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The King Vulture (Sarcoramphus Papa) is the most strikingly colored of the New World vultures.
It is native to tropical lowland forests; its range extends from southern Mexico to southern Argentina, and it can be found at heights up to up to 1200 m.
The King Vulture has a yellow fleshy crest (wattle) on its bill, and the bare skin of its head is yellow and red. Its plumage is black and grey, but it has pink and yellow tinges. The eyes are straw-coloured in the adult. It is about 80 cm long.
In terms of behavior, King Vultures are typical vultures. They feed on carrion, and soar looking for prey, but may also use olfaction to help locate it. At a carcass, the King Vulture is dominant over other species, but its greater strength means that it will often open carcasses that others are then able to exploit.
from: Wikipedia
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This is a weekday after work joint with my bro big Pase in da south boogie. Couple hours hea and there just to kill the paint cravings. Lol. Gotta do it like that sometimes. Just doing what I love to do. Pintando.4Burners... Bronx Team....
I took this on a Studio night Trying to get more confident taking photos of people. This models name is Amy Potter .
I will add the following also regarding processing I have only removed two very slight imperfections on photo little pimple other wise I turned it into B&W and this as I took it .
==Arkham Asylum: Guard Quarters==
"Let me see! Let me see!"
“Careful, you’re crumpling them!”
"Ooh, such wonderful emotions! Delicious, frozen expressions!"
Abner Krill’s face was pressed against the microwave, like a child’s at the zoo’s red panda exhibit, as he waited for his cocoa to be ready; the room was small, modest, and utilitarian, which had suited the Asylum Guards just fine in the past. Hayden and Billings had cornered their newest member, Mister Camera, and were clearly enjoying themselves as they perused through the shoebox he’d retrieved from the 'Bug House.' The microwave pinged, and Krill removed the steaming mug from inside.
Billings had spotted a particularly erotic photo from the pile and grabbed it, bearing a crooked smile as he rubbed his thumb across the edge. "My my, is that lace? That naughty little bug girl… Rather nicely composed too...”
Krill snorted from the sidelines, as he stirred a sixth spoonful of sugar into his hot cocoa. "You don't know dick about composition, you peg legged twat."
"I'm a filmmaker, Krill, an auteur, I picked up a few things,” Billings replied condescendingly.
"Mm. About filmmaking or alcoholism? 'Cause, didn't it bomb? Like, bomb so bad the suits sent you to rehab? Twice."
Billings spun around, photo still in hand. "Now, you listen here, you pimpled prat! That was entirely out of my hands!" he scowled, his face turning a deep scarlet. "The Society completely dicked me over! Class A censorship from small-nubbed pricks! If I was allowed to tell my vision-!"
"Stop it! You're dribbling alcohol onto them!" Sims clutched Billings arm, protecting his precious photos from Spellbinder’s spit.
The squeak of rubber on metal broke up the argument. The crackle of lightning kept it that way. Crane sat in the doorway, two tired, mismatched eyes and a downturned mouth peeking out from behind his burlap mask; Zoom stood behind him, fists balled. "Cease your juvenile ogling, you primitive pack of apes, you all have work to do," Crane chastised the group. They didn’t need to be told a second time; Sims exited first, carrying the shoebox under his arm; then Hayden, kicking the ground defiantly; Billings shuffled away last, wiping the rim of his flask with his cuff.
Zoom however, stayed rooted to the spot, his blurred gaze fixed on Krill. Crane stared at him suspiciously, then wheeled himself away.
"Yeah?" Krill eyed the Speedster expectantly, slurping his hot chocolate from an Arkham-Branded mug.
“I haaaaaaaaavea job foryooooooouuuuuuuu,” Zoom slurred. “Offthe record.”
Krill smirked back, a greedy glint in his eyes. "Will it pay?"
"Ohyes."
==GCPD==
A group of four entered the GCPD; security was lax as of late; with so many dead and even more injured, it was easy for Chuck, Gar, Joey and Bridget to slip in through the roof; Chuck went on ahead to check out the interrogation room and gather clues while the three pyros lingered by the cell block. Confused, Joey looked at Ted Carson, still held behind iron bars.
"Joker didn't want him?" he whispered to Gar, conscious not to upset Bridget.
"Would you?" Gar answered back coldly.
“Laugh it up, Bug Boys,” Carson growled at the duo. “I’ll get outta here, and I’ll kill you all.”
“Hn. And I thought some time to yourself would give you space to reflect,” Gar stared at him, flicking his lighter shut. “Guess I figured wrong.”
“Ah, but it did. ‘Cause now I know what to do. No more schemes. No more plans. No more lousy, two-faced partners. I’m just gonna burn it all down.”
