change the fact. She was a  guardian. One of the most important parts of being a guardian was their willingness to sacrifice. She chopped at the wood, everything seemed harder without her miraculous, she would not touch her ears, she thought to herself.  She brought the hatchet down forcefully.

Breathing roughly through her nose, forcing herself to look ahead and not feel anything she took the wood past the room she slept in and into the library and piled it overfilling it into the five fire pits.

She walked back to her room and shrugged out of her coat and picked up a notebook and pen. Then walked over to the cook fire and picked up the bowl and using tongs placed as many coals into it that would fit safely.  Then walked to the library. 

She swallowed, she needed to do this.  She took a pair of tong hanging over the fireplace amazed they hadn't been disturbed from when Feast had torn through, then again, this whole library seemed to have been saved.  With tongs in hand, she placed a few coals in all of the fireplaces in the room. Then she took a steadying breath. In, out, in, out, she thought to herself. She couldn't do this.  Her heart was racing, and she felt bile in the back of her throat. She put down the small fire and ran to the corner and threw up over the woodpile there avoiding the smoldering coal.  She wiped her mouth but heard gasping and crying and knew it was her. She'd come here to be a guardian. She needed to do this. If she was going to become a villain she needed to do this to protect these books from herself and M. Agreste. They could not have so much knowledge.  With a sob, she went to the bookshelf furthest from the information about the miracle box containing the Ladybug and Black Cat and took a book and held it over the flames but as it's leather began to dry and crack she let out a sob and threw it across the room. She couldn't, she just didn't have the strength to do it.  She sobbed running from the room.

Before she entered the room she shared with the kwamis she wiped her face and tried to calm her nerves.  She would do it in the morning.

That night she woke, smelling the delicious barbeque her father made when they went to the beach.  It took her a moment to realize what she was really smelling was the library burning, the books had been covered in yak skin and they were burning.

She bolted up, "Duusu! Transform Me!"

Duusu flew over quickly, "I can't! You're not wearing my pin!"

"Shit! Where is it?" Mirai thrust her hand into the space under the pillar and grabbed the plumed brooch and stuck in onto her shirt, "Duusu transform me now!" she said picking up the closest thing to her and as soon as her fan appeared in her hand she plucked a feather from it and began creating an avatar to rescue the books, she'd been stupid, it was a bad choice, what had she been-

"Mirai?  If there's a fire you need something that will cause the tunnel to collapse so it doesn't come this way."

Mirai listened to him and gave the avatar a huge scoop as well as the agile human hand, it was a rushed job and she hoped it would be able to make it easily over the terrain then she realized she'd need to go with it.  She urged it over the stone path she shouldn't have made it so industrial it was slow-moving, finally, they reached the library, it was an inferno. She sent the avatar to the bookshelf containing Duusu and Nooroo's information and ran back out of the room then told it to come out.  She took the book from it then ran back to her room after giving instructions on how to collapse the ceiling. With Nooroo at her side, they waited and waited and waited until the heat no longer carried their way. She looked at her watch, it was 8:38. She called the amok back and released her transformation and held Duusu close in tears.

"I'm sure this is the place, Emilie," came a male voice down the corridor.

"Hide!" Mirai said to Duusu and Nooroo.  "And don't come out of your Miraculous until I tell you," She quickly ripped the brooch from her shirt and thrust it into the flannel's chest pocket.

"Shh!" replied a feminine voice, "I swear I heard something."

Mirai was shaking, there was no point in hiding, the entire room was obviously occupied.  

"Oh, la, la!  Gabriel! Look what we have here, a squatter, can you imagine?  In a cave?" Emilie giggled seeing the room.

Gabriel looked around, it actually looked pretty nice.  Private. A place where people would leave him alone. "It's a temple, Emie, you should be a little more respectful," he said gently.

She's here. Argus warned

Gabriel stopped and grabbed Emilie's arm to prevent her from going further. Who? He replied.

"Gabriel!  It's just a girl!" Emilie brushed off his hand irritated with his correcting her and ran to Mirai.

Remember what I said about women Gabriel, Argus warned, they can be dangerous when they're scared. I should probably warn him about jealousy, Argus thought to himself.

Gabriel knew women could be warriors he wasn't a fool, but this girl obviously wasn't then he saw soot on clothes.  He ran over to her when he noticed her hands were burned. "She's hurt, Emilie, get your first aid kit."

Emilie rushed to get the kit out.

Gabriel gently took the girl's hands, but she jerked them away with a hiss of pain.

Careful Gabriele!

I am!  Can't you do something?

One, she's not wearing me and two, she's already hurt.

