#providential care

[kmac4him1st]

In Awe Of God

It is a good day when you decide to develop your AWE of God. I promise you will never regret it. God bless ya. KimberlyMac

Amazing Awe-GOD Amazing Awe-God! I don’t think I will ever get over how incredibly amazing God is. He is a spectacular Advocate for us. He does intervene majestically in our lives, there is no doubt about that. It is not always very comfortable the way He does things, His methods are definitely not the way we would sometimes choose to do things. God is very unique, but we can trust that He will…

[kdmiller55]

Safe in the Hands of God

1 And the Lord said to Job: 2 “Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?     He who argues with God, let him answer it.” 3 Then Job answered the Lord and said: 4 “Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you?     I lay my hand on my mouth. 5 I have spoken once, and I will not answer;     twice, but I will proceed no further.” 6 Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind…

[aglaean]

a kiss that says thank you 

Whilst the memory of their ritualistic ripostes during Harmonia - splendid and dazzling as they doubtless were - had faded slightly, L’Arachel had still found herself stationed by Eirika’s door, determined to say… well something approaching the theme of thankfulness. 

It had been hard in the moment, her intentions (perhaps too easily) waylaid with the proffered distractions of hot chocolate and a chance to rest after the utterly absorbing, and entirely exhausting ebbs and flow of battle. 

She had perched near Eirika, cheeks rosy with victorious giddiness, sat together: two garlanded idols, statues interlinked in stone and granite, sharing one stand, formed by one craftsman. The metaphor was apt. Though they had been close, closer than L’Arachel had typically found herself to Eirika during their travels in Magvel, the words she wanted to say were instead drowned in cocoa and air thrumming with conversation. Eirika was beside her, and all she could do was turn to stone!

Petrified, quite literally, by the fear of… acknowledgment. L’Arachel was all too happy to partake in the sweet bonds of friendship, to savour the fruits of it: aid, help. But, Eirika was a different case. One she feared she'd ruin at any given moment. As such, she wanted to make due observance of all that she had done for them, leading them to victory with tome in hand. 

To add further embarrasment to the entire affair, immersed in the glow of companionship, and hot chocolate, she had fallen asleep on her shoulder! Really, if thank you was beyond her, she was certain an apology wasn’t!

She stood, staring at the wooden door. Trying to read some sort of prompt the whirled grains. 

Latona, what was she doing? This was foolish. Was she, some sort of bleary-eyed diviner trying to read the future in tea-leaves? Divine providence had lead her to this door, she had a duty as their beloved subject to see their plan to fruition. With that, she knocked three slow knocks on the door. They sounded dull, flat. Like a wyvern’s footfall. 

Gentle footsteps met her heavy, awkward blows. A latch loosening. A door swinging open and then: Eirika. It was decently late. She had to bite back the urge to reach out and adjust her hair, slightly bed-ruffled. Focus on the task at hand. ‘Ah, Eirika! I apologise for the inconvenient hour.’ She grins, about as abashed as L’Arachel could ever be. ‘But the matter I come to you with is divinely sanctioned, and of the utmost import! You see, my dreams have been harranged of late by the troubling lack of thankfulness I showed during the Harmonia battles. It simply wouldn’t do, and so I said to myself, “Why L’Arachel, it is uncouth of a princess to be so inhospitable! You must make amend posthaste!” So here I am, darling Eirika, to make amends, I do hope you’ll…’ 

Any other words are silenced in the press of lips to a slightly clammy forehead. The words that had been passing from her thoughts to her lips are scattered onto the floor, completely upended and quickly trodden under foot. Even as the princess draws back, the pressure lingers. As if Eirika had given her a present, a circlet of gratitude to join her usual adornments. And had she not, she realised, been given a gift? 

Reaching forward, she took her ally’s hand, planted a kiss firmly on the knuckles. ‘No, thank you. Truly.’ There’s a silence, and that’s enough for reality, the scoundrel, to steal back in. ‘I uhm, must leave now. The Gods are calling me to aid yet another innocent! Such is the life of a radiant minister to the needs of the common people!’ Her cheeks hot, (this time, without the aid of a warm drink), she turns and traipses into the corridor, doing her level best to tamp down any lingering shows of delight. 

