I was hesitant to post here due to relevance, but this post is made for budding psychics like me hitting a wall in their groundwork, so I think this does fit under development. If it's not relevant enough, then that's fair. There's a few resources, but not many for psychics who struggle with ptsd which inspired me to create this post.
Mentions of lucid dreaming, awakening, basic psychic groundwork, astral projecting, shadow work and mentions of metaphysical sources.
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Cw: brief mentions of trauma and trauma related topics. Brief mention of a NDE without details of event.
I am not a mental health professional. Most of what is below are anecdotal with sources added. I am also not a professional spiritual practitioner. I’ve only practiced spiritually for over a year. I don’t do readings for others at the time of this post.
Below I will talk about my experiences with ptsd/c-ptsd and the struggle with basic mindfulness practices. Even looking for free resources online, I see articles claiming that mindfulness is a solution to dealing with trauma, but it’s not that simple. If you have ptsd and have found yourself struggling with basic mindfulness you are not a failure. This is common for those who have experienced severe and/or prolonged trauma. You just need to go about your practice in a different way. I will also talk about how visualization isn't universally accessible to everyone.
Let’s start out with visualization. As much as I love Psychic Witch by Matt Auryn, he relies heavily on visualization. One of the reasons I appreciate The Illusion of Method by Mark Gurrian is that he acknowledges some of us can’t visualize. Some may read my anecdotes and only get words on a page, versus seeing a man/woman dealing with the situations that I describe. In his book, Mark(technique originally created by Robert Bruce) describes an aphantasia/ low-vision- friendly way on how one would astral project by meditating on the sensation of climbing a rope out of their body.
Even though I don’t have aphantasia, this inspired me to utilize sensation over visualization for when my anxiety made visuals hard. The feeling of knowing I’m connected to the earth and the consciousness that runs through all things can get me grounded. The sensation of warmth in my chest concentrating as I call my energy to me can make me feel centered. The sensation of a click of energy around me can make me feel shielded.
I also have the privilege of insight in the low-vision and blind community as my partner is low-vision. Both she and her fully blind friend are advanced lucid dreamers. I will link the free MILD guide below along with other resources on lucid dreaming. I won’t speak personally on this because I’m not a good lucid dreamer and wouldn’t do it justice.
Mindfulness and trauma:
When I was a teen, I sought out a middle school counselor. She recommended meditation, breathwork, and yoga. I remember trying my best, but couldn’t. Terrifying imagery appeared when I shut my eyes. Focusing on my breath reminded me of a NDE I had and she did not teach me to reorient my focus onto something else that wasn’t triggering. She also wasn’t aware how different posture and poses were triggering for me (and I didn’t know better to tell her). One time, she did yoga with me, instructing me to focus on my breath. I started to panic and she told me to tell her what I was experiencing. She guided me straight into a panic attack. The whole day I was dissociative and shaky, having intrusive thoughts about my body suddenly dying.
Around the same time I sought massage therapy on my own for pain and the therapist told me she had never seen a kid who couldn’t relax or was as tense as me before. She recommended meditation, but I explained that for some reason I couldn’t do it. She was baffled because she never heard of meditation causing a panic attack before, either. Also not helpful were my parents' lack of an appropriate reaction to my NDE and their beliefs that my chronic problems weren't real.
These practices were too much for me and I didn’t find anyone who understood complex and severe trauma. What was going on was that these basic mindfulness practices were outside of my window of tolerance, which is described in David Trevealen's Trauma Sensitive Mindfulness. I knew the school counselor couldn't provide what I needed- a trauma informed therapist. I never got correct treatment for my issues until I was an adult because my parents were resistant to what I wanted. I was on my own, reading books of other people that lived tough lives to gain some sort of validation. Overall, this left me feeling like I was a failure. Then as I got older I would scoff at anyone who recommended meditation. My partner experienced similar issues and we both came to the conclusion meditation just wasn't a solution everyone made it out to be for anxiety. What I didn't know from teenage through young adult years was that I was going about mindfulness the wrong way for my specific issues.
In his book Trauma Sensitive Mindfulness, David Treleaven talks about how mindfulness can actually exasperate PTSD symptoms. For the survivor, the mind is no longer a safe place. We are locked in a fight, flight, or freeze state. Our brains are hypervigilant for cues that might indicate we're in danger again. When we close our eyes with nothing to distract ourselves, we see those triggering images again.
A lot of the time, we are flip-flopping between states of anxiety and reactivity to numbness and dissociation. David talks about the sweet spot between the two as the window of tolerance. An experience doesn't have to be pleasant, but tolerable. It's important for us to recognize when we're going too far in either direction. Cognitive behavior therapy can be helpful here if you lack the tools to self regulate (like me). David talks about the scale of arousal. My psychologist uses a SUDS scale. Basically, a way for you to determine where you are emotionally so you can be mindful of it.
Getting a little older and out on my own, I started to realize I had a problem. My plastic pitcher fell on me while I was cleaning one day. I swung uselessly in the air and then grabbed my pitcher before slamming it onto the floor and shattering it. I then burst into tears because that was my only measuring cup and I was broke. There were holes in the walls and doors from several one man fights.
I didn't like the person I was and felt like my outbursts were making things uncomfortable for my best friend despite her support.
I went to a nearby school for psychology where I got counsel for free.
This was the first person who recognized my PTSD and taught me a grounding exercise when I'd be confronted with imagery and felt I was in danger.
"What are three things that you see in this room?"
"What are three things you hear?"
"What are three things you smell?"
"What are three things you can feel?"
I found myself back in session, no longer face-to-face with family. I was back. The more I used this exercise, the easier it became to regulate myself. I eventually could watch the fight or flight surge through me like a wave as if an objective observer. I was in control.
I still use this technique for when I'm unwell. Currently, I pay attention to my bodily sensations like what is mentioned in the above paragraph, then to my environment, and where I am in space and time- that I’m safe. When I finish up astral projecting, I’ll hone in on what I’m experiencing with my senses to integrate with my body again.
In Trauma Sensitive Mindfulness, David talks about this grounding technique in his first chapter with a client that had outbursts like mine. He instructed him to focus on the sensation of the chair against his back and his feet firmly planted to keep himself grounded in present reality.
While I could ground myself back down, I struggled with more mindfulness- especially breath work. The student counselor at the time would try to ease me into it, but it reminded me too much of my NDE- even 7 years post. She also wanted me to do a Body Scan where I would focus on my body, relaxing different parts from head to toe. This sustained attention on my body was also too much for me. We kept hitting walls. Some of my issues with my body and pain were not relatable to most of those students. I was recommended to look into SSRIs, but at the time I didn’t have insurance or any way to afford it. It was a great service, but it was time to move on.
Eventually landing a solid career meant I could have normal healthcare. Finding the right SSRI was tricky, but once we found it, it was a whole new world.
My anxiety was 80 percent better. After over a decade of locked in fight or flight, I could finally relax. I think it was starting this SSRI all those years ago that made it possible for me to even begin mindfulness involving breathwork last year and I can still incorporate breath work today to elevate or decrease my state depending on where I was emotionally.
There are many forms of breathwork techniques- if they work for you. It's important to stay within what's tolerable and be honest with yourself, then be gentle with your answer.
In Matt Auryn's Psychic Witch there are numerous techniques like elemental, solar, and lunar breathing. Some do well with square breathing. I was recently advised to utilize breath work to bring me back to equilibrium. If I was dissociative and numb, to extend the inhale and then breathe out. To bring myself back down from anxiety to breathe, hold, and extend my exhale.
Another way I enjoyed breath work in the very beginning of my spiritual practices was to take advantage of the mammalian diving reflex. In the tub, river, or pool, I would dunk my head and slowly exhale through my nose. The roaring bubbles would also drown out the sound of my heartbeat, which I couldn't tolerate.
In Consorting With Spirits Jason Miller's description of becoming your breath in meditation made the trance state click with me when I first started.
With my window of tolerance even lower than before, right now I gravitate to forms of mindfulness that involve movement, which has proven to be helpful for those of us with ptsd. I like yoga, where I can look at and hear an instructor. I can also be extremely picky and choose the one who is most comfortable. I can’t do yoga in a studio, but I can do it in the safety of my home in front of a computer with no eyes on me. There’s many styles of yoga available for free online on youtube if this also speaks to you. You may also enjoy the free Tai Chi lessons there, too.
Sometimes mindfulness can be a challenge for well seasoned practitioners, too. A traumatic event could take place and cause an avid meditator to no longer tolerate their practice. If this is you, be kind with yourself. You might only tolerate short meditation sessions, or to meditate with your eyes open. Maybe you need to hear music, or a guide who will talk you through it. If you can’t tolerate it at all, put your practice aside or find a method that’s tolerable for you or take a break altogether.
Starting last year, my budding practice was what kept me here. I was experiencing an awakening during a stressful time. I stubbled a lot and still do, but my meditation game was starting to get a foothold. When I finally learned Ground, Center, and Shield I did it everyday. I started using meditation to work on my issues and got breakthroughs in how I was seeing myself and my emotions. Parts of me were coming back. I was finally able to feel my heartbeat in my chest (for short amounts of time) without terror for the first time in 16 years.
I was excited and passionate, but I’ll talk more about overdoing shadow work in another post. Just know that if you’re not mindful of where your tolerance is, you can re-traumatize yourself, which is why Shadow work is recommended to be done with a trauma-informed style of therapy.
Overall, mindfulness can be a great resource to those of us with trauma in order to heal, though it needs to be done in a way that’s sensitive to our triggers and catered to our individual needs or it can do more harm than good. You may recommend meditation to a friend, but they struggle with it. They may not tell you they have trauma, but use language like “I can’t focus”, “or “maybe it isn’t for me” because that’s easier to say. Maybe it isn’t trauma, but the majority of resources are visual and that isn’t accessible to them for whatever reason. There needs to be a sense of choice in how a survivor chooses to practice because we have already lost our autonomy through trauma. It may look a little different from how others practice. We need to feel safe in our practice and sometimes for us our body and minds are not safe. I think we should be sensitive to those who struggle with mindfulness, including ourselves.
Additional information:
What is ptsd -> https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/post-traumatic-stress-disordesymptoms-causes/syc-20355967
What's the difference between c-ptsd and ptsd?-> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2022/12/14/the-difference-between-ptsd-and-c-ptsd-and-why-it-matters/
Trauma-informed mindfulness (ft David Treleaven)-> https://psychcentral.com/health/trauma-informed-mindfulness#can-mindfulness-cause-harm
What is a SUDS rating scale?-> https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-a-suds-rating-3024471
What is astral projecting? ->https://www.gaia.com/article/what-is-astral-projection
What is Anphantasia?-> https://www.webmd.com/brain/what-is-aphantasia
What is lucid dreaming? -> https://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/lucid-dreams-overview
Skyfall Blind Dreamer MILD guide(lucid dreaming)-> https://skyfalldreams.net/guides/skyfalls-mild-guide/
Stephen LaBerge's article on MILD(creator of MILD)->https://docs.google.com/document/d/1J0EwChB45i3bLFKsc3JUMUy6iaMyRkYic2QMRGjIg_E/edit
Other techniques on lucid dreaming-> https://www.ldguides.com/techniques.php
Books mentioned:
Trauma Sensitive Mindfulness by David Treleaven
Illusion Of method by Mark Gurrian
Psychic Witch by Matt Aurnyn
Consorting with Spirits by Jason Miller
Additional Recommended reads:
The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Traumaby Bessel van der Kolk
Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson, PsyD
Soul Retrival by Sandra ingerman

