#joan rivers challenge

[aemiliuslives]

Daily Challenge 2023, Day 16. This is my 3D sculpture of Dot Matrix from "Spaceballs".

[queenlucythevaliant]

Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

*

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

*

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

*

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”   

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

*

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”  

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night. 

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

“No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

*

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

*

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.  

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.” 

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs. 

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her. 

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes.  “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.” 

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.” 

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun. 

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud. 

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too. 

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in. 

*

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke. 

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes. 

[scotianostra]

On August 17th 1424 French and Scots troops suffered defeat at the Battle of Verneuil.

Scots have a long history with France, the first official alliance dates back to the start of The First War of Scottish Independence

First agreed in 1295/6 the Auld Alliance was built on Scotland and France’s shared need to curtail English expansion. Primarily it was a military and diplomatic alliance but for most of the population it brought tangible benefits through pay as mercenaries in France’s armies and the pick of finest French wines.

In the poet William Dunbar’s, poem “Dirige to the King” he extols to James IV the selections of those wines….

‘To drink withe ws the new fresche wyne That grew apone the revar Ryne, Fresche fragrant claretis out of France, Off Angeo and of Orliance,’

Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V’ rightly portrays the Battle of Agincourt in 1415 as one of England’s greatest military victories. For the French it was a disaster that led to the near collapse of their kingdom. In their darkest hour the Dauphin turned to the Scots, England’s enemy, for salvation. Between 1419 and 1424, 15,000 Scots left from the River Clyde to fight in France. In 1421 at the Battle of Bauge the Scots dealt a crushing defeat to the English and slew the Duke of Clarence.

Honours and rewards were heaped upon the Scots army by the French. The Earl of Douglas was given the royal Dukedom of Touraine and the Scots army lived well off the land, much to the chagrin of the French peasantry. Their victory was short lived however; at Vernuil in 1424 a Scots army of 4,000 men was annihilated. As mercenaries they could have expected no mercy and those who were captured were dispatched on the spot. Despite their defeat, the Scots had brought France valuable breathing space and effectively saved the country from English domination.

Many Scots continued to serve in France. They aided Joan of Arc in her famous relief of Orleans and many went on to form the Garde Écossais, the fiercely loyal bodyguard of the French Kings, where they were at the very heart of French politics. And of course our Monarchs daughters married into the Royal Family of France, most notably, Margaret Stewart, from yesterday’s post and the most famous of all Mary Queen of Scots.

Many Scots mercenaries settled in France although they continued to think of themselves as Scots. One such man was Beraud Stuart of Aubigny: a third-generation Scot immigrant, Captain of the Garde Écossais from 1493-1508, and hero of France’s Italian wars. To this day both he and other Scots heroes of the Auld Alliance are celebrated in Beraud’s home town of Aubigny-sur-Neve in an annual pageant.

Of the battle itself it was later described as a ‘second Agincourt’ and Scotland’s future military prospects were damaged by the deaths in battle of two leaders - the Earl of Douglas and the Earl of Buchan. The defeat saw an end to Scotland’s participation as a nation in the Hundred Years’ War, although individual mercenaries stayed on to fight alongside the French.

This was a particularly brutal battle, Scots were slaughtered rather than being taken prisoner after the English had won the battle. The French had not adhered to the rules of the battle, chivalry was a big thing in those days, added to that Scotland was meant to be at peace with England at this time and this annoyed the English, a truce between England and Scotland had come into effect on the 1st May (I believe) which meant that the Scots would no longer fight with the French- but there was a loophole allowing Scottish forces already in France to stay. The English were offended at the Scottish presence. It seems that the English side and the Scottish forces, arrayed before the battle, hurled challenges, presumably with insults, at each other: this was to be a fight to the death, and the Scottish- oath breakers- did not deserve proper chivalric protocol. No quarter was given those Scots attempting to surrender were cut down and virtually the entire Scots force falling on the battlefield. The Scots stood their ground and died where they fought. A contemporary account said this of the aftermath…..

“… there a horrible spectacle to see on the battlefield, the corpses in high, tightly packed heaps, especially where the Scots had fought. No prisoners were taken among them, and the heaps held the bodies of the dead English soldiers all mixed up with theirs.” (Thomas Basin, Bishop of Lisieux):

[granvarones]

camp challenges conventional notions of what is “tasteful” and “beautiful.” some proclaim that camp celebrates the “tacky” by subverting social norms. and yes, that’s why we live for it! i think camp requires an unabashed courage to be theatrical and humorous in an approach to fashion, art, and culture. and one performer who employed all this and so, so much more is the legendary puerto rican icon that is iris chacón.

lovingly regarded as “la bomba de puerto rico,” iris chacon rose to fame as a singer, dancer, and television personality in the 1970s and 1980s. her extravagant stage outfits, elaborate headdresses, and provocative choreography propelled her to stardom across latin america and captured the imagination of LGBTQ+ fans.

as the host of her top-rated variety show “el show de iris chacón,” which aired for 15 years until 1985, chacón challenged traditional gender expectations that loomed large within the social climate of the 1970s with her boundary-pushing stage presence. her performances were often tongue-in-cheek and punctuated by male backup dancers who exuded queer sensibilities.

before “breaking the internet” and “going viral” was a thing, iris chacón accomplished the 1982 equivalent when her feature in a 30-second television commercial for amalie coolant, a heavy-duty motor oil, made waves with its play on words (coolant sounded similar to “culo,” the spanish world for ass). the ad was so impactful it landed chacón on the front page of the wall street journal and remains a hallmark of 80s pop culture in puerto rico.

chacón was able to parlay her international notoriety into sold-out concerts at radio city music hall in new york, one of the first latino artists to do so. she also broke ground stateside and helped introduce puerto rican culture to the mainstream with memorable guest spots on the merv griffin show, the joan rivers show and several appearances on the david letterman show.

in 1989, the latin-freestyle music movement was at its zenith. chacón not only had a prominent role in the campy-as-hell freestyle music movie “an eastside story,” which starred a marc anthony, but chacón also released the cooing sergio george-produced freestyle track “am i a tease.”

as the 1980s ended, so iris chacón’s bid for mainstream success. after starring in movies, hosting her variety TV show, and playing to sold-out crowds worldwide, chacón stepped out of the public eye in the late 1990s. she has re-emerged for the occasional performance at gay pride parade in puerto rico.

in june 2023, puerto rican drag icon jessica wild impersonated iris chacón during the “snatch game of love” challenge on the fifth episode of the eighth season of “rupaul’s drag race all stars.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from The Desert Sun:

The Sierra Club filed a legal challenge Thursday seeking to halt a huge Colorado River conservation deal between the Biden administration and the powerful Imperial Irrigation District, saying that rare desert wildlife and low-income residents near the shores of the already-fast dwindling Salton Sea would be further harmed if concrete steps weren't taken immediately.

The environmental group on Thursday filed a request for an injunction in California Superior Court in Imperial County, saying both the water agency and the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation had violated a tough state environmental law, the California Environmental Quality Act, by rushing through cursory approvals to conserve as much as 900,000 acre feet of water through 2026 — more than the entire state of Nevada receives annually, and enough to potentially supply 2.7 million households.