[thinkingonscripture]

God Works All Things Together for Good

The apostle Paul, in his letter to the Christians in Rome, acknowledged “the sufferings of this present time” (Rom 8:18), our inner “groaning” (Rom 8:23), and our “weakness” as humans (Rom 8:26). However, he shifted the focus away from our difficulties and onto God, stating, “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him, to those who are called according…

[fearlesswriterblog]

The Magi's View of Jesus, Is it yours too?

The Magi’s View of Jesus, Is it yours too?

Many Christians celebrate ‘Epiphany’ on January 6. It is a celebration of the arrival of the 3 Kings, the Magi, the Wise Men in the Christmas Story. This is a celebration of Christ’s birth, his childhood experiences and marks the end of the Christmas season for many by removing their Christmas decorations. Here is the scripture of this event from Matthew. Matthew 2:9-12 “After they had heard the…

[ave-immaculata]

"Theology of Suffering" is Catholic because it's Biblical.

"Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of His body, which is the church." (Colossians 1:24)

"...to know Him and the power of His Resurrection and [the] sharing of His sufferings by being conformed to His death..." (Philippians 3:10)

"...and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if only we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him." (Romans 8:17)

This doesn't mean refusing care or alleviation of suffering (1 Timothy 5:23). This doesn't mean that inflicting suffering is justified (Ephesians 5:29, 1 Peter 3:9). It means graceful resignation to where God has placed us for as long as His providential care keeps us there (Romans 8:32, Phillipians 4:16, James 1:17).

[calsper]

DWC: Day V

CAPTIVE & SKILL @daily-writing-challenge TW: depiction of sexual assault, emetophobic description

He could not count to five. His mind and his lungs were no longer his to commandeer. They were the harpies’.

Revenge was a cruel, gripping force for one to endure as much as Cal had when he had finally become old enough to learn the truth about his parents from those that adopted him. He knew his own had been killed—he knew they had been killed by something, by a creature, but... he did not know until that fateful discussion that they were mauled by multiple screaming, half-avian women of the skies fully fueled by the need to pamper themselves and wreak havoc on others. All whilst crowing. Screaming. Laughing, even. But screaming. Always screaming.

He could not even make out what they were trying to threaten or demean when he came upon their nesting grounds. The flapping, the scratching, the fucking screaming—it kept him awake so, so many damned nights. All of it strangled his focus. He had approached too unprepared, driven only by rage... and paid the price.

Mine, they squawked, fighting with themselves over the top of his thrashing body. Share! Mine! Ours, sisters! Take, claim, take, claim! No, mine!

Either none of them heard his objections or none of them cared to even amuse such pleas. The word ‘no’ lost its meaning from that point on. And who did he have to blame but himself? Really, how stupid could he be? He knew about them. He knew to research before a hunt. He knew and he did; read all about their habits, their diversity, their powers, their diets.

Their captive breeding.

But knowledge mattered not when seeing red. He just wanted them gone. Unfortunately, he had ventured alone, outnumbered by at least twenty or more flocking to the scene before he could even register what was happening and before he could pick back up the scythe that dropped when he was flown into a nest.

Had he been the grandest mage in all of Azeroth, would he have been able to escape...? Did power matter when paralyzed by fear? Muscle, mana, skill, fel, reverence, runes, even the very rage he had come with—it would not have borne any significance in changing the outcome. All of it converted into sheer, unfiltered terror. He had never and would never again feel as powerless or as worthless as he did beneath the weight of their assault. Claws, scraps of clothing, slaps of wings, torn feathers, exposed loins, the screaming . . .

And then the noise stopped. In the frenzy and amidst all of their ripping, both of his hearing aids came out.

It was like a scene in a silent film. Slow-motion. Discomforting. Unintelligible yet clear as crystal. Numbing. All his deafness could sense was the drumroll of his overworked heart, the crashing of blood all throughout his quivering form, and the gore that the mob of breasted monsters spilled over the male lap they’d forced bare.

...They had left his boots alone. He could move. He could try. The tears paused just long enough for sights to make sense of what he was living through and the role he was unwillingly cast in. Move, then. Get out. Get OUT. GET OUT.

