I've been fortunate the past few years to not be affected too much by the friendzone and not keep people in my life who put me there. But it wasn't always that way. And in some cases I feel it's sort of justified.
Way back in 2008-2012 I became very close friends with a coworker who was basically the personality of a real life manic pixie dream girl. I know everybody hates that trope now because people believe she only exists for the guy which really doesn't have to be the case and I think is just salty people projecting their own frustrations with society. Anyways, I just think this girl has that adorable, unique quirky personality that's easy to fall in love with and brings you into this very intimate space in a friendship very quickly while totally not being into me like that.
I used to give her rides to work because we lived close by and she didn't have a car and I had a hunch she would be so much fun to be around. And I was right. Her goofiness and offbeat energy and various voices left me never bored, and brought me out of my shell somewhat. Cause I was feeling down about myself and probably was the brooding quiet guy in some of those types of movies. We had the talk about how I felt about her and it was clear she didn't ever want anything to happen, and I decided I wanted her in my life as a friend because of how much I enjoyed her company. But the longer our driving arrangement went on and the longer we continued to hang out after work too, the more emotionally attached to her I got. The more songs on the radio and the movies I watched started reminding me of her. The more bittersweet our time together, and our time apart got. It really started destroying me inside and I knew she really deeply cared about me and hated herself for knowing I had this unrequited love for her. She has the best of intentions for me and I couldn't hold any of this pain against her, it was just a shame it was so hard for me to just simply enjoy my time with her.
Then around 2012-2013, she moved away across the country. She still lives there. She's had a few different serious boyfriends, had a few kids, her whole life is there, we've kept in touch through social media but only like occasional checkups. And her leaving did me a lot of good, helped me move on from the pain of being around her and not being able to hold her close or connect with her on a romantic level. The bitter always seemed to build up to where it surpassed the sweet, through no fault of hers. Since then, I haven't found a relationship, I did sort of find someone I loved who I got to be with, who said she loved me. It was a lie, she didn't really, she neglected me badly but I was grateful to even experience the little crumbs she gave me. At least now I know what it feels like to feel like the one I love loves me. And I'm not desperately craving that so much. But the search for that next partner still often feels hopeless and I still wonder if I will end up alone.
Well, that old friend/love interest of mine who moved away is back nearby now for 2 weeks, intent on visiting everybody. I was initially so excited to see her again. Tomorrow I will go see her. But as it's started to sink in, those old butterflies are coming back. My mind is again starting to cook up abstract scenarios where suddenly she likes me and now we're kissing and she's telling me she sees me different now. And I know it's fantasy bullshit but I can't stop those thoughts. And when I try to stop those thoughts and I have to tell myself she doesn't want me, it's depressing. Depression mixed with the sad nervous butterflies. Now it's dawning on me, this is going to be a challenging visit for me to keep it together. I am going to be happy to see her goofy humor again and stuff but those feelings I had for her a decade and a half ago. I buried them but they are back now that she is back.
And I think it's these things that are the reason why this sub is filled with the prevailing message of "just move on, bro". Even when we care, when we want the person in our lives, when it's not just friendship as a front for wanting to get laid as so many cynical people have put it, our own mind torments us and pulls us back into that vague hope of something happening and it becomes a cycle of demoralizing pain.
I plan to stick it out and see her and be her friend for the next 2 weeks, this may not happen again for a while. She is a special person just to be around and spend time with. But I figure it's gonna be a bumpy ride. Wish me luck.

As title says. Beating final boss, got cool loot, got to end cutscenes. Then the forced patch hits and have to restart. Not only did I have to do the fight all over again, but all loot and boss legendary is just gone. All I got was a single crummy blue weapon. Nothing else.
.... Thanks Blizzard, I am sure getting the cash shop running was worth it. 👍