Gar’s brow shifted slightly. “Good luck with that,” he scoffed, stepping aside. As he did so, Carson finally noticed his daughter. His jaw slackened, his eyes narrowed, his puffed-out chest deflated, at the sight of this final, crushing betrayal.
"Bridget?" he choked, struggling to process her presence.
Bridget fidgeted with her hands, avoiding her father’s gaze. "Dad..." she began to defend herself, but nothing came out. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.
"You're with them now, is that it?” Carson scowled. "Figures.”
Gar exhaled, stepping back in front of Bridget defensively. "You, are an idiot,” he remarked. “A big, shiny, Megazord of an idiot."
"Careful," Carson warned.
"Oh, please! If you were any sort of a husband or father, if you ever cared for your wife, for Bridget; for Jumbo for crying out loud, you'd have gone back to your family as soon as you'd woken up, when you were resurrected that very first time. Or the second time. Or the third. Or the fourth. But no, you just had to get revenge on your killer, on a drunk fuckin' driver, no matter what! You couldn't let it go that the great "Ted Carson" got punted 100 yards by Killer Moth in his bright purple Mothmobile. If that were me, if I had died, and somehow, through divine, demonic or whatever that crap was, intervention, I'd run back to my apartment, I would hold my little girl in my arms, and I would not let go. But look at you! You! You let yourself get so fucking consumed by vengeance that you let it all slip away.
Drury didn’t ruin your life. He didn’t destroy your family. By the way, he didn’t put you in Arkham either. You did that all on your own."
Finished, Gar stormed off, Joey in pursuit. Yet, despite every fibre of her being telling her not to, Bridget lingered by the door to her dad’s cell.
“Go on then,” Carson growled. “Run back to ‘daddy.’”
But Bridget didn’t. She couldn’t. Despite everything he’d said and done, despite her newfound loyalty to the Misfits…
He was still her father.
~-~
Chuck knelt beside an upturned table in the interrogation room, peeling off a scrap from an orange jumpsuit that had been caught on the edge. ‘Drury…’ he lamented quietly. Amongst the glass, and the trails of dried blood, he found something else; a single Joker card pinned to a sheet of A5 paper. The door behind him opened, signifying Gar and Joey’s arrival.
“Anything?” Gar asked, not expecting a whole lot.
"Looks like he left a note,” Chuck replied, noticing some writing on the back.
“What's it say?” Joey inquired.
Chuck cleared his throat, and began to read: "225g plain flour, two teaspoons bicarbonate of soda, ground ginger, a pinch of cinnamon, 75g unsalted butter, 100g soft brown sugar and 100g golden syrup. To decorate: one bar of dark chocolate, finely grated."
"I- I think it's a shopping list."
~-~
The group walked back the way they came, despondent over their lack of leads. Carson remained in his cell, but something had changed in his demeanour, an underlying quiet malice. Dragging behind, a voice called out to Chuck from the cell diagonal Carson’s. A cold, refined voice that Chuck had hoped he’d heard the last of:
"Charlie?"
Chuck turned around: Julian was standing by the bars, a quizzical expression on his face.
“You look healthy,” Chuck replied, perhaps a little more venomously than he had intended.
“Your poison has worked its' way out of my system, yes. As you can see, the GCPD is rather short staffed at the moment,” Julian observed, a slight, malicious smile on his face.
“That ‘poison’ is meant to help you, Julian,” Chuck responded. “You’re sick.”
“Yes, of oh so many things… You never understood Diaxymine, Charlie. It’s not a solution, it doesn’t suppress my darker half and worse impulses. It never did. It’s a flood. Drowning me in remorse. Burying me in sorrow and pity and regret. Is this how it is for you? For the Misfits? Knowing that despite how hard you try to better yourself, the things you’ve done, those terrible terrible things will stick with you, forever.”
“Yes.”
“How can you bear it?” Julian inquired, in a tone that revealed an underlying pain.
“By trying my hardest, doing the best I can.”
“Then surely, you understand why I tried to free you from that burden? From that pain? To escape from that baggage and be your truest self?” Julian asked softly.
Chuck took a step towards the exit and opened it. “No,” he called back. “And I never will.”
==<???>==
Emerging from a kaleidoscopic vortex, Krill and his charge stepped forward onto weightless ground, only to be hit by a blinding wave of white light; They were standing in a void of white clouds, lit up by bolts of coloured lightning. The only sounds were the faint rumblings of thunder in the distance. Krill lowered his goggles over his eyes and began scanning for signs of life. "Thought you said this place was a prison?" he squinted.
Zoom looked out at the howling wilderness. "Itis."
Krill frowned. It didn't look like a prison. It looked like Cloud Cuckoo Land, and Zoom’s non-committal responses weren’t helping matters. He peeled a dot off his chest, and hurled into in the endless void, hoping it could find something his scanners couldn’t. They were standing in something elemental; Krill knew that much. Something ancient. Something ethereal.
