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A pair of Elgin Joliet and Eastern SD38-2s pound the Geneva Sub at JB Tower in West Chicago with the Long West. Until the Canadians came along, you could count on this scene happening at least twice a day with the Joliet to Rondout turn. It was fun while it lasted.
Churlish Stories for Curious Children L
An American in Gladstone
“Innocence abroad “
Acte 1
I stopped in my tracks…not believing my ears as they picked up on a conversation a couple was having at a nearby table.
I asked myself…
“Americans, here, at Gladstone?”
^^^^^^^^^^
Gladstone's Library was having its annual New Year’s Eve affair at a nearby venue.
I made it a habit to attend, for the library is a most interesting place for a visit and the annual affair has proven to be a viable source for me to ply my trade as it attracts the wealthier patrons amongst its guestbook, priggish ones who don’t mind showing off the bling.
So at this year's affair, I was dressed in nearly my best(a tight dress of green silk ) with my only jewellery being a gold pin on one shoulder shaped like a fox’s head with diamonds for eyes. It’s my good luck piece.
I was busy prowling the venue when I overheard the American couple speaking while sitting at the table I was passing.
Now on this island I call home, we have many dialects of our language. So one would think that a foreign dialect would not be too noticeable.
Professor Higgins may agree with that, or not. He definitely would be game in having an argument one way or another.
But there is one dialect that I find terribly interesting, especially how it stands out when heard in passing. And that is a Yanks’ accent from across the pond.
Heard so infrequently by me that it always makes me stop in my tracks to listen.
Which is what was happening now.
For this couple at the table I was passing were decidedly Americans. Chattering happily amongst themselves, unawares probably of how their words sounded upon our ears. Or at least my Welsh-born ones.
The dark-haired male with a mustache was wearing a black suit, no vest, blue silk shirt, and tie. He wore a fancy silver watch with a black face on his left wrist.
If it were not for the accent I would say he looked German.
The fair-haired lady he was with, his wife, was dressed in a pretty dress, deep blue like her husband's shirt, with silver Jewelry, a necklace, earrings, and a shiny bracelet.
Neither appeared wealthy, their bling was of an ordinary type, nice, but not expensive or presumptuous.
I listened for a bit to their absorbing talk. Catching their first names, or his anyways (George), for she was just being called honey. Of course, her name could be Honey, like Ian Flemings's Honeychile Rider, right?
I liked that thought and felt happy that I had happened across them. But then left before I was noticed.
For I have bigger fish to fry this evening.
And those fish, once found, would be wearing presumptuous jewels, the expensively presumptuous type.
It did not take long to find one. At these events it never does.
So soon I was instinctively following behind a most interesting prospect(s)
A happy family it was, a rather happily rich family.
As they got in line at the snack tables I stood off to one side and took a careful study.
Muscular Father was in a tux that looked a half size too small. He appeared to be a dominating specimen. But one could see in his eyes he was a pussycat. I would imagine the wealth of family was on his side, all of it inherited, passed down by at least 4 generations in my opinion.
The mum was very elegant in a long flowy white silk dress with a red and green flowery print. She was wearing her gleaming set of expensive pearls. A gold ring with a vulgarly large diamond on her pinkie finger denoted wealth. As did her demeanor. I pictured myself wearing that ring, and mulled over if I could skillfully lift it from her finger this night.
Now the third member was a younger version of the ring lady, who was standing next to her in the snack line. Her daughter no doubt, and She was enticingly wearing a very sleek, slick brown satin fully off-shoulder number that nicely outlined her petite figure as it poured along it down to her silver high heels.
Her Jewels were a sparkling collection that consisted of a wide V-shaped necklace that looked like a falling river of diamonds, amazingly sparkling chandelier earnings, and a very pretty diamond bracelet, along with several enticing rings.
But the real showpiece was the eye-grabbing broach she had pinned to the gown just at her cleavage. It had a sparrow egg-sized diamond at its centre.
It was quite unusual to see a wealthy child wearing better sparklers than her mother, but I didn’t waste time on whys. Just concerned myself with what was.
I decided then and there that my next burglary would be the place mother and daughter kept those delicious jewels.
And I had several tried and true methods to find out just where those jewels would be spending the night. A couple of my favorites would involve me lifting a piece of one of the two ladies' jewels.
I flipped heads or tails in my mind. With the broach winning over the ring.
I then went into full stalk mode. Appearing to be enjoying the affair, but keeping an eye out of the corner on the daughter. For she was the now key to my whole plan.
During the next few hours, I did my due vigilance on the family. Looking for the telltale signs that either made them desirable marks or ones should I should leave alone
One of my first tests is to do a preliminary bump, with no lifting. That bit comes later.
I will actually brush up against my marks and gauge how they react as I please myself by coping with a feel.
I did this for both women as I caught them off alone. Not feeling up their pretty gowns but observing their reactions. Neither appeared guarded, purses not checked nervously, that sort of thing. Open and friendly to strangers they both were. Which meant they passed my first test.
Even the father was charming and accepted my apologies as gracious as his two ladies when I “tripped” up against him. (By the way. The bloke kept his wallet in his pants, just an observation)
Satisfied I had made the right choice I went into a deeper study, watching with interest how they were interacting with others and amongst themselves.
The band playing that evening was alternating between slow standards and a more lively fast pace that attracted the younger crowd. The lights were dimmed and a disco ball showered the floor with strobing light for the faster songs.
The parents were up for the slowest songs while the daughter watched the table with their drinks and purses.
The faster dances they switched places.
I also spied with my little eye that the daughter was dancing with her girlfriends. No males appeared on the scene. And her girlfriends after dancing always split up to be with their families.
I watched with increasing desire the daughter's jewels flickering on the dance floor. Especially the glimpses I caught of the enticing broach that was falling out with a sparkling voice, from its position just below her perky breasts. Which I noticed, the plumping, tight gown outlined, breasts that is, the rich girl just loved to press up against her dance partners.
I bided my time ( not easily) until very late in the evening. All three members of my targeted family were freely drinking. And becoming nicely inebriated as the evening wore on.
