Vintage 1895-built ex-Manchester Sheffield and Lincolnshire Railway - later Great Central Railway - LNER N5 0-6-2T 69293 at New England shed, on a bright sunny day in April 1960.

This class were the first UK railway locos with Belpaire fireboxes, although some others had already been built for export.

The loco was withdrawn in November 1960, and the class had all gone by the end of that year, and none were preserved.

New England shed closed to steam in January 1965, and today (2020) the site is partially occupied by a park and a school..

Restored from an unfocussed grainy orange/blue-colour-shifted original..

Original slide - photographer unknown

 

See - approximately - where this photo was taken

I captured this bee collecting honey for his hive. I enjoy taking pictures like this because of the challenge.

 

Almost 90% of wild plants and 75% of leading global crops depend on animal pollination.1 One out of every three mouthfuls of our food depends on pollinators. Crops that depend on pollination are five times more valuable than those that do not.

 

Bees can be found living in so many locations, some surprising. Let’s list a few…marshes, shingle, sand dunes, soft cliffs, heathlands, wetlands, chalk grasslands, quarries, gravel pits, sea walls and even post-industrial land.

 

Imagine trying to travel around Britain without our road and rail network. Or imagine if nine out of every ten miles of road just didn’t exist – life would be impossible! B-Lines are an imaginative and beautiful solution to the problem of the loss of flowers and pollinators. The B-Lines are a series of ‘insect pathways’ running through our countryside and towns. They link existing wildlife areas together, creating a network, like a railway, that will weave across the British landscape.

 

If you find a bumblebee which appears to be struggling, it may be that it is just resting, particularly if the bee is a queen in early spring. If you think the bee is struggling the best thing to do is gently put the bee onto a bee-friendly flower. If there are no bee-friendly flowers around, mix 50/50 white sugar and water to give the bumblebee a one-off energy boost, providing the carbohydrates it needs to fly. Simply offer a drop or two of sugar water up to the front end of the bee on a teaspoon or an upturned drinks cap in a sheltered place and allow the bee time to recuperate. (It is not advisable to use brown sugar as it is harder for bees to digest and don’t give bumblebees honey as this can contain pathogens.)

 

We can all do our bit to help bees whether that’s in our gardens, balconies or windowsills. You can also chat to friends and family about how cool bees are and help them to make their wild spaces bee-friendly. Plant a range of flowers in your garden so bees have access to nectar from March to October. Bees love traditional cottage garden flowers and native wildflowers, like primrose, buddleia, and marigolds.

 

The two wings each side hook together to form one larger pair when flying and then unhook when they’re not flying.

 

Honeybees have a dance move called the ‘waggle dance’. It’s not actually a dance move at all, rather a clever way of communicating between themselves to tell their nestmates where to go to find the best source of food. It took the researchers at Sussex University two years to decode the waggle dance.

 

The buff-tailed bumblebee has a brain the size of a poppy seed. Which is incredible given the fact scientists have managed to train them to score a goal in ‘bee football’ in return for a sugary treat. Quite unbee-lievable!

 

Scientists from the University of Bristol have discovered that bumblebees have the ability to use their ‘smelly footprints’ to distinguish between their own scent, the scent of a relative and the scent of a stranger. This means they can improve their success in finding food and avoid flowers that already have been visited.

 

If the queen bee dies in a honeybee hive the workers can create a new queen bee. They do this by selecting a young larva and by feeding it special food called ‘royal jelly’ the larva will develop into a fertile queen.

 

www.wwf.org.uk/learn/fascinating-facts/bees

(Yep, the old Arch is back. Ya'll remember when I used to make guns like this all the time? bwahaha :D)

 

A long ranged Gauss Cannon, firing armor piercing slugs at a high rate of fire, designed for use by SKYNET Landmates. Requires a minor AI module to fire, as it requires both Landmate arms and one pilot arm to fire.

 

(Credit to Duke for the belt)

(What is a landmate? en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Landmate)

(Don't like the huge wall of text? tough, deal with it)

 

The man in power armor wasted no time, striding swiftly towards them and addressing Salem.