Art of Simone's upgraded power armor and crystal sword!
Chapter Sixty Five: Allies and Scritches.
Looking around, the redhead finds herself standing in the middle of a dark and damp forest. But despite the gentle waves of the breeze moving the flora, there’s no sound. To the Terran’s recognizing eye as well, the plant life appears to be a blending mingle of those on the Gratt homeworld and the fateful operation on the Whista owned world.
Moving forward, her surprisingly lucid mind comes to the conclusion that she is once again ‘dreaming’, no doubt being brought on by the growth in her braincase.
She finds a loose path reminiscent of an overgrown hunter's trail that snakes her deeper into the silent landscape. Although something instinctual in her demands to be fearful of the situation, Simone can’t help to be more curious than anything due to the fact this hasn’t happened in a little while.
After some time of traversing the blending path she catches something glinting off past nearby foliage. Freezing for a moment she stares it down in an attempt to make out what it is. When it proves to not be a barrel of a weapon, she approaches it and reaches out. Her bare hand touches the glint, causing it to fully take form before resting in her palm. In a light dug she draws the dangling object free from a thin branch and brings it up close to her face.
On a thin necklace chain is a bent dog tag and a small grimy triangular device. Manipulating the tag, Simone is not at all surprised to find her own name on it. But as for the device, she surmises that it’s very similar to the thing implanted to her forehead after being kidnapped by the children of Gaia, though clearly a differing model with possibly a very different purpose.
For a moment Simone is almost compelled to put the triangle to her head, but knowing better than to trust the bits of a Manarian mad scientist in her brain she resists and decides to continue down the path. But to her concern the path is no longer there when she turns around. Instead before her is a cliffside overlooking a wide field of absolute chaos.
Down in the valley she overlooks is an expanse of a visceral battle playing out. No longer silent, the explosions and cries of vocals are significantly muffled as if her own hearing was going out.
Still, she steps closer to the drop to get a fuller view. Far down below, yet in perfect clarity to her dream eyes are various sized armies of every known species defending incoming forces from the dark encircling treeline. From the trees themselves are lines of armored Manarians consistently pressing more and more into the valley. From all sides the defenders are overwhelmed from their foes. Few Manarian’s drop in their compressing march. Simone witnesses that as they approach individuals of other species, the defenders throw down their arms before kneeling in surrender. Like an aura of instant submission, those who don’t fall in battle give in to the invaders in an instant. More and more the Manarians gain ground, only seeming to slow as Deathworlders put up the most fight.
Finding the location of the Terrans, Simone’s heart sinks. A small but effective population is fighting against the bulk within their own lines. Disarray ensues as the Terrans divide their bewildered attention from within and what approaches, unable to give support to others or eventually themselves.
Suddenly the majority of the Cali forces turn to their neighboring species and join in on the Manarian’s side. In the midst of this they release a devastating additional army of Malchite that help carve the Manarians an easy path towards the most united and powerful section of the defenders.
In mere moments, ‘Central’ falls, sending a cascading wave of despair to all the remaining defenders. Before the Manarian’s even get close now, swaths of species begin to surrender seeing their best chance at maintaining a defense is obliterated.
Thankfully the Terrans have seemed to have taken care of the internal conflict, but unfortunately it's far too late for it to matter as they practically stand alone in this fight.
Some species flee to bolster and hide behind the Terran’s lines. To their credit, if not for a moment, they fight back hard enough to pause the Manarian advance. There’s moments of grim yet heroic sacrifices, ground freely given in order to lure the enemy into effective traps, and some Terrans manage to not give into the aura of submission long enough for others to run. It’s damn inspiring to see the unstoppable force stall.
But of course, it’s not enough.
Lines break, encampments burn, leaders fall.
Eventually Terrans are reduced to a single circular formation as they stand shoulder to shoulder in defense of the little they have left.
They hold until their ammunition and other supplies run dry. Expecting surrender the Manarains extend the option to stop the fighting then and there.
In a moment of consideration, the Terrans under the flag of their last standing leader charge outwards in a hopeless defiant melee. The fighting is visceral and brutal, but eventually only one Terran stands against an entire universe.
The individual has no energy left to strike out. In their grasp is a tattered and burned flag that can no longer be made out. But the Terran stands, using it as a brace.
A Manarian leader comes up and hammers the final Terran to the ground demanding submission. A few now utterly silent moments pass by before the Terran drags themself up the flagpole into a standing position.
With another blow the Manarian strikes them down again.
But the Terran refuses, and gets up once more.
Having run out of patience the Manarian shoots a leg cleanly free from the Terran.
Yet with a scream, they remain standing, utilizing the pole even more.
Deciding that it’s no longer worth trying, the aggressor levels their weapon to the Terran’s face.
Just before being vanquished for good, Simone realizes that through the cracked open helmet of the Terran that they were looking straight up at her. Despite the distance, the two sets of eyes lock together. There is not pleading in the wounded Terran’s eyes, no fear, no judgment, nothing Simone would ever expect.
What the redhead sees in them can only be expressed in one simple word;
Hope.
As the final shot sings out the valley is encompassed in shadow, resembling more of an massive endless pit.
“I know what’s at stake. Why am I being shown this? You of all people should be elated that this is coming.” Simone thinks for Sharra to possibly pick up.
But instead of an expected occurrence, she feels a warmth from behind her.
Turning her back from the void she immediately sees a small campsite. There’s a tent, a stack of scavenged firewood and a strange cliché knight sitting on a log by a roaring fire.
Feeling her heart skip a beat Simone practically runs to him, expecting it to be an aspect of her father. But she soon realizes that the person’s frame is far too small to be an avatar of him.
Noticing her, the armored individual raises a hand in greeting before staring at the fire. The area behind their visor still pitch dark.
“What is this?” Simone skeptically says in her mind, not trusting this in the slightest.
The knight then speaks up.
“A fire.” they say.
“I mean… all of this… What’s going on?” the Terran presses.
You’re dreaming, and thus your mind is molding things in the manner minds do when slumbering.’ the knight states.
“Okay… so what are you supposed to be? Because with what’s going on with my head a lot of things I ‘dream’ are actually literal things affecting me, like you actually answering my question so directly is pretty suspicious. This a Sharra thing? Usually it’s my dad in the knight get-up, so what are you?” Simone responds in questioning.
“Nothing of substance at all. Or… something vitally important. That’s really up for you to decide really. This is your mind after all, I’m simply here because your mind thought it necessary to conjure me.” the Knight replies.
“But this isn’t how dreams are normally supposed to work, even more lucid ones… right? This is getting real fucking weird.” the redhead argues.
“Then perhaps your mind’s ailment is affecting your mind quite a bit.” the Knight shrugs.
“No fucking kidding…” Simone agrees as she steps up closer, “So… you wouldn’t know where I can talk with whatever’s left of Sharra?”
To answer this, the knight bends to the side and digs their hand into loose soil. Sitting back up they begin to massage it back out to the forest floor.
“Bits and pieces everywhere. Constantly trying to pull together, but is simply unable to be whole. Destined to eventually drive you mad.” they explain.
“Wait, what? How?” Simone asks.
“You have been affected by her unconsciously, have you not? Wanting to viscously bite your lover? Speaking in her tongue? Symptoms of her gradually melding into you. Although she’s not complete, you will eventually start to forget who you really are. Two minds sharing one consciousness… it spells disaster for ‘Simone Thatch’. I suggest you find a way to avoid this.”
“But… but Vermis told me that she’s too far gone to be a problem.” the redhead points out.
“She can’t take your body from you, but she’ll still seep. Regardless if she can even intend to or not. Your mind will survive, but your identity will slip to some degree.”
“Shit…” Simone responds as she plants her face to her hands, “So… your part of my subconscious that is telling me something is wrong?”
“Possibly. Makes sense if that’s the case.” the knight grants as Simone can hear the helmet be removed from the individual.
She attempts to pull her hands away, only to realize she was stuck in this realm of pitch black.
-
Simone’s eyes open from what was meant to just be a brief nap. Her brain was foggy, and the details of her dream was loose enough to question her actual lucidity during or if her dream simply tricked her into thinking she was in fact lucid.
Rubbing her face she sits up to see Chak having a conversation with Sonla across the hotel room.
“Hey hun, how long was I out?” she asks as she swings her legs off the side of the bed.
The princess stands up and begins moving over to the Terran.
“Just a few hours, I was planning on waking you in another hour anyway so don’t fret. You really needed it after everything.” Chak replies with a giggle as she reaches out to address her lover’s bedhead fur.
Allowing the Cali to fix what she can, Simone sighs out of soreness.
“Yeah, I did.” she agrees in a chuckle, “Our new infiltrator caught up to speed?”
“I haven’t shared certain details, but she knows that we are perhaps going to have a less than legal encounter with the Terran President. That won’t harm the president, hopefully.” Chak reports before finishing up with the Terran’s fur, “Oh, and I have purchased some new clothes for you to wear on our trip back. They were delivered not a standard half hour ago. Simple pants and shirt. Your dress has been cleaned and repaired as well.” she notified as she pointed to the closet area.
SImone leans out and kisses the Cali in a tender peck.
“You’re the best hun.” she whispers before standing up and stretching out the ache before striding over to the neatly folded pile of clothes.
“Only second to you.” Chak coyly replies as she enjoys the view for a few moments before snapping to it, “I’ll have our transport summoned.”
…
Before the three can even depart out the front door, as the elevator door opens there’s a crowd of people waiting for them in the lobby. Simone opens her mouth to ask what was going on, but Chak swiftly presses the indicator to re-close the door.
“Chakalata’motaas! One moment of your time!”
“Princess there’s some questions regarding public property damage!”
“When was the last correspondence you had with your father!”
“Is the Terran really your fiance or a roleplay consort?”
Among other raising voices upon seeing the Cali the reporters swarmed towards the elevator just before the door closed and started to go up a level.
“Wow…” Simone utters, “I thought we’d be a bit more shielded from them?”
“If they reserved rooms at the hotel after learning we were here… then there’s not much that can be done.” Chak replies a bit troubled, “We just need to find another way-”
As the door opens again, even more people stand in wait.
“Oh princess! Was your appearance on Thorba the truthful’s podcast really you or did he use A.I to replicate your voice?”
“Was it you present on Kamoi roughly a standard year ago where a restaurant was destroyed in a terrorist attack? Were you the target?”
“What business do you have in Central? Are you going to appeal to have your father’s authority be unrecognized?”
“Have you spoken at all to the Cali Ambassador?
“Care to share any details over the events that transpired with Ambassador Zrreak’s son last night?”
“Is the Vorook also a lover of yours?”
“Is your chitin really deep-dyed?”
“Are you still in fear for your life?”
“Are Terrans-”
The elevator door sealed again, this time needing Simone to hold back people from potentially creeping into the elevator.
“I guess we’re going back down to make a run for it?” Simone huffs in immense annoyance.
“Unfortunately that appears to be our only option.” Chak nods, her patience being tested as well.
“Want me to make big explosion as a distraction?” Sonla offers.
“No need for that.” Chak replies quickly.
“Here. I’ll march us out. Sonla, get on my back.” Simone says before she kneels down and scoops up the Cali in her arms, “Still as light as a feather.” she winks.
Chak’s eyes flash.
“They’ll be given quite the show.” she chuckles.
As told, Sonla clambers up the back of the Terran and gets a firm hold around her neck.
“If an explosion is needed, I’m ready!” she declares just before the doors open for the final time.
Using her cradling arm under the Cali’s back, Simone uses her curled up hand to protect Chak’s head as she marches straight into the crowd.
None wanting to test to see if the bulky Terran considers trampling a valid option, a path is cleared. However the barrage of questions does not let up in the slightest as they followed the trio towards the front doors.
“What was the intention of your stay here?”
“When and where will your wedding to the Terran occur?”
“Is it true that Simone Thatch is a war criminal?”
“Have you suffered any injury while being intimate with a Terran?”
“How many Terrans have you mated with? Are all the ones you brought with you your harem?”
“Are you certain that you are the last survivor of your family?
“Are the Gratt to be trusted?”
“Have you encountered any bouncy hunters in Central?”
“Is the famed Admiral Chucknuq still in your service?”
“Have you been hiding out this whole time on Vapor’perna?”
“Are you planning on commencing a civil war?”
“How much are you paying the Terran to be your mate?”
To the dismay of Chak and Simone, the crowd only grew upon leaving the hotel’s premises. And even contributed around where their shuttle was landing.
Although not completely serious about it, SImone started to humor the idea of Sonla causing a distraction before sharp roaring barks erupts from nearby.
The questions all stop and even a few calls of distress ring out as everyone catches sight of a dozen uniformed Z’ah’tucks approach. In a wide line formation they release warning -though no doubt perceived as outright ‘threatening’- vocalizations. More cries ring out as they unleash fur covered mammalian quadrupeds that run ahead to the trio and begin guiding the reporters away through fear alone.
Simone couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the sight of the Terran shepherd dogs doing what their breed did best.
A Tromple recoils in pale terror as they worm away from one of the canines, who did nothing but exist with an authoritative attitude.
Very effectively parting the crowd away from the three, the lead Z’ah’tuck waved Simone to come to her.
Seeing little reason not to, considering the rescue, the Terran nods and hurries the two other women on her to the line of dinos.
“Thanks, but… what’s this about?” she asks.
The pack of a dozen dinos encircle the three and start walking them away to another shuttle landing zone. The dogs loyally come back to their owners as they make sufficient distance.
“As an apology for you having to get involved with last night’s events, Ambassador Zrreak wishes to personally escort you back to your designated apartment.” she answers as three shuttles await them in the zone. The biggest and most armored of which opens up for the three to enter.
“Oh…” Chak utters in thought before Simone lets her down to enter the vessel.
As the princess steps on in, it’s clear this vessel is meant to fit many guests within on a regular basis considering the scuffing and scratch marks. But at this moment there is only one individual within.
Looking much like his son, Zrreak is of the larger variant of his species. Covered in various deep scars across his scales and adorned in high quality drapery he pets a smaller breed of dog in his lap.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Princess.” he greets with a respectful bow of his head.
“Of course, we very much appreciate your assistance with the media swarm.” Chak replies before she finds herself a seat.
“You can get off now…” Simone informs Sonla before following the Cali in.
The Vorook slowly slides down the Terran and does her best to position herself to hide behind the redhead as much as possible, eventually sitting down in a seat that has the larger frame of the Terran between her and the ambassador.
Simone looks the ambassador in the eyes with a hint of weariness. Although she isn’t necessarily suspicious, with the still very significant bounty on her fiance’s head… one can never be too careful. She waits until the seal of the shuttle door clicks shut before speaking up herself.
“Cute corgi, does it have a name?” she inquires.
“Hmmhmm” the Z’ah’tuck hums in amusement as he lightly scratches the canine on it’s rump, causing it to lift its head and perk its ears, “His name is Zioakaa, a play on the Z’ah’tuck title meaning ‘One who has seen the Abyss, and made it weep’. Such a title is usually reserved for artists or passionate leaders. People who can invoke a great shift of public morale, whether it be for sorrow, fear or hope. This dog? Although he is no small part of my public image, he has shifted my morale extraordinarily.” he answers in a relatively reminiscing voice.
Seeing his genuine soft appreciation for the animal is clear as day to Simone, she allows herself to relax as the shuttle takes off with two additional escorts.
“Dogs are pretty great, huh?” Simone chuckles.
“Possibly the best of everything your people have brought to the stars.” the man agrees, “Despite losing a long war with Terrans, Z’ah’tuck certainly gained from it in some aspects.”
“Crazy how that hashes out. And hey, more dogs in the universe? I’ll take it.” the redhead replies before peeking over to Sonla, who was tucking her legs up to make her silhouette smaller.
“Oh, how is your son fairing Ambassador Zrreak? And the others in his and his wife’s company?” Chak asks pleasantly.
“He has been advised to be in bed for a few days, but will make a full recovery. The others will recover as well, but those more substantially injured will of course need a fair bit more recovery.”
“That’s very good to hear. Be sure to pass along our best wishes.” the Princess replies with a nod of her head.
“I will. Though I must apologize for your involvement in his incident. Such business should have been avoided in the first place.” Zrreak says as he extends one of his hands out to Chak, which she accepts sooner than he would have expected from a Cali.
“Thank you for the gesture, the involvement was voluntary, I assure you. Believe it or not Ambassador, I have conducted myself in more perilous situations as you can no doubt imagine.” Chak says pleasantly, “Though I have a feeling you’ve brought us aboard your own personal shuttle with other motives in mind, yes?”
Simone tenses up again as the Ambassador’s raptor eyes focus on the Princess for a moment.
Tilting his horned head, Zrreak then lets out a ‘caught me red handed’ snicker before pulling his hand away.
“Yes, yes you’re right indeed. Though I assure you it has little to do with the price on your head. As much as I still enjoy a good hunt, I’m not one to prey upon my own allies. No, what I hope to discuss is ensuring you are reinstated as the prime monarch of the Cali people.” he reveals.
“Oh… pardon Zrreak… what exactly do you mean by that?” Chak asks as she recovers from such a bold notion.
“I’ve decided to place my bets on you, Chakalata’motaas. I bring you an offer already officiated over by my people’s leaders for you to respond. May I officially present it to you in this rather unofficial setting?” he inquires.
“Very well, but I cannot make a promise that I’ll be receptive to what you offer.” Chak grants as she crosses her lower limbs in her lap.
Zrreak presses an indication in a side datapad, activating a hardlight screen to appear along the middle open area of the shuttle. The text on the screen outlines the terms of the proposal to which the ambassador presents it aloud.
“This proposed bargain has been rattling around the Z’ah’tuck trade leaders since the coup of your father. Though it hinged on whether or not you or any of your siblings survived. Seeing you are indeed alive and making concerted efforts towards freeing your people from his tyrannical rule one way or another you fit the criteria. And so here it is; The Z’ah’tuck Conglomerate will publicly support your right to the Cali throne, and it is prepared to dedicate one-sixth of its war fleets and the Third-fang battalion to aid in the likely event of military conflict.” he pauses to let that settle before continuing, “In return, the Conglomerate requests that the Cali government agree to contribute Ten percent more Natural-grade product and twenty five percent more Clone-grade product to the Z’ah’tuck meat market trade for the next fifty standard year period. Secondly it is also requested that Cali shipyards produce Twenty five hundred trade-ships by Conglomerate provided specifications in the next five standard years. Thirdly, permit Z’ah’tuck trade businesses to set up shop on Cali colonies. Fourth and finally, vote and publicly advocate for the Z’ah’Tuck people to be officiated out of ‘Associate Species’ into ‘Member Species’ status in Central.” he finishes.
Chak scratches the sides of her head with her lower graspers as she seriously considers the alliance deal. It’s an incredible opportunity. With the Z’ah’tucks big economic pull among the carnivorous species of Central -despite them currently being of ‘Associate’ status- this could be very advantageous. But the cost for the support was fairly high, yet not totally unreasonable.
“Your offer is rather tempting, Ambassador. Though I cannot see myself agreeing to it as it stands. You see if open civil war does break out, then I fear my people will need a period of time to stabilize, especially economically. People will need to be fed, buildings rebuilt, and damage to our world repaired. So here’s my counter offer for your consideration;” she says as she reaches out in request for the datapad, of which is candidly handed to her for her to revise the terms for consideration, “Lower the twenty five percent for cloned product to twenty. Provide charitable relief shelter camps where displaced Cali can be warm and well fed during the war campaign, which may prove to be a great source of building up positive relations with not only my people but many others sitting in Member Central seats. And finally agree to grant Cali trade ships official access to Conglomerate trade routes with reduced fines by thirty percent. The rest of your terms are acceptable.” she responds.
“Hmmm…” Zrreak mumbles as he stares at the screen. He brings a claw to his armored muzzle, dragging it along a deep old scarring, “I have the authority to negotiate the terms within reason, and although I know a few trade managers will be disgruntled I believe your counter terms are acceptable.” he nods before transferring the developed agreement to the datapad for both parties to sign.
The Z’ah’Tuck signs first before handing the pad over.
Suppressing her eyes from blasting light to not give away how she honestly felt about this deal, Chak re-reads the entire agreement twice to make absolutely certain that there are no possible term manipulations. The Z’ah’tuck are known to be honerable in terms of business, but one can never be too careful in this realm of dealing.
Once she is certain of all the terms, Chak signs as well and hands it back.
“Your gamble on me is appreciated, Ambassador. I will do everything in my power to ensure that my father is deposed. With your aid, I see the path towards that even more clearer.” she assures.
“Time will tell. And to be honest, we stand to lose little until conflict is certain. The biggest risk we run is a prolonged open war with the Cali. Central history is not kind to Deathworlders declaring war on non-deathworlders, even under these circumstances we may risk being ousted completely from Central. Though I’m doubtful considering our stranglehold on the meat markets. Who else would they turn to? The Truba? With their reputation and recent enormous debacle? I don’t think so.” Zrreak chuckles as he returns to petting his lap dog.
“Such a travesty…” Chak agrees, “Is there more you can share regarding that situation?”
“Just that these Squilla understandably don’t have much of a government. They dwelled in deeper waters and complex cave systems in their comparative ‘iron age’. They are incredibly fast learners, however. Which gives most of the Central council the impression that the Truba have been suppressing the Squilla’s growth as a people for literal ages. I don’t think anything like this has ever happened in known galactic history. It’s still all a mess unfortunately, but important first steps have been taken. I’ve spoken to the representative of the Squilla only a few times, and seeing him come to terms with reality is bittersweet.” the ambassador explained.
“I see. Perhaps I may have a chance to meet him while I’m in central.” Chak says with a shrug.
“It’s a long line to privately meet in an official manner, which is to no surprise I assume?” Zrreak informs.
“Of course, perhaps not then.” Chak concedes.
Wide eyed, Simone looks back and forth between the two.
“Sorry, uhm… I feel like what just happened earlier is a pretty big fucking deal… Military support? Not that I’m complaining, but I’d imagine something like that having a bit more bureaucracy? A quick back and forth and it’s a done deal?” she questioned, utterly bewildered.
“This is how backroom deals tend to go, Simone, you know that.” Chak replies as she reaches a hand to take hold of one of the redhead’s.
She then squeezes in trembling excitement to show that she was putting up a polite professional act.
“Right. Yeah.” Simone corrects herself as she huffs a pant of jubilated air.
The ambassador turns to look at the Terran directly.
“Simone Thatch. If you're at liberty to confirm, through some dealings we have received interesting intel regarding a Terran group that calls itself the ‘Children of Gaia’. Have you encountered them previously?” he inquires.
“Ah, uhm… I know about them. But that’s all I’m really willing to share at this time. What sort of dealings are you referring to exactly?” the Terran responds.
“Nothing nefarious, at least at the surface. We have traded for strange breeds of dogs, tracing their origins to that group. We suspect that they are these ‘pirates’ that invaded the Gratt homeworld. Would that be correct?” Zrreak presses, now looking back and forth between the Terran and Cali.
Chak sighs but nods.
“That would be correct.” she admits.
“Why hide that fact?” the ambassador asks.
“Well, there's a reason to. And I’m afraid we can’t share why, but rest assured their identity will be broadly revealed in due time. Soon, if we can help it, but we have to secure a few things first.” Chak explains, “Apologies for withholding information from you, but I ask that the Conglomerate not share intel of the group for the time being.” Chak requests.
“I can’t promise such, but if it’s in your interest to wait, then it is likely ours as well.” Zrreak grants, “But if we found what we have, others are likely to as well. So I hope whatever you are planning comes around soon, Princess.” he adds.
“As do I, and trust me I understand.” Chak says as she squeezes Simone’s hand once more, “They are our enemies and what we intend to do is to dismantle them.” she assures.
“Ah, I hope you don’t mind a single stop before arriving at your apartment. I have a gift that I wish to present to you.” Zrreak announces after he seems to have received a notification on his Lens.
“Oh, how kind of you. What manner of gift?” Chak inquires.
“One that in some small way may bolster your personal security.” the ambassador vaguely answered a bit coyly.
“Oh joy…” Simone says, unsure if they’d be able to comfortably take on another staff member on the Kwip-chap.
…
Soaring down into a tight one way entrance tunnel, the shuttle eventually comes to a latching stop before being lifted up into an unloading room.
“Come, step out. It’s being brought to us.” Zrreak instructs as he stands and strides out.
Preparing themselves to politely turn his offer down, Simone and Chak step out after him. Sonla on the other hand decided then would be a perfect time to raid the fancy meat snacks she’d been eyeing for most of the trip.
As the three stand just outside the shuttle in wait, it takes only a few minutes for a Z’ah’tuck to turn a corner and enter the room.
“Unfortunately I don’t think we’ll have room to properly accommodate-” Chak begins to say before feeling her legs freeze up in sudden numbness as a beast comes trailing behind the Z’ah’tuck.
Simone’s eye tufts lift in surprise as she looks upon what she initially mistakes as a damn hyena as it shares the rusty red-brown color, stripes and even a shallow mohawk of longer fur going down its back. Though its pitbull-esk face and body structure clues her in that it is indeed a dog.
The thickly muscled domestic canine assertively pats its clawed paws across the floor towards them, passing up the handler it stopped and politely sat ten feet away.
Bending down, Zrreak sets down his corgi which without hesitation stamps quickly over to the comparatively titanous brethren. Sniffing up and around his new friend the loaf of a dog ran a circle around the other unbothered canine before splaying forward in a ‘play’ pose in front of it. Before then running off as if to invite a chase.
“Her name is Zrume, meaning ‘Wall of fangs and talons’. She is only two years of age, but understands commands in Galactic standard and is perfectly trained to guard her charge with her life.” Zrreak introduced before notifying the uncertain fright in the Princess, “She is also trained to assist as an emotional support companion. She can provide more Service-oriented work, but that hasn’t been a primary focus of her training. I thought that may suit someone of your nature, Princess.” he added before addressing the dog directly. “Zrume, at ease.”
The dog’s ice-blue eyes spark with hyper excitement as she breaks her statue pose to spaz out before engaging in play with the corgi, sniffing him in return greeting after easily catching up.
“She isn’t the best I can offer, but I believe she’d be perfect for you. May she approach to meet you?” the ambassador inquires.
“Uhm…” Chak utters before looking up to Simone for an opinion.
Biting her cheek, the redhead gave a tentative nod back.
“Oh, alright.” the princess agrees.
“Zrume, come.” Zrreak instructs.
Turning away and all but ignoring the corgi again, Zrume approaches much closer to the three. Her circular blue eyes look up at the ambassador loyally, only taking side glances of the two women.
“Transfer.” the Z’ah’tuck commands as he points to Chak first and then to Simone.
The head of the dog looked up at Chak, its head pretty much as large as hers.
“D-do I pet her?” Chak inquires.
“Of course, though I strongly recommend that you limit her social interaction to a minimum when she’s on the job. When she’s off, tell her ‘at ease’ so she knows.” Zrreak answers with an amused but serious tone.
“O-okay… Hello… Zrume… uhm… at ease? At ease.” Chak says directly to the animal.
Zrume sinks her head slightly forward to gently press against between the Cali’s lower arms. Looking up with her crisp blues she starts to wag her tail and lightly stamps her front paws.
Chak’s racing hearts start to relax as a familiar admiration feeling rises up within her. Glancing up at Simone, she caught her inwardly biting her lips to resist the broad smile from breaking out.
Looking back at the dog, Chak lifts all of her limbs and begins scritching at the places that she saw these animals enjoy in the media. Behind the ears, under the chin and the sides of the thick neck.
Zrume closes her eyes as her tail aggressively pats against the floor like a happy baton. And Chak swears the dog’s closed mouth smiled, though that could have been a trick to the angle she is viewing her.
“What do you think?” the ambassador asks, seeming to already know the answer.
“She’s so sweet…” Chak replies in giggle, “I don’t think I can say no…”
“Then in that case, I’ll have her supplies loaded up for you.”

