#plywood free advertisement

[woodindustries]

Plywood Marketing Agency

Boost your ply, laminate & wood industries brand's marketing strategy with our expert agency. Promote growth, raise awareness, and successfully connect with your target market.

IBAIS MEDIA is the top plywood marketing agency that can assist you in growing your business across India.

Ibais Media's wooden platform is a valuable resource for the Ply, laminate & wood industries.

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[rederiswrites]

You can train your tastes. You can choose what you see beauty in.

Lemme go further, actually. You are constantly doing so--or letting others do it for you.

Nearly two decades ago, when we were planning our wedding, I made a very firm decision not to look at any wedding planning magazines or anything with marketing material for wedding products. I wanted our wedding to be uniquely us, and I also wanted not to be bombarded by product advertisement and beautiful photo shoots of very expensive weddings. Consequently, maybe we wasted a little bit of time reinventing the wheel, but we had a wedding we were very happy with that only cost perhaps four thousand dollars at most, probably not that much, spread out over our finances and those of both our families. Our guests went home with live potted plants that we'd paid pennies for at end of season, our florist had a great time getting to design a bouquet that tested her skills because I didn't have any preconceived ideas, my dress was utterly unique--and I really do feel that those magazines would have had a corrosive effect on all that.

When we moved to this property three years ago, I spent a LOT of time looking at images online, trying to form a coherent vision for a property that was at the time a fairly blank slate. I found myself scrolling through a lot of Russian dacha Instagrams, of all things, and they unlocked something for me. Seeing the same homey make-do decorations and techniques I grew up around a continent away, the same plywood cutout old ladies and tractor tire flower planters, somehow chewed through that last binding cord of classism, and suddenly I saw the art in it. The expression of a desire to embellish and beautify, even when you have very little, even when all you can afford is things the more well-to-do consider trash. I saw the exuberance of human love for beauty in a brilliant flower bed planted next to a collapsing shed--it didn't need to be perfect to be worthwhile. They didn't wait til everything was pristine to start enjoying things. And now I earnestly and unironically covet my own version of the tractor-tire Christmas tree at the farm down the road.

We've spent centuries now idolizing the manicured estates and quaint country retreats of the European wealthy elites. We've turned thousands of miles of living ecosystem into grass deserts in service of this vision. We need to start deliberately retraining our tastes. Seek out images of a different idea of beauty and peace. I'm not telling you what it'll be. I'm telling you this is not involuntary. You can participate. You can look at the many beautiful examples of native xeriscaping for arid climates, or photos of chaotic tangles of wildflowers, tamed by narrow paths, a bench under an arbor overwhelmed with wisteria. Maybe instead of trying to get lawn to grown under your mature trees, you'd actually get far more joy out of a patch of dirt. A hammock. A firepit ringed with log sections for seats.

You can free yourself from harmful conventions of taste and beauty, and you do it through imagining something better.

[brownhairedbookworm]

Examine! free pillows

A weirdly suspicious pile of pillows that are sitting on the sidewalk, complete with a plywood and spraypaint advertisement of their nature.

[preciserestumping]

Cost of Levelling Floor

When a floor has dips and rises, it can be problematic. Not only does it look sloppy, but it can cause problems with the subfloor and the flooring. A shaky floor can be dangerous for those with mobility issues or who are carrying heavy items. Fortunately, there are many ways to level a floor. The cheapest way is to use self-leveling cement. Self-levelling compounds are polymer-modified cement solutions with what is known as “high flow characteristics.” This allows the compound to spread and fill the low areas of a floor.

When used correctly, self-levelling cement can be an excellent base for new flooring. It can also be used on wood floors that are not in good shape but that you want to keep. It is best to install a new floor covering, like a laminate or hardwood, over the self-levelling cement.

Before beginning the process of leveling a floor, it is important to assess the condition of the concrete slab or subfloor. Look for any significant damage or signs of rot or termite infestation. It is also a good idea to remove any existing flooring materials, as this can save time and money. Once you have assessed the condition of the floor, the next step is to identify high and low points using a carpenter’s level and a straight edge. This can help you locate any areas that need to be leveled and mark them with chalk lines.

If the reason for your uneven floor is due to a rotting support beam, this may need to be replaced or shimmed. Shimming is a process in which thin wedge-shaped pieces of plywood are attached to the floor joists to make them even. It is a messy process, but it can be an effective solution.

It is a good idea to consult with a professional contractor before beginning the process of cost of levelling floor. They can recommend the best solutions for your home and give you an estimate of how much the project will cost. The costs of levelling a floor are often less than half of what it would cost to replace the floor completely.

If you decide to do it yourself, be sure to follow the directions and safety precautions on the package of the self-levelling cement. In addition, be sure to clean the floor thoroughly before starting. The floor must be free of any dirt, dust, and debris to ensure that the compound will work properly. It is also a good idea to purchase the proper tools and accessories before beginning. This will make the process go much more smoothly and allow you to achieve a better result. You can find a wide variety of floor-leveling products at your local home improvement store. There are also several online retailers that offer these products. A reputable company will sell quality products that are guaranteed to work as advertised. They will also provide customer service and technical support if you have any questions about the product you are purchasing.

Precise Restumping & Underpinning successfully maintains a reputation for delivering quality, reliable and sound services to clients all over New South Wales, with a licensed builder that personally oversee all work.

[forever-powertools]

Circular saws aren't just woodcutting tools. When fitted with the proper blade, the saw can also saw through various types of metal, and through masonry such as brick, stone and concrete.

Find the Proper Saw Position

There's no hard-and-fast rule regarding which direction to make the cut, but whenever possible position the saw with its motor facing toward the larger section of board that isn't falling away when cut. That way, the saw's base plate, or shoe, will be fully supported throughout the cut and you won't have to hold up the weight of the saw as the severed piece drops away. Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

Make Easy, Accurate Crosscuts

Making perfectly square crosscuts with a circular saw is easy, if you guide the saw with a layout square (a framing square or Speed Square will work). Hold the saw in place with its blade right on the cut line. Then slide the square against the saw's base plate, and press it tightly against the edge of the board. Check to be sure the blade isn't contacting the board, then squeeze the trigger and allow the saw to reach full speed. Now simply guide the saw along the square to produce a clean, square cut.

Prevent Binding

When cutting sheets of plywood or paneling, it's important to provide the proper support to eliminate dangerous kickback, which can occur if the blade gets pinched in the cut. Place four long 2 x 4s underneath the sheet you're cutting, spacing one 2 x 4 close to each side of the cut line. Then, when you make the cut, both halves of the plywood will be fully supported by two 2 x 4s throughout the cut. When cutting lumber on sawhorses, plan the cut outside the sawhorse pair (not between them). Allow the shorter piece to fall away, while the longer piece stays supported on the horses. Cutting between the horses causes lumber to pinch the blade as it falls through.

Make Precise Rips

A rip cut is simply a cut that runs parallel with the grain of the wood, as opposed to a crosscut, which goes across the wood grain. Most circular saws come with a metal rip guide that attaches to the saw's base plate. This type of guide works, but it's limited to rips of only about 6 in. wide. A better option is to clamp an 8-ft-long board in place for use as a straightedge guide. You could make the guide from a perfectly straight 1 x 8 or 1 x 10, but I prefer a 10- to 12-in.-wide wide rip of 1/2-in. birch plywood. The factory edge of the plywood is always smooth and perfectly straight, making it an ideal saw guide. Mark the cut line on the piece you're ripping, then measure the distance from the saw blade to the edge of the saw's base plate, which, let's say, is 3-1/2 in. Now measure over from the cut line 3-1/2 in. and clamp or screw the straightedge guide in place. As you make the cut, keep the saw's base plate pressed against the straightedge guide. Here are our illustrated instructions on making a similar circular saw guide.

Avoid Wood Splintering

A spinning circular saw blade enters the bottom of the board and exits through the top, and as a result, splintering often occurs on the top surface. Now that's not a concern when cutting wall studs or floor joists, but it is when sawing expensive hardwoods or hardwood-veneer plywood. Here's the solution: Place the board or panel with its best surface facing down. That way, any splintering will occur on the top or back side. When trimming doors down to size, you want to eliminate splintering from both sides. Here's how: Again place the best side face down, meaning the side of the door that will be most visible once it's hung. Then score along the edge of the cut line with a sharp utility knife. Now when you make the cut, the wood fibers will break off cleanly at the scored line, leaving a smooth, splinter-free cut. I recently put this advice into practice when explaining how to build a classic wooden storage bench.

Stack, Clamp and Cut

When you need to cut more than one piece of plywood to the same size, try a technique know as gang cutting. Stack four or five sheets on top of each other, making sure the edges are perfectly aligned. Clamp the pieces, then adjust the saw blade to its maximum depth of cut, and saw through all the sheets at the same time.

Safe Bevel Cutting

All circular saws can be adjusted to make angled bevel cuts up to at least 45 degrees. However, when the base plate is tilted all the way over, the lower blade guard has a tendency to catch on the edge of the board. If this happens, don't force the saw. Instead, release the trigger, raise the blade guard by hand, and then make the cut. Once the blade has cut an inch or so into the wood, you can release the guard.

Gravity-Fed Sawing

At some point, you may need to make a long, straight, vertical cut into a wall, and the circular saw is right the tool to use. Just remember to start the saw at the top of the wall and cut down. That way, gravity will be working in your favor; simply allow the weight of the saw to advance the blade through the cut.

https://www.foreverpowertools.com

[igoldenlaser]

4 X 8 Linear Atc CNC Router with Automatic Tool Changer

This is the 2022 latest linear ATC CNC router machine, this machine has CNC router tool changer, so its tool change time is very short, which can save a lot of tool change time and improve machine processing efficiency.  It has built-in eject pins and a controllable dust cover with built-in machine lubrication system for accurate material loading every time.  So this machine can process wood, MDF, particleboard, plywood, OSB, melamine board, etc.  It is widely used in cabinet manufacturing industry.  It can also process acrylic, plastic, soft metals and many other different materials.

4x8 cnc router with vacuum table

CNC linear cutting machines is used for decorations, musical instruments, wood crafts, wood furniture, wood door making, cabinet making, windows, and tables. Now the best linear ATC wood CNC machine for sale at affordable price.

The ATC CNC router machine is equipped with a 9.0kw air-cooled spindle, and two tool change methods are available: linear tool change and disc tool change. Usually used in conjunction with labelling machines and automatic loading and unloading platforms.

