BUY White Cookies Strain Feminized Marijuana Seeds

Hey guys, I have been reading this thread al night and everyone’s stories have made me realize I am not alone. For the first time in a long time I have some hope that I can still fix things in my life. You have all inspired me to share my story.
I am 23 years old and I have been gambling since I was 16. It all started when a couple of my highschool friends decided to open up a book. At first I kept my losses to a minimum but I was hooked from the start. At the start I was only losing around $100 a week ( a lot of money to a 16 year old) but as I got older the losses began to grow. My friends being my bookie definitely strained our relationship when I was late on payments. Mostly every week I would max out my account and I couldn’t wait till first thing Monday morning for my account to reset so I could bet again. By the time I was graduating highschool I already began to have a reputation for loosing money but so did a lot of my friends so I didint really think too much of it.
Throughout college I was lucky enough to have my parents send me chase periodically to spend on food/ social life. Most of this went straight to gambling as bounced from bookie to bookie trying to cover my losses. At this point I was a junior in college and things started to get pretty serious. I realized I had a problem but was unable to stop. I was chasing after my losses every week. Once I would go on a hot streak it was like I would forget all abt what it was like to lose and all my problems would go away. All my summer jobs income would go straight to fueling my gambling. I hit rock bottom multiple times in college, owing bookies hundreds of dollars while my bank account was at $0. Each time I would tell myself I was done gambling and I would slowly pay off my debts. My all time low was when I had to call up my mom and ask to borrow money to pay off a bookie. She was very disappointed in me and I felt awful. She made me promise to never put myself in this situation again.
Looking back at my college experience I feel like 90% of it was spent being stressed out abt paying someone back or avoiding a bookie. Once I graduated and was starting a real job I told myself I would use this as a fresh start and give up gambling. At first I was able to give it up for a little bit, I was starting to build up my bank account every week thanks to my new job and I was feeling good about the path my life was going down. For the first time in my life I was not broke anymore and I had the power to spend money as I pleased. I was able to use my money to book flights to visit my girlfriend/friends back in college and life was good. Then came the legalization of sports online sports betting in my state. I decided to open up an account and deposit $100. This quickly spirald out of control. After every loss I would deposit more money and my bank account shrunk after each week. It got to the point where I was gambling away each hard earned paycheck days after it hit my account. I felt so shitty abt this because it was like I was working for free. Then came a win streak where I was able to win abt $4,000 in 2 weeks. Everything was good again and I forgot all about my problem. When COVID hit I was out of work and no longer had a stream of income. My bank account was at about $8,000 which would of been enough to live off of until I could start working again. After my heater my bet size grew tremendously I went from wagering $50 a bet to $100 then to $300 on some bets, eventually there were some bets where I would wager up to $1000 dollars on if I was up on my account. No matter how much I won I never was able to keep it. I quickly burned though the $8000 in my bank account and was broke again. I was so embarrassed and the last thing I wanted was for my girlfriend to find out. I hit a new all time low when I stole $2,000 out of my moms bank account to cover some debts/ gamble again. This was about 2 months ago. I immediately felt horrible for doing this and had a panic attack. I came clean to my parents about everything. I told them how out of control this had gotten and how I needed help to stop. I told them I was scared and I wanted my life back. They were not mad at me but were very understanding and supportive when I first told them. I promised to stop and you would think this would be the end of it right? I really wish it was.
After coming clean to my parents everything began to feel so real. The gravity my addiction finally set it. I was so embarrassed and I could not believe I let myself get to this point. I quickly fell into a depression and was put on medication to help. I wanted to use this a fresh start. I was broke but did not owe anyone any money. I wanted to earn money the right way and leave this all behind me. I knew I had lost a ton in this past but I was ready to leave that in the past. This was about 3 weeks ago. Since then I stopped using the legal sports sites because my parents were monitoring my bank accounts. However, a friend of mine from college had a book and I opened an account with him. The first week I quickly lost $1,000. I was devastaded and so dissappinted in myself that I fell back into this hole. I couldn’t stop tho I was determined to win it back and start fresh again. The second week I lost another $1000. I wanted to stop but I couldn’t. My bookie was my friend I was worried he would tell all my friends back at school about my losses and worse, he would tell my girlfriend (she has no idea abt the extent of my losses). This week was my last shot to win my money back before he returned to school from break and saw my friends and girlfriend. I was using this week as one last shot at saving myself. Of course it did not work and I lost another $1500. My girlfriend is returning to school this weekend and she will be sure to hear about my losses and I’m so ashamed.
This brings us today. If you are still reading I really appreciate it because I never told anyone abt the extent of this. I am at a loss for words, i do not know what to do. My back account is overdrawn by $2,000. I have two maxed out credit cards, and now after last night I owe my friend/ bookie another $1500 on Monday. I do not sleep anymore, I barely eat, my moods are constantly dependent on my bets. I take my frustrations out on the ppl I love the most. After reading everyone’s posts on this thread I think I am ready to finally leave this all behind me. I’m done chasing my losses. I need to accept the fact that I’m in a huge hole and I need to be and adult and work my way out of it. I am going to come clean to my girlfriend tomorrow before she returns to school, I want her to hear it from me and not my friends. I am ready to take the first step to recovery but I need your help.
How can I block gambling out of my life, every time I watch tv/ listen to the radio it’s another commercial about a gambling site offering a new promo to entice people to join. Every time I hangout with my friends they are talking about what games they are betting on, every my own brothers have began to sports gamble. Every where I turn gambling is being shoved in my face, the adds on my social media’s are all about gambling. The people in my life who gamble have more self control then me. I need to stop but I cant avoid it. I don’t know what to do and I could really use some advise because I’m at the end of the line here. If I can’t give this up I don’t know what I’m going to do. Gambling has destroyed my reputation, friendships, relationships, my finances, my happiness, my sleep, my weight, I have given everything I have to gambling. I simply have nothing left to give....

"Special Babies" Part 1 by FractalFluff

^{Neutralbox. All abuse implied or purely psychological. All affection and nurturing perfunctory or self-serving. Contains 2000% of the recommended level of probably going to end up annoying everyone. Keep arms and hands inside the car at all times.}

SPECIAL BABIES

>Be a first-time fluffy owner.
>Just-weaned little pegasus filly
>Fluff a faded-looking greyish-blue; mane and tail a darker shade of the same colour, but still soft and washed out.
>Call her Denim.
>You have some vague ambitions to breed from her
>You've read that faint-looking colours can get more intense as the pony gets older, even giving way to new shades.
>If anything, hers get more washed-out.
>She's a small, chubby foal with stubby limbs, and grows slowly
>You entertain the hope that she might be from one of those "teacup" or "toy" strains. They're very popular.
>But a growth spurt evens everything out, from round belly to stumpy legs.
>Average colours. Average configuration.
>Not ugly, but not particularly outstanding either.
>Cute, but no unusual markings or marketable features.
>She's not unintelligent (not by fluffy standards):
>Litterbox-trained inside the first couple of days
>Learns the house rules fairly quickly.
>Maybe she's a little more educable than the average?
>Might be worth trying to spark something in her little fluffy brain.
>Foals from a fluffy that reads or counts might appeal to some.
>You get her a few cheap "educational" fluffy toys
>Talking alphabet and numeral blocks that say their letters or numbers out loud when tipped over
>A "puzzle" with differently-shaped pegs that have to go in the right holes
>Of course, that fucking talks too.
>One of those interactive storybooks (really just obsolete e-readers with an extra-rugged casing).
>She plays with them incessantly.
>Fairly democratic with the blocks
>But the storybook is pointless.
>She just replays the same page of of "Felica Fluffy's New Daddy" again and again.
>You get sick of hearing "C! C is for cat!" and "Triangle! Well done!" drifting out from the saferoom
>But not as sick as you get of hearing: "Felicia Fluffy was finally home. She gave her new daddy the biggest hug, and they laughed and played till bedtime!" a dozen times a day.
>But after a couple of weeks, you ask her what she's learned and she just says "Huh?"
>Line up the C, A, and T blocks.
>"What does that spell, Denim?"
>"Huh?"
>"See those blocks? What do they say?"
>"Demmin knoh! Dem sayin See, Ay, Tee!"
>So that was a waste of money.
>When she goes to sleep you take all the batteries out of her blocks
>Disable the speaker on the tablet.
>She whines, of course.
>"Daddah? Why bwocky-fwends nu mowe tawk tu Fwuffy?"
>"Your blocks are... ummm... your blockies are sleeping, Denim. You need to play quietly so they don't wake up and cry."
>"How time tiww bwocky-fwends wate up?"
>"Oh, could be a long time. You know the blocks our house is made from?"
>"Yeh?"
>"They've been asleep for the whole time we've lived here!"
>"Demmin... Demmin miss bwocky-fwends... Wike wen dey tawk..."
>That fuss is nothing to the scene when she finds out her book doesn't talk anymore.
>"Daddah! Daddah! Bookie-fwend nu tawk tu Fwuffy!" Her face is wet with tears.
>"It's okay, Denim. Look, your book still works. You can still look at all the pictures.
>"Bu' Daddah, Demmin nee' dah wowdies! Demmin nee' heaw dah stowy!"
>"Denim, you've heard that story a thousand times. You ought to know it off by heart by now."
>"Bu, bu, wen Daddah gon wowkies an Demmin saddie-wone, bookie-fwen say dah Daddah-stowy, make nu be saddies! Pweeze, Daddy, pweeze teww bookie-fwend say dah stowy 'gain!"
>"Just look at the pictures, okay, Denim? Daddy's busy."
>But she can't get it through her head. Talks to the reader, pleads with it, gives it huggies to make it work again. Eventually she destroys it completely by trying to give it a drink of water.
>After a while, you notice that her blocks are all covered in dust.
>You assume she must finally have outgrown all that junk.
>Next time she's watching TV, you clean out her saferoom
>Box up the untouched toys and the ruined e-reader, write "Free Stuff" on the carton, carry it to the kerb.
>Your neighbour, Larry, catches you
>He's just bought a lively little unicorn colt
>Nice temprament, but needs a lot of stimulation.
>Asks if he can take the toys off your hands.
>You hand the box over with a warning never to put in the batteries.
>"Whewe bwocky-fwends?" she asks when send her back to her room.
>"Denim, you hadn't played with them in a month.
>"I got rid of them."
>"Bu Daaaaaddiiie! Fwuffy jus' waitin fow bwocky fwends tu wake up! Fwuffy wuv bwocky-fweeends!" she howls.
>"If you don't stop that racket, you'll lose the rest of your toys. Go to your room and don't come out until you can behave."
>Figure you might get another fluffy or two eventually
>But you're not in a hurry to fill your house with the things
>And you certainly don't want to deal with a litter of Denim's babies.
>There's nothing in her makeup that says "bankable genetics."
>Crossed off breeding, looks, and now smarts.
>She's a nice enough pony, but there's nothing special enough about her to offset the irritaion of having a bunch of foals running around.
>So you get her spayed.
>Put her in her carrier. She asks where you're going.
>You tell her you're going to the Park.
>Haven't taken her there since she was four months old.
>Too many 'entire' stallions running around.
>"Yaaayy! Pawk! Fwuffy wuv Pawk!"
>Cries when she finds out you've brought her to the vet.
>"The nice vet has to fix your tummy."
>"Tummy bwoken?"
>"You'll be able play in the park as much as you want, and never have to worry about any bad fluffies or stinking little runts. Sound good?"
>"Go Pawk wenefah wan? Fankoo, Daddeh!"
>The first time she asks to go to the park and you say no, she bursts into tears.
>"Buh... buh Daddeh said, if vet fix tummeh, Fwuffy gu Pawk whenefew wan..."
>"Jesus, Denim, is your head full of fluff too?
>"I said you could play in the park without worrying about bad fluffies.
>"You know Daddy can't just drop everything and run you to the park anytime you feel like it."
>"Buh... buh... Fwuffy wuv Pawk..."
>"Yeah? Well if you ask me again, I'll take you to the park and leave you there to live with the ferals. How's that sound?"
>She hugs your leg.
>"Huuhuuhuu... pweeze nu wiv wif fewwuws... wuv Daddeh... nu wan meanie fewwuws..."
>"Then stop bugging me and go to your room."
>You've heard that mares can get a little baby-mad once they mature
>But you figure it's a lot of talk.
>Probably just overindulged fluffies, or the stories are exaggerated.
>You let her watch Babies.
>You let her play with fluffies who've got foals.
>Apart from her occasional sulks, she's reasonably well behaved.
>You discipline consistantly, and don't spoil her.
>She's used to being told "no".
>If she starts fussing about becoming a mother, you figure that you'll just tell her she can't have babies.
>Even if she doesn't understand right away, she'll eventually have heard it enough to get used to the idea.
>Not so much.
>You don't get the kind of stuff the reality shows warn you about.
>"...manages to lock herself in the bathroom and smears feces everywhere..."
>"...can't let her out of her dog-crate anymore. She just destroys everything within reach..."
>"...started biting me every time I come near her..."
>"...have to squeeze her out twice daily and keep her in diapers because she shits everywhere..."
>"...Screaming. Just constant screaming. Morning, noon and night..."
>Denim is different.
>No begging
>No screaming
>No pleading
>No threatening.
>You don't have to weather shit-strikes or deliberate vandalism
>She doesn't insult you or give you the silent treatment.
>She's as pleasant as ever.
>Just asks, very politely, if she can have babies yet.
>Almost every day.
>At least three of four times a week.
>Each time, you tell her, "No, Denim, you just can't have babies. Okay? It's not possible. I took you to the vet to get you fixed, remember? That's why you have that little scar on your tummy."
>Each time, she says, "Otay, daddeh," and moves on to something else.
.>Only to ask again later.
>Keep telling her no
>Keep reminding her that you had her fixed
>Keep telling her it's not possible for her to have babies.
>She won't listen.
>Week after week after week, it's the same thing:
>"How time tiww baybehs, Daddeh?"
>Never asks twice on the same day, never presses the issue once you refuse
>Never lets up.
>Eventually you've had enough.
>One evening you just say, "Sure. You can have babies."
>You'll give her babies.
>You'll give her all the damn babies she can handle, and then some.
>You were tempted to lock her up with a feral or two, but you have standards.
>Have her mated with Duke instead. He's now a full-grown stallion.
>Fixed, just like her.
>Start feeding her a little laced chow: "Dream Mummah Fluffy Nummies."
>Packed with vitamins, minerals, artificial flavourings and synthetic hormones.
>Smaller doses produce pregnancy symptoms ("Demmin get funny-tummeh feew, Daddeh! Gonna be Mummah!")
>Lactation when you give her the full whack.
>Not effective enough to rely on if she was going to be nursing a litter of foals
>But sufficient for your purposes.
>There are all kinds of fake-pregnancy gimmicks these days.
>Including some jollop you can feed her that will trigger contractions.
>Comes with a spray bottle of simulated birthing fluids: sticky, musty-smelling gunk and a fake blood capsule.
>Supposed to break the capsule into the gunk, then squirt it on her butt and all over "her" babies for her to lick off.
>Even fools mares who've had several litters.
>Mostly for helping persuading a mare to accept strange or rejected foals
>Or as a warm-up for hiving her one of those creepy talking baby simulators.
>You have other ideas.
>Comes the day...
>You feed her the fake-birth stuff, then dope her up but good with codeine and hayfever medicine.
>Set everything up while she's asleep.
>Apply the gunk as directed.
>Comes around a little when the contractions start.
>"Dah'heee? D'mmin tummeh huuuuwt..." she slurs, eyes rolling in her head.
>"Your babies are coming, hon. You're fine."
>"Pooh'hies comin... Dah'hee... nuh wa' ma' ba' poohh...ies... inna behd... guh way, poohiies... Owwwwwies... Dahheeeee..."
>"It's okay, Denim. It's just your foals coming. Your babies."
>"Bahy...hee..?"
>"You wanted to have babies, remember? Well, here they come."
>She tries to sit up, but it's too much for her. She gives this little sigh and passes out again.
>Wakes up surrounded by foals.
>Foals, foals, foals.
>On her pillow, on her belly-fluff, nestling in her mane
>Every imaginable colour.
>Sticky with funky-smelling goop
>Wriggling, widdling, pooping, squeaking foals.
>At least, that's what she thinks they are.
>You bought a dozen, all in all. Picked up a few at a time from every pet shop in town.
>Gave them a tiny trace of the hayfever medicine you used on Denim
>Spent an evening dyeing them.
>Then gave them all a good rubdown with a neutralizer scent
>It's a kind that larger stores and breeding operations often use.
>They have to have a bunch of ponies crammed together
>They need something that stops the adults from freaking out about being in proximity to so many unfamiliar babies.
>Stops them killing each other's foals, but doesn't cause foalnapping.
>You don't want to make this too easy. . >"Daddeh! Whewe aww baybehs come fwom? Whewe dey mummahs?"
>"You're their mummy, silly," you tell her.
>"Aww babybehs Demmim's baybehs? Aww uf dem?" she squeals.
>"Yep, all Denim's babies! Now, remember how you promised Daddy you'd be a good mother? You've got to look after allll of these babies, every single one, or Daddy will be very disappointed."
>"Yes, Daddeh! Demmim be bestes mummah fow aww dah pwetty baybehs! Come tu Mummah, baybehs! Mummah got bigges huggies fow aww uf yu!"
>This isn't quite what you'd pictured.
>You'd imagined her overwhelmed, panicking, eventually resentful. Ignoring some of the less brilliantly-coloured foals at feeding times, maybe, or kicking some of the babies out of her nest for looking odd or smelling different.
>Instead, she seems thrilled with her huge erzatz litter. She's cooing and singing, carefully keeping track of where the "babies" are and whether they've fed.
>She never questions that they are her all her very own foals.
>Carefully hand-dyed,liberally sauced with phoney body fluids and seasoned with pheremones
>She dutifully tries to care for all of them.
>You figure there's no way it can last.
>For now, your twelve white mice convince her completely.
Source