Last week, my tween’s school hosted an outdoor event for the students during the school day. It was a very hot day. The school separated the event by grades - apparently the sixth graders, who went first, had an awesome time. Eighth graders went next and, as was usual for this specific group of kids, there were some behavior problems - one child neighbor said that kids were pouring water on each other, rough housing, etc. Seventh grade - my child’s grade - went last. When she came home that day, she said it was a miserable experience, and she hated the whole thing.
She drank a bit more water than usual that evening and put herself to bed early. The next morning, she came down for breakfast, announced that she didn’t feel well, and promptly passed out. I mean, full on blacked out and face planted on our hardwood floors. Of course I took her to the doctor - they ran a bunch of tests, decided she fainted due to dehydration and diagnosed her with a concussion.
When I spoke with the mom of my daughter’s best friend, the mom informed me that her daughter had come home from the event complaining profusely. Mom hadn’t actually believed her daughter until I shared my story. Best friend had told her mom that the seventh graders were not given water for the first hour, and then, once they received a single water bottle, they were not allowed a refill, nor could they go back inside to get their own refill. They also were not allowed to bring the water provided back into the building at the end, instead having to “chug it” or dump it before entering the building. My daughter confirmed. After hearing this, I reached out to several neighborhood seventh graders, asking them an open-ended question about the event and their water experience. (I didn’t tell them about my daughter.)
The story was consistent.
Remember that it was a very hot day.
My daughter will be back at school on Tuesday, having stayed home for a few days per doctor’s orders due to her concussion. As you can imagine, I am pretty upset. The school does not yet know any of this, although I did email all of her teachers, informing them that she has a concussion and would return to school after the holiday.
I kinda want to go in unannounced on Tuesday morning and insist on talking with an administrator. Like, not leave the office until then. I just…. I don’t even know what to freaking say. In our area, water is a right, not a privilege. I am not one to go scorched earth - I really try to be kind and pragmatic - but I also feel that lessons need to be learned.
What would you say to the school?