This 4x8 CNC machine has a rotary device equipped on the one side of working table. When users need to process cylindrical materials, they can clamp the cylindrical piece onto the rotary device. Then rotary device rotates and at the same time the spindle engraves on the surface of the work piece. This machine with rotary device is suitable to process cylindrical materials. Users can design and make beautiful cylindrical sculpture crafts with it.

This is the professional linear ATC CNC router, this ATC CNC router with tool changer, so this machine has very high machining speed and cutting precision, and this 4x8 CNC router is equipped with a 9KW(12HP) air-cooled spindle and a 12 High-speed tool changers, these can be used to perform complex and diverse machining tasks. If you would like to own a linear ATC CNC router, then please contact us.

Hot applications of Industrial CNC Router With Auto Tool Changer:

>Wooden furniture industry: solid wood and composite doors, cabinet doors, sliding doors, paint-free doors, lacquered doors, soft-packed doors, flat panel carving, solid wood carving, panel furniture processing, antique mahogany furniture processing, solid wood mural carving and other industries;

>Wooden crafts industry: clock and watch frames, craft photo frames, calligraphic cards, electrical counter-tops, sporting equipment, thin aluminum plate engraving and carving;

>Advertising industry: acrylic, PVC, MDF, artificial stone, plexiglass, plastic, copper, aluminum and other soft metal plates.

[htpowlaserenraver]

Brand New Sculpfun S9 Laser Engraver Review

The Sculpfun S9 is a high-end machine that outperforms its predecessors, the Sculpfun S6 and Sculpfun S6 Pro, as well as competitors like the Atomstack A5 Pro.

Like the Sculpfun S6 Pro, the S9 Laser Engraver comes with a manual of good, easy to understand assembly instructions. The mechanical part is almost the same as the S6 series. All necessary tools are included. Screws and parts are packed in separate bags and labeled accordingly according to the necessary steps in the assembly manual. The machine can be assembled in less than 30 minutes.

The Sculpfun S9 Laser Engraver features a laser diode that puts out about 5.5W of optical power - just like the S6 Pro. But the laser head itself is much larger, and has some clever optics inside that allow the beam to be focused for a greater distance and have a higher optical density, allowing you to cut thicker materials with more efficient power. The advertised maximum cutting depth is 15mm. We will test this. The Sculpfun S9 is advertised as 90W CO2 laser equivalent power. A laser diode is a fixed focus diode, which is pretty awesome.

The focusing process is the same as the sculptfun S6 Pro and S6 30W we tested earlier. For best cutting results, the cutting head needs to be 20 mm above the engraving surface. This is achieved by focusing on the aluminum blocks. The head is then focused with the reticle positioned approximately 3 mm above the surface. But the good thing is that you can easily remove the shade if needed. This will come in handy when carving odd objects like spoons, axes, and other irregularly shaped objects. The laser head is tightened by a thumb screw, making the focusing process quick and easy.

For cutting thicker materials, it is recommended to remove the acrylic protective cover and focus the laser head a few millimeters lower than the standard. In this way, the cutting performance will be much better.

Cutting and engraving different materials Engraving: wood, leather, cotton (clothes), rubber, paper, fruit, foam, acrylic, black anodized aluminum, black metal, stainless steel...

The Sculpfun S9 is a powerful knife.

Cutting: wood, paper, tape, fabric, acrylic, cardboard, fabric, bamboo, plastic board, KT board...

With this machine, you can cut paper, tape, and thinner cardboard in one pass, and cut wood multiple times. The machine can cut acrylic and wood, especially poplar plywood, which is soft and is the wood of choice for all laser cutters.

We have tested the machine with engraving and cutting different materials. You will find our test results in the following chapters.

Software and Supported Formats You can use the Sculpfun laser engraver with the free LaserGRBL software, which works fine but is a bit clumsy to use. It's great for some tests, but I chose Lightburn, which is more powerful and intuitive to use. While it's not free, the license costs $60. However, the software offers a 1-month fully functional free trial, which will help you decide if it's worth it. For me, it's definitely worth it because it saves a lot of time (it's not free).

With LaserGRBL you can import vector files (NC, BMP, JPG, PNG, DXF...) and bitmap image files (bmp, jpg, png and gif),

Lightburn supports even more formats: AI, SVG, DXF, PDF, HPGL, PLT, and RD for vector formats, PNG, JPEG, BMP, TIFF, TGA, and GIF for image formats.

The vector format is the preferred format for these machines because it contains the path around the edge of the shape that the laser head traces. Engraving vector files is faster because the laser cuts directly on the path instead of scanning and dotting the bitmap image (photo) as a printer does.

You can get millions of free vector designs on the Internet, or you can use a free vector drawing program like Inkscape or QCAD (for more technical drawings) You can also import tons of vector designs and images from free vector sites, or you can buy beautiful laser designs on sites like Etsy. This really expands your capabilities.

wood carving Our standard engraving patterns are designed to demonstrate the engraving capabilities at different settings, so you can see the effect of the laser beam.

What's immediately apparent is that the Sculpfun S9's engravings are sharper and more contrasty than other machines we've tested before. Also, the wood surface is basically free of smoke stains. That's very impressive!

The power scale test pattern shows how the machine carves at different power levels at different speeds.

Power is varied from 10% to 100% in 10% increments at speeds of 600, 1200, 1800 and 2400 mm/min. We omitted doing the low speed/high power shape with the Atomstack A5 20W because the beam burns too much at low speed. This left a large charred blob that provided no useful information.

At first glance, the Sculpfun S9 has significantly higher power output than the Sculpfun S6 Pro. We'll see if this is true in a later test.

The interval scale test here is used to show whether the laser focus shape is square or rectangular. The scanning interval gradually increases from 0.1mm to 0.5mm.

In this test, the Sculpfun S9 showed that the shape of the beam was very close to rectangular, as the vertical and horizontal sculpting was well balanced.

We will be able to estimate the exact spot shape later when we test the engraving on the anodized aluminum.

This is a test of engraving a small photo of 20mm size while varying the maximum laser power. Engraving photos is very slow because the laser head has to scan line by line like an inkjet printer. If you want to engrave a very large photo, be prepared to wait for hours :)

As we'll see below, the Sculpfun S9 is by far the best engraver for engraving photos. Photos look very sharp, with high detail and contrast.

[xiaoxiao59]

China Co2 Laser Machine manufacturers

China Co2 Laser Machine manufacturers High steady Cnc Metal Pipe Tube Fiber Laser Cutting Machine Price fiber laser cutting machine 1000w price Product Description Fiber laser cutting machine with tube cutting JNChangtai fiber laser cutting machine model TPF -1530 - S use the world top brand parts,Raytools fiber laser head ,the laser head can automatically focus, and imported Japan FUJI servo motors and drives, high precision, high speed, large torque, performance is stable and durable, ensure the high speed operation of the whole machine.Chinese top brand fiber laser source RAYCUS, high power,high precision. Top brand control system : Cypcut control system, with automatic layout optimization. 1. Application of gantry structure and integrated cast cross-girder to achieve higher rigidity, stability, shock resistance. 2. High-performance oring possible during the laser cutting process. Technical parameters Equipment modelTPF-1530-SLaser typefiber-optic laserLaser working mediumoptical fiberLaser wavelength1060-1080 nmRECOMMEND POWER1000W, 1500W, 2000W, 3000W, 400W,5000W, 6000W, 12000W Beam quality<0.373mradX-axis distance1500mmY-axis distance3000mmZ axis distance120mmEffective cutting range3000*1500mmPositioning accuracy鈮ぢ?.02mm/mRepeat positioning accuracy鈮ぢ?.02mm/mMax. Moving speed120m/minSupport graphic formatPLT,AI,BMP,DST,DXF format (support for CORELDRAW, AI,PHOTOSHOP, AUTOCAD)Power Supply3P, AC 380V/50Hz/16A Main parts Applications Applicable and samples 1.Application Materials: Fiber Laser Cutting Equipment is suitable for metal cutting with Stainless Steel Sheet, Mild Steel Plate, Carbon Steel Sheet, Alloy Steel Plate, Spring Steel Sheet, Iron Plate, Galvanized Iron, Galvanized Sheet, Aluminum Plate, Copper Sheet, Brass Sheet, Bronze Plate, Gold Plate, Silver Plate, Titanium Plate, Metal Sheet, Metal Plate, Tubes and Pipes, etc 2.Application Industries: BODOR Fiber Laser Cutting Machines are widely used in manufacturing Billboard, Advertising, Signs, Signage, Metal Letters, LED Letters, Kitchen Ware, Advertising Letters,Sheet Metal Processing, Metals Components and Parts, Ironware, Chassis, Racks & Cabinets Processing, Metal Crafts, Metal Art Ware, Elevator Panel Cutting, Hardware, Auto Parts, GlassesFrame, Electronic Parts, Nameplates, etc. Packaging & Shipping Packaging and shipping 1)Packaging: Whole film packaging machine; anti-collision package edge; fumigation-free plywood wooden box and pallets with iron binding belt. 2)Shipping: We cooperate with SINOTRANS company whose experience in the ocean transportation will guarantee your machine safety. We also provide train transport, especially to Russia, Ukraine and other inland countries. 3)Payment: We support T/T, VISA, Mastercard payment terms with Alibaba Trade Assurance. Company Information Factory show Contact Please contact Lisa Whatsapp/Wechat/Phone : +86 158 3005 9372 customers visit China Co2 Laser Machine manufacturers website:http://www.changtaicnclaser.com/co2-laser-machine/

[gender-trash]

the post about fast fashion/sewing one’s own clothes blew up again… honestly the more i think about it the angrier i am about it. with both clothing and furniture we sort of live in a world where the market is being overtaken by disposable items made with cheap materials at the lowest possible labor cost. and like, not to diss ikea or anything — god knows they’ve supplied me with enough cheap bookshelves — but this is exactly why i ended up building my own desk.

my dad tells stories about his mom, who was very talented at sewing — it wasn’t her “day job” but in that part of rural iowa in the 60s she was the person you called if, say, you needed a wedding dress on next to no notice. (i’m also told she was excellent at baking pies, but that’s beside the point.) at that time and place, it was legitimately *cheaper* to make your own clothes than to buy them from the store. they would be made of much the same materials, except that you would substitute your own labor for that of whoever assembled the storebought garment.

today, the fabric to make a shirt will almost certainly cost you more than an equivalent department store shirt would. to say nothing of the cost of your time and labor. part of this is that people who sew their own clothes generally don’t want to waste their time on shit fabric, so fabric stores don’t sell quite the same grade of shreddable polyester. part of this is that our modern globalized supply chain has minimized both labor and materials costs as hard as it can, and this optimization has intertwined labor and materials sourcing a lot more than they apparently were in the 60s.