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I know I shouldn’t have expected Portia to still be there, but I was still a bit disappointed and somewhat uncomfortable by the time we arrived at the Desert Rose in Kandota.
“She is not here,” Cailu said with a raised brow.
“Yeah, I know. I see that. Just, uh, give me a little bit to find her.”
“Perhaps she is on her ship,” Cailu continued.
“Let’s check there,” said Tristan, nodding. “This place probably lost its luster pretty quickly. If she’s not there, then we can split up and look for her.”
“Yes,” Cailu said, mirroring his nod, “a fine idea.”
Sure enough, Portia had stripped down to a black bikini as she sat on the edge of her sloop, fishing rod in hand, feet kicking in the wind. She’d grown awfully tan since the last time we saw her—well, more so than usual. Her skin glistened like bronze, beads of sweat littering her body. She adjusted the bottom piece of her bathing suit, exposing incredible tan lines.
Portia gasped and threw the fishing rod behind her before she shot to her feet. “About time you showed up! What in the heck were ya doing? You know how long I’ve been waiting here?”
“Yeah, I know, sorry—” I started.
“Uhh, buh-buh-buh-buh,” Portia interrupted with her index finger held up. “No. No, boy. You listen to me. I am not your personal—” she suddenly stopped, her brow furrowing deeper. “And who… who are these other people?” She inhaled slowly, her eyes widening. “No. Don’t tell me. They’re not coming with us, are they?”
“They’re, uh… coming with us.”
“This boat will not be suitable,” Cailu said, his arms crossed.
“Oh, it’s you,” Portia said, hopping into the shallows. “One loss wasn’t enough for ya, huh?” Portia’s smile continued to tug at one end of her mouth. “Probably don’t even remember me.”
Caliu tilted his head in apparent thought. An expression of realization swept over him. “Ah, yes. You played a fine game of cards. Ages it has been since I was so thoroughly defeated.”
“Wanna go another game? My wallet’s feeling a little light,” she said, wading through the shallows and stepping onto the sand, her eyes digging daggers into me. “Ya know, since someone left me here ages ago and food ain’t free.”
I avoided her gaze.
“What was that you said when you left? ‘This won’t take as long as Shi Island.’ Are you kidding me?”
“Sorry, Portia. A lot of things came up.”
Portia sighed. “I’m sensing a pattern here.” Portia readjusted the strap of her top and put her hands on her hips. “I thought about packing up and leaving.”
“My sincerest apologies,” Tristan offered as he stood forward, a hand on his chest. “We would have contacted you sooner, but the task proved to be much more difficult than we thought it would be. Cailu here,” he gestured to the elf, “assisted us and made sure we saw it through.”
“Hey, okay, fine, cool it.” She looked at me once more. “Always with the eloquence, this one. Hey, you. Matt.” She pointed at me. “This is a sloop, not some grand ship employed by the Queen. We were struggling enough just to make room for yours and Tristan’s Parties.” She did a quick count, frowning deeper with each person she pointed at. “And you want to add three more?”
There’d be no easy way out of this, so I simply nodded my head.
“Yeah,” I said. “We would, uh, need to add three more people.”
Portia set her jaw. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. You owe me big, Matt.”
“Mou ii. I’ve got you covered, Portia. For everyone.” Ravyn snatched a sizable bag of Bells from her pack and waved it in the air. “This should help the days we’ve been gone, too.”
Cailu raised a hand and started to say, “I will also—”
“No. You won’t.” Ravyn cut him off. “I’m done owing you shit.”
He stared at her thoughtfully but said nothing else.
Portia reached forward and grabbed the bag, sliding the leather cord to the side and sifting through the Bells. Taking a few out to examine their color and size, she nodded. “This doesn’t let you off the hook, Matt. Not yet.”
I sighed with relief. “Thanks, Portia.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just get on board.”
“Matt,” Cailu said as he set a hand on my shoulder. “May I have a word?”
Oh, great. What is it this time?
“Yeah, sure.” He took me behind a nearby building and leaned against the wall. “What’s this about?”
“A sloop may not be appropriate for the journey to Nyarlothep. I would suggest we port on San Island and embark on a ship from there.”
“Why?”
He frowned. “The tides and Encroachers are vicious, Matt. There is always the potential for a Defiled attack. Portia’s abilities aside, it puts our Parties at great risk. A stronger escort is necessary.”
“Are you sure about that?” I rested my shoulder against the wall opposite. I was grateful for his advice, but what had started as personal advice was starting to sound more like my dad was trying to control the whole ride there. Don’t make me turn this boat around. Frankly, I was getting sick of it.
“Yes. Portia has the right of it. Such a vessel is unfit for an alliance of our size. We risk capsizing the sloop or worse with our numbers.” He glanced around the corner of the building before looking back at me. “I understand if you are attached to Portia. But I must stress the importance of our mission.”
“Right.” I couldn’t stand what I was hearing, but I couldn’t fault him either. If the waters were even half as dangerous as Keke and every other catgirl had told me it was, then his warning of an attack was valid. If that happened, combat on the sloop would be dangerous. I didn’t need any nautical training to know that. “So then, what, you want me to say goodbye to Portia, too?” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.
“Is that what this is about?” Cailu stood away from the wall, straight-backed and imposing in his [Paladin] armor.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. Yeah. I know you’re right.” Ceres’s words echoed in my head. Pride tarnishes even the finest of heroes, Kelmer. “So, San Island, then?”
Cailu drew a long breath. He looked like he wanted to say something but abstained. “Allow me to speak with Portia for a time.”
“Why?”
“If she has gained your trust, then I would have her with us when we collect the ship.”
My heart soared. “So, she would be a hand on the deck?” Did I use that term right?
“Aye, that is correct.”
I couldn’t hide my relief. “Then, yeah. Go ahead.”
Cailu nodded and returned to the group. I followed close behind, curious as to what he was about to do. When we returned, Ceres was asking Portia questions about her time away.
“Portia,” Cailu stated.
Ceres stopped mid-sentence and backed away with a bow.
Portia frowned. “What?”
“Matt has informed me that you have been the one to escort him and Tristan around Nyarlea. Is that correct?”
“And the girls. Don’t forget them,” I added.
“I did not.”
Portia smiled. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Do you have experience on larger ships?”
“Quiz me. I won’t get a single question wrong. My dad was the best there was.” She chuckled. “Named my sloop after him, in fact.”
Cailu rubbed the stubble of his chin with his pointer and thumb fingers. “I have expressed to Matt that a sloop is unsuitable for the journey to Nyarlothep, considering our numbers.”
“Nyarlothep?” Portia’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Matt, you could’ve led with that.”
“I will ask this. Is this sloop suitable for the journey?”
“No,” Portia said without hesitation. Cailu glanced at me while Portia continued. “If that’s where you need to go next, Matt, then you’re going to need a full-blown ship for that. Especially if you still want to bring everyone here along.”
“So, we have to part with Portia?” Cannoli said, her voice thin.
“Sorry, all,” Portia shrugged. “I can take you somewhere else if you want, but even so, taking this many people on a sloop makes me uncomfortable.”
“How tragic,” Kirti mused.
“Quiet,” Cannoli hissed.
Cailu sighed. “Matt trusts you, and you have managed to escort him to each island on a sloop. So I would like to offer you a position on one of my ships,” he said. As Portia opened her mouth, Cailu interrupted with his hand up. “It would be temporary. You would not be under any obligation to stay on board once we have been delivered to Nyarlothep. Your sloop would be taken care of during the journey.”
“A real ship, huh?” Portia wore a complicated expression. I thought I saw sadness, confusion, anger, and frustration in the way she worked her jaw and wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Fine.” She extended her hand. “It’s a deal.”
Cailu reciprocated and shook her hand. “We have an accord.”
Once everyone was on board, we set sail for San Island. There was barely any room to stand, let alone walk.
I stood behind Portia for a while. She was quieter than usual, and while I knew it was probably none of my business, I still wanted to know what was going on in her head.
“Hey, you doing okay?” I asked.
Portia took her time to respond. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Her eyes were on the ocean, but her mind seemed to be somewhere else. “Pops always promised to take me on a galleon one day. Just wish he could be here for it.”
“Did he teach you much about them?”
“About as much as a man without a lick of artistic talent could show me.” Portia laughed. “We’ll see what I remember.”
“You can teach this guy without any artistic talent what you learned. I’ll be right here, struggling to keep my balance.”
Portia laughed. “Thanks, Matt. You’re a good guy.”
The rest of the voyage was smooth. We shared the story of Ichi Island with Portia, and with time, she returned to her usual scrappy self.
Two days later when the sun was setting, we arrived on San Island, my back screaming in pain. I longed for a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed with a few good drinks in my belly. We’d taken turns in the one extra cabin, earning about two hours worth of a nap each. I was too afraid of falling off the boat to sleep otherwise. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one, as there was a collection of yawns as we stepped out onto the Port of Meow.
“Gosh, feels like ages since I’ve been here,” I said.
“Nostalgic, huh?” Keke said, taking to my side.
I thought back to the fight we had right before stepping onto the port. We were bloodied from the battle with the fishcats. At the time, Cannoli looked like she’d seen a ghost. Now, well…
Yeah, I’ll just agree. Probably not a great memory to revisit— “Ye—”
“You mean when we were caked in blood?” Ravyn asked, half-laughing. “Very nostalgic.”
Why is she like this?
Cailu offered praise and smiles to the girls who approached us en masse upon our arrival. It was wild seeing him swap personalities in seconds. Words that sounded almost disgustingly charming came out of his mouth, his sour demeanor returning within seconds of their departure.
I still couldn’t stand this guy.
Cailu led us around the port’s lip. We passed by several merchant vessels, a wide variety of catgirls unloading crates from the neighboring ships. Unlike the ones earlier, these girls didn’t seem to care one way or the other about Cailu, Tristan, and myself.
“There,” Cailu said without stopping. “That is my ship.”
‘Large’ couldn’t even begin to describe this boat. It looked straight out of a pirate movie. Flags of white with the same emblem Cailu wore upon his breastplate fluttered in the wind. The wood was dark and suspiciously clean for a piece of wood that sank in the salty water all day. I didn’t have the words to describe what a gargantuan and beautiful piece of craftsmanship it was.
“What is that called?” I asked, pointing at the center flag.
“Oh, that’s—” Portia started.
“That—” Ceres interrupted.
The two apologized in unison.
“I forgot you liked ships, Ceres,” Portia noted.
“Yes, I adore them. As a kitten, I learned to build ships in bottles.” Ceres tapped the tips of her fingers together. “It was something of an obsession of mine.”
“Why don’t you tell Matt what that’s called, then?” Portia smiled.
“The main mast!” she proclaimed proudly. “The one behind it is the mizzen mast, and the last one is—” She stopped and smiled wide. “I shall give Sir Matt a hint.”
Oh boy, here we go.
Ceres’s boots clicked against the stones as she moved to stand in front of me, her hands behind her. “What precedes the word ‘after’?”
Picture of elegance, this one. Okay, uh, let’s see. “Before?” I cringed.
“Yes!” She turned and pointed to the mast once more. “Therefore, the mast at the front is called…”
“The… before mast?”
Portia put a hand to her mouth and snickered. “Close.”
I buried my face in my hand. “Just tell me.”
“The foremast!” Ceres said.
“You know your stuff, Ceres,” Portia said, smiling.
Cailu cleared his throat and stood before us. “Once I give the word, we will depart by sunrise tomorrow.”
“Hah?” Ravyn balked. “Can’t we just sleep in for one fucking day?”
My legs were killing me, so I raised my hand. “I second that.”
To my relief, Tristan also raised his hand. “Please. I am exhausted. I’d love to spend a day on San Island, anyway.”
One by one, we all raised our hands. Even Kirti.
Cailu sighed. “Fine. We shall rest for two days.”
“Two days?” I asked.
“Yes. It is important that we leave by sunrise. You may do as you wish until then.” Cailu departed, his cape billowing as he walked, Kirti at his side.
Tristan nodded to an expectant Zahra. She offered a bow and ran to catch up with Cailu.
In two days, we’ll be on our way to Nyarlothep.
​
Matt Pro Tip: We're nearly there. . . . but damn if I'm not looking forward to a night to relax.
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Read Chapter 1 Here
Previous Chapter Here
My other SSB story, Writing on the Wall, Here
I was sitting here in the dark, pantsless and writing (as you do), and I decided to check how far my progress was going on a few things. Turns out I was way past my "release a new chapter" threshold!
Enjoy the continued adventures of our favorite fuckups.
*****
“...about those sculptures. I know we told the Aboriginal Art Institute of Karnif that they could hold onto them for another two months, but apparently they are part of some shrine and the Governess of the South Pacific is getting on my case about returning them before a holy day.” Jem’si looked to his right, where his wife Torel was walking alongside him. She was his partner in more than just his marriage, and he was a little surprised to see that she didn’t have a pad out to take notes. “Are you paying attention?”
“Not really,” Torel replied. She had been strangely subdued, quiet all morning. On his left, his wife Keller tried to match pace. She was so much bigger than both of them that it was difficult, but she had a lot of practice and the halls of House Chel’xa’s ancestral home were a familiar place.
“Now.” Keller’s word was punctuated by her left arm shooting across her body to grab Jem’si by the upper arm. It was a firmer grip than Jem’si had ever felt from his wives, and for it to come from gentle Keller was doubly surprising. Before he could comment, Torel grabbed his other arm. The pair lifted and Jem’si found himself being dragged along, feet barely touching the floor.
“Put me down!” He tried to wiggle out of their grip, but neither woman seemed to be in the mood to play nice. “If you wanted to have some fun this morning you could have just asked!” Neither Torel or Keller said anything in reply, just continued to drag him along as his commands to be let go turned into pleading whines. They wouldn’t even look at him.
Jem’si wasn’t scared, not really. Just confused. He trusted his family utterly, and even as they maneuvered him out of the corridor, down a hall, and into an empty dining room he felt confusion more than fear. The room was dark, curtains drawn, and Jem’si let out a small “oof” as he found himself practically flung into a chair. The door clacked shut and he was plunged into nearly complete blackness.
After a few moments of sitting in the dark, trying to figure whatever sort of madness seemed to be running in his wives, Jem’si had enough. He raised his voice, put in every bit of commanding tone he had learned through years of Noble intrigue and business with Humans, and called out to the darkness.
“Well?!”
Light flared suddenly from the chandelier, dazzling his eyes. Fear froze his heart as he realized he and his wives weren’t actually alone. It began to thaw right back up as he saw who sat across from him.
“Why were you all sitting in the dark?” Jem’si tried to keep his voice casual.