What A Day: Floperation Blorp Speed by Sarah Lazarus & Crooked Media (12/09/20)

"At 10:00 P.M. on Election Evening, we were at 97% win with the so-called “bookies”." - Donald Trump, seeking the overturn the results of the Triple Crown

None The Pfizer

After the Trump administration nailed every other aspect of the pandemic response with flying colors, it may come as a shock to learn that its plan to distribute vaccines to hundreds of millions of Americans leaves something to be desired. Specifically, vaccines.

After Operation Warp Speed spent billions of dollars to hasten the development of coronavirus vaccines, 31 countries around the world have reserved more vaccine doses per capita than the U.S. It’s like ordering an elaborate cup of coffee and then walking out of Starbucks without it, except, you know, people will die. Incomprehensibly, this was a deliberate choice: Pfizer offered the Trump administration the chance to reserve more doses over the summer (“hey man, you forgot your coffee”), the Trump administration took a pass, and Pfizer now can’t guarantee another round of supplies until June.
FDA approval for the Pfizer vaccine—which will launch the deliveries of 6.4 million initial doses (enough to vaccinate 3.2 million people)—could come as soon as this week; in the meantime, Americans are stuck watching the U.K. and Canada sail towards national immunity like the D.W. meme. Authorization for the Oxford/AstraZeneca vaccine, of which the U.S. has reserved 300 million doses, will be more delayed: AstraZeneca lost credibility with U.S. regulators when it failed to disclose a pause in clinical trials, and scientists have criticized the lack of transparency around its data. The vaccine is definitely safe and viable, but its efficacy rate is still unclear (especially among older adults), and that means we’ll have to wait.
When vaccines do get approved, it would be nice if states were ready to distribute them as quickly as possible, no? To paraphrase GOP leaders, “eh.” Congress has yet to appropriate any funds for vaccine distribution, which means cash-strapped local public health departments are left to both plan mass vaccination programs and somehow scrape together the money to hire enough staff to implement them. HHS has doled out around $340 million to the states for vaccine distribution; state officials say they need more like $8.4 billion, and needed it weeks ago.

Even in a delay-free world, the coronavirus task force warned on Tuesday, the vaccine program wouldn’t substantially reduce the spread of coronavirus until late spring.

No big deal to Donald Trump, who yesterday shared this psychopathic opinion on the percentage of Americans who have contracted coronavirus: “I hear we're close to 15 percent. I'm hearing that, and that's terrific.” A somewhat bigger deal for the third of Americans who live in areas where hospitals have run critically low on available ICU beds, and who don’t have access to the experimental Rich Old Man drugs that are apparently available almost exclusively to Donald Trump’s friends and keeping Rudy Giuliani tethered to his repulsive mortal coil.
In light of that, it would be nice if the government were to give people money to stay home and slow the spread, no? To paraphrase GOP leaders, “go fuck yourselves.” The U.S. is alone among wealthy Western countries in not providing material help to people during the winter surge, for the very simple reason that the party that currently runs our government is insane. In a sign that another stimulus package isn’t exactly imminent, the White House suggested adding a one-time $600 stimulus check to its discussion draft, but only in exchange for gutting enhanced unemployment benefits. Millions of Americans are at risk of eviction! Canada is paying jobless workers $2000 a month! There’s just no excuse!

It stands to reason that the Trump administration’s demonstrated indifference to saving American lives would hobble the vaccine effort, and we can fully expect Republicans to turn around on January 20 and try to blame the ensuing delays and deaths on Joe Biden. No one should give them the time of day. Hard as they might try to wipe it on to Biden’s hands, the blood is on theirs.

Look No Further Than The Crooked Media

We're only a few weeks away from the January 5 runoff in Georgia that will determine control of the Senate. Early voting starts on December 14, and if you're looking for ways to support groups on the ground making sure every voter makes their voice heard, sign up to Adopt Georgia. We'll be sending new opportunities to donate and volunteer every week between now and January, so head over to https://votesaveamerica.com/georgia to learn more about what you can do today.

Under The Radar

The Federal Trade Commission and 48 attorneys general have filed landmark antitrust lawsuits against Facebook, alleging that the company illegally crushed its competition by buying up its rivals and weaponizing its staggering troves of user data. Federal and state regulators have been investigating Facebook for over a year, and this marks the first government antitrust action against a company that’s been behaving like a monopoly for a decade.The lawsuits explicitly ask the DC district court to consider forcing Facebook to sell off Instagram and WhatsApp, a move that Mark Zuckerberg has said would be “existential” for the company. Oh nooo, where would we all go to spread antisemitic conspiracy theories, spur on the downfall of American democracy, and wish an aunt we've never met happy birthday?

What Else?

The president is just straight up tweeting “#OVERTURN” now. That hashtag is gonna turn this whole coup around.
Trump and 17 states have joined Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton’s lawsuit asking the Supreme Court to help Republicans overturn (#overturn?) election results in Georgia, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin.
The Senate confirmed three nominees to the Federal Election Commission, after the agency sat around uselessly for months without a quorum.
The EPA has finalized a rule making it more difficult to enact public health protections, one of several rules the Trump administration is fast-tracking to environmentally screw over Joe Biden.
Gov. Tom Wolf (D-PA) is in quarantine after testing positive for coronavirus but said he hasn't experienced any symptoms.
An Idaho health official left a virtual meeting in tears because anti-mask protesters had surrounded her home, where her 12-year-old son was alone.
Relatedly, here’s the completely heartbreaking story of Mitchell, SD, one of many red state towns where residents followed GOP leaders in not taking coronavirus precautions seriously until people started dying—and where a group of anti-maskers continued to vehemently oppose a local mask mandate.
YouTube will start taking down new videos that spread voter fraud conspiracy theories, right in the nick of time.
Cartoon voter-fraud witness Melissa Carone said she isn’t self-quarantining and hasn’t gotten tested after testifying next to COVID-positive fart-machine Rudy Giuliani.
Joe Biden might send Pete Buttigieg to China as an ambassador, in the latest indication that he is a mere puppet for radical socialist Amy Klobuchar.
Piers Morgan has been forced to deny a rumor that he played the Central Park Pigeon Lady in Home Alone 2, but enough people believe the rumor that we should probably let all of the legal challenges play out.

Be Smarter

A new study found that rural, predominantly Black counties have the highest IRS audit rates. You know, where all the rich white tax evaders live. Humphreys County, MS, where more than a third of mostly Black residents are below the poverty line, is the most heavily-audited county in the country—because so many taxpayers are poor. The IRS doggedly audits taxpayers who claim the earned income tax credit, a program meant to lift workers out of poverty, under pressure from congressional Republicans. As a result, the five counties with the highest audit rates are all poor, majority Black counties in the deep south, and the audit rate is next-highest in majority-Hispanic counties and those with Native American reservations. Try to claim a legal tax credit and get slammed with a year-long IRS audit, while wealthier white populations enjoy an unaudited existence: What could be fairer?

What A Sponsor

Interested in the most comfortable pair of underwear in the world? Tommy John set out to reinvent men’s undergarments, the way they should be: more tailored, fit, and fashionable.
Created by a husband and wife team, co-founders Tom and Erin left their careers, cashed out their 401Ks, and set out to reinvent men’s undergarments, the way they should be: more tailored, fit, and fashionable.
And just like that, Tommy John was born. And the life-changing products followed. Underwear that never rides up. Socks that never roll down. Apparel that moves with you. Loungewear and pajamas that are luxuriously soft, yet machine washable. For all of your clothing needs, Tommy John has you covered.
For this holiday season, enjoy comfort, all through the house! Tommy John has seasonal gifts for you and your spouse. Oh, and you don’t have to be married - or dating - but you get the idea.
This holiday, upgrade you and yours with limited edition prints and patterns guaranteed to bring comfort and joy, available now! Order NOW to make sure your gifts arrive in time.

Is That Hope I Feel?

New York has pledged to divest its $226 billion pension fund from fossil fuels by 2050, and completely decarbonize the fund by 2040.
A universal flu vaccine that protects against all strains of the flu and lasts for years may not be far off.
The House has passed a bill that would broaden marijuana research in states where the drug is already legal.
Taylor Swift donated $13,000 to two mothers on the verge of eviction. Your turn, federal government.

Enjoy

place where cats shouldn't be on Twitter: "* 1 video attached *"

Tip: for helping in a reading slump

Do you ever fall into temptation to cheat when you make a stupid throw at the end of the game and know you'll lose, or do you hold strong?

[Tales From the Terran Republic] Sheila Collects a Debt and Jon Gets a Visit

First Previous Next
Horace Green finally closed his computer screen and left for the day. It had been a long day at Axion Lines. He absolutely hated having to deal with pampered rich entitled assholes day in and day out who acted like the slightest detail being not to their absolute liking on their cruise was the end of the fucking world. He had spent two fucking hours trying to rectify the fact that a customer didn’t think the thread count of their bed linens was what it definitely was. He had to pull the ship’s engineer from his duties to personally scan the goddamn sheets and the bastard still wasn’t happy. Fortunately a few passes with a sonic cleaner made them “soft enough” for his entitled ass.
God he hated them.
As he was walking towards his smart car he saw some bitch leaning against it. Great, if that asshole put one scratch on his car they were going to pay for the detailing. As he got closer he recognized her… and turned around immediately only to find that two more people, a gigantic black man and a slender blonde (a flaxen?) closing in behind. The flaxen pulled out a switchblade and there was a distinct “click” as the blade shot out. He turned towards the lot, the only other way out and there were two more men standing there. One of them pulled out a gun.
He froze. He always knew and dreaded this day would come and now it was here.
“Horace, Horace, Horace,” Shelia said shaking her head as she approached. “Is that any way to greet an old friend? You are hurting my feelings.”
“What… what do you want? I don’t have the money.”
“Who said anything about money? We never said you had to pay us back with money. We just said that you owed us and one day we would collect and here we are. It won’t cost you a single credit.”
Horace’s knees were literally shaking with fear. He didn’t know who these people were when he got a “loan” from them. He was desperate. He should have asked some questions or found out who they were beforehand. These were bad people, very bad. His bookie just laughed when he described them and told him that he was better off getting his legs broken.
“So, Horace, how have you been? Keeping your nose clean? Haven’t been gambling again, have you?”
Horace just flinched.
“Oh, Horace… Poor poor Horace,” Shelia said sympathetically. “So how much do you owe this time?”
“Fifty-thousand,” he said without thinking. He winced again. He shouldn’t have said that.
“Jessie, dear,” Shelia said to a woman beside her, “Would you be a darling and cut off another fifty for our friend here.”
“Sure thing,” Jessie said as she pulled out a transactor.
“I… I don’t want your money… I...”
“Nonsense, Horace,” Shelia purred as she moved far too close to him, “It’s the least we can do considering the little favor you are about to do for us… And you are about to do a favor for us.”
“W… What do you want?”
“Nothing, really,” Shelia said softly as she stroked his face. He stiffened with fear. “You are just going to lend us your badge and tell us your password, that’s all. Won’t hurt a bit.”
Horace was about to pass out. Giving out that information could land him in jail.
“It… It only works for me.”
“Then there won’t be a problem. It’s a small thing to ask for all the money we have given you plus the extra fifty,” Shelia purred, “Oh, I do have one teensy little question though. What biometric data do you need to log in?”
“I can’t tell you,” Horace whined. “Please...” He suddenly felt something sharp poke him in the back.
“I really think you should answer the woman, porkie,” the flaxen lady whispered in his ear. “I would really hate to get blood all over my new blouse.”
“A hand print. We use a hand print,” Horace said as he clenched his eyes shut.
“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Shelia asked with a predatory smile. “Jessie?”
Jessie scampered up with her tablet and presented it to Horace.
“Just log in like you would at work,” she said brightly.
Horace meekly did just that with tears in his eyes.
“There you go. See, that didn’t hurt one bit did it?” Shelia asked backing away with a smile. “Your debt has been paid in full.”
Everyone turned and started to walk away. As they did so Shelia paused and turned around.
“Oh, one last thing,” she said smiling pleasantly, “Not a word about this. Not. One. Word. You run your mouth and we will kill you… eventually. Jessie, please remember to turn the security cameras back on this time.”
“Jeez, forget one time and you just won’t let it go will you?” Jessie asked completely vexed.
With that they all walked away. Horace fell to his knees and wept.
Toby was sitting at his desk polishing the embassy’s silverware. He pulled out a scanner and examined a fork closely. He then started polishing it again while happily humming to himself.
The door opened and a mechanical spider with a huge water filled globe in the center containing a large eel like fish entered.
Toby rose from his desk.
“Good afternoon, director.” Toby said pleasantly. “To what do we owe the honor? It isn’t often that one such as yourself descends from the heavens to bless us lowly mortals with your divine presence,” Toby said with just the right amount of sarcasm.
“Stuff it, Toby,” Director Axlea said with a laugh. “Is the asshole in?”
“Yes he is,” Toby said as he pulled out a Powerbar Extreme from his desk and whipped out a Terran style combat knife expertly slicing it into cubes.
“Oh Toby,” Axlea said as the top of her globe opened. “Always the gracious host.” With that she approached his desk. Using one of the forks conveniently on his desk he skewered a cube and lowered it towards the globe. Axlea poked her head out of the water and grabbed it. “You didn’t make me stretch for it this time.”
“The joke was getting old, just like yourself,” Toby said pleasantly. “I wouldn’t want you to strain something.”
“Ha,” Axlea said as she happily received another cube.
“Honestly, director, why don’t you just buy these? You can get them at Republic Goods."
“Oh yes, the director of Federation Intelligence just walks in to get a Republic product? My picture would be on the front page.”
“Well, it just so happens that I have an entire box of these right over here,” Toby said as he walked to a cabinet and pulled out a large box of the bars and handed them to Axlea.
“Holy shit, Toby,” Director Axlea enthused as she stowed them away in her bot. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense, we Terrans are known for our hospitality.”
Axlea filled her globe with bubbles she laughed so hard.
“I wish I could stay and chat but I have to save some of my capacity for carpshit for your boss. Before I go are there any state secrets you want to let slip?”
Toby looked both ways and then leaned in to whisper.
“The Republic doesn’t like you very much at all.”
“Wow. Damn, Toby. After a leak like that do you need any protection? We have a safe house nearby.”
With a laugh Toby pressed the intercom.
“Ambassador, the Director of Federation Intelligence is here wishing to speak with you.”
“By all means, let her through,” Jon replied in a pleasant voice. Director Axlea, blinking with a little confusion, walked into Jon’s office. Jon rose to greet her.
“Director, what a pleasant surprise,” He said with a smile.
“Who are you and what did you do with… Fuck. You assholes got your hands on the classified closed door briefing I had with Federation Defense and the Council where I told them exactly what I thought about planning an attack on you dickheads didn’t you?”
“I had absolutely no idea you used words like those, director,” Jon said with a grin. “I especially liked the part where you told General Mluxor where he could put his strategic assessment.”
Director Axlea just sighed.
“You know K-shal-ta is going to do some serious jail time for that monumental fuck-up. Goddammit! What didn’t you assholes get?”
“Well we don’t know the exact diameter of your asshole but that’s about it.”
“Want to measure it cockface?”
“You know, if you acted like this before we could have gotten along a lot better,” Jon laughed. “So what do you want? I know you didn’t come all the way down here for a power bar and to get laughed at.”
“Well,” Axlea said with a gusty bubbly sigh, “we have a problem, a somewhat large problem and it involves you. More precisely it involves your ability to be a complete and total shit.”
“Oh, do tell,” Jon said as he stood up from his desk. “Hang on, I think I am going to need some coffee for this one.” He filled his cup. “Ok, lay it on me.”
“I don’t know if you remember Commander Farstan,” Axlea said blowing a few bubbles of annoyance.
“Who?”
“The um, porkie, you showed all of those executions to?”
“Oh her!” Jon laughed. “I remember her. She left here almost in tears. That was a good one.”
“Yeah, asshole, it was,” Director Axlea growled, “It was so good that you broke her. She has gone completely and totally bugshit. She has gone, what is your term? Oh yes, rogue, she has gone rogue.”
“Rogue, you say? That’s interesting, almost as interesting as you telling me about it.”
“Well, there is a story there,” the director said, “She started acting erratically. So much so that she was assessed and found unfit for duty. She was a good agent and we didn’t want to lose her so she was placed on leave while she attended therapy. One day she didn’t show up for her session. A few days pass and she misses another. Come to find out she had vanished, not a trace of her anywhere. Now here’s the part I am not happy about,” Axlea said blowing a stream of bubbles. “Since she was in charge of Terran operations she had access to various caches of credits, weapons, shit like that. Somehow she was able to reach a pile of credits before she disappeared. You can bet some heads rolled over that one. Anyway we have it on pretty good authority that she hired some Grade-A mercs and has started her own little operation.”
Director Axlea slides a data crystal over to Jon.
“Damn, what did she hire, drax?” Jon said as he looked at images of the two attacks.
“Nope, altered z’uush.”
“Fuck. Those little bastards are good.”
“I know, right?”
“This is one hell of a mess,” Jon said with a smile, “Now why the hell are you telling me all of this?”
“In her sessions, your name came up quite often,” the director said, “usually associated with violent dismemberment. We are concerned that she might try to take you out. Needless to say, the fucking ambassador for the goddamn Terran Republic getting messily killed by a rogue Federation Intelligence officer would be a diplomatic mess of titanic proportions. It could even rekindle hostilities. We can’t have that. A kill order has been placed on our side and we thought you would like to do the same.”
“I like the rekindling hostilities part,” Jon said with a grin.
“Fuck you. We are prepared to… compensate the Republic if you manage to get to her first,” Axlea said as she blew bubbles of resignation, “We would be willing to discuss the release of several of your field agents should you manage to help us with this little issue. It might come as a shock but we don’t just slaughter captured agents, like other governments I might name, dickhead.”
“They were porkies and there were too many to conveniently process. Besides I really don’t consider hooking someone up to a neural inductor for a few weeks particularly civilized either.”
“Please, we only use the inductor on dissidents. For agents we use fatigue and drugs,” the director laughed.
“How civilized of you,” Jon said rolling his eyes.
“Everything we are willing to release concerning Farstan is on that crystal I gave you. Do with it what you will,” Director Axlea said as she turned to leave.
“Thanks for the heads up, bitch,” Jon said as she was walking away.
“No problem, cockbite,” Axlea said as she left his office.
Once she left Jon buzzed Toby over the intercom.
“Yes, ambassador?”
“Get me Terran Intelligence. Something interesting just came up. One more thing, that armored limo we use for dignitaries, get it fueled up and ready to go,” Jon said as he chambered a round into his sidearm, “And start packing heat. Things are about to get fun.”
The rest of the series can be found here