let’s turn back to the subject of furniture. the equivalent of the cheap polyester department-store shirt is the ikea desk. the desk surface is made of laminated particle-board, which is lighter and cheaper than actual wood; the desk is sold to you flat-pak, and you assemble it yourself, thus saving on labor costs. the laminate surface will probably delaminate after a few years’ use. also as with the cheap shirt, any damage is near-impossible to fix — you could sand and refinish a scuffed plywood surface, but there’s no sanding laminated particle-board. it’s also harder to modify to suit one’s needs — i can drill a neat hole for a monitor arm in my plywood desk much more easily than in a particle-board surface.

in both cases, what do you do if you want a slightly higher grade of item? well, obviously you’ll have to pay more money — but it’s difficult to be sure you’re really getting your money’s worth. you have to spend ages and ages comparison-shopping and reading reviews about how quality has really gone downhill since production moved to [new country]. often — especially with clothes — the thing that your money is actually paying for is Style, as separate from Substance. or good advertising. i’ve been halfheartedly in the market for a decent couch for some time, and i’ve noticed that nearly every apartment makeover video on youtube is sponsored by the same furniture website, which of course has provided a free couch — that the youtuber assures us is Really Good, For The Price. as soon as a manufacturer acquires a reputation for Quality, it is in their economic interest to sell out as hard and fast as they can and pocket the increased margin from selling crap at the price of quality until people notice. and in a world where most shopping has moved online, it’s difficult to tell whether you’re still in the actual-quality period. i’m not sure if there even *are* furniture stores around here at quality levels in between ikea and danish concepts (suggesting a market for a mid-tier scandinavian furniture purveyor, perhaps hailing from norway or finland).

because of the sort of person that i am, i tire rapidly of the endless comparison shopping. i don’t want to become a damn couch supply chain expert, i just want to retire the folding chair from my living room. it can’t be *that* hard to build a couch, can it? well, not if one is privileged enough to have the tools and time and space to do it in. i think most of the comments and tags on the fast fashion post are from people wishing they had one or more of the above to make their own clothes with. speaking from direct personal experience, a sewing machine is at least both cheaper and easier to find space for than a minimally equipped woodshop.

the other common piece of advice is to buy used, buy from a thrift store or an estate sale. unfortunately hunting down all your shit used also takes a lot of time and effort, and particularly in the case of furniture hauling the stuff home is a nontrivial logistical problem. again, money or more nebulous forms of privilege (the friend with the truck) are needed to smooth these roadblocks. and it’s really amazing that the solution to “i want an item that is not garbage” is “buy an item manufactured at a time when they were not yet garbage”. yes, of course, the less-durable instances won’t have survived the passage of time, but that’s only part of the effect. things genuinely used to be manufactured to a higher standard of quality. my sewing machine is from ebay; it’s the same model my *other* grandma had, a baseline singer consumer-grade machine. all its gears are metal, and it has a heavy-ass cast metal housing, too. the other household sewing machine is a modern singer consumer-grade machine and for all its fancy stitches it looks sort of like a doll’s toy — the plastic gears are going to break at some point, or the motor will burn out, and if it turns out that the motor on the modern edition is designed to be user-replaceable i will personally eat a hat. i suppose we also used to ask a lot more of our consumer-grade sewing machines, back when sewing one’s own clothes was a baseline household skill for everyone but Rich People, instead of a hobby that consumes more money than it saves you.

i don’t know if my post really has a conclusion. i’m just angry that we live in a fallen world full of miraculous technology and yet we have not solved the seemingly simple economic problem of exchanging a reasonable amount of money for a newly produced durable good that isn’t a complete piece of shit. i am a *robotics engineer*, for the love of fuck; i have a complicated, rare, well-compensated skillset. it cannot *possibly* be a comparative advantage for me to spend my time building a couch or sewing a shirt instead of paying someone to do it for me (ideally also, if i may ask for a miracle, someone who gets things like fair pay and healthcare and vacation time). why is this transaction so damn hard??

[writer-panda]

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 3/Leaps in logic (and over the edge of the rooftop)

Chapter 1  -|-  Previous -|- Next

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Adrien’s day wasn’t good at first. Okay, it was straight-up terrible. For most, their wedding is supposed to be a happy day. Or at least a reason for celebrations. Adrien? He couldn’t even hope for a cake since it would ruin his model body.

For the last several months, his father was working him into an early grave. The extra photo sessions, harder classes, new exercise regime… and Lila. The last one was terrifying. 

Adrien tried to hold onto hope that his father would in the end cancel the whole affair. That he would drop the ridiculous notion of wedding or at least push it back. The young model wasn’t sure exactly why was his father so insistent on pushing for the wedding. He repeatedly asked himself if Lila was blackmailing his father, but it was hard to think of anything that his father possibly could be blackmailed with. Adrien spent countless hours wondering if his father had some dark secret, but it didn’t fit the man. 

Did the designer have an affair with Nathalie? No… he already got angry about the suggestion once. And even if so, it wasn’t something that he would be so ashamed about. 

Was his father doing some illegal business dealings? It was somewhat possible, but what? It would need to be something big. Something extremely big. 

Thinking rationally, he had no idea what could it be…

What could be so big that it was worth more than the happiness of his only son?

--------

When one looks at all that, being kidnapped right at the altar was almost… nice. Sure, Adrien had been dragged by a sentient pile of mud into the sewers and then carried to some unknown location. Sure, his beautiful suit was ruined and all the hard work Marinette put into her work was irreversibly wasted. 

But, he was not married to Lila. 

The pile of mud dragged him deep into the sewers until they found a ladder leading up. It appeared to be grievously damaged, with several steps in the row removed. Adrien didn’t protest much when he was lifted up and into the place above. 

The place turned out to be a quite comfy flat. It was overall smaller than Adrien’s room back in Paris, but it felt more welcoming. It only had one big room, divided in half with a plywood panel. In the first ‘room’, there was a couch, a small table with three chairs, a tv on a cabinet, and two armchairs. It all appeared to be old and worn out. The second part held two beds (one without any mattress), a desk with an old computer, and a kitchen annex. It was… nice. Adrien almost liked it better than the big, sterile manor. 

The pile of mud seated him on one of the chairs before condensing into humanoid form. Slowly, his body turned human and in the end, he looked almost exactly like the wedding officiator. The man pulled his phone and sent some text before turning to Adrien. 

“Do you want something to eat?” He asked, walking over to the kitchen annex.

“Um… anything would do.” Adrien hesitantly spoke up. He was only slightly scared. Honestly, first, he is saved from the wedding and now he is given free food? Yes, purr-lease!

“Vegan or non-vegan?”

“I would kill for a fat, juicy steak…” Adrien remembered his last photo session, which was advertising the summer collection. One of the photos had him standing over the BBQ grill. The smell of the food being prepared almost made him salivate back then. 

“Ah… The actor’s diet?” His kidnapper/savior asked, giving him a knowing look at the same time.

“Yeah… I’m a model, but I heard it’s the same” Adrien corrected. 

“I’ll get you something. We need to wait anyway.” 

Adrien chose not to speak to the man while he was cooking. It was still a bit awkward. He was being kidnapped.

It didn’t matter. The meal was too good to complain. Who cares about kidnapping when one is given some meat. It was a light meal, probably not to upset his stomach, but it was still more than he hoped for that day. 

Of course, it couldn’t be that pretty.

The moment Adrien finished with the first piece of meat and was reaching for another, the doors were violently kicked and a man entered. He was dressed in a red bodysuit with silverly metallic elements. His helmet had one eye replaced with a red… monocle?

The explosion was quickly followed by a single gunshot. The moment it sounded, Clayface (because that was the name of the ‘pile of mud’) became frozen in place. Literally. He was covered head to toes in ice.

“My steak!” Adrien cried as he was being dragged away by the newcomer. 

They were already away when Clayface managed to break through the ice. He wanted to pursue them, but his phone rang suddenly, giving him a pause.

“Who is this?!” He snarled, irritated at the interruption.

“I was led to believe you have what I wanted.” The voice on the other side growled and Clayface paused. It sent shivers down his figurative spine. His employer sounded dangerous. 

“Ah… Yes… There’s been a… complication.” He stuttered, hoping it wasn’t too apparent. Whoever was on the other side made a terrifying first impression.

“What do you mean ‘complication’?” They hissed. Clayface stumbled and almost dropped the phone. He knew the employer was someone powerful, but it was a whole new level of scary. Sure, he was technically a mercenary, but until today his biggest job was some light security gig. This was supposed to be his way of reinventing himself into part of the major league. But this was being much more overwhelming. 

He quickly got to the point where his employer should’ve been somewhat satisfied and hanged up quickly. He had to get the boy before he became the target himself.

----------

Elsewhere, Adrien was starring into a pair of curious sea-green eyes.

When his new kidnapper brought him to the apartment and tied him to the chair, Adrien was still bemoaning the loss of his steak. He disliked the lack of freedom, but he was still feeling safer than with Lila and his father. Objectively looking at it, he knew it was wrong, but he preferred to be kidnapped. 

To his surprise, the kidnapped tossed him and the chair into some spare room of the flat they were in when the doorbell rang. There were also some curse words, but Adrien chose to disregard them.

It took a very energetic girl (about two years younger than him) all five minutes to figure out he was in that room. Not that the man made it particularly hard, leaving the doors half-open and all that.

She leveled her head so that they were on an equal level and stared into his face with an inquisitive glare.

“Daddy! You promised not to work on our day together!” She turned to the man and complained. “You clearly kidnapped him!”

“I’m really sorry, cupcake. I didn’t plan it. The time zone changes can really mess up with the calendar.”

“If it helps, this is better than the alternative.” Adrien smiled shyly.

“How is being tied to the chair good?”

“It’s better than being forced to get married.” The boy deadpanned.

“Fine.” She then turned to her father “But you will untie him. He can join us in our board game evening.” She declared imperatively.

“You won’t try anything, right?” The man glared at Adrien, who shrugged (as much as the binds allowed him). 

“I quite like it here. I could do with some water, but it’s really better than how the day was supposed to go.”

The man sighed and walked over to the boy. The rope fell to the floor and Adrien could move freely. Yet, he didn’t immediately move. He did try to get up, but the world swirled and blackness consumed his consciousness.

----------

When he woke up, he was once again faced with a set of sea-green eyes. The girl apparently liked to stare at faces in close quarters. Not that Adrien complained much as long as she didn’t actually touch him. He was used to the attention. 

“You must’ve been really tired. Daddy said he almost wanted to get you to a hospital.” That woke Adrien very quickly.