"Do you have the package?"

"Affirmative, I have it with me right now."

"Who is your accomplice?"

"Who is my... oh. This is uh... Mr. Anvil."

The SKYNET soldier fired off a few more shots, emptying his gun.

"He will need to be disposed of."

Salem panicked, "Wait, no, he can be trusted. I wouldn't have made it this far without him."

The soldier paused mid-reload for a moment, then resumed reloading.

"Only contract holders outside of the company are permitted to have awareness of this operation." He spun the cylinder of his revolver shut with a smart flick of his wrist.

Salem halted for a moment, his mind racing. If he co-opted Matt into the contract, that'd be that. He would see no end of Matt. He could only bring Matt on SKYNET jobs, he'd have to bring the kid on all his work. He'd never be free of him. The alternative, however, was letting SKYNET "dispose" of Matt. He couldn't bear that black mark on his soul.

"Hey Matt, do you need a job?"

Matt didn't even look over his shoulder, but kept firing bursts from his submachine gun at the approaching Tokushima Industrial sponsored policemen and mercenaries.

"Yeah.... sure.... I'm," he paused as he let out a longer burst at a riot trooper that stepped out of an alley not very far ahead, "... I'm a college student, what do you think? of course I need a job!"

"Awesome... and hey, about that college thing. You terribly interested in finishing?"

"Nah... I do it mostly out of boredom..."

Boredom, Salem would have scratched this if he wasn't ducking behind a garbage can himself to avoid the gunfire.

"Great, because I don't think you'll be going back to that."

Matt ducked back down, hastily swapping magazines.

"Okay, sounds fantastic. Now how about some help?" He stood back up, only to find that the SKYNET soldier had finished off the last in the wave of troops.

Tokushima reinforcement soldiers piled up out of range.

A SWAT van was making a brave charge towards them, still two or so blocks away.

The SKYNET soldier loomed over them, his armored suit making him easily half a foot taller than Matt, who wasn't very short himself. Salem was almost another half foot shorter than Matt. Suddenly, Salem felt incredibly short.

"He is in on the contract now, we'll fill the paperwork later."

"Affirmative. Do you have transportation?"

Salem glanced at the dented, and now bullet filled, Koko compact. There was no way the SKYNET soldier was fitting in that.

"Not really... no."

"Then I will arrange it."

The soldier turned back towards the van. His free hand reached behind him and unhooked a large device that Salem recognized as a heavy compression grenade.

"Cover your ears."

He could have told them to scream like little girls in that tone of voice and they would have obeyed him.

He tossed it like a football at the armored van, whick was now only a block away and closing in. It bounced under the van and almost rolled out behind it when it detonated. There was a huge ear shattering pop as the device created a massive concussion wave underneath the van's rear tires that picked the entire thing up and sent it into the air in a slow flip over the soldier's head. He calmly aimed up. One shot, the window cracked. Second shot, same hole, the driver's head vanished in a red puff. Third shot, fourth shot right on its heels, the passenger in the front seat met the same faith.

It all happened in an instant, and the next thing Salem knew the SKYNET soldier had reached up, his fingers skimming the van's roof. He gave it just enough friction to tighten its spin, slamming the van down on all four wheels behind him.

"We have transportation. Prepare to engage the occupants of the back."

He wrenched the back door open, revealing a squad of Tokushima mercs sprawled out across the interior, batter and confused from their quick flight.

He shot the remaining two rounds from his gun. Salem fired two more. Matt fired wildly, emptying a whole clip into the back, managing to thoroughly kill those who were left.

The SKYNET soldier grabbed a rifle and located some ammunition for it. He set himself in the back of the van and readied himself to fire.

"Agent Salem, you drive, take this." he tossed Salem his revolver and his ammo bag.

Salem opened his mouth to realize that his pistol was, in fact, empty. And he was out of clips.

"Ah.... oh. Thanks."

"Agent Anvil, you take the front, shoot any targets attempted to inhibit our escape."

"Yes... uh, affirmative... whatever."