In exchange, IID and farmers who have already voluntarily stopped growing hay for 60 days this year, and who have pledged to do so each summer, could earn as much as a whopping $700 million in federal funds. But environmental groups warned before the environmental analysis was approved and took effect on Aug. 12 that withdrawing so much more water would further exacerbate woes at the Salton Sea, California's largest water body, which depends on runoff from Imperial County farm fields that grow much of the nation's hay and winter vegetables.

The sea has already dried rapidly in recent years, since a large amount of IID water was diverted away from farms to suburban San Diego. Years of fish die-offs occurred as it grew saltier and shrank, costing hundreds of species of water fowl a key migratory rest stop stop on the Pacific Flyway.

The exposed lakebed is also loaded with more than a century's worth of pesticides and other contaminants. Residents along its edges already suffer asthma rates far above the state average, which along with more serious chronic illnesses can be aggravated by wind-blown dust. Withholding so much more water will speed up the drying process, but the Bureau of Reclamation's environmental review concluded that because it was anticipated that much drying would occur anyway over the next few decades, it was not a significant impact.

"In essence, the environmental analysis said, 'Well, the Salton Sea is going to hell anyway. So what does it matter if this accelerates it?'" said Joan Taylor, the Sierra Club's California conservation chair. She said the reason it mattered is because "We want IID to take this seriously, and Reclamation is culpable too."

[junkyarded]

it is insane the amount of backlash i see against jokes women make about how their boyfriends take them for granted. this is basic gen x sex and the city joan rivers marge simpson type stuff, and people act like it's edgy and dangerous. even simple resignation with a touch of resentment for the status quo (without any real challenge to it!) is too much these days. you better shut up and pretend to be happy or some redditor is gonna stick a gun down your throat. the sheer terror that a single woman might question her place in society makes everybody into a crusader for men's rights.

[lizzybeth1986]

Wordlessly

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: None. Kiara & OC (Céleste, her cousin).

Rating: G

Summary: There is a lot on little Kiara's mind as she goes biking with her cousin Céleste. Can Céleste help her?

Word Count: 3, 191 words

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for Day 4: Family, @choicesficwriterscreations for FotW, and @choicesmonthlychallenge for the prompt Warm Hugs

A/N: This fic takes place two months after Queen Eleanor's death. Joëlle and Kiara (7 years old) are in Orleans, Loire with Joëlle's sister Jeanette. Jeanette has an older daughter, Céleste (9) and twins Céline and Cédric (6). Kiara is closer to Céleste, Ezekiel is closer to Céline, and Cédric is actually quite close to both siblings and to their cousins in Morocco (Hakim's side of the family). This fic also has a lot of connections to Ch 3 of Eleanor's Kitchen, which shows Joëlle and Queen Eleanor as best friends.

It will be a fine summer morning at the main square of Place du Martroi, Kiara's cousin promises her. Just the perfect time, and weather, to gear up for an hour-long bike ride. Maman can spend some time alone with Tatie Jeanette, and seek some of her much-needed solace at the cathedral nearby. And they can spend fifteen minutes cycling around Kiara's favourite thing to see in Orléans: the Jeanne d'Arc statue.

The Maid of Orléans sits mounted on her horse, sword in hand, proud and determined. Her bronze frame, stained a rusty blue-green from centuries of heat and dust and oxidisation, is cast into an alluring interplay of light and shadow against the morning sun. Joan of Arc, a heroine of France, the woman her aunt Jeanette was named in honor of. Kiara remembers a similar statue - of Captain Guard Val Greaves - at the Capitol square...not too far from the royal palace...

...Kiara instantly loses her smile. Then she shakes her head and tries to concentrate on something else.

"Cette statue gravement endommagée au cours de la duexieme guerre mondiale a eté restaurée en 1950 grâce a la générosité des habitants de la Nouvelle Orléans." She reads the plaque at the foot of the statue slowly, mentally substituting some of the all-too-familiar words into another language, as she always does. It's not easy - some of them are too big for her...like "inhabitants" and "generosity"...but she thinks she can understand the essence of it.

There was a Second World War, the war ruined the statue, and people from New Orleans helped make it look better than before. She knows already - from a map of the United States of America in her father's study desk - that New Orleans is a city there, near the Mississippi river. Baba told her lots of people speak French there too, but a different kind of French.

She tries to remember the bigger words she read on the plaque, but already they're slipping from her memory. Zeke would laugh and call this an exercise in futility, if he were here instead of at Orphys with Baba, Céline, Cédric and Tonton Henri - after all, weren't you raised on both French and English, Kiki? Haven't you been doing this your whole life? It can't be that challenging for you anymore.

But Kiara no longer deals with languages for just the challenge. Now she does it for the sheer joy of playing around with words that mean similar things in different places.

Céleste brushes away a stray leaf that has landed on her head, covering one of her tightly-coiled, intricately-braided cornrows. For perhaps the fiftieth time, Kiara admires the back of her cousin's head, where the braids form the shape of a heart near the nape of her neck. Silently she makes a promise to ask Maman to try it out once on her. When Maman feels more herself again.

Kiara traces a nervous finger over her own braids. They're perfect now - tiny coiled cornrows on her scalp, thicker braids raised high by hairbands that looked like a cluster of grapes, a side parting that took Kiara time to get used to but that she cannot help but admire now. But oh, how much Maman must have suffered today to get it right.

One slip of her hand. Then two. A braid hanging looser than usual, a thin cornrow looking slightly thicker and uneven, a stray curly strand winding out of an arrangement so meticulously planned and designed. It was so unlike Maman, who could do more intricate styles than this blindfolded and with her arms behind her back. The unfamiliar, puzzled frown between Maman's eyes was now threatening to become permanent.

By the sixth mistake she let out a rough growl, fisted her hands and paced agitated to the other end of the room, leaving an entire section of Kiara's hair half-done. When Kiara turned to look, Maman's back was facing her but her shoulders were shaking.

Tatie Jeanette, who had just completed her final touches on Céleste's cornrows, moved over to Maman, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Take a few minutes off, Joli," she said gently, "Renée has made some chamomile-spiced apple tea. That's your favourite now, right? It's in the kitchen. Still hot. It should calm your nerves. Go."

Kiara froze, wondering if her aunt had made a mistake by mentioning the tea was apple-flavoured. The last time Maman had such a drink was the last time she was with...with...

She winced. A very vague image of the late Queen as Kiara remembered her - raven-haired, gentle, smiling, a faint rose smell emanating from her wherever she went - floated at the fringes of her memory. She was grateful she didn't have a memory of what that face looked like in death. It was already painful, watching her funeral procession from a distance that day, Princes Leo and Liam walking behind her coffin, heads bent, steps measured. The older prince's jaw was tight and his eyes reddened and blazing...but the image that would forever stay with her, was the blankness on the face of the boy she often called her playmate. Every time she thought about his dark, unfocused gaze, an odd chill slithered through her spine.

If this was how she felt about that funeral, she can't imagine just how painful it must have been for Maman. Biding her goodbyes at the coffin, her voice at the Mass trembling midway through the late Queen's favourite hymn. After the adults from the Great Houses poured earth from their hands towards the lowered coffin at burial, Baba tightened his hands around Maman's shoulder, her sobs muffled in his jacket.