“No hospital!” He launched himself to sit straight up and almost crashed with the girl. Luckily, she moved out of the way. Otherwise, her father might’ve actually sent him to the hospital. Probably in pieces too. 

“Don’t worry.” Speaking of the devil, the man entered the room with a platter full of fast food and a glass of water. There was a hamburger there!

“Zoe. Please leave us alone for a moment. I need to discuss some things with Mr. Agreste.”

“Sure. But remember you promised not to hurt him. And we promised him board games.” She reminded her father before happily skipping out of the room. 

Once she was out, the man handed him the platter and Adrien practically leaped to devour the food. 

“So…” His kidnapper/temporary caretaker started awkwardly. “If it’s any help, I’m sorry for kidnapping you.” 

“Dot wowwy” Adrien dismissed him with a mouth full of burger. His father would lock him up for months if he saw him, but the boy was way past caring about it. He gulped before continuing though, as it was a shame to waste anything of the tasty goodies. “Seriously, you guys are making me a favor.” 

“Huh?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah! If not for this,” he gestured vaguely around the room, albeit it was clear he meant kidnapping, “I would’ve probably been married already.”

“Ah… And I guess the wedding wasn’t your idea.” It wasn’t a question. Deadshot (because he was the kidnapper if it wasn’t yet obvious) had some experience with runaway brides. Grooms escaping arranged marriage were rarer, but not unheard of. He used to take those tasks without remorse. At least until one time, when he tracked the bride, instead of an adult woman like usual, he found a pre-teenage girl. She couldn’t have been older than his own daughter at the time. 

Let’s just say that he failed to deliver that contract. Or any similar in the future. 

“Sir?” Adrien asked once he finished the meal.

“Yeah?”

“Could I get some more?”

“In a moment. Let what you ate settle down first.” He scolded him lightly, his parental instincts kicking in. “So, do you have any idea who might’ve wanted you kidnapped?”

“Not really… Only Marinette and Gerard cared about my opinion on this matter. And neither is the kind that would arrange a kidnapping.” He did his best not to think about his past as Chat Noir. No one but Ladybug knew, but his Lady wasn’t someone that would get involved with criminals. And even then, he doubted she could afford mercenaries. He always thought they were expensive. Could someone else figure out he used to be Chat Noir?

“Hm…” Lawton focused for a moment. “And what about The Seamstress? She is a completely new player that came out of nowhere. I suspected she might’ve had a personal connection to you. What about your father? Could someone want to get back at him? Especially someone with that name?”

“You do know what my dad does for the living?” Adrien deadpanned. 

“Yes, but did he anger someone? Enough that they would want to ruin him?” The man pressed. 

“It would be easier to list people he didn’t anger. My father is not… not the easiest to be around.” The light that was in the boy’s eyes just moments ago dimmed slightly. “Why are you asking all this?” He suddenly perked up and met the gaze of the mercenary. 

“Honestly, I really dislike the jobs involving kids. I thought that you were just another bratty teenage star that got his way with the wedding. A kid wanting to be treated like an adult. Now… now I can’t with clear conscience return you or deliver you.”

Adrien held back any witty remarks about hired gun having a conscience. “So… I’m living with you?”

“Sadly, no. I’m not around often enough and there is still a price on your head.” Lawton pulled out his phone and carefully read through something. “The more I think of it, the more it looks like you are not the most important part.”

That got Adrien’s attention. His own brain started to work overtime to get the meaning. “What?”

“The wording of the contract. ‘Grab from the wedding’, ‘possibility of further assignments’, ‘very public’… and the price is unreasonably high for such a simple task. It appears as if whoever The Seamstress is wanted a show. Like she wanted to recruit whoever brought you in. It appears as if she was setting up some sort of competition over who brings you to her.”

“But why me?” Adrien ran through ideas, but only him being Chat Noir would make sense in the long run. 

“Publicity. Your old man made sure the wedding was the event of the decade.” The merc simply shrugged. “If they wanted to announce their entrance to the big league, they would pick the biggest, most prominent target.” 

“Figured father is to blame…” Adrien grumbled before reaching into his pocket. “I… would like to call a friend of mine. To reassure her I’m safe.”

“She won’t run to the police?” Lawton was hesitant to allow it but also didn’t have the heart to tell him no. The kid was emotional wreck. And if his appetite was anything to go by, it was possible physical abuse was also there.

“Marinette wouldn’t do anything dangerous. She… I think she was trying to stop the wedding. Or delay it.”

“The girl that stood up shortly before the panic?”

“Yeah… She used… She’s a friend of mine. Probably the last true friend I have left.” 

“I see… Okay, call her. But make sure not to mention anything about me. Just in case.”

There was a moment of tense silence while Adrien waited for his friend to pick up. Finally, after the fifth signal, there was a rustle on the other side.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng speaking. Who do I have the pleasure with?” She spoke almost mechanically. To someone who never met her before, it might’ve sounded sincere. To Adrien, it sounded like she was exhausted both physically and emotionally. He almost blamed himself, but at the last second shifted it all onto Lila and his Father. 

“Marinette!? Are you okay?” He asked, wanting to make sure there was nothing truly wrong.

“Adrien!? Adrien!” She immediately seemed to cheer up. “Where are you!? Are you okay? What happened? Did they hurt you? Are you safe?” She finally paused to take a breath. 

“I’m okay, Marinette. I might’ve sorta gotten myself kidnapped,” he realized how bad that sounded as the words left his mouth, “but it’s all okay! It’s better than it was!” He rushed to reassure her, albeit his method was not a hundred percent successful. 

“Are you safe?” Was the question she repeated. It sounded almost… guilty. To Adrien’s tired brain though, such subtle details were second to the question. 

“I’m probably good. Someone put a bounty on me, but it’s all about me being alive. It’s like whoever did it accidentally saved me from the wedding.” He chuckled a bit darkly, thinking about how much of a temper tantrum Lila must’ve been throwing since his disappearance.

“Call me back later, okay?” There was a sudden urgency that Adrien did pick on. “I have something that needs to be sorted out.”

“What’s happening?”

“Just my Maman is coming. She is knocking right now.” With that, she hanged up. Adrien relaxed. There was no danger. And even if there was, it probably just ran away to hide as Sabine Cheng came to town.

“Kid, you done?” Deadshot walked back into the room with another hamburger.

“Yeah. I feel much better now. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“Don’t sweat it. Listen… I can’t just keep you, but I called some friends of mine. They’re willing to help you. Well, she is. Her girlfriend is just going with it for her sake.”

Lawton carefully studied Adrien to see his reaction to mentioning the couple, but there was no visible reaction. He just watched the hamburger with a hungry gaze. 

-------

Elsewhere, an exhausted kwami flew out of the jewel. Hawkmoth was one step from tossing the jewel at the wall. 

“I don’t understand! He should be terrified by now! He was kidnapped! They wouldn’t kill him after going so long to kidnap him!”

“Maybe your powers aren’t as good as you’ve thought?” another voice spoke from the shadows. Lex Luthor walked into the center to join Gabriel Agreste.

“They didn’t have time to move him out of the city before I started the search. Not without magic and he said there was no magical travel to or from Gotham so far.” Gabriel paced around the room. 

“While you were playing with your precious jewels, I actually used some of my contacts. It appears that someone ordered a hit on your son. They wanted him kidnapped from the wedding.”

“What?!” Gabriel paused and glared at the other man.

“While I can’t stop it or even try to outbid them, I do know of one person I can convince to take this task. And she just happened to be coming to Gotham this very moment.”

“Fine. I want my son back, or our deal is off, Luthor.” 

“Don’t worry. He will see the Light soon.”

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

today is my two month tumblrversary!

and for the surprise....

a bunch of random things i've said for memeing purposes!

"The rats do not spark joy."

"Get out of my ear, Death!"

"That doesn't even look like a teletubby! You just stabbed someone."

"Autumn is here, and I'm just like a leaf falling from a tree. Free and totally dead inside."

*Crowley voice* “DO BUTTER!!"

"I create my own foreshadowing."

"I just gotta get the knife out of it."

"The joke is that…war."

"You just gotta put an advertisement in the papers that just says, 'Have Babies'."

"Ooh, I can do french things with my voice."

"I was just being dumb on purpose because it's funny."

"Now I have David Bowie on my phone. I stole him."

"I have been listening to 'Non-stop' non-stop."

"There is no centroid, only Bill Cipher."

"Hell, I'd even make a deal with Bill Cipher to get rid of my allergies."

"Listening to the Gravity Falls theme on loop just to feel anything."

"David Bowie, what are you doing here?"

"Why is it that when he says 'cocaine hippo' nobody bats an eye but when I say it suddenly everybody's concerned?"

"I wouldn't want to be inconvenienced and break all my ribs."

"And then we all died unanimously."

"I can't believe that I made my father a piece of cake."

"I guess it's not backstabbing if you stab them in the front."

"Or should I say, 'I Ford corrected'?"

*To myself* “That's not even funny, you're just obsessed with Stanford Pines."

"Does 'comrade' have two m's like 'communism'?"

"Sell my soul to Satan? What about the corn flakes?"

"You? A person with interests outside of building things with plywood? Impossible."

“IT’S NOT DEATH, IT’S TEETH.”

"That's what you get for being a sexy pigeon."

"What came first, God or the egg?"

"These cutting boards are basically plywood."

"DAviD BoWiE??"

"I don't have a choice for the Russian voice?"

"Can I have death bread?"

“Stick a fork in me and call me a screwdriver.”

“I will Marie Kondo the rats all I like.”

"I'd call you a little cherub but you're literally the antichrist."

[arctic-hands]

I was gonna ask why it's so hard to find free plywood or board to upcycle into a book tree when I normally see free wood advertised all the time in this city

Then I remembered that businesses and richer neighborhoods are panicking right now

[ifridiot]

Honey, Don’t Feed It

Sometimes you can’t help people, even when they’re the ones you most want to.

Naia meets a young Stryfe. 

Naia is not a babysitter.

Fact of the matter is, Naia doesn’t like kids that much. Didn’t like kids when they were a kid, and now that that tenuous connection to that subset of humanity is gone, they would rather avoid them as much as possible, thank you so much for asking.

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. Naia might suck with babies (they’re too loud and the fact that they cry but can’t explain why they’re crying gives them anxiety) but once kids are old enough to communicate they can handle them pretty well for small doses. Little kids could even be endearing, once they got over their fear of Naia’s extra limbs and intimidating size. Kids usually did better than adults when it came to Spider-man rescuing them; they held on and stared in awe and then they ran back to their parents or to their siblings or to whoever came to collect them.