One blade burst from its sole—then the next. So undignified and unorganized were they in their brawl that the very second one released his ankle from underfoot, he snapped his leg and the unlikely weapon up into whatever the hell he could hit. Perhaps the Earth Mother was watching over him... or perhaps it was his own mother... but that one strike providentially became his key as it shoved the pick through the underside of a gurgling chin and then dropped into the heart of one sullied harpy.

How lucky he was to not have to hear the bubbling wails of her demise or the cacophony of witchy heckling that followed.

Then and only then did Calsper erupt. All of those minute abilities over frost that he never quite got a grasp on shot forth from within the tree he’d been dragged into like impaling spikes, some skewering the hags and some forcing those yet too close to back away. He allowed himself no time to question the attack when shakily scrambling to get out. Where he was didn’t matter—how high didn’t matter. He just needed freed. And down he went.

One broken wrist was ignored when he had the other to shove himself back up with. The harpies that remained burst right towards him, gust after gust, but their deaths all met the same fate as their sisters when more stalagmites of ice in the sin’dorei’s trail razored straight through their core. The delayed wind they cast bit his skin though failed to stop their victim from running for his life, bladed stride and all. He couldn’t risk the single second it would take to focus on dismissing them.

Calsper.

Had he ever even really grown up? He’d been found as a child exactly as he was when far enough away from the harpies’ camp to collapse—bawling himself hoarse. The only difference this round was the mangled clothing and blood-splattered paleness. All of his misguided mania born from unfulfilled mourning, humiliated. His time, wasted. His future, stained. His past, recycled. His stomach, emptied. A coughing, burning splash of yellow pooled beside him before he crawled a few more feet away and curled up.

Calsper!

...Me?

A fire not unlike the bile from his memory ripped at an exhausted chest when his vision fluttered back to the scenery of Highmountain’s forested floor. He must have crouched over it. Panted himself raw.

“Calsper—breathe. Breathe. Slower...”

Air. Oxygen. Right. In, and out... one, and two... three... four... five. Six. Even seven.

“There. There, there...” A canteen of water was carefully lowered into the elf’s downcast line of vision. “Alo Nokee Washte ishte shne po... Pawene ichnee pawene.” After a few more second of Cal’s unresponsive, inner counting, Tirrak murmured, “It was an eagle, sota. Only an eagle.”

...An eagle. Not a harpy.

Arms folded over his knees and his head buried into them for a much-needed moment of respite from the nightmares and the embarrassment. Tirrak, ever a patient friend, waited.

He waited every time.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

by Jim Elliff

God intends either discipline or testing by what is suffered, and both produce the good of improved sanctification. We are not allowed to take “natural calamity” out of that package of necessary suffering for the believer. God in His providential care designs the calamity as a blessing in sometimes macabre dress. We are to “consider it all joy . . . when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.” Suffering is a foundational aspect of sanctification.

We must acknowledge that the most troubling problem emerging from any large scale natural disaster is not that people die. That is a real human and emotional issue, but not the most significant one. Hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes, fires, tornados or floods do not change the statistics on the number of the human race experiencing death by even one digit. A typhoon in Bangladesh swept away between 300,000 and…

[hiswordsarekisses]

“It is God’s will that we not be anxious - which means explicitly that anxiety is sin. In His Word (which is His will) He tells us, ‘do not be anxious for anything.’

It is sin for two reasons.

First, it’s a distrust of God. In Matthew 6:25-34, Jesus said that if our heavenly Father takes care of the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, will he not much more take care of our temporal needs?

When I give way to anxiety, I’m in effect believing that God won’t take care of me.

Secondly - it is also a lack of acceptance of God’s providence!!! A mistrust of His ability to orchestrate all circumstances and events in His universe for His glory and the good of his people.

Some believers have difficulty accepting the fact that God does in fact do this, and even those who believe this glorious truth often lose sight of it.

Instead we focus on immediate causes of our anxiety rather than remembering that those causes are under God’s control.

Ask God to give you faith to believe that His providential will for you in these circumstances flows from His infinite wisdom and goodness - and is ultimately intended for your good. Ask him to give you a heart that is submissive to his providential will.”