"It's going to take a while for Maman to go back to being Maman again," he'd whispered in Kiara's hair just before their flight to France, "But she'll get there. I promise you."

She'd felt less nervous when Baba said that. It was now two weeks since that flight, but on more days than not, Kiara didn't feel so sure.

When Maman took longer than usual to return, it was Céleste who saw the look on her face and convinced her to check on her in the kitchen.

"But what do I say?" Kiara whispered worriedly. These days everything she'd tried to say to comfort her seemed to have the opposite effect. Oh, Maman was very lovely about it, running an affectionate hand through her hair and smiling down at her, but the smile never seemed to reach her eyes like it always did.

Céleste shrugged. "Who said you had to say anything?"

Easy for Céleste to say. Everybody always said her oldest cousin gave the best hugs in the family. Soft, light ones for the kids younger than them, tentative ones for adults she didn't know, the tightest ones reserved for her parents. Kiara on the other hand always felt her body too awkward for good hugs. All knees and elbows poking at softer flesh. She felt uncomfortable giving them, and the leaving of an embrace always felt so odd on both sides. It was why she was so fond of talking her way through comforting people.

Only, this was a time where that kind of comfort didn't seem to change anything.

Thankfully, Maman's shoulders were no longer shaking when Kiara's feet padded their way to the kitchen. Her arms were gripping the counter, shoulders slumped, tired. The teacup was still full, all the steam in it long gone.

Kiara gulped. "It's okay, Maman," she said softly, "we don't have to go out today. It's always nice to have one whole day to just rest and do nothing, no, Maman?"

Again that look. Again that soft hand on her head. Again that smile that didn't reach Maman's eyes.

Kiara had struggled through 5 languages so far in her young life. Each time she failed to get things right, her chest felt tight and her shoulders heavy. But all that suddenly felt like nothing to the failure she experienced now.

Maman did Kiara's braids. Perfectly, meticulously, not a single strand out of place. But Kiara felt none of the victory they always experienced when Maman nailed a hairdo. In place of the joy and anticipation they both always had while braiding her hair, was a steely determination, a mechanical sequence of movement. As if Maman was thinking of something else and wanted not to, really badly.

"T'es prête?" Céleste says, her foot on the pedal of her cycle, waiting for her cousin to join her on their hour-long ride to Parc Floral de la Source. It's not where Céleste would have liked to take her, but it's still a beautiful place and she's sure her cousin would love the butterflies there.

"Yeah," Kiara says softly, "I'm ready." She runs back to her own cycle, bought two years ago the moment she'd seen Céleste on a bicycle, so connected to the act of riding it that the vehicle almost seemed like an extension of her. This beauty, bought by her aunt, is black and silver and deceptively fragile-looking, but very sturdy. Just like herself, Kiara would like to believe.

--

The sun is kind to them today. Its light streams silently through the trees and glistens over the Loire river, so it turns molten gold from the limpid blue of the early morning. The Loire à Vèlo path is a sandy white expanse of road, empty except for the few cyclists dotting the horizon.

Kiara presses her feet to the pedals as hard as she can, the light breeze turning into a sharp burst of wind when she picks up speed. The spaces in her scalp feel the cool kiss of fresh air as she struggles to catch up with Céleste.

She envies her older cousin for her speed and ability on a bike, but not too much. They all have their passions, after all. Céleste never had the knack for languages that Kiara did, or the love for animals that Zeke did, or even the raw artistry that her baby sister Céline was already beginning to show at age 6 - but by God did she work her magic if you gave her a bicycle!

It was the first birthday present she'd ever asked her parents for, and there was never a day you'd see her without it. Already the family was in awe of how she managed to cycle the entire Loire à Vèlo route last year, at the tender age of 8.

Already she had her answer ready for every school exam paper that had the question: "Qu'est-ce que tu veux faire quand tu seras grande ?". When I grow older, I will be tête de la course at Le Tour de France.

Tête de la course. The head of the race.

It's never going to be a matter of can, or maybe, or even should. Not for Céleste. It's a matter she has already had settled in her head. She will never imagine her future another way.

Kiara presses down on the pedals, even harder, enjoying this little race with her cousin. Even if it's one she's sure to lose.

--

Royal blue. Butter yellow. Purple at the center with orange fringes. The butterfly enclosure at Parc Floral de la Source has papillons in colours Kiara can't even begin to imagine.

Yet somehow, it is the black-veined, white-speckled, flame orange Monarch butterfly that most fascinates her. Kiara is almost tempted to touch its wings, to see if she'd find her fingers stained in fiery-hued dust as she'd always dreamed would happen. But she won't. She doesn't want to scare the poor thing away.

Lots of butterflies come to our garden. Come sometime in the morning, you'll see loads.

Kiara jerks her hand away as if stung. She isn't sure why these words, in the gentle tones of the young prince who used play tag and soccer with her, would give her a feeling of unease, rather than the usual mild fondness. Maybe because it has been almost a year since she last visited the palace gardens; perhaps because - if her parents' urgent whispers in the study were anything to go by - it is doubtful she would ever get to visit it again.

The last she saw of it, Her Majesty's (Call me Tatie Eleanor! she would hiss if Kiara ever tried to be formal around her) plans to create a hedge maze in the gardens had just begun to take form. There was very little to show of it back then, and Maman had whispered to her when they drove home that it would be roughly five to seven years before the maze looked anything like "Ellie's plans".

"Will it be fun?" she'd asked Maman when they'd reached half of the way back to Castelserraillan.

"Oh, very!" Maman said, a big grin on her face. "Ask your auntie Eleanor next time if you don't believe me. She used to spend all her time playing in garden mazes when she was a child."

Kiara frowned a little, suddenly remembering something.

"I thought Tatie Eleanor got the idea from that visit to Château de Villandry we took with her, two years ago!"

"That too!" Maman responded, grinning. "She loved visiting that place so much because it reminded her of her childhood." Her smile was now sweet, and a tiny bit conspirational. "We gave her that, ma fée."

Shivering, Kiara follows Céleste's lead outside to the open space that holds the spicy, woody, slightly-vanilla scent of purple irises.

Their housekeeper Renée packed them an enormous, sumptuous lunch before they left home; the cycling and the walking have made Céleste and Kiara ravenous enough to devour almost every spare morsel. Except, of course, one solitary baguette, which Céleste insists they keep so they can feed the flamingoes.

The birds make noises that sound like a cross between a loud honk and a piercing screech, scrambling to lay their claim on the pieces Céleste tosses their way. Kiara laughs, her fingers absently sweeping over the calm waters of the little Loiret tributary.

"I really wanted us to go to Château de Villandry today," Céleste's tone is that of a slight whine. "You always loved running through the garden labyrinth there."

Absently, Kiara pouts and throws another piece of the baguette to the birds.

"It's okay if we don't," her voice is almost a whisper, so soft Céleste has to strain to hear it. "This place was quite lovely!" If there is a false brightness she notices in her cousin's tone, Céleste doesn't allow herself to dwell on it.