“I’m not a child.”

It’s teenagers Naia really can’t stand.

“Kid, you’re like twelve, hush.”

Standing between the kid and the cops, Naia has their arms spread in the traditional peacekeeping posture, one set of palms spread toward the boys in blue, one toward the telepathic kid on the edge of murdering a pair of bigots. Honestly, even if the kid wasn’t a kid, Naia knows who’s side they’d be on.

Cops are always wrong, and bigots belonged in the ground, but the issue here was more that it was seven in the morning and the kid is obviously strong enough to kill the assholes he’s got caught in some kind of telekinetic death grip but isn’t. Which means he’s not the bad guy.

Now to get the cops to put their guns down.

The crowd that has gathered around the scene is doing that collective silence thing that always makes Naia a little nervous. There are a lot of witnesses -- and potential victims, if the kid decides to go off. Judging by the fierceness on his face and the creep laying on the cement with blood trickling from his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, the kid has a lot of power. Thus far he’s managed to reel it in -- the pavement-creep is breathing like it hurts, and from what Naia has gathered, he deserves it -- but if people start shooting, Naia doesn’t think self-control is going to be the first thing on the kid’s mind.

Ugh, telepaths. Kids and telepaths. This is gonna be the death of them, this exact bullshit. Kids and telepaths, they both want to get inside your head and then get mad when your thoughts aren’t the ones they wanted to hear.

Kid, they project, trying to remember how Mom taught them to do this. Shielding and trying to hold a private conversation is difficult and weirdly exhausting. You promise not to kill anybody and I’ll get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe, help you out as best I can. But you gotta put those guys down and come with me.

They wince, almost lose their shields, at the force of emotion -- rage and contempt and a sort of pain threaded through it that Naia is pretty sure they’re not supposed to pick up on -- that is slammed back at them. They insulted me! They deserve to die!

Someone makes a helpless noise of agony, and blood starts gushing from one of the asshole’s nose. The kid has them suspended in air and, as far as Naia can tell, the two humans can’t move at all. Now one of them has a broken nose. That’s pretty fantastic control for a kid.

Dangerous, too.

Kill ‘em and the cops start shooting. You’re gonna have the whole damn city after your ass, even if you can wipe all of us out. Public enemy number one.

Why shouldn’t I? The kid’s telepathic voice is cold, dripping with condescension, but the emotions that twist through the telepathy are laced with uncertainty. The kid is lost, obviously. Naia doesn’t know the whole story, is pretty sure they don’t want to know, but they do feel a sort of vague sympathy for the kid.

Whatever pain he’s working through, being insulted by a group of anti-mutant bigots was probably the least of it. He’s a very powerful kid, but he’s just a kid, one who’s been hurt bad by someone he probably trusted.

Naia sighs.

C’mon, kid. Don’t make me side with cops.

There’s a startled sense of amusement, which is a hopeful sign. A question curls around their brain, wordless, just the impression of consideration and hesitation. It wouldn’t be bad, except Naia can feel the kid peeling at their telepathic shields. He’s damn powerful, but no one’s evidently taught him subtlety.

I am so subtle! The kid snarls, and Naia smiles under their mask. The anger fades a little, replaced by curiosity. You can get me away from here?

“The kid is gonna come with me,” Naia says out loud, keeping a steady gaze on the cops. Unsurprisingly, none of them lower their weapons, but everyone’s hesitant to shoot Spider-man after he’d saved so many people. He was a symbol, and most of the cops knew you couldn’t publicly execute a symbol without good cause. “He’s gonna drop the assholes and we’re gonna go. No shooting necessary. No one dies, you can take the creep on the ground to the hospital, it all works out.”

Put the idiots down, kid. Show of faith, c’mon.

And wonder upon wonders, the kid does. He doesn’t do it gently; he drops them like the sacks of shit they are -- it doesn’t take a telepath to find a Neo-Nazi when the jackasses love to advertise their nationalist bullshit on their clothes -- and in another miracle, the assholes stay down.

Glancing at each other, the cops finally lower their weapons, and Naia nods. “We’re gonna go. Make sure the guy bleeding all over public property gets to the hospital. Or better yet, give him a ticket for littering. Public indecency. Whatever.”

That said, Naia moves quickly to the kid’s side. One of the assholes cranes his head up to glare at them, and he growls, “Fuckin’ muties.” Naia wants to put a boot through his teeth, but before they can move, the asshole screams, blood pouring from his eyes and his nose, altogether too similar to the one unconscious over by the cops. He collapses face first back against the pavement, hopefully just passed out, and Naia feels the prickly tingle of the danger-sense just before the sound of a gun being cocked reaches them.

“Goddamnit, kid,” Naia snarls, and before he can protest, they’ve got their right two arms around him, holding him against their body as they leap up onto the roof of the nearest building. He shouts, and shoves away as soon as they’re both on their feet.

“You can’t do that,” he says sharply, hands balled into fists, glaring.

“What, prevent your dumb ass from getting shot?” Naia snaps back, and it’s gratifying to see his mouth fall open, shocked. “Kid, I had you out of there scot free, and now your fuckin’ face is gonna be up all over the city as a dangerous mutant wanted, consider him armed and dangerous. Half those people down there were filming that. Gonna be all fuckin’ over YouTube now.”

The danger sense prickles again, and they half expect the kid to lash out, but his head twists toward the roof access door, eyes still wide. Naia sighs.

“They’re coming after us. So let’s get the fuck outta here. I can stash you somewhere for a while. Couple hours, ‘til the heat dies down some and you can get out of town tonight.”

“I have business here, I can’t leave!”

Kids. Fuckin’ kids and telepaths, Naia could just about scream. “Rain check your business, dipshit! Now can you use the TK to float or do I need to carry you?”

They’d seen Cable do that a couple times, but he was supposed to be super powerful or something. And he was old, had a lot longer to practice.

Looking back at them, the kid scowls. “I do not need to be carried.”

“Then float. Let’s go.”

Really, with the kind of attitude this kid’s got, Naia half expects him to obstinately stay put, or maybe run off on his own. He seems the sort of kid to refuse help on principle, but he also has that wide-eyed touristy look, and his clipped, formal way of speaking reinforces the idea that he’s not from around here.

As if the metal chest plate and cape thing wasn’t communicating that clearly enough.

He at least stops trying to pry into Naia’s head as they lead him into Brooklyn, leaping from building to building until they get to a quiet, rundown neighborhood. Most of the windows on the building they lead the kid do have been boarded over, and the place sucks to be stuck in during winter, but on a nice September day it shouldn’t be too bad.

“This building is abandoned,” he says, sounding disdainful. “You expect me to stay here?”

They sigh, prying open the plywood-covered maintenance door and holding it for him to go in first. “I know it’s not the Ritz, kid, but I’ve got food and a place to relax instead of being hunted all over the fucking city and getting your ass handed to you by one of the masked guys who don’t have a soft spot for idiot tourist kids.”

He stares again, but only for a second, before glaring and scowling, stalking into the building with a swish of his cape. “I’m not a kid,” he grumbles, and Naia finds it really funny that he thinks that’s the part of their assessment that needs correcting. They drag the door shut and hurry to get in front of him, leading him through the abandoned building to the ground-floor apartment they’d appropriated as a safe house. It was one of the only ones that had a door in the front room that hadn’t been kicked down or taken off its hinges.

“I can’t believe you’re happy your room still has a door,” he says, still scathing in that snotty way kids who grew up with nice things had.

“You should be glad too,” Naia says cheerfully, closing the door carefully behind them. “Means no homeless people have broken in and pissed on the couch again.”

It’s not the nicest safe house they’ve had, but it’s not bad. No electricity, but the broken down couch was comfy and there had been a number of cats locked in the apartment when they’d found it. Most of them and left and never come back when they’d left the windows open for them to roam, but one big tom, old and possessed of a rusty, broken meow, had stayed.

Presently he was curled on the center seat of the couch, sleeping. The kid stood looking at the cat like he wasn’t certain if he should chase it away or leave it alone.

“Cat’s not gonna bite, just take a seat,” Naia says, amused. “Luce is nice, but he doesn’t usually like strangers much.”

This was a lie, but Naia told it to everyone they brought here because it made them happy when Luce wanted to get in their lap or purred for them. And it’s really not a surprise that he perks up when the kid sits next to him, shoved up into the corner of the couch closest to the door. He stares at the cat for a moment longer and then looks away, folding his arms across his chest.

“You said there was food.”

Naia snorts softly, moving into the kitchenette. There was a useless (and ancient) fridge, but since there was no electricity it was more a pantry than anything. Somewhere to store stuff they didn’t want Luce (or any other animal who slipped in through the cracked window) to chew into. They pry it open and take stock of what’s available. “Yeah kid, just gimme a sec. You a picky eater?”

“No,” he says, and somehow makes it sound like he’s being gracious by telling them. “And my name is Stryfe.”

“Strife?” Their eyebrows rise under the mask, leaning back from the fridge to look at him. He is staring down at the cat, who is now sniffing carefully at the edge of his cape. “Is that, like, a code name, or…?”

“It’s my name,” he says primly, head held up and jaw set. “It’s spelled with a ‘y’.”

“Ah, okay,” they say, sticking their head back in the fridge. “So your parents just hated you.”

It’s meant playfully, but they can feel the sharp way he stares at them, and it’s like all the breath in the room went out. A raw nerve, and one they just kicked hard. Fuck.

“Uh, sorry, kid, that wasn’t… That was a bad joke, I didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid starts breathing again, and Naia thinks that’s okay then. They grab a couple ramen packets and a can of chicken and step over the the counter. “So, what’re you in town for?”

His silence is telling, and they can feel him in their head again, pushing at the shields they have up, prying into them, looking for some ulterior motive, some hidden threat. They wish they were better at this telepathic shielding shit, because as it stands, they’re out of practice and it’s exhausting.

“Kid, I want to help. I’m not cooking for you so I can stab you in the back later. You think I’m gonna call the cops on you? I’m Spider-man, me and cops don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

The mental pressure eases somewhat, but doesn’t entirely disappear. For a long moment, he’s quiet, and they think he’s not going to answer. That’s fine, it’s not really their business, and they’ve already had a long night. Then, he says, “I’m from the future.”

Naia tries not to feel exasperation. Time-travel shit is always exhausting. They rarely have to deal with it, but they’ve been dropped into enough parallel universes to know that they’re lucky in that regards. They get pan-dimensional bullshit, let the X-Men and the Avengers deal with the time-travel shit.