Soon the time was ripe for the plucking of a broach from a scintillatingly lovely brown satin gown.
The fast music started, the strobe light came on, and I went in and joined the swooningnly sweating throng.
I had started on the far side of the dance floor and began making my way toward my targeted female.
I had her in sight when I was pulled, literally, into a group of three, grabbed in passing by a young lady(Michelle) wearing yellow chiffon with ropes of real pearls. She held onto me as we danced to the fast beats of the bass-heavy music.
Then I was snatched away by a single male member of the group. The third is a young lady winningly wearing a black taffeta a-line gown with diamonds twinkling.
The male was a trashed, sweaty specimen with red hair wearing a tweed suit that was scratchy as he danced close to me. He was wearing a gold Rolex which caught my eye and then caught up in my fingers as I slipped it off his wrist.
I was also eying up the diamond-wearing blonde in black taffeta from over his shoulder as she danced with the girl who had snagged me into their group. I studied intensely her diamond jewellery dripping and swaying quite deliciously against her ultra-shiny black gown.
I maneuvered him over(Fred was his name) to the two girls and passed him off to yellow chiffon, while I embraced black satin, Cecelia was this wealthy pup's name.
She was very pretty, and like her companions, drunk as a skunk.
I told her how gorgeous she was while my hands held her close to me as my fingers caressed her sleek gown. My hands slipped up along her divine figure as we danced in motion to the fast tempo.
I ran my fingers up into her long silky blonde curls, lifting her hair, I had a clearer view of Cecelia’s lovely long diamond earrings that were just dangling there on sweaty earlobes, which made it child’s play to lift them and out as I raised her hair.
She smiled at my praise as I let her hair back down and I hugged her, wrapping my hands around her scintillating gowned waist, my clenched fists holding tightly onto her earrings as I pressed her hot fiery little figure against mine.
She hugged back and I turned her around and pushed her back in between her two companions.
Pocketing the shimmery earrings, I danced off, locating the daughter just as the song ended.
So I then waited until the second song was being played as the daughter was still up on the dance floor I maneuvered my way until I was directly behind her. She was dancing close to one of her friends, brushing against her then pulled back laughing. It was a routine I had been watching her do all evening and I was ready.
As she pulled back I bumped into her, my hands grasping onto her breasts, tightly outlined by the satin gown. Double pleasures there, for both of us I could tell.
I apologized in her ear, those earrings she wore dangling down delightfully, as my fingers also went down and swiftly located her broach. Then I lifted it, my fingers prying open the clasp and I pulled the flash jewel off as she was turning around.
“No worries luv…” she said as we danced together in rhythm to the music. I held my hands (still holding her broach) behind my back.
Then I’ll be damn if her girlfriend didn’t come up behind her and copy the same stunt as I had.
I left the happily groping group as soon as the daughter turned her back to me to face her friends.
Then I sat at my table, waited, and watched, with bated breath.
The daughter finally came back to the table and rejoined her parents. No one noticed anything was amiss.
Then after a long, very long, 15-minute break, the band started back up, playing slow dance music.
I watched the parents rise and head to the dance floor. Leaving the daughter quite alone, and susceptible.
“I’m on stage.”
I thought as I stood up and zoomed right up to the daughter like I had something important to say.
Which I did….
She looked up at me with doe-eyed wonder as I placed a hand on her softshoulder.
“Pardon me miss. Remember me. I bumped into you on the dance floor. Well, I had admired your broach earlier.
She looks down discovering it's gone, her eyes opening wide in shock. They looked up questioning into my face.
I love it when I can see a victim do that.
“It’s for that moment of dawning comprehension that is one of the little things in life I live for.”
I quickly explained:
“I saw one being turned into the security office upstairs by some Americans who found it. I thought it might be yours. That’s why I came over. “
Seeing her hesitation as she looked at her mother’s purse.
“I’ll watch over your table luv if you want to go see. I know I couldn’t wait if mine had been lost!”
I said this stroking the gold fox headpin I was wearing.
She fell for it, hook, line, and Broachless figure.
“Thank you .”
She worriedly lifted her gown and scurried off. I watched her leave… such a pretty dress she was wearing.
Now, The security room is actually located in the basement, so I bought myself some time.
I sit and casually begin to have a look through their purses.
From the daughter’s purse I pull out a card from her wallet that listed her address, along with a fancy key. Her wallet contained about £50, which I pulled out and pocketed.
Inside her mums' purse, I find a fatter wallet. £325 which I also pocketed. Also, a solid gold compact which I placed inside my purse. What I did not find was a hotel key. Which must mean they lived locally. Which could be either a good thing or a bad thing.
The father had his suit jacket on a chair. I went over and making sure no one was watching, riffled through his pockets. No wallet, which I knew, but I found something better.
Three hatcheck claim tickets. I quickly smelled them. One of them smelled very strongly of expensive perfume which I hoped meant they had been handled by one of the ladies as she turned in her wrap. I kept this one and stowed it away.
Then I rise and left, planning on beating them home to scout out the area. I didn’t need to count down the new year to know it was already starting out to be wickedly brilliant.
But on my way out, I see the American wife in the snack lime...
Decide to myself that I would like some American souvenirs from these “innocents Abroad.”
As I walk past her, I suddenly stop and go right up to her.
“E’llo you're an American, that’s lovely.”
As I say that I lift her hand, my other patting her bracelet-bearing wrist in greeting.
She stammers taken by surprise
“Yes, my name is Martha King. What is yours?”
Which is what I needed, surprise. I was wiping my hand along her wrist reaching her bracelet which I clasped my fingers around.
I gave her the made-up name I had been using this evening.
“ Cheers then, my name is Cadence, and it’s a pleasure meeting you. That’s quite a lovely dress your wearing. Did you buy it here?”
Rapid series of questions keeps the mark confused and distracted.
As she answered I thought Martha is it, not Honey. I eyeballed the rest of the jewellery she was wearing.
A silver-hinged locket with an M engraved upon it. Engraved around the ‘M’ was a floral vine, and below the ‘M’ was a flower made of ruby chips. The locket was oval-shaped on a link chain that hung just above her breasts. Her earrings were slightly smaller than the locket but had the same floral design and ruby flower, no letter M however.