The Search for Master Shang — Chapter 18 [TSfMS C18]

Chapter 1 here.
Chapter 17 here.
<>
Guanqiang strode through an empty corridor around an enclosed garden, sunlight filtering through carved niches in the walls and splashing on the ceramic-tiled floors. At this hour, the Ancient complex was quiet, save for the trill of songbirds nesting in an apple tree. Not one person did he come across; not Confessor, servant, or bandit. Fleeting peace, before the violence of man pitted against man could seize the day. If only he had more time to savor these moments—all too rare in years of watching people brutalize each other for money.
On the positive side, he could finally watch Shina slap that pompous braggart Koyang around. She might even knock a tooth out.
Pausing in front of a pair of magnificent oak doors, he smiled at the mental image. Then he pulled the golden, ringed handles and stepped into the chamber beyond. It was a modestly sized space, with marble in the floor and porcelain in the walls. There were no windows, though small slits had been cut into the ceiling for ventilation. Candles of various sizes rested in clumps on the floor like miniature hills of wax. An empty aisle in the middle led to a shrine along the furthest wall, which resembled a miniature house rising to about shoulder-height on four solid stilts.
The shrine was hollow, made of almost-black wood with its edges gilded. It contained an old painting of a man with a flowing white beard and a big grin that shrunk his eyes to mere slits. Fruits, nuts, and small cups of fireroot tea were laid out on a board below the painting, flanked by two enormous sticks of incense that were stifling the room with white smoke.
Raidou was kneeling before the shrine, dressed in resplendent robes of black and red. As Guanqiang walked up to him, he bowed forward, upper body completely horizontal against the floor. As usual, he was wearing his mask. The gentle, flickering candlelight cast unsettling shadows across its wrinkled surface.
"Fair morning, Master," Guanqiang said to the painting, adopting the same position as Raidou. "Your inadequate student comes to pay you respect."
They remained in silent reverence for several minutes. A deep, constant pressure began building in Guanqiang's lower back and calves, but he welcomed the sensation. A good reminder of his weaknesses as a man.
When Raidou finally straightened, Guanqiang followed suit.
"I'm glad you're here today," Raidou said.
"Me too," Guanqiang said.
"You've been coming less and less, and Qi almost not at all."
Guanqiang stiffened at the remark. He had duties to carry out. They all did. Easy for Raidou to say that when all he needed to do was ... be around. Then again, the Confessors and the bandits might have already come to blows if not for him. So he held his tongue.
"What do you feel, when you look at his picture?" Raidou said.
Guanqiang searched his emotions. Sorrow, at his loss? Pride, at what they'd accomplished? And truthfully, a tiny bit of apathy?
"I miss the good times, mostly," Guanqiang said. "When we were still his students, he'd always paid us more attention than the rest. Slow to scold, quick to praise. Easy, happy times. Remember when he bought us a whole basket of fresh oranges? Only he'd bought too many, and we spent half a day in his room trying to finish them." He chuckled. "What about you?"
"Shame is all I feel," Raidou said in his hoarse whisper. "If this, his legacy that we are continuing, fails, then we have failed him. We're supposed to do more than just run this tournament. Taxing the townspeople for selling trinkets and boiled potatoes? Extorting sponsors and foreign merchants?"
"But you can't deny that the money's good."
"To what end?" Raidou sighed through his mask. "Pathetic gains, while we remain shackled to this place. But I know you, Swornbrother. You've grown comfortable. You've come to like the money and the women that flow through here, do you not?"
Guanqiang dipped his head. "Don't denounce me please, Raidou. I am who I am—"
"It's not my place to do that." Raidou stared ahead at the shrine. "Though I fear—I know—that we've allowed ourselves to be corrupted by years spent in this position, I long to break free once more. Not to go home; that place ceased to mean anything to me the day we struck out on our own. No, to the rest of the Plains we must go, to make a name for ourselves however we can, that would in turn honor our Master."
"Which is why our plan cannot fail," he said more forcefully. "Have the bandits stand by during the fight. If Shina looks like she's in trouble ... we will keep appearances up for as long as we can, but eventually, all games must come to an end."
"As you command." Guanqiang bowed once more to his old Master's painting before standing. "The fights are about to begin. Are you coming?"
"Let me spend a while more with him," Raidou said.
Nodding, Guanqiang departed from the room, closing the doors gently behind him, and stepped into a starkly different complex than the one he'd temporarily left behind earlier. Servants—young women, almost girls, dressed in white and taught to keep her faces lowered—scurried past him, bearing trays of food or baskets of laundry. Two bandits lounged nearby, smoking reed-like pipes. When they saw him, they blanched and hurried away. Though the servants and other assorted guards in the complex swerved around him, he knew that reprieve wouldn't last. Before long, he would be in the thick of violence yet again, adding another day to the tally.
<>
Anpi stood beside Zenmao on the riverbank, close enough to the waterfall to feel its misty spray. He found himself unable to look at his companion. The crowd cheered when Master Guanqiang announced something, but he didn't even catch the words. Something had happened to Zenmao this morning, something that terrified Anpi; as if, overnight, one of the Gods themselves had stolen away Zenmao's soul, and replaced it with someone else's entirely. The starkest change being that this new Zenmao practically glowed with resolve.
By the time Anpi had awoken—and with no small relief after his misadventure with the scorpion—Zenmao was already up, meditating in a corner of the room. Anpi had groaned, yawned, stretched; none of which had pulled Zenmao out of it. Then he'd stood and began running through his katas, motions fluid and sure.
Breakfast had been another troubling affair; where Zenmao had usually nibbled on a bun, or forced down a few mouthfuls of cold congee, he instead gulped down two bowls of porridge with half a dozen sticks of crusty fried dough. Worse of all, he hadn't said a single word to Anpi. If Zenmao hadn't actually spoken to the serving girls or the inn's owner, Anpi would've thought him to be in a trance.
Then the walk through the town had further solidified Anpi's disquiet. Zenmao had walked with back rigid, eyes forward; he hadn't ducked or weaved away from people who heckled him. Not a single complaint about the attention either. Every time Anpi had thought of saying something to Zenmao, to discourage him, to entice him, one glimpse of that newfound stoicism was all it took to dissuade him. Where were those nerves before a fight, damn it?
His attempts to distract Zenmao from the tournament, under the guise of wanting to help the townsfolk, hadn't worked at all. Neither had the useless scorpion. Too late now; unless he told Zenmao the truth about Dandan. Anpi dredged up his watery courage, and opened his mouth to beg Zenmao to forfeit the match.
"Zenmao!" Master Guanqiang's voice cut like a knife through Anpi's thoughts. "Into the river! Benzhou!"
Zenmao's opponent, a hulking beast almost seven feet tall, with a shaggy mane of hair that fell almost to his waist, lumbered into the pool. His eyes were like those of a mad, starving dog's. But Zenmao merely sucked in a quiet breath and strode forth, wading into the fast-flowing water. He did not look at the Masters, or back at Anpi, only straight ahead, at his opponent. Surprisingly, a cheer went up from the crowd, many fists raised not at Zenmao, but for him.
There was only one option left, Anpi knew. Bowling through the crowd, he scrambled up the narrow, scrub-littered path toward the top of the waterfall.
<>
They stopped about three feet from each other, Benzhou with his back to the waterfall. Zenmao had to wipe his face with his sodden sleeve, blinking as droplets stung his eyes. It was a struggle to even see past a perpetual curtain of water clinging to his eyelashes.
Small waves lapped hungrily at his clothing. The sun hadn't been out long enough to dispel the chill seeping into his frame. His arms were beginning to tire from being suspended a little higher than he was used to. Worst of all, the sluggishness of his legs were reminding him of the first round and his troubles then.
Still, an almost magical clarity had taken hold of his mind, one he'd never felt before. No, he wasn't fooled into thinking that he'd somehow unlocked his Quan from a single night of condensing his anger and hurt. The Dojo Masters called this Emotive Focus, though they cautioned against trying to actively channel it due to its fickleness. Legends like Hanajo and Berserk Ennai, brothersworn to one another, had drawn out their power from intense emotions, though theirs were conflagrations to Zenmao's embers. Unfortunately, their greatest feats had also happened in the same battle against one another. Until today, scholars argued about which had betrayed the other, but one thing was for certain: their duel had leveled the entire town of Emerald Lake.
Remembering that story well, Zenmao hadn't tried to push himself any further along this path. For now, just the ability to ignore the crowd's noise, and forget his own inadequacies, was enough for him.
Benzhou began pushing toward Zenmao's left. Recognizing his intent, Zenmao hurried to cut him off. He wanted to keep his opponent wedged against the waterfall. An ugly grin spread across Benzhou's lips, and he gestured at Zenmao to come closer.
To the Ancients with you, Zenmao thought. He lurched forward, legs pumping and kicking on the sandy bed to propel him. Benzhou was waiting; both men locked hands and began to shove and pull. Pressure surged up Zenmao's arm, setting every bruise and scar throbbing, as if a torch had been passed through a series of candles. His muscles strained to keep Benzhou from simply twisting his wrists around, and his feet sank deeper into loose sediment. Benzhou's teeth were bared, veins pushing against the skin of his forehead. An animalistic snarl escaped his throat.
Slowly, agonizingly, Zenmao felt his arms being rotated, turning outward. He was shaking much harder than Benzhou. What even was this strength? Zenmao strained some more, willing every ounce of energy he had into his arms. I'm not some weak glory-seeker! His gaze bored into Benzhou's, proclaiming his challenge. I will finish my mission. I will go home. I will not fail my Dojo!
Then he felt it—a shift in momentum. A momentary shudder through Benzhou's hands. One of his knees dipped a little, though he caught himself in time before Zenmao could press the advantage. With a start, he realized that Benzhou's expression wasn't a display of ferocity and battle-lust.
Benzhou was doing his best to stay in the fight.
A throaty cry poured from Zenmao, building to a crescendo, as he forced his shoulders forward. Benzhou's hands bent back, over his wrists, and his elbows shot out to the sides. Zenmao felt his resistance slacken suddenly, and he stumbled with the momentum. With that came its advantages, too. As shock registered on Benzhou's face, Zenmao's fist landed between his eyes to ram the point home. The taller man instinctively brought his arms up in a guard, but Zenmao was familiar with that too. Planting his feet, he threw a punch that caught Benzhou just below his left rib cage. As Benzhou bent lower to shield his body, Zenmao grasped the top of his head, through his slick and ropy hair, and shoved it downward, hard—to meet a rising knee.
The water dulled the blow, but Zenmao wasn't finished. With strands of hair still curled around his fingers, he threw himself bodily at Benzhou, trying to bear the man down. This, however, proved to be his undoing. The force merely righted Benzhou once again, and by then, his opponent had recovered from the earlier onslaught. One of his palms caught Zenmao across the right cheek, the impact almost drying the left side of his face of water. As Zenmao tried to process the blow, Benzhou slipped an arm beneath his crotch, while the other hand clutched a fistful of his tunic. Then Zenmao felt himself being pulled out of the water. Now the one bellowing was Benzhou, as he hoisted a dazed Zenmao into the air, who still retained enough of his senses to know that he was in a terrible situation indeed.
<>
Shortly after he'd started the climb, Anpi's palms already bore numerous nicks and scrapes, from the thorny bushes he'd had to shove aside or boulders he'd had to clamber over, but he paid no heed to the pain. Time was running out. Streams of sweat ran down his neck in a miniature waterfall of their own, keeping his collar damp. Mosquitoes buzzed around his head, relentless in pursuit. He ignored these as well.
Gasping, he pulled himself onto a mostly barren plateau overlooking the town, and only then paused to catch his breath. The river flowed just a few feet away at a steep incline, then plunged into the arena below. Cleanbrush grew along the precipice, and those that dipped their fluffy tips into the river stirred up foamy, sharp-smelling bubbles.
Peering over the edge, Anpi saw the black and brown tops of almost a hundred heads, all intent on the two men struggling in the pool. The three Masters were arrayed on their dais, seemingly engrossed in conversation with one another. As usual, a contingent of bandits guarded them. There seemed to be more of them than usual, and the Confessors were almost entirely absent. How odd. Then one of the fighters roared, drawing Anpi's attention back to them. At such a distance and height, the fight seemed almost comical. Full-grown men twisting each other around, like children splashing in a puddle after rain.
What made it so much funnier was that his life depended on the outcome.
Feeling woozy all of a sudden, he backed away, reconsidering his plan. First, he needed something heavy. A rock or a branch would have to do. He found one in short order, partially hidden by a clump of stingfern; it was a wonder how he'd managed to roll the head-sized rock out without suffering any of the barbs.
With more than a little effort, he lugged the rock toward the waterfall's edge. That had been the easy part. Anyone could throw a rock over a cliff and brain someone with it, but to brain the right person, without making it look like it was intentional? That would require a little creativity, not to mention luck and timing. Fortunately, it was known that rivers carried all kinds of things over a waterfall. One could hardly point a finger at him, could they?
At that very moment, as Anpi watched, Benzhou managed to put the bind on Zenmao, catching hold of him. With shocking ease, it seemed, the wild warrior raised Zenmao's thrashing body over his head. If Zenmao had bothered to look up, would he have seen Anpi, peeking from above the hill? And if he had, would he have realized that this was as perfect a chance as Anpi would have?
"Sweet heavens, I'm a lucky man," he said, preparing to hurl the rock down.
"So am I."
Anpi nearly dropped the rock onto his own head. Dandan stood a short distance away, arms folded across his chest, looking supremely smug. One of his guards, a sleepy-eyed fellow, stood behind him, repeatedly slapping the end of knobbly club into one hand.
"Beg pardon?" Anpi said, in what he hoped was a conversational tone.
Dandan drew a cleaver, the same one he'd menaced Anpi with the other day, from behind his back. "I was just complimenting my own luck. You see, if I hadn't decided on a whim to come watch today's competition, I wouldn't have noticed a certain rat sneaking away to commit mischief."
"That doesn't really sound like luck to me," Anpi said.
"Yet I happened to arrive just in time to foil you." Dandan advanced a step. "Any misfortune for you is luck enough for me."
"Don't come any closer," Anpi cried, holding the rock out over the waterfall. "Or I'll drop this."
The bookie snorted. "Go ahead. That's the best way for us to find out who the Gods favor today."
"This is hardly fair," Anpi whined. "You might as well cancel the bet now and kill me."
Dandan turned in an exaggerated fashion to look at his guard. "Isn't that the idea, Muori?"
"Damned right, boss," the guard replied.
"But first, I'll cut this little weasel's balls off," Dandan said, pacing closer with his cleaver.
Anpi closed his eyes for a second, drew in a ragged breath, and said, "Your ancestors can choke on my balls."
He pivoted, letting fly with the rock. It sailed directly at Dandan, whose eyes widened to the size of chien just before the rock crushed his hands against his torso. His hat toppled off his head, and was promptly swatted out of the air by Muori's club as the guard swung at a charging Anpi. The blow missed cleanly, and Anpi tackled him to the ground. They rolled and tussled, until Anpi managed to straddle the man, keeping him pinned. The guard tried to yell, perhaps for help, but Anpi shoved his fingers into the man's mouth. Then it was his turn to yell as Muori chomped on them. Tears poured from Anpi's eyes as he tried to pull free. They were going to come off, at this rate!
His other hand found a fist-sized stone, almost triangular in shape. Muori seemed to be clinging to the one advantage that he had, even holding Anpi's forearm to stop him from escaping. That left him with no defense when Anpi rammed the stone into his temple. He jerked, biting harder. The stone came in again, and again. Muori gagged. Smack. A splash of blood wetted Anpi's hand. Still he struck, snarling in rage, even after Muori's grip on his arm had loosened. Finally, satisfied at the indent he'd left in the guard's head, Anpi yanked his bloodied fingers free and stood. He was shaking from crown to foot, spittle flying from every breath.
A scrape came from behind him. By instinct, he spun and tossed the rock he still held; it clipped the side of Dandan's head just as the bookie was beginning to get up, then skipped across the stony cliff-edge and over it. Dandan flopped back down, groaning. His hands were completely crushed, fingers bent like dead trees after a storm. He didn't even react when Anpi stooped to pick up Muori's club and stalked over to him.
"Please, great man, please ..." the bookie said. "Don't hurt me. I'm unarmed, I can't—"
"That's the idea," Anpi said, raising the club.
"I'll pay you anything you want!"
"You shouldn't have threatened a man of the Dojo," Anpi said quietly.
Confusion flickered in Dandan's eyes. "Dojo?"
The club swished through the air and met Dandan's head with a resounding crack. The bookie fell onto his back, too dazed to cry out, blood pouring from the fresh gash in his forehead. Anpi bent, then attacked again. This strike caught Dandan's right eye, bursting it with a spray of blood. A scream finally broke free from him, one weak and ragged, but by then, Anpi had found his rhythm.
"I am—" The club rose. "—from—" Crack. "—the Dojo." Squish.
It took him about ten hits to turn what had been a head into a misshapen lump of flesh. Stepping back, Anpi surveyed his work and nodded to himself. It had to be done, he told himself. It was either Dandan or Zenmao, and when it came to choosing between them, it was one of the easiest decisions he'd had to make. Afterward, he made his way to the river to wash himself, taking special care to scrub the bites on his fingers. Last of all, he scooped cool water and splashed his face with it.
Dripping wet, but feeling surprisingly light and refreshed, he retreated from the river. Was Zenmao's fight over yet? He hadn't heard the customary cheer of the crowd to signal the end of a bout. Maybe he would still have time to cheer on the man. On his way back, he passed Dandan's body once more, the sandy soil drinking his blood away.
All bets are off, he thought, chuckling darkly.
<>
Chapter 19 here.