They sit like that for a while - exactly how long Kiara can't recall - but when they're about to leave she calls out to her cousin. "Where would Maman and Tatie Jeanette be now?"

"Waiting for us at the canal," Céleste murmurs. She stops as she notices Kiara tense. "Don't look so scared, Kiki. Tatie Joli won't be sad forever."

Almost immediately, Céleste bites her tongue in a tacit apology. She's never been one to be very good with her words, and oftentimes - like this one - they come out sounding all wrong.

"Oh well," Kiara says, sighing, "It's not like anything I say will help. The more I talk, the sadder she gets. Maybe I should just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know. Stop talking?"

The two girls are silent as they make their way back to where they'd kept their bicycles. It's only when they're about to mount that Kiara thinks to ask her.

"Céleste..."

"Hmm?"

"How do you know what kind of hugs your Maman wants?"

Céleste gives her a funny little look, like she's about to say I thought you'd never ask. But she shrugs instead.

"I don't always know, really. Sometimes I just try it and see if it works. Sometimes Maman doesn't want to listen to anything... sometimes she just wants someone to hold her tight. She lets me know."

"And if she doesn't like it?"

Céleste smiles. "I try something else. At some point I'll find something she likes!"

That's what I do with Maman too. Kiara thinks. But with words. Never with touch.

Kiara doesn't say a word after that. Not when they mount on their cycles, not when they exit the park, not when they reunite with their mothers at the canal, not even when they're back at the foot of the Jeanne d'Arc statue. Maman and Tatie Jeanette take turns to stare oddly at how unnaturally silent she seems, but Céleste's hand lightly touching her elbow reassures her. Lets her know that she doesn't need to talk until she feels like it.

Before they head to Tatie Jeanette's house, Céleste turns to her mother. "What about Château de Villandry next weekend, Maman? Kiki always liked the maze gar-"

She stops abruptly, noting with regret Kiara's panicked gaze and the terrified shake of her head.

Her voice is lower, more incoherent than a mumble. Her hands are folded in front of her, the perfect picture of a contrite child. "... we'll find another Château to visit, Maman. Sorry."

Too late. Maman holds it together, somehow, for a few minutes, before she excuses herself to her sister's study.

"I'll make you both a mug each of chocolat chaud... you'll like that!" Tatie Jeanette's voice seems falsely bright.

It is now Céleste who says nothing, as she gives Kiki one last, tight hug before she retreats to her room. Strangely, that action calms her a little.

Maman isn't at the desk of Tatie Jeanette's study, or even seated on one of the sofas or chairs. She is a crumpled figure on the floor, her body enfolding into itself, trying to look as invisible as possible even if she knows there is no one else in the room.

Kiara almost opens her mouth to speak, then snaps it shut. She stares at the lonely, defeated figure of her mother, remembering every scrape of knee that she had patted and every tiny arm-bruise she had given a little kiss to. Wordlessly.

Wordlessly, Kiara bends to her mother's eye-level. Lightly, tentatively, she wraps her arms around Maman's shoulder, keeping a small distance between their bodies.

After what feels like an age but must have been only two minutes, she feels something shift. Her mother angles her body more towards the circle of Kiara's arms, allowing them to tighten. Slowly, ever so slowly, Maman's hands make their way to the center of her spine, burrowing her daughter closer into her space. Against her cheek, Maman's own feels a little wet. But her body is more relaxed, the stress lines on her face receding.

Before this, Kiara had juggled with many possibilities to show comfort. Bringing up Queen Eleanor's name, never mentioning Queen Eleanor's name. Trying to talk more about this tragedy, trying to talk about literally everything else. Nothing had worked so far before this. Who knew that silence and touch could accomplish in 20 seconds what all the hours of talking couldn't?

Maman's hand rubs rhythmically along Kiara's back. Whether it's to return the gesture of comfort, or as an apology for not being the kind of mother she wanted to be for Kiara these days...Kiara has no idea.

What she does know, is that she hopes they get more chances. To share silence. To share comfort. To share - mother and daughter - the blanket-heavy warmth of these wordless embraces.

--

NOTES:

Two bits of foreshadowing here:

1. New Orleans: this was a bit of foreshadowing I included, because my TRR MC Esther hails from New Orleans.

2. The Monarch butterfly is the sigil of Krysanthe, the duchy that eventually Hana becomes the Duchess of.

Translations and additional notes:

1. Tonton - Like Tatie for aunt, Tonton is a nickname used to address your uncle.

2. Huge thanks to @thecapturedafrique for her suggestion of the girls wearing cornrows in summer! She'd also recommended styles, two of which I'd zeroed in on for Céleste and Kiara. The first one is Céleste's, the second Kiara's:

3. T'es prête? - Are you ready? (when said to a girl/woman)

4. "Qu'est-ce que tu veux faire quand tu seras grande ?" - What do you want to be when you grow up?

5. Tête de la course - Head of the race.

6. Papillon - Butterfly

Places mentioned in France:

The fic is largely set in Orléans, a city that's situated close to the Loire River.

Place du Martroi: The Martroi square is the main square of the city of Orleans, where stands the equestrian statue of Joan of Arc carried out in 1855 by Denis Foyatier.

Loire à Vèlo: La Loire à Vélo is a unique, 800km cycle route. It forms the western section of the EuroVelo 6 route (linking Black Sea to Atlantic) (basically you get a great view of the river through this cycling route).

Parc Floral de la Source: a French garden situated to the south of the River Loire, in the La Source neighbourhood of the town of Orléans, in the département of Loiret. The source of the Loiret tributary can be found at the center of this park.

Château de Villandry: The Château de Villandry is a grand country house located in Villandry, in the département of Indre-et-Loire, France. It is especially known for its beautiful gardens and has an intricate labyrinth/maze garden arrangement too.

Orphys: This is a country in the Cordonia universe which is home to the princesses Lerato and Lesidi.

[arty-ffxiv]

Five Songs I'm Into Now (International Edition)

Tagged by: @riftdancing thank you lovely! I love a good excuse to discover and share music ✨

I've recently done one of these on my main blog here, so it's been great to highlight more songs that I've been vibing with of late!

This time, I've challenged myself to pick international songs since I listen to a wide variety; some of these have been long-time favourites of mine, while others are more recent. I discover a lot of new songs and genres using Radio Garden. (I highly recommend Transistor FM in Thessaloniki, Greece!)

I've also added a bonus song- my favourite from a band local to my hometown ✨

1. Frío Frío Live Version - Juan Luis Guerra 4.40 & Romeo Santos

From the Dominican Republic This one is a long-time favourite of mine- I've been listening to Juan Luis Guerra 4.40 since I was ~16ish and this is my favourite song of his. This live rendition with Romeo Santos is just *chefs kiss* and the whole live album is fantastic. It's also funnier if you watch the live recording of this song and realize that the reason the crowd goes so batshit when Romeo comes out is because he pops out of of a hole in the stage, it's so wholesome

2. T'Asteri Mou - Despina Vandi & Foivos

From Greece Something I used to do when I was playing Assassin's Creed: Odyssey was listening to Greek music. Since then I've become addicted to Greek pop songs. This one popped up on the station I'd picked in Radio Garden and I fell in love. I was learning Greek a few years back now, but only remember the basics + some random phrases from Duolingo - did you know 'soup' is considered feminine in Greek??