“For the emotional impact,” Samuel Forsythe-Painter replied.
“Obviously,” Sammi Painter-Forsythe added.
Flanking the pair of tiny humans sat Elera Heleum and Marin Elbruk. Elera reached into her lap and leaned forward, placing something down on the table. It settled on the ancient wood with a dull thunk.
“The same reason I brought this,” she added helpfully.
Jem’si vaguely recognized the pistol. It was a massive hunk of silver steel with a barrel so wide he could stick a finger into it. The same gun that played so prominently in the story of that whole adventure in the frozen north. He hadn’t realized it had survived the rocket attack at the hotel, or that it had been brought to Shil.
Now thoroughly spooked, Jem’si glanced up at Keller where she stood next to him. She had brought him here, but surely she would protect him from these lunatics.
Keller looked down at him sadly, dark eyes showing little more than disappointment. “Sorry, Jem, you’re on your own.”
Torel was no better. She wouldn’t even look at him. When he glanced to the other side of the table, Marin nodded at Elera. The spikey haired Marine leaned her bulk forward and steepled her fingers together, the spindly shadows from her hands falling across the gun on the table.
“Lieutenant Colonel Marin and I had an interesting visitor yesterday. We’ve both been promoted, retired from active service, and given an Imperial Writ to deal with. It’s a great deal, really; we have been ordered by the Empress Herself to protect our little Human friends here.” With that, Elera reached out and gave Sammi what was likely intended to be a friendly pat on the back but nearly knocked the much smaller Human clear of their chair. “And, if things don’t go well, we’ve been ordered to kill them both.”
“I don’t really care much for that part,” Samuel said quietly.
“Samesies,” added Sammi.
“We’ve also been ordered to ensure that nobody learns about the OTHER project. You know the one.” Marin punctuated her statement by placing her own pistol on the table. This one was much smaller, more modern, but at least as deadly. She looked down at it, then glanced at Elera’s. “These are a really poor representation of our orders. Orbital strikes were mentioned.”
Jem’si grasped in his mind for the swordfighter’s calm he had cultivated the last few years, but it wouldn’t come. He had his ass planted in an oversized chair, was surrounded by people who meant him harm, and even his wives had abandoned him. The best control he could manage was to pull in a deep breath, swallow, and try to hold down the sour, sick feeling twisting through his guts.
“I really didn’t know what to do.” Elera put her hands flat on the table, and Jem’si, hyper-focused now on potential dangers, watched as the fingers on her right hand twitched. “So I figured I’d call the only person I knew who might have experience dealing with this sort of thing. Someone who might know why we were suddenly getting orders from the Empress after working so hard to keep this whole thing quiet.”
Keller’s huge hand landed on Jem’si’s shoulder, causing him to jerk. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to.
“The orders make sense, but they leave something very important out. So I’m going to ask you, Jem’si. I’m going to ask you as a holder of an Imperial Writ, ordered by the Empress Herself to ensure the security of the Painter Research Institute and the Lone Caribou Survival Company.” Elera’s hands were fists now and the light from the chandelier reflected in the tears forming in her eyes.
“What did you tell them? What happened to Stace? Is he even alive out there?” The questions seemed to hang in the air, and Jem’si wondered if the wrong answer would kill him. He had never doubted Keller’s loyalty before, but if the Empress said he had to die, would she stop it? He hoped so, but she had been a Deathshead Commando long before she became his wife.
In the end, he only had one response he could give. He swallowed again, cleared his throat, and hoped that the truth would keep him alive.
“I don’t know what’s happening on Nix. I reached out through Iria Stolsk, who often acts as a scientific policy advisor to the Empress, and I gave her everything I had. Much of it was technical documents from the PRI’s research, but not much more than what was used for the investor’s meeting.”
Jem’si cleared his throat again, then jerked in panic as a loud thunk sounded next to him. If Keller’s hand wasn’t keeping him in place, he might have bolted. Instead, he nodded his thanks to Torel and picked up the glass of water she had found for him. A couple of sips did little to steady his nerves; he would have killed for some of that flavored bourbon Stace made.
“As for the… other project. When Stace started making preparations, I gave him access to a highly encrypted data archive. It contains all of the notes Demir Chel’xa made during her time on Nix, all her observations of the people there. Every bit of video we had, audio clips of their language, topographical and seismic scans of the planet… House Chel’xa kept everything, and I gave all of it to him.
“When he started working on his own plans to save Nix, he was linked to that server. I don’t know if it was intentional or just Stace not knowing how he set up his accounts, but all of his notes were backed up to the same archive. I gave the Empress all of it.”
“But you don’t know what She decided. If Stace is being left alone or if he’s in a blacksite prison.” Elera closed her eyes and a single tear slipped free. “If he’s even alive.”
“No. I don’t know, but if the Empress meant to silence this whole enterprise, you wouldn’t have a Writ. You’d have a smoking hole in your skull.”
Elera nodded. “And so would you. We all would.”
“Why don’t we?” Sammi’s voice was so innocent, so free of the pain and fear everyone else seemed to be wrapped up in, that it seemed to shatter the tension in the room. Shoulders slumped, hands unclenched, and Jem’si had the sudden hope that, just maybe, he’d finish this meeting without throwing up in his lap.
Samuel spoke next. “It’s obvious that the Empress, if she hasn’t exactly given us permission for the Nix project, is at least willing to look the other way. I don’t know what’s going on out there, but I think we can count on Stace doing his thing.” He tapped his fingers on the table in a quick rat-tat-tat, blue-painted nails clicking on the wood. “The real question is why she would let us do it at all. Tons of risk with no real reward for the Empire, which is why we agreed to keep all this quiet in the first place.”
“My husband is a businessman.” Torel’s voice was surprisingly affectionate given the circumstances, and when her hand came up to ruffle Jem’si’s hair he relished the contact. It didn’t matter if his coiffure was ruined. “Even if he’s not the brains of the operation, he occasionally makes a deal.”
“The research you two have been doing; is it real?” Jem’si nodded at the two Humans at the table. “Can you really do that incredible line of turox shit you sold to the investors?”
Sammi let out a very undignified snort. “You have no idea. What the investors are getting is real, but it’s babytown frolics compared to what we could really do with it. We’re keeping the good stuff; I wanna see if I can turn a star inside out.”
“That’s… horrifying.” Jem’si felt on firmer ground now; the crisis had passed and he was going to live through this. “Well, I may have passed the word that the technological superiority you’re providing would put us decades, perhaps centuries ahead of the Consortium and the Alliance.”
He let the moment settle with a performer’s ease before dropping the punchline.
“And if we aren’t allowed to fix Nix it would turn out that you two didn’t actually know what you were doing. It would have destroyed House Chel’xa along with the two of you, but it would turn out we were huxsters all along.”
Samuel laughed bitterly. “And to think, if you actually told us your plan we probably would have agreed to it. Instead, we now have to deal with having two members of our family who have signed and sealed orders from the Empress of the Shil’vati to kill the rest of us. Not exactly something that makes it easy to maintain a relationship.”
Elera pulled herself to her feet before picking up the heavy Human handgun. She carefully checked it, then put it in her pocket. Marin followed her example and did the same with her own pistol, and the two Humans hopped down off their chairs.
“I am sorry.” Jem’si firmed up his voice, felt the old confidence start to pool in his chest. “For not telling you, I mean. I don’t regret what I did.”
“Of course you don’t,” Samuel said sadly as the group headed towards the door. “You’re Shil’vati. We’re leaving, by the way. Going home. It doesn’t feel right to be living off your charity. I’d tell you not to follow us, but we can’t realistically stop you since you own a third of the company.”
“Just know that you won’t be welcome,” Sammi added before slamming the door behind them.
Jem’si let out a sigh as he sank into his chair, feeling suddenly boneless. Keller and Torel moved around him, pulling up chairs of their own.
“That went better than it could have,” Keller said casually. She barely seemed bothered by the whole thing.
“Oh, really?” Jem’si really couldn’t see the bright side.
“We could all be dead,” Torel clarified. “According to the scope of their Writ, either one of those two would have been perfectly within their rights to have the entire Chel’xa compound incinerated.”
“....what.”
“Knowledge of Nix is to be limited to the PRI and Lone Caribou. House Chel’xa clearly knows about it, or this whole thing wouldn’t have gotten started.” Keller sounded too matter of fact, too calm. “You may be the one who got this whole thing going, but the Humans wouldn’t have even known about it if you hadn’t told them. You’re clearly a security risk.”
“You could make the argument that Jem’si is in the clear, as part owner of PRI. I do a lot of the clerical work, so I’m safe too.” Torel smirked over at Keller. “Sounds like you’re the odd one out.”
“Yep. It would have been perfectly reasonable, from a legal standpoint at least, if Elera had shot me in the face as soon as we sat down.” Keller smirked. “Not that she would. I think she kinda has a thing for me.”
“And what, you’d have let her do it?” The panic was back, bile sour and acidic in Jem’si’s throat.
“I’m not bulletproof, Jem. Couldn’t have done a whole lot about it.”
Jem’si pressed his hands to the table, slowly pulling himself to his feet. “I think…” He swallowed. It didn’t help. “I think I’m going to throw up. Then I’m going to talk to Iria and see if I can talk to the Empress in person. I need to get a handle on this before someone ends up dead.”
“Someone else, you mean.” Torel gave Jem’si a very unflattering glare. “On top of all the other deaths we’ve had so far.”
Jem’si bit down a retort as he turned away, walking towards the door. Oh yes. Couldn’t forget those.
–
When it came down to it, Lewis could admit that this was at least partially his fault.
He had left the grocery store with plastic bags in his hands and a spring in his step. The rusty minivan parked next to Lewis's SUV completely failed to get his attention, which was likely the whole reason it was chosen for the job. He had just finished putting the bags in the backseat when the van’s side door opened behind him, a bag slipped over his head, and Lewis was bodily pulled into the vehicle. He barely even had time to squeak out a panicked yelp.
Even with his head covered, Lewis knew at once who his captors were. The large hands, the ease with which they were manhandling him, and the sheer brazenness of the kidnapping left no doubt in his mind that he was in the hands of the Shil'vati. They pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed them together before he was plopped down in the middle seat. Meaty fingers stayed firmly grasped around his biceps as the van rumbled to life. They were on the move.
"So..." Lewis tried to keep his voice even. He wasn't a fighter, and if he started throwing elbows he would still end up at his destination. Just with a broken jaw. "If you're sex traffickers, you probably could do better than me."
There was no reply but silence.
As they bounced along, Lewis was surprised to find that he wasn't as frightened as he expected. After nearly a decade fighting the invaders in his own way, the idea of eventually being captured or killed had percolated through his mind for long enough that it was comfortable. In a way, it was a relief; wherever he was going, whatever was going to happen to him, Lewis was done with the fight. He could hang up his spurs, at least until the gallows called.
Instead of dwelling on the situation, he tried to follow where the van was going. It only took a few turns for Lewis to become hopelessly lost. His lack of a sense of direction was legendary among his friends, and thanks to the ubiquitous ease of GPS and smartphones he never really had to pick up the skill. He regretted his reliance on technology now, not that it would really change anything. The van rumbled on, its old and tired suspension creaking with every bump, and Lewis waited to die.
The van pulled to a stop with a lurch and Lewis jerked awake. He had been half-dozing, a fact that he took in with a bit of surprise. After the first hour or so, the anxiety of being captured had faded into a dull shock, which had turned into a stupor. Now he had completely lost track of time. The door to his right slid open and Lewis was pulled out with a sudden jerk. He tried to catch himself on half-numb legs, stumbled, was caught, and found himself being half carried and half marched on the rough gravel underfoot.
Even with the hood obscuring his vision, Lewis could still hear perfectly fine. He could still smell, too, and the rumble of a large diesel engine was accompanied by the smell of rancid exhaust. The gravel under his feet became a metal ramp and he stumbled again, letting his Shil'vati captors drag him up by his biceps. There would be some nasty bruises later, but for now the pain helped him regain focus.
The ramp leveled out and the metal clang was replaced by the dull thud of thin wood under his feet. Lewis was only dragged a few more steps before a quick shove threw him into a chair. It didn't move at all, evidently attached to the floor, and before he could really process the situation further a loud clatter behind him made evident that Lewis was now trapped. The smell of exhaust was even worse here, sour on his throat. Fear was finally beginning to settle in his guts as he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable torture.
"Ashley Lewis. Age twenty-six standard, degrees in psychology and philosophy, currently employed in an administrative capacity for a phone and 'net based therapy service. Being able to telework has made it easy for you to travel for your other job, working as a data courier and soft asset for the terrorist organization colloquially known as The Numbers.
"A few months ago, you were involved in an attack on a man named Eustace Grant that left him nearly dead and eventually led to a region-wide shakeup of law enforcement and the public execution of the Regional Governess." Lewis's head jerked forward as the hood was pulled off in a single sharp tug.
Black eyes with irises like gold rings floating in pools of ink stared at him from a face of purple skin. In the moment, the Shil'vati looked exactly as alien as she was, and the familiarization he had spent years building flashed away as if they were never there. The alien smiled, drawing attention to her tusks, then nodded once. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Lewis took in his captor. She was average height for a female Shil, though not as massively built as the majority of marines he had seen. Her hair was stark white and pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a long coat of heavy black. Around him, all he could see was dirty wood and aluminum paneling. The rumbling of an engine continued, as did the stink of fumes. He was in the back of a small box truck.
And in front of him stood Investigator Jel’si Chel'xa.
*****
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This is a fanfic that takes place in the “Between Worlds” universe (aka Sexy Space Babes), created and owned by u/BlueFishcake. No ownership of the settings or core concepts is expressed or implied by myself.
This is for fun. Can’t you just have fun?

