#second life maybe? but that's like hiking like there is a barrier to entry

[sonickitty]

Idk if I have anything meaningful to say about the tiktok ban but lemme try

When I was a kid (10 - 22) I thought of social media like fashion trends. Everybody's doing MySpace. Now Xanga is cool. Now Livejournal. Tumblr is in, Deviantart is out. Instagram is cool, Facebook is old. You'd put yourself on the platform that matched your energy, like putting on clothes.

I was too young to understand that when a fashion trend dies, you can find pieces of it at thrift stores. You can dress retro. The trend will come back in 20 yrs.

Now, I'm old enough that a lot of my favorite restaurants have closed, and That's what losing a social media platform is Actually like. You can NEVER go back. You are never going to have that salsa recipe. You are never going to taste that pie again. You are never going to karaoke with those people again. And it doesn't matter if you moved away, or if the food started to suck so you stopped going years ago, the loss hits different.

We're feeling that now with virtual space (I think we always have, I'm just hyperaware of it today.) It didn't used to bother me when passé platforms bit the dust, but now there's so little to replace them - and nothing that excites me. So it hits different. And regardless if a bunch of toxic people became regulars so you stopped going, the bar was taken over by shitty new management, or the restaurant was dubbed a nation security threat, losing that space you shared with other people fucking hurts.

Anyway I'm sorry there's not more virtual public space for us to share. I'd love to sit a park with you.

[travellingwithleoandzoe-blog]

#6 Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica

Osa. For us, the word itself conjures up a sense of mysticism. Not many people call it home, making this enchanted peninsula a rare jewell for wildlife. And while stats tend to differ between various sources, all of them baffle. Take this one for example: it’s estimated that this tiny plot of land, amounting to only 0.0001% of the earth’s surface area, contains a staggering 2.5% of the planet’s bio diversity. The ratio is somewhat explainable when you consider the tropical rain forest in this part of the world embraces a mind-bending thirteen different ecosystems, from freshwater and marine systems, to dense elevated primary forests, sandy beaches, encompassing mangroves, and more. There’s all sorts of magic happening here. We’ll get back to some of the numbers in a short while.

As for the drive down to this Southwestern tip, it was unsurprisingly spectacular. Engulfed by the supercharged flora, we whizzed around the perimeter in a green blur, catching glimmers of the crystal blue Pacific from time to time. Before heading to our base for the upcoming few days, we first needed to pick up some reserves in the largest town in the region, Puerto Jimenez. With the stop off complete, and three days worth of food packed in the boot, we hurried on to a town call Dos Brazos, waving goodbye to phone connection, WiFi, and convenience stores. Dos Brazos was once a bustling gold mining village, however, it now embraces a more ecologically responsible and sustainable vision. As a gateway to Corcovado National Park, growing eco-tourism opportunities have shown this sleepy village how conservation efforts can benefit the community, providing jobs and a healthier environment. It was like stepping back in time on entry. The pace of life is slow and there’s a feeling of balance and harmony that’s clearly been orchestrated by the abundant natural beauty in the area. The rough road through the town didn’t last long, and under instructions from our host we continued off road at what appeared to be a dead end, pushing our car to its limits. 

Within five minutes we’d landed at the idyllic home and gardens of Casa Aire Libre. Perched above Rio Tigre and surrounded by breathtaking greenery, this open aired home would prove to be a once in a lifetime abode for us both. We were finishing Costa Rica in style. 

The home came equipped with an enormous kitchen suitable for any top chef, multiple hammocks and air chairs, a private garden with jungle paths, and a master bedroom up on a third floor up at tree level. We happily pottered about our new surroundings until the sunlight died on us, celebrating our first evening with a glass of vino and huge spread of various different tropical foods.

A booming chorus of bird calls coupled with a deep red backdrop from the sun rise was something to behold the next morning. Alarm clocks are now redundant to us, as we’ve become attune to nature’s cues and wake up calls. Our first full day in Osa was all about acclimatising and taking things slow. The expansive grounds and many amenities of our temporary home meant we had ample amounts of paths to explore, wildlife to admire, and foods to feast on. Maybe it was just the novelty of it, but the removal of walls in an environment like this felt like we could unconsciously absorb even more of Mother Nature while simply sat relaxing in our new home. Sometimes, however, there are more obvious physical encounters that come from having no barriers. As the power of the sun waned we went to grab a layer to put on. Lifting a t-shirt, a sizeable and startled wolf spider (we think) jumped off and perched itself on a nearby shelf. After much commotion, we let the spider be, and observed a plethora of other passers-by that evening, from tree frogs, to oversized clumsy flying beetles and the odd giant moth. We were truly in the thick of it.

Our location in the foothills of the extremely important Corcovado National, which protects over 50% of the forest in the area, meant we were walking distance to a network of incredible jungle trails. However, the park itself is only accessible with a guide, and that was a little out of our price range. Fortunately for us, the nearby Bolita Rainforest Hostel has created some its own alternative self-guided options on the fringes of the park.