Something wrong.
As they walked (that's right, walked not ran), something changed in the air, the fluffy white clouds all around them turned grey, as though they were travelling into a hurricane of swirling wind. The sounds of thunder overhead became louder. The lightning changed too, gone was the rainbow of colours, only one hue remained, angrier, more aggressive than the rest: Red.
And the further they walked; the more anxious Krill became. "Where are we? What... what have you done?" he asked, uncharacteristically uncertain. Shaken.
"Zoom. Where are we?" he asked again.
"Thislesson isbeyondme. Ineed someone toshow me the way,” Zoom whispered quietly, merely raising more unsettling questions.
"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU TAKEN ME?!" Krill bellowed, his entire body quaking; tiny globs of spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on Zoom's face. He ripped two dots off his shoulders and pointed them at Zoom’s face, both glowing with neon energy.
"Iwould nooooooot do thaaaaat ifiwere youuuuuuuuuu,” Zoom wagged his finger back and forth.
"Yeah? Why the hell not?" Krill demanded, his eyes bulging.
"Youuuuuuuuuuuuu'll unsettle the wraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiths."
Krill’s arm fell by his side, the energy dissipating from his fists. Realisation had set in, and grovelling even quicker. "Oh... Oh, God. I... I was loyal. Didn't betray you, didn't tell Bats or the Kite-Man shit. You don't... You don't have to do this. Please, don't do this."
Zoom cocked his head to one side, a motion that could almost be described as pity. "Youmisunderstand, Aaaaaaaaabneeeeeer. Thisis not apunishment. Thisisa leeeeeeeesssoooooooon."
"Lesson." A word that anyone who had ever been on Zoom's receiving end had learned to fear. But Krill wouldn't stick around for the demonstration, he reached for the dial on his belt, and then a final, gut-wrenching twist of the knife: The belt was gone.
As Krill struggled to reconcile what had happened, Zoom raised his hand, and his heart beat even faster than before: all his hopes of escape vanished at once. Dangling from Zoom’s wrist was his red belt. Krill had never even noticed he'd taken it. Zoom’s syllabus was at last revealed with one haunting phrase: "Suuuuuuuuuuuuurvival ofthe fittest."
"No. Please. I'm not like the rest of the psychotic grunts who lube themselves up over LiveLeaks or nuke cities for jollies," Krill chuckled nervously, sweat across his pimpled brow. "I'm... I'm like you."
Before Zolomon could answer, a third voice broke through the fog; calm, arrogant, evil. "Oh, Abner, I don't think we're alike at all.”
“Quite the reverse, actually."
Krill tried to offer a pitiful rebuttal, but it was too late: Lightning bolts wrapped around his wrists like manacles, dragging him deeper into the void, his corporeal form fading, then for a moment: silence.
The Storm had accepted Zoom's offering. And then all at once, red lightning shot down on the spot Krill had been standing prior, forming a yellow silhouette. "In academic circles, this is what we'd call a 'teaching moment,' Mr Krill,” the figure smiled, his image becoming clearer; he looked like Zolomon but his uniform was a brighter yellow, his build was leaner, his red irises were exposed, and he was smiling. The Professor, was in.
“Class dismissed.”
Zolomon offered his mentor Krill’s belt; the device clicked as Thawne fastened it around his waist; a portal opened, but more destructively than before; without its true master, the circular vortex was jagged, unstable. But the Reverse-Flashes didn't need long. Faster than you could blink, they were gone; and the portal folded in on itself, leaving the Speedforce quiet once more.
==Keystone City. West Residence==
Wally West closed the door to his daughter Irey’s bedroom, then sped downstairs, yellow lightning trailing after him. His wife Linda was on the sofa, who, upon spying him, raised a bottle of non-alcoholic wine off the coffee table.
“Kids asleep?” she asked slyly.
“Yep,” Wally smirked; in an instant, he was sitting beside her on the sofa. He held up a glass and she began to trickle wine into it.
“Merry Christmas, Mr West,” she kissed him on the cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs Park,” he smiled back cheekily, reciprocating with a longer smooch on the lips.
Then suddenly, Wally stumbled back, clutching his head as images flooded his head. The glass hit the floor, shattering on impact, and staining the floor a blood red.
"Wally? You OK?" Linda knelt beside him, placing her arm around him comfortingly.
"I... I don't know."
Photo: Spaghetti.Princess
Raw Post-production: me
Carnival makeup: Loertis
_____
Ok ok sono tornato, sono laureato e sì, come molti di voi hanno saputo qua e là, ho preso quel bel voto lì. Ora avrò più tempo per sviluppare progetti tutti miei! Ma prima dovrò ovviamente rispendere alle mail che mi avete mandato e flickerare un pò. +_+
Ok, ok, I'm back, I'm graduated and yes - as many of you knew it from various sources, I had that "very good" grade. Now I have more time to develop some projects of mine! As soon as possible I'll answer to all those mail you sent me, and flickr around a bit. +_+
“What is the point? We assume that every time we do anything we know what the consequences will be, i.e., more or less what we intend them to be. This is not only not always correct. It is wildly, crazily, stupidly, cross-eyed-blithering-insectly wrong!”