I cant find an answer online so I thought Id try here.
I have a bathroom Im putting hardwood flooring in. Its less than 4ft wide and I was curious is there would be a problem if I layed a full plank every other row? For example, first row is 1 full plank and the next row is 2 planks, next row 1 plank, next row 2 planks. Will this cause any problems?

My savior human is distraught. I alone would have trouble enough coping with Kit Sutton's absence, but with Nettie Peterson's grief added to mine, it's been impossible to go about my day with any semblance of serenity.
It's quite simple; when Nettie's unhappy, I cannot be content. She finally let me visit her earlier today. That doesn’t mean her overall state has improved, though. We went to talk in the garden, only there wasn’t much talking involved—she merely sat in her mother’s chair, staring blankly at the storm-tossed flower chaos.
“Didn’t you want to fix your plants back up?” I inquired.
“M-hm,” she muttered.
“It’d be a shame if your pretty garden was gonna stay like this.”
“M-hm.”
“If you need help, you let me know, okay?”
“M-hm.”
“I won’t try to eat the geraniums again.”
“M-hm.”
I leaned forward to try and catch her deep brown gaze. “Nettie, please say something. I thought we wanted to share our feelings more.”
“There’s nothing to share,” my savior human answered, her voice dry and monotone. “Kit’s not here anymore.”
“Yes, and I’m upset, too. But either I’m a horribly poor judge of human behavior or there's more to this.” I tilted my head at her. “I’ve never seen you this way. You said you didn’t always want a solution to your problems, and I’d be happy to just sit and listen as well, but you’re not talking either.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Clearly not.”
Nettie let go of a soft breath. “I didn’t wanna tell you. Not until… It’s just that in the last couple days, Kit and I were getting kind of…” She faltered and trailed off.
“Kind of what?” I prompted.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Please try, if you can. I want to understand.”
My best friend refused to meet my gaze. “See, that’s what I envy you for sometimes. You have an outsider’s perspective. You only see what’s in front of you and you don’t concern yourself with the rest.”
“I am concerned! I’m really concerned about you right now. You’re my best friend, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like my caretaker, but I wanna be here for you now. Please. Let me.”
“I… I know, that’s not what I was saying…” She adjusted her bra strap, her hand coming to rest on her shoulder as though she was hugging herself. “If there was something I’d kept secret from you—nothing bad, just something personal—would you be mad at me?”
“I can’t even imagine being mad at you,” I replied.
"That's good to know," she murmured, finally lifting her head to meet my gaze. "It doesn't change things for now, but it's… good to know."
After that, she fell silent again, and I left not much later. I was setting out for a pretty gloomy rest of the day when Frankie Preston texted me, asking to come hang out at the hotel. I've only stayed at a hotel twice, when Nettie took me on vacation with her. The first time was to Croatia, the other to the south of France. My savior human speaks fluent French.
Anyways, I was glad to follow up on the server's invitation. I won't describe the exact location of the hotel he'd chosen, but it was a fairly nice place. I took Kit Sutton's car there, which definitely gave me a weird feeling. In a way, it was nice. It felt like her. The worn seats, the ancient scent tree, the assortment of guitar picks in the cup holder. The empty takeout bag lying in the footwell. When I pulled up to the hotel parking lot, I was almost reluctant to get out. When I eventually did and entered the lobby, I found that I didn't quite know where to go. I opted to simply walk up to the front desk. There was a man sitting behind it, but he didn't look up from his computer screen upon my approach.
"Mm-yes?" he muttered, and it took me a moment to realize he was addressing me.
"Hi," I began.
Something about my voice must have caught his attention, as he abruptly lifted his head to meet my gaze. "Hi," he echoed, a smile forming on his face. I couldn't help but take note of the silvery gleam of his blond hair. It was long and wavy, tied back behind his head. I wondered how it felt. "And you are…?" he prompted, taking me in.
"Sunshine," a voice rang out from behind me. I whirled around, giving Fran a bright smile which, to my delight, he reciprocated. "You have no idea the kind of acquaintance you just made."
I glanced between the two in confusion. The receptionist spoke up first. "Oh. Oh, I see! This is her, isn't it?"
"Yes. Eva, this is… one of the many banes of my existence. He's my younger brother, but only in the most remote sense of the word, I assure you." The waiter gave the receptionist a look that was somewhere between contemptuous fondness and pure contempt.
The other man grinned. "Oh Frankie, my Frankie, you are just the most bitter piece of work there is."
"Younger? You look far older than Frank," I remarked.
"Ouch. But what are looks, really?" He waved me off. "And what is age with creatures like us? Frankie tells everyone he's twenty-two, I say I'm twenty-seven. We just made up these numbers to match our faces. He's existed for way longer, though. That's probably why he's so miserable." He leaned forward, twinkling at me. "Me, I see the world through fresher eyes."
I didn't quite know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.
"Frankie, won't you introduce me?"
The waiter sighed deeply. "This is… Zion. Zion Boyd. I told him it's a perfectly silly name, but he wouldn't listen. I'm glad Rhonda picked mine for me."
Zion Boyd laughed quietly. "You're an asshole."
"You're an idiot."
"You wanted to hang out?" I reminded Fran.
"Right!" He grabbed my wrist and began steering me towards the winding flight of stairs in the back of the hall. "Ignore him. Forget him entirely, if possible. You're not missing out.”
He brought me up to his suite, a pleasantly large, open space. The tall windows let in the light of the setting sun, painting blushing hues upon the wallpaper. I sat down on the living room couch, switching on the TV not because I was in the mood to watch anything but rather for the background noise. Frankie joined me after a second, placing before me a glass of cold coconut water as he regarded me through thick lashes. "You got something on your mind, don’t you?”
"Your brother."
"Aw crap. That smarmy, handsome piece of shit…" Fran clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly. "I knew this would happen."
"What? No. I was wondering about what he said," I clarified, shifting uneasily in my seat.
His hands stilled. "Oh." He smiled brightly. "Do tell."
"He called you creatures. And there was something else in there about your ages."
"So? What do you think? Any grand theories?"
I shrugged. "I could probably try to piece things together. But I'd rather hear it from you."
"Ah, would you. Well, I'm sorry, Sunshine, but it doesn't work like that."
"Don't you think I need to know?"
He reached out to poke my sternum with his finger. "No. I give you everything you need. When I decide you need more information, I'll give that to you, too."
I frowned at him, but hadn't yet regained the ability to speak when my phone rang. I reluctantly fumbled it out. It was an unknown number, but I recognized the voice that greeted me from the other end. “Mary Markov?”
“Miss Shirley! Nice talking to you again.”
“To be honest, this is a bad time…”
“That’s of no relevance. Remember when I told you I might get back to you?”
“Yes.” I exchanged meaningful looks with Frankie, who rolled his eyes. He scooted closer to me and pressed his cheek up to mine to listen to the phone call. His skin was almost unnaturally smooth. I swallowed thickly when I felt his jaw working on his bubble gum, moving against mine.
"Miss Shirley?" Mary Markov asked. "Are you still there?"
"Did you say something?"
A sigh. "Look. You want money, I want your help. Come to the address I’m sending you now. It’s a big parking lot by a hiking trail in the woods. I have business there, and I could use the extra manpower.”
“Right now? I’m kind of on a…”
“You can bring the misanthropist with you.”
“What’s a misanthropist?” I inquired.
“She means me,” Fran supplied.
"She does," Miss Markov confirmed.
"We're coming." I ended the call, turning to Frankie. "That's okay, right? Are you with me?"
"Sure. Money's important. It'll be better if you have your own so I won't have to give you mine." He got up to collect our jackets. "At least this way, you won't get stabbed for it."
We took Kit's car over to the meet-up spot. Mary Markov was waiting for us beside a black pickup truck that seemed rather ill-suited for her. She was wearing a blazer, suit pants and dress shoes that were somehow pristine despite the muddy ground.
"There you are," she said, her tone crisp. Pointing her chin at the woods behind her, she added, "I hope you're ready for a bit of a hike."
"What do you need me for?" I asked.
"The Collective you came into contact with. We have reason to believe that they are meeting up here, among other places. There are probably hideouts to be found, and other things, too."
"Like what?" Fran raised a skeptical brow.
"The objects you were hired to guard. They're important; we don't rightly know what they are but they're constantly being kept on the move. There's no doubt the Collective wants them to remain obscure, and they're being clever about it."
"And you're hoping we'll go in there unprepared and just stumble across them?" the waiter inquired.
"Not exactly. There's a particular member of the cult we've managed to keep our eye on, and we followed her here. She's with at least two others, so we believe they're up to something important," Mary Markov explained. "Go in and find them. When you do, stay low and observe. I'll stay here. If anything goes wrong, call me and I will send for reinforcement."
"Why don't you let your agents go in? Why pull Eva into this? Again?"
"Frankie, I'm fine," I assured him, taking a step towards the newsreader. "What do I get paid?"
"You won't be disappointed in the money," she promised, smiling thinly. "To answer your friend's legitimate question—," she glanced over at Frank Preston as though she didn't consider his query legitimate at all, "—you are quite handy. Normally, when humans have to defend themselves and it comes to an altercation, there's… screams. Blood. Gunshots. Bullets are costly. Personnel even more so. When our agents get hurt, it might take months for them to recover. You don't need that kind of time. You're altogether less likely to be injured fatally. Employing you might end up saving us some lives and we'll be sure to make it worth your while."
That's, in short, why I found myself trudging through the mud and brushes alongside a very grudging Frank Preston that night. The storm had taken its toll in the woods, too—our chaotic surroundings reminded me of a larger-scale version of Nettie's garden. Trees had been uprooted and were lying dead in our path like organic roadblocks. The ground was covered with broken branches, twigs and young leaves. The wet soil squashed beneath our shoes every step of the way. With nightfall approaching, there was not much light reaching the forest floor. This certainly protected us from visibility, but it came at the price of my vision. I couldn't really see what was beneath me, so I kept tripping and staggering.
Frankie was somehow as graceful as ever, unbothered as he stepped over roots and rocks as if he could sense them before placing his feet. He was much quieter than me, but he thankfully wasn't smug about it. He kept one hand steady on my shoulder, aptly guiding me away from obstacles and protrusions. After a while, this began to work very well, and I became less noisy the deeper we proceeded into the woods. The server’s grip suddenly turned painfully tight, stopping me in my tracks. I realized why when I caught a glimpse of brightness not too far ahead. My chest tightened when I spotted the beam of a flashlight traveling the forest floor.
“Hush,” Frankie murmured into my ear. “Don’t. Move.”
I stood stock-still, trusting the fingers still digging into my skin.
The light passed over us, nearly reaching us but not quite. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, which died in my throat when a familiar voice carried over to us on the breeze.
“Hurry up already, would you?”
“Don’t… don’t stress me. Why aren’t you helping?” a young woman replied.
“Because it’s your fucking job.”
I felt myself break into a cold sweat. My heart was thumping so fiercely it was beginning to hurt; my pulse racing. Breaking from my rigor, I leaned over to whisper to Frankie. “That’s them.”
“What?”
“The one who stabbed me.”
Fran’s hand disappeared from my shoulder, moving down to quickly grasp mine. The pair before us was still on the move, the light of their torch slowly fading into the distance. “Listen to me,” my partner proceeded to hiss into my ear. “There’s two of them and two of us, but technically it’ll just be you. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, but the most I can do is hold one of them down.”
“But you’re strong…”
“I can’t actually hurt anybody. I gladly would, but it’s literally physically impossible for me. Do you still want to follow them?”
I paused. I didn’t want to. In fact, every fiber of my being was yelling at me to run, to get out of those woods, and yet… “We have to.”
A sigh. “I really feel like I ought to talk you out of this.”
“Don’t.”
“If things get dire, I’ll grab you and bail.”
“I’ll allow it. I’m still doing this.”
“Guess I was wrong. You might get stabbed for your pay this time around, too.”
“This is bigger than just money, Fran.”
His hand wandered back to my shoulder, nudging me forward. “I know. You want to tear this creep apart.”
I paused. “If Markov asks, we didn’t plan on it.”
“Finally, some murderous tendencies in that sunny mind of yours.” The cheer in Frankie’s voice was only a little forced.
I steeled myself as we took up walking once more. Soon enough, we caught up with the two cultists, trailing behind them at a safe distance. I could hear the faint scraping of a wheelbarrow on the uneven ground. The eerie creaking noise was enough to speed up my heartrate once more. Frankie’s words still echoing through my mind, my thoughts were racing. A part of me was convinced I was making a terrible mistake, but there was something driving me on. Whether it was curiosity, an underlying thirst for revenge or illusions of grandeur, I’ll never know. Yet forwards I went. Abruptly, the pair stopped, the wheelbarrow grating to a halt. Frankie instantly dragged me down to hide behind a dead, uprooted tree, and not one second too soon.
The beam of the flashlight roamed the underbrush, its owners remaining blissfully unaware of our presence. “Here we are,” the person who’d attacked me spoke up again.
“Woah,” the woman pushing the cart answered eloquently. Whatever they were looking at was undoubtedly rather impressive.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?”
“No… Does it go as deep as they say?”
“Deeper. It’s a whole-ass tunnel system down there. We’ve spent years prepping for this, remember?”
“Okay. Whew. Well then, off we go. Can you help me lift him up, at least?”
The other person groaned. “Fine.”
Frankie Preston had grabbed my arm. The distant shine from the cultists’ torch bathed him in an almost unearthly glow. He was cowering beside me with tense shoulders, his face a cold, concentrated mask. He wasn’t even chewing on his gum anymore. His wired posture reminded me of a lurking wildcat in a nature documentary. When he turned to look at me, I could almost tell what he was thinking.
Whatever these two had come here to do, it was happening now, meaning that this was our last chance to intervene.
Trying to free my mind from all thoughts of flight, I rose to my feet. Step by step, I made my way out of our hiding spot, instantly drawing the pair’s attention. Two heads whipped around to face me. The flashlight dropped and rolled a little ways across the ground, its wide beam illuminating the small clearing and revealing the reason for the cultists’ venture. There was a dark hole in the ground at our feet, the opening reminiscent of a gaping, toothless maw. My gaze wandered over to the pushcart. Its bulky contents were covered by a large, green tarp. The tall, lanky person slowly raised their hands to their hips, uttering a low, mildly surprised “huh”. The woman, who was stockier and far shorter in stature than them, stood frozen in shock. The eyes that stared at me from behind her black mask were blown wide.
“Hey you,” the tall one said. “I had a feeling we’d meet again soon.”
I didn’t respond. My stomach suddenly burned with a phantom pain. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the person’s gloved hands, trying not to jump when their fingers twitched into the direction of their pocket. Trying to keep my breathing steady, I reached up to unzip my jacket. As it fell to the ground, I felt my tentacles pierce my skin. Simultaneously, my teeth began to elongate, curving outward as they uncomfortably stretched out my gums.
“I had a feeling something like this was gonna happen, too,” my former assailant added, tilting their head at me. “I do love being right.”
The woman, who had been stunned speechless up to that point, let out an ear-shattering scream, but before anything coherent could emerge from her throat, the other person had spun around and struck her square across the face. The blow had come with such force that she crumbled immediately, her shriek dying in a strangled whimper before she hit the ground unconscious. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My mind was spinning, but I forced my eyes to remain hard, praying that my large fangs were twisting my face enough to veil my terror. I lifted myself over the fallen tree, partly employing my extra limbs. The cultist didn’t shrink away, instead taking a large step towards me. Before I knew it, the surface of their mask was scraping against my teeth. Too startled to move, I held their gaze for several seconds. Up close, I could see the only part of them that wasn’t obscured.
There was something very, very wrong with their eyes.
At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Their iris was of a pale, watery color that could not quite be defined as blue. Their surreal milky sheen was enough to send a chill up my spine. And then I realized it. There were only the irises. That black dot that all humans and most other known lifeforms typically have in their eyes, the pupil, it simply wasn’t there.
I stood rooted to the ground, staring into the stranger’s eyes. I thought I could see different colors swirling around in those not-quite-blue orbs. I was abruptly noticing a sudden inability to move on my part. I wanted to lift my arm and shove the cultist away, I wanted to unhinge my jaw and sink my teeth into their flesh, but I couldn’t. I was distantly aware of the heavy rising and falling of my chest, of my heart thundering in my ribcage, but it didn’t feel real somehow. Nothing felt real anymore. The world had turned iridescently turquoise and violent, flashing lights dotting my vision as my breathing grew quicker.
Somewhere in the back of my head, the last waking part of me was screaming.
And then, all of a sudden, everything turned dark again. I blinked furiously, trying to orient myself as the outlines of trees and bushes swam into focus again. The sweet smell of pine needles and damp soil hit me as I emerged from the hypnotic half-slumber. Before me, ramrod straight, stood Frankie Preston, and somehow, the sight of him had triggered the flight instinct in the cultist I had failed to provoke. Our eye contact broken, they staggered back, just as Fran stepped aside. This time, I didn’t throw away my shot. I threw myself at the stranger, lunging forward with my teeth bared. They dodged me by a hair’s breadth, bolting towards the manhole and, within a split second, they had disappeared down the pitch-black shaft. No sound of impact met our pricked ears.
Frankie wordlessly took out his phone, proceeding to place the call to Mary Markov. He walked over to me as they talked, grabbing my hand with his free one and pumping it almost rhythmically like he was trying an unconventional method of resuscitation. His voice and that of the newsreader on the other end sounded strangely far away. After hanging up, he hastily typed something before finally shoving the device back into his pocket. With an almost methodical precision, he wrapped his arms around me and picked me up, holding me close to his chest. My tentacles were hanging limply from my back as my teeth slowly began to reassume their normal size and length. Entangling my trembling fingers in his curls, I must have looked absolutely pitiful. The server sat down on the fallen tree, his grip on me unfaltering as I adjusted to sit on his lap, feeling myself unwind.
We remained like this, not speaking, until we heard steps draw closer. Mary Markov and two of her agents were walking towards us at a speedy pace, the newsreader crouching down in front of us while the two men immediately took to the unconscious female cultist.
“You were in here for quite a while,” she began, her voice drifting in and out of my ears while Frankie’s soothing touch curled around the edge of my senses. “I had a feeling something had gone wrong, so I’d already sent for backup. Good thing, too, I guess.” Her voice held a barely hidden note of accusation.
“Leave her be. She’s obviously in no condition to speak,” the waiter growled.
I would have confirmed this, but I was in no condition to speak.
Mary sighed. “Nevermind then, we’ll discuss this later. For now, let’s check what they were transporting.”
I patted Fran on the back to alert him.
“Feeling curious? Even after all of this?”
I nodded into his nape.
A grunt. “Well, fine. Not like this could have gone any worse, huh.” He stood up and walked us over to the wheelbarrow, closely followed by Mary. The newsreader inspected the tarp, then grabbed one corner and flung it off the cart. A sharp gasp escaped her and I craned my neck to look. Frankie instantly turned around, trying to avert my eyes from the sight that had just been revealed to us, but it was too late. I had already seen the contents. The headless body lying folded in the barrow.
A human with their head removed doesn't look entirely human anymore. I could tell from the stature that it was a male body, but its condition made him feel less like a person. I couldn't help drawing this distinction, even though it made my stomach turn. Rigor mortis having washed over the carcass, he was in a bent, twisted position that would have been painful to anyone still alive. One of his arms, freed from the tarp, was dangling loosely over the side of the cart. One of Mary’s agents gagged and covered his mouth. I shot him a sympathetic glance, though I don’t think he caught it. I was too tired to scream or throw up. Thus quenching any visceral reaction to the gruesome sight, I buried my face in Fran’s shirt once more, closing my eyes.
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner

I am recovering from a lung transplant operation and staying in my mom's guest apartment. Her female cat "Vanna" has taken a liking to me and will hang out with me all day while I work from home on my computer. The floors are hardwood and she will literally lay on the hardwood floors at my feet and knead my heels for hours straight. Meanwhile, four feet away is my bed with all the soft blankets. When I lay down when I get tired from the pain of the surgery she will then move to the bed and knead the blankets.
I just find it baffling she prefers to lay down near my feet on the hard floor when she could just chill on the bed and still be close to me.

I cant find an answer online so I thought Id try here.
I have a bathroom Im putting hardwood flooring in. Its less than 4ft wide and I was curious is there would be a problem if I layed a full plank every other row? For example, first row is 1 full plank and the next row is 2 planks, next row 1 plank, next row 2 planks. Will this cause any problems?

Hey all! Very weird situation here. So weird in fact that my realtor of 20+ years has never dealt with this before. Let me start with some context.
My wife and I are first time home buyers. We found a home we loved, placed an offer, and luckily it was accepted! We officially closed on 5/15, but almost immediately after closing we discovered a few issues.

1. The original Zillow listing states the following, “The sellers have indicated that the main level has hardwoods under the carpet.” This main level had about 1000 square feet of carpet, but after ripping it up about 700sqft did NOT have hardwoods, just basic old subfloor. This was pretty disappointing, especially considering this was a selling point mentioned directly on the listing. Yes this is a minor issue, but it leads into the second issue which is far more significant.
   
2. The home was advertised as being on public water and public sewage. Well after attempted to set up utilities, I quickly realized that we are on a well, not public water. On the Seller’s Disclosure (and on the initial listings) it was stated that the home was on public water, which it clearly is not. Obviously we did not get a well inspection, because why would we. This is a pretty big deal for us.
   

So a couple things I want to comment on because I know someone will ask. We had a full inspection. They would not have been able to catch this. There would’ve been no way to analyze the floors without being invasive. In addition, there was no evidence of it being on a well because the sellers had the tank/pump essentially hidden inside the drywall in the basement (like actually inside sealed drywall). No evidence outside because we recently found that the pump is hidden under the backyard deck.
So that essentially sums it up. Sellers agent basically told us that we should’ve done more research and are shit out of luck. Our realtor has recommended that we get some legal counsel, but I’m curious if this is even worth it. Would appreciate any advice. Thanks!
TLDR: On the official Seller’s Disclosure the seller stated that the home is on public water. The home is actually connected to a well. Trying to determine if sellers or agent can be held liable due to inaccurate information reported on the SD form.

My house has very old hardwood floors that are in really rough shape. Any sealant that was once on it has faded away. I want to clean them thoroughly but don't want to damage them more. Any tips?

I live in NYC and foolishly did not refinish my floors before moving in. I’d like to do it now but don’t know how they would deal with the furniture etc. Any advice on how best to do this and/or recommendations on a company to hire greatly appreciated.

I’ve had my rabbit for about 4 years and his cage has only gotten bigger as we’ve had space. We’re moving to a new apartment and my partner and I intend on free roaming him finally since he’ll be the only animal there.
The real concern is his comfort while also protecting our apartment / wallets. We’re gonna make a home base in our office, but he doesn’t love hardwood floor. How have you combatted this in the past? We’re gonna try to getting a bunch of rugs but idk if there’s a better idea.
The next concern is base boards. What do you recommend for covering baseboards? I don’t wanna use my tiles for his cage around the apartment to keep him out but I do want him to not chew them up.
I’d also love any tips for free roaming a devious boy!!! I want him to have freedom but have comfort doing it.

I have ran this wild magic zone twice now, once for a 5-people level 7 party, and once for a two-member level 5 party. It worked great both times.
This wild magic zone requires a fair bit of improv on the DM side, but it has also resulted in some of the best roleplay I have seen from the players.
The general structure is as such: there are 4 decks of 12 cards. The first deck contains 'Area' cards, which describe the physical environment; the second deck contains 'People' cards, which describe the inhabitants of an environment; the third deck contains 'Goal' cards, which give the player a goal they must achieve in this section to move onto the next one; and the fourth deck contains 'Wild magic' cards, which mess up everything with a (occasionally undeclared) rule. (Ive posted the current 48 cards below)
The rules of the wild magic zone: 1. When the players first enter the Wild Magic Zone, draw 1 card from each deck, this is their current situation. 2. To exit the Wild Magic Zone, they must succeed in 4-6 zones (succeeding a 'goal' card counts as succeeding in a zone) - perhaps to reach a McGuffin at the centre of the Wild Magic Zone ? (this is what Ive done before) 3. As an action, a player may 'discard' one card from any one deck and draw the next one. It immediately goes into effect. Discarded cards do NOT return to the deck but remain discarded forever 4. Upon achieving a Goal, all four cards from all four decks are replaced immediately with new cards. 5. If a deck runs out of cards before the players succeed in their assigned Goal number, the players los (ejected from the Wild Magic Zone ? This never happened during my plays - this is not the purpose of the Wild Magic Zone, it is merely a theoretical warning against changing the cards too much)
To give an example, here is a random 4 card setup I just drew up randomly (12, 12, 3, 4)
Area: Statues of Gods long since forgotten surround you and coloured light passes through coloured glass. You find yourself in a temple to a religion you do not recognize
People: A panopticon-style prison
Goal: Capture a flaming bird
Wild Magic: All objects the players touch become animals
I would play this as: the players find themselves at the bottom of alarge panopticon-style prison complex ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panopticon ), where there are no guards but instead many statues who look at you with great intensity. Somewhere, near the middle-to-top floor they see a glow of bright flames, this, they instinctively know, is where the flaming bird resides
The statues are found at all pathway junctions and in front of all prison doors. The statues are (weakened, depending on player level) effectively beholders, but who shoot only 1 eye beam at offending payers they can sense someway
The challenge for the payers becomes to pass 3-4 sets of statues unseen, and open the prison door (maybe there's a key in a guard room ? or maybe the can lockpick or force their way in )
Both my groups have had alot of fun running this gauntlet, and maybe your group can have this fun as well :)
Cards:
AREA: 1. Beach 1. a lush beach area, with a white forest on the east side and a quiet sunset over a friendly, warm ocean on the west

1. Forest
   
   1. a rich temperate forest littered everywhere with old trees, little groves, and meandering, lightly-trodden paths seeming leading to nowhere
2. Desert
   
   1. Endless sand, canyons, and wadis, like a semi-arid desert that has not yet had rain this season
3. Mountains
   
   1. ever-expanding mountains with permafrost at the top and pine forest at the bottom. There are many caves and hidden pathways to those who look
4. Space
   
   1. Far below there is a great plane of many colours, above there are infinite stars. Around you there are many asteroids of various sizes gently floating. Some of these could only hold a few houses, others which could house an entire city. (you can breathe just fine).
5. Underwater
   
   1. You are deep below the surface, swimming over corals are many-coloured fish. To your right there is a great sloping wall leading to a surface you cannot sea, to your left there is an eternity of deep, blue ocean. (you can breathe just fine)
6. Pure light
   
   1. You are standing on land you cannot see, as both the ground and the sky are made of pure light. The brightness blinds you for a second, but once you're used to it, you can see as you could normally
7. Pure darkness
   
   1. You are standing on land you cannot see, as both the ground and the sky are made of pure darkness. After a few seconds your eyes adapt, and you can see, but only half as far as normally
8. Yggdrassil
   
   1. An enormous tree stands before you, the roots of which extend in every direction further than you can see. The trunk is almost 100 meters across, and extends well beyond the clouds above. There are many branches of every width and colour at all levels.
9. Endlessly tall treetops
   
   1. You find yourself atop a tree, and as far as the eye can see there are more trees in every direction. You cannot see the ground below, but find easy methods of moving from tree to tree
10. Caves
    
    1. Damp and rot assault your senses as you find yourself underground in a large hall with cave tunnels leading out in 8 directions
11. Statues of Gods long since forgotten surround you and coloured light passes through coloured glass. You find yourself in a temple to a religion you do not recognize
    

PEOPLE:

1. An ancient red dragon and a dracolich are battling, whilst many people huddle away in various corners far away, watching the fight
2. A mystical castle shrouded in purple mist, with strange creatures of all shapes and oddities move in and out DM note: this is a fairy castle :)
   
3. A small, little village of no more than 50 people, most of whom seem occupied in preparing for a festival
   
4. Endless rows of monoliths in every direction with text written on them in every conceivable (and inconceivable) language. There is a short, elderly woman walking between them
   
5. a large colloseum, with people streaming in and out. Inside the loud cheers of audiences and the grunts of battle can be heard DM note: to reach the Lord, the players must roll 1d6, and are accepted on a 6+. If they enter the arena, they can fight a number of monsters, each of whcih will add +1 to their eventual roll (adjust to suit level of party, this was for 2 level 6 chars):
   

   1. [Giant Boar](https://5thsrd.org/gamemaster_rules/monsters/giant_boa) 2. [Centaur](https://5thsrd.org/gamemaster_rules/monsters/centau) 3. [Berserker](https://5thsrd.org/gamemaster_rules/monsters/berserke) 4. [Bandit Captain](https://5thsrd.org/gamemaster_rules/monsters/bandit_captain/) 5. [Hyppogriph](https://5thsrd.org/gamemaster_rules/monsters/hippogriff/) 6. [Dire wolf](https://5thsrd.org/gamemaster_rules/monsters/dire_wolf/) 

6. Faceless voids are wandering about, with scared people and animals hiding wherever they may
   
7. 2 magic circles, each surrounded by either blue or red mages, each summoning monsters to attack the other DM note: each circle is headed by 1 Mage ( https://www.dndbeyond.com/monsters/16947-mage) (adjust to suit level of party, this was for 2 level 6 players (mages would lose spellslots 4 & 5))
   
8. A lost caravan, but the carts and the clothes all seem odd DM NOTE: they're from the future :)
   
9. an eternal armies of zombies, marching in from the north and exiting from the south
   
10. A large city of steam and steal, occupied only by robots DM note:they're scared of fleshy things - the concept of rot and decay is lovecraftian to them
    
11. A grand palace, but everyone inside and out is frozen in place, not moving or responding to any prompt
    
12. A panopticon-style prison
    

GOAL:

1. Find a blue goat and feed him
   
2. there is a bomb somwhere, dismantle it DM note: the players have 1h real-time to accomplish this
   
3. Capture a flaming bird
   
4. Kill the Lord of the system
   
5. Attend a wedding (between sentient creatures)
   
6. Win a competition
   
7. Make the world go dark
   
8. Create a fire 80 meters tall
   
9. Introduce a new festival to the denizens of the region
   
10. Swim in a pool of blood
    
11. Survive DM note: this one's fun, but bery DM dependent
    
12. learn 10 new recipes
    

WILD MAGIC:

1. The players become the size of mice
   
2. The players can speak only lies
   
3. NPC's recognize the players (1d6 on attitude):
   
   1. happy
   2. angry
   3. sad
   4. neutral
   5. seeking revenge
   6. afraid
4. All objects the players touch become animals
   
5. 2 previously used wild magics are activated simultaneously (if fewer than 2 have been used so far, instead reveal 1 or 2 wild magics as needed plus any previously used ones)
   
6. The edge of the region is on fire. The fire is slowly closing in
   
7. The players keep changing places with each other DM note: whenever they roll a die, on below a 5 they change places with the player the number rolled
   
8. Players are 6 years old again
   
9. Whenever a player rolls a 1-5 on a d20, a random spell of that level / 2 (1-2: 1; 3-4: 2; 5: 3) is cast centered on the player
   
10. the stars are falling
    
11. There is an assassin in the world, whose sole purpose is to kill the players
    
12. every player rolls a 1d6, they feel super:
    
    1. happy
    2. angry
    3. sad
    4. depressed / hopeless
    5. jealous
    6. overconfident

PART 10 <==H==> FIRST
----------
Nyla watched Cal as he seemed to size up the other clan leaders. A shiver went down her spine when she realized the look he had on his face was the same look the Hilvorn beast had on its face as it chased her. She recognized it now as a look that loved the thrill of the hunt, a look that for all intents and purposes, signaled the end of its target.
Nyla also knew the clan leaders were acutely aware of this as they partook of the food Cal had offered them. They ate in silence. Their entourages, however, were loud and rowdy Each man and woman were taking all they could get their hands on, the strange meats Artie delivered seeming to delight them. Finally one of the clan leaders yelled. "Silence you fools!"
The groups of bodyguards and failed assassins fell silent under the glare of their leaders. Cal smiled and stood. "Who are you to presume to issue orders in my clan hall?"
The venom that dripped from his voice sent a chill down the spines of every being in the room. Even Artie had frozen midway between a serving platter and Nyla's plate as he tried to give her another slice of roast beef. Nyla looked on in terror as Cal stalked over to the table the clan leaders had chosen and sat at its head. Cal spoke again. "I asked who you think you are to give orders here? Please, go ahead, speak up."
You could not have had a more profound effect had you dropped the heads of their spouses into the laps of each clan leader. Terror seemed to emanate from every one of them, with one exception. Kreshnal, the leader of the second clan, was shaking with rage.
"Who am I?" he demanded, looking from the other leaders to Cal. "I am the leader of the second clan. Clan of the Karago'Jan, fiercest of hunters! I will not bow and kowtow to an upstart demon such as yourself! If I demand silence while I dine that it is MY business!"
"So it was you who spoke?" Cal asked.
"Yes, it was me!" Kreshnal exclaimed. "And I will not be bullied for it!"
"So tell me Kreshnal," Cal said reaching over to the plate of the clan leader next to him and taking a piece of meat from it. "What do you think so far? Can we be allies, or will I have to wipe your clan from the face of the planet?"
"You DARE!" Kreshnal screamed. "How dare you speak to me in such a way. Friends?! Why would I want to be friends with you? You are a..."
The only sound that burbled from his throat after that was the sound of Kreshnal dying as his lungs filled with blood. Kreshnal turned to see his daughter standing behind him holding the knife coated in his blood. The girl smiled with tears in her eyes as she lowered her father to the floor.
"I am sorry father, but we can not win against him. He is a beast the like of which you can not fathom. Mother always told you your attitude would get you killed. I am sorry it had to be me, but for the sake of our clan, and for my siblings, I can not let you fight this war." The girl was barely holding back sobs.
Kreshnal surprised Cal then, placing a gentle hand on his daughter's cheek and wiping the tears from her face. He smiled and let out his last breath. The girl stood, seeming to draw strength from that final act of comfort with her father. Her eyes locked with Cal's.
"My father called you a demon, and he may be right. But I know this is not a fight we can win. So, if you will have me as representative of the second clan, and if the other leaders will recognize me, I will declare the second clan as allies of the Clan of the Storm Dragon." She spoke well, even forcing out the strange words that formed the clan name Cal had come up with.
"What is your name, young lady?" Cal said, his tone holding something that Nyla could only call a regal note.
The young woman spoke. "My name is Kre'Ana in honor of my father."Cal raised an eyebrow, and the leader of the first clan, Jurrog, stepped forward to speak. "Cal, this young woman is known to me. I will recognize her, and if you would accept it, I would grant her recommendation as an honorable and intelligent woman who would serve well as the leader of the second clan."
Cal could tell that Jurrog was saying this to vouch for the young woman, but also as a comfort for Kre'Ana's sake. She smiled in thanks to Jurrog and bowed her head slightly. Cal smiled.
​
Cal looked around the room, specifically making eye contact with each clan leader. "Kre'Ana has asked to be recognized by the leaders here, so what say you all?"
The room was awkward for a moment, then all at once the other leaders seemed to be scrambling over themselves to try and confirm their support of the new leader of the second clan. Cal laughed heartily, "It seems to me, Kre'Ana, that congratulations are in store. I recognize you may not be happy with how it happened, but I also understand the strength it takes to do what you did."
Kre'Ana nodded and glanced at the body of her father. Cal looked for Nyla and waved her over. Quietly and in English, Cal spoke to her. "Can the death rights of your people wait, or must they be completed tonight?"
"They can wait. It is customary to wait to gather the entire clan, and then wait one day to allow all a chance to settle their debts with the dead." Nyla explained.
"Kre'Ana," Cal said, once again speaking Narvish, "if you will allow it, I will have your father's body preserved until such a time as you can gather your clan, and then it will be brought to anywhere you wish."
"I would appreciate such a gesture," Kre'Ana said, seeming almost relieved and letting tears seep from her eyes.
Cal raised his voice and spoke to all the clan leaders. "Here and now, declare your intent. Are we friends or foes?"
The vote was unanimous. With the first and second clans both in allegiance with Cal, there was almost no choice. Cal smiled at the group. "Send runners to your clan halls and summon all who can attend. Tonight we celebrate the new leader of the second clan, as well as our newfound unity!"
The day wore on with a steady trickle of Narvish arriving from the clans after the runners had been sent out. When the sun set Cal had Artie light two massive crystalline braziers in front of the hall, more food seemed to constantly appear on the tables and everyone was provided with all they could eat and drink. Nyla knew some technology was in play, probably managed by Artie, for even as fast as the AI frame was, there would be no way for Artie to keep up with it all.
When the crowd had been fed to their liking and most everyone had at least a pleasant buzz from the drinks being served, Cal rose and spoke to the crowd. "Tonight, we celebrate Kre'Ana's rise to the position of clan leader, as well as the unification of our peoples. Tonight marks the beginning of change, and it may be hard, but I can promise it will be worth it."
A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Cal waited for it to settle. "In honor of that, I will tell you, in the world where I come from, thousands of years ago, there was a group of people called the Vikings. During their time, they were warriors with almost no equals. They warred with one another, just as you do, they pillaged lesser tribes, just as you pillage the lesser clans. They were like the Narvish, thousands of years ago, and maybe in a few thousand more years, you will be telling other people how they are like you were today!"
The crowd could tell he was leading up to something, and the things of which he spoke were things they could all understand so they waited eagerly. Cal smiled and continued. "So in the honor of my ancestors, and in honor of the Narvish who are so similar to the Vikings of old. I offer heitstrengingar! In times of old, heitstrengingar was the swearing of a solemn oath. The oath I swear is to you all. So long as we are allies, I swear to defend you, your families, and everything you hold dear as if it were my own!"
The roar of approval washed over Cal and the clan leaders as Cal took an ornate drinking horn from Artie, then he pricked his finger and allowed a drop of his red blood to fall into the drinking horn. Cal raised the horn and called out at the loudest volume he could. "Heitstrengingar!"
He passed the horn to Jurrog, who understood what to do. "I too vow these things, should a call be issued, First Clan, will come and send your enemies to Zavrak! I vow this in the traditions of the ancestors of Cal. Heitstrengingar!"
Jurrog pricked his finger and allowed a drop of blood to fall into the drinking horn. Seeing what was expected, Kre'Ana followed suit. When they had all declared their support and put a drop of blood into the horn, Cal raised the horn over his head with both hands. "With this, we become one, your clan leaders and I will be bound in blood as well as oath. Heitstrengingar!"
Cal took a sip from the horn and passed it to Jurrog once more. Jurrog had paled, he knew this was a test, should he or any other clan leader refuse to drink, they would become targets for the rest. Jurrog had hoped to roll with the changes and come out on top, but it seemed Cal was several steps ahead. "Heitstrengingar." Jurrog called out, without much heart in it, and drank.
​
The night after the Heitstrengingar ceremony devolved into one long drinking contest. When Nyla awoke in the morning, she found herself not at the table where she remembered passing out, but in her bed, with a bowl of soup and a drink of some kind next to her. She ate the food appreciatively, her head throbbing with every bite. She drank what she thought was water and almost instantly her headache was gone. She drank more and finished the food before leaving her room and heading out into the hall.
Narvish bodies lay everywhere, passed out where they had fallen. Artie walked among them making sure none were hurt or having any difficulties breathing. He saw Nyla and gestured to the side of the high table to a small door she had not noticed before. A stairway behind it took her up to a platform on the roof, cleverly hidden from view below. On the platform, Cal sat in a chair, Nyala took the empty chair next to him.
"You are good at manipulating my people." Nyla said, thinking back on the events of the night. "I wonder how much Jurrog hates you for what you did, making him swear publicly to join you like that."
"I know how to speak to warriors," Cal said, "Your people, the Narvish, are warriors. Maybe not warriors like I am used to, but I meant what I said. Your people remind me of the Vikings from Earth."
"I think you are a warrior, I think my people are children to you. Children who know not what powers they tempt if or when they attack you." Nyla said thoughtfully. "I do not regret this, but it is what I think."
Cal laughed and smiled at her, Showing her a smile that Nyla liked to think was reserved only for her. "You might be right, but I am the result of humanity fighting for thousands of years amongst ourselves, we developed thousands of different weapons, styles, and methods for fighting during the age of the Vikings. This was when we had little more than the Narvish have now. I am, in all things, totally devoted to war. I have to be. Because of my devotion, I understand how your people think, I understand how they treat those less powerful, and I understand what they want."
Nyla was surprised, Cal was a monster when it came to combat. What little she understood of him told her that much, but the fact that he felt some kind of connection to her people was interesting, to say the least. "Well, I offer you this Cal."
Cal turned and gave her his full attention. She picked up his mug of drink and pricked her finger dropping her blood into it. "No matter what my people choose, if they elect to fight you or if they choose simply to follow you, I will be your ally. If I must, I will be your only ally. I will stand by you until you choose to send me away or until I die. This I swear, heitstrengingar."
Cal smiled, put a drop of his blood into the mug, and looked at Nyla. "To you Nyla, and only to you, I swear this, should the end come and should the greatest sacrifice be demanded, I swear it will not be you who pays it. Heitstrengingar."
Cal took a drink and handed the mug to Nyla. She took a drink and felt something deep down inside her stir uneasily. What he had sworn to her made her feel uneasy and sounded almost like a prophecy. She opened her mouth to speak, but decided that nothing she had ever heard of could harm Cal so, what was she worried about? Together the two of them watched the sunrise and light the valley.
​
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PART 10 <==H==> FIRST
FROM THE AUTHOR: Hello! I hope you all enjoy this part of Ascension. I wanted to let you know I have switched from my website to world anvil for all the background additional content I was posting before. The link to world anvil is at the bottom of the page. As always I hope you have a fantastic day!
If you want to support me:
https://www.patreon.com/Akmedrah
https://ko-fi.com/akmedrah
If you want to read my other stories:
HFY Author Page
https://akmedrah.com/
If you want more information about the world and my other writing, check out my World Anvil page!
​
Edit: Somehow all the spacing got taken out, so I fixed that.