(Jerry Bridges)

P.S. I was actually was diagnosed with anxiety/panic disorder - which I realized I have had since I was a little child! The thing that the Lord has shown me that has most helped in healing me is the following:

There is actually freeing power in realizing that there is nothing I can do about whatever it is causing the anxiety - but that God - who I know can do anything - loves me.

Perfect love truly casts out all fear.

When the only One Who can help you is trustworthy and loves you, you come to realize that if He has allowed it - no matter HOW BAD the thing is - He either has a purpose, or it is a consequence of something, and He will use it for good.

He is so faithful and in knowing how faithful He has proven to be time and time again, I am able to rest in that even when I really do not like it.

My heart can be broken in a million pieces, but I know that He sees me and He knows, and that He is concerned and working.

In trusting that, I can find peace. Otherwise I am stressing myself out fighting against something I have no control over.

When I do not understand what He is doing, I remember how beautiful His heart is and I really believe that He knows what He is doing. He is all-knowing and wise. My knowledge and understanding is very limited by my human point of view.

He sees what I cannot and do not see.

And I do have to remind myself these things every day - and like King David: “Encourage myself in the Lord”

First of all and most of all to know you are loved. Because once you have a true revelation of God’s love for you, fear does not stand a chance.

(His Words Are Kisses)

🤍✝️🤍

[kmac4him1st]

Pour Me Out

This is a beautiful "Worship Spotlight" song for you to connect heart to heart with God.

When you do things, do not let selfishness or pride be your guide. Be humble and give more honor to others than to yourselves. Do not be interested only in your own life, but be interested in the lives of others. In your lives you must think and act like Christ Jesus. Christ himself was like God in everything. He was equal with God. But he did not think that being equal with God was something to…

[kdmiller55]

The Source of all Sustenance

18 “You shall keep the Feast of Unleavened Bread. Seven days you shall eat unleavened bread, as I commanded you, at the time appointed in the month Abib, for in the month Abib you came out from Egypt. 19 All that open the womb are mine, all your male livestock, the firstborn of cow and sheep. 20 The firstborn of a donkey you shall redeem with a lamb, or if you will not redeem it you shall break…

[aglaean]

“L’Arachel,” the Renais Princess smiles towards her companion..though there is the slightest of strain, “you would not know how thankful I am to finally be fighting alongside someone I know. I suppose this is what you would consider to be ‘providence’.” The arena had been a test of sorts, and though it hadn’t been something she couldn’t handle, it was still much more refreshing to be working with a familiar face.

And despite that fact she still carried the telltale signs of worry on her expression. “All of this talk of crusaders is fitting for you, isn’t it? But, still..let’s do our best to not take it too far. After all, it would..be very troublesome if our opponents found out they were against such formidable foes!”

'Princess!' The title was shocked out of L'Arachel in a blend of word-association turned muscle memory; a prompt ready and waiting whenever she glimpsed that familiar blue hair. 'That is to say,' she halted in her forward charge towards the woman to take her hands, 'Eirika. You are erudite as ever! This truly is the work of divine providence. Our meeting must've been inscribed in the stars itself! It was only a matter of time.'

Worry was not in L'Arachel's rather extensive vocabulary, nor, unfortunately was restraint. But, she'd known Eirika long enough to recognise that slightly pinched expression which had crossed her face as less than joyous. Aiming for reassurance, she twirled her staff with a grin, unable to restrain the thrill buzzing through her skin at being reunited. 'Indeed, and we shall prove a truly ferocious duo!' Seeing the concern intensify on Eirika's face, she lowered the staff. That was evidently not the right answer. She cleared her throat. 'Ah, your mind for strategy shows your nobility! Yes, whilst I am unaccustomed to hiding such radiance, perhaps working our victory through subtlety would be best!'

[dailychurchreport]

Natural Disaster and Pastoral Comfort by Jim Elliff

God intends either discipline or testing by what is suffered, and both produce the good of improved sanctification. We are not allowed to take “natural calamity” out of that package of necessary suffering for the believer. God in His providential care designs the calamity as a blessing in sometimes macabre dress. We are to “consider it all joy . . . when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.” Suffering is a foundational aspect of sanctification.