― Douglas Adams, The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide
2015 08 10 145742 Yorkshire York 1HDR
North-to-northwest view of Pleasant Valley, Monroe County, from the Appalachian Trail west of Wind Gap.
From the back cover:
Kinkie Manson had never had a girl of his own before Dorie. Tall, gangling, pimply-faced, he had always been on the fringe of the crowd that ran things at the high school. But when Dorie moved to town and took a shine to him, things really changed. With a hep chick of his own, he discovered, a guy really belonged!
So when Dorie suggested going with some of the gang to a deserted summer cabin for the weekend, Kinkie was all for it. Even when she suggested they turn the weekend into a honeymoon, he didn't hesitate. Only when she suggested how he could get the money they needed, did Kinkie wake up to reality.
But by then it was too late. He had to stick with Dorie, keep on the jump, and get himself in deeper and deeper. There was no turning back once you'd joined the kids who were really OUT FOR KICKS.
Poor little guy, got warts and pimples after the customs officer opened his box and touched him all over >_<
Knilch (German word for "twit", "lout", "jerk" or "bastard") is a Doll Chateau Andre, faceup by Sadomina.
sadomina.tumblr.com/
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Haystack Mountain in Boulder, Colorado is but a pimple compared with the giant Rockies in the background. This area is a favorite for bicyclists. You can ride for miles without a traffic light or stop sign.
This photo was taken in the late afternoon so the sun really shows the haze. The direction of the photo is west and a little north. The lake is called Dodd Lake.
Here's another photo containing Haystack Mountain in the winter.
This photo is often my most viewed photo each day. I don't know why. I don't consider it anywhere near my best. Somehow it shows up in front of thousands of others when people search on "mountain" or "mountains."
Pimple Popping 2 CHUNKY ingrown hair removed with 1 squeeze Abscess popping method pimple popping Big cyst pop Eye Cyst Cyst Excised From Heart Of Patient Gross Zit Cyst Pimple Pus Filled Popping FUN Eye Cyst GROSS!! Popping a huge nasty boil! LOTS of Pus! Pimple Zit Cyst 2 Eye Cyst How To Pop Huge Back Zit Popping Cyst Removal 2014 kopia Eye Cyst pimple popping cyst zit 3 Gross Zit Cyst Pimple Pus Filled Popping FUN Eye Cyst 360p Dengan Kualitas HD Terbaru Bisa Langsung Anda Unduh Dari Dekstop dan Ponsel adroid Anda. Berikut Ini Adalah Detail Video Gross Zit Cyst Pimple Pus Filled Popping FUN Eye Cyst 360p: Thick, Chunky Ingrown, Hair Removed, ingrown hair cyst, ingrown hair, ingrown hair removal, ingrown hair removed, Ingrown Hair, Pus, Hair, Dream Out Shout Back Youtube, Medicine, Disease, ingrown blood, ingrown hair, pulled squeezed, tweezer tweezers, hair skin removed removal makeup, Cosmetics, Free New, Quotation, Account Speech Member, Fashion, female health, Hygiene, Freedom, Hair Removal, Pimple"
--Molly and Dillon enter the kitchen, arms filled with grocery bags—
Dillon: *tries to squeeze past the throng of people* “Erm, bit crowded…*looks around*…with people wearin’ concerned faces. What’s the story?”
Molly: *takes one look at Charley’s face, drops her bag to the floor, and signs* “Do I need to call Diego?” *reaches for her phone*
Charley: *signs/says* “I’m okay, Molls, and Diego is the last thing I need right now. One more dude up in here and my kitchen’s going to pop like a testosterone-filled pimple.” *wave of exhaustion hits suddenly, sways on her feet*
Dane: “Charley!”
Caid: “Whoa, Chuck. Sit down. I can catch Molly and Dillon up.” *gently ushers her to a seat*
Charley: “Thanks.” *collapses into a chair*
Caid: *turns to Dillon and Molly, begins talking/signing quickly, hands flying with graceful ease*
Charley: *watches Caid, eyes full of admiration* “He’s so good at that. Better than me…and maybe even Diego, too.”
Dane: *crouches down, eye-level with Charley* “Well, he’s had longer to practice. His grandmother started teaching him sign before he could talk. You okay, because you don’t look it. *grabs Charley’s hands, kisses them* You may not want to hear it again, but I’m so bloody sorry.”