3. Qefs Milion A - Martin Mkrtchyan

From Armenia This popped up on a random Armenian radio station while I was browsing Radio Garden, and it always makes me want to get up and dance! I have nothing interesting or informative to say here, aside from that this song slaps.

4. Invoke - T.M.Revolution

From Japan My partner and I recently watched all of Gundam SEED (my... fifth? sixth? time watching, his first) and I was reminded just how much I not only love this series but the music. Choosing which opening/ ending theme I'd include in this was a challenge! I studied Japanese from middle school right through to my first (and last) year at university. I still remember a bit, to the point of still being able to hold basic conversations/ ask basic questions.

5. Klefi / Samed (صامد) - Hatari & Bashar Murad

Icelandic & Palestinian Collaboration **warning for flashing lights in the video!** I discovered Hatari from their appearance in Eurovision in 2019 and the song they performed (Hatrið mun sigra) is a favourite of mine. This one has been on repeat more frequently now, for reasons I'm sure are obvious from the tumbnail. While in Israel for the competition, Hatari joined forces with a Palestinian artist, Bashar Murad, to create this song of resistance; the band also got a harsh response from the audience for displaying the Palestine flag during the competition's grand final. The video filmed for this song is very powerful, which is why I've added this link from YouTube instead of Spotify. I highly recommend watching it and having captions on for translation. Timestamp 2:48 is truly breathtaking. "After all this torture I'm steadfast, I won't bow down." From the rivers to the sea, Palestine will be free 🕊️

Bonus; Yoke - Teenage Joans

From Adelaide, Australia A new home grown favourite that I recently discovered, this song take me back to my emo/punk days. This song has been on repeat- in my headphones, my car and my home stereo. My poor husband and cats are probably sick of hearing it. Did you know Australians normally sing with a different accent, otherwise we sound ridiculous? Examples here: 1/2

Thanks for coming on this chaotic trip with me!

Tagging: @thefreelanceangel, @ishgard, @zenmai--jikake--no--komoriuta, @ooc-tau, @nozomikei & anyone else who feels like doing this!!

[littlemisssquiggles]

Happy Birthday You are a true networker, reaching out to people and insatiably curious, and possessing a real flair for the dramatic. Your drive is powerful and you thrive on challenges. You are witty and always have something interesting to contribute to any conversation. Famous people born today: Robert Schumann, Barbara Bush, Joan Rivers, Frank Lloyd Wright, Kanye West, Nancy Sinatra, Colin Baker, Bonnie Tyler, Julianna Margulies, Maria Menounos and EstherVanHulsen

Thank you for the birthday wishes as always Matt-san! No matter how many times I see this post from you, it still blows my mind every time to know that I share a birthday with one of the Doctors from Doctor Who.

As a budding Whovian, that's just wild XD

~LMS (2023)

[tcssrsolutionsllc]

Joan Rivers’ career is a remarkable testament to perseverance and breaking boundaries. Starting as a comedy writer for Topo Gigio on The Ed Sullivan Show, she managed to captivate audiences and turn a potential one-off gig into an 11-year segment. Her journey from those early days to becoming only the second woman to host her own late-night show speaks to her resilience and versatility. Rivers consistently embraced challenges, which propelled her not just as a comedian but also as a recognized author and entrepreneur. Her story underscores the power of saying yes and taking risks to find what truly resonates with you.

[tvrundownusa]

tvrundown USA 2024.10.09

Wednesday, October 9th:

(exclusive): La Máquina (hulu, Spanish-language limited series, all 6 eps), The Inheritance (BritBox, 2023 family drama mini-series, all 4 eps), Deceitful Love (netflix, Italian romance limited series, all 6 eps), The Secret of the River (netflix, Mexican drama series, all 8 eps), "Starting 5" (netflix, basketball docu-series, all 10 eps)

(streaming weekly): Midnight Family (apple+), Where's Wanda? (apple+), Bad Monkey (apple+, season 1 finale), Slow Horses (apple+, season 4 finale), Tell Me Lies (hulu, penultimate), Murai In Love (hulu), Seoul Busters (hulu|dsn+, next 2 eps), The Judge From Hell (hulu, next 2 eps), Love Is Blind (netflix, next 3 eps), Agatha All Along (dsn+, in primetime)

(original made-for-TV movies): "Blood, Sweat, and Cheer" (LMN, 2hrs)

(earlier - hour 0): Agatha All Along (dsn+), The Really Loud House (NICK) / . / NFL Slimetime (NICK)

(hour 1): Sullivan's Crossing (theCW), Chicago Med (NBC), Survivor (CBS, 90mins), The Golden Bachelorette (ABC, 90mins), The Challenge (MTV, 90mins), The Masked Singer (FOX), "Big Cats 24/7" (PBS, part 5 of six)

(hour 2): Inside the NFL (theCW, new night), Chicago Fire (NBC), Survivor (CBS, contd) / . / The Summit (CBS, 90mins), The Golden Bachelorette (ABC, contd) / . / Abbott Elementary (ABC, season 4 opener), The Challenge (MTV, contd), The Floor (FOX), NOVA (PBS, "The Solar System" part 2), Expedition Unknown (DSC, season 14 opener)

(hour 3): Chicago P.D. (NBC), Grotesquerie (FX, 90mins), The Summit (CBS, contd), Everybody Still Hates Chris (COM, 60mins), Secrets of the Dead (PBS), Forged In Fire (HIST, regular timeslot), House of Villains (E!, season 2 opener, special night, 75mins), House of Villains (Bravo|SYFY|USA, simulcast), 20/20: "The Secret Life of Diddy" (ABC, special)

(hour 4 - latenight): Grotesquerie (FX, contd)

[note: Joan (theCW) moves to Fridays this week.]

[laresearchette]

Wednesday, October 02, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: WHERE’S WANDA (Apple TV+)