I pried my eyes off her locket and looked into hers as she was answering my question.
“No, this dress is one I brought from home. I was worried it might not be fancy enough for here.
With my free hand, I stoked it along her dress as I sigh, my hands still holding her wrist up, covering her bracelet as my fingers snapped it open.
“I thought so, we don’t have dresses quite that lovely here.”
“But yours is…”
She started to say, then looked up
At that point, I see relief in her eyes as she stopped in mid-sentence, then said ..”
“Here comes my husband George. He is American also.”
As we both look behind me, I was busy taking advantage of the distraction, lifting off from her wrist the shiny silver bracelet. Pocketing it as the man came up to us.
I was introduced and saw he was an amiable sort of chap. As I like to imagine most Americans are, not that I’ve met more than a couple of others.
We talked for a few minutes as they told me where they were from, and about their kids. The usual.
But I needed to be on my way without appearing to be.
The band was still playing slow songs so I tried to break away by saying.
“I would imagine you two would like to get onto the dance floor? Please don’t let me hold you back…”
The wife apologized to me that she was a wee bit tired and wanted to sit.
Great I thought, then she added something that blindsided me.
As she looked at her husband standing there sheepishly…
“I know my husband would like to though, dance I mean. Maybe he would like to…honey ?”
I caught myself.
“You would not mind then if I steal him for a dance then luv?”
“Please do. My George is the dancer in the family. The poor dear wears me out.”
I heard a wholesome laugh from George.
“You two ladies do realize I’m right here listening? And yes I would consider it a privilege to have a dance with you, Cadence.”
He takes up my hand and we go to the crowded floor. The lights are still dim. But there is no strobe.
He takes me into his arms and I allow him to lead me to the music. We swirl around the other guests. I tell him a little about me, my twin brother, the small cottage we grew up in, and the nearby ancient university-owned cemetery we played in(though I did not go into the detail the games we played centered around pickpockets). He told me a bit about himself. Scouts, camping, decorating for Halloween. Also how Martha and he were here as an anniversary treat.
I find that George is a very pleasant dance partner So it was with a bit of guilt that as he was looking over towards Martha, I ran my hand caressing his wrist, then without remorse, I lifted off his fancy silver watch with the black face.
“Just couldn’t help myself, now could I?”
The song was ending and I was getting ready to release George back to his table when I spied the broachless Daughter walking along the outside of the dance floor.
Quickly I looked up into George’s face with a pleading look that he had no clue over why.”
“That was lovely. Can we do one more?”
George shook his head, yes and we held firm our position.
The music started again, and I pulled his arm around my waist making him hold me closer. Over his shoulder, I watched as the Daughter disappeared out of sight. She looked very perplexed, but not alarmed.
Sighing I placed my hands on his sides. I felt something hard in his side jacket pocket. Without thought, I reached inside and wrapped my fingers around a small, but heavy lighter. Without looking at it, I pulled it from his pocket and put it inside one of mine. I could feel George’s heart thumping, so I knew he was not finding it unpleasant to dance with me. My own was beating fast, over the daughter, and the recent lifts I had made off of George King.
As the last notes of the second song drifted away, we broke apart
I walk with George back to his waiting wife Martha at the table.
The wife smiles.
“Thought you were stealing him”
He chuckles.
“I convinced her not to.”
We all laugh.
They offered for me to sit and join them for a drink.
I lied.
“Love to, but I have to track down my errant niece.”
George pats me on the back saying lovely to have met you and thanks for the dance, then takes his leave to go get more drinks for his wife and himself.
Martha who had stood up as we came to the table, leans in and gives me a warm caring hug…
“I also think it was lovely meeting you tonight Cadence, you are a very nice young lady.”
Now I hadn't planned on taking her locket, but my thief instincts kick in and I found myself reaching up and undoing the clasp of the necklace and slipping it off her pretty neck before the end of the hug.
While slyly pocketing her pendant and chain, I replied:
“Why thank you, Martha, it was brilliant meeting you and George also, and luv, I hope you will enjoy the rest of your stay here.”
Then I take my leave.
“Indeed Charming to meet both of you.”
I leave her as she sits down to wait on George and their drinks.
I made a direct beeline to the coat check.
Quickly I thrust to the cloak check girl my slip. She comes back with a luxurious red sable jacket.
The cloak check girl complimented me:
“That’s pretty miss.”
“Indeed it is. “
I agree as I slip it on and leave Walking boldly past the lone guard at the security desk.
I make it to the exit without a backside glance. No one challenged me as I opened it and walked outside into the cool evening.
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. My breath sends up vapors in the cool night air. I wanted so very badly to lite a victory cigarette but was too far into my game to take the time just yet.
So I scurried off into the night, along the nearly deserted blocks, formulating the next steps in my plan.
To be continued …
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
More playing with light................
Over at the Dream sculpture in St.Helens last night with a couple of mates,wanted to try this idea so painted light behind Neal moran while he moved around the scene,cheers fella :)
We had a good laugh and all got a few pics,
Thanks for looking,
Chris.
Had planned this trip as a surprise for a friend on Sunday, but did not eventuate, had heard of a magical happening in the mountains so decided tonight to investigate for myself. These beautiful fireflies flitting through the canopy with twinkling lights in the green gloom, looked like fairies of the forest. The image is not technically very good as was at a loss of how to capture this magic as the thick forest was in total darkness with the fairy lights fluttering everywhere but this may give some idea of this magic forest and moment.
The darkness was complete with the lights fluttering everywhere like blithe spirits. As had stepped off the forest path was making myself very conscious of how to get out as the blackness except for the fluttering insects. The camera could see much better than eyesight.
The sight left me with eyes of wonder at the beauty of nature and how well she does.
The local reporter interviewing the lifeguard if he has seen any weird things happening around here.... ;D
Heading geographically westbound but timetable eastbound on the BNSF Hannibal Sub (former CB&Q), a 1x1 mixed freight rolls through the flat agricultural land between the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers at Machens, MO, on August 19, 2023. I spent an entire day out here and this was the only train I saw. The tall smokestack in the distance belongs to Ameren's Portage Des Sioux power plant.