Charley: *strokes Dane’s cheek* “I’m fine, and if I accept your apology—even if I don’t think it’s warranted at all—will you finally stop saying you’re sorry?”
Dane: “I’ll try.”
Charley: “Then, I accept.” *leans her forehead against his shoulder, closes eyes*
Dane: *frowns* “Chuck, you’re kind of warm.”
Charley (jokingly): “You used to think I was smoking hot. Now, I’m ‘kind of warm’? Guess I really do look like crap. Baking so does not agree with me.”
Caid: “And that’s it. You’re all caught up.”
Molly: *hurries over, throws her arms around Charley’s neck, face terrified*
Charley: *turns head, looks straight into Molly’s eyes, and slowly signs/says* “It is going to be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me. No one is going to hurt me.”
Molly: *releases Charley, begins signing rapidly, face feral*
Candy: “What’s she saying, Caid?”
Caid: *translates* “She’s not going to lose anyone else she loves, and if Dane’s brother really did purposely murder Alice, who happened to be carrying his child at the time, then he’s capable of anything. She wants Charley to come stay with her, Diego, and Bishop. She doesn’t want Charley outta her sight.”
Molly: *finishes signing, cuddles into the chair beside Charley, hugging her protectively*
Charley: *squeezes Molly’s hand*
Danny: “Molly has a point. Until this all gets straightened out, someone should stay with Charley. I don’t like the idea of her being here alone if this guy—whoever he is—shows up again. At least we know Mrs. Wilson is keeping an eye out for her. There’s sumthin’ to be said for nosy neighbors.”
Fashion Credits
***Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes, haircuts) were done by me unless otherwise stated.***
Charley
Shorts: Sugarbabylovedoll (Etsy.com)
T-shirt: Clear-lan
Sneakers: Sekiguchi – Momoko – Go For Victory
Glasses: Sekiguchi – Momoko Separate
Necklace: Me
Doll is a Morning Dew Giselle transplanted to a Poppy body, re-rooted by the super-duper valmaxi(!!!)
Candy
Jeans: Clear-lan
Top & Belt: Cangaway (Etsy.com)
Sneakers: Sekiguchi – Momoko – After School Dash!
Hair scarf: Mattel – Playline – My Scene Chelsea
Necklace & Bracelets: Me
Doll is a Making a Scene Erin transplanted to a Misaki body.
Molly
Dress: Cangaway (Etsy.com)
Vest: IT – Dynamite Girls – Free Spirit Jett
Boots: Snow’s Shopping Paradise (eBay)
Earrings: IT
Necklace: Me
Doll is a She’s Not There Poppy Parker.
Danny
Jeans: IT – Homme – Style Strategy Lukas
Shirt: Kimberlee of Hazel Street Dezigns
Shoes: Mattel – Playline
Metal Bracelet: IT – 2016 FR Convention – Style Lab
Leather Cuff, Necklace & Belt: Me
Doll is a Style Strategy Lukas.
Dane
Pants: IT – 2016 FR Convention – Style Lab – Come As You Are Fashion
Shirt: Kelsie of Mutant Goldfish Designs; Screenprint added by me
Hoodie: Clear-lan
Sneakers: IT – Homme – Style Strategy Lukas
Necklace: Piecemeal here and there
Doll is a Night Vision Count Adrian.
Caid
Jeans: Kelsie of Mutant Goldfish Designs
Tank: Clear-lan
Sneakers: IT – 2016 FR Convention – Style Lab – Come As You Are Fashion
Belt: Miema (etsy.com)
Bracelets: IT – 2016 FR Convention – Style Lab
Bandana & Necklace: Me
Doll is a Dark Hunter Acheron.
Dillon
Shorts: IT – Homme – In the Mix Takeo
Tank: IT – Dynamite Boys – Summer Daze Kyu
Button-up & Belt: Kimberlee of Hazel Street Dezigns
Shoes: Volks – Who’s That Girl? – Selfish
Necklace: Piecemeal here and there
Doll is a 2013 Color Infusion Declan.
**************************************************************************
So what was the highwayman I had danced with on that fateful evening
Twilights Ghost
Uncanny was an exclamation used a lot by my grandPappa; I used to love to hear him say it, even though it was years before I knew its meaning. Uncanny is also the best word I can use to describe the following story:
I’m not sure if what follows is a true “ghost” story. I always thought of ghosts as being wispy things that people always talk about seeing, but never touching. And that’s another issue, I do not believe in ghosts, so why is it that people like me are the ones these type of things happen too. I couldn’t tell you the number of people who upon have heard this story exclaim, oh you saw a ghost, wish it had been me. The ones who want to believe never seem to ever actually see one.
As you can see, I have never placed much faith into supernatural occurrences. Even though my GrandPappa would tell some pretty spooky stories to my sisters, cousins , and I during late night fires around the hearth, I never really thought it could ever happen in real life. Now the romantic medieval tales of knights and princesses that my Móraí wove were another story, so to speak. Those I would fantasize about, and would desire strongly to become true, impressionable young lady that I was, and still am I’ll admit.