The SKYNET soldier grabbed the backpack of a dead merc who held the same gun as Matt's.

"If you run out of ammo, there will be more in here." He tossed it behind him to the front seat.

Salem had already gotten in the front, Matt scrambled into his seat as the van already set off down the road.

"SKYNET Tech Support will hack the GPS to direct you to the proper exfiltration site."

Salem nodded, finally getting in the zone for a combat mission. It always took him a moment to adjust to the fast pace of things, to shake off the shock. He always preferred stealth.

The GPS bleeped and set a course. The traffic was none existant, the Tokushima execs had cleared everything away so they could do whatever it took to regain their code without worrying about bad press. They owned the city, so it wasn't very hard.

Unfortunate for Salem and Matt though. They turned a corner to find an attack helicopter swooping down at them.

Gunfire roared, anti-armor bullets tore holes through the van and yet somehow managed to miss all three of them.

It started to turn for a second run.

Salem turned hard, sent them hurtling down a tight alleyway.

"Get on the Airway," the SKYNET soldier roared from the back.

"Airway? we'll be dead meat up there." Salem swerved fast to dodge a garbage dumpster, shot out into a main road again.

"Do it. SKYNET has an asset on standby to clear us."

"Okay, I hope this works."

He swerved off towards an Airway onramp.

The Airway was a massive highway system suspended in the air above most of the city. It had ramps splitting off to all over the place, before it curved off towards the next nearest city, sloping down to ground level once it got outside the city. Tokushima Industrial had constructed it for faster commercial access. It was win-win, it kept all the heavy traffic of major business up on the Airway, and left the streets below for civillian and small business, and solved what was almost a national crisis with traffic.

It was also completely exposed to the air, and thus the attack helicopted on their tail.

They speed up into an eerily empty road. Tokushima had even shut this down. Matt started to wonder just what exactly he had gotten himself in to. Salem himself was starting to wonder that too.

Just as the helicopted line up and its gun's barrels started to spin, there came a sudden roaring sound, as a bright line of fire sped from a nearby rooftop and struck the helicopter, shredding it into pieces.

Glancing over, Salem briefly glimpsed a SKYNET Landmate lower its massive weapon.

 

*NOTICE: The above text is a work in progress trail run for a planned literary work. Though subject to change and alteration, it represents the majority of planned content for the final product. As such, the ideas, characters, setting, and story written above is reserved as intellectual property of C. J. King.*

 

Feedback and comments on the story are more than welcome, wanted in fact.

Chronicles of lifting Light C (The Reception Game)

A forethought

“The wedding was a bit over the top. The bride wanted her girl’s dresses to be something they would wear out again. A nice thought, but the gowns she found were a little too long for anything but formal evening wear, according to our girls who were asked to be part of the bridal party. The maid of honour wore a red silk version; the six Bridesmaids wore theirs in black satin.” Each of the girls were also presented with a matching collection of Swarovski rhinestones “traditional classic darlings” ! The jewellery, when added to the girl’s ensemble, further enhanced the red carpet like atmosphere of the Bridal party ensemble!

 

^^^^^^^^^^

Intro of the story proper :

“A few years ago, “Ginny” was watching some type of show when I heard her squeal out. Our Golden Retriever ‘Sam’ meandered back in to see what all the fuss was about? I obediently followed. Ginny pointed out to us a model who was wearing, rather fetchingly I might add, a long black satin gown. That’s m’ gown Ginny exclaimed, you remember, the one I wore at “Sheila’s” wedding, the one where my necklace was.., But at that point her attention was diverted back to her program. Squirrel I teased as Sam and I watched with her.

 

It was a gown strikingly very similar in colour, cut, and material to the one worn by Ginny ( and me sister) at a chums wedding years before ( and winningly worn several times hence I might add). It is a pretty thing to behold my charming Ginny sporting it, and in its time, it has born witness to a few goings on that most ladies wearing a gown like that would never encounter…….”

 

Chronicles of lifting Light C

*************************************** **************************************** *****

This story is true, and is really pretty much told as it happened.