Bolita has to be one of the hardest hostels in the country to get to. It required a 30 min strenuous hike from our home through dense, shady forest, and it wasn’t like we were staying in a connected place! The owner, an American naturist and nudist enthusiast, set up the hostel seventeen years ago. During this time span the hostel has forged out approximately fifteen kilometers worth of trails through sixty plus hectares of rainforest. On entry to the hostel we paid a small fee for path maintenance and examined the rough map of routes. We were told to keep our eyes peeled for snakes, of which there are many in this part of the world. The simple rule to abide by; keep your eyes fixed on the ground when moving. Be stationary when looking up.

Briefing complete, we marched on to start the first of many trails. Clothes optional was the message on the entry sign, but we kept our bits covered (mostly). We zigzagged along the various trails for hours, treading carefully along the way. The humidity was heavy, but cloud cover meant we enjoyed cooler temperatures compared to average. We encountered three fleeing snakes during the day. All our serpent friends were small and apparently non venomous. With such abundance of snake life, we also had the fortune of spotting one of their hunters, a laughing falcon. We watched from afar until the beautiful bird silently flew away.

We followed routes to two separate waterfalls, which we’ve become so accustomed to. Eventually, we worked our way upwards to a remarkable viewpoint above the canopy outlooking the national park and spanning out towards the sea. 

Within a moment of sitting down, we were greeted by two yellow throated toucans, who flew in to rest up on the tree directly opposite us. Such timely encounters couldn’t have been better created in our imaginations and the gifts kept occurring as we returned to the shade of the jungle. This time we stumbled across a gang of juvenile spider monkeys playing high up above our heads. One poor fella was missing a tail, but this didn’t seem to be holding him back. They swung between branches with such poise, until forming a small huddle where they proceeded to prune one another. We waved to the smallest in the group who sat alone still playing, and maybe it was a coincidence as it moved a nearby branch at the same time, but it felt like he or she gestured back to us. Their curious gaze in our direction filled our hearts with joy. Our tally for monkeys was now at three out of the four species in the country. Seeing this group of spider monkeys out in their natural environment was by far the most awe inspiring yet. What a day. One that left us wishing we had more time in the region.

We parted ways the next day, fitting in one final nature activity before leaving. Rising at 5 am, we met our bird guide for the morning, Rolando. After a quick cup of coffee we ventured out as light started to fill the sky. The starting point was conveniently on our doorstep. We wandered along our garden paths, the nearby banks of Rio Tigre, and outskirts of the town for three hours. In that time we spotted just short of fifty different bird species. For anyone that cares, we did our best to list those that we jotted down. You can find it at the bottom of the post. A few call outs are required. Ranking number one in our sightings was undoubtedly a pair of Spectacled Owls. Having never seen an owl of any sort in the wild, seeing these two hyper-tuned broad faced characters up close during daylight hours was rare. High fives were in order! Second on the list would have to be a fleeting sighting of the Turquoise Continga. The insane bright colours of this bird are hard to fathom. Third spot goes to go to a group of Scarlet Macaw that flew overhead while letting out their lung busting squawk. It was quite the conclusion to our stay in Osa. The energy of this living, breathing landscape left us gobsmacked. It’s home to between 4,000-5,000 species of vascular plants, more than 700 species of tree, nearly 400 species of birds, 124 different mammals, thousands of insects, and 115 species of reptiles. The list could go on. We knew we’d barely scratched the surface of the place, and departed ways knowing there were many reasons to one day return.

With only a two days left in Costa Rica, we decided to break up the drive back to San Jose with a stopover in the beach town of Uvita. That evening we strolled down Playa Uvita and entered Costa Rica’s youngest national park, Marino Ballena. The park is most coveted for its whale tail feature. This giant rock and sand formation reveals itself at low tide and from overhead looks just like the tail of a whale. It also happens to be a haven for humpbacks at specific times of the year. On the other side of the tail you find Playa Hermosa (where we’d enjoyed a siesta some days before). Sun down from the whales tail will long stick in our memory. The curtains were drawing in our Costa Rica adventure and the final scene was picture perfect. The journey, spanning over 1,800 kilometres, through four of the seven provinces, across volcanic highlands, rainforests, and sublime beaches, was everything we wanted and more.

Common Flycatcher Clay Coloured Thrush Blue Crowned Motmot Costa Rican Swift Red Crowned Woodpecker Rufous-tailed Hummingbird Buff-throated Saltator Turquoise Cotinga Green Honeycreeper (male and female) Streaked Flycatcher Southern Rough-winged Swallow Chestnut-sided Warbler Palm Tanger Slaty-tail Trogen Blue black Grosbeak Eastern Wood Peewee Spectacled Owl Scarlet Tanager Orange-chined Parakeet Scarlet Macaws Swallow-tailed Kite Scaly-breast Hummingbird Golden-hooded Tanager Burial-seed Eater Purple-crowned fairy Northern Bentbill Slate-headed Tody-flycatcher White-tipped Dove Great Currassow Black-cheeked Ant-tanager Tawny-winged Woodcreeper Black-hooded Antshrike River Siren Swansons Thrush Rose-eye Hawk Black-striped Sparrow Turkey Vultures Gartered Trogen Piratic Flycatcher Chachalaka Green Kingfisher Blue-ground Dove

[sin-like-me]

Equal Measure

Pairing: John Seed x (tried for a Gender Neutral Deputy)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: I swear, I enjoy it, and I am unapologetic. Heads up.