Acte 13: A Rather Rude Happening
The thug with a rather wicked knife speaks abruptly with an all too loud and clear, demanding tone of voice.
“All right let’s have you lot all get out, on this side!”
We slide over along leather seats, one by one we slipped to the ground unaided.
As we form a line,
the knife holder speaks again.
“let’s see some hands up now, that’s the ticket”
We all reluctantly obey...as he continued on. Though he was masked, I had the uncanny feeling his mouth was turned up into a happy sneer.
“Alright ducklings, and gentlemen, attend.”
His eyes traveled along the row of hapless victims.
“Let me explain how this goes. Foirst, for or those of you that haven’t figured this out yet, you’re being robbed!”
For some reason, he was staring at me as he said this. I was too scared to feel insulted at that.
He went on ...
“Second, What we want from youse is the sparkly things you birds are wearing. Real ,fake , sentimental, don’t matter and don’t argue the point, this is not a negotiation and our boss here ( he motioned to the gent standing mute by the long black car blocking the road ) has very little patience.
No time of ours will be wasted by balking, pleading or squeaking, or you will feel the prick of my blade soon enough!”
He lifted up his knife.
Any attempts at dashing and my lad here will fire, not to kill, but to bring you to the ground. Fully cooperate and we will be out gone in minutes and your all free to continue on about your business... Obey, and you won’t be feeling his wrath. “
He nodded again to the mute smoking gent who remained at his spot.
The thug with the knife was now eyeing us all up and down as we limply looked on...
“Now Nod those pretty heads of years that you understand me!”
We all unhappily complied.
Earrings erupting from the darkness, sparkling fire as we all sadly nodded in obedience
The boss man meanwhile had knocked out the ashes from his pipe had serenely come over.
Pointing the long end of his brier pipe towards my brother, motioned him to follow.
Reaching the long black car, my brother was frisked, pockets searched. He was relieved of the Rolex, his cufflinks and wallet.
The boss nodded to the thug with the pistol.
The thug came over, stuck his pistol into my brother's ribs, and made him walk to the side of the road. He was then made to sit down against an old wytch elm tree.
The pistol holding thug then walked back to join his companion.
They both walked to the end of our line, standing in front of a stone-faced Scarlette.
The knife welder spoke to Scarlett in a snarky, unforgiving tone of voice.
“Hand over your purse, miss.”
She reluctantly obeyed, holding it out. Shaking just a bit.
Meanwhile, the thug doing all the talking had snapped his switch knife shut with a flick of his wrist, and then ripped the purse from Scarlette’s fingers.
My eyes were on my brother who was squirming in rage. But he smartly obeyed and stayed put.
I then turned my head snd watched with Kathleen at my side, as Scarlette’s purse, now opened by the thug, was held being held out and filled piece by piece with the jewellery she was removing from her wilting person.
Actually as I had looked over at my companions, I just saw Scarlett handing over her rings, she had that quickly already removed her necklace snd earrings.
The purse holder even complimented her on her quick compliance, as he snapped her purse shut and handed it to his companion to Pocket.
Looking Scarlette in the eyes before turning his attention on Kathleen, the rogue said in his snarky tone...
“Well played lady. Now youse two pretty ladies best follow suit!”
They then approached Kathleen who was looking at them sheepishly.
Her whole figure trembling as she handed over her purse and began to copy cat Scarlette’s routine.
They whistled in satisfactory unison as she began to undo her obscenely glittery diamond choker.
This rather pissed Kathleen off, and she showed it as she threw the necklace inside her purse.
“Take it, easy lady, the boss doesn’t like it when dames show emotions...” the purse holder clicked at Kathleen
she sternly looked at the purse holder while tugging off each of her earrings and emotionally placed them down inside her purloined purse.
She did the same with each of her dazzling twin bracelets and then finally her brace of rings as she tugged them off. Stepping back as the last ring was thrown inside
The man holding the pistol pointed it closer to Kathleen.
The thug holding her purse took the cue and snarled eagerly his, voice dripping with anticipation...
“Let’s not forget your hairpiece miss. Unless you want me to take it off you!
Kathleen, who had honestly forgotten, shook her head no, then reached up and with anger induced fumbling of her fingers, managed to undo the diamond piece holding up her silky hair, and unhappily added it to the poke.
“That’s a good Lass!”
The man said as he snapped close her purse.
Then they both looked at me, already smirking over what they had collected from the other two.
Happily, they said to me with menacing smirks...”
“Okay now blue jay, your turn for the plucking!”
I could feel my lips quivering as he beckoned for me to hand over my purse.
With a scared Docility, I limply handed it overseeing it shimmering in his evil-looking black-gloved hands, he opened it up.
“Quickly luv .” The one holding my purse said in a softer tone.
I obediently reached behind my neck and unclasped my necklace. then lowered the ends of glittery diamond-encrusted thing sadly into my purse.
My earrings( sorry, Mildred’s borrowed earrings )were next and they pulled off easily from my now sweat glistening earlobes.
I held up my wrist, and as they whistled in applause at its sparkling show, located the clasp, unsnapped my bracelet, and let it sadly drop down on top of the already glistening pile inside.
I was becoming very nervous as they watched me with their hungry eyes.
I pulled off both rings as he eagerly watched and plopped them inside. The hairpiece also miss, then it will be all over
I obediently reached up behind my head and worked the diamond-encrusted headband Lose... Feeling my now loosened silky hair fall swishing down over my shoulders.
I shivered, happy for the warm mink wrap I was still wearing.
As my purse was pocketed, the pair were now looking back at their still stationary boss.
Yep, just hit 300 followers about two hours ago. This moment calls for a celebration!!
(Karz, I'm so not ready for this...)
At this moment the fleet news from Lothian is rather slow.
However, I did manage to grab a quick snap today of Lothian 412 now repainted into the Fleet of The Future livery. 412 seen here at a rather quiet Haymarket operating on a service 3 to Mayfield. 23rd January 2018.