“Oh,” they say as tactfully as possible, pouring a couple bottles of water into a pot and setting it on the camp-stove. “So what’s brought you, uh, to the past?”

“I���m cleaning up other people’s mistakes,” he says archly. “That’s as much as you need to know.”

Silence swallows them for a while, Naia focusing on cooking the ramen and draining the chicken and making the meal as palatable as possible. They’re running out of supplies in this place, so they’ll have to stock up soon, but they figure, what the hell, and dump a can of mixed vegetables into the ramen as well. Kid looks like he could use the fuel.

The kid eats with Luce curled up in his lap, eating with that careful sort of control that says he wants to wolf it but feels that sort of display would make him look bad. Measured and obviously relishing every bite. It would be flattering if Naia wasn’t busy trying to think about how much the future must suck if instant ramen with some canned goods tossed in is that good to the kid.

When they do start talking, they don’t talk about much. He seems pleased when they tell him the cape is a nice touch, almost smiling as he sits up a little straighter.

“I find it important to make a visual statement,” he says. Naia raises their water bottle to that, and tactfully doesn’t make any comments about drapery. The kid looks at them where they’re leaning against the wall and frowns to himself, dragging his fork through the broth that remains in his bowl. “Why do you keep the cat here if this is not your home?”

Naia shrugs, pushing away from the wall and coming to take his bowl. “He was here first. I figure if he wanted to go to a different home he would. He didn’t like it when I tried taking him out of here, so I brought him back. I make sure he gets fed and he has his couch. Also possibly he likes to hang out with the ghost of whatever cat-hoarder used to live here. There were a lot of cats when I took this place over.”

“That sounds stupid. Ghosts don’t hang around to watch cats.” They laugh, and he goes on a very serious diatribe about superstition being the crutch of a weak mind. Naia wonders if 4Chan is still big in the future. Kid sounds like he’d fit in real well with those sort of pretentious ‘intellectuals’.

While they wash up the dishes and put everything away, making note that they’re going to need more water here next time they stock up, too, they pull up music on their phone and play it to fill the silence. The kid makes faces, but doesn’t complain.

It’s a little past noon when they try to get the kid to open up again about what he’s trying to do, and he very clearly doesn’t want any part of it.  

“I have the matter in hand,” he says heatedly, arms crossing again, until Luce makes a plaintive sound at the sudden loss of being pet. He scratches at the cat’s neck, glaring daggers at Naia. “I don’t need help.”

“Well, you sure weren’t doing super hot on your own when I found you.”

He scowls and they soften a little.

“C’mon. You’re new in town, and this is a big place. I’ve been in the city all my life, I know where everything is. I can at least point you in the right direction.”

They have a little staring contest for a moment, and it surprises Naia that he’s the one to look away first. “I have to do this on my own.”

“Fuck, gimme a break. You were talkin’ so smart a minute ago, don’t shove your head back up your ass, c’mon. More hands makes less work.”

He huffs, glaring at them again, mouth pressed in a tight line. “I am on my own to prove a point, I do not need help.”

“Everybody needs help, kid.”

“I’ve told you, my name is Stryfe! I demand you stop calling me kid!”

The mask does little to hide Naia’s grin at that. If the kid weren’t sitting down with a lap full of contented cat, they think he’d have actually stamped his little foot. “How old are you, kid? Thirteen going on three?”

“I am sixteen, I’m not some child.”

Naia gentles again at that, at least a little. It’s all right to tease, but he’s so vehement, it’s clear enough that this is somehow important. Probably something someone’s pushed the kid into thinking. “The future must really suck if sixteen is when you have to start being an adult.”

“The future makes sense.” He proclaims, and Naia doesn’t know whether to laugh or just shake their head. “Once I finish what I came here to do, the future will be perfect.”

Setting their head to one side, they watch him for a minute. He’s focused on Luce, stroking over the soft fur of the cat’s head.

“If you’d tell me what you’re trying to to do,” they offer, tone as gentle as the voice modulator will allow, “I would help you.”

He looks back at them, suspicious but almost hopeful too. “You wouldn’t. And I must do it myself. That’s the whole point.”

“I’ve already been helping you. Why would I stop now?”

“You’re not unknown in the future. You wouldn’t help me.”

It’s hard to argue with an evasive time-traveler, but that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. As much as they want to help the kid, he sounds a little like a baby villain. All brooding secrets and deep hurts, ugly intentions. “You gonna kill someone?”

“I have to.” He says it flat, like it’s the obvious recourse any sixteen-year-old would come to. “He… they ruined everything. I’m going to take care of it.”

“You can’t just kill everyone who wrongs you, kid.”

His face screws up, angry, furious even. “Can’t I? That’s what you do, isn’t it? What makes Spider-man’s judgement better than mine?”

He says it like it’s a gotcha, and it’s a little surprising, how hard the words hit. Naia wants to say something about how they’re at least an adult, old enough to throw their life away crusading against actual murderous assholes. Not everyone who upset them, not even everyone who injured them. They’d had experience. This kid was just angry -- justifiably, maybe, but… he needed help. He needed patience, someone to help him unlearn this arrogant shit he used to wrap himself up and shield him from the ways he’d been hurt.

But then he smiles, sharp and cutting, and says, “Or should I just call you Naia?”

The way he pronounces their name, it sounds like a taunt, like the sound of it is something to mock. His expression does nothing to disguise the threat implied in his words.

Really, Naia’s a little sick of it. They’ve been playing nice all day despite the kid’s shitty attitude, and Naia was never a patient, kindly person. They’re not a parent, they’re not a big sibling, they’re not required to put up with this shit.

"Kid,” they say, looking down at him, scowling under the mask as they square their shoulders, “your name is Strife-with-a-Y and you ‘ported back from the oh-so-enlightened future with the manners of a four-year-old and the fashion sense to match, so just because you picked my name out of my brain, don't act like you're superior. You’re angry, and I can respect that, but you’ve done nothing to give me any reason to respect you. Bullies ain’t worth shit."

They expect anger. Yelling, maybe a punch thrown. The kid’s obviously practiced in hurting people with his TK, so maybe something like that.

Instead, the kid looks like Naia punched him. His eyes, normally narrowed and angry, are suddenly wide and open. He looks startled, like he’s grasping for his anger but so completely unused to being spoken to like that that he doesn’t know how to handle it. Naia tries to imagine that, imagine going sixteen years without anyone snapping you back in place when you were out of line, about being that secure in your right to treat anyone and everyone like shit, and finds they can’t quite do it.

“Less than a decade from now, you die a failure,” he hisses after a moment of that stunned shock. The viciousness of his tone is especially taut, the sort of tone used to mask pain with anger. He wants to lash back and hurt them. “You die ugly. Slow. And it doesn’t even matter.”

“Yeah?” Naia snaps back, nowhere near as mild as they’d like to be. “That supposed to make me, what? Stop? I might die as a loser, but I sure as shit don’t live like one.”

In a second, the kid is on his feet, Luce hitting the floor with a noise of feline offense and rushing off to the other end of the safe house. “I should kill you myself,” He says, hands balled into angry fists Naia knows he wouldn’t bother to use. He’d do for them with the TK to keep his hands clean.

“It make you feel better, threatening the only person you had on your side in this era?”

Their head bounces loudly off the wall. They hear something crack and hope to any god listening that it’s the drywall and not their skull. Collapsed on the floor, they have a hard time getting their eyes to focus through the mask, blackness lancing through their vision. They feel more than see Stryfe looming over them, and grin crookedly at him from where they sprawl.

“You’re not worth killing.” He says, savage. “Me killing you would honor you.”

They want to say something. They’re not even sure what; a dozen tones dance through their head, ways to play what just happened out to distinct, impactful ends. There’s a part of them that wants to push the kid to doing it, but they don’t know if he’s really still moral enough to get the satisfaction of his feeling bad about doing it. And thinking that makes them feel weirdly guilty. Guilty for doubting that a kid could be so devoid of humanity, for thinking he might be so far beyond help.

He makes a sharp noise at that, and they can feel it, when he finally withdraws from prying at their mind. His cape snaps at the air when he turns sharply away.

Really, a good hero would shake off the likely-concussion, get up, say something clever and thoughtful that would get him to stick around. They would try to stop him, try to save him.

Naia stays on the floor, eyes closed, and carefully shore up their telepathic shields. It’s easier to make them strong when you’re not focused on other things, like standing.

The kid’s boots click importantly against the tile, and when he shuts the front door behind him, it’s slammed sharply in place.

[route22ny]

“You have to imagine it as it was 50 years ago. Folks would roll down ol’ U.S. 95 in their two-toned, fishtailed Buicks, headed for Las Vegas. As they approached Downtown, they would be dazzled by a parade of neon: tumbling dice and roulette wheels, crescent moons and shooting stars, signage for blocks of motels and auto courts. Back before 1-800 or dot-com, the night’s accommodations were chosen upon arrival and a cascade of lights above a cool swimming pool or a sign advertising 'color T.V.’ and 'air-conditioning' promised luxury to weary travelers.

“Today, the lights are dark and the only vacancies are the lots where the Blue Angel and the Par-A-Dice Inn once welcomed visitors; same goes for Lucky Cuss Motel, whose legacy still sparkles up Las Vegas Boulevard traffic medians, thanks to the Neon Museum.

“Most of the motels are empty—broken neon tubes, weeds sprouting between faded parking lot lines. The Gables still advertises 'nice rooms' and curtains still decorate many of the boarded-up windows under its fairy-tale-peaked roofs; the shell of a payphone hangs on a red brick wall. The Alicia 1, 2 and 3 were once the Las Vegas Motel, Fremont Motel and Star View Motel, respectively. Now they all sit vacant beneath crookedly nailed particle board. The Travelers Motel, with its elaborate gateway, terracotta-tiled roofs and radio tower, seems like someone could whip it into shape and fill it with hipsters like they do in Austin or Joshua Tree, but it’s doubtful any well-shod feet will tread these grounds until they become a parking lot.

“Whether open or closed, the same sign hangs in the window: “No visitors allowed after 10 p.m.” Even motels still serving patrons seem to have one foot in the land of the dead—broken signs, drained pools, doors hanging open into darkened rooms. An anti-meth poster hangs near a notice advising patrons that there will be a “$5 storage fee for all items left in room” by the check-in at the Safari. Bedspreads fly on a line outside the Sky Ranch. Desert Moon Motel seems the most prosperous, but the neon advertising “free XXX movies” probably has more to do with that than the well-maintained cacti. These days, surviving on Fremont Street takes more than pretty lights …”

“The swimming pool is filled with rocks at one boarded-up motel. A short walk away, pigeons rest inside a motel sign whose missing letters make it all too easy to fly in...