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT?: JOAN (CW Feed) NOVA: THE SOLAR SYSTEM (PBS Feed) SECRETS OF THE DEAD (PBS Feed)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA THE ADDAMS FAMILY (2019) ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN THE AMITYVILLE HORROR (1979) THE AMITYVILLE HORROR (2005) ARE YOU SMARTER THAN A FIFTH GRADER (Season 1–3) ARE YOU SMARTER THAN A FIFTH GRADER (2015) THE BELKO EXPERIMENT BRADDOCK: MISSING IN ACTION III BRUCE ALMIGHTY BUBBA HO-TEP THE BURNING CAPTAIN AMERICA THE CARE BEARS MOVIE THE CARETAKER CARRIE (1976) CARRIE (2013) CHALLENGERS (EXCLUSIVE CONTENT) CHILD'S PLAY (1988) A CHORUS LINE COMES A HORSEMAN THE DARK HALF DEATH RIDES A HORSE DEATH BECOMES HER THE DELTA FORCE DELTA FORCE 2: THE COLOMBIAN CONNECTION DESPERATE HOURS DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS DISTURBING BEHAVIOUR DRESSED TO KILL F/X FIFTY SHADES DARKER FROGS FROM BEYOND GETTING EVEN WITH DAD GORKY PARK GUNS OF THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN HANNIBAL HELLBOY LL: THE GOLDEN ARMY HOTARUNOHIKARI IT'S ONLY A LITTLE LIGHT IN MY LIFE (Season 1–2) INTO THE BLUE 2: THE REEF INTO THE BLUE INVADERS FROM MARS INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS INVASION U.S.A. JEEPERS CREEPERS 2 JEEPERS CREEPERS JOEY KILLER KLOWNS FROM OUTER SPACE THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT LEVIATHAN LIFEFORCE MAC AND ME MADISON THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (1960) THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (2016) THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN RIDE! MAX 2: WHITE HOUSE HERO MAX ME BEFORE YOU MIKE & MOLLY (Season 1–6) MISSING IN ACTION MISSING IN ACTION: THE BEGINNING MULHOLLAND FALLS THE MUMMY THE MUMMY RETURNS ONCE BITTEN POLTERGEIST III POLTERGEIST II: THE OTHER SIDE THE POUGHKEEPSIE TAPES THE PRODIGY (2019) THE RAGE: CARRIE 2 REMO WILLIAMS: THE ADVENTURE BEGINS THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD RETURN OF THE SEVEN RIVER'S EDGE THE RUSSIA HOUSE SAHARA THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS SPECIES III SPECIES: THE AWAKENING STARGATE: THE ARK OF TRUTH STARGATE (1994) STARGATE: CONTINUUM STIGMATA TEEN WOLF (1985) THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2 THE TOWN THAT DREADED SUNDOWN (2014) TROLL TROLL 2 UHF UNLOVABLE THE VAMPIRE LOVERS WILD BILL THE WOODS

CBC GEM ETERNAL YOU THE SWAP

DISNEY + STAR LAST DAYS OF THE SPACE AGE (all episodes) MICKEY’S SPOOKY STORIES (all episodes)

NETFLIX CANADA CHEF’S TABLE: NOODLES LOVE IS BLIND (Season 7) TUCKER AND DALE VS EVIL UNSOLVED MYSTERIES: VOLUME 5

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 2:30pm: AL Wildcard: Tigers vs. Astros - Game 2 (SN1) 4:30pm: AL Wildcard: Royals vs. Orioles - Game 2 (SN/SN360) 7:30pm: NL Wildcard: Mets vs. Brewers - Game 2 (SN1) 8:30pm: NL Wildcard: Atlanta vs. Padres - Game 2

BACK TO ROOTS (APTN) 7:00pm: Perry and Chef Denia do a visual hunt for wild boar while Chef Denia explains its invasive nature; they also forage and chat about cattail greens, dandelion greens and fireweed.

MLS SOCCER (TSN/TSN4/TSN5) 7:30pm: Toronto FC vs. New York (TSN/TSN4/TSN5) 10:30pm: Vancouver vs. Seattle

NHL HOCKEY (TSN3) 8:00pm: Flames vs. Jets

THE KNOWING (CBC) 8:00pm: Tanya dives into records left behind by her Uncle, looking for answers as to what happened to her family's matriarchs; her friend Sol Mamakwa joins her to look into his past at Residential School.

THE PASSIONATE EYE (CBC) 9:00pm: Delving into the world of startups using AI to create avatars of the deceased; what might become one of the greatest human experiments of our time.

MARK MCKINNEY NEEDS A HOBBY (CTV) 9:02pm (SERIES PREMIERE): 101 Birding: Mark McKinney travels to the Canadian shores of Lake Erie to learn about birding and birdwatching; he embarks on a journey to the Long Point Nature Preserve, tags and releases birds at a Birds Canada outpost.

THE SUMMIT (U.S.) (CTV) 9:30pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Sixteen ordinary Americans embark on a once-in-a-lifetime journey through the treacherous New Zealand Alps; a medical emergency occurs just hours into the trek and the climbers face a perilous obstacle crossing a ravine.

SO LONG, MARIANNE (Crave) 10:00pm: Axel leaves Marianne and his son to go on a sailing trip with his mistress. Marianne finds comfort in Leonard.

GOING NATIVE (APTN) 10:30pm: From the Arctic to New Zealand and Ontario to Mexico, Drew learns how old Indigenous go digital; language revisitation on TikTok, Maori environmental science and Arctic sovereignty are at the forefront of the Indigenous digital revolution.

[runnersnz]

"I started running at primary school, somewhat reluctantly, doing the required cross-country. And being at a small Fiordland school, if there was a sports team for anything, you sort of all have to play, just to make up the numbers!

Both my parents did the first Kepler Challenge and I remember “running” with Dad while he was training and trying to keep up with him... as much as an eight year old can. Around that time there was also a local run/bike event that went from Manapouri to Te Anau. You’d be in teams of two where you'd leap frog one another, leaving your bike on the side of the road and then start running. That would have been my first race but I didn't really run again after I left school. I did spend my youth volunteering for the Kepler Challenge though; amazed at how people could possibly run that far and never once believing that I could do it myself.

Years later I worked for DOC on the Milford Track, essentially chasing whio (blue duck) up and down a river. That kept me pretty fit as I was always on my feet a lot, hiking and climbing hills. So I decided to enter the Luxmore Grunt, essentially with no training, aside from chasing ducks. I did the Luxmore Grunt two years in a row and I did all right. And then I just stopped running again, for about fifteen years.

It was during the Covid lockdown that I took it up again properly. Mostly because there was nothing else to do, you couldn't go anywhere. I'd sort of tried to get back into running a few times, but I'd always injure myself early on because I’d go out too far, too fast, too soon. So lockdown was a good opportunity to do it right and I made a plan to take it slow. I even found a ‘couch to 5k’ plan and (mostly) stuck to it. But then they let us out of lockdown and I sort of just bolted! I found all the trails close to home on the Wild Things website and it ballooned out of control quite quickly. I was like “how many trails can I tick off?” I live in Christchurch with the Port Hills on my doorstep - so it turns out there’s a lot!

I found another training plan online and decided to train for the Motatapu Marathon. Unfortunately it was cancelled because of Covid, so I ran a 42km loop around Lyttleton Harbour. I just thought “I wonder if I can”. And I could, although it was a bit of a sufferfest. (I also had to because it was the only way to get back to the car!). 

Why did I run? I think I just really enjoyed the freedom of being out of the house and in nature. I don't know, it's quite relaxing... as much as it can hurt at times. And I think for me, those mental health benefits you get from being outside, moving and having time to think were really important. And I love a challenge - I'm very badge orientated. If there's a way of gamifying something, you've got me! And ticking off as many trails as I could had me hooked.

I’d listen to podcasts on my runs and there was an episode on Dirt Church Radio that stuck with me. Madeleine Collins from Auckland had done a challenge during lockdown where she ran an 8km loop in January... and then she ran it twice in February, three times in March, four times in April, continuing on like that for a whole year, finally running twelve loops in December. That challenge really appealed to me; that kind of incremental, increasing suffering, a ‘I don't know if this thing is possible’ kind of thing. I didn’t jump on it right away, but doing something similar was always in the back of my mind.