And that’s the rub.
The tale I am about to tell, really happened to me, many years ago. But as luck would have it, it favors my GrandPappas tales more so than my dear Móraí s.
GrandPappa was the dean of English Prose , Chatwick college, Surry, but it was my Móraí who was known for her stories, one of which was even published . They livedhappily on campus in a small stone cottage that once had been the livery for the historically old estate that now made up the College’s main campus. A medieval looking cottage made for lighting the imaginations of young girls.
One tale of my Móraí I can still recall vividly was about a local highwayman for whom Abbot‘s Chase, the road bordering the campus, was supposedly named. Craig Abbot supposedly held up the coach that my grandmothers great grand aunt Sarah had been a passenger in You could almost taste the suspense on the air as the highwayman courteously ( for a highwayman) had Sarah hand over her jewels, when my Móraí reached the part where Aunt Sarah had her hand kissed and had pleaded with him not to take her emerald ring, which had been a family keepsake she had received on her 18st birthday, She would have us spellbound with apprehension as to what would happen next( although we would hear the story many times over, and knew the outcome, it was always the same feeling). The highwayman had smile, slipping off Aunt Sarah’s rings, but allowed her to keep the emerald’s she wore around her throat. Poor Aunt Sarah had loved that ring, and it was not a family secret of the grief it caused her to lose it. But, romance always would overshadow reality, and my sisters and I would talk through the evening wondering what had become of such a dashing figure as my grandmothers masked highwayman. But it still remained a story, and nothing more. I had always hoped that I would dream myself into one of my Móraí’s tales, but no dashing prince, or romantic highwayman ever did.
It was years later that I would learn that my romantic highwayman had met his fate by the old bridge on Abbots Chase and had been hung. Legend had it that he was buried in the ancient cemetery that could still be found in those days, and maybe still there, in a small wooded corner of the campus estate.
Years later, after my grandparents had both passed on, and their old stone cottage a distant, but still warm memory, I attended Chatwick college with no direct plans or purpose to be there, other than to walk the same halls as my grandfather.
My experience happened one evening as I was attending a Masque Ball for charity on a blustery Halloween‘s eve. The Ball was being held at the posh old Ryder house in Chatwick Parish . My Girlfriend, Tallie, did not want to go alone, as friends are want to do, and convinced, or rather conned, me into going. I found an old green satin gown with a matching sash, from which a long brooch dangled, It had been a relic from a cousins wedding. I removed the satin sash and bow and it became a rather respectable little gown. I was also sporting the shiny emerald necklace that we had found among my Grandmother’s things. It was pretty, with glittery emeralds surrounding a petite diamond pendant that sparkled like the real thing.
So anyway, there I was, all dressed up, bored to tears as the saying quite correctly goes,, and of course no male seemed to notice me, and I was too shy to ask someone to dance. I remember watching my, friend off dancing with a , handsome bloke in , of course, a prince charming outfit. As I was snickering to myself over an image placed in my mind concerning his green nylon pantaloons, someone stepped onto the hem of my long gown. Turning around I tripped into a tall, bearded saturnine man sporting a black hood and mask. He caught my fall, and twirled me onto the dance floor. He was really light on his feet and had these intense, icy eyes staring from his mask An executioner I joked to him, knowing full well he was dressed like my Móraí’s quixotic highwayman. He did not answer, only looked me over with those wistful eyes. Silent type I remember remarking to him, trying to force a smile, but it did not work. He just grinned, remaining mute and mysterious Thinking back I realized that he had never really said anything the whole time we danced. He spoke to me through his eyes, sad and morose; it said everything that I had needed to know. And It had been enough.
He kissed my hand when the dance was finished, and still not uttering a word, turned and made his way towards the black oak doors leading to the English Gardens. On a sudden whim, I followed him
He stopped at the steps outside; an turning , looked back at me, then led me down the stairs. The walk through the deserted moonlit Garden was surreal, like being in one of my Móraí’s romantic tales. Coming to a break in the hedge , he went through. I followed, walking right into a low hanging cobweb spanning the opening. I bent over to free my long hair of the sticky web, I looked around, that quickly he had deserted me. My highwayman was gone, like a phantom in the night, or more likely a will o wisp of my imagination. But he had seemed real enough, so I did not dwell on the subject, just turned and headed back inside, my skirts swishing along the cobblestone.
I walked back to the hall and rejoined my girlfriend, who was sitting with her frog prince. As she introduced me to him she stopped, and placed a hand to my throat, asking me where my necklace had gotten off to. With a start I realized that it was gone, and we spent the rest of the evening fruitlessly tracking it down. But it, like the masked highwayman, did not reappear.