The Search for Master Shang — Chapter 19 [TSfMS C19]

Chapter 1 here.
Chapter 18 here.
<>
Zenmao thrashed and paddled to extricate himself from Benzhou. No such luck. The moment his nose breached the surface of the river, Benzhou's arm came down on his back like a mallet, dunking him once again. Water sloshed in his belly; his throat burned.
He knew he was losing. His newfound confidence had slipped away like a fish riding the river's flow. Benzhou was tossing him around at will, and it took all the fight left in him just to win a breath or two. Benzhou's hand clamped itself over the back of his neck, shoving him down again. Luckily, Benzhou's main weapon proved to be Zenmao's shield—the water was too shallow for Benzhou to properly drown Zenmao while remaining upright, and the buoyancy lent Zenmao enough of a hand that he'd been able to slip away from some very close calls with Benzhou's death clinches.
Unfortunately, Benzhou didn't let up this time. Zenmao felt his throat catch, and the stream of bubbles he exhaled fouled up his already murky vision. His head was pounding; he thought he had only seconds before it actually exploded.
Then something splashed into the water before his eyes. A jagged stone, spinning end over end as it sank. At the same time, Benzhou's hands retreated. Zenmao didn't pause to question it; he pushed himself away from his opponent with a powerful stroke, then surfaced, gulping greedily. As he drank sweet air, he spun to locate Benzhou, expecting the man to be closing in on him. What he didn't expect to see was the warrior clutching his head, blood dripping down his locks. Zenmao looked dubiously over his shoulder and up the waterfall, unable to believe in his fortune. A rock from the Heavens. The Gods were surely smiling on him today.
Then he noticed that Benzhou's face wasn't contorted in pain, but rage. The warrior roared and came at Zenmao again..
On his part, Zenmao bobbed back, evaluating his options. He could barely hold his arms up for more than a few seconds at a time, and the muscles in the back of his thighs and calves ached mightily. Keep this up any longer, and he might as well just drown himself. Benzhou swiped at him with both hands, missing by inches, and Zenmao noted with some satisfaction that blood was still pouring over his eyes. Then Zenmao took one step too far, and a sheet of chilly water was suddenly crashing into his back. He yelped, having forgotten completely about the waterfall itself. To his surprise, Benzhou hesitated, looking up at the liquid curtain.
"What's the matter? Scared of getting wet?" Zenmao said. The waterfall was doing its best to bend him over. He wasn't sure how much resistance he had left to offer.
"Come out here and fight," Benzhou said.
Zenmao stared at him, thinking hard. Why the reluctance? Was he expecting a rockfall? Zenmao was cornered, back against a literal wall of rock. But Benzhou didn't know that, did he? Somehow, Zenmao had managed to slip out of almost all his best attempts, with him being the bloodied one. What other tricks did a man bearing the full brunt of a waterfall possess?
"Look at you, so frightened of a little challenge." Zenmao said loudly, hoping the crowd could catch his words. At the same time, he carefully lifted one foot behind him and guided it along the submerged cliff wall. To his delight, he discovered a slope. "Like a house cat that dreams of landing a snapper when it dares only to paw at the fish pond." He sneered at Benzhou. "A fat, mangy cat."
Laughter answered him, followed by some cheers. So the crowd was willing to break decorum for his taunts. He could almost see steam pouring out of Benzhou's ears.
"Says the one cowering under a waterfall!" he shot back.
Zenmao allowed a look of utter disbelief to cross his features. "I'm. Standing. Under a waterfall. Did that little rock replace your little brain?"
"Aargh!" Benzhou threw himself at Zenmao. Zenmao allowed himself a thin smile, then stepped back, allowing the waterfall to pour over his head. He had to close his eyes for a moment, relying entirely on his sense of touch. Just as he'd hoped, the cliff wall wasn't completely sheer, but had a steep slope at its base hidden by the waterfall. One that, with some very cautious backpedaling, allowed Zenmao to climb up clear of the frothing pool entirely.
So that when Benzhou clumsily broke through the waterfall, blindly trying to close his arms around empty air that should have contained a person, Zenmao sprang from his higher perch, one curled up knee extended.
He couldn't have calculated it more perfectly. The blow took Benzhou in the face, and both men flew out from behind the waterfall and into the pool with great splashes. Zenmao scrambled to get up first, expecting a counterattack, but Benzhou merely sank like a stone, arms drifting out wide.
Not again! Cursing to himself, Zenmao swam over to Benzhou, then pulled his head out of the water by seizing his hair. The pull of the man's dead weight and the rushing force of the river threatened to drag him down as well, but Zenmao dug his feet into the shifting sands. Laboriously, fighting for every step, he dragged Benzhou with him out of the pool, until he could finally collapse at the feet of spectators, gasping for breath. That certainly won him their approval; their cheers drowned out the waterfall utterly.
Wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep, Zenmao nevertheless rolled himself to Benzhou, expecting the worst. No sooner had he propped himself over the man than he sputtered, expelling a jet of water directly into Zenmao's face. When Zenmao tossed his head back, trying to clear his eyes, something heavy slammed into him.
"Wait, stop!" he cried, but Benzhou ignored him and drew a fist back.
"The winner," said a loud, clear voice, "is Zenmao. Back down, Benzhou."
Benzhou's head swiveled toward the Masters's dais. "No! It's not over!"
Master Guanqiang was on his feet, standing at the edge with a sharp smile. "It is. Or you are, oaf. Are you going to get off him yourself, or will you have to be encouraged with swords?"
A trio of bandits had closed in, while the rest of the crowd was prudently backing away. Benzhou slowly got up, fists still balled. He glared at the bandits, who looked at each other as though trying to decide who should go first if the wild man attacked. Luckily for them, Benzhou wasn't a complete lunatic. He released a sound of pure frustration, then stalked away, shouldering aside anyone too slow to get out of his path.
Then a face materialized directly overhead, blotting out the sun. When Zenmao shielded his eyes against the blinding halo, he could just make out Anpi's [features]. "Oh, you," he said.
"Yes. Need a hand?" Anpi suited action to words.
Zenmao sighed and took it. "Don't see why not." He allowed Anpi to pull him upright. "Hey, why are you soaking wet?"
Anpi's body language turned sheepish. "Tripped and fell into the river while coming to you."
"Seems that sort of day," Zenmao said slowly. Unable to hold it in, he started chuckling. Anpi held no such reservations, and burst into full laughter. Then a breeze rose around them, threading through their wet clothing and setting them to shivering.
"I'll never take a bath again," Zenmao said, stripping out of his tunic, uncaring that people were watching.
"Guess I'd better get myself a new room, then," Anpi said, copying him.
"Uh, you two," one of the bandits said, stepping closer. "We're supposed to take you to the Masters. Want a word, they say."
Zenmao nodded, slapping his tunic over his shoulder with a wet slap. After that, he and Anpi, both still dripping wet, followed the bandits on a circuit around the pool, one that his body railed against. At least they didn't have to cross the river again, since a temporary bridge of long planks had been erected. Zenmao sneezed as they crossed it, and he heard one of the bandits mutter something. Bad luck that, supposedly.
People were offering him congratulations as he passed them, but he didn't react other than to smile and nod, mostly at the ground. Now that the fight was over, the old shyness was back. Anpi, however, reveled in it, waving and laughing. The man seemed to be in excellent spirits despite his state.
Master Guanqiang was pacing along the length of the dais when they finally arrived. His fellow Masters were still in their seats; Qirong honing her axe, while Raidou ... Zenmao felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Though he couldn't fathom anything behind that mask, he had a feeling that the Master was looking right at him, maybe even though him. People had said he was a Spirit Master. Who knew what he was capable of?
"Well fought, Zenmao," Master Guanqiang said, hopping off the dais with a broad smile on his face. "It's not often that a first-timer makes it all the way through to the final in his maiden tournament."
"What's waiting for us next?" Anpi said. "Tigers in a cage? A flaming arena?"
"Nothing so dramatic. The last one is a simple, straightforward test of man against man with nothing but their wits and their skills. Or man against woman, as it may be." When Master Guanqiang looked over his shoulder, Zenmao caught sight of Koyang and Shina standing by the riverside. The former was rolling up his trousers over his knees, and he'd shed his tunic completely. He spared Zenmao an enthusiastic grin.
Shina, meanwhile, had hitched the hem of her green silk skirt to just below her knees, fastened it in place by way of a knot at her hip. Her gown today was straight and clung to her figure—likely a measure to keep it from billowing in the water, but more than a few men were staring at her. None would dare venture any closer, it seemed, not even the bandits, because Daiyata loomed by her elbow, scowling at everyone within sight. The loose, low collar of his red robe fluttered in the breeze, and he kept one hand on the handle of his sword, fingers tapping it in sequence. Most of his looks seemed to be reserved for one person in particular, however.
Bazelong was present too, seemingly oblivious to the swordsman's hostility. The silver embroidery set on his teal [gown] glittering under sunlight. He was fanning himself again with languid motions, but Zenmao noticed that this fan was almost twice as wide as his previous one, and nowhere near as flimsy. The spokes gleamed like polished steel, and the leaves were sheets of some kind of flexible metal. White herons in flight had been painted on its surface, and the long, crimson tassel hanging from the end bounced in jolly fashion with each clinking stroke.
"Right," Zenmao said, tearing his eyes off Shina, who was wrapping leather strips around her feet. Either she hadn't noticed him there, or she was just ignoring him as usual. "You wanted a word with us, Master?"
Master Guanqiang shook his head. "A word of congratulations was all I had to offer. But please, I'm sure you'd like to sit. You, get them chairs. You, fetch some tea. The next fight will begin shortly, and it isn't one to miss."
It felt nice, for a change, to have bandits scurrying to make them comfortable. The chairs were placed at the foot of the stairs leading up the dais, and Zenmao sank gratefully into one, before accepting a cup of steaming barley tea with a nod of thanks. Anpi placed his own cup on the dais, then examined some small, bleeding cuts on his fingers. Zenmao leaned over and said, "Might want to wrap your hand up to be safe."
"These? I washed them in the river. Unless you pissed in there earlier, of course."
Grinning, Zenmao brought his cup to his lips. He wasn't about to admit it, especially to Anpi, but it felt nice to be able to put yesterday's spat behind him. Unless Anpi pestered him again, which would require him to make a firm and final response.
Koyang and Shina bowed to the Masters, but just as they were about to enter the pool, Koyang said, "I request a contest of blades."
Shina didn't even pause to consider before saying, "I refuse."
"Damn. Had to try." Grinning, Koyang unhooked his scabbard from his waist and threw it onto his tunic.
They made their way into the river; now that the pressure of the fight was off him, Zenmao found almost everything funny, even the way they strained to take every step. Shina's gown did seem to be waterproof, to some extent. Its surface appeared glossy, yet it didn't stick to her frame. Koyang, evidently wanting to be chivalrous, was still wading toward his spot by the time Shina had stopped. She shivered a little, watching his progress, until he turned to face her. Unlike Zenmao and Benzhou, they'd chosen to orient themselves with the waterfall to their side; Shina's left and Koyang's right. From his seat, Zenmao couldn't see Shina's face, only Koyang's.
"You may begin when ready," Master Guanqiang said, still standing. Was he devoting even more attention to this fight than usual? Zenmao mused. The Masters generally looked bored during the fights, passing their time conversing with one another or even napping, as Zenmao had caught Master Guanqiang doing once. Even Master Qirong had put her axe down. So it wasn't just about Master Guanqiang's apparent infatuation with Shina.
"There's a certain ... aura about this fight," Anpi said, studying the crowd.
"Because these two are pretty good fighters?" Zenmao suggested, but Anpi shook his head.
"The bandits, too. They've surrounded the pool."
"What?" When Zenmao swept his gaze across the arena, he found what Anpi had said to be true. There were about fifteen of those ruffians, spread out among the spectators, intent on the two combatants.
While he was still puzzling over the possible reason, Koyang said, "Sure you want to do this, Shina?"
"I'd be in my room at the inn otherwise," she replied.
"I mean, you can still surrender."
"You mean I have other options, other than winning?"
"Keep your conversation for after," Master Guanqiang said. "Get on with it."
Koyang shot a belligerent look at Master Guanqiang. Then he looked back at Shina, who had raised her hands in readiness. "Guess I've no choice," he said. His shoulders dipped, and he saluted Shina. "I yield. She wins."
A hundred or so throats howled their displeasure, and at once all the Masters were on their feet. Master Guanqiang actually leaped from the dais, landing easily on the bank and trotting to the water's edge without a break in his stride despite the uneven, slick stones.
"Koyang, what are you doing?" he shouted.
"You heard me, didn't you? I'm not fighting her," Koyang said, starting his trudge back to his belongings. Shina turned around to look at Master Guanqiang, and then at Bazelong and Daiyata, utter bewilderment on her face.
"That's against the rules," Master Guanqiang said.
"In all these years, has nobody been allowed to withdraw if they weren't feeling up to it? Bite me." When Koyang placed one foot on dry land again, Master Guanqiang held a palm against his chest.
"Get back in there, and we'll forget this happened," he said.
"It's already happened. I've lost. Ow, ow. Shina's too strong for me. Move aside." Koyang pushed his way past Master Guanqiang, shaking like a wet puppy. The Master received more than a generous share of shed water.
Then Raidou knelt on one knee at the dais's corner, making sure that Koyang saw him. At that, Koyang faltered, and though he looked up at Master Raidou, his gaze seemed to land somewhere on the Master's chin.
"Explain," Master Raidou said.
The crowd was still hooting with disparagement, making it hard for Zenmao to hear when Koyang pointed at Shina and said, "I don't fight women, 'specially one so pretty."
Master Raidou nodded in thoughtful fashion. "Well then. Shina wins."
Koyang shrugged. "I can always come back and win the next one, if you'd like."
"Yes, you may." Master Raidou waved him away, then beckoned to Shina, who was wringing water from her skirt, to approach. He glanced shortly at Zenmao as well, then said, "Well done to you two. I must say I'm impressed by your grit, Zenmao, and ... the lack thereof in your opponent, Shina. Nevertheless, this should be an interesting final. Two first-timers."
Zenmao privately wondered if the man ever laughed. He sounded as if he were presiding over a burial ceremony.
"The fight takes place in two days at the Ancient complex—incidentally, my residence. The winner walks away with more chien than they'll know what to do with, and the loser ... well, you will be rewarded in as well, for your efforts in getting this far." He straightened and raised a hand to placate the crowd, which fell silent immediately. "Believe me, honored viewers, I understand your disappointment, your frustration. Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow, we will gather at Market Square for a little performance. I ask that any merchants among you do not pitch your stalls for the occasion. You will be compensated."
That seemed to work, somewhat. People began to disperse, still muttering, many shooting dark looks at Koyang. He was dressing in no particular hurry, and since Master Raidou seemed to have run out of conversation, Zenmao ambled over to him.
"So was that a mistake?" Zenmao said, punching the man lightly on the arm.
Koyang smirked at him. This close, however, Zenmao wasn't fooled. The amusement failed to touch his eyes. "No. It's entirely possible that I could've lost to her, and then nobody would ever take me seriously again."
"Why are you doing this? You told me not to hold back. Fight like every second's my last. I didn't remember your exact words, but damn you Koyang, I was channeling them."
The other warrior busied himself with putting on his sword, not replying until he was done. He placed a hand on Zenmao's shoulder and met his gaze squarely. "Because losing in such a manner is still preferable to defeating her. You wonder why I'm so interested in her? It's her drive. I haven't the faintest idea what's motivating her, but I would bet a thousand chien to your trousers that she would've fought the Masters themselves if that's what it took to win. But that spirit alone wouldn't help her win. Not against me. And I ..."
He stepped back, scratching the back of his neck. "I've won before. I'll win again. But I don't need this one. Either of you should get it. Besides? That over-protective guardsman of hers would probably bisect me from head to groin if I'd won."
"What'll you do now?" Zenmao said.
"Right now? I'd go get a drink. Then maybe another. Then sleep the whole of tomorrow before your fight. I'll be cheering for her, don't you worry. See you around." Koyang departed for the town, maintaining a healthy distance from the spectators trickling back the same way.
Zenmao watched him leave for a bit before rejoining Anpi by the dais. The man seemed to be distracted, staring at the waterfall, where a group of youths was climbing up a steep path to its side. The color seemed to have drained from his face.
"You all right?" Zenmao said.
"I—yes, nothing wrong with me," Anpi said. He put on a nervous smile, hooked one arm over Zenmao's shoulder and steered him away from the waterfall. "Think it's time we go back and celebrate. Even men of the Dojo need a break ..."
<>
Not even one hour after the fiasco with Koyang, Tienxing found himself squatting beside a corpse, nostrils pinched shut. Despite the ruined skull, he recognized the deceased as Muori—the man still owed him gambling money, damn it. On a hunch, he pawed through the man's pockets, only to turn up nothing more than a few sunflower seeds.
"Well?" came Xingxiang's voice. She stood over the other body, lips pursed. That one had been mangled even worse; none of them had any idea who it was. Not far away, three bandits stood watch over a group of drunk youths—they had discovered the scene, and had vehemently denied any involvement.
"I know him," Tienxing said slowly. "He worked for the bookie. What's his name again? Dai ... Dong ..."
"Dandan?" said a bandit with a chunky birthmark on his left cheek.
"Thank you, Canglo," Xingxiang said. She stood up, grimacing. "I don't think anyone would deny that this is an odd place to kill them."
Tienxing was only paying partial attention as he leaned closer to the dead man's face, curious. There was quite a bit of blood, dried now, coating Muori's lips and teeth. Seemed uncharacteristic of a mouth wound. Then again, probably not important. He turned to the youths.
"See anyone leave this area?" he said.
They shook their heads more or less in unison. Xingxiang snorted and padded over him. "I think we've exhausted their usefulness."
The bandits drew and readied their swords, to the panicked blabbering of the youths. Before the slaughter could commence, Xingxiang hastily made patting motions. "I meant that we won't be getting good answers out of them, not kill them! Take them back to town."
When they'd left, Tienxing leaned over and slapped the bandit leader on her buttocks. She grinned and pinched his arm. "What if someone sees?" she said.
He nudged the mutilated corpse with a foot. "Well, this one's not talking about it. Who do you think he was?"
"My theory? One of Muori's friends, or even Dandan himself. We'll have to go ask around at his shop."
"What if he's an assailant?"
"You think these two killed each other?" That was the thing he liked about her; no matter how far-fetched her underlings sounded, she never allowed skepticism to color her tone.
"'Course not. Someone else must have done it."
She sighed. "So many angles. I think we'll have to start with Dandan, since Muori's a clear link to him."
"Then let's get started. The sooner we finish ..." he said.
She laughed, giving him a wicked look. Just then, a bandit scrambled up the hill, panting heavily. Tienxing slid about a step away from Xingxiang, who cleared her throat.
"Found something out, Baejong?"
Obviously, no one had filled him in on why they were up here, for Baejong took one look at the two bodies and flinched. "Uh ... oh ... the Masters want you, Xingxiang."
"I'm in the middle of something, as you can clearly see. What for?"
"They wouldn't say. But it's related to tomorrow's event."
She shook her head. "Sometimes I really despise their games and surprises. Lead the way. Tienxing, can I count on you to investigate further?"
"Yes." He waited until they were out of earshot, then muttered, "Chasing after killers now. You don't pay me enough for this shit, Xingxiang." Still, orders were orders. With a long-suffering sigh, he went to the hillside and began his climb down.
<>
Chapter 20 here.