Hello (: My name is Angel 🥰 Im really hoping I can make some longterm friends in similar timezones as me!! I have CST, its 10:42pm here. I have quite a few hobbies and interests :p Music, reptile and reptile care, gardening, cooking, sanrio, cartoons, care bears, rocks, ageregression, plants and mortuary sciences! I love squishmallows too and really any stuffed animals, I have a ton lol :p I play some games too! I play Animal Crossing, Stardew Valley, League of Legends, Minecraft and a few others 😊 Ive been having a really really rough patch in my life and honestly would love to make some new friends! I ask that you please send an introduction when you msg!! Not just "hi" or something else! Tysm for reading 🥰 I hope your day was good and if not I hope tomorrow is better for you, you deserve it ❤️ Also if I miss your DM im so sorry, my messages are a bit wonky, feel free to DM me a second time if needed!

I am so thankful to be alive but it wasn't always this way. I felt it deep down, the gratitude for living but it just didn't feel right. It didn't sit well with me so I challenged myself. Not to see how wrong it was but to challenge my belief. It crept up on me when the light would shine just right in an unperfect moment I would recognize and store years down the line, how unperfect this moment was in time. It was always perfect or I made it perfect. I was the light and life in it's stillness and slow beauty, not moving but always changing was always so perfect. Such peace and joy, serenity and love by just existing. How could this be when my mind convinced me otherwise? I have such a love for life and in any moment I could taste freedom if I wanted, I could feel love, I could be fearless. There was no end to what I could create. It felt real but, I was made to believe it was all fake and that it wasn't real. What I could see in front of me, what my mind perceived in the world was nothing of worth so I internalized these structures. My mind could not register anything that would cause me to feel the way I created so in it's unfathomably methodology it refuted it's truthfulness, it's realness. What I would them perceive in front of me would be all the things that made me sad and sorrowful. The distaste it gave me from what it could perceive, for how it was able to comprehend the world. I saw my friends hurt me, saw my family neglect me, saw the people around me living in lies and continuing cycles making the same mistakes over again. I was suddenly so filled with pain. I picked up on their energies. Pain never bothered me but the intention to hurt me, killed me inside, I could never understand why, it was the worst kind of betrayal. My brain could suddenly see all the things around me that would hurt me. I was thrown into a state of survival. My gorgeous brain only seeing the things that harm and hurt. Reminding me that the world is dangerous and a not so good place. I abandoned my state of being. I could no longer take the alarms ringing in my head, the panic in my body if I did not live my life and accept it in a certain way that would allow me to function better. I use to be so hopeful, so extroverted. Slowly overtime I reassessed myself. I no longer claimed to be an extrovert, I then claimed ambivert and overtime I accepted my role as an introvert. I accepted my place as a lonely soul, not lost, not confused but hurt inside. I fulfilled my hermit role one day believing I would be a Sage or a Shaman, anything to explain and lead me on, anything to subside the guilt to what I was doing to myself. Anything. Their had to be a reason for my separateness, if I was not allowed to be in the world then maybe it was because I was never meant to be, we had to reason it out, reason all of it out. Find out what happened to us, why we felt the way we did, what went wrong. Where we went wrong, what I did wrong. I had to not only know I had to make it make sense because there was this ticking time-bomb in my stomach trying to speak out the truth. Trying to claw it's way out, trying to make me believe again. All this time hiding and fighting. Knowledge was my control. I began digging. Tearing everything apart like a rabid animal. Snarling in a trap, ripping up it's bedsheets, I was vicious and this was dangerous. It harmed me in the end and it hurt like hell. I broke everything, I demolished and destroyed everything I had. The tension built up with the help of external influences, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't be, I couldn't see. I had somewhere to go. Something I held tight to and refused to let go of, I bled the way I gripped it so tight. It was mine if only I could break myself better. Break who I was, I could get it. I broke my mind. Crumbled to pieces, shattered like a mirror, I was surrounded by broken glass. The shards, the pointy ends. What have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE? I can't pick this up, I can't fix this. The glass shards cut my hands, as I desperately tried to collect all the pieces of my mental. "Why would you do this?" I thought to myself. Oh, the blame I felt, the guilt, the self hatred and loathing. I destroyed myself, the damage I had caused myself that could never be reversed. I was my own monster, my own demon. The break of bond between my spirit and myself. I had destroyed it all. I did not like it so I went scavenging and I hit something that seemed made to collapse. A shaky hut poorly built, doomed to fall that I was living in. My own mind was poorly built on shaking foundations that faltered on me and I thought it was my fault. It was doomed to fail. My mind now in pieces, my world collapsing all around me, I lived in doomsday. It was my apocalypse. I built from the ground up again. This time with say in the matter for how I wanted to see life again. From what I knew deep down, my own truth to living. I got it half right sometimes but it was better then nothing. We had no money after all so on some spots I had to plaster the walls with what I could find, maybe some mud and straw until I could find a suitable material. Maybe some bricks like the little piggies in that story book. My mind was enmeshed, intertwined, and confused. I had pieces that didn't fit together and pieces that didn't fit at all. My mind was fractured and split. Utterly in pieces. Sides of myself combated the other. I lived in a time where there was no compromise. No decision that could be formulated on any action taken in my life. Everything was at a halt. I couldn't decide what I wanted to eat, how I wanted to dress, I couldn't formulate view points and make statements. I didn't know who I was. I was in constant distress from being pulled in a tug of war by two extremes of myself. I was absolutely distraught. All the while I had to not only keep a calm demeanor and put on a brave face for the world. I had to keep grasping and holding on tight to something that kept floating away from me, kept being just out of my reach, my grounded purpose for why I did what I did. I had to succeed, I came too far, gave up too many things, I sacrificed myself for it, I couldn't let it go, I was told not to let it go. I had to keep fighting, keep pushing. There were times where I didn't eat, other times I overate, times I couldn't sleep, and times where I only slept. My whole life was flipped upside down and I did not know balance. I did not operate out of a place of harmony. I met my shadows that crept in the night. They taunted me and did not let me sleep. I went on medication and my demons haunted me in the waking world. This isn't an empowering speech about what a force I am to be reckoned with after coming through the flames such as these. The pits of fire I embodied, the deep levels of hell that melted me. My hands calloused from trying to climb out of the well I had fallen in. At the bottom of that well it wasn't water, it was fire and I didn't make it out of there, I burned. I burned alive. I died. There was no coming back, there was no surviving that. I was ashes, but my soul burned like hot coals. Still surviving, still managing. How heavy the world was, how tired I was. How dark and suffocating, everything closed up on me. I wanted to die. My physical body wanted to die. I almost tried to. I saw it as a mercy until a voice said No. Finally, everything was quiet so I listened to it. For a second the voice that said No gave me something I was looking for, a definitive answer, a taste of consciousness on settled ground. The voice so strong and stern, sure of itself. The peace in its absolute. How all the other voices were silenced. I never understood my true intent so my mind kept gripping to what I was originally chasing after. I knew there was hope again, that voice gave me hope so I attached it to my manifestation. I knew there was something more out there. I dug through my past. Searching, trying to reason, trying to find something that might be contributing to my pain, in order to move forward to my goal in sight that I was desperately reaching for, my purpose for shattering my mental, I crawled out again. I must succeed, so I took a detour. The fastest route wasn't straight at that point, I couldn't see straight. I accumulated knowledge at an exceeded rate, gaining expert level knowledge on structures of being, finding tools to build my new home. Building up again, my mind. They say if you spend all your time in your head you might as well make it a nice place to be. My head was not a nice place to be. I had a lot of neuron pathways that lead me to dark places. It was a labyrinth outside the boundaries of space and time, all consuming, a monstrous black hole where light didn't exist. I found my beasts, my demons, and dragons that ought to be slain. One by one, I went to war. Winning and sometimes losing battles and like a Viking not afraid of death just awaiting Valhalla, I was ruthless. I had nothing to lose and all to gain so I slayed, I became murderous in the end, killing parts of me left and right to find a holy grail perhaps out of pure luck. I didn't know I would find a jackpot within myself, pure gold. I have a heart of gold. I unearthed diamonds within my being. I came back to myself. In the end it was all worth it, though my hands still murderous, remembering the bloodshed I was made to do. I never felt victorious, the thing I held on so tight to in my outside world, the manifestation I was working on and fighting my way to had finally arrived and I felt nothing towards it. I felt less than dead inside holding it in my hands. It was worthless to me and what people saw I had accomplished in the external, praising me and congratulating me, being so proud that I had finally succeed. Somehow that taunted me because they couldn't see my insides, all that I had done. What I have in my hands means nothing! Why lace my eyes once more? I feel no happiness in my success, no satisfaction, no glam or pride but look inside me now, see how I have risen. See the garden I have planted in my mind. Can you finally see my soul like I can now? Come visit and see inside, my holy grail, my light.