We must acknowledge that the most troubling problem emerging from any large scale natural disaster is not that people die. That is a real human and emotional issue, but not the most significant one. Hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes, fires, tornados or floods do not change the statistics on the number of the human race experiencing death by even one digit. A typhoon in Bangladesh swept away between 300,000 and…

continue at Christian Communications Worldwide

[svtskneecaps]

i translated antoine's books under the cut

alright a few disclaimers first:

i'm an american; don't take these as gospel. i studied 7 years of classroom french. these are my qualifications.

i've left translators notes. these are marked as [TN: note] or simply within [square brackets].

antoine wrote part of forever's book prior to the second debate; i don't know when they were written. antoine's notes from after the second debate are marked.

cellbit's book was written entirely after the second debate.

these are just forever and cellbit's books as written by antoine. i don't have screenshots for the rest. maybe i'll track those down at some point (feel free to send screenshots and/or timestamps where the books are visible)

i included my screenshots for individual verification purposes; pardon the quality; you don't want to know how i got them.

if you redistribute the translation, keep the disclaimers. i don't care if you credit me just make sure people know where this came from

FOREVER:

Probably the person who wants to become the president the most. He's deeply involved in the lore of the island even if he doesn't communicate everything and hides information [TN: literally "truncates/shortens" information]. Close to BBH and Baghera. The three had very strange attitudes which are [fading/reducing] with the presidential election (withholding information, secret meetings). He seems to be moving away from the line of thought of Baghera and BBH. Wants to be president, but is part of the people who say they don't really want to be president. Relation with Cellbit a little strange and nebulous. Made a "safe space" in the favelas, I think it's mostly for him. People can have meetings anywhere, why have them only in a place provided by Forever himself? Does a lot of research on the island and takes initiative for the common good. Possibly the best choice for president, but the power already corrupts.

[ANTOINE'S UPDATES FROM THE SECOND DEBATE START HERE:]

Note: I take back what I said when I said "possibly the best choice for president". He doesn't listen [and] transforms this into an ego battle, which his sidekick [TN: "comparse", can also mean "stooge" lmao] Cellbit confirmed. Is ready to betray the people who have surrounded him (BBH & Baghera) for a long time for access to power. Has trouble taking people seriously. He has "homme providenciel" syndrome. Which he isn't.

[TN: I think by "homme providenciel", literally "providential / heaven-sent man", Antoine may be referring to the concept of 'a person who appears in times of crisis and presents as an ultimate savior charged with a historical or divine mission' (paraphrased translation from the Wikipedia article here); apparently this is a common figure in imaginary politics]

CELLBIT:

Same problem as Forever, [central/main] character who appropriates [TN: "approprier" can also mean "adapts"] a lot of the things that the Brazilians have done. His greatest pleasure was hanging out with Cucurucho. Could he be the real Federation candidate? It's very clear that Elquackity is corrupt, no one in their right mind would vote for him. Elquackity is a distraction, a lure. [Cellbit is] More dangerous than Forever. He speaks much better, is more composed, gets angry less quickly. Knows more than he says, don't give him more power than he already has.

[thatseverythingilove]

APOCALYPSE DONATELLO X TOCQ (MY OC) - Chapter 1

I had this story in mind for a loooong time now and I wanted to share it.

If you want to find out more about the others characters, take a look at the main story : Donatello x OC (Good timeline) - Chapter 1

Hope you will like it ! :-)

Warning : None

The story takes place few years after Krang's invasion in the bad timeline. All characters are adults (phyically at least).

“Chief O'Neil, my team has found a new seam.”

A hooded woman dressed in black and shoulder armor walked toward Donatello and April, who had been deep in conversation until then. She removed her hood to reveal long red hair and large green eyes. She must have been the same age as April, who apparently knew her well.

“Who's that ?” Donatello questioned, both annoyed at having been disturbed and intrigued.

“Donnie, this is Chief Tocq. She's in charge of material procurement.”

“Supplies? During the end of the world?”

“Her team salvages from the rubble anything that might be useful to the Resistance. We owe them a lot.”

“Great. A bunch of looters.”