My friends husband sucks and her sister and I need advice on what to do

My Grandma Used To Love Birds

What I remember most about Grandma Dawn is that she loved birds. She always put food out for them in her garden, and when she was still mobile she’d go birdwatching most weekends. Some of my oldest memories from being a young boy are of sitting on her lap as she flipped through giant scrap books full of the photos she’d taken. I’d often slap my tiny hand on a picture and say “Tha’ one” and she’d tell me all about the Dunlin or the Stonechat she’d managed to photograph on her trip to Dorset. The only time she didn’t like birds though, is when they were indoors. It didn’t matter whether they were in cages as pets or nesting in an attic, she wouldn’t have any of it. She wouldn’t even have bird-themed décor items in her house which I always found a bit weird. I was always baffled by her phobia, but when I came home from work that day to find a jackdaw sitting on my new coffee table it was all I could think about.
The bird was just sitting there and staring at me with its little white eyes, completely un-phased by its new surroundings. Luckily Boxer, my 2 year old cat, wasn’t hovering around as it gave me more time to actually save it. I opened the window before grabbing a newspaper to shoo it out. After I aggressively wafted the paper at the small black bird it hopped off the table, flapped around on the bare wooden floor before finally taking flight and gliding off outside again. Moving fast, I shut the window and went to check the rest of them. Going out having left another one open was not a mistake I wanted to make back then. Most of my stuff was still in boxes and easy for a thief to just come and take, after having just moved out I couldn’t afford to replace most of it.
The new house wasn’t too big, just a simple two storey build that used to belong to my Uncle Terry. He’d moved away to France that year and wanted the house to stay with a family member, so he sold it to me at a reduced rate. It only had one bed room and a single bathroom upstairs, and downstairs consisted of just a small kitchen and a decent sized living room across the hallway. Most of it wasn’t decorated when I moved in but it didn’t bother me at the time. It was my own house and I didn’t have to live at home so it was enough for me and the cat.
Much to my confusion all the windows were still closed, and I hadn’t installed a cat-flap for Boxer yet. I figured the bird had probably been stuck in my house for hours after getting in when I left for work. Shrugging it off I went to start unpacking the boxes in the living room, but I still couldn’t quite stop thinking about what my grandma would say. She’d only died two years prior to me moving out and I guess I still missed her at that point. I’d been going through some difficulties at university and hadn’t had time to deal with it back then. After finally managing to unbox and set up my TV I felt too tired to do anything else. I microwaved a small pasta pot dinner and dragged myself up to bed, ready for another early start at my old job at Parker’s Deli. Just before I drifted off I heard an owl hooting somewhere out behind the house, but I was too far gone for it to keep me up.
I was rudely awakened the next morning by Boxer jumping on my legs and yowling. “Can you not wait for your damn food?” I groaned at the grey fluffy mog. Pushing him off I stumbled downstairs to go open another tin of kitty chow. When I got to the kitchen he stopped following me and sat down to yowl at me again, but I just stepped over him and opened the door. I gagged as I was met with a sour smell. It was clear that the “odour free” litter box granules I’d gotten were bullshit! Covering my face with my shirt I went to clean up the mess my cat had made, going as far as to scrub the empty tray before re-filling it to get rid of any extra stink. I wasn’t leaving my house in such a state!
After realising how long that had taken me, I quickly dumped a tin of food into the bowl and dashed to grab my uniform and go. I ran a comb through my mousey hair and practically jumped into my smart trousers before grabbing the cream work shirt and racing out to my car. The kitchen still smelt musty but I decided I’d deal with it properly when I got home, I didn’t know what my cat had eaten to make it smell that badly though.
Work went as regularly as ever that day. I made a lot of sandwiches and dealt with way more people than I liked to, but at least the pay was decent and I got to bring some extra meat home. As I backed my car up the drive I took the little grab bag out of the dash ready to just give it to Boxer as a treat. Usually he’d come running to greet me whenever I came home but not that time. “Hey Box-man,” I called “I got you chicken!” There was still no sign of him.
He’d probably been sleeping, so I went to have another go at the kitchen. There was a small pile of dirty dishes building up next to the sink but that wasn’t my concern at the time. The foul smell had faded but there was still a light fuzz in the air. Leaving the chicken on the table I got out the marigold gloves and cheap bleach from the cupboard and set about scrubbing the dull-blue linoleum floor. I went to Boxer’s little corner by the fridge to move his tray and bowls only to find they’d been untouched since that morning. This worried me, was Boxer sick? I stopped cleaning to go and find him, I had to know if he was okay.
It wasn’t long before I caught him in the living room, sitting next to the coffee table with his back towards me. He jolted around to give me the guiltiest look I’d seen on an animal. His mouth was flecked with blood, there were black feathers at his feet and the half-eaten back end of a bird was dropped on the floor like a used-up toy. Groaning, I grabbed Boxer by the waist and pulled him away from his meal yelling “How did you even get that?” as if expecting a reply. I managed to hold the thrashing cat all the way to the kitchen before putting him down and shutting the door, “you’re staying in there now!” I grumbled. The living room looked like a bomb site but I’m still glad that I hadn’t gotten the carpet in yet. I picked up the feathers and threw the corpse out with the same newspaper from the day before. How had he even managed to get that bird? While mopping up the blood with a paper towel I couldn’t help but think back to my Grandma again, I could see a point to not wanting birds in the house if this was the mess they left.
She never did tell me why she felt that way about birds being inside, and I didn’t get round to asking her in the end. I was nineteen when I last saw her at my mum’s birthday meal. She’d looked so healthy and happy that day, with her hair still nicely permed and dyed the same blonde she had when she was younger. Her burgundy nail polish and matching bead necklace were all on display as usual, and she was wearing a new navy dress that she was very eager to show off. I’d been wearing an old shirt with a stylised swallow design on and she got really scared by it. After some complaining from the rest of my family I finally went to the toilets and turned it inside out as I didn’t like her being upset. It was my mum’s birthday after all, and her mother shouldn’t have been angry on that day. I assumed she was going senile and didn’t question her about it. Looking back, I really wish I had. None of us thought we’d be losing her any time soon.
As it was a Friday I decided to stay up a bit later and relax that night. I watched movies on my laptop and made some loose plans to go out with the guys again soon. Moving house had been taking up a lot of my time and I’d gone a little bit stir-crazy over it, the birds and the smell in the kitchen hadn’t helped either. By about 1:45am I finally got tired and began to lose focus on whatever it was I’d been watching. I had no idea how late it had gotten until I heard that owl piping up again, making a whistling call somewhere in the darkness. It was pretty loud so it must have been in the woodlands or the field just beyond my back garden. Usually wildlife making noises didn’t bother me but that time it was too much. By closing the streaming website and switching to a boring newscast I’d tried to drown out the damn owl and actually get some sleep.
I don’t know whether or not it actually worked because I managed to sleep, but I’m sure those bird calls followed me into my dreams. That night I was a little boy again, back in the familiar moss-green and white front room of my grandparents’ house. The old box TV with the rabbit-ears was showing a man in a garden and my grandad’s pile of newspapers was still on the side table. I looked down and saw that I had little legs, wearing denim dungarees and football patterned socks. Beneath my legs were another pair of legs, covered with a long navy skirt. I was sitting on my grandma’s lap. Her gentle, crooning voice spoke in my ear as she opened up a big leather-bound photo album. “Let’s look at the owls Daniel, they are such fascinating birds.” Her lightly wrinkled hands opened the book to a page full of photos. I recognised the Barn Owl and the Long Eared Owl, but not any of the other ones. My tiny hand slapped at random on some of the pictures. With a perfectly manicured, deep-red polished fingernail grandma pointed to the picture in the top left corner of the page and said “This one here is a Tawny Owl,” my child voice responded with “Ow-wuh…” It was a small owl, with little black eyes and some white feathers between them. A ring of darker feathers surrounded its face too. “Yes Danny, and Mr. Tawny Owl says “keee-wick, keeee-wick….” I tried saying it with her but my child-voice couldn’t make the same sounds. Grandma Dawn kept going on in a sing-song voice, repeating “keeee-wick, keee-wick” until it turned into the whistling screech of the owl and I faded out of consciousness again.
I awoke the next morning with a dull headache and didn’t want to leave my bed, but it was already 12:03 and I hadn’t fed Boxer. Begrudgingly I got up and went down in just my jogging-bottoms to get painkillers and feed my little friend. I opened the kitchen door and he shot out like a fox being freed from a trap. The rancid smell was back but his litter box was clean. My headache increased ten-fold as the smell seeped out into the hallway and I even choked a little. When the dizziness faded away I covered my mouth again and rushed back in to open up the window. I grabbed the box of tablets from the drawer, picked up Boxer’s biscuits and water bowl before hurrying back out of there. Whatever was causing that smell would need professional attention, I was beginning to think that maybe the dishwasher broke and there was stagnant water building up somewhere. Stumbling to the living room I put down the water and dumped a pile of biscuits on the floor, “Okay, you can eat here now Box-man, all nice and clean.” I ran my hand along his back as he tucked in, before falling back onto the sofa and taking the medicine.
All I’d wanted was to sort out my new house and settle in but it seemed like I had a lot of issues to sort out. I didn't think that birds would even try and get inside a house, and I’d definitely need a plumber to try and find what was causing that stink. My problem, I thought, was whether or not I could afford that. A loud thud came from the kitchen and I jumped up immediately. If something else had gone wrong in there I’d have cried. Preparing for the worst I readied myself for the smell and barged back across the landing. Multiple bangs came again from behind the door and I flung it open.
Zipping around my tiny kitchen were two large jays and a scruffy magpie, more carrion birds like the jackdaw from the other day. My big cupboard was hanging open, feathers were strewn on the countertops and one of the glasses from the drying rack was smashed on the floor. The chattering and bawking felt like tiny hammers chipping away at the inside of my skull. I couldn’t handle it that day, the headache came back, and my house was a mess. “Get out! Fuck you!” but they just stayed there, desperately circling the room the way flies do when trapped in a glass. Why had they all come inside? Were the woods not good enough for them anymore? I slammed the door shut and slumped with my back against it. hoping that if I left them alone the birds would fly out again like the jackdaw did.
I didn't want to spend another minute inside that house. Realising I wasn’t dressed I stormed back to my bedroom, temporarily blocking out the bird calls with my heavy footfalls as I charged up the stairs. Hastily I pulled on my well-worn blue jeans and went digging in the dresser for a shirt, grabbing out a green and white polo from the bottom. Straightaway I tossed it back after unfolding it and noticing the little white eagle logo sewn into the front pocket. I settled for an old blue sports t-shirt and my tatty tennis shoes before running outside. The warm summer air hit me and I felt free for once. Boxer came to enjoy his first time outside since we’d moved too, I guess neither of us could stand the house.
After locking the door behind me I set off walking, I didn’t plan to go anywhere that day but it felt so good to be out. I walked down the road of terraced houses with Boxer following along for a little while. The whole street was lined with small brick-patio front yards and slate tiled roofs, but in the light of that summer afternoon it felt as bright and lively as a coastal resort town. Before long I’d pretty much forgotten about the past few days. In my rush to get out I’d left my watch and phone behind so I had no idea how long I went out for, but the sky was starting to develop a pink tinge when I'd decided to start heading back. I’d found myself in a little village shopping square but most of the buildings were either boarded up or closing for the day. The uninspired graffiti and broken cash machine had told me that I didn’t want to be there for much longer though. I’m not quite the biggest guy, and I'm too sensible to get into fights so I really didn’t want to risk dealing with the types of people that place probably attracted. An old man in a flat cap came out of the newsagents and began pulling down a rickety metal shutter to cover the shop front for the night, he was the first person I’d noticed that day. The creaking and shuddering of metal on metal echoed around the empty square. The loud squeaks and bangs put me on edge. With the daylight heat rapidly disappearing I became increasingly aware that I hadn’t brought a jacket, neither had I eaten that day. There was a little opening between a closed down bookies and the old man’s shop that lead back to the street I’d last walked down, so I turned and headed that way.
I broke into a light jog as I approached the alley. The old man glanced back at me as I got closer but kept on closing up his shop. He’d managed to pull the metal sheet almost all the way down but it was still making those rusty squeals. He went back to ignoring me as I nipped between the two buildings on my set route back to the house. The alley was only the length of the two buildings but in the dark it had seemed a lot longer, and those sounds from the shutter echoed along behind me. It groaned like a large animal and the heaving of the wheels made a hellish scream. Still jogging, I just focussed on the opening to the street. The dragging shutter began to turn into a long “Keeeeee-wick….” I don’t know if that noise was following me or if I couldn’t get it out of my head. “Keeee-wick…” it went on in a shrill tone. I picked up my pace and sprinted. The alley stretched out ahead as if to trap me in. I didn't know if this was really happening anymore. Wind-chill bit through to my bones but I felt I had to keep running as the owl sounds got louder. “Keeeee-wick” was all I could hear aside from my own heavy breathing. I closed my eyes and continued rushing forwards. All I could think of was the smiling face of Grandma Dawn singing bird calls and saying, “We don’t let birds in the house Daniel…” I’m sure I started screaming. I felt pain explode in my left shoulder and the wind get knocked out of my body.
When I opened my eyes I was on the ground, gasping for air on the corner of my street. There was a deep graze across my shoulder but at least it wasn’t bleeding. I must have been running with my eyes closed for a lot longer than I thought and fallen over the curb. Everything had gone quiet again, save for a car going by somewhere on the next road. It was as if nothing had happened, maybe I was going mad. Slowly I picked myself up and power-walked back to the house, trying to be as quick as I could as to avoid experiencing anything else that night. Boxer was sitting patiently on the doorstep waiting for me and I gave him a head-scratch before hastily unlocking the front door. The smell from the kitchen still lingered but it was too faint to bother me. I was actually glad to be back there, it was warm at least. I flopped back on the sofa and thought about ordering take away, I was truly starving by then.
After polishing off most of a greasy Mighty Meat-Feast I went to bed, but didn’t sleep. Not after that evening. It felt like I was really losing my mind, it was all too much to just be due to stress. I lay there in the darkness thinking about my gran. Why hadn’t she liked birds in the house? I regretted not coming home to visit when we first suspected something might be wrong, but I’d been so busy with my Environmental Science exams that I didn’t want to take time away. Maybe that wasn’t the most important thing though. I’d lost my chance to say goodbye and I hadn’t even gone back to visit her grave, I didn’t even know where it was. According to my mum she’d died pretty suddenly but she didn’t say exactly how. We knew she’d caught a bad Flu earlier that year so we all presumed it was due to that. What bothered me most in that moment tough, was that I never asked her about the birds. I fell into a fitful sleep but couldn’t drift off completely.
Waking up the next morning was awful. The afternoon sun was blaring through the blinds so intensely that it wasn't even dark when I shut my eyes. My whole body felt like a deadweight and everything looked blurry. Boxer was meowing at my door but I couldn’t care less, he could eat my body as I rotted away. As if my head hadn’t been feeling bad enough my phone started ringing on my night stand like a pneumatic drill. I pulled my head under the covers and tried to ignore it until it stopped. When it finally fell silent I rolled over and picked it up, my mum had been trying to call me. Usually I hated missing calls from family but I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Of all the times my mother would want to talk to me, it just had to be then didn’t it? I cradled the phone in one hand and tucked it under my pillow. Laying my head back I tried to wake up. Then, a thought drifted into my hazy mind. Maybe my mum knew about grandma and the birds? She had been her daughter after all. I loaded up the contact info from the missed call and pressed to send a text, “Hi mum x I’m ok. Love you” and hit Send, then I followed it up with another message “Why didn’t gran like birds in houses?” I lay there like an idiot just holding the phone in front of my face, staring blankly at the text log screen. A few seconds later I received a text back “Hi Dan xx glad ur ok. Luv u.” I didn't expect her to reply to m other text, she was probably thinking I was crazy. Then, about a minute later my phone buzzed again with a new message, “she said it meant death x.”
I dropped the phone. It bounced off the bed and clattered across the floor. My stomach was empty but I felt like I was about to throw up. Why would it mean that? I slowly became aware of bird calls coming from near my window and leapt out of bed like it had just been lit on fire. I wasn’t letting anymore damn birds get in my house! Grabbing Boxer from outside my door I stormed down to the wretched mess of a kitchen. It still reeked but I didn’t care. The whole room was covered in feathers and bird dung. The magpie was dead on the floor and the two jays were picking apart the corpse. A big ugly crow was perched on the table with the remains of another jackdaw beside it. “Not anymore!” I screamed as Boxer hissed and struggled, jumping from my arms to pounce on the smaller jay. Almost immediately the crow made a dive for him but I was fast enough to grab it before those talons hit my cat. I fought against the beating wings and grasping claws to try and throw the squalling creature back out of the still-open window. It thrust forwards in my hands, dragging me into the pile of crockery built up around the sink. Even more glasses crashed to the floor and shattered along with the china plates my Aunt had left me. Gripping the bird tighter I flung it at the window again, smashing it against the glass and stunning it. The bird dropped to the counter like a ragdoll and lay there twitching. I didn’t want to touch that thing again. A chopping knife was left lazily beside the sink, still dirty with food remnants. Almost without thinking I picked it up and brought the blade down on the crow’s neck. With two deep slashes its head came away and rolled to one side. I shut the window and grabbed Boxer off the floor, the dead jay was still clenched in his teeth. “Well, there’s your dinner today” I said, throwing him back into the hallway before preparing to deal with the last bird. The remaining jay was still on the floor eating the magpie. I grabbed a pan off the side and crushed it. There was a sickly crack as its tiny bones broke. “No more fucking birds” I snarled. I let the pan clatter to the floor and laughed at the unholy mess.
My kitchen was a warzone of shed feathers, broken glass and bird guts. But what bothered me more than anything was the stale odour that still clung to the air. What was it that had caused my house to stink so badly? Now that I’d dealt with one problem it was time to find out what the other one was. I didn’t think I’d really need to use it, but I went to the big cupboard under the sink to find the box of DIY tools my dad had given me. Apparently every house needed one and I decided that I needed mine right then. Dragging out the big red bag for the first time I turned it over and dumped the contents onto the table. There were lots of screw drivers in different sizes and some pliers, but I knew exactly which tools I needed. I picked up the hammer and the small handsaw and went to get to work. Originally I’d thought the smell was coming from Boxer’s litter tray, so that corner seemed like a good spot to investigate first. Kicking away the shards of broken glass and plates I knelt down next to the fridge. With the prongs of the hammer facing down I smashed it into the linoleum, tearing the cheap material and breaking through to the wooden subfloor. It only made a shallow crack, but I drew my arm back and hit it again until I felt it go right through. I hit it again, and again, smiling wider and wider with every swing. It was time to end this. I bashed away like a madman for a few minutes until I’d made a decent sized opening right in the middle of the corner floor section.
Putting down the hammer I picked up the saw and held the blade on the edge of the hole. With a heavy push I made the first deep cut into the lino, followed by another and another. I got into the rhythm of sliding the blade up and down through the wood. It was almost relaxing, moving my arm back and forth to push and pull the saw. A thud on the window broke my flow and almost caused me to hit my leg with the sharp edge. Turning around I saw a stocky brown owl perched on the windowsill, staring at me with its big black eyes. It had a white patch between them and a dark ring around its face. I knew what bird this was, “oh not you.” Snapping back to my sawing I pushed the blade faster and strained myself against the wood as I hit the joists, the heavy scraping sounds had battled to drown out Mr. Tawny Owl going “keeee-wick, keeee-wick…” It was as loud as ever but I knew that I couldn’t let it get to me. I had to find out what was under there. Picking up a large chunk of plate I lobbed it at the window to make the owl shut up. Sawing harder and harder I began to make progress, tearing through the thin flooring and severing the support beams as I went. Slicing and breaking the wood with my short jagged blade. Sweat had covered my bare torso, my arm ached and my face was red but eventually my frantic work made a haphazard square outline in the floor. The owl had still been making its terrible cry but I didn’t care by that point. I held onto the edge of the starting hole and gave the saw one last grind.The panel fell through and I collapsed backwards, panting heavily. With laboured breath I pointed back at the damn owl and laughed “Ha! I did it! You can’t stop me!” The owl just glared at me, “I win, you dumb bird!” I fell back and continued to laugh, surrounded by the debris of bird fights. It felt like I’d won, but I had to lift up that panel. My body moved like a worn-out machine as I strained to stand up again. Joints clicking and muscles numb. The rough cut-away square lay at an angle across the hole I’d hacked it out of. It was time to fix the problem, what was wrong with my house? I bent down, placed both hands on the opposite edges of the flooring board and lifted it up.
A tidal wave of stench hit me, stinging my eyes as I choked on the sour air. I stopped myself from vomiting and waited to catch my breath. When the smell cleared I looked down, and froze. In the hole beneath me, was a face. Staring up with dirty marble eyes stuck in its melting skin. It was waxy and pale with patches of brown and orange staining its sagging, bloated cheeks. The nose was barely more than a hole and the torn, declining lips were frozen in a smile. Wispy strands of blonde, curled hair clung sparsely to its stretched and deflated scalp. Little burgundy beads sat neatly on those shrivelled mushroom ears, and hung lazily in a chain around its collapsing hollow neck. Under the boards in my kitchen, was my Grandma Dawn. How did this happen? Why was she there, of all places? I could hear “keee-wick, keee-wick” starting up behind me, getting louder and louder. It wasn’t the owl call this time. My grandma was smiling up at me and singing in my ear. All I could do was cry. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” I sobbed,“I wanted to say goodbye!” Had my Uncle even known about this? Surely I’d gone mad and this was just a hallucination, but I could see her clear as day. This putrid thing was my grandma. My stomach gave up and I vomited all over my knees, covering my grey joggers in pizza bits and bile.“Keeee-wick, keeee-wick…” continued all around me and I couldn’t look away from the decaying ghoul that used to be someone I loved. Fighting against myself I slammed the board back down over the hole, but I could still feel that corroding face looking up at me. The owl-song filled my head, taunting me. I put my hands around my head and screamed. My knees gave way and I collapsed into the pool of my own vomit.
I must have passed out at some point, because the only thing I can remember afterwards was waking up in hospital. Apparently a neighbour had heard me screaming and called for an ambulance. I tried telling the nurses about the body in the floor, but they all ignored me and probably thought I was delusional or hallucinating. I was let out after a few days and went back to the house one last time, just to get Boxer and move my stuff out of there again. The hole in the floor was still covered, it almost looked as if I'd never cut it up. The smell and the mess was all gone but I couldn’t live there any longer. I had to move back in with my parents as there was nowhere else to go on such short notice. It felt like a step backwards but at least I could still keep my cat there. They understood when I told them my Uncle had “sold me a faulty house” that “didn’t meet regulations” and I had to get out. Luckily it only took me just over a year to save up for the place I have now. It’s just an apartment but the location is great and it allows pets. Living on my own again made me pretty nervous at first, it’s been a few years since it happened and yet it still keeps me awake some nights. I never used to be an overly cautious or fearful person, but ever since then I’ve been unable to handle the thought of birds being anywhere near me.