- Never Ending Happening (part of) - Bill Fay 2012
"The never ending happening
Of what's to be and what has been
Just to be a part of it
Is astonishing to me
The never ending happening
Of waves crashing against the cliffs
The falling seed the wind carries
The never ending happening
Souls arriving constantly
From the shores of eternity
Birds and bees and butterflies
Parade before my eyes
The never ending happening
Of the four winds changing direction
Nightfall stars sun rise again
Birdsong before the day begins"
Well some of you are into boots so why not show them off.
Almost got myself a pair the other day but they were too tight. I wasn't very happy about that as they were in a sale and very cheap
Hasn't this covid thing made life so dull? With not a lot happening i don't have much to chat about and the things i do want to talk about are a little confrontational. Might just carry on being a wall flower
Hello everyone! I hope you're all well despite the chaos, frustration, and sadness happening across the globe right now.
Though I'm lucky to share with you all once again, a super quick build video. In this video, I'll be featuring items from the June round of Equal10.
I had several of you request that I return with yet once again a voice-over video with
a step process, however this time on how I plan and decorate my spaces.
I won't go into full depth of schooling, though as you may already know
I come from a family of Interior Design, I won't be drilling a full in-depth on 'how'
to decorate a space. However, I do have a couple of residents in Second Life which I've been mentoring so I thought why not do a video to help them but also show others how I plan and build in Second Life.
This video will demonstrate a beginners tutorial on a small sitting space which can
be incorporated into a foyer, hallway or even connect onto a pre-existing living room
a layout that you've already done, such as a corner reading space or bedroom suite.
Artwork can be vital and can be one of the golden keys to help navigate yourself in the right direction if your stuck, though in this quick build I'm giving you an example if you don't use the artwork. It's ideal to understand the basic principals of
Interior Design is colour, volume, depth, proportion, and many more but you get the picture.
It's important to follow through and understand the space which you're working with.
Are there windows? What kind of floor are you using? If their windows,
are you going to use bamboo blinds,
shutters, puddle drapes, sheers, Venetian, roman blinds, vertical blinds, accent track blinds, or swag and tails.
will there be a block out? Will they be motorized? It's something worth taking into consideration.
In this video, I'm using neither as space I'm working with is very small and I want to make sure that ample of light can be penetrated through the glass to really brighten the interior as my colour palette is quite dull too.
For this demo
I'm using a prefab Trompe Loiel cabin and since this is a beginners tutorial, I won't modify the build a whole lot like
I would with a client project but if you'd like future videos on how I modify buildings, just let me know below.
So there were some key pieces
that I saw from Fancy Decor & Commoners collaboration Spero set which I fell head over heels for,
but in particular, I wanted to use the console as my main object, alongside the leather vintage chair by wrong.
These were my two main furniture, though if you look carefully, you can see I'm actually extracting from the chair as my colour palate. Theirs those reminiscent accents of buffed polished cherry wood caps,
light brass, licorice, and ebony leather. You don't always need to go based on the material colours to make space work,
sometimes in certain practices, designers will only go based on the actual materials.
I've got plenty of tricks up my sleeve which I'll go into detail for another video but to separate the dark tones,
I've introduced the light brass in various sectors of the space, which gives a pleasant
blend of something that's natural versus something that's artificial.
The real punch of flavor is the cherry wood which I've implemented by using dried flowers.
Notice how I've carried this not only adjacent from the chair but also how it's higher,
I'm making use of the space, which is crucial. For my accents, I've used abstract furniture pieces,
like the Shirvan side table and the vases by Madras. And then, of course, I've gone in with minor details which bring the whole space together. All of these items can be found below in the credit section.
For more build videos similar to this, let me know & I'll be more than happy to share with you some tips, tricks, ways to cut down on L$ and save your bucks, turning things from one thing to another.
Credits
Madras's Elilian Set @ Equal10 right now
LM; maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/equal10/235/128/89
Trompe Loeil - Finnister Cottage Charcoal
MADRAS Elilan Pot Decor
Apple Fall Books - Arrangement 11
Loft & Aria - Zoya Swing Arm Sconce (Right Facing)
Loft & Aria - Zoya Pouf
Loft & Aria - Hana Jars and Bowl
Loft & Aria - Shirvan Side Table Antique
Loft & Aria - Contessa Bath Mat
Loft & Aria - Whittaker Dried Flowers
Loft & Aria - Delaney Floor Light
08 FD & Commoner: Spero Console
WRONG - VINTAGE CHAIR - BROWN - PG
JHI website; www.jackhanbyinteriors.com/
As I was driving out for work this morning couldn't help notice someone had dropped a 55 Gallon drum, a rather handsome one at that, in the old Cul-de-sac. Given the colour I thought it would be a good subject for the Polaroid 600 Color film. Trying to choose carefully with only 5 shots left in the pack. Scanner adjustments rendered this with a bit more saturation than the print, but I'm going with it.
I've got a thing for the 55 Gallon drum and now have ten galleries of photos from around Flickrland.
Powellite Drive, Fairbanks Alaska. May 21, 2014.
Polaroid 600 Film, Polaroid OneStep Express Camera.
Thanks again Patricia for this film!
So. This is it.
I’ve had my first taste of Azrael.
Neither of us truly had the upper hand.
But, that changes today.
Maybe Tim, Dick, and the rest of Gotham will be able to sleep easy tomorrow.
But first? Azrael must go down tonight.
“Well how do you plan to do that? You haven’t even got a suit”
“Tim…”
He’s right. I haven’t got a suit.
“I’ll figure it out. Right now, we just have to follow him, and. You know. Finish him.”
Dick chimes in:
“Follow him? You let our only lead get away. You let HIM get away.”
“Dick, if you recall correctly, he came to us at the beginning, not the other way around.”
This time it is Tim’s turn to have a go. But I already had this figured out the moment I walked in here.
“What’s that meant to mean? How does that lead us to Azrael at all? Are you saying we just bait ourselves and wait for him to thrash us again??”
“Use your detective skills, Tim. Look behind you. What do you see.”
“A Batmobile”
“How many?”
“Oh my god. Just one.”
“Yeah. If he’s been stealing Batmobiles, then where are they all?”