Now, as I said in the beginning, I was never one to have dreams, and even if I did, none save one, ever remained with me. That one dream I still vividly recall came later that evening... I had declined my friends offer to join her and her boyfriend Charles( forever the frog prince to me), to go out after the party. Instead I went back to my room, and still in the gown, picked up a text that some professor actually thought a normal being could make sense of, and stated to half heatedly study. I found my thoughts drifting to the party and wondering if the mysterious highwayman would come back into my life.
Suddenly I was alone, walking along a misted Abbots Chase , my long gown again swishing along the stones. Just ahead of me sat a misty shrouded mounted figure, outlined in darkness. Steam emits into the chilly night air from his horses’ flared nostrils. It shakes its head awaiting its masters orders. The cloaked figure looks left, then look down into a tree lined valley. The distant sound of horses carries up, and a lone coach comes into view
The carriage horses have just strained to come up from a small valley, the driver cracks his whip to keep them moving. He does not hear what they do, and he assumes their neighs are in answer to his whip. So he is totally unprepared when the horseman, clocked and masked, rides out from the trees and points a sword at him. He pulls to a jerking stop. “Stand and deliver” is the command he hears, The man’s voice muffled from beneath his mask.
Dismounting, the rider strolls casually up to the carriage door, and invites the occupants to step out. They do so, a gentleman first, An older man with the detached look of a sour judge. A bright gold chain encircling his waist, diamond cufflinks glint in the moonlight. Behind him, in the shadows of the carriage, emits the pleasing, to the masked figure, sounds of a rustling dress.
Behind the Judge, the open carriage door is bathed in moonlight. A whisper of satin precedes the pretty lady that enters into view. Easy does it the masked rider says as he helps her down, his words rolling pleasantly with a kindly English accent. I shall, she answers, head held proudly.
His eyes focus on her necklace as it lays glistening along her throat. In my dream, the same necklace That I had found in my Móraí’s jewel case. She steps down into a pool of moon light, revealing the shimmering silver frock that adorns her pretty figure, the gowns long skirts come cascading out as she steps down to the ground. Her hair is up, and a set of drippy emerald earrings sway freely, twinkling merrily about its forlorn wearer. Diamond rings, one a bright emerald sparkle along her slender gloved fingers.
” Nice of you to come dressed up this lovely evening, my pretty lass.” He smiles gallantly in her eyes, she blushes . What do you want,” the judge asks in a commanding voice. With a twinkle in his eyes, the bandit answers, “Well that’s the problem you see, my steed I need your valuables to purchase his feed. That right rapskellian, he says to the horse behind him, who snorts upon hearing his name and tosses his head, mane flowing. His words come across in an almost embarrassed apology. The Highwayman approaches the Judge, his horse waiting patiently in the background.
The figure walks up to him, and holds out his hand, fingers beckoning. At a sign of hesitation, the sword is produced and pointed at his waist. He hands over his fat wallet, gold watch and chain. His diamond cufflinks and emerald pin are also given over.. The booty is placed in a pocket of the the highway man’s cloak . Thank you sir, the highwayman says in an almost civil manner.
The Highwayman moves to the pretty lady in silver. The moon is seen behind her, framing her face casting a light through so very soft long hair.
With puppy sad eyes she looks into his, her heart melting. He moves forward, his sword drawn, and he brings up his gloved hand, lifting her necklace from her throat . Yes, he whispers genially, this for starters now please raise your hands. The look he is giving the area where her diamonds lay upon her throat, just above her ample bosom, is one of lustful desire.
Your jewels, then, miss, he asks her with a daunting voice. Her mouth pursed in a whimper, she sadly lowers her hands , reaches behind and fumbled for her earrings, they explodes into dazzling light as she pulls them reluctantly free and lays them upon the outstretched palm. She slides the bracelets off each wrist, then looking sadly at her shimmering rings, she pulls off the two diamond ones from her gloved fingers. She stops at the emerald ring, she looks up at him, please sir, may I keep it. My lady he says , taking her hand up in his. I cannot let you keep it, though I can tell it has meaning to you. He pulls it off. I will let you keep your necklace however my lady, so that you may sparkle this evening. Realizing he will not bargain, she steps back and watches miserably as her pile of jewelry glistens in his palm.
The horse comes back into view, his head moving up and down, snorting. The highwayman, sheathing his sword, leaves the group and walks backwards to the horse. “I thank you my good gentleman and fine lady, your contribution this evening is greatly appreciated.” The Judge looks at him with scorn, the pretty lady smiles a sad little smile The figure on foot remounts, and rides off.