What we did may sound daft, but read and understand the circumstances, plus realize we all were pretty well lit up with drink.

 

I have enhanced certain aspects of the story.

For indeed, truth can be stranger than fiction… and coincidences occur, both sweet and bitter….. as I’m sure someone once said.

 

So here goes it….

 

My twin sister and our friend “Ginny” were invited to join in a school chums bridal party. The groom didn’t have enough to go around so my sister’s boyfriend “Brian” and I were pressed, not unwillingly, into service.

 

As I stated earlier, the wedding and reception were both over the top posh. So much so that our opinions, and subsequent escapades, were still coming up amongst us as a topic of conversation at our local haunt The” Poet and the Peasant” Pub, kept by Brian’s Aunt and Uncle..

www.flickr.com/groups/poet_and_the_peasant__pub_/

 

The Wedding proper was held at the local Cathedral. A rather decadent place built with a hearty clash of gothic/ medieval styles ; with black stone towers, Lancet arches, and fly away buttresses.

Inside one finds white marble columns, oak pews blackened with age, intricate wood work and ghostly while statues. All lit with hanging diamond shaped antique glass lights and colourful lead glass stained windows depicting a horde of medieval era religious scenes.

 

The reception was held in the basement, a grand place with a ballroom, bar room and dining area. Decorated richly along the same grand lines as the interior of the ancient Cathedral above.

 

We were some time at the reception when my Ginny , who had been held up on her way back from the loo by a snobbish dowager feeling the need to criticise someone, regained her seat by plopping down with a loud woosh. That was a chore, being picked apart by that “lovely !”creature. she exclaimed cynically, whilst adjusting her loose brooch. We all just smirked. I had received the same treatment from the lecturing prig earlier that evening.

 

Well, to be honest , my twin sister and Brian just actually were smirking at that. I believe my attention at the time was rather more occupied on the area where Ginny’s Brooch lay, which was the proper cause of my smirk! (naughty me)

 

Finished, Ginny than leaned against me sister, and, still reeling from being inappropriately chided, made a snide comment about the flimsy clasps on the shimmering jewellery they were wearing. My Sister, touching her necklace, told her, “ no worries, luv, no one would nick them anyways, they are only rhinestones”. Except my ring isn’t, said Ginny looking down at the ruby ring she was wearing on her pinky. My sister, thinking a minute, retorted “Then one never knows… “ , It looked like she was going to add something to that, but at that point the band restarted, and we joined the swarm of fancy dress gowns, silky dresses, suits and tuxes worn by the guests as they herded to the dance floor.

 

As we headed off, I was still perplexed about what had been going on in Sis’s head that made her come out with that reply, and I swear she had stolen a look at me while saying it. But as I had watched her pull at an earring to emphasize how loose the sparkling jewel was, a seed was planted in my head about a subject I myself had always found fascinating, pickpocketing jewelry!

 

Much later that evening, found Brian, me sister, and I alone, and probably more than a little drunk (always a precarious time with us). As Sis and Brain chatted on about a topic I had soon lost interest in, I started to watch Ginny, who had been asked to dance by some twit with shifty eyes in a red silk shirt, (open collared), who had rudely cut in on us. As I watched Ginny’s swishing gown move and flutter about in quite an interesting exhibition, I found meself mesmerized by the beckoning manner in which her healthy display of rhinestones were sparkling about( as they had been all evening). I looked back at my sister, and her own show of jewelry, sparkling up nicely against the liquid smooth black satin backdrop of her own matching gown..

 

Still not being able to shake me twin’s earlier comment, nor its answer, out of my head about nicking jewels, I waited for a lull in conversation and finally chanced asking my twin about her comments. She looked at me, having to think back a bit about the question, ( As I said, we were more drunk than sober by then), placing a nicely ringed finger to her lips, while regrouping her thoughts. Got it, she exclaimed! Proudly remembering what had triggered her memory, and with that she started to explain.