“I- I think you’re onto something. “
He shoots a glance to Dick, who is looking intensely back at us.
“So where has he been setting that stuff up all this time if it wasn’t here?”
“Like I said. Think back to when we first met. Where was he then?”
“No… You mean he’s… how could we not have noticed this was here this whole time!?”
“How else do you think he was meant to get in the Batcave when I first encountered him? Unless he was already there.”
“We can’t go back there.”
Tim looks around.
“Then we stay here. He’s already brought enough of the Batcave here to give us a full arsenal.”
“I still haven’t got a suit yet, Tim.”
Sir, I think you’ll find that there is more than enough here to make a new suit.
Tim listens to A.L.F.R.E.D’s words, and points out some stolen suits, left unfinished, and smiles at Dick and I.
“It looks like Bruce has most of the work cut out for us.”
We look at him and grin back.
“Time to get to work then.”
…
You know, Bruce really knew how to make a good suit. I flex my fingers, and sparks of electricity come out.
“A.L.F.R.E.D, give me a system diagnostic.”
What’s there to say, Sir? Technology is integrated, and all systems are running perfectly.
“Schway.”
Dick steps up, in a noticeably red suit. And nods at me.
“Looks like we’ve had a colour swap.”
“Looks like you just copied my homework.”
“What can I say? Your suit looked cool. Besides, Red was always my colour.”
He pulls out a pair of escrima sticks, pushes a button, and they extend – activating a bright red plasma. He hits them together, emitting a small spark, accompanied with a healthy “bzzzt”.
Tim looks on at us, admiring his handiwork.
“You could’ve had a cool new suit too, you know?”
“Let’s just get this over and done with.”
He taps a button on his glove, and a small projection, showing Azrael, appeared.
“I got this message 5 minutes ago, beckoning us to face him, and all that bull.”
We ignore the fact that he didn’t tell us immediately and begin to gather anything we might find useful. I mean, after all, Batman has gotta prepare for a battle to win.
Turning around, we find that Tim is already inside his Redbird, and gone. Dick tries to call after him, but there’s no use. He then runs over to the stolen Batmobile, but it doesn’t start.
“You know. Maybe Azrael just stole this to help decorate his cave?”
I walk over, and tap the fuel gage.
“Heh. It would’ve been nice if this one had some left in the tank. It’s not going to be fun running after them.”
We look at each other, sigh, get out of the car, and begin to sprint.
…
Arriving at the cave, I was expecting something grim, like the asylum. But instead I get… home.
No rubble. No bodies. No death.
No Tim either.
Dick breaks the silence
“You know. I was expecting to see Tim hanging over the manor.”
“Maybe he took Azrael down.”
We both exhale amusingly. But if Tim isn’t here… then, where is he?
Walking into the manor, Dick attempts some conversation.
“You know, Tim is a lot more skilled than he seems. He’s young, but he could even be a better Batman than any of us… given time.”
“I’m well aware. The Tim of my universe was a brilliant detective. I actually ran into him, in another universe, where he’d taken up the mantle of the Bat.”
“So Bruce is always dead? Wherever you go?”
Our footsteps echo through the halls of the manor, as we approach the entrance to the cave.
“Yeah. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Answers? Bruce himself? I’ve watched entire worlds crumble under the strain of Bruce’s disappearance. And I know that I have to find a way to return him, otherwise… my home. Your home. Everywhere could face the same fate.
But I have nothing. Nothing but this.”
I pull out the strip of metal that other Tim gave me. Dick stares at it, with no hint of recognition on his face.
“What is it?”
“It’s from a bomb that appeared out of nowhere and killed the Bruce and Dick of one of the universes I visited. It’s the only lead I have.”
“Wow… I died too? Or… a version of me. I’ll admit, that’s pretty… schway.”
He grins at me. I’d spent all this time here, and I’d never really gotten to know the first version of Dick I’ve run into on my adventure.
“Well. Here we are.”
We come to the grandfather clock, torn off its hinges, exposing the entrance to the cave below. Nothing but darkness greets us, as we begin to descend.
…
The cave is a mess. An absolute mess. Would it kill Azrael to clean up after he visits a place, once in a while?
The lights are off. Illuminating the room, is a single strip of light, coming from a crack in the cave wall. A crack big enough for a person to fit through. A trail of blood continues on the floor, leading up to the crack. He was hiding in plain sight. It makes me wonder what other secrets and hiding places are in my cave. Without a word, Dick looks at me, nods, and we make our way towards the crack.
Beyond the crack, we find ourselves in another room. A Batcave, inside the Batcave. What Azrael managed to set up in here, makes the lair at the asylum look like a child’s playhouse.
In here, is the real asylum.
The first thing that caught my eye? Bane. Bane’s body, hooked up to a series of tubes and wires, having everything sucked out of it. Whatever is being sucked out, is mixed with a series of green liquids on a work bench – resulting in a glowing concoction. Also on the workbench, is a gun. To the right of Bane, is a row of a dozen tanks, all full of this green liquid. And inside these tanks? People. Or rather, the same person. He’s managed to clone someone. The psycho is cloning. Probably thinks himself as god, creating life and giving it to… whoever this person is.
“He’s cloning himself…”
Well, Dick answered the question for me. Thanks, Dick.
The missing Batmobiles are also here, along with probably everything else Azrael stole.
Three more Azrael suits sit near the workbench. One of them is the suit that resembles the one he was wearing earlier, no empty. Two more are almost identical, except for the colour scheme. Looks like he’s taken a cue from us, and made red the ‘in’ colour.
Behind the workbench, a holographic Batcomputer set up, technology beyond what I expected from this universe. Then again, they’re cloning over here.
And to the left of the bench… Tim.
Tim in a tank filled with the green stuff.
And he’s screaming. No sound comes from him. But he’s constantly screaming. Continuous bubbles of air escape from his mouth, as he attempts to express himself. He doesn’t even stop to breathe. Not that he can breathe. He should be dead right now, but he isn’t. Whatever is in the tank is keeping him alive.
I take a step towards the tank, whatever is going on can’t be good. Dick stops me.
“Terry. Don’t. Whatever is going on, can’t be good.”
“He’s right. Terry.”