Summary: Associations can be dangerous, determination concerning, and a small bit of plastic incredibly weighty. 

Quick Note: This is the first time I have ever shared something I have written. Be advised there is no beta reader. The idea sprang from owning the very quilt mentioned... Also, I deeply appreciate Ubisoft and their writers for creating this entire universe. I seek only to borrow the Seeds from time to time to do with them as I will.

<~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~> 

‘What in the hell am I doing?!’

This is the thought that has been echoing in your head for the last twenty minutes; its insistence so loud it nearly drowns out the surrounding cacophony of frogs. Incredulity seeps from every pore as your heavily booted feet unerringly find purchase on the forest floor. It is your sure and steady tread through the darkness that impedes the wake-up call you so desperately need. You marvel with a slightly disconnected humor as your body takes over, blazing a trail to your possible destruction. Apparently, common sense was thrown violently from a window in lieu of a surety of heart.

‘I’m going to get myself killed over a damned ill conceived notion. Sorry Resistance members, your “hero” has perished due to their own asininity. Why, you good folk thought that if the Deputy ever fell it would be at the hands of a Peggie? Maybe a Judge? More the fool you.’

A fallen tree lies across the trail and without a second thought you nimbly vault over, landing with a surprisingly mute thump. These past weeks have improved your physical prowess and given you a new appreciation for stealth. Hell, once upon a time that little feat would have taken several tries before it was landed successfully. Who knew that fighting for survival would carry such excellent side benefits? Well, ya know, other than staying alive to see another day.

‘I am a damned fool, or maybe just damned.’

Above, a sliver of moon barely illuminates the neatly tied package hooked to your belt. The item in question was a bit bulky, though light weight and useful; loot you happened upon while clearing shelter for the night. That something so simple, ridiculous even, could quite possibly bring about your death was mind boggling. Logically you knew that what you carried would not only be welcomed but deeply appreciated by the Rye family. Alas, the moment you realized what you had chanced upon HIS face swam into view; vaguely alarming you with just how quickly you drew the association. Hell, if you had an ounce of self preservation you would turn on your heel and head towards Nick’s place.

‘It’s juvenile for fucks sake!’

Trying to push aside the feeling of panic clawing its way up your sides, you mentally recall every single detail leading you to this point.

‘Maybe I’m blissed out of my mind. I HAVE to be. Were there any of those damned Bliss flowers around?’

A few hours earlier you caught sight of the small white home, its silence deafening on the edge of the surrounding chaos. Blood was smeared across the front walk, the windows shattered and no vehicles, nor Bliss bouquets, present. It appeared abandoned, a potential place of rest. Crouching you held your gun at ready, muscles tensed as you methodically peeked through windows, watching, waiting, aware and patient.

Moving silently and swiftly you covered the entire perimeter neither observing nor hearing the slightest of sounds or movements from inside. Tossing a rock into several of the windows from behind cover of the truck, you held your breath half hoping for a confrontation and half dreading one. A minute become five. Nothing. It had to be clear. The Peggies weren’t known to be particularly patient. You stood, stretched your back. The weight from your survival pack taking a small toll after a solid 8 hour hike. Only a few more feet… deep, steadying breath and you leveled your shotgun at the door. Haste made your steps a bit louder than you would have liked, but as you threw open the door and swept the room, you had to smirk. Out of the corner of your eye you managed a glimpse of your face plastered on a wanted poster.

‘Wanted? Yeah, well, good luck you fanatics. I will not go gentle into that good night.’

Lowering your weapon once you established an all clear, you viciously ripped down their pitiful attempt at intimidation. Scoffing you made damn sure to leave a heavy boot print on its face, unrepentant sinner that you were and all. Inside boxes were stacked high enough to obscure any view outside, but they also enabled some cover. A short walk-through and you mentally noted all entry and exit points, only stopping to complain once.

“Shit.”

The back door had been completely removed.

Thinking on your feet, you pushed and stacked boxes in front of the opening. It wouldn’t stop much of anything, but it would serve as a noisy warning. Truthfully, it gave you what you were craving: the illusion of safety. As satisfied as you were going to be with the makeshift barrier, you returned to the living room. The now cleared couch seemed inviting but a sudden breeze through the window frames invoked an involuntary shiver. Maybe you could find a blanket in one of the many boxes? Hell, it was worth a shot. Heading over to a solitary box sitting atop an old armchair you pulled your treasured Ka-Bar knife from the top of your boot.  Making quick work of the tape, a surprised laugh escaped your lips when you immediately hit pay dirt. Luck seemed to shadow your every move… or perhaps divine intervention?