 

When she was a tyke of about 7, there was a show that she had seen on the tele that centered on this group of people trying to reform a thief. Believing that he had turned a new leaf, they threw a fancy dance for him in honour of his new ways. During the dance, he cut in and danced with each of the three ladies who had been trying to teach him the errors of his ways. From one he slipped off her long diamond earrings, from a second her diamond necklace was lifted away, but me sister was unsure what the scoundrel took from the third. Sis had reckoned that the earrings and necklaces that she and Ginny were wearing that evening, looked a lot like the ones worn by ( and nicked from) the ladies from that show.

  

Now, as me twin described the thief’s antics, certain emotions awakened, rearing their tantalizing heads; my mind began wandering in some deep waters, pulled bout by some deep personal emotions. Cause I had been sitting on the couch with her, when as quite young children, we had seen a repeat of that episode.

 

As it happened my sister had been outside earlier playing dress up in on of mum’s old party frocks and was still wearing it, along with a set of costume pearls. Suddenly, that day, I wanted nothing more in the world than to lift the pearls she was wearing. I simmered over it for the rest of the program, getting to the point of actually laying my arm on the back of the couch, inching my fingers towards the clasp of her pearls laying there upon the back of her throat. But then the show ended, and I got no closer to stealing anything more than a touch of a really soft old evening gown. After the show ended, I warily suggested we go back outside and play Robin Hood (my sister has always been into his story).

 

We did, and as Sir Robin led her to his hideout, conveniently located through a thicket of Hawthorne’s, the pretty Maid Marion’s pearls mysteriously melted away.

  

That is when I had I had my epiphany, hitting me like a brick wall! Waiting till sis finished her story, I pointed out to Ginny, and asked the pair, If Ginny had been the third lady he had danced with, what jeweles do you think he would have lifted from her while dancing?

  

Brian , always the more pragmatic of the group, snorted, that’s stuff that only happens in stories and movies. I said I would bet it can be done, a quid says I can lift a piece of Ginny’s jewelry with her never noticing. Sis chimed in, you wouldn’t dare, but she was looking at me like she knew the answer already. Brian caught her tone, and took me up on it, betting me the quid that I couldn’t get away with lifting her necklace,( I liked his choice, it had been a necklace that “Sir Robin” had first lifted from me sisters neck that day in the woods long past).

  

At this time the music ended, and Ginny swished back to rejoin us. We drank and talked for a bit more, and I’m was all but certain Brian and my sister had all but forgotten the wager. But I hadn’t, nor had I been able to keep my eyes from studying the glittery rhinestones Ginny had draped around her pretty throat. When a slow song started up, I rose and asked Ginny to a dance. I caught Brian’s eyes, and read the dare reflecting in them, so we were still on with the wager. Leading Ginny to the dance floor, we embraced, and danced to the pretty song, a slow romantic one. Ginny was absolute pure heaven in my arms, and I found me self so entrapped by her charms, that all ambition to make an attempt upon her lovely rhinestone necklace fell to the wayside.

  

As the song was ending, I caught a look from Brian across the dance floor, noticing that he smugly was looked at Ginny’s throat. I did not want to lose me quid on principle (I swear), so as the dance ended I held onto Ginny, waiting. Soon a second song started, disappointedly a more fast paced one with a Latin beat. I spun Ginny around onto the floor before she had time to catch a breath, we danced, like the song says:

  

And we… danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced

We were liars in love and we danced

Swept away for a moment by chance

And we danced, danced, danced

 

And dance we did, hot, furious and fast. A couple of times I spun Ginny around, and the poor girl already a bit tipsy, fell against me, giggling. About the third time I spun her, she stopped, and dropped backside into me and began to do this sort of gyrating move, slithering up and down my front side, with her hands held high above her head, her longish ginger hair had fallen over one shoulder, exposing her necklace in all its fine brilliance. As her warm, sweaty figure slipped up and down against mine, I watched the back of her throat, eyeing the necklace as it sparkled opulently in the dim lights. I started Studying intently the sparkly chain with it’s the hook in eye clasp.