One of the suits moves, the blue one, and steps up to meet us.
Azrael. Hiding in plain sight again.
Dick approaches the tank, with Tim in it. Azrael slowly walks over, clearly injured from out last fight, and stops him from getting closer.
“What are you doing to him?”
“Look around you Grayson. What does it look like. He shall be reborn and become a member of the Order of Saint Dumas.”
“You’re not cloning yourself… you’re turning people into you…”
He looks over at the green liquid.
“That’s not just venom. You’re turning it into leviathan.”
I’d heard of leviathan once. One of those mythological substances which give people superhuman abilities, altering their DNA. And if Azrael is effectively turning others into him, he’s infused the leviathan with his DNA. Compared to Leviathan, Venom and Titan are far tamer. No wonder Azrael has been so unstable, he’s been injecting himself with it.
Another voice joins in:
“Doesn’t matter what he’s doing. He’s a pig. And all pigs get taken to the slaughter.”
The owner of the voice, a small child, interrupts the fray. He jumps in front of the tank Tim is in, and brandishes a sword at Azrael.
“I am the son of the Batman. I have come to claim what is rightfully mine.”
The appearance of this child baffles me. Is this boy, this universe’s version of me?
“Ha. No child is worthy of the Bat. Only Azrael.”
He charges at Azrael, he’s brazen. I’m give him that. But the same thing happens to him, that has happened to everyone that has tried to charge at Azrael. He is tossed aside, and crashes into a computer. Azrael makes a roar of anger, and holds himself, still feeling the effects of the explosion. He’s weak. This should make this easy.
I go to meet him, but instead Dick steps up, activates his escrima and gets into stance.
“Ready for round two, big boy?”
Without a word, Azrael flings his limbs at Dick. Dick hasn’t got enough time in between throws to get any licks in, but he manages to dodge each attempt flawlessly. He’s going to try to tire Azrael out. Deep red stains start to appear in various places in his suit. He’s bleeding out. The fool, he’ll probably be the first to tire.
Azrael realises what is happening, takes a leviathan filled syringe and runs into another corner of the room. He’s smart, but buying time for him, is buying time for us too. Dick looks at me, as he chases after him, and shouts out:
“Check on the child!”
I nod, and run over to the boy. Let’s hope this one on one goes better this time.
I hear a yell come from across the room:
“You’re no Batman, pretender, you’re not even a Wayne!”
Clearly Dick has his own ideas of who should wear the mask. Speaking of, I pull off mine, and the child stares at me. Before Azrael can return, I blurt out the number one question on my mind.
“Who are you?”
“Does it matter, Impostor? I am the rightful heir to the mantle of the bat. Damian Wayne!”
He tries to get up, but his wounds are far too taxing on his body. This child can’t take a supercharged punch from a supervillain yet. It makes him mad that he can’t do anymore, he gives up and lays back down, nearing unconsciousness. But once he looks at my face, I get a different reaction from him.
“You’re not Bruce Wayne.”
“No. But I’m the best thing you’ve got.”
With the satisfaction that he’s fine, I turn to the battle happening behind me.
Dick has his escrima ready again. The plasma shines a bright crimson on his face.
“Let Tim go.”
“Or else?”
Azrael does have a point. What are we going to say? We’ll beat you up? We’re going to do that anyway.
“Doesn’t matter, he’s gonna be free any second. And you’ll be in a cell.”
“You’ll be in a grave, Grayson.”
The two of them go a few rounds, with Dick repelling Azrael with his electric bursts from the escrima, stumbling Azrael back, who moves back to the workbench. He puts the syringe into a small medical gun, and injects himself with the leviathan. Slag.
Dick charges at Azrael, expecting to make a final blow, but Azrael has gained his breath, and turns around instantly.
One leviathan charged punch, and Dick is down too.
Azrael lets out another roar, but this time of victory.
Oh no. He turns to me, ready to pound in my head with his drug induced rampage, his voice reaching points of anger I’ve never witnessed in my life:
“DIE DEMON. St. Dumas screams for your blood!”
This guy is really off his nut, and the leviathan is not helping at all.
He leaps unto the air, and I roll out of the way as he thunders down his fist into the floor. I’ve seen far too many people use this move. But the leviathan isn’t enough to keep him going, not in the state he’s in.
I activate the plasma on my own suit. Bright blue electricity emanates from my limbs. He comes at me with a furious fist, and I meet it with my own electrified punch. Sparks fly, and lightning strikes out from where we make contact. Each action creates a new light show. He’s getting tired, and needs a new tactic. He moves away, and I smell gas. I strike his gauntlet, and break his flame thrower. I’m not having any of that dirty play this time around.
He moves to the other gauntlet and shoots out small batarangs, which my suit’s electricity knocks out of the air.
I’m not in the mood for this, I target the points where blood is seeping through. Where I know he’s wounded and is weakest. With each point that I hit, he staggers and stops using that part of the body. He slows down as the leviathan’s effects begin to run out, and the blood starts to show in more areas of his suit. But his energy says otherwise, he’s still swinging at me. But in this state, it’s doing nothing. He’s far too weak physically and mentally to make any of the punches count. He’s finding it hard to dodge my punches, as I’m finding it easy to dodge his. Before long, he’s slowed down to a punch per second, then a punch every two seconds, then he stops punching altogether, and falls to his knees.
“Bruce Wayne was not worthy of the mantle of the Bat.”
He pulls off his helmet, and screams at me.
“YOU are not fit you be the Bat. Bruce Wayne failed in his post. And you in turn, failed Bruce Wayne! You’ll never be the Batman I am. I am the one true Batman. Batman lives… in me!”
“You’re wrong. I am Batman.”
I punch him, and he falls. The leviathan wears off, and his eyes return to a pale blue. He looks up at me, and begins to tremble.
“You… you’re right. You are Batman… I was too blind to see it. You have always been Batman.”
I look down upon him, forgivingly. And his eyes turn from that beautiful blue, to the vicious green again.
“But I will not give up this mantle! This city is full of filth, and it must be cleansed!”
He pulls out another syringe and lunges at me once more.
A gunshot is head, and Azrael drops. Dead.