A quick thought was spared for the Seeds as you pulled a stack of cloth out of the box. Saviors of the modern world, yet death stalked their every move. Did they not see the blatant hypocrisy? Killing or force converting the masses in order to save them from “the Great Collapse”?! It was either utter bullshit or at the very least counterintuitive.

Ahha! Your hand skims smooth, thin blue cotton. While sheets were nice, something heavier would be better...annnnddddd BINGO! A quilt. You pulled it free and shook it out, letting the ends drop to the floor. The orange glow from the dying sun gave the back of the cream colored quilt an odd glow. Eyes scanning the windows, you made your way to the couch and sat down, sheets and quilt clutched in a fist.

Rule one of survival?  Rest before resistance. Maybe the Resistance should make their own posters and hang ‘em right next to those ever so cheery YES! signs.

The light of the day dipped beyond the horizon. Night began to settle in, snuffing out the remnants of illumination and cradling you in its embrace of anonymity and obscurity. In the dark you seem safe and hidden.

The perfect silence is interrupted by a low growl from your stomach. Ah, well perhaps you need more than rest. You debate eating the cans of tuna spotted on the kitchen counter, but forgo it in favor of a protein bar from your pack. Quite frankly jimmying the can open with your knife was a little more effort than you wanted to expend at that moment. Besides the chalky texture wasn’t too terrible if you ate it quickly.

Hunger abated you set your pack and shotgun on the floor beside the couch within easy reach, and pulled the sidearm from your hip. No one was comfortable trying to sleep with a gun digging into their side. Hmmm, maybe a bit more light for the moment while you arranged yourself on the couch. Leaning up from your semi-prone position and grabbing a glow stick from the side of your hiking pack, you snap it in half, shake and are engulfed in a faint, eerie, green glow. Ah, to sleep in combat boots or not was the question. Sleeping without shoes was a luxury you had not indulged in recent memory. You had to always be ready, prepared to defend, run, or kill at a moments notice. You learned quickly that having your fight or flight response consistently heightened was not sustainable. There were moments of breaking, of utter mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion so acute you didn’t give a damn about anything at all.

This was one of those times.

Fuck the shoes.

You sat up again to unlace the well worn, well loved boots when you froze in place. Horrified amusement broke your arms out in goosebumps as its chill trickled down your spine. Oh, but God had a sense of humor. Draped across your lap the quilt you had quickly dismissed as non-descript was anything but. Large squares repeated a pattern in red, blue and cream and you couldn’t help where you mind raced. Vivid flashes assaulted your senses:  blue eyes boring into yours, his cold, barely controlled fury lapping at your soul in ravenous waves.  

You hated that you read their file before leaving the station on that fated night. For weeks you did not let yourself stop to think and consider. To empathize. You knew their documented history, knew the hell the Seed brothers had endured throughout what should have been a normal childhood. Fingers reflexively clutching the fabric in your fist, your eyes lost focus, thoughts turning further inward.

Each Seed brother had been and were being shaped by their experiences, each twisted in a different way, all needing balance.. And maybe even kindness. You offered them no excuses, could not forget nor understand their actions, but suddenly you knew you could empathize with their pasts. You could glean some form of perspective, and that scared you. Were the lines not black and white in this struggle? Were there actual shades of grey?

‘Damn it!’

You shook your head trying to physically dislodged these uncomfortable realizations. We are all a constantly evolving product of our experiences, the Seeds included. Maybe.. Maybe it was not too late?

Following that hope was a dash of reality. Too late for what? To save everyone? To be the hero to all? For peace? That is for children’s fairy tales. This was real life.. And real life was messy.

You focus on the quilt in our hand, a wild idea solidifying into a determined decision.

It is said that hope can be a dangerous thing, well, apparently you are now on a mission to prove it.  

Before you could rethink your plan, you folded the quilt into a neat square, grabbed some of the brown packing paper forgotten on the kitchen floor, and deftly wrapped the package. No luck finding any tape, so improvise and adapt. You had some gauze strips and with a little ripping it would tie it closed in a pinch. Properly secured, you examined the finished product.. It was missing a calling card, something to let him know you had delivered it, knew where he was and that you could have easy access if you so chose… but what? Then it hit you. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back into the couch, hand going for your jeans pocket. You didn’t know why you hadn’t sewn it back on yet, probably saving it as a perverse reminder of your escape. It would be the perfect nod to and  perhaps even a small dig at the man who considered himself just that “fresh” as Sharky would say.

Without a second thought you snaked a piece of gauze thread through the holes and neatly secure the small, innocuous object front and center.

Presently that tiny piece of blue plastic glinted up at you in the moonlight reminding you that yes, you were in fact enroute to one of the Seed’s compounds. Even knowing the danger you kept your pace, ducking under low hanging branches and freezing into a crouch as a twig snapped less than a klick to the west. Soundlessly your silenced P226 Amendment 2 was drawn and aimed towards the sound when you spotted a small pack of wolves stalking the vicinity. As long as lady luck kept your scent downwind you would be elusive, time to pick up the pace.