Then my Aunt Joan passed away from younger onset dementia a couple of years ago. Dementia Canterbury, a support network for patients and their families, had been a really useful resource for her and her family, and so I decided to try and raise some money for them in memory of my Aunt, to give back for all that they did. My Uncle Pete had ridden the length of New Zealand as a fundraiser and I still had this Madeleine Collins idea mulling around in my head. So I decided it was an opportunity to amalgamate these two ideas; raise some cash for Dementia Canterbury, and set myself a fun challenge... well, type two fun.

For my “Adventure for Dementia”, I settled on a 5km loop in the Port Hills, known as the “Pipeline of Pain”. It just sounds so appealing, doesn’t it. It has 490 metres of climbing over that 5km. The plan was I’d run one loop in January, two in February, three times in March, all the way through to December. The final run in December was 62 kilometres with 5,780 metres elevation. Okay it’s not really a run, it was basically straight up the gas pipeline, then it was too steep to run down the other side really, and then it was into another steep up and down. December's 12 loops took me 18 hours to complete. 

I was so fortunate to have a whole lot of community support around me for this. I did the single January lap by myself because I hadn't told anyone what or why I was doing it, and I didn't know yet if it was even possible. But people slowly found out and basically every lap thereafter people would join me. One guy Ken, who at the time I didn't really know, joined me in May and he did all five laps with me. Then he came back for June, July, August, right through to December. I did 78 laps in total and Ken did 68. We're quite good mates now, after spending a lot of time and suffering together. Heaps of other people that I'd never met before joined in for laps too. Some people got wind of it and drove from miles away to be a part of it. Some people just wanted to come and challenge themselves on the Pipeline track, and some came because they had a dementia connection.

I/We raised $13,000 for Dementia Canterbury - very stoked!! That was nine months ago now. I still like running, but I didn't run for some months afterwards. I was a tad broken, but I learnt that it's possible... that it's absolutely possible... you just have to be stubborn, keep moving.... and remember to eat!

I do want to know what more I am capable of. I don't feel like I’ve hit the limit yet, maybe because I haven't failed. I feel like there's more. I've got a miler on my list, another Backyard Ultra maybe. 

My advice, just go and do it I reckon. If you don't get out there and give it a go you'll never know what's possible!"Amy @amy_goes_adventuring (Christchurch) Photo taken in Te Anau– Portraits of Runners + their stories @RunnersNZ

[mediamonarchy]

https://mediamonarchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/20240904_MorningMonarchy.mp3 Download MP3 Remembering chemtrails, dining alone and refusing chemo + this day in history w/pulling guns on Popeye’s employees and our song of the day by Jesse Welles on your #MorningMonarchy for September 4, 2024. Notes/Links: Nuclear Fusion, a Perpetually Distant Dream, Moves Closer to Reality; ‘Fusion is the most technologically challenging approach to making energy that mankind has ever attempted,’ physicist Robert Fedosejevs says. https://archive.is/2TK7L FactCheck Posts: Misleading ‘Chemtrail Kelli’ Ad (Aug. 28, 2017) https://www.factcheck.org/2017/08/misleading-chemtrail-kelli-ad/ Video: Chemtrail Kelli AZ Ad (Audio) https://mediamonarchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/chemtrail_kelli_az.mp4 Town Meeting – “Dirty Ol’ Demons” (Audio) https://search.brave.com/search?q=Town+Meeting+band&source=desktop&summary=1&summary_og=a76103dbbfd7986deef3b1 // https://open.spotify.com/track/7yr0WvSuqkb47qNTSKb821 New Seasons workers begin 1-day strike; 10 of the 11 New Seasons locations in Portland joined the strike https://www.koin.com/news/portland/news-seasons-workers-begin-1-day-strike/ Video: New Seasons Portland workers stage 1-day strike (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k84k4-7PmTU Mexico’s planned GM corn ban ‘deep concern’ for US (Nov. 29, 2022) https://www.bbc.com/news/world-latin-america-63793651 Mexican government to drop planned import ban on genetically modified US corn (Jul. 1, 2024) https://finance.yahoo.com/news/borderlands-mexico-mexican-government-drop-191219413.html ‘Lunch shaming is bullying’: Survey says 1 in 4 students face food-based shaming at school https://www.toronto.com/news/lunch-shaming-is-bullying-survey-says-1-in-4-students-face-food-based-shaming-at/article_cc93561d-2617-5052-891d-48d799cbf71a.html More people than ever are eating alone at restaurants https://archive.is/f9Zqg Video: Why eating alone at restaurants is becoming more acceptable (Apr. 30, 2017 // Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R41-Mw0HbNc Tiffany Williams & Dalton Wills – “Worst Of Both Worlds” (Audio) https://americanahighways.org/2024/07/31/review-tiffany-williams-dalton-mills-wasted-luck/ // https://open.spotify.com/track/5Y1u5J1j8t5eRBayiVD9iQ Pandemic babies starting school now: “We need speech therapists five days a week” https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c39kry9j3rno Elle Macpherson says she was diagnosed with breast cancer 7 years ago and refused chemotherapy; “I chose an holistic approach,” the 60-year-old Australian wrote in an upcoming book. “Saying no to standard medical solutions was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/elle-macpherson-was-diagnosed-breast-cancer-7-years-ago-refused-chemot-rcna169321 Video: Elle Macpherson Reveals Secret Breast Cancer Battle and Why She Refused Chemotherapy | E! News (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXX0yTdC6rg #PumpUpThaVolume/#TruthMusic: Van Morrison – “They Control The Media” (Audio) https://www.discogs.com/release/18615934-Van-Morrison-Latest-Record-Project-Volume-1 // https://youtu.be/J3Zg023J-ok September 2014 – Page 3 – Media Monarchy https://mediamonarchy.com/2014/9/page/3/ Flashback: Interview w/ Joan Rivers – June 27, 2014 (Sep. 4, 2014) https://mediamonarchy.com/joan-rivers/ September 2014 – Page 2 – Media Monarchy https://mediamonarchy.com/2014/9/page/2/ Flashback: Cyberthefts hit record ¥1.85 billion in Japan (Sep. 4, 2014) https://mediamonarchy.com/cyberthefts-hit-record-185-billion-in/ Flashback: #NewWorldNextWeek: Episode202 – Missing Planes, iCloud Hacks, @SuspiciousMemes (Sep. 4, 2014) https://mediamonarchy.com/nwnw202/ #MorningMonarchy: September 4, 2018 – In an anti-Trump fit, American liberals shamelessly embrace ‘deep-state’ criminals as McCain’s funeral was a disgusting exercise in historical revisionism https://mediamonarchy.com/20180904morningmonarchy/ #PumpUpThaVolume: September 4, 2018 ♬ Twenty One Pilots & S...

[booksandboba]

TBR 2024

My goal for my GoodReads 2024 Reading Challenge is a lofty 200 books because I'm hoping to tackle my massive To Be Read pile this year. With the vision and concentration issues caused by my chronic condition, it's much harder to focus on reading a solid book, and so frequently default to light novels, webcomics, and manga nowadays. But... I'm still forever buying books that look great even if they just sit on my shelves in vain. I know that May is already almost over, but I'm hoping that by doing the note-taking method of summarizing each chapter as I go, it will help with the memory and focus issues and I can crack open some of these bad boys!