Tocq raised an eyebrow at the remark.

“Chief Tocq, this big dork's name is Donatello. He works in the laboratory and manages all the technological aspects of the Resistance.”

“Simply put, without me, the Krangs would have eradicated all life on Earth long ago.” Marked the turtle with a haughty smile.

Donatello sure have taken pleasure in asserting that he was indispensable to the group's survival thanks to his mastery of computers and engineering, only waiting to see the face of this supposedly providential thief break down before his presence.

But the pretty, sun-kissed face showed neither anger nor shame.

Tocq pondered, index finger resting on her lip, then asked:

“Say, Mr. Intellectual, stop me if I'm wrong, but you need the material I'm stealing to build your machines and run the bunker, don't you ?”

Silence.

April held back a laugh behind her hand. Of course materials didn't fall from the sky !

Donatello couldn't think of anything to say in response, nor did his opponent give him the time for this :

“Enough pleasantries. Chief O'Neil, we need to take stock of the latest finds and organize their distribution according to departmental needs.”

“Did you find anything interesting?” April asked.

“Almost everything on your list, plus a few extras.” “Perfect. I'll be right behind you. It's the scientists who'll be happy.”

“As long as they're not fussy about where the products come from…”

This last sentence was followed by a glance at Donatello. He doesn't appreciate this insolence at all.

He watched them walk away, noisily sipping his coffee with a murderous stare.

In the days that followed, the scientific team noticed that Donatello couldn't stop complaining about supply delays. He was more demanding, and therefore more irascible, than usual.

A member of his team mentioned this to Leonardo and April.

April immediately understood the problem. The three turtles were literally writhing with laughter when they heard the story :

“That girl's got a lot of nerve !" Admitted Raphaël, “Even his team wouldn't dare contradict him !”

“He must have eaten his mask after that!” Leonardo scoffed.

“What does she look like?” Michelangelo asked.

“She's a really nice girl, with a lot of character.” Answered April “She's smart, persistent and respected by her team.”

“Why do you ask, Mikey ?” Leonardo smiles mischievously, “Do you want to try your luck with the miss ?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of Donnie, that might be his kind of girl !”

“Since when does Donnie have a type ?” Raphaël asked.

“Since when does Donnie care about anything other than himself or science ?” Leonardo grumbled.

A commotion in the corridors silenced them. It was Donatello, furious, pursued by his team :

“This time, I've had enough ! They're going to hear me !”

“Professor Hamato, please !” Begged his colleagues, “The material is, all in all, quite correct for our equipment.”

“Correct, you said ?! This is junk !”

“Hey, what's going on here ?” Leonardo interjected, blocking the way.

“No time for that ! I've got to have a word with the supply team !”

“What exactly are you blaming them for ?” Raphaël asked, following him.

“I blame them for this !”

He pointed to a small piece of mechanics with a scandalized look on his face.

“What's that ?” he asked.

“It's supposed to be an important element to protect us from the Krangs ! I've been waiting weeks for it and look at it ! It's got a fart !”

Raphaël, Leonardo, Michelangelo and April simultaneously bent over the fart in question, which wasn't even the size of a grain of rice.

“Uh… Is it that bad ?” Michelangelo ventured.

“Bad ?! How do you expect to repel the invasion with stuff like this ?! It's unacceptable !”

“Donnie, we're in the middle of the apocalypse.” Raphaël reminded him, “Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit ?”

“This isn't your way of getting back at Chief Tocq, is it ?” April guessed.

All eyes turned to April, then to Donatello. Eyes crinkled in judgment, they hoped he hadn't stooped to this childish game.

Donatello played offended:

“Nonsense ! As if I had time to waste on such nonsense ! Besides, I didn't even remember how insufferably insolent that mule-head was to me a week ago !”

His eyes were clearly fleeing the gaze of the others. Even his colleagues weren't convinced.

“Well, it's not all that, but I've got work to do!”

He slipped away down a corridor.

“He's gone to the supply side, hasn't he?”

“Yep.”

Donatello arrived at the supply section, a huge garage where all found objects are stored.

He stopped the first person within reach and demanded to see the team leader. He was shown to a hanging at the back of the room.