Keeping the river to your left you knew that the ranch was about an hour hike from your shelter, but that was assuming one could just waltz down the long drive and right up to the front door. You had no such luxury, so you kept to the riverbank and trees, skirting along the property line under the cover of night. You made decent time all things considered and when you found the dock you knew you had to scale the cliffs behind his home. Hmph. Good thing you took the time to wolf down that protein bar. Grappling on an empty stomach was difficult at the best of times, and grappling at night while surrounded by Peggies in various states of alert was NOT the best of times.

The cliff edge was approximately 30 feet from a side door leading into some portion of the vast building which John Seed called home. Cult members were stationed at lookout points along the four corners of the property with a small group at the front and to the sides. Right now the back was clear of patrols so you narrowed in on your destination: a patch of tall flowering plants. Pulling yourself up and over the final ridge with a soft grunt, you quickly crouched behind a nearby tree, scoping the surroundings before dashing into the midst of cover. The door was so damned close.. You unclipped the package from your waist and hefted its weight in your palm. You could throw it, but where was the personal touch in that? No, you did not come all this way pushing past exhaustion to just throw it and run. Sure the area was well lit, sure this was the home of one of the Heralds of the Collapse, but in this very moment you were foolishly unafraid. Unafraid or perhaps in some form of delirium from exhaustion.

Your suspicions spike when nary a soul comes to patrol the back door. It made no sense. The Seeds were many things, but unprepared and stupid were not one of them. Then a  certainty flitted through your subconscious:

John knows I am here.

Alright, let’s say he does. So, what do you do? Do you sit here and debate the reason why, do you leave, or do you oblige the curiosities of a man who for reasons unknown obviously has no immediate intention of capturing you? Why Sharky’s voice rang in your thoughts at that moment were unclear but damn he was right.

“Ride or Die.” you whisper.

Standing tall, equal parts foolhardy and confident, you make your way to the backdoor, eyes always forward in defiance of any possible threats. With a studied casualness you ascend the two steps to the cedar stoop, package in hand. Well, so far, so good. Glancing up you spot a red light. Mhm, of course John liked to watch.

‘Well Mr. John Seed, enjoy the show.’

Dropping to one knee, you make sure to mockingly exaggerate every movement.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” you mutter sarcastically staring at the camera stationed in the corner of the overhang. “Google it John.”

You wink, a delicious trill of excitement tugging your lips into a smirk.  Standing then, you flip him the nationwide symbol for get fucked, and waltz right back to the cliffs. Your shoulders feeling lighter, your burden moved. You would not be hunted this night.

He knew….and the ball was in his court.

As Fate would have it, John just happened to be on the ranch that night. He saw the Deputy the  moment a delicate hand grasped the cliff's edge. Little known fact, the first thing he had done when he bought this ranch was to make sure security cameras were installed to cover every single angle of his ranch. At the time it was expensive, but he knew he would not regret it and as he sat back in his chair, the black leather creaking slightly with his shifting weight, he basked in his foresight. On the screen the slender fingers flexed as a head of dark hair came into view. John did not consciously acknowledge how his breath hitched in anticipation nor did he stop to consider how he recognized Rook from something as small as that hand.

Cerulean eyes narrowed under dark brows absorbing every single muscle flex, every minute facial tick.

“Oh what do we have here Dep-ut-yyyy.. Tsk, tsk.. You can do so much better than this pitiful attempt at assassination.”  He leaned forward slowly, tapping the figure on the screen with a long, well manicured finger. “Frankly my dear, I am offended.”

Rook was crouching now, and John watched in amusement as the quick progression to the edge of the trees came to an abrupt halt. Time to debate that next move.

“Well, you certainly have my attention and curiosity…” eyes never leaving the screen, his hand closes around his radio. Switching to his personal security channel, his next order was very deliberate, “Call off all patrols for the next hour.”

A brief crackle of static, “Yes sir John sir.”

He smirked, they knew better than to question him and damned if they would defy him. He may lack Jacob’s military training, but he could command a flock through fear and charm.

“What are you up to my sinful Wrath?”

It was then he spotted a thick, square package being untied from the black leather belt slung snugly across the deputy’s hips.

“Explosives? How utterly mundane.” disappointment dripped from his words.

He watched as there was a sudden shift in the Deputy’s posture. From a crouching and tensely coiled machine arose a self-confident silhouette. No longer were the steps hurried, quiet, and cautious. In place was an arrogant stride, each step measured and calculated, and the demeanor focused on the goal ahead. Never once did eyes dart to look to the sides or behind. It was then he knew…

His... no, no, no…  THE Deputy knew he was watching.

A shiver danced up the base of his spine, eyes narrowing. A devilish smile curved his lips bringing a sudden softness to his usually intense face.