*Just a note to specify because I'm not sure it's the same for others, but my TBR is my list of books I already own but haven't read; books that I want to read and don't have yet, including new releases go on my Wishlist. :)

Strike the Zither (Joan He)

We Have Always Lived in the Castle (Shirley Jackson, Jonathan Lethem)

Soul Mountain (Gao Xingjian, Mabel Lee)

The Art of Prophecy (Wesley Chu)

The Ranger of Marzanna (Jon Skovron)

Blood Heir (Amélie Wen Zhao)

Six of Crows (Leigh Bardugo)

A Magic Steeped in Poison (Judy I. Lin)

A Venom Dark and Sweet (Judy I. Lin)

The Burning God (R.F. Kung)

The Wicked King (Holly Black)

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter (Brandon Sanderson, Aliya Chen)

Descendant of the Crane (Joan He)

Vampire Weekend (Mike Chen)

Winter (Marissa Meyer)

Cress (Marissa Meyer)

A Bright Heart (Kate Chenli)

The Grace of Kings (Ken Liu)

The Spear Cuts Through Water (Simon Jimenez)

Pachinko (Min Jin Lee)

The Priory of the Orange Tree (Samantha Shannon)

Peony in Love (Lisa See)

Station Eleven (Emily St. John Mandel)

A River Enchanted (Rebecca Ross)

Lonely Castle in the Mirror (Mizuki Tsujimura)

It Didn't Start With You (Mark Wolynn)

The Night Ends With Fire (K.X. Song)

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods (Molly X. Chang)

[boyakishantriobeta]

Did a thing.

I don't really know when, how or why. But I guess that's love for you.

My name's Joan. I'm. Well, I'm a lot of things. And for one, I'm married.

Shocking, right? But I guess it's smarter to start from the beginning.

And now you've clicked read later, congrats. You're now too far in to not read the next parts.

So, I'll occasionally write this stuff up. No idea why, just kinda felt like it. I'll tell you my story, and then. Well, I guess we'll have a good day or something. Anywho, enjoy the first part.

Snapping the man's neck, kicking the body into the river. Lighting her cigarette, the dark haired woman looking down at the bubbling spot of the ocean.

"... But much. Innit?"

Dark skinned, hands in pockets. Tail clacking against the ground. I looked to my aunt. Taking a deep sigh.

"Considering you told me to do this. No."

A sneer showed on her face. Predatory. As we were.

"Atta girl."

Patting her back, chatting kindly as she lead her into the car.

"right. Next stop. There's a thing for a few years. Good chance to train up your magical power-"

"don't need it."

Looking at from her aunt, a soft scowl as she closed the door. Dropping the accent as she remarked.

"Prideful as your old man."

"... Pardon moi cher?"

"... Nothing. The second part, there's this girl."

Dragging bags behind her, three bags. One big one with wheels, a medium sized one she carried on top of the big one. And a small one she carried in her hand. An old chest on her back as she walked forward.

Quaint.

The only real remark. Large, expansive. A series of buildings where the new treaty made the place become significantly less demon deadly.

"... I was, sixteen by then. Around yer age actually."

Recalling, hungover on a crate of what I'd been told to be explosive shells.

"... Uh huh."

I'd been thrown into the Hysteria house. Red, draped with demonic imagery. Historically full of skanks, sluts, whores, bastards and a list of other people who had lower than average grades despite the poor education or social status. Something nobody tried to pretend wasn't a house to throw people into to say "those people."

Because it was notorious for getting the last bit of funding. And the last bit of everything. And while students may have high grades. Hysteria kids tended to be on the dark side, where their intelligence was leveraged into pushing this war.

If it weren't for people in the dark growing tired of war, the light would have been sniffed out years ago if they didn't live with the almighty fucker.

First session was a test. Magical prowess, abilities. Skill. Originally the entrance test, and now disguised as a challenge.

The new girl crossed her arms. Scowling.

A week late, scars wrapping her body. The Hysteria house seemed to be leaving her alone. Friendly with them all, but not close to any of them. It was a strange dynamic, but nothing unfamiliar.

Blondie was staring at me, chatting with some of the others. There were a few. Tiana, Levi, Jack, Mandala, Opa, Wester.

Top of the class, they'd all been here for a week. I'd arrived along with the others, it'd appear they'd been discriminated since arriving here.

The girl looked back at her. Red frizzy locks holding gaze, one arm on her hip, with royal blue eyes. Sword at her waist. She looked more like a noble than some demon girl.

Liam whistled, looking up and down the stranger as her gaze shifted to him. Nose wrinkling. Eyebrows pushing her eyes scrunched as she made a disgusted face. Smiling, throwing a flirty wink. I couldn't help but look away.

And the blonde dude started walking towards me. Great.

"Hello darling-"

"I don't speak dork."

Looking towards the door, the girl behind her throwing a look at the man as he paused. Coughed. Then continued.

"as I was saying, I saw you-"

"I wasn't looking at an ugly pig, thank you very much."

Still not looking at him, one hand gripping the hilt as I took in a deep breath.

A grin appeared on his face, a sneering smile, pleasant as he gripped her shoulder.

"I don't... Think you understand?"

One hand gripping his wrist, the other holding a knife as she looked at him. Taking a deep sigh as she looked into his eyes.

"I'd hoped to last a month without needing to gut a pig. Promised my aunt I'd try to. Shame."

"your... Your hand..."

Smoking. Burning. Fizzing at touching someone so cleanly within the light. But it wasn't an instant burn, he was tainted. Looking to the girl. A curious look as she shook her head disappointingly.

"... Aye. Well..."

I followed her gaze. The woman muttering, swallowing her spit before eyes stared straight ahead.

"I'd rather not disappoint a lady, than a pig."

Shoving him back, hissing as her arm exploded into flames. Acid curling up her arm, countered by her mana as she spat out blood. Taking several breaths. Before spitting out blood coated snot. Helping herself up as a large man looked over the scene.

Silent, ignoring the manchild as he complained to him. Arms crossed, rolling his eyes. Halo on his head as a brown haired woman walked in.

Similarly pale hair. Facial features with green eyes, flipping through several papers. Wearing a simple casual suit, open bra and commoner's pants. Patting the redhead as she walked in, snapping her fingers.

The girl grabbed at her hand, scowling at her as she pulled open a seat.

"Welcome to the entrance-... Sorry. First testing ground. You are to first. Set up your target, then show me what you've got."

Pulling out a clipboard, feather and ink all of which floated from the man as blondie turned to the black man.

"... I was going to speak about about this sort of man leading the exam-"

"sorry I'm late Jean, couldn't find- did you just say- is it because he's black?"

Grinning, turning to an innocent frown. Joshua looking towards the lot of them, the students looking in mild shock as the large man greets him.

"Ah, Joshie. Good to see ya, eyyyy."

Sharing a handshake, patting his back.

"You owe me lunch."

Stepping out, the man clasped his hands.

"righto, Jean, what's I miss?"