[OC] The HEL Jumper [Chapter 34]

Previous | First | Next
A/N: High five goes to articulateteen. I know y'all are itching to get right into it, so let's go!
“I don’t know if I can keep track of all of this!” Veera exclaimed as she wandered among the crowd that had surrounded Winters and Antoth. Her bold bet had earned her no shortage of takers, confident that no alien could upset the guard captain by such an amount. Veera wasn’t sure of Winters’ actual ability, but she had plenty of faith; faith enough to occasionally accept wagers for significant sums of resources. If she did fail, she resolved to make it up on her own. He’d not suffer for her own inflated opinion of him.
‘Don’t worry Veera, simply do what you’ve been doing. Repeat the name and the wager. I can catalog it all.’ Io reassured her, similarly confident that her partner was more than Antoth’s equal. Unlike Veera, she had the biometric data to prove it. As they passed near the two men, Veera overheard them discussing the rules.
“It’s not complicated Winters. Six rocks to each competitor. You get them from here to there.” Antoth pointed to the other side of the linear dirt track, about thirty feet long. “The only stipulations are you cannot roll a rock or throw one. Letting them drop once they cross the line is fine. Only the rock needs to cross, not you. Understand?” Antoth asked, moving his arms about to warm up. Another guard was moving all of the stones into place following the previous round. Antoth would have done it originally, but there was no way he was about to waste energy before this kind of competition. Winters indicated that he understood the rules and was all set, not needing to speak. He was similarly limbering up, rotating his arms at the shoulder and hopping back and forth between legs. The silence suited Antoth just fine. They would talk with their strength. Just before he moved to take his starting position, Winters offered his hand. Antoth hesitated for a moment before taking it, giving Winters a firm handshake. Clearly there was more to this gesture than the guard had imagined, recalling his visit to the human’s shrine. With a nod and a growl they both took their positions. Veera rejoined them, having now made a full circle through the crowd during which she entered into at least fifteen separate wagers. Most had been for small sums, a few vegetables or a cut of meat, things that no one would miss too much but would provide an added layer of excitement to the event. Others had been much bolder. One trade had been with a member of the temple of Tyrdus for several leather tunics or the equivalent labor. No matter the size, all had one thing in common. Winters had to achieve victory by at least half a length, fifteen feet. Standing at Winters’ side, Veera looked up at him. He looked determined, but also happy and eager. She found it endearing.
“You ready?” She asked.
“I was born ready.” He replied, giving her a wide smile that stirred the embers in her heart.
“I may have placed quite a few bets on you.” She explained shyly, dragging a talon through the dirt.
“Good. It means a lot…that you believe in me.” He admitted. Before either of them could get too lost in thought Antoth called out.
“Veera, get us started why don’t you? You’re responsible for this rabble after all.” Antoth barked, bending down to place a palm over his smallest rock. Winters nodded to Veera as she stepped back and took a position at the end of the starting line. Bending down into a sprinter’s starting position Winters placed one hand in the dirt just before the line, the other grasped his first rock. He figured the first and second wouldn’t slow him down too much and could likely be carried with one hand. Those would be full on sprints. As the rocks grew larger down the line though, they would demand a new approach. For numbers three and four he planned on holding them with both hands but maintaining a running stride if he could. The fifth and sixth were massive, and would be much more about strength and endurance than speed. He would not be running with those. His game plan set in his mind, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the rich air fill his lungs as he waited for Veera’s signal.
‘You’ve got this sir. You are my man, after all.’ Io further rallied his spirits, giving him a thumbs up as Veera held up a hand for quiet. The crowd quickly fell silent.
“On three! One…two…THREE!” She yelled, setting them off. Winters tightened into a death grip on the rock in his right hand, exploding off the starting line. He pounded down the lane, arriving at the far finish line where he lunged out with his right leg, placed the rock just over the line, and launched himself back in the other direction. He used the same motion as he arrived back at the start and grabbed the second rock, adjusting his hold slightly to cradle it like a football. As he rushed towards the line again he silently thanked one of his Omega division commanders whose favorite PT exercise had been running suicides. Dropping the second rock off with a grunt, careful not to throw it, Winters took a moment to observe the competition. Antoth’s talons clearly aided him in acceleration and traction, allowing him to keep up with Winters in his combat boots. The human had a lead, but it was slight, certainly not enough to win the stakes Veera had set for him. Arriving back at his rocks, he took the third one in both hands, lifting with his arms and taking off at the best run he could manage. The rock itself was the size of a large medicine ball, though perhaps double the weight. Even so, he managed to maintain a left to right motion with his arms, aiding him in the sprint to the other side. With that rock dropped into the dirt, he sprinted back again and repeated the process, though slower thanks to the increased load of the fourth stone. His breathing was coming harshly now, the plentiful oxygen in Mara’s air a boon to his straining body. It had been a while since his intercostal muscles had been worked out and he quite enjoyed it.
By the time he was ready for his fifth rock he’d opened about a quarter length lead on Antoth. Both were panting heavily, muscles pulling and pushing as hard as their masters willed them. Winters could feel sweat on his brow, accentuated by the cool autumn air. He would have to be careful with his grip. Any slips would prove disastrous with such a small margin of error. Bending at the knees, he got his hands and arms under the fifth rock and forced his legs into an explosive lift that elicited a vocal gasp from Veera. He used that momentum to turn himself and he began more of a power walk towards the other end of the lane, the audible admirations of his feather kitten sending an extra pump of adrenaline through his body. He guessed the rock probably weighed anywhere between one hundred and one hundred twenty pounds. It was tough, but he’d rolled up his sleeves beforehand and was using his forearms and hands to keep the rock secure as he moved. Antoth grunted as he heaved his fifth rock into the air and took off after the human. Cheers and cries of encouragement reached them as Winters dropped the fifth rock to the ground with a loud thud and raced back to the final stone. This one was truly immense, around the size of his chest. Io fed him an estimate: one hundred and sixty pounds. With a deep breath, Winters squatted into a lifting position, making sure his grip was solid and steady. The rocks had been rounded, but were clearly left rough to ensure more stable holds.
“Rrrrrraaaagh!” With a roar from deep in his chest, Winters hoisted the rock and began what seemed now like an incredibly long walk to the other end. Antoth passed him shortly after, bending down to grab his own final stone. Knowing that Veera was counting on him, Winters poured as much strength as he could into his legs, willing each stride to take him farther. He was grunting with each breath, feeling hot blood pounding through his veins. His world closed off, only the finish line visible, only the sound of his breathing audible. Knowing he didn’t have to turn again, Winters went full bore.
Veera, like everyone else in the crowd, was watching with rapt attention, cheering louder and louder as the two men fought closer to the finish. Most were pulling for Antoth, as she’d expected, but that was fine by her. From the outset Winters had shown he was more than capable, growing his lead slowly but steadily over time. As he grabbed his sixth rock, he was about a quarter of a length ahead of Antoth. Veera couldn’t help but feel a slight cord of worry snake through her, even as she reveled in the brutal manliness on display as Winters hoisted his largest stone into the air. The electricity arcing through her was palpable, and she was reminded on a personal level why these events took place. Something almost like hunger grew deep in her belly as she watched her human power towards the finish. His face was drawn up in effort and pain, every muscle of his upper body straining under his tight shirt. His growls of exertion sent shivers down her spine. As Winters approached the finish, everything seemed to happen at once. Antoth, in his rush to draw even with the human, had taken hold of his final rock just a bit too high. After a few steps it began to slip through his grasp, something not even his claws could prevent. As the stone thudded to the earth, Veera leapt and shouted to her human, her darling. As if in response, Winters emitted a final, primal, yell of exertion, launching himself at the finish line and throwing his rock forward into the tilled dirt as soon as he was sure he was across. His sound tore through her, leaving her wondering what it would be like to hear a similar noise in another setting, a more private affair, perhaps…beneath him. Io broke Veera from her admiring trance.
‘Veera! We did it! We won!’ The VI exclaimed triumphantly. It was true. Though Antoth lifted his rock again and finished with pride, his tiny mistake had assured Veera’s success in her wagers. He didn’t seem too upset about it though. Everyone had seen that even without the missed hold, he would not have had the time to draw even with the human. Yet again, the crowd erupted, cheering and yelling all at once as wagers or promises of repayment changed hands and friends immediately began discussing the event they’d witnessed. Winters, in a show of sportsmanship, awaited Antoth at the finish line. When the guard captain reached him, they crossed their arms in the Cauthan manner and nodded to one another. No words were necessary between the soldiers. It was a well fought match. ‘I think he’s ready for you.’ Io informed Veera. Not needing any more encouragement, the young Cauthan sprinted the length of the course to her human and flung herself at him, all else forgotten. Exhausted, he managed to catch her only briefly before executing a controlled fall into the dirt. She ended up atop him, hugging him hard as he grunted from the impact.
“You did it!” She was elated, pushing herself up so she could look him in the eye. A few cat calls rang out, though oddly enough, perhaps because of the excitement of the whole affair or the spirit of the festival in general, there were plenty of calls of encouragement as well. She was sure the sixteen year olds would be thankful at least. She’d more than broken the ice of this particular courtship and mating season. All of that was secondary though as his eyes met hers, his chest heaving heavily under her. “You were…really amazing.” She told him huskily.
“Thanks…Veera. Any chance we can…get some…water?” He managed between breaths, sucking in oxygen to feed his starved muscles. To say he felt alive would be an understatement. He felt invincible. The wonderful smiling girl atop him only added to that effect. She giggled and stood, helping him to his feet. Winters noticed that Antoth was already in form again, resetting the course for the next two potential contenders and yelling at people to ‘get on with their business’. “I really like that guy.”
“Not that I disagree, but why?” Veera asked as Winters brushed himself off.
“When I was in training you’d usually face off against two types of people in the sparring ring. The first type of person would claim every credit for their victories and inevitably find someone or something else to blame for their defeats. Those people never improved much, even if they were very skilled to start with. Antoth is the other type, the kind who acknowledges the benefits of a good fight, regardless of outcome. Takes a certain kind of man to see that losing can make you stronger than winning.” Winters explained, unafraid to speak well of the surly guard who was receiving his share of congratulations from the villagers. Even finishing the course was a monumental feat.
“You’re quite philosophical at times.” Veera remarked, holding up a finger for emphasis.
“Am I? I guess they did a good job in basic then. You’re not much use to the guy next to you if all you care about is your own glory.”
“See? Case in point!” She giggled. “On the subject of glory though, it was a great match Russell. I think you won a few admirers.” Veera informed him as she took his hand and led him to the nearest water barrel, staking her claim to the human. He received pats on the back and calls of congratulations as they made their way through the now dispersing crowd. He nodded graciously to them, wishing he’d brought his canteen that day. He was thirsty.
Once he’d spent a few moments hydrating himself and washing the sweat off his face, Winters turned to Veera again. “So, how much did we win?” He asked excitedly.
‘Quite a lot. Veera is, as you put it the other day, a shrewd individual when it comes to this sort of thing.’ Io complimented the Cauthan as she brought up a list on Winters’ visor. Winters laughed at his VI’s newest outfit, that of a 1920’s bookie. Admitting her hair looked quite cute under the cap, Winters began reading.
“Let’s see here. Vegetables, vegetables, some meat, couple loaves of bread, cord of firewood, leather tunics…hrrrm…you bet two chairs?!” Winters asked as he reached the end of the list. “Damn, we cleaned that temple out!” Veera waved her hands in front of her.
“I didn’t though! One of the craftsmen thought I was crazy and that it was an easy bet. I took it.” She explained, looking almost embarrassed. “I have to admit that at the end there I almost thought I was. Sorry.”
“Did you just apologize for assuming I’m only human?” Winters cocked his head at her with a smile.
“I feel like that has a deeper meaning than I understand.” Veera admitted as they moved back to their rotation around the stalls. It was time to eat.
“It just means that even the best of us have our limitations. Your plan was bold Veera…I liked it. And I certainly can’t argue with the results!” He threw an arm around her shoulder, still riding high on his victory. He began gesticulating with his free hand. “Nothing like an extra challenge to really light the fire under you, right? It felt great to compete again. Everything’s seemed so…important lately, you know? Everything I’ve done here has been to keep us alive in one way or another. Well…until Zolta I guess. It felt good to just burn a lot of energy with absolutely nothing important at stake. If worst came to worst, we would have dealt with the wagers no problem, even the chairs.” He laughed heartily. Veera nodded at his explanation, feeling immense gratification at his victory, his happiness, his approval, his carefree attitude, and of course, his touch. She’d already flattened him in front of everyone. That particular cat was well out of the bag. He’d eagerly seized that opportunity, to her benefit. “So, food?” He asked with a hungry grin.
“You’re a man who very much knows what he wants, aren’t you?” She ribbed him playfully. He shrugged back, not denying it. “I could use a bite too. Shall we just do a circuit?”
“That’s fine by me. Should we make some kebabs again?” He asked, noticing that a couple of the fire pits had already been lit and played host to various groups of Cauthan engaged in talk, eating, and drinking. “Oh, and I can’t believe I haven’t asked you this yet, but do your people know of alcohol?”