Well, I’m not sure how to feel about this one.
DH has four kids from previous marriage, I’m 37 weeks with my/our first.
I found out after moving in that “our” bed was originally DH and ex’s bed, the frame built by my now FIL. It weirded me out but didn’t seem to weird out my now husband, as he doesn’t seem to place the same kind of sentimental value on things, and it’s a nice headboard his father woodworked. With his lack of attachment I decided not to let it bother me, but I asked for and got a new mattress at least. 3 of the the 4 kids were home births, so I half-jokingly asked if anyone was born in that bed and he assured me they weren’t.
Now, oldest SS is home from college and we’re (himself, his dad and I) are hanging out in the living room discussing ransoms stuff and since I’m so close to my due date the “Amish style” births come up which SS has always joked about. This is where DH reveals that youngest SK was in fact born in that bed.
Why do I feel so weirdly violated? He claims he doesn’t remember assuring me that no one was born there, but I feel lied to. And kinda sick that I conceived my first baby after years of thinking I couldn’t have one in a bed that served so much purpose for his family before me. Am I just pregnant and vulnerable or would anyone else be icked out and upset?

My neighbor is selling this for about $3200 with everything pictured included. I’m not sure if this is a rare find or a cheap knockoff of the BW 110 Sport? The hull appears to be dry and no water damage is showing through the bottom. My neighbor says he repowered the engine and it has only a few hours in saltwater recently but came from a freshwater background. The motor seems to be possibly just as old as the hull… I can’t find these boats for sale anywhere online so I really have no clue what it could go for with TLC. Any advice or comments on purchasing this?

I am disabled. I am invisibly so unless you see me outside work (work does not accommodate me, legally, because they'd have to find me a new job -- I am still fighting them on this but HR is based in Texas so I'm just trying to hold onto this job for 3 more months). I have hEDS and my work schedule changes weekly. I am also estranged (LC) from my parents, due to 1) homophobic personal views that offend the hell out of me (I'm not straight), and 2) general inability to understand disability.
I am also in dire need of weekly therapy. But because work has been slow, and EDS has been getting in my way, I have managed to have to cancel therapy to keep my job. I am not looking forward to my review on Wednesday. This week, I have: annual review (Wednesday, I qualify because I've been here longer than 6mo, fuck me right?), repair the damn car (someone hit my parked car and drove off like a DICK), try to get 40 billable hours (billability is the metric this coming fiscal year, yay...), and bonus, pay the IRS because my parents fucked up teaching me how to do taxes so I spent today fixing that problem. (The IRS employee was actually very nice to me about it given everything. I confused the poor guy by explaining why my tax situation was so strange last year.)
I have ADHD. I have meds, too, and likely PTSD (yay trauma disorders...) and depression. My parents did not set me up for success as an adult; my mom insisted on doing ALL my taxes even in college when I insisted I needed to know because she wasn't always free, and her response was Just wait, I'll do it, it's fine. It's not fine. I am still wrangling my money out from under her. With that, the rest of this post is a fucking rant about things I REALLY need therapy for but cannot this week because my job is trying to kill me with stress. Because fuck me, right? It's not like I matter, not when the company might lay me off and then my parents will find out and insist on sending me money. (Which comes with strings attached. I can't trust money from my parents. It always comes with conditions.)
My parents are still on my fucking bank account. Not my car insurance, but bank account, and also they have a lot of my personal stuff from childhood. I have been trying to find time to remove them this month but it's been very hard and I now won't have time to tomorrow. The things they have that are very personal, I'd like back -- like my books, and my stuffed animals from childhood. I don't buy them keeping it around now for sentimental reasons. I'm fairly sure it's another string to try and force me to do things, because why not? I'm the girl, obviously I am there to manage their shit for them (huge /s). None of my personal property was respected growing up (my parents literally gave away a good sewing machine that I had been gifted because my mom was too impatient to teach me anything), so I now can't trust things won't vanish. I'm extremely crafty and was always pressured not to buy things growing up, to the point that I am so fiscally responsible, I can't help but only buy from clearance racks, etc.
Oh, and my ADHD decided to respond to stress by making me forget timing on something this past weekend so now I've offended two people I thought were friends, and now I have no idea if I still have those people to rely on or not, and I kinda shut down due to trauma (again) trying to apologize. Because reasons were never accepted growing up, I didn't tell them exactly how many crises hit last week. For context, I don't get time blind on medication for ADHD without a damn good reason. I recognize part of the explosion was a friend really struggling with her own situation, but I cannot handle the mental load of her exploding on me and so I shut down. I had to prioritize my friend stuck in an abusive relationship on Saturday and mistimed things because I am trying not to tell my friend how much I hate her spouse. (I have not vented to this D&D group about abusive spouse. I hate abusive spouse. He triggers me. I fucking hate him so, so much.)
I'm just. I'm tired. I'm in therapy, I'm doing the right things, I'm finally prioritizing my health, and everything this week has decided to throw at me has been: here, crisis time, no support for you! I am trying so fucking hard but it feels like this is a house of cards that is just crumbling around me. I just wanted to crochet a pride flag and feel happy this week, and play some D&D. And instead I get all this bullshit. I will be ordering my yarn for it regardless but like, ugh.