“The fenced-off, decades-old properties are on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas, and all are owned by Zappos chief Tony Hsieh’s Downtown Project.

“Hsieh has pumped money and foot traffic into the city’s core, giving the area a sorely needed boost of commerce. But for the most part, his group isn’t doing anything with a cluster of closed motels on Fremont that sit blocks from the street’s nightlife scene.

“Formed in 2012, Downtown Project went on a real estate buying binge as part of its $350 million campaign to fund tech startups, restaurants and other ventures. With a $200 million allocation, real estate constituted the bulk of Hsieh’s plans, with his group assembling a portfolio of some 90 properties.

“Among other things, it operates apartment buildings and retail complex Downtown Container Park, and it partnered with Arizona real estate firm The Wolff Co. to develop Fremont9, a five-story apartment complex under construction next to Atomic Liquors.

“Hsieh’s group also bought motel properties farther east on Fremont, in an area that was a 'hotbed’ for drugs, prostitution and other crime, according to management. And it bought them not knowing what it would do them.

“It launched redevelopment efforts at the Fergusons. But otherwise, its Fremont Street motels are boarded-up and fenced-off, with a noticeable touch-up: Plywood sheets covering doors and windows were painted to look like cartoonish doors and windows.

“Downtown Project’s real estate portfolio manager, John Curran, spoke with the Las Vegas Review-Journal last month about the motels and other properties. The interview has been edited for length and clarity:

Do you have plans to develop other residential projects besides Fremont9?

We don’t have any specifics to share, but it’s certainly something we’ll be looking to do. Fremont9 is going to open by the end of the year. We’ve gotten an incredible outpouring of interest, more than 700 pre-leasing inquiries, and we’re still a few months away from opening.

It looks like the only motel with any notable project plans on file with the city, and the only one you’ve started any work on, is the Fergusons. What’s being built there?

Tony Hsieh lives in what we call the Airstream Village, which is condensing and moving to the back of Fergusons. A section of the motel has been demolished, and that will be a courtyard with Airstream trailers, a pool, a small stage area and lounge area. That’s basically Tony’s residence with a bunch of his friends and other downtowners. The next phase will be for the front of Fergusons. We hope to have two food and beverage anchor tenants here. There will be boutique retail, and the second floor would have office space. We would do major renovation work on the inside.

Do you have a next motel in mind for redevelopment?

The next block will be the Travelers. We’re not prepared to share anything about that; it’s still very fluid. Candidly, we bought all these blocks a few years ago with no idea of what we were going to do with them, but they were a hotbed for a lot of unsavory activity — crimes, drug use, prostitution, all those things. We knew someday that market conditions would allow for redevelopment, but in the meantime, us boarding them up, fencing them off, really gave us a buffer from a lot of that activity. It’s not great to look at a boarded-up motel, although we have stenciled designs on the doors, so at least aesthetically, it looks a little better than just plywood.

Why buy all these motels and sit on them?

People think, ‘Wow, $350 million, that money’s going to last forever.’ Ultimately, we’re restricted by bandwidth and resources. If we opened a major development on 14th and Fremont today, I don’t know if the market’s ready for that. It doesn’t get the foot traffic down there just yet. It’s not uncommon for developers to buy things and sit on them and wait until market conditions allow for development. We have a massive portfolio of real estate; a lot of them are ripe for future developments. We can’t do it all at once. We just opened a bar, Corduroy, for instance, and that was a major production. We’re focusing on Fremont9 and some other renovation projects. We’re never not busy.

For the motels, do you get calls from developers looking to do joint ventures? Like the project with Wolff, is that what you’re looking to do?

Definitely. We recognize two things: One, everybody’s bandwidth is limited, and we also figured out what our core competencies are. With Fremont9, we recognize that Wolff can take us further and better than we could on our own. We’ve talked to boutique hotel operators about renovating these motels and other properties. It’s definitely something we’re open to.

Have you considered knocking the motels down, scraping the sites and starting from scratch?

We have; we’ve even probably got hard demo numbers. But from an urban design perspective, I think it’s much more aesthetically appealing to look at a boarded-up motel that has some sort of history — perhaps some people find some charm and character in them. I think it is actually more interesting looking at a vacant, boarded-up motel rather than just pieces of dirt.

Do you get vandals or people climbing the fence?

That happens. It’s a never-ending battle. We’ve got around-the-clock security presence in the neighborhood. They usually report graffiti to us before the city gets it. We’re usually pretty quick to address it; we paint over any graffiti. But it’s always a moving target.

Following up on a recent post about apparently doomed midcentury motels on the east side of Las Vegas’s traditional downtown, the two articles above clarify the status of these properties: Top and middle photos taken August 23, 2018 by me.  Bottom photo by Bizuayehu Tesfaye, accompanying the second section of text above including interview, from the September 2017 article Downtown Project’s closed Fremont Street motels remain stagnant by Eli Seagall in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, copied here in full to spare you the pop-ups, adblocker detection, and other BS on the Review-Journal website.  First section of text from No Vacancy: The Last Motels on Fremont Street  by Lissa Townsend Rodgers, December 2016.

[atomstack]

Higher-end Machine A5 Pro Laser Engraver Review

The Atomstack A5 Pro is a powerful and versatile laser engraver that brings the power of a professional-grade device to your home. The atom stack A5 Pro is a higher-end machine. From hobbyists to professionals, this machine is designed for all types of users.

The Atomstack A5 Pro Laser Engraing Machine also comes with an easy to follow manual with good assembly instructions. All necessary tools are included. The screws and parts are in separate bags and marked according to the necessary steps in the assembly manual. The machine can be assembled in less than 30 minutes.

The Laser Engraver is equipped with a laser diode that outputs approximately 4.5-5.5W of optical power. The Atomstack A5 Pro is advertised as 40W Co2 laser equivalent power. A laser diode is a good fixed focus diode.

A fixed focus means there are no moving parts in the beam, which means the focus can be narrower and the focusing process is much faster than with adjustable focus.

There's a shield around the head as an extra layer of protection, but wearing the included safety goggles is still a must. I also recommend buying more good quality goggles with OD6+ protection. You only have one pair of eyes. protect them! These lasers work in the visible spectrum, and even reflections can be very harmful to your eyes!

Save your eyes! The included goggles aren't the best. Do yourself a favor and get a premium OD6+ safety goggles for better protection for your eyes!

The focusing process is the same as the Atomstack A5 20W. For best cutting results, the head needs to be 2mm above the engraved surface. Focusing is done by placing the acrylic plate/spacer under the laser head and lowering the laser head onto the spacer. The spacer is 2mm thick and the head remains 2mm above the surface after tightening the z-axis screw with a hex wrench.

Cut and engrave different materials Engraving: wood, leather, cotton (clothing), rubber, paper, fruit, foam, acrylic, black anodized aluminum, black metal...

The Atomstack A5 Pro laser engraver is also a powerful cutter.

Cutting: wood, paper, tape, cloth, acrylic, cardboard.

With this machine, you can cut paper and tape once and cardboard or wood many times. The machine can cut wood, especially poplar plywood, which has a soft texture and is the wood of choice for all laser cutters.

I would avoid plastics like PVC and vinyl as they release hydrogen chloride gas when cutting. This gas is toxic and very corrosive (your machine will rust quickly). We have tested machines for engraving and cutting different materials. You'll find our test results a few chapters lower.

You can use the Atom Stack A5 Pro laser engraver with the free LaserGRBL software, which works fine, but is a bit clunky to use. It's great for some testing, but I went with Lightburn, which is more powerful and very intuitive to use. While it's not free, the license costs $60. However, the software comes with a 1-month full-featured free trial, which will help you decide if it's worth it.

With LaserGRBL you can import vector files (NC, BMP, JPG, PNG, DXF...) and bitmap image files (bmp, jpg, png and gif),

Lightburn supports more formats: AI, SVG, DXF, PDF, HPGL, PLT and RD for vector formats, PNG, JPEG, BMP, TIFF, TGA and GIF for image formats.

The most important part is the interval scale. By scanning vertically and horizontally with different interval steps, we can approximate the size of the laser spot. From the results we can see that the laser spot of the Atomstack A5 is rather rectangular, as the engraved pattern looks very different when scanned in the horizontal (X-axis) and vertical (Y-axis) directions.

The text engraving is done at 600mm/sec, which is pretty fast for such a small movement, so some wobble of the laser head can be seen in the corners. This can easily be avoided by lowering the acceleration and speed in the settings.

[antiquechampagne]

Chapter 14

A few days later, Payne found herself in the ruins of Boston, Hancock in tow. He practically flew out the door, wanderlust pulsing through his veins. That, or the Psycho, Payne supposed. Payne had only been told where they were headed, The Combat Zone, and not much else. Once they were out of sight of Goodneighbor, she turned to Hancock.

“So, you gunna fill me in on what we are doing out here? What’s at The Combat Zone?”

“I know the guy who runs it, Tommy Lonegan.  He’s a tough ghoul with an entrepreneurial spirit, let me tell ya. He started an operation right in the middle of the Theater district. A blood sport arena right in the middle of one of the toughest parts of town. Anyway, he wants to talk about some kind of business arrangement.”

The two of them quickly dispatched a small nest of raiders, picking their bodies of anything useful. Hancock’s body language changed as they rounded a corner. “Be careful up here. We’re entering the Commons. You ever seen Swan?” Payne noticed writing scrawled on the buildings, advertising the dangers that lay ahead. She had never been to this area of the city.

“Seen a swan?”

“Not a swan. Swan.” He slowed down as they entered a large square with a placid pond in the middle. “Follow me and stay down, unless you want to end up as Swan’s dinner.”

They skirted the edge of what had once been a lovely garden pond. Now it lay in ruins, the trees bare and twisted and its wrought iron fence twisted and rusted. Hancock pointed toward the water. There in the middle of the pond looked to be a broken and battered white swan shaped boat stuck in a pile of debris and mud. It look Payne a moment to realize there was a gigantic contorted bluish black face hovering just above the water’s surface. The pile was not debris but the broad shoulders of a partially submerged super mutant. From the size, Payne estimated it was probably a giant behemoth. She swallowed. There was definitely a reason to be cautious here. They crept south and away from Swan’s pond as quickly as possible.

Once they were clear, Payne released the breath she hadn’t realized she been holding. “That is one big fucking Swan!”

“No shit! Raiders won’t even touch the place. I find if you don’t bother him, he tends to leave you alone. Too many newbies end up a pancake because they stumble into the pond or hot shots think they can take him out.” Hancock lit a cigarette and took along drag. He offered one to Payne.