‘That’s actually not so hard to believe.’ Io interjected.
“What do you mean?” Veera asked, unsure as to what Winters and Io were talking about.
‘A great many things would have to occur in order for your people to engage in brewing. For starters, one would need micro-organisms capable of anaerobic respiration or a functional equivalent. Second, that compound would have to affect Cauthan physiology in the same way as it does humans. Finally, of course, your people would have to put two and two together, so to speak.’ Io explained animatedly.
“I…what’s she talking about?” Veera looked up at Winters with a very confused expression.
“Well, it’s a shame you don’t know…for me at least.” Winters lamented. “Not your fault at all, not blaming you!” He added quickly as her face fell. “So a long time ago, ancient times really, my people discovered that if you poisoned yourself in a very particular way, you’d feel good.” She shot him a disbelieving look.
“Now you two are just pulling my tail!”
“No honestly! There are actually quite a few organic compounds that when taken in the right doses induce various pleasurable or psychedelic reactions in the human body. Alcohol is one of the most ubiquitous in human society. It’s poisonous if consumed in large quantities or if you consume it heavily over time. Processing non-lethal quantities too often over too many years will do it. But in small amounts, it can be quite enjoyable.” He explained, noticing Veera’s innate curiosity surface again as they moved from stall to stall collecting some of the produce on display.
“So what does it do to you? It sounds very dangerous.” She asked quietly, picking over a few squash-like vegetables before her.
“There are two reasons to drink if you aren’t abusing the substance. The first, actually, is taste. There are many, many ways of preparing alcoholic beverages and most humans develop a taste for at least one variety. Some can be very complex on their own. That’s to say nothing of the pastime of mixing alcoholic beverages with other substances to create what’s essentially art in a glass.” Winters developed a wistful look in his eyes.
“Thinking of your favorite?” She asked kindly, hoping he wasn’t too homesick.
“I guess so, yeah. It’s called an old fashioned. Not sure how to really describe it since bitters and orange likely don’t mean much to you, but it’s earthy and…smoky? I don’t know if that’s the right word, but it’s that with just a hint of sweetness and sourness to balance it out. You serve it with a large cube of ice usually.”
“So what happens when you drink it?” Veera continued.
“Right, second reason. Alcohol is a chemical that lowers your inhibitions. I’m sure Io could give us the detailed rundown later in terms of the method of action, but basically it…slows your body down, I guess? Your reactions are slower and less coordinated. Your head might feel a bit light. But for the most part, if you only consume a reasonable amount, you’ll find that you feel confident and carefree. Things in your own mind that hold you back don’t seem to matter as much. I don’t know if I explained it well at all, but there’s a reason it’s so widely consumed back on Earth.”
“You sure know how to make poison sound not so bad.” Veera remarked playfully. “I’m sorry to say we don’t have anything like that here.”
“It’s alright feather kitten. No telling if I’d even be able to consume it here. You never know what sorts of metabolic byproducts on this planet might harm me. I’ll stick with tea, that’s been pleasantly non-lethal so far.” He assured her, enjoying her positive reaction to the nickname as she moved closer to him.
“Ok Russell. I’m glad you’ve found something to your liking. Would you like to find some meat as well? I believe I…well you…we? I believe we won some earlier.”
‘That is correct Veera. You mentioned two names where the wager was some form of meat. Shall we track one down and call it in?’
“That won’t be necessary Io, we’ll just head over to one of the huntsmen’s stalls. They all know one another. Thank you though!”
‘My pleasure Veera.’
“So, I guess the meat isn’t exactly free?” Winters asked as they finished their arc at a stall with various meats on display. Most were cured or smoked but a few cuts were fresh, drawing their attention.
“Indeed, game isn’t as plentiful. Hello there!” Veera greeted the Cauthan behind the stall who gave them both an acknowledging nod.
“Welcome. That was a fine display you put on human.” The hunter addressed Winters who bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. With the competition fresh in everyone’s mind, it was easy enough to call in one of the bets Veera had made, securing them a large, fresh cut of chesko meat. Veera reviewed the pieces on display with a critical eye before selecting a lean cut that appeared to be from the upper leg. This would be her first piece of chesko in more than half a decade and she was determined to select the best for both of them. Winters agreed vigorously with her choice, reminded of a fine steak. Now that he’d come down from the athlete’s high, his body was craving nourishment. The lean red meat looked delectable, oozing a small amount of fresh blood. The stall attendant wrapped it in coarse leather before handing it over.
“Thank you.” Veera bid the other Cauthan farewell and they proceeded to an open bench nearby, next to one of the lit fires. Finding two sticks among the stockpile of wood, Veera began whittling them to an appropriate size and shape while Winters used his longer knife to slice the meat and vegetables. The two of them worked in companionable silence as others chatted around them, adding a soothing and non-descript background noise. The two of them were too focused on one another and their shared task of preparing lunch to care much about what else was being said or happening around them.
“This is…easy, isn’t it?” Veera asked, breaking the silence.
“You noticed that too, eh?” He replied softly, unsure if he thought it was a good or a bad thing that she thought the same. He felt like he was in a drop pod again, rocketing towards inevitable contact. It felt good, it felt exhilarating, but the collision was unavoidable now. That scared him.
“I did. I’m glad to hear you feel it too.” She threw him a winning smile before testing a point with her finger. “Well, these are all set. Do you want some help?”
“Sure. Thanks feather kitten.” She’s clearly not of two minds on this. He reflected.
“You’re enjoying yourself with that name, aren’t you?” She nestled up close to him before beginning to work on a couple of kina, skinning her slices while leaving the skin on for him.
“Should I not be?”
“I don’t know Russell…” She trailed off.
“You alright?” He asked, detecting shades of the prior morning that added to the growing sense of foreboding he felt.
“I am, today’s been wonderful so far!” She told him earnestly. What she didn’t add was that between the feather kitten-ing, his competition with Antoth, and everything else that had transpired already that day, she felt like she could barely contain the emotions bubbling under the surface of her skin. She’d been thinking about what he’d told her about boyfriends and girlfriends, about courtship, about divorce. She’d been thinking about the Cauthan way, mating. Hell, she’d been thinking about everything. He was making it impossible not to. Until that point she’d been fine leaving things unsaid, taking him as he was, regardless of what he wanted to give and what he wanted to hold back. A cold ball formed in the pit of her stomach as she realized that wasn’t going to be enough anymore, not after today. She didn’t need them to be mated, but she couldn’t deny any longer that she needed something from him, something concrete. She was thankful for the task before her. Cutting vegetables allowed her to focus and appear as though she was only concentrating on the edge of her blade. Reminding herself of the promise she’d made the morning before, to not sit idly by, she took a deep breath and forced the unproductive thoughts to the back of her mind. Tonight. She swore, feeling a thrilling nervousness take hold. That, she could deal with.
With their meals prepared and seconds neatly piled up on the leather wrapper, the two of them stood and walked a couple steps so that they could hold their food up to the blazing fire. The sounds of sizzling meat and hissing vegetables soon met their ears and they nodded to one another. “I can see why you enjoy the festival so much. This has been fun. I’m starving!” Winters started up conversation again.
“It’s all the better sharing it with someone, isn’t it?” She replied sincerely, earning her a long and piercing look from her human.
“I would have to agree.” He eventually replied. “Though I am worried about something. I haven’t seen Zolta all day.” Veera felt more relief than anything, pleased he wasn’t referring to something about them. All the same, she knew how much helping Zolta meant to Winters and was unable to deny that she’d developed a personal interest in the young Cauthan’s success as well.
“Well, first things first Russell. Let’s finish our food and then we can look around for him, alright?” She suggested, not wanting to ruin the moment they were sharing.
“Agreed. I am concerned, but not enough to pass up this delicious smelling meat, not to mention the company. I don’t even remember the last time I had a fresh cut like this. A man’s gotta have priorities after all!” He winked at her, his tone full of delight at life’s simple pleasures.
“I’m sure Zolta will understand. Now come, let’s sit and enjoy this chesko you worked so hard for.” Veera guided him back to the bench where they ate hungrily, closing their eyes in delight as the flavor of juicy, seared meat coated their tongues. A few minutes later they were in front of the fire again with seconds. “I think I understand now, you know? Us.” Veera informed him.
“What’s that?” Winters asked as they took in the warmth of the fire, taking their time now that hunger was a non-issue.
“Well there’s no pressure, is there? No expectations?” Veera ventured. Io appeared again, a quizzical look on her face. It was clear that Veera’s statement was at odds with what she perceived as the current status of the relationship. She settled down with a virtual notepad as if ready to learn something new. Winters just shrugged.
“You mean, between the two of us?” He didn’t see it that way, not if the nervousness and sense of impending change clawing its way through his mind was any indication.
“Well…no.” She admitted. “I think both you and I have ideas in our heads about where we want…this…to go.” She waved about her to indicate the two of them.
“I would agree with that point.” Winters admitted, feeling calm in his answer considering the subject matter. Blunt, direct conversation was always his strong point. It was better than turning it over in his mind and getting nowhere. Veera continued her clarification.
“I meant more like everyone else. You mentioned Zolta and that got me thinking about what he must be feeling. I thought back to the couple of festivals where I tried to find a mate. There’s an immense amount of pressure, not just self-imposed but also from everyone else. I felt awful, pretty much the whole time. Everyone’s eyes on you, looking, judging. With you and me though? We’re just the two village oddballs!” She remarked happily before turning a sultry gaze on him. “I’m sure you could nuzzle me right now and not too many people would care.” Winters swallowed hard.
“That so?” He asked slowly, knowing she had him dead to rights.
“I don’t know for sure.” She admitted. “But after I basically tackled you without causing a complete fiasco I’m fairly confident in my assessment. Sometimes it helps being written off by most of the village, you know? If you’re not starving, you’re free.” She shrugged, testing the meat on her skewer with a claw. Winters said nothing, instead trying to figure out just what his expectations were, to say nothing of Veera’s. His flirting, enjoyable as it was, had a deeper purpose didn’t it? Damnit Veera, why’d you have to go and put that image in my head? This is getting bad, every step she leads me on is another step closer to a point of no return. And she is leading, no bloody question about that now. So here I am, setting myself up as the only person in her life that could well and truly hurt her? Fuck! I don’t think I’m ever going to understand what these Cauthan do and don’t place importance on. I guess they really do just ignore Veera most of the time. She’s not one of them so they don’t expect her to act like them. But she still follows their customs…sort of…unless she prefers mine. Fuck me, what a mess. He looked around at the festival goers, trying to get a feel for the relationships he could see. By in large the older couples engaged each other in light contact: hand holding, casual brushing up against one another, things of that nature. Families abounded, parents leading children through the crowds by the hand. He saw a handful of younger couples as well, perhaps not too far removed from their own harvest festival trials. They seemed more affectionate in certain ways, though that was mainly in the way they looked at one another, exchanging unspoken promises of future deeds in the dark.
‘Sir, target sighted.’ Io had donned a safari uniform, complete with an old British helmet and binoculars. She highlighted a figure in the crowd just as Winters noticed the same. He chuckled at Io’s antics, which drew Veera’s attention. They had just about finished their second kebabs. Once he’d given Io her due, he shot a worried look at Veera.
“I found Zolta. And I’ll be honest Veera, it doesn’t look good.”
“Then I guess you’d better ride off and save the day again. It’s what you do, isn’t it?” She took his hand gently, tilting her head up slightly to meet his eyes. Her look was searing in its earnesty, just like her words. There was no doubt in his mind that that was the image Veera had of him, the white knight. He found himself unable to look away from her dark chocolate eyes, so full of life after a morning at the festival. His heart slammed into his ribs and he acknowledged the fact that her claws were sunk in deep. Unable to say anything he breathed in, catching her scent, leaning in to draw them closer as Veera’s eyes went wide and her body stiffened. With a confident smile at her reaction, he brought his nose into contact with hers and closed his eyes, satisfied as she gripped his hand tight and gasped softly. Her nose was ever so slightly damp and very warm, one of the few parts of her body where skin went uncovered by fur. The exchange had been brief but it had its desired effect, at least in his mind. Veera’s mouth was open slightly, her eyes expressive and shimmering, feathers a riot of her colors, black and gold. He made an act of looking around them. A couple of Cauthan were watching them intently, but he saw curiosity and surprise, not hatred or disapproval. Heartened by that, he turned back to his feather kitten.
‘Ok sir, I think you win this one outright.’ Io remarked, declaring the game of flirtation concluded, for a time at least.
“I’ll be back. Wait for me?” He asked, surprised at how low and husky his voice was. He wasn’t about to make an armed drop, but it sure sounded like it. There was more unspoken in his words than spoken. For Veera, whatever plans she might have had to play coy and hard to get had been obliterated, shattered by the smallest of touches. The warmth inside her was stoked into a raging fire, fed by her quick and shallow breathing. She wondered how something so small and fleeting could feel so intimate. Maybe it was just the nature of her partner, the human force of will. Unwilling to ‘play the game’ in that moment she opened her heart and gave him the answer she knew was the truth.
“Always…” Veera whispered, still feeling wonderful pulses arc through her from the point of contact. With a satisfied smile and a nod, he stroked her hand once with his thumb and departed on his quest.
A/N 2: That's right. Winters booped the snoot. How lewd.
Previous | First | Next
Own The HEL Jumper in the Format of your Choice: hardcover | paperback | epub | Amazon Kindle