MODESTO COMMUNITY ACTION ASSOCIATION has announced that they are moving forward in development for the community wide effort at batting the escalating issue of unhoused and under housed folks in the area.
Since 2014, the Modesto Community Action Association has worked with various agencies and advocacy groups to build better, more accountable programs that provide real results to this problem. The group consists of both clients and providers of these services, which we feel often need to be given perspectives more often of those who actually use these programs and services.
Our goals include a drop in center and this project, Tiny Home Village.
Our outreach is done with many people who are involved in the daily struggle to survive. We are in touch with people who are dying to be active and involved, yet have no clue where to start. We seek to unite these people in the effort to make real and lasting changes in the waya service is provided and the responsibly we have to fellow human kind to give a hand up, not out, if we have those means.
This is a three phase plan that will identify and attempt to develop a plot of land we can have through either a partnership with a landowner or real estate agent, or with the city or county, using the resources of locally based doners to build a small community of affordable tiny houses and provide the homes as long term solutions for housing.
Each would be equipped with appliances and the community would be secure, with 24/7 on site security and manager who would be also living on site. The units would require the eventual occupants to provide in kind labor and solict financial assistance, to contribute to the effort. Residents will have a case manager and a plan towards self sufficiency, with check in required to be able to stay. There would be no restriction on length of tenancy, and rent would be adjusted to the work hours they contribute to the ongoing effort to keep the community solid.
Tenants meeting every week. On site manager On site security Fully equipped 200-300 square feet units for individual or family. Phase one - demo units (4), community outbuildings, and garden, and staff units.
Family units are larger, up to 340 sq feet. Individuals can be placed in one of three 150-300 sq feet units prr initial design and budget estimate.
The current goal is to raise the funds to raise funds. A funding campaign will be available online soon. We will seek the backing of both government grants and private donations. The committee is going to start meeting on Zoom (see schedule). We are going to be expecting to appoint the replacement of our founding Board member, Lola Kennedy, who passed away after a long illness last month.

so, around 10 years ago, I read a fiction novel series of about 3-4 books and now I want to reread them. problem is, I've forgotten and I've been trying to find out the name for at least 5 years. I'm hoping someone will recognize the book from the scene I renember most clearly. in book 2 or 3, the MC encounters some kind of demon who traps him in his realm. its a worn down village whose occupants have been trapped there for a long time. all of the occupants are given an impossible task that, if completed, would mean being released from the realm. all the previous occupants have given up at the time the MC arrives. two of the occupants I can renember was a lady whose job was to kill all the rats and a guy who was supposed to sweep all the sand off a beach. Rat lady got good at catching rats and now uses them as meat for the village. The MC was gifted the role of cleaning up endless manure from lots of animals. He convinces all of the village to work together to free everyone. first, everyone swept the beach and beach boy goes free. then they help others who go free. rat lady is freed by a hoard of cats (I don't remember how or why) and when the MC is the last one, he somehow summons a huge flood, freeing him too. to his surprise, the exit of the realm was in a frozen tundra because the demon was mad and did that out of spite. thankfully, the MC's friends were there somehow and saved all of them. some other things I renember was a glowing ball of light going to the MC during a trial and becoming a talking cat. at one time, the cat was kidnapped and calmly cut a hole in the bag with her claws and escaped. a later trial had to do with attachable gills or something which he later used to swim through pipes, probably sewage.
if anyone recognizes this please say

I was on roughly week 6-7 of using Soolantra ivermectin cream for my rosacea when I came down with a bad chest cold. I think I was noticing improvement--mostly in how my skin felt, maybe less how it looked. And during those few weeks, at the very start, I noticed it was a little sensitive right after applying but I wasn't experiencing any kind of reaction that made me think I needed to stop the Rx.
I couldn't wash my face for about 5-6 days because of the cold. During that time, my overall skin looked better, but my rosacea spots were definitely starting to look bad again. Not a huge change, but it seemed like my skin was missing the treatment the longer I went.
Well. I've used it twice now that I'm better. Same routine as before. No new additions. My rosacea patches are fire engine red. It doesn't hurt--no burning, no prickling. But it's very hot to the touch and just looks fucking awful. Is this just blowback from missing roughly a week and it will calm down? Or is this my sign to tell my derm this Rx is hurting more than helping? I'm so pissed off and sad right now--I really thought it was improving and I expected SOME consequences for missing a week but not this.

Howdy! 🤠 I’m in search of meeting the right girl for a relationship.
I am a 23 year old guy from the state of Iowa. I currently work for a financial institution, and I have a bachelors degree in philosophy and history. My hobbies consist of bowling, exercising, the outdoors, music, movies/TV, and reading. Here is a photo of me: https://ibb.co/dcvR2qD
I like to think of myself as a nice person, and I try to be open-minded. I would describe myself as introverted, somewhat goofy, and humble. I can also being very caring and get attached easily.
I would love to meet a girl that is interested in someone such as myself. I’ve been in a few past relationships, but they have ultimately not worked out. I’d prefer to meet someone that is in the age range of 19-27 and is from the United States.
If I seem interesting to you, please feel free to send me a chat request! Other than that, have a great day/night! Take care 😎

Disco Elysium is a roleplaying game in which players take on the role of an amnesiac detective who has been tasked with solving a murder in the midst of a heated labour dispute. Events are resolved through skill checks and dialogue trees via a system of 24 skills that represent different aspects of the protagonist.
I'm interested in seeing which skills people who peruse this subreddit gravitate towards and in what capacity ideology plays a part, though it's hard to discern the latter with only six options, so feel free to say which skill you chose and why in the comments.

Logic

Wield raw intellectual power. Deduce the world.
Cool for: Analysts. Pure Rationalists. Obviously Logicians.
Logic urges you to analyze the living daylights out of the case. It enables you to piece evidence together, detect inconsistencies in statements, and impress everyone with your astonishing conclusions. It’s the bread and butter of many a detective.
At high levels, Logic will be able to solve even the most complicated puzzle. You will be very proud, and thus susceptible to intellectual flattery; for those blinded by their own brilliance often miss important clues. With low levels of Logic, you’re going to have a hard time solving even the simplest puzzles. Even if you find the pieces, good luck putting them together.

Encyclopedia

Call upon all your knowledge. Produce fascinating trivia.
Cool for: Thinkers. Historians. Trivia Freaks.
Encyclopedia makes you a know-it-all, turning your mind into a database of facts. It enables you to draw on these facts innately, offering a wealth of background knowledge to all things related and unrelated to your case. Who knows when the history of cigarette brands will provide the breakthrough you need to arrest a murderer – or when knowledge of pre-Revolutionary guns might save a life?
At high levels, Encyclopedia shares this wealth of knowledge to an almost overwhelming degree – while it may give you crucial breakthroughs, it more often will clutter your mind with useless tidbits. With low levels of Encyclopedia, though, you’ll be forced to work with only the clues in front of you. Without any background knowledge, copping is going to be tough stuff.

Rhetoric

Practice the art of persuasion. Enjoy rigorous intellectual discourse.
Cool for: Ideologues. Conversationalists. Would-Be-Politicians.
Rhetoric urges you to debate, make intellectual discourse, nitpick – and win. It enables you to break down arguments and hear what people are really saying. You’ll spot fallacies as soon as they’re used – what exactly did the waiter leave out of their testimony? What was the dancer trying to divert you from? Was that double entendre intended, or did you just get an accidental lead?
At high levels, Rhetoric will make you an impressive political beast – one whose beliefs are impenetrable. Which is to say, one whose mind will not change; one who will calcify. With low Rhetoric, though, you’ll have a hard time of shooting down any argument. Nailing people to their testimonies will be nigh impossible.

Drama

Play the actor. Lie – and detect lies.
Cool for: Undercover Cops. Thespians of the Stage. Psychopaths.
Drama urges you to treat the world as a stage – and on it, to perform. It will enable you to lie, to concoct the most elaborate and wonderful stories; to take on ingenious personas and perform acts of stagecraft in an entertaining amalgam of fourberie and deceit! As well, it enables you to see through would-be actors and their false antics. If they lie, you’ll know. Immediately.
At high levels, Drama may render you an insufferable thespian – one prone to hysterics and bouts of paranoia; for to know the world is a stage is to know that Truth is a Vanity. However, with low Drama you cannot lie – or discern when others lie. And a cop who can’t do either is a cop who’s soon going to be lying six feet under.

Conceptualization

Understand creativity. See Art in the world.
Cool for: Creatives. Psychedelic Fanciers. Critics.
Conceptualization has a special role it wants you to play in this world – not the role of cop, but of Art Cop. It enables you to make fresh associations, to delve into world-concepts from Jan Kaarp’s postmodernist karperie, to Revachol’s arabesque architectural style dideridada, and even the concept of HARDCORE – and then, importantly, to add your own contribution to these works.
At high levels, Conceptualization makes you go big – perhaps too big. It is ostentatious, demanding grand displays. Why live life when you can throw yourself into a live volcano? At low levels, however, you will be unable to see the world in a creative light. You’ll be unable to contribute to conversations in an art gallery. Only boring people will invite you to their dust parties.

Visual Calculus

Reconstruct crime scenes. Make laws of physics work for the Law.
Cool for: Forensics Scientists. Tactical Fighters. Math-Minded People.
Visual Calculus verses you not only in the laws of the state, but the laws of nature. It enables you to create virtual crime-scene models in your mind’s eye. You’ll see how a bullet shattered the glass, and from that trace its trajectory with mathematical precision. You’ll also count so many footprints – and at a glance discern shoe size and design; as well as the height, weight, and gender of the one who wore them.
At high levels, Visual Calculus makes the world reveal its secrets to you – but you may be so absorbed by your mind-diorama, you don’t notice as crooks steal your pants. However, at low levels, your mind’s eye will be blind. Reconstructing crime scenes will be difficult without outside help.
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^{This is VERY technical, and completely UNSUPPORTED. Please don't write support tickets. Just reply to this thread.}
Most might not know that Trezor maintains a Trezor-T emulator that runs on Windows, Linux or macOS. This is VERY useful if you perform firmware builds and want to test them before loading onto hardware. To use it, you have to build it from source, but if you are patient, and comfortable with compiling code, it isn't that hard.

Warning

This is a technical toy to try out features. DO NOT hold assets in the emulator. DO NOT put seed mnemonics in the emulator. DO NOT put passphrases in the emlator. It is also, AFAIK, totally unsupported. Don't log issues or complain if it's broke. Just nag on this thread if you need to vent. Learn about Testnet coins if you want to practice transactions. DO NOT put real coins on here

• Bitcoin Testnet
• Ethereum Testnet

If you do have questions or run into problems post on this thread, or, if you find reddit too adversarial, you can post on the GitHub discussion board tied to my posts. Please don't DM me.