I'm filling out an application for a new job, and part of it involves a very thorough background check. They ask on the application if I have ever been terminated from a position or asked to leave, which I have once.
I worked for an insulation company for a month, and I was slow learning how to do everything. They had me crawling in attics, basements, repairing ducts, sealing up houses and running big machines. They put me on my own after a week and I struggled to remember it all, so they fired me.
To be fair though, I did hardwood flooring at one company for 3 years, and I've been at my current job for just under a year. So hopefully that shows I have at least a somewhat decent work ethic.

So I've heard it's best not to type myself (though I do have some ideas, I'll see how they correlate with your findings), and tests are apparently a big no-no, so I'm here to ask for your help with that. I answered some of the suggested questions, a bit randomly, not all because I was losing interest and would probably abandon this like I do with many projects I start, lol. So I'm hoping this will be enough, if you want me to answer some more questions or have different questions to make sure of the typing, let me know.
How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself.

1. Considering myself non binary because I don't have the attachment to any of the genders. People seem to have a sense of affinity or comradery with their gender and they tend to relate to them more. I don't really have any of that and so I form attachments to others based on shared interests or attraction.

General description.. I'm easy going, happy to help though not super reliable, detached from reality with head in the clouds most of the time, but enthusiastic and energetic whenever some new cool ideas are around (often they're my new cool ideas). But I can also get thoughful and introspective, thinking about how things work, why things are the way they are.
​
Is there a medical diagnosis that impact your mental/comportamental stability somehow?
My mental stability is rather fine I would say, but I do have ADHD which is impacting my engagement with things. There are many things I want to do but often I cannot make myself do them, I am easily distracted and feeling detached from reality often. Not sure if it can impact the result, but it seems worth mentioning.
​
If you had to spend an entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed?
If we don't count interactions online as company, then it is an easy "I would be fine" answer as I do spend a lot of time by myself. By my circumstances I am away from my people and outside of work I don't engage a lot with those living nearby me. I do my own stuff. My work is also mostly me on my own driving, just with short interaction at the warehouse and with the customers. On the other hand, during those meetings at work, I am pretty social and outgoing, and like engaging in some conversation. Even though I feel overwhelmed by big groups, I can easily be a center of attention in small ones, and enjoy it very much. Every day I also seek conversation with my boyfriend online, and also almost every day with my brothers. During driving or walking or doing chores I am often listening to podcasts that give me a sense of company as well. If I was to completely remove those interactions I think I would be more lonely and sometimes even bored. I like doing things together with someone else or even with them just being around, even if we do our own things.
​
What is your relation with movement and your surroundings? For instance do you prefer a sport or outdoors event? If an outdoors event what is it? And why? If not what type of activities do you tend to engage in?
This is pretty well connected to the previous question. If I get myself out and about, especially with other people, I'm happy to engage in physical activities, I really like swimming, biking, hiking, mushroom hunting, zumba, going to funfairs and other events and I would love to try many other types of activities. But on my own it's hard for me to actually get myself going, I'm more likely to be engaging in the concept of moving around and doing things rather than actually doing the physical stuff. I waste a lot of time in front of the computer, browsing the internet. Or I'm doing some researches online about topics that catch my attention, things I could do in the future, learning things that interest me, drawing or reading books.
​
​
What are your aspirations?
Finally getting my life out of the anthills that are cities and towards more calm and controllable life in more green areas, where I can enjoy the much more pleasant views, breathe fresher air and also be more self sufficient. Connected to that is also an idea of planting a forest as the world and the animals need more of those, and because I really like them. Finally there's the aspiration of finishing at least one of the stories that I keep planning in my head, I have a big one that has been there for years and is very important, but each time I start I fall off doing it. I want to think that one day I will manage to finish it.
​
What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why?
Being out of control of my life. When I'm being forced to do things that don't make sense to me, without proving me that it is the correct thing to do. Telling me to just shut up and listen and go along with things I think are nonsense, and I have to do it because I have no other choice or it's dangerous to do otherwise. Having to trust that the others are doing good enough job to keep me safe and well, as I see how much flawed other people are too, and knowing that they make mistakes or can be neglectful, but I have to trust that they do a good job because I can't control everything. I don't easily hate, but I hate prospect of dying because someone else was an idiot and made a decision that led to my demise. It's one thing that really easily infuriates me.
​
How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so?
Reality is like a huge lake that I'm standing at. It has interesting landscapes and fish in it, and I really like watching it and interacting with things in it, at times taking a full dive deep into it, but I mostly stand outside of it, and there's the layer of water separating me from it, and there's a lot happening outside of the lake and inside my world that is happening constantly, thoughts and daydreams that can distract me from observing or interacting with the lake, and I can easily lost myself in those distractions because they're my life more than the lake is.
When I daydream I am aware of things around me, mostly, I can function and do things, and not get killed in the road accidents, but at the same time, unless something quite significant happens, I won't remember much of what was happening during daydreaming, my everyday memories are a mush of stuff I think happened but not very concrete. I definitely lose details of it all.
Being around other people and interacting with them brings me more to the ground than when I'm alone, but even during conversations I can suddenly float away with my thoughts.
​
Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about?
Honestly... whatever comes to my mind and it can be very random and unfitting the situation so it's hard to tell what exactly would I be thinking about. Definitely there would be some retrospection of the life choices leading me to spending time in such a boring environment and whether I can do something to avoid it in the future, there definitely would be some searching for fun patterns in the imperfections of the wall/floor and thinking about them, maybe coming up with some stories about them. There would be some word games to keep my mind from going insane. I would also probably try to plan some of the stories I have in my mind, as it would be a peaceful moment fit to do some of that. Aside from those, whatever random thing my brain would find interesting from moment to moment.
​
How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life?
I am not sure. That is something that I am thinking about from time to time. Of course I feel emotions, sometimes very strongly, like when riding my bike and blasting energizing music in my headphones, it gives power and good feelings. And I think I do love my partner and my family as I do things to show that I care about them, and it is really nice to see and talk with them. I like helping others and making them feel better makes me feel better as well. But at the same time I realize that there is something transactional about all those things, that with all those things I gain something back, and that gain is at least partly the reason for me doing things, and sometimes I can't help but wonder if I'm not actually an uncaring bastard that just tricks everyone else and myself about how much I actually feel. But on most days I'm just a blabbering fool that will overshare for laughs and feeling some connection to others so what do I know. But it kinda does make me worried when I'm listening to true crimes and the presenters are often very shocked or outraged at the things happening and they have a need to vent it out, and I'm sitting there like "oh just go on, I want to find out what happens next". I also don't get offended or hurt easily, and I don't have strong attachment to things to be upset with others if they break it, and if there's an argument and it even gets heated, I'm over it in the next 15-30 minutes usually and wondering why the other person doesn't want to go back to normal and is upset for much longer.
​
Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why?
It very much depends on what there is to agree with, how much I care aboout the topic and the people around me. Is it more worth to win the argument, to agree to disagree or to agree for the sake of it. When the discussion is not completely serious and just exploring different topics, I will agree with all kinds of outrageous things so that the ideas can keep going, because both parties understand it's all fun and games. If it's more serious discussion, I am open minded to other view points and changing my opinions or ways of thinking, but it needs to be a proper two way discussion when both parties are listening to each other and are open to changing their minds. If the other party is too emotionally attached to their views or they are operating on false data and are unwilling to correct their knowledge, then the discussion doesn't make much sense, and in this case I might in some cases (like talking to family with whom I still want good relationship) agree just to end the discussion. Also if it's something small and it will make the other person happier, I might agree just for the sake of it.
​
Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why would you?
I think like all of us, the authorities are just human and make human errors, make faulty presumptions, have faulty ways of thinking. And they don't necessarily get chosen for those roles because they're the best for the job. On the other hand the rules aren't usually something that was thought out on the spot, they're coming from some past experiences and lots of thoughts, so many of them do make sense and are quite well implemented to serve the public. So my conclusion is to go with the rules but at the same time to keep and eye on them and see how much they actually make sense. If something doesn't make sense, I don't see the point of following it. If it does, I will mostly follow, unless I feel particularly edgy.
​
What is the ideal life, in your opinion?
To be completely honest I think that the ideal life is a mirage we like to stare at and admire, and it's a goal that keep us going forward. It's also an untested concept that seems nice, but might in the end prove to be a very unfitting idea once actually achieved. And yet with all it's uncertainty it's something that feels nice to consider, and I do think of it quite often, but also often change my opinion of what the ideal currently is. At this point an ideal is the future life with my s/o, all the things we want to do together, conversations we'll hold, places we plan to visit together, our nice little house to live in, and the possibility to prepare for the incoming doom of humanity ;)

[WP] 1920s Speakeasy owner notices his clients are going missing and finds out his club is bing used as vampier hunting grounds. After getting over the shock undead are real, he has to take matters into his own hands to save his business.
"MISSING!" I read the poster asking for information on the whereabouts of Joseph Smith. I felt bad but I wouldn't put my other patrons or myself at risk. I wasn't going to walk to the police station and tell them last time I saw him he was leaving my speakeasy with an elegant looking woman who was definitely not his wife. Hopefully the police find something but as best I could reason its not my problem.
Looking at my watch I realize it was much later in the evening than expected. I knew I had to hurry as it was almost time to open up. When prohibition first came around I figured my bartending days were over but luck smiled on me. After closing my bar down and selling it I found the perfect location for a speakeasy. It was a small shop, just one narrow wooden windowless door at the end of a dark and sleazy downtown alley. Most people don't even know the exists there. But the little shop had a big secret. After carefully navigating the tight corridor there was a rickety spiraling staircase to a basement that stretched under the adjacent building. I wasn't sure of its original purpose but after a lot of work it was an almost perfect spot to sit and drink. I had a solid oak and brass bar rail, cozy stools, some elegant booths and a nice hardwood floor installed. The atmosphere was well lit and made it easy to forget the troubles outside. That said, being a speakeasy was dangerous business for most folks but with its elegent interior and hard to find location it was easy to grease the palms of city officials to ensure it was kept private and profitable.
About mid way through the normal hours I caught a glimpse of that woman. She had the same light skin, dark red hair, and stunning low cut red dress. The dress was how I knew it was definitely her. It was the same woman that left with Joseph a few nights prior. Tonight she was the arm candy of Jackson Clarke. She looked completely enthralled by whatever he was saying. If his wife ever found out there would be trouble, but everyone here knew better than to say anything. It must not have been another 10 minutes before they were grabbing their jackets and heading out the door together. She was hanging off him like a scarf and his grin was almost wider than his head. I could only imagine where they were going. I hoped they would at least be discret as I didn't want any extra attention brought this way. Once they were out the door I realized I had been staring so i snapped back to reality. I went back to serving the rest of the regulars before closing up shop and heading home.
"MISSING!" I stared at the poster surely it had to be a coincidence that now Jackson was also missing after leaving with the same woman. Either way I knew I had to do something. Two disappearances would bring a lot more police into town and make things a lot more dangerous for me. The sooner things went back to normal the better. I decided I should confront her the next time I saw her in my bar.
A week went by with no signs of the woman or any leads on the disappearances. With so little for the police to work with the frustration was mounting and they were getting aggressive. There were police everywhere at almost all hours of the day. My business was suffering because with the increased police presence the risk was much higher that they may get caught. I was getting stressed out. I needed answers but for that I needed that woman. I had asked the doorman about her but he said he didn't know too much. Said she was from out of town but passed all the needed checks required for entry. He even had a friend at city hall pull her records to see if she might be using an alias or be a cop, but they found nothing out of the ordinary.
10 days after she left with Jackson I finally saw her again. I decided to get the doorman to take her to the storage room before she became somebody's arm candy. I had to ask her some questions just to confirm that it was just a coincidence that she was seen with both Joseph and Jackson just before they disappeared. I watched her get grabbed and roughly led out back. I excused myself for a second from the bar and made my way to the storage room as well.
I got to the door and gathered my thoughts before entering. A few deep breaths and I was ready. I opened the door and quickly ducked in closing it quickly behind me. It made a loud thud as it slammed closed a little harder than I expected.
"OK I have a few questions for you. Depending how you answer your night could be really good or bad," I said to her.
She was seated in what was probably the most uncomfortable wooden chair I'd ever seen. She wore the same dress as before but now I was noticing something I hadn't seen before. She glared at me with piercing blue eyes.
"What do you want to know" she snapped back with so much venom in her it made the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
"What happened after you left her with Joseph and Jackson? You were the last person anybody has seen them with. After leaving here with you they just simply vanished. It might be a coincidence but I can't take that chance; especially since its messing with my business."
"Oh sweetheart do I look like the type of woman who kisses and tells." Her voice mocking me, " but maybe if you're a good little boy I can show you just what we did."
"Don't make this difficult!" I quickly moved closer to her and grabbed her shoulders giving her a quick shake. "Tell me what I want to know!"
As soon as I touched her she completely changed. Gone from her face was a playful smile. I could only describe the expression I saw now as a wolf baring its teeth as a warning.
"Get your hands off me now!"
She stood up so fast the chair flew backwards before slamming into the ground. Before I knew it she had wrapper her hand around my throat and began lifting me up. I couldn't believe the strength she had. She stood there choking me with her icy grip. I could feel her nails digging into my neck from how tight she gripped me. Now lifted off the floor by my neck, my legs dangled helplessly. I tried to look around to see the doorman. Surely he would help but once I caught sight of him I saw he was just standing there casually watching me.
I could feel the darkness creeping in from the corners of my eyes. I wondered if this was how I would die. I tried to free myself by grabbing her arm and trying to pry her hand open but to no avail. Just when I thought it was all over she effortlessly tossed me into the wall. I hit it hard with the back of my head snapping forward and back. I slumped down on the floor. My lungs now burning as the air returned to them. My head and back throbbed from the impact. I tried to stand but I was too disoriented and my legs buckled below me.
"Let me tell you exactly what's going to happen." Her voice now completely different. Firm and powerful sounding she was in charge and she knew it. "If you want to live you're going to continue to run your little club and I'm going to keep coming and hunting here as I please."
My head still fuzzy I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly, "hunting? What do you mean hunting?"
"My god; I don't understand how you've survived this long. You're slower than a snail in molasses so let me spell it out for you. My friend here," she pointed to the doorman," and I are vampires. We're not the only ones in town but we're the only ones you'll be dealing with. As vampires we require human blood from time to time. This cute little bar has become the perfect place to find meals. Nobody talks about them being here so even if questions are asked they never lead back to us. We do have a slight issue with you losing business as that would make things more difficult. Are you still listening, nod if you're following."
My head still reeling I made the effort to look up at her and for the first time i noticed them. Sharp fierce looking fangs sticking out past her lips. I nodded as best I could. I would do anything to stay alive.
"Good you're still following. In the morning you're going into the police department and file a tip that both Joseph and Jackson were last leaving town. Pitch the idea that they abandoned their families and changed their names. With that tip the police should leave here to search elsewhere and business will resume as normal."
"Say I help you; what do I get out of it?"
"Oh you mean other than getting to live and not be todays lunch? My associates and I are willing to pay you handsomely for your discretion."
"Well staying alive and making money are my two favorite things so it looks like we have a deal," I said. I knew my fate was already sealed regardless so I might as well take the money while I could.
"Good we believe this will be a bloody good opportunity for you."
With that her and the doorman disappeared back into the bar. I dragged myself off the floor and to the bathroom to clean myself up. I'd made a deal with the devil. If there was a hell I was surely destined for it.
This was requested by a friend to be made into a series but I'm not sure how to continue so this is it for now.