Payne declined. “No thanks, never liked cancer sticks.” Hancock shrugged. Soon they found themselves facing the entrance of a theater with ‘Combat Zone’ painted in red across a white marquee. The walls of the alley leading to the entrance had several plywood boards filled up rules.

Hancock casually pushed open the doors and entered the small lobby. More lists of rules were plastered the walls. Payne could smell old blood permeating the place, putting her on edge.  Her hand hovered over her side arm as Hancock entered the theater itself.

Stepping in, the theater opened up into a massive sea of seats, all facing the dilapidated stage. Makeshift catwalks rose overhead, using the collapsed balcony as a base. Payne could see a bar, medical bay and maybe an unused shop tucked away under the ramps. All of them were empty.

Hancock called out. “Jeeze Tommy, I heard this place had gone quiet, but this is ridiculous!”

A ghoul stuck his head out from a booth above them.  “Looks like my new ‘guards’ are pieces of worthless crap!” He grabbed a nearby bottle and hurled it off in the direction of a slumbering man hidden spread across a few rotting red velvet seats.

“SHIT!” Startled awake, the man grabbed his gun and started waving it around clumsily. Payne drew her own, but Hancock seemed unconcerned. In fact, he was snickering.

“Jerry, get to work, you lazy jackass!” Tommy yelled over the banister as walked down to meet them, hands on his hips. “It’s so hard to find good help. You get what you pay for, I suppose.” Tommy wore a dusty tan suit with a stuffy striped tie. He thrust out his hand to Hancock, who returned the gesture. “How’s it going, Hancock?”

“Hey, Tommy. This place is looking a little dead, isn’t it? Having a little trouble since your prize fighter left ya?”

“That’s kinda what I want to talk to you about. Do you mind if we talk while I work up here? Trying to upgrade the sound system.” He put his arm around Hancock shoulders and guided him up the ramp. Payne followed. “Um, we’re going to talk business, honey. Feel free to help yourself to the bar or whatever. You might run into my two employees down there, please don’t kill them.”

Payne tensed her jaw but left behind when Hancock nodded her off. If Hancock felt he was safe enough to have her lounge around, then that is what she would do. She found a half bottle of whiskey behind the bar and a box of snack cakes. She left a few caps in their place, not wanting to ruffle any feathers. She brought her lunch and sat on the edge of the stage. This gave her the widest view of the theater. She could see Hancock and Tommy talking in what she assumed was the sound booth above. After finishing, boredom got the best of her and she started wandering around.

Poking around, she ran into two other people. They grunted their hellos and she continued studying her surroundings. She heard static crackle over the speakers while she looked around on stage. Behind the giant red curtains lay piles of pipe, wire fencing and coils of razor wire. On the large stage was the skeletal remains of a fighting ring. Several long pipes still stuck vertically out of the wooden stage, but whatever had created the walls had been dismantled. Another surge of sound came from the speakers, this time ending in a loud pop.

Tommy stuck his head out. “Jerry! JERRY!” Jerry emerged from a side room, snuffing out a cigarette as he meander out. “Go see if the mic is feeding properly.” Jerry hemmed at the request. “Get your ass over there and say something!” Reluctantly Jerry mounted the stage and started mumbling into the mic.

Swearing drifted down from the crow’s nest followed by Hancock’s resounding laugh. After a few minutes, Jerry’s voice violently erupted across the theater.

“…sting, one, two, three…Testing…” Jerry’s breathtaking performance was abruptly cut short. Over the sound system, Tommy’s voice cut in, reverberating off the walls.

“That’s enough.”

Stepping onto the stage, Payne noticed a half lowered trap door leading beneath the stage. Payne wonderer what Tommy hand in mind for this place. She placed her hand on one of the skeletal poles. She leaned against it, resting and looking out lazily across all the empty seats, her arms arched above her head. It has been a nice place once, filled with people.

Up in the sound booth, Hancock and Tommy had been talking. He had dismantled the fighting cage for some well-needed repairs but those had yet to be completed. He needed a revenue source in the meantime. Tommy proposed some half-baked ideas to try and lure folks through the doors, but none of them sounded to Hancock likely to prove fruitful. Most of Goodneighbor’s residents just wouldn’t take the risk of traveling through this part of the city just for entertainment. He knew why Tommy had asked him out here, but he wasn’t ready to invest in something that probably wouldn’t have any return on his investment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he had watched Payne laze around the stage as they talked. Tommy had also started to take an interest in Payne as well, stopping a moment to scrutinize her from a distance.

“You get tired of your old bodyguard?” Tommy flick a ghastly thumb down at the stage.

“Nah. There is more than enough of me to share.”

“Is she a local?”

“Nope. New Vegas.”

Tommy’s eyes opened wide at that bit of information, his square jaw flexed as mind started calculating. “She’s a long way from home, isn’t she?” His tone had changed and Hancock noticed. Tommy flicked a few switches on the vast panel before him. Music started playing lowly throughout the theater. Payne absent-mindedly swayed to it, still leaning on the pole. Tommy watched her almost predatorily. It was rubbing Hancock the wrong way.

“What are you up to, Tommy?”

Tommy held a finger up. He grabbed the small mic on the board, drawing it close to his thin lips. “Hey cupcake?” Payne turned icy eyes up at the booth. “You feel like giving us a little show?”

Payne stood up straight, her eyes narrow slits. She looked to Hancock. He shrugged. Clearly this wasn’t his idea.

Payne thought for a moment. How many times would she have this kind of an opportunity, on a stage no less? She put her hands on her hips. “My name is Payne, pal. I don’t perform unless I am paid. And I have to have an audience.”

“Why don’t we think of this as a little audition, sweetheart?”

Payne said nothing, walked back to the pole, leaned as she had before. This time gesticulating a middle finger out Tommy’s way. Hancock snickered. Tommy grunted in frustration. He put his hand on the mic.

“Can’t you make her…?” He motioned to the stage.

Hancock snorted. “I pay her to protect me and kill things. Performing isn’t really in the cards.”

Tommy returned to the mic. “Fine. Ronald; grabs some caps from the office. Jerry; get your butt in a seat.” Payne slowly walked to the edge of the stage, shedding her jacket and pack. Ronald appeared, dropping caps into her open hand before sitting down. Hancock settled into a seat, still watching from above.

Tommy’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Any requests?” Payne shrugged.

It was Tommy’s turn to snicker to himself. He flipped through some holotapes and popped one into the machine.

Low slow and somber notes filled the air, almost dirge like. Tommy thought he had outsmarted her, but Hancock saw a crafty smile on Payne’s face as she turned around, her head lilting to one side. She slowly reached up and unpinned her hair. Her black locks showering down languorously.

Play the guitar, play it again, my Johnny

Maybe you're cold but you're so warm inside

Payne moved slowly and rhythmically to the music. Gently, she painted the very image of a heartsick mistress with her body. Her arms and legs traced empty tender arcs through the air. She reached back to the pole, pulled herself to it. Arching her back, she draping against it like a lover.

What if you go, what if you stay, I love you

But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I know

Hancock lost track of the music and just watched her, each move speaking to the pain of unreturned and misunderstood desire. The dirty pole was no longer a bit metal frame, but this desperately wanted but heartless Johnny Guitar. Her legs wove delicate patterns over the cracked and crumbling wood. Her arms clung desperately to the pole. Her face a mask of sweet yearning.

As the last refrain ended and the guitar strummed to the finale, Payne reached above her head and, holding onto the pole, lowered herself slowly to the floor. The theater was completely silent. Payne looked up, a huge shit-eating grin on her face and flipped two middle fingers right in Tommy’s face.

Hancock reached over and stole the mic, Tommy momentarily speechless.

“I think you passed the audition!” He boomed.

The two lackeys clapped pitifully from the audience. Hancock smirked as he noticed Jerry rummaging through his pockets to put a few more caps on the apron of the stage.

Tommy turned the sound system off and turned to Hancock, a serious look on his face. “I want to get to brass tacks with you right now, John. How much for her contract?”

“What?” Hancock was taken aback. “No.”

“I’ll buy it out, whatever amount you ask.”

“No… no as in I don’t own her. And no, that is fucked up, Tommy.”

“That’s how this business works. Look, John, I need an act like that. Did you just see what I saw? She would get people from the whole Commonwealth to walk through the fucking Glowing Sea to see her. Just name your price.”

“I’m not her Goddamn owner, or pimp… or whatever screwed up concept you have in mind. Though, you can certainly try to convincing her to stay. You probably won’t have much of a chance, cupcake!” Hancock got up, turning to leave. He didn’t feel like looking at Tommy’s desperate anymore. “I think we are done here.”

Tommy backed off. “It’s getting late. You guys are more than welcome to stay the night.”

After a quick discussion, they decided to stay. Jerry tried to flirt with Payne throughout dinner with few results.

Tommy suggested retiring to the balcony. They found a few old bedrolls tucked away in a corner.

“Tommy wanted me to ask you something.” Hancock ventured as he stretched out on the floor.

“Let me guess. He wants me to dance for him?” Hancock nodded. “Fat chance in hell.”

He stared at the ceiling. “It sounded like he would pay you well.”

“I’ve never worked for a pig like him, and I’m not going to start with him.” Payne smiled. “Besides, could it be any more obvious that he is wearing a wig?”

Hancock snorted. “You prefer your ghouls au natural?” He rubbed his hairless scalp with one hand.

It was Payne’s turn to snort this time.

The next morning as they packed up to leave, Tommy pulled Hancock aside. He knew had overstepped. “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday but I don’t think you know who you might have with you. I’ve been stewing about this all night. Payne says she is from New Vegas. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. ‘Vegas’.” Hancock didn’t see the point of this conversation anymore.

“Listen to me. No, she’s not. She’s not from New Vegas, John. She’s from Las Vegas.”

Hancock stopped.

Tommy continued. “I don’t know how, but she is prewar. It’s the way she moves, I’ve seen it before.”

“How?” Hancock turned to face Tommy, his eyes narrow and full of caution. “Why do you think that?”

“Listen. Back before the war, I had a bookie buddy who worked out of Las Vegas. He and I, we were close, like brothers. I visited the strip maybe half a dozen times a year. The gals out there, the way they moved…” he closed his eyes “They were something else. I haven’t seen it since, but I remember it. Her face…” He opened his eyes and stared right into Hancock’s eye. “Payne is extraordinary. Did you at least bring my proposition up with her?”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid she’s still not interested.” Hancock returned to Payne and they left drenched in the morning sun.