Suddenly a cold wind comes howling down the road, I tried to wake, but felt myself paralyzed as The Highwayman road off, soon after soldiers on horseback come thundering after him down the road. He is far ahead and I see him cross the bridge, he dismounts and slapping rapskellianon the flank, now rider less, the horse gallops off down Abbots Chase. The masked highwayman darts under the bridge. As the soldiers cross the bridge in hot pursuit, he salutes them from his hiding spot. As I watch, he then goes up and works on of the flagstones loose on the bottom of the bridge, creating a little hallow. It is here that he places his ill-gotten gains, moving the stone back in place he moves onto the road, suddenly he turns around, looking back. I start to look also, but then am aware of a key in my door. Reluctantly I tried to hold onto my dream as I hear my roommates call. As I woke, I found my hand searching in vain for the necklace I had lost, the one he had said I could keep in my dream,.
The next day I discussed my dream with my girlfriend and her boyfriend after lecture. He suggested we should visit the old bridge and look for the loose flagstone. I chided him for his silliness; it was only a dream after all, a remnant of one of my Móraí’s stories. But after they left, I had a sort of odd, haunting feeling. I remember feeling my throat again for the necklace that I had worn. I rose and walked along campus until I reached Abbots Chase. It was almost surreal as I walked down it .The sun disappeared under some blustery autumn clouds, it grew colder, everything around me took on a colorless pale. Off to one side I soon saw the old cemetery, and for the first time in my life I went into it, looking over its crumbling gravestones, reading faint names of those long ago forgotten. I found it, off in a corner by itself. A long tall stone, with carved writing, faint with age ; Craig Abbot was written, and below what looked like the word hung. With a start I realized that the date he had departed from this earth was the very date I had gone to the dance, and chillingly, the date of last evening when I had my dream. I ran my fingers along the etchings, and then still in somewhat of a daze, I went back to the old road and drifted to the bride a short ways off. Upon reaching it, I remembered in vivid detail the stone he had pried away in my dream. I went to it and moved it. It did not budge at first, but to my surprise, stated to wobble, then it come down, exposing a small cavity. Wondering what it meant, I reached inside and felt around. My fingers curled around a small, cold object. Pulling it out I discovered it was a ring, upon further examination it was an emerald ring, one just like the one taken from the pretty young lady in my dream, similar to the one my Móraí had said my Aunt Sarah Had lost to Craig Abbot.
As I finally write this down from my memory, I am wearing the ring I discovered hidden away.. It is very old, and very pretty. What connection, if any it has with my story, I am unsure, but obviously there are many to be made. So was the highwayman I had danced with on that fateful evening I had lost my necklace : a ghost, a figment of my dream, some materialization of the late, hung Craig Abbot. Or merely a flesh and blood rogue whose identity I never will discover? And the ring I am now wearing, could it possibly be Aunt Sarah’s? Much like a ghost, the real answer may never be found.
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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Queens Park Motors, Salford- affectionately known as Queenies to all the pimply youths around here who used to go and press their noses up to the window and drool over all those lovely motorcycles. Dunno why they did that - they could've gone inside lol.
The "heyday" as far as I'm concerned was in the early 80s - some of those bikes especially the two strokes are now fast appreciating "classics".
I always wondered why the shop was called Queens Park Motors and not Queens Park Motorcycles.
On Google Images there are a couple of photos right at the top of the search that were both taken on my camera. They actually generate a fair degree of speculation on social media, too.
Clearly the building isn't a motorcycle shop now - its some kind of "self contained apartments" but I don't recall seeing the word luxury anywhere. I'm not even sure what a "non" self - contained apartment is. A shared bathroom perhaps? Yuk.
The kerbing is the same, the conduit is still on the wall on the right and there are the holes where the bracket used to be.
Anyway in the spirit of my Flickr "revisited" album I tried to get the flavour of both of the original 1985 photos - clearly not an exact replica because there is nobody in the photo, just my Kawasaki. But its exactly the same spot (it took me a few minutes to figure it out, because it looks so different).
Taken from part-way up Scolty Hill, near Banchory in Aberdeenshire. The "pimple" on the distant hill to the left of the tree trunk is the formidable rocky outcrop on Clachnaben - as featured in my May 2014 posts, and in my Black & White album (www.flickr.com/photos/davidlurie/14137371182/in/set-72157...).
X649 SSM : Volvo FM12 6x2 Recovery Truck.
M40 - Gaydon, southbound. [Pimple Lane overbridge.]
22-11-2022
I'm probably going to be the person with the most photos of the Canon AE-1 in some time. When I lose inspiration I end up taking pictures of this thing. I swear I will never run out of things to do! I was using a macro filter I jacked from Nate. Seeing as I cant afford a macro lens or extension tubes.
The only thing I hate about blacklight photography is that some fibers and dust is fluorescent and they are so hard to get rid of! I tried brushing them off with an acrylic brush. So at higher resolutions you can see the particles.
I also took a picture of its big brother, the Canon AE-1.
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