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I ran into a bit of writer's block writing the next part of Secret Chord. It wasn't helped by this weird anthology rattling around in my head. So, I decided to write it down to get it out of the way. I hope you enjoy it, or even take it as a series of possible writing prompts. I only had more ideas about the bootlegger of the story, so we'll just say everyone else is up to interpretation and imagination. Let me know what you think.
And yes, I do have a strong fascination with music. Why do you ask?
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Radio is a beautiful thing to Jack Rushing. The ability to reach the common man wherever he may be and bring to him the comfort and pleasure of music, the up-to-date latest news of the wider galaxy, or the simple human connection of Jack’s interludes. Now it wasn’t radio exactly, but the semantics were unimportant. What was important was broadcasting out to the galaxy at large wherever humans may be. To bring together those lonely souls adrift in the wider-
A crash brought Jack out of his reverie. His short fik assistant dropped a box after tripping over a wire. “Careful with those! We haven’t saved those yet!”
“Yes, yes! Sorry.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose Jack replied, “It’s fine. You’re doing fine, Kos. Just watch where you’re going. Now bring those here, we’re about to go live.”
Kos recovered the spilled cardboard sleeves and deposited the box on the small table beside Jack. He stood and thumbed through the selection. This box alone could buy a new cargo hauler, and the cramped studio held crates of these black-market treasures. Kindly donated by a mysterious benefactor.
He drew out a couple records and a tape then handed them to Kos. “Alright we’re gonna start with ‘Sixteen Tons” he said pointing to each song number, “Then ‘Pride and Joy’, ‘Midnight Rider’, ‘East Bound and Down’ and we’ll end with…” He dug around and exclaimed, “Ooh, this.” He handed the vinyl to the fik trying to juggle everything who shuffled into the next room. Jack could see through the glass as Kos began to set everything up, while he put on his headphones and adjusted the mic. The per-recorded program from the night cycle was ending.
With a thumbs up from Kos, Jack punched a few buttons on his console before the vintage “On Air” light blinked to life.
“Good morning, O’ wayward souls, I’m Jack Rushing back again with another slew of songs once thought lost to time. Our generous benefactor, Mr. Suit-and-Tie, continues to comb the seedy underbelly of the galaxy at large to bring you nothin but the best. Meanwhile, me and Kos, my stalwart companion, are broadcasting live from beautiful downtown Nondescript. This is the Spirit of Radio bringing you ‘Sixteen Tons’ by Tennessee Ernie Ford.” Jack pointed through the glass to signal Kos to start before muting the mic.
*****
Cooking was an art as much as a skill. Bo had cooking in his blood. History was repeating itself, as Bo’s ancestors worked as a ship’s cook to gain passage across the Atlantic, so too did Bo book passage across the sea of stars by working as the ship’s chef.
Some people say a man is made out of mud, A poor man’s made out of muscle and blood…
Bo adjusted the volume on his pad so he could hear it as he worked. He was finishing up cleaning after the ship’s dinner and moved on to his special project. He promised Mephla a specially made dinner for two. The felinoid had taken an interest in his cooking. She enjoyed watching him cook as much as eating what he made. He knew she’d arrive any minute, so he set out on some prep work.
Finding ingredients was a novel challenge, but not impossible. A passable replacement was possible with just about anything, but it took Bo the better part of a year and half seeking them out. Salt was salt, thank God, but others he had to be a bit more creative. It seemed the galaxy preferred lard to butter. Probably due to the ursdains or the mostly carnivorous population, but he could work with it. He was most proud of his most recent discovery of a little root-bulb that mimicked garlic damn near perfectly. He’d been jonesing for garlic-bread for years now, and now he could finally scratch that itch.
He began setting up his mies en place and pre-heating his oven and prized possession. Well, one of them anyway. His father always said all he needed in the kitchen was a chef’s knife and a cast-iron skillet. Turns out he was right. Those two have taken Bo from one side of the galaxy to the other. The damn electric stove-tops still irked him, but he could manage.
Just as he was finishing up breaking down the…bird of some description, The calico felinoid entered and leaned against the doorway. She didn’t say anything, just watched with a self-satisfied smile. Or maybe that was just how her face always looked. God, he loved that face.
Bo was particularly proud of the little mound of pasta he’d created. It was too labor intensive to serve the crew at large, but he’d made a little batch just for tonight. Maybe one day he’d be the one to introduce dried pasta to the galaxy, but for tonight it was a special treat for a special woman.
*****
Curiosity is what drew Mephla to the diminutive human. She saw him duck into the kitchens of the ship one day and had to know what he could possibly know about food. Peeking in reviled a pleasant scene of a craftsman in his element. The way he felt or smelled each ingredient before staring off into space or closing his eyes. He once told her he could picture how a dish would taste just from the smells of the ingredients. Of course, this didn’t stop him from sneaking tastes of each step while he worked.
Yeah I love my lady, She’s long and lean, You mess with her, You’ll see a man get mean.
She loved to watch him work; from cutting and slicing veggies, herbs, and meat to how he juggled different pots and pans to combine, split up, then recombine the food in some ritual of flavor. One of his favorite phrases was “Don’t waste flavor.” Whatever that meant, it worked. He busied himself with roasting what he called “the star of the dish” while simultaneously preparing the “landing spot” of the plate.
He began slicing the fowl and placing it over some sauce covered…something. She’d eaten enough of his food to trust him. Humans (at least this one) enjoyed meaty, fatty flavors. This suited Mephla just fine.
“Oh. Almost forgot. How could I forget?” He turned and retrieved some buttered-bread concoction and placed two on each plate. It smelled divine. She entered his temple and stood behind him, holding him tight from behind.
Nuzzling the top of his head she said, “You keep cooking like this I’ll end up as big as an ursdain.”
She’s my sweet little thang, I’m her little lover boy.
*****
Freedom was a dangerous business. Bill Elliott stared at the representation of the guard cutter currently scanning and searching every ship passing through this jump point. Not normally a problem. Not unless you happen to be haulin’ a couple tons of human contraband bound for less-than-legal ports. The next system over had the hyperspace lane entrance that’d set Bill home-free.
But I’m not gon’ let ‘em catch me, no I’m not gon’ let ‘em catch the Midnight Rider.
“I’m tryin’ buddy. I really am.” He grumbled at his radio. He adjusted the number nine cap on his head then climbed out of his seat. His rig was a supped-up cheap cargo hauler. It’d fit in just about anywhere in the galaxy, but it was packing a drive big enough to rival…well a guard cutter.
He clambered to the cargo hold to take another count of what he had. Most of the crates and pallets were labeled in code. It’d be just about the worst code one could come up with for fooling humans, but luckily the Galactic Community didn’t seem to recognize names like Marlboro or Jack Daniels. Bill’s world as a bootlegger was made of these not-so-subtle code names, including his own name.
Finishing taking stock, including the smaller cases labeled “Colt” under the floor panels, he checked on the hulking drive core awkwardly crammed in the engine bay and bleeding out into the cargo and extra crew bays. With no epiphany found Bill walked back to the cockpit and fell back in his seat.
His options were limited. He could turn around and make a few extra jumps and extend his delivery by who knows how long. Which would also be suspicious as all Hell trying to avoid a GC cutter. Or he could gamble and pass through the checkpoint, hoping beyond hope they don’t decide to pick his ship apart bolt by bolt.
East bound and down, loaded up and truckin’, We’re gonna do what they say can’t be done.
Bill chuckled, “Yeah. Let’s watch this ol’ Bandit run.” He waited for the last ship in line to jump out of system before warming up his drive. This is what the burner tags were for after all. He got the green light then put the hammer down.
*****
Enterprise is the lifeblood of any organization or business. Rohan Singh thought of himself as quite the enterprising human. As humanity was cast to the four winds, Rohan wept for the lost spirit and culture, and would do anything and everything he could to seize back control of humanity’s spirit.
Rohan eased back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. He pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket and lit it. The Galactic Community was no stranger to financial wheeling and dealing, however the human had a couple perks to leverage. First was a fresh perspective. A stagnate market was one just begging for any flashy new enterprise. Which led to the second: adaptability. So rote was supply and demand that any upset could cripple an unsuspecting business. And upset he did. With an army of felinoid lawyers and ssypno investors Rohan quickly build company after company within shell company after shell company.
It started simply with human-made chachkies and knick-knacks sold for inflated prices, but quickly built capital for larger ventures in ship flipping and Rohan’s favorite: casinos. There is no better cash cow than the scientifically perfected art of mass gambling. With a large influx of cash, he had the freedom to invest in…less reputable opportunities. Tobacco, alcohol, and guns sold the galaxy over. Keeping his plantations and stills secret was an ever-present challenge, but one that paid dividends. Guns on the other hand were a harder business to stay in. Oh sure, human “slug throwers” were quickly becoming popular. The demand was there, but Rohan couldn’t keep a steady supply. It seems most of the humans with the know-how simply went into business for themselves. Rohan could respect that, but he’d need one with loose scruples on the payroll. Then was the matter of drugs. How did human drugs react to alien physiology? That could open a whole new-
This next song goes out to Mr. Suit-and-Tie.
Money Money Money Money… Money!
Rohan grinned. Sure, his wealth was reward enough, but there was still his goal of humanity’s spirit. He rose and was about to key his intercom when it buzzed to life.
“Sir, the Spirit of Fortune is pulling in, and Mr. Liberty is here to see you.”
He keyed, “Send him in.” He stood then went to face the window behind his desk. It showed a view of the cyan gas giant the small station orbited. As if on cue the Spirit of Fortune began to slide into view. The massive casino ship was the first of what Rohan hoped would be a fleet. It was a cruise ship on steroids. He could imagine a Las Vegas of various ships drifting from sector to sector generating unimaginable wealth. And of course, cleaning up some of his less-than-sterling cash-flow.
He turned back to watch the approaching man pass the mirrored water features lining Rohan’s opulent office. Mr. Liberty wore a fitted suit and smart glasses and handed Rohan a pad.
“Sir, we’ve found another ring. This one operating at the edge of ssypno space.”
Taking and reviewing the pad Rohan answered, “Perfect! Do we know their source?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“I see. That’s alright. Buy whoever you can and once you have an account of everyone tip off the GC through the usual channels. I’ll put a personal bonus on every human you and your people liberate.” He handed the pad back.
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. Get going. No time to waste.” With a nod, Mr. Liberty strode back out through the front doors.
Rohan turned to observe the Spirit of Fortune once again before crushing out his cigar and keying the intercom, “Hold all my calls and meetings. I’ll be in the vault.”
“Yes, sir”
He walked to the side of his office where a hidden door was. Opening the side panel, he placed his eye up to the retinal scanner and pressed his thumb to the DNA analysis needle. With a silent hiss the door slid open, and he descended the stairs to the heavily armored room. Inside was a vast collection of human paraphernalia.
Paintings, sculptures, and general artifacts lined the walls and adorned pedestals. This quite possibly was the largest collection of human relics. Stolen and sold on the black market, Rohan made it his mission to ensure every piece of humanity’s spirit, its soul, was once again in human hands.
He slowly walked the aisles until stopping at a small sculpture of the Buddha.
“Greed is bad, eh? If that were true, you’d still be a ssypno trophy.” He slowly gazed around at his collection. He could picture the museum of humanity and its accomplishments. A vast temple that the dispersed humans could visit, and remember who they were. Know their true nature and heart. The preservation of its soul. “I’m not proud…” he spoke to the Buddha, “But it must be done.”