Windows

I'll start from Windows, since that is what I'm working in currently. This process is only marginally "Windows". It's actually something called WSL which is effectively Linux-on-Windows. Similar, perhaps to Andorid-on-ChromeOS, or similar type projects. WSL may "technically" be a container, but it integrates into Windows pretty seemlessly. Most might not even know.

Install WSL on Windows

Luckilly Microsoft has documented the hell out of this, so the HowTo is insanely detailed. You have to be running a fully patched version of Windows 10 or Windows 11. I'm running this on Windows 10 22H2, which most should be able to get. You will also need the "correct" processor. Since this does use some of the virutualization instruction set you need an Intel or AMD processor that supports it. Most do, but some VERY lean netbooks might not. Settle in, the HowTo could burn an entire afternoon of cross-linked articles and proceedures.

• Install WSL on Windows

The default is to land Ubuntu 22.04, which is what I'm running. If you just want to run the emulator, that is about all you have to do. But if you want to run physical Trezor hardware under WSL you will need to toy around with usbipd. Since I wanted to play with physical hardware as a FIDO2 SSH keystore, I also needed HIDRAW support which entailed a kernel compilation. NOT required, but I'll leave it here if anyone is interested.

• (Optional) Physical USB access (usbipd) under WSL
• (Optional) Enabling HIDRAW for FIDO2 under WSL

Linux / macOS

The offical documentation in the next section go into pretty good detail for how to spin up the Linux or macOS build environments. For WSL users, just follow the Ubuntu procedures from here on out. So what follows should match what both Ubuntu and WSL users experience. For macOS, it's likely pretty close, just with installations via brew instead of apt

Prepare the Build Environment

Honestly, if you landed WSL, then from here on out, you just pretend you are running Ubuntu 22.04. You drop into the WSL shell using the wsl command, but from there on out it's just normal Ubuntu. Here are the docs I referenced:

• Github : Trezor-Firmware : Build : Index.md
• Github : Trezor-Firmware : Build : Emulator.md

First we will need to install all the apt packages. My "all" may be overkill, but fresh installs are always missing a bunch of this.

sudo apt update sudo apt-get install scons libsdl2-dev libsdl2-image-dev llvm-dev libclang-dev \ clang build-essential trezor python3-pip python3-trezor python3-munch \ python3-venv librust-bindgen-dev protobuf-compiler python3-munch 

Next we need to install poetry

python3 -m pip install --upgrade pip setuptools wheel python3 -m pip install poetry 

Now we need to install rust

curl https://sh.rustup.rs -sSf sh source ~/.cargo/env rustup default nightly rustup update 

Build the Trezor-T Emulator

Checkout a fresh copy of source. You can reuse the source, but it's MUCH easier with fresh source

mkdir -p ~/src/trezor-model-t/trezor-firmware cd ~/src/trezor-model-t/trezor-firmware git clone -b core/v2.6.0 --recurse-submodules https://github.com/trezotrezor-firmware.git . git checkout -b local/core/v2.6.0 poetry install poetry shell cd core make clean build_unix ./emu.py 

You will get a freshly wiped Trezor-T window. Just click on the window where the touchscreen is displayed and it will by just like touch. You can play with the trezor.flash and trezor.sdcard files if you want, but I won't get into that here.

BONUS: Build Trezor-R Emulator

mkdir -p ~/src/trezor-model-trezor-firmware cd ~/src/trezor-model-trezor-firmware git clone -b python/v0.13.7 --recurse-submodules https://github.com/trezotrezor-firmware.git . git checkout -b local/python/v0.13.7 poetry install poetry shell cd core TREZOR_MODEL=R make clean build_unix ./emu.py 

To operate the buttons on the Trezor-R emulator, you have to use the keyboard arrow keys. Left for the left button and Right for the right button.

Interacting with the Emulator

Most interfaces that connect to Trezor hardware can be convinced to connect to the emulator, but it might take some convincing. I found that TrezorCTL worked out of the box, and I saw that there were settings to allow trezor-bridge and trezor-suite to connect to it as well.

At your own risk

Please take heed and don't put your stash into a toy emulator. There are NO protections and the seed will be clearly visible in the filesystem when running the emulator. And NO, running it on Tails is no better. Hopefully this is plainly obvious to the most casual observer.

It's getting to that round where it starts to be really difficult to see a difference between some of these players. In the late rounds, a lot of players are peaking and despite having previous matches, these player's form throughout different stages of the season and even throughout different seasons can vary widely so these are brand new contests. In any event, I'm ready to be wrong. Quick shoutout to the top 5 in each one of DC's contests :

ATP Bracket Contest : blurryturtle, unpleasant, 5grand8to1, noomuam, Diego2305
WTA Bracket Contest : TehoInBug, noomuam (going for the double, nice!), Belle23, Dikkeduece, unpleasant (another double hopeful)
Odds Comp : blurryturtle, Goldenboy8401, thiago1314, oompa87, DC writer Gillioni

ATP Singles :

Muchova vs Pavlyuchenkova :

Getting engaged at someone else’s wedding is poor form. Wearing the same shirt as your friend to a party is hilarious, but also considered a faux pas. Somewhere in between those two fouls is whatever is going on here. Just when Muchova has rediscovered her best form, Pavlyuchenkova has done the same. Both are playing tremendous, but the spotlight and the story is going to be pilfered by one of these two big hitters. The odds for Muchova here are -170 and I think that’s pretty accurate. Their previous meeting in 2021 was in Madrid and went to two tiebreakers. Pavlyuchenkova won those but I think she’s the underdog in this one. Both players are capable of hitting the ball huge, but Muchova’s straight set dismissal of Avanesyan was really impressive. Avanesyan is a wall but Muchova’s power off both wings really was effective. This is a day match so we can expect the ball to be moving fairly quickly; this take legs out of the equation a bit, but even so Muchova will be the fresher player.
There isn’t really a hole in Pavlyuchenkova’s game, and the same can be said for Karolina so there’s not a clear plan for either to really utilize. This is the first in a series of ridiculously good matches, because we’re at the stage of the tournament where everyone is playing at or near their peak. Expecting tiebreakers here and a very close match. Muchova in 3.

Svitolina vs Sabalenka :

Sabalenka had things under control against Sloane Stephens, up 5-0 in the first set. Somehow, she found herself in a tiebreak. That’s the sort of variance that was a hallmark of Aryna’s game in the past, but recently she’s settled into a good focused patch so it’s interesting to see her struggling a bit. Stephens is tremendous with her movement and ballstriking, but that type of lapse with a lead is something you can’t afford against Sabalenka’s next opponent. Elina Svitolina has to feel great to be back in the quarterfinals of a major. It’s an incredible feat for any athlete to compete at the professional level after having a baby, and she’s looking like a contender for her second title in only her second match back. Kasatkina and Svitolina played a ton of good quality rallies, and in the end it was Svitolina’s ability to hit through the court that gave her an edge. Kasatkina had to look to outlast her and it took many more shots for her each rally to finally score a winner. When Svitolina was able to reset to neutral with a big swing or a deep lob, it really felt like a heavy change in momentum. I’d have Sabalenka -300 against Kasatkina, but Svitolina’s power makes her a different challenge.
Sabalenka opened around -428 against Svitolina, which feels a bit inflated to me. Svitolina has a pretty decent serve, and a ton of experience. Their previous meeting went to three sets (2020 in Strasbourg), and though Sabalenka is a much better player now, she has had some difficult sets in this tournament against much weaker players. Stephens isn’t going to counter-punch as aggressively as Svitolina, and the marathon rallies against Kasatkina have her in solid form. Sabalenka is the frontrunner, but given her first set against Shymanovich and Stephens there is a decent chance this could wind up in a third. It’s funny how things change from round to round. After Rakhimova/Sabalenka I thought Aryna was basically going to reach the finals, but after the Stephens match I’m not sure she will keep the ball between the lines long enough to beat Svitolina. Svitolina is really adept at putting the extra ball into play and she’s on a 9 match win streak, including the Strasbourg title. Sabalenka is fresh off her first major title and she won the title in Madrid. Probably going to get some pushback on this but I think Svitolina pushes this into a third and I think she’ll be the more focused player if it gets there. Svitolina in 3.

ATP Singles :

Djokovic vs Khachanov :

Like the cartoons that play before a movie, Djokovic Alcaraz is about to begin. Karen Khachanov is quietly cruising through this draw, including a fourth round win against Lorenzo Sonego where Khachanov just met every single defensive challenge presented. Similar to Ruud, Khachanov just doesn’t miss the court very much, and his physical strength is off the charts. He has a huge serve, and his match on clay last year with Djokovic went to a third set. Yet the odds for this match have been set at -2500. That price is basically saying “pls do not bet”, and it’s good advice. Djokovic’s record this year is 24-4, so the random losses are prevalent enough to make his astronomical prices a less than profitable endeavor anyway. Still, Khachanov being considered an afterthought is both absurd, and accurate.
Djokovic had a safe fourth round against Juan Pablo Varillas, who is incredibly steady but not particularly dangerous to Djokovic. He doesn’t serve big enough to pressure Novak into errors, and playing Djokovic for the first time is difficult since the workload out on the court is something you have to experience to be prepared for. The greats look playable on tv, but when you’re out there and they’re just not missing it can get frustrating very quickly. Credit to Varillas, he gave the crowd a good show, but he just couldn’t hurt Djokovic. Khachanov can, and can’t. Karen’s serve is almost big enough for him to hold serve. They’re playing a day match, so the ball will at least be moving at a normal pace even in the slow conditions. Khachanov’s backhand is really consistent and he can take the ball down the line with pace, but he telegraphs his forehand a bit so Djokovic should be okay defensively. I don’t think this will be as one-sided as the odds suggest, because Khachanov can hang in long rallies and doesn’t make a ton of unforced errors. He has a poor record against Djokovic (who doesn’t), but familiarity with an opponent does let you compete at your best in a big-time situation. Khachanov is becoming a gatekeeper for the semis and finals of majors, but unfortunately Novak is a resident. Should be the closest match Djokovic has had yet, but with his elbow issue seemingly gone, there’s not a clear path to beat him. I expect Khachanov’s solid play will net him one set if Djokovic’s level lapses or errors abound, but that’s probably as good as it gets. Djokovic in 4.