He stormed over to it, rephrasing his future reproaches over and over again, already amused by the idea of seeing Tocq's little pest break down when she heard his remarks.

He reached out, ready to grab the curtain, when he heard someone speak :

“Don't worry, boss. There'll be other opportunities.”

“It's so frustrating. The Resistance needs so many things, and it's getting harder and harder to find what we need.”

It was Chief Tocq's voice, punctuated by hisses as if overcoming pain. Donatello glanced around discreetly and saw the young woman seated on a stool, one of her companions bandaging her leg and a second standing with his back turned.

“Especially since some of them have the nerve to complain !” Added the standing man, not hiding his anger “I'm thinking of that mutant turtle, there, the one with the purple headband. I hear he can't stop bitching ! Wait till he gets here, I…!”

“Let him rant, Kurt. It's not the most important thing. We've got a mission, we don't have time to palaver.” Her care complete, she continued thoughtfully “And anyway, he's right : the objects we're bringing back aren't in good condition. We have to do better than this.”

“For years, we've been traveling thousands of kilometers every week to satisfy the cloistered members of the Resistance ! We risk our lives every time we go out, and they don't give a damn !”

He clenched his fists, continuing in a lower but still rumbling voice :

“And we all know: you do the most work. Between the excursions and the organization, you hardly ever rest.”

As he listens to them, Donatello felt foolish. With his coin in hand, he regrets being ungrateful.

Suddenly, the curtain opened and Tocq appeared, as surprised as he was to see him :

“Professor Donatello? What are you doing here?”

She didn't seem to hold a grudge from their last encounter. She even called him “Professor”.

Behind her, on the other hand, her colleague, Kurt, was clearly keen to pick a fight with Donatello.

The mutant couldn't say a word.

Tocq noticed the dented piece in his hands and held back a tired sigh:

“Is there something wrong with the coin ?”

“Uh… I… No. No problem at all.”

“Really ? Then how can I help you ?”

Donatello was panicking. He'd come here to complain and he'd been caught just when he'd changed his mind. What could he say now ?

He hid the coin behind his back as he would hide his shame.

“I just wanted to thank you, on behalf of the whole scientific team, for the work you're doing. My attitude the other day was unacceptable. You are a great help to us and I felt I had to tell you personally.”

His answer stunned Tocq as much as it did his colleague, who was suddenly frustrated that he had no reason to punch him. This brought Donatello a certain satisfaction.

For her part, Tocq was amazed, for she never thought she'd hear thanks from his mouth.

“Well, thank you very much, that goes straight to my heart. I'll be sure to pass it on to my team.”

She raised her hand in a friendly gesture, but her arm locked, causing a sharp pain. Kurt hurried to support her, even if Tocq didn't need it. Donatello noticed a robotic prosthesis. Well, rather a mechanical mishap creating this illusion.

“A prosthesis problem?” he asked.

“I've got it!” Kurt barked fiercely.

He's “got it” by giving Tocq's shoulder a big blow with his palm, provoking a new pain, perhaps even worse than the first, but which unlocked the arm. A miracle ? No, a stroke of luck in the turtle's opinion :

“Seriously ? You think you've fixed it now ?”

“The chief can move her arm again, so yes.”

“Don't make me laugh. All you're doing is making the situation worse and hurting her. It might work for a while, but the problem will come back. Let me take a look.”

“No way ! I'm used to treating this arm! You know nothing about it! You could block the system and then it'll be up to me to fix your bullshit !”

Donatello was discovering a deep-seated desire to punch this ill-mannered pitbull. Tocq stepped in to calm things down:

“I thank you for your offer, Professor. I'll think about it.”

She didn't try to be rude, but her tone was firm: there was no way she was going to let Donatello make a mess on her territory, however well-intentioned.

He withdrew, bitter. Not because Tocq had declined his offer, but because she was blinded by her friendship with Kurt, whose mechanical incompetence stank for miles.

End of the chapter

[orthodoxadventure]

We do not know God in His essence. We know Him rather from the grandeur of His creation and from His providential care for all creatures. For by this means, as if using a mirror, we attain insight into His infinite goodness, wisdom and power.

-- Saint Maximus the Confessor