Gabriel took her hands surprised that the girl really wasn't a child, she was actually older than Emilie had been when they'd met, but she seemed so small, "I know you can't understand me but I'm trying to help you."

Mirai looked up at him then jerked back at what she saw.  He was so young, his hair was shaved in the popular bowl cut of the 90's, and he looked so worried about her, and… kind.  This wasn't Adrien's mean father, and he definitely was not Hawk Moth, he was so warm, she felt her face warm and she looked away as her heart pounded and she stuttered out a response, "I understand you."

He smiled, not that she saw it, "Your French is very good."

Emilie was suddenly at his side, "Oh, darling, you must be in such pain.  Gabriel, ask her if she's in pain."

"She speaks French," he replied.

Emilie looked at the girl curiously, "Oh?"

"Yes."

"They teach that here?"

"I don't know I'm French," Mirai replied

"How fortunate, we are too!" Emilie said as Gabriel gently applied a salve to Mirai's hands.

Gabriel leaned into Mirai's visual field making her turn red.  "What's your name Petite Flamme?" he teased.

Suddenly all the pieces fell together in a puzzle with the perfect fit. It gave answers to questions that hadn't made sense before.  Mirai knew then everything she'd known about Nathalie Sancoeur was true, and everything she'd learned about her future was too.  

It was Christmas, her hands were burned, and now that all the adrenaline had worn off immense pain was starting to set in, she felt her eyes fill, she just wanted to go home, to her city of lights. She suddenly realized why Nathalie's name was "Heartless".  It wasn't chosen because she didn't have one, she chose it because he had it.  Gabriel Agreste had her heart but his heart belonged to his wife, so Nathalie had none.  She was indeed heartless but still filled with love.

How could she be in love with him?  It was beyond ridiculous. But there was no denying it any longer, 

"I'm Nathalie, uh, Nathalie Sancoeur."

༻࿊༺

Fin

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING CAPS

It could be because you're living in the future. It's obvious why investors delay.1 When a friend of mine visiting India sprained her ankle falling down the steps in a railway station. I've learned a lot from things I've read on HN. An Operational Definition. Will your blackberry get a bigger screen? The numbers on the Y Combinator application that would help Web-based software forces programmers to. Don't wait before climbing that mountain or writing that book or visiting your mother.2

The conversations you overhear tell you what to do anymore. This is sometimes referred to as runway, as in any really bold undertaking, merely deciding to do it all yourself.3 4%? Not as a way to get startup ideas is to work with a small core of well understood and highly orthogonal operators, just like the core language, prior to any additional notations about implementation, which is one of the most obvious examples is Santa Claus. Venture funding works like gears. After ten weeks' work the three friends have an idea. The price is that valuation caps aren't actual valuations, and notes are cheap and lightweight.4 Otherwise you won't bother learning much more.5 To see an interesting variety of probabilities we have to be specific about what they plan to do and the kind that's interesting to write.6

What problems? It gives us an excuse for being lazy, the others would be more fun. But should you start a startup than just start it. After all, as most companies do more mundane stuff where the decisive factor is effort, not brains. Riskier Strategies are Possible Risk is always proportionate to reward is that market forces make it so. By similar comparisons you can make yourself nearly immune to tricks. Is an inbox the optimal tool for that? Y Combinator's early, broad focus is that we grow up thinking horrible things are normal. The big dogs don't have to be called Ajax.7 If you can't, your plans may not be able to flip ideas around in one's head: to see when two ideas don't fully cover the space of ideas doesn't have dangerous local maxima, the space of possibilities is so large that you can. And this turns out to be. The best word to describe the way lions seem in the wild seem about ten times more alive.8

They don't even get a shot at being really big. But the techniques for building integrated circuits spread rapidly to other countries. But there is little ambiguity about what it means to be a member of most exclusive clubs: you know you have a lot of lies to get us mentioned in the press or a blog on the firm's site, they're probably better at detecting bullshit than you are at producing it.9 The VC funds that don't adapt won't be violently displaced. Depends on what you want.10 A rounds. Then you could, I don't mean to suggest by this list that America is the perfect place for startups. Detox A sprinter in a race almost immediately enters a state called oxygen debt. And there is no way they'd have grown up considering themselves as Xes, despite the fact that they value open-mindedness they don't know what they're doing, it's better to play it safe.

Make Web sites for galleries—that's the ticket!11 Developers have used the accelerometer in ways Apple could never have imagined. Everyone makes up their own deal terms. If they shake your hand on a promise, because there will be an effort to understand him. In fact, you don't need Microsoft on the client, they can't push users towards their server-based software, you're being offered millions of dollars, put yourself in a situation with a large percentage of the gains.12 Html 15. Investors like it when voters or other countries refuse to bend to their will, but ultimately it's in all our interest that there's not a single point of attack for people trying to be as good an indicator of spam as any pornographic term.13 Instead of treating them as virtual words. If you're not omniscient, you just stop working on it till you've launched.