Behind him stands an exhausted Damian, who falls to the ground, unconscious.
And Tim, freed from the tank, and holding a gun in his hand.
“Tim…”
I’m about to tell him it wasn’t right. But, we all knew it was the only true way to stop him. Tim slumps down, heavied by what he had just done. Dick rushes over to console him.
…
The Batcave is awfully silent. Though there’s no other way the atmosphere could be, granted what had just happened.
Sucks, being in a family of brooders. We’re all so damn good at it. Dick leans against the wall, with his arms crossed. He looks away into the distance, deep in thought.
Tim, with no apparent side effects from his dunk in the insane pool, clacks away at the Batcomputer, compiling all the information of this universe into my belt. A.L.F.R.E.D should be pleased, once he’s booted into a new suit. Looks like it’s back home for a quick stop. At least I’ll see Dana again. Dick walks over to me, and breaks the silence.
“So. What happens now? Gotham can’t handle life without a proper Batman. That much is clear. Who is Bruce’s successor, since you don’t exist in this universe?”
I glance over at the unconscious child, and then back at Dick.
“Look after him. I have a feeling he’s desperately going to need a father figure.”
I tap him lightly on the chest, and give him the cowl from the nearest batsuit.
“Tag. You’re it.”
Dick takes a moment to realise what has just happened, and accepts it. He moves over to Damian, picks him up, and takes him to the medical bay. Good man.
Tim steps forward, and gives me back my belt.
“What if we ever need you again, Terry? Not everyone is going to accept a new Batman, especially not after what happened with Azrael. What sort of idiot could think that Azrael would ever be Batman over Dick, or even myself anyway.”
We both have a small chuckle. He’s right. Who in their right mind would choose Azrael to replace Bruce?
“The fact remains, Terry. We’re gonna need a Batman. That Batman is you.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I do. Gotham needs a Batman.”
“I’m sure you’ll find one soon enough. But just in case, here.”
I throw him the interdimensional communicator.
“Tell Dick I said 'bye', yeah?.”
“Terry… thanks. For everything. I’m sorry you couldn’t find Bruce.”
This reminds me of my last encounter with the other Tim.
“I’m sorry you were dunked in a vat of crazy juice.”
He laughs, and I hook up my belt. Here’s hoping this works with this suit. I touch the central red button on my belt, and open up the dimension stream. A look of awe fills this version’s face as the swirling colours and bright lights hit him.
“I’m sure I’ll see you guys again.”
“I’m sure you will. We’re gonna need you.”
Without any more words, I leave for my next destination, sure in the knowledge that I’ll find myself back here again. My time here isn’t quite finished.
Epilogue.
Nanda Parbat.
Another rises from the pit. Greeted by the immortal himself.
A scream echoes through the halls, calmed only by The Demon’s voice:
“Your ‘father’ is dead.”
A scream stops. And turns into one word:
“Bruce…”
A strange thing happening all over the world except for Antarctica, with the male Damselfly clasping the female at the back of the head for a prolonged period of sexual intimacy which can be synchronized until eggs are laid. A minor constant during 250 million years of changing ecological theater and one of the oddities of nature to fascinate the consciousness of man - a motif that regularly appears on jewelry and in fishing artifice. Watching strange things happening is a simple drift of entertainment for all humankind that manages to take the time to stop - the pleasure of an joke without a punchline. The image was taken between the prehistoric abris of Fontales and Madeleine des Albis on the Aveyron river behind Cazals.
Enna Munchen. Tele-Ennalyt 2.8 135mm prime.
AJ
Union Pacific westbound coal train CCSAT9-15 passes between UP 1996 and an eastbound auto train AFXAS-16 in Pacific Missouri.
I love this spot. It is so beautiful. The forest around it is very green and then there's this highlighted area at the end of a small path. I had to take a picture there :)
It's a bit artsy...Ear of corn from a corn stalk that grew wild in a planter next to our kettle corn tent. Guess where the seed came from?! This has been a fun happening for the whole farmers market!!!
There wasn't much happening this Saturday locally but I did note this working. It was possible, with the aid of RTT, to have a decent day out in past Saturdays but that doesn't seem to be the case these days.
Anyway, I went out for this this morning. Note the cloud in the background, this is what I would call 'The Lickey Hill Clag'. An event that occurs meaning that I cannot just look out of the window to check the weather living locally. Due to the line of hills including The Waseley's and others stretching across the Black Country, the development of cloud can be more prominent than anywhere else in the region, illustrated perfectly here. There was no sign of cloud around the sun from where I stood here when taking this image.
Moscú - Moscow - Москва
Happening (de la palabra inglesa que significa acontecimiento, ocurrencia, suceso) es toda experiencia que parte de la secuencia provocación-participación-improvisación. Tiene su origen en la década de 1950 y se considera una manifestación artística multidisciplinaria. Aunque se han relacionado con el pop-art y el movimiento hippie, los happenings se integran dentro del conjunto del llamado performance art.
En un principio, el happening artístico fue una tentativa de producir una obra de arte que naciese del acto a organizar y con la participación de los "espectadores" (que abandonasen así su posición de sujetos pasivos y se liberasen a través de la expresión emotiva y la representación colectiva). Aunque es común confundir el happening con la llamada acción artística el primero difiere de la segunda en la improvisación.
El happening, como manifestación artística múltiple que pretende la participación espontánea del público, suele ser efímero. Por este motivo los happenings suelen presentarse en lugares públicos, irrumpiendo en la cotidianeidad.
es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happening
A happening is a performance, event, or situation meant to be considered art, usually as performance art. The term was first used by Allan Kaprow during the 1950s to describe a range of art-related event or multiple events.
Happenings occur anywhere and are often multi-disciplinary, with a nonlinear narrative and the active participation of the audience. Key elements of happenings are planned but artists sometimes retain room for improvisation. This new media art aspect to happenings eliminates the boundary between the artwork and its viewer.
In the late 1960s, perhaps due to the depiction in films of hippie culture, the term was used much less specifically to mean any gathering of interest from a pool hall meetup or a jamming of a few young people to a beer blast or fancy formal party.