bookies strain video

Butter Cookies is an indica dominant hybrid strain (80% indica/20% sativa) created through crossing the classic Animal Cookies X Face Off OG strains. This powerhouse bud packs a super high 33-34% average THC level and an insanely delicious flavor that will leave you begging for more after just one hit. Nookie, also known as “Nookies,” is a sativa dominant hybrid strain (70% sativa/30% indica) created through a potent cross of the classic Nigerian Landrace X Animal Cookies strains. If you're looking for the perfect wake-and-bake to really get your head up and racing, you've found it. Nookie pack... This strain does have slightly sedative effects, meaning that you could be hit with couch-lock if you aren’t careful. Platinum Cookies is not necessarily a great morning, get-up-and-go strain. However, if you are looking for something to help you unwind after a hard day, it could be the perfect solution. Wookies strain weed is an indica-dominant hybrid. However, it is a well-balanced marijuana strain, so you also benefit from the cerebral effects provided by sativas, along with the relaxation aided by the indica aspect. It is an extremely rare, clone-only, strain, which means finding a few grams isn’t as easy as it should be. White Cookies Strain Feminized plants are all female, no more worries of accidental pollination. Your buds will have a high THC amount of 19.25% and 0.75% CBD. These plants will be ready for harvest in September, and as long as you follow this strain’s growing needs, you can expect yields of 200 grams to 400 grams. White Cookies strain gives you the chance to experience what its parents do best. Just like Girl Scout Cookies and White Widow, this strain produces relaxed, contented, euphoric, and body-heavy effects. This is, therefore, an ideal smoke during finals week in school or during the month-end rush at work. Wookies is a hybrid marijuana strain made by crossing Girl Scout Cookies with The White and Chemdawg 91. Wookies produces euphoric and relaxing effects that promote creativity. This strain is Our control of the entire experience from start to finish, seed to sale, sets us apart. We take pride in our in-house cultivation, global varieties, and full lineup of strain-specific products. Cookies is a lifestyle. Join the community as we take it worldwide. Bookies reveal their major Rangers miscalculation as Steven Gerrard's side turn Celtic into title no Visitors from two African countries added to Scots travel ban amid threat of new covid strain. Find information about the Bookies strain such as potency, common effects, and where to find it. No description available. If you have any info on this strain, drop us some knowledge at [email protected]

bookies strain top

PINK ROZAY 🔥 ~ COOKIES STRAIN REVIEW - YouTube

www.thseeds.com Cadillac Cookies is a rare heavily Indica dominant hybrid strain (90% Indica/10% Sativa) created through crossing the potent Cadillac Purple X Platinum Cooki... This video is a Cookies Strain Review. This is my first experience with the company Cookies. This particular brand Cookies , strain Project 4510 was grown ... A review on cookies kush. Girl scout cookies is one of my favorite strains and I believe the other parent is rollex OG kush which sounds like a bomb pheno of... On today’s review, we HAD to try out Cookies collaboration with Rapper Rick Ross! And who would have known it would be a mix of Lemonchello 10 and LPC (Londo... Get Cookies Kush seeds --- https://www.cannabislifestyletv(YOUTUBE HATES OUR CHANNEL, CAN'T POST LINKS)/recommends/cookies-kush/Cookies Kush from Barney's Fa... Cookies has always represented a lifestyle of excellence, quality, and taste. Living the best life possible and always striving to grow. We represent this li... Today we are taking a look at another Cookies strain, one that many of you have been requesting lately. This is the 'Gelatti'. Go check out our channel for ... GARY PAYTON 🔥🔥🔥 EXOTIC STRAIN REVIEW by COOKIES 🍪 YON 🌍 WORLD • GARY PAYTON 🔥🔥🔥 Exclusive Strain by COOKIES • STRAIN REVIEW!!Gary Payton = Snoman X T... 9Chino2Ching5 got to try All the cookies strains Yeeeeeeeeeeee I tryed a lot by far got to try them all

bookies strain

bookies strain - win

This strain has been laying me out, so had to make my sunset J a little smaller than usual (bookies)

Starmer’s political point scoring during COVID

22 at rock bottom....again.