“My, my aren’t we the brave one? All alone with no sign of Nick or Sharky? An unapproved outing perhaps? Ahhh, secrets upon lies upon secrets. Your sins seem to know no bounds.”

Rook had reached the door after a quick climb up the two back steps. John braced his forearm along the desk and leaned in so close that the screen almost grazed his nose. He should have been focusing on the package, but his eyes would not leave Rook’s face.

“Show me your sin… show  me your wrath,” he whispers, almost begging.

In a surprising move, the Deputy falls to one knee and looks directly at the camera, eyes amused even through the technological barrier. Lips are pursed in a small smile, mocking and almost taunting him. The mic kicked on and he heard every single word that pretty little throat uttered.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” a soft intake of breath and … was that a fucking laugh?! “Google it John.”

The use of his name scattered any logical thought processes he may have had. Never before had Rook uttered it, not when tied to his chair, not when baptised.. The sound of it from those lips and in that voice was alarming. Equal parts dreadful and pleasing.

The package, which he had forgotten in his astonishment, was placed gently upon the deck and with a small pause, the Deputy looked back up at the camera and winked. His internal confusion mounted until, standing, he got the one finger salute. John barely caught the guffaw that was trying to escape his throat so what ended up coming out was a strained grunt.

“Ahhhh, and there it is mixed with a bit of arrogance.”

Did the Deputy think him a complete simpleton? He was an educated man. He damn well knew the legend behind the Mayan God Maximon. Obviously Rook was trying to draw some rather dramatic comparisons. John chuckled. Oh dear… Was it the sunglasses? My, how he enjoyed that little reference.

Watching the retreating form closely, John sat on the edge of his chair  until the deputy’s head disappeared down the cliff. Once gone from the screen and his property, John finally stood to his full height of 5’10”. Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he made a quick grab for the radio before turning to descend to the back door.

Who was he to shun any offerings left by his admirers?

Cracking the door he peeked down at the package. Nothing was blinking or ticking.. He reached to his side, grabbed a conveniently placed broom and poked it. Surprisingly the package gave way with the brown paper ripping slightly.

Cloth?!

“What do you have up your sleeve?”

Pushing the broom back behind him, John stepped out onto the stoop and picked up the parcel. From what he could see inside the hole it looked like some clothing perhaps? Was the Deputy affronted by his fashion sense? Pft. He was damn meticulous about his choice of clothes, he was the face of Eden’s Gate after all. This look went over well for the most part.

He began to pluck at the gauze tying the parcel closed when a small blue button caught his eye. It was securely fastened to the middle of the package demanding to be noticed and there was absolutely no need for an explanation. John immediately knew what it was. Memories of the moment that he had Rook tied to his chair, the room encased in harsh red light.... He had leaned down, his mouth saying how he wished he had more to say yes to...ripping open that blue button down shirt… buttons scattered, flesh visible to his feasting eyes, sponge cleaning the fevered skin, his eyes demanding of those before him, commanding obedience yet hoping for rebellion.. Oh he knew this little button well.

His fingers closed into a fist around the small bit of plastic, tightening his grip until its form bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He shook his head to bring him back to the present before pocketing the button. Ripping the remaining paper away, John flicked out the cloth within and studied it briefly before throwing his head back and laughing.

It was a quilt… a quilt with blue planes and clouds in squares around the outskirts, and a red and blue plane circling each other in the center. It was obviously made with a child in mind, but John was oddly pleased. Sure the quilt was juvenile, but it told him quite a lot. The Deputy had somehow noted his admiration for planes in the only way possible: by the pattern on the coat he had only worn once when they first laid eyes on one another. It seemed a lifetime ago, that moment where it all began. The fact that those observant eyes had paid special attention to him, that Rook felt the need to gift this to him… spoke of something more than wrath.

He smirked, picking up the trash and tossing the quilt over his forearm to carry inside. This quilt was sure to be an interesting piece, and hell he might even display it in a mocking way amongst his Eden’s Gate symbols and books. For the moment he tossed the quilt over the dining room table, ignoring the blinking message light on his answering machine.

Was the Deputy coming around? Doubtful, but possible.

He made a quick detour through his kitchen and into his garage where there was a toolbox with exactly what he needed. On autopilot he rummaged through the necessary drawers, pushing aside bits of metal until he located the needle nose pliers and jump rings.

Striding back into the dining room John pulled a chair out in a quick gesture. Sitting thoughtfully, eyes glazed in contemplation, he was unaware as his hand toyed with the leather thong around his neck. A quick blink and he pulled up, ducking absently as it slipped from around his neck. What he was doing, he would not fully comprehend in the moment, but it was something he desperately needed. That tiny piece of plastic burned his thigh where it rested, heavy with meaning. Tugging it from where it lay hidden, deft fingers attached the weighty piece of blue behind his bunker key.