Alcaraz vs Tsitsipas :

These are the only two players whose games are not affected by the night-time conditions, so it’s fitting that they’ll be playing the last match of the day. Carlos Alcaraz is scary good. Musetti came into their match playing lights-out tennis and had just straight setted Cam Norrie, genuinely making him look like a lower tier player. Halfway through the first set, it was clear that he could barely win a game against Alcaraz. Carlos’s defense and consistency are just off the charts. When his opponent leaves the ball short or doesn’t hit with pace himself, Alcaraz is hitting the ball right past them. His inside-out forehand in the fourth round was frighteningly quick, leaving Musetti standing still on numerous occasions. If you’re even competing even from the baseline, you then have to deal with his dropshots, which are varied and accurate. Every single point you win against him requires effort and accuracy, and there are only 3 matches between him and his first Roland Garros title so he doesn’t have to conserve or budget his energy output at this point.
Before their match in Barcelona, Tsitsipas represented an intriguing challenge for Alcaraz. He has a great serve and a huge forehand, so Alcaraz’s defenses were set to be test. He proved very capable though, and coming into this match it’s unclear where Tsitsipas can hurt Alcaraz. In the slightly colder night conditions Alcaraz will have more time defend, and Tsitsipas’ backhand is still a liability. With Carlos’ backhand improving almost constantly this season, the cross-court exchanges are likely to favor Alcaraz. Since Tsitsipas’s main issue on his backhand is lack of depth, it’s likely that he’ll see a healthy dose of dropshots. Stefanos is fast enough to run these down, but over the course of the match I think Alcaraz’s power and variety will make a big difference. It’s hard to just completely write someone as good as Tsitsipas off, but he has holes in his game that he needs to fix before he wins a major title, and Alcaraz is currently the level necessary to win one. One thing I do expect from this match is that Tsitsipas will play regardless of the scoreline. Should be a close but somewhat one-sided affair. Alcaraz in 3.

I have ADHD and have a terrible time remembering to apply my clobetasol and tacrolimus, no matter how many reminders I set.
I recently decanted my clobetasol into rollerballs and my tacrolimus (compounded into a cream) into squeezy lip gloss tubes and stashed them everywhere so that when I'm out and something (usually picking at a patch) reminds me that I forgot to use them, boom, there they are! I've been using them a lot more regularly than I was before this way.
I know I'm shortening their shelf life by doing this but I'd rather have something I actually remember to use but doesn't last as long than something that lasts but I never use.
Also clobetasol via a rollerball vs a squeezy bottle for scalp application is SO MUCH NICER.

Essentially the Title, in a world I'm creating, there is a single people that have been separated from the rest of the continent for thousands of years. During the millennia, they have been ravenously hunted by creatures (designed by some force to actively kill them) and monsters, as well as fighting amongst themselves. In their isolation, they split into numerous tribes, 10-15 in total. All of them are similar but distinct, and I am having trouble finding a cultural identity for all that simultaneously eliminates any "planet of hats" trope but making sure they're distinct at a glance.
The environment of the island is a mix of tall redwood trees, high volcanic mountains with ample snow, a series of pine wooded islands, great valleys of plains perfect for agriculture, and lastly swamps and wetlands near the shores. Similar climate to the North West of America, Arcadia, the great plains, the bayou, Hadia Gwaii, and Newfoundland. Temporate rainforests are the most prevalent.
Inspiration for these cultures is a mix of Celtic, Gaul, North West Native American tribes, the Suomi, and the Tenakth and Otaru from Horizon Forbidden West.
Names for various tribes are already written, I will just be using colors as stand-ins for spelling and clarity.
The tribes I have a rough idea of so far are:

1. Red

One of the most powerful tribes, they have a valley all to themselves where they have grown and expanded forth. They contest the other tribes often, and with the help of their sacred Beast Tamers, can usually drive them off. They have organized agriculture, although much of their clothing and tools are animal-based.

1. Orange

Living amongst the mountains and snowy forests, these isolationists prefer to be left alone in their fortresses of stone. They are avid hunters, and ski down the slopes to pursue their prey or adversaries, as well as just to get around fast. They are strapped in furs, and white fur clothing is seen as the most valuable do to the rarity of the animal that is required to make it.

1. Yellow

Under occupation by a colonization force coming to the island, they live on the vast plains and rivers that flow through them. Although they are not nearly as agriculturally savvy as other tribes, the sheer amount of fertile land and traversable terrain makes them a powerhouse of trade. Although that means they are decentralized, and were easily taken advantage of. (This scenario is mostly done, but the cultural aspects I'm still working on)

1. Light Green

Tucked away in the lush valleys and fjords on the south of the island, this tribe has learned the art of Terramancy. They use the plants of the valleys as food, clothing, tools, and weapons. They are generally peaceful and non-expansive, although their feathers have been ruffled as the other tribes that have been displaced by the colonial conflict begin to encroach upon them.

1. Dark Green

This tribe inhabits the Towering Pines, and are fiercely territorial. They build their cities far up from the ground amongst the pines. Rope bridges connect all of these settlements from the shore to the mountains. The Dark Green are master woodsmiths, as well as prodigal hunters. They have a feud with the Red, and believe they are in league with the Creatures, especially with their beast companions. Dark Green tribesman gather food in the form of Sap, beehives, Grapple Hunting (using spears and arrows with ropes attached, they can hunt and retrieve from afar, not to mention their mastery over the Far-bow have given them much upper body strength.), and mushroom farming. These mushrooms are said to grant abilities that can make humans surpass their natural limit, leading their Beserks to be a feared warrior across the land.

1. Purple

Once living in the forests and plains on the Southern Coast of the island, the Purple were some of the first to oppose the Colonization effort. Although due to this, much of the fighting that occured backfired upon them the most. Their cities became battlefields, and then wastelands against the tide of steel. After they surrendered, much of their population left their homeland and fled West to the lands of Light Green. Even in defeat, they use their intellect to find weakness in their opponents, during single combat they often use the environment to their advantage. Once they see an opening they take it, and make sure the enemy won't be getting up again.

1. Light Blue

Colonist sympathizers at best and national supremacists at worst, this tribe was blessed with technological access unparalleled through the land. Their territory used to be delegated to merely an island, they soon expanded out and pushed out the other tribes from the local area when they discovered an ancient weapons vault hidden in the ruins. They are not evil per se, although they have taken full advantage of their situation to do some colonization themselves. Light blue is obsessed with the past, and attempt to replicate it through their fashion, architecture, and art.
These are the 7 I have so far! Any advice or additional concepts to play with will be extremely helpful to filling out the roster. Some other ideas I've played around with is a seafaring society (although the island has a large variety of waterborne monsters that keep the tribes from leaving) that exists of fishing and lives on the high mountain islands as well as the low mangrove swamps.
Basing more tribes off of magic types is also a possibility, a slash-and-burn nomadic society of pyromancers comes to mind, or another that builds dams upon the rivers using water magic and wood.
I'm excited to hear your thoughts!

Good evening, everyone. Firstly; apologies for the wall of text I’m about to post, and to the 7 people who get all the way through, I’d love to hear your feedback.
I’m planning on fishing the occoquan river this weekend for striped bass. The place I’m going to put in (fishing kayak w/ fish finder) is called occoquan regional park. It gives me access to about a half mile upstream to a water treatment facility to about a mile downstream all the way to a highway overpass with pylons and everything in between. The river is ~200 yards across at its narrowest to maybe a half mile across by the time you get to the overpass. I’m planning on fishing structures, as well as any nooks and crannies with still water I can find, like I might with largemouth.
The rods I plan on bringing (here, and here ) are both medium action, with 25lb braid and 20lb mono leader on the baitcaster, and straight 14lb flouro on the open bail setup.
As for lures, here are some of what I’ve been considering. It’s a channel bait & tackle dr spook, a heddon super spook, a rapala x-rap (4-8 ft jerkbait), and a zoom worm (Texas rig). I’m hoping the mix between top water and below the surface lures will help me a bit. I also have some fish bites bloodworm variety that I’m going to attach to the below surface lures to maybe attract based on scent (?). I’m toying with the idea of stopping by a bait store to grab some soft shell crab, too. I’d rig the soft shell with a Carolina rig to try to keep it 2’-4’ off the bottom.
Does this sound like a good plan? I’ll be there from about 10 am to 4:30 pm (not ideal, I know, but it’s what the schedule allows).
If there’s any tips or tricks you guys have, or any recommendations, I’m all ears. Thanks in advance.