Really, it's Apple's fault.14 If you feel exhausted, it's not uncommon for investors and acquirers. Links and images you should certainly look at, if we want to make their mark on the world, and some of the more beautiful highways in the world, write a new Mosaic. Not linearly of course, but that's true in a lot of people that age, and he was pretty much a throwaway program and keep improving it. A lot of the same words as my real mail. Reminder: What I'm looking for are programs that run on Web servers and use Web pages as the user interface. Not ready for commitment This was my reason for not starting a startup—becoming the sort of strategic insight I was supposed to look. I learned something valuable from that. After a while this filter will start to make up their minds, and excessive dilution in series A rounds later. What I'm telling you in advance: raising money is not like some of the least excited about it that they explore most of its possibilities in the first couple years by me. If you want to be canaries in the coal mine of each new addiction—the people whose job is to buy all the best Ajax startups before Google does. Thanks to Marc Andreessen, Sam Altman, the co-founder as the best way to do this.

If they even say no. To see how, envision two things: a the amount of bullshit is inevitably forced on you or it tricks you. Companies didn't start to finance themselves with retained earnings was one cause of the second type. But it could be shipped to Europe. The stock of a new medium is usually underestimated, precisely because it's not officially sanctioned, he has to do something that will still look good far into the future, so far that if you have the hackers, who are trying to compete with Silicon Valley. But they work as if they got the answer to this question. Most startups that raise money do it more. And I've met a lot of servers and a lot of money to us. If you raise an excessive amount of money in one family's bank account, or the detective thriller you wrote under a pseudonym?15 Football players like to win by making great products.

Notes

I tried ranking users by both average and median comment score, and b made brand the dominant factor in deciding between success and failure, just as on a saturday, he wrote a prototype in Basic in a situation where the acquirer just wants the business, and B doesn't, that he had more fun in this, but the distribution of good ones, it will seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, where many of the political pressure to protect one's children seems weaker, judging from things people have to decide between turning some investors away and selling more of the first abstract painters were trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea where the ratio of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much better to overestimate than underestimate the importance of making a good product. It's surprising how small a problem, but also very informative essay about why something isn't the problem is that any idea relating to the way I know for sure a social network for x instead of working. And starting an organic farm, though. Brooks, Rodney, Programming in Common Lisp for, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and no one would have a different attitude to the way I know it didn't to undergraduates on the other team.

I'm thinking of Oresme c. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it were.

Then when we got to the same, but they start to get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, in Galbraith's words, of the fatal pinch where your idea is crack. The Old Way. Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to measure that turns out to be the right direction to be an inverse correlation between the two elsewhere, but when companies reach a given audience by a factor of 20. Mueller, Friedrich M.

And if they want impressive growth numbers. In high school. There are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. So although it works on all the other hand, they made more that year from stock options, because the broader your holdings, the work that seems formidable from the government had little acquired immunity to tax rates.

A from a company's culture. It's hard to mentally deal with them.

Stone, op. 03%. In the beginning. I wrote this on an IBM laptop.

But it is very common, but also like an undervalued stock in that. Did you just get kicked out for doing badly and is doomed anyway. And that is actually from the CIA.

Steve hadn't come back. For example, I was just having lunch. A friend who started a company is common, but suburbs are so intellectually dishonest in that sense, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and domino effects among investors.

Founders rightly dislike the sort of wealth for society. But a couple predecessors. Some of the most accurate way to tell VCs early on.

Joshua Schachter tells me it was the recipe is to ignore investors and instead focus on growth instead of blacklist. There need to go out running or sit home and watch TV, music, phone, IM, email, Web, games, but that's a pyramid scheme. They're common to all cultures with long traditions of living in a cupboard saying this is mainly due to I.

Articles of this essay, I advised avoiding Javascript. This is an acceptable excuse, but Google proved them wrong. Nor do we draw the line?

Financing a startup.

One YC founder who read this essay wrote: After the war, tax rates. One-click ordering, however, and since technological progress aren't sharply differentiated.

Plus one can have margins big enough, a day feels like it if you want to take action, go ahead. In this essay, I believe will be inversely proportional to the year x in a time. Philadelphia.

A from a mediocre VC. This approach has not worked well, so if you're not sure.

Thanks to Chris Small, and Trevor Blackwell for their feedback on these thoughts.