This was.. His? John brought the leather up to his neck, and after a brief debate slipped it back over his head. The weight from the key caused the leather to fall silently back into place, its familiar shape coming to a rest against his bare chest. Where there should have been the cool bite of metal, instead burned the heat of a secret contained in the form of a small blue button. Yes, this was his. His to carry or expose as he saw fit.

The Deputy… HIS deputy, was a weight he would shoulder, a sin he would either condone, commit, or eventually excise and cleanse. The path was not clear to him yet, but he would save Wrath even if it meant dragging them bodily into salvation: bloody, kicking, and screaming.

John chuckled as his hand closed over the handheld, the soft crackle of open airwaves loud in the silence of revelation, “Patrols will resume in an hour.”

Immediately he received his enthusiastic response: “Yes sir!”

Tonight? Well, tonight he would grant reprieve.

[nullset2]

Open Letter on Hate

I got to call out something that I'm noticing in my day to day in my city, Seattle, because I think that, if not spoken about, it will get out of hand in a very bad way; that something, ladies and gentlemen, is a certain feeling of societal unrest related to the tech industry's impact on the community that, ever so slightly, shows the rear of its ugly head in succint yet cutting ways in everyday life.

Now, first point of disclosure, I'm not one of those Social Justice types and you shall see no clothes-tearing of biblical proportions here; yet, I think that we, and by that I mean Humanity as a whole, we MUST progress towards a more accepting and more emphathetic society. I honestly believe that it is a horribly hard challenge to shed the ugliness of tribalism and groupthink in the modern US, and that as a whole we're currently faced with horrendous Ecological, Social and Political challenges, which we must solve. To constantly try to move the modern narrative to move that agenda forward is necessary.

However, I also know that the establishment is there for a reason, and it would be stupid of me to ignore that or to try to antagonize it. So, call me a centrist if you will, as in, all sides of thought have a lot to be criticized for.

Second, I realize that I come from a position of privilege, which some of you will happily brandish against me (oh, I can just feel the angry keystrokes coming my way already...).

Oh, how I hate that term.

I am an information professional in 2019, a field very, very highly sought after for people and where people generally do well. So I will not claim to have all the answers, lest some of my unconscious biases were to show, but as somebody who knows what happens in both sides of society and that is actually trying to change, I still feel compelled to write my impressions in order to get people thinking.

I may be an information professional yet it wasn't "just given" to me in any shape or form, you know? This stuff costed me years, and years of dedication, capice?

Hopefully you can call me out if I say something uncalled for --remember, this is the cornerstone of cultured discourse, I say something, you say something back if I messed up, from which I learn, and by continuing that process, we reach the Truth. Things will get better as long as we keep talking, and the moment you leave the discussion table because of some high and mighty political belief that precludes basic human decency, then we're done.

So, ok, let's get onto the point: it seems that, as the generation born in the 80s and 90s in the modern, globalized world reaches maturity and as they start to realize that they're Hungry, they're feeling a little bit left to die by a variety of societal forces related to the expansion of the tech industry in the US.

Some call it an economical gap, citing the 1% and whatnot... or some even worse types will start bringing out conspiranoic thoughts that I just would rather not dive into.

In any way, all of this leads to a bunch of... well, just plainly, hate. Hate for each other, hate for the establishment, hate for the goverment, hate for the enterprise. Just undistilled, raw hate.

And this then surfaces lots of ugly things: who would had thought that racism, nazism, white supremacy, sexism and discrimination would be alive and well in 2019? 2019 is one of those year-dates that I imagined would be amazing when we'd get there back in the 90s when I was more impressionable. The mere idea of a 2019 made all of those awful terms sound like a bunch of things that were "of the past"; old horror tales coming from a society less informed, less emphatetic, dumber, and less capable of rational thought than whatever was to come. I thought that with the slow advent of the massively-online, always-on, low-barrier-of-entry Internet, powered through the amazingness of the World, its people and their Cultures, we would reach a better state at Large. Mind you, in a lot of ways we have, don't get me wrong. It may be sucky --yet, it's the best it's ever been, and I truly do appreciate that. And yes, leading the world and taking it upon your shoulders is a terrible and painful task, so it's not easy by any means.

If somebody decides to change sex for example, and shows up tomorrow at your office, and somebody decides to not recognize them, that person will get fired on the spot. Do you realize how impossible that sounds compared to the world of two decades ago?

But, unable to channel that frustration to correct use, confused out of their mind, feeling disenfranchised, there's tons of adults lashing against everything while they're desperately clinging to whatever seems fit to take them out of their misery, be it the necessity to emulate the false semblance of the "Greater" America of yore, the necessity to come together in tribes or factions and make an "us versus them" out of everything, or a general feeling of anger about everything. It's insane and irrational and founded in just pure fear.

Believe me, I've been yelled hate at while walking down the University district just because I'm --obviously-- one of the people moving in. My cleaner yesterday angrily let me know that she used to live on the 8th, and had to move 2 hours of commute away due to the hiking rent prices in downtown Seattle, close to Stevens Pass. I can easily assure you: you got deeper issues than money if you actually have to move that far away to make rent.

But anyway.

I will be the first to recognize it though: most techies fucking suck. Yes, I would also feel pretty slighted if it turned out that my neighbor now is now some brown dude who won't even say hello when I try to talk to him because he refuses to interact socially beyond obligation in anything that's not his native language, fantasizing every day about going back to their home country and retiring for good the soonest possible.

Techies may also be hard to make friends with because of their narrow vision of the world, their lack of time to actually develop social skills... and basically, their inability to take on some ass like god intended.

"My coverage % is my reason to live!", said no one ever.

Yes, guys, get over yourselves.

It's just Java. Calm down.

That's what leads to stickers such as the ones that you see in the picture above being plastered all over the US. Lots of tech companies have brought a lot of new people in town, whose pay grade, suddenly, makes property owners close to the corporate campuses very happy but a lot of renters disgruntled. Not only rent, but cost of living is raising all over the place.

Just ask my SF friends.

I mean, I appreciate that people are trying to speak up against what's happening because I would fucking do it if I was in their position. I have found a certain appreciation for that kind of counterculture (you cannot have a healthy society without counterculture, which is something I think most young children these days are dropping the ball hard on, by the way). It's people trying to speak up, reach out and actually make a point and that's a force of nature in regards to change. It is exactly what we need.

Yet, bottom line, I know that everyone that was born here and grew here deserves respect, so again, I cannot truly say this without my biases showing, and I'm sorry about that, but I am not about being fed a bunch of hate either.

But let's not make it about me.

Let's exception at the vapid finger-pointing. A lot of people are pointing fingers at Sillicon Valley, or megacorporations, or the Wealthy, or... anybody moving to the US themselves don't really stop to consider what the other side is going through.

We're all in the same boat, y'all. We can be friends.

I mean don't get me wrong, I understand where people are coming from. I imagine it sucks to see your city change so fast within your lifetime.

But hear me out, and I say this as somebody who knows that the struggle is real. I know that the rate of change is increasing and it seems awful and like it's not ever stopping, but in my opinion that's not only a consequence of the socioeconomical order. I think it's a logical conclusion of how we have more information to go by now. You have to understand that all of us are competing on a worldwide arena now.

No matter how bad things may be, I think a lot of the hate is just rooted in the fear of change, and only those who understand that we will never get to live slow, ways-set-in-stone, 50 years with the same job lives every again, and embrace it, will always come out on top.

It sucks but embrace it and then maybe, all together, we can make a better thing out of it.

If there's tons of people coming in taking in expensive jobs, why don't you try to play on the same level field? If college is expensive and a machination of an evil system trying to systematically castrate people out of their own volition and enterprise, then why do you still resent people that went to college? Again, I paid for every single cent of my college tuition, don't assume the worse in others all the time. Why couldn't you? Even if it sucks, why didn't you at least try?

No, but it all falls back into anger and fear at the big bad corporations making their lives hell and people will purchase stickers to shit on others... and then they turn around and 1-click buy their stickers online while continuing to avoid going out and watching yet another video on the tube site. Capice?

Again, it sucks, and I know why it sucks, but stopping in your tracks to cry is barely any use. Change careers, learn, and learn, and learn. Adapt and try to play to your advantages. Your tongue is your ally if you use it well. The rate of change is increasing, are you going to surf the wave or will you stay on the shore?

I mean, listen. Don't be the victim. You don't wanna be the victim, believe me. I've seen families ripped apart, torn to shreds because of that. It numbs people. Even though so many things suck, you gotta try to pull through, and not everyone gets the luxury of getting that drilled into their minds by someone else so I'm gonna dad you. Pull yourself together, it's not about the techies, it's not about the corps, or at least it shouldn't be at least or should it?. It can be about you though. That's the only thing you can control, yourself.

Hey, and YOU, as a techie, you don't get off scot-free either.

If you know that you're working in something inhumane or exploitative or terrible in a corporation, don't give in to it. Don't be someone who just takes your boss' agenda in without questioning if that is so. Raise your voice and don't be complacent. Refuse to be fed the vision of the world where you're supposed to just be subservient. And you know, treat the locals with respect. Don't isolate yourself away in your own techie tribe because you're too much of an socially inept, incompetent person to collaborate and integrate. Fucking integrate ffs. Bring money back in to the system and participate in the culture. When in Rome, you know? It feels comfortable to just adscribe things to being "oh, but it's because they don't understand us. It's because they got it in for us. Oh, it's because they're trying to shun us away.". What are you really doing for them, though, and why does that them doesn't become us anyway? Don't be a bad techie, understand your position and act well on it.

And bottom line, at least from my side I want you to know. Seattle, I am trying. I hope you can at least understand that.

Mother 3 warned me about this thirteen years ago when I played a pirated copy of it in japanese, without the translation patch in a shitty GBA emulator in 2006 in the middle of bum fucking nowhere and I didn't even know that it was telling me about what was to come. That's how much ahead of its time that game was.