  

She brought her hands down behind me back, crossing them behind me waist. My right hand went to the front of her waist, holding onto her squirming, satin slippery figure, pressing her warm figure tightly against me. My left hand went up to her shoulder, gliding along the glossy slick fabric of her black satin gown, until I reached her necklace. It only took seconds for my fingers to lift up, and slip off the hook from its”eye” , letting the shimmering chain slither down the front side of Ginny’s satin clad breasts. My right hand left her waist, and travelled nimbly, tingling, all the way up the front until my fingers grasped the dangling chain. My left hand let go, and the necklace whisked down the front of her perking bosom, tightly covered by the glossy black satin bridesmaid gown. The whole bit of thievery took me only a few chords of the music, but it seemed to be carried out in slow motion in the process. We finished out the song, me basking in the fact that my gyrating partner was innocently unaware that her shiny necklace was absent, and her pinched jewel was now residing in her dance partners vest pocket. I almost felt a twinge of regret that it no longer could be seen glittering from around its’ mistress’s now bare throat.

  

We made our way back to the others, Brian had a smug look on his bearded face, I knew he was up to something. As I sat down, he whispered double it or nothing mate, that she notices it’s missing before we leave. I nodded, taking him up on it. So, the game was still on, and for the last two hours that we stayed at the reception, Brain waiting for Ginny to notice her missing necklace, I tried to distract her as much as I could, even with me sister constantly played with her own jewelled necklace whenever she held Ginny’s attention, but the poor creature never caught on that her necklace had been lifted ! Unscrupulously nicked away on a whimsical bet while she quite in all unwary innocence had been dancing the night away..

 

And danced with me she did, both of us thoroughly enjoying the rest of the evening. Though, during one slow dance, I did harbour the thought of trying for another of Ginny’s baubles. But the thought of winning 2 quid from Brian, who in his time has won a bit more from me than I him, kept my thoughts of further thievery in check!

 

We finally left the reception after midnight and made our way along the ten city blocks back to the hotel where Ginny and my twin sister shared a joining room with Brian and meself. Ginny walked calmly with us, unaware of the devils that were us, keeping pace beside her. As were making our way through a short cut in a wooded Provincial park, we stopped in a small isolated glen and circled around Ginny. Sis was grinning as she asked poor unawares Ginny; So luv, whatever did happen to your necklace? Gin’s reaction was absolutely, rewardingly priceless.

  

Ginny, a relatively innocent soul, who is prone to believing most anything told to her, started, and her hand went to her throat, feeling about fruitlessly, as her rustling glossy gown and remaining jewels glistened dark in the full moons’ light.

“M’ necklace, why it’s gone? , where did it go!, she pleaded helplessly, her thought patterns and speech a little slurred by her rather intoxicated condition. We than got into it, playing dumb along with her, and tried to figure out the “mystery” I said the last time I saw it was when that seedy bloke cut in, and I ran my hand up her back, feeling the shivers going down her spine, did the blighter touch you like that, then luv. No she said, then thought hard, no she repeated, he couldn’t have, he was a proper gentleman, and it was only rhinestone, like your sister said. My sister commented that the bloke may have not noticed no difference, and she held out her own necklace, I’m glad the bloke didn’t ask me to dance. No, Ginny shook her head, her long earrings flickering a frenzied fire out from her now let down ginger hair, no one could have lifted them like that, I’d have felt it….

  

She looked desperately around at us, then seeing the look on upon our faces, Ginny froze with the realization that we had all been up to something, and, then a smile of relief showed up on her pretty face, as I held up her necklace, sparkling in front of her eyes. A sly look of understanding that we had been up to something crept into those dazzling green eyes , as she told us now to spill it out.

  

We explained the whole tale as sis helped Ginny place her necklace back on. Ginny, with her usual good humor, said she had never noticed a thing, and it probably was a good thing we weren’t real thieves, because if her necklace had been diamonds, it would have been worth a small fortune. And shame on us for having her believe it was that poor blighter in the red shirt.

  

We wouldn’t’ make very good thieves I agreed we drink too much. She just smiled, a curious gleam creeping up into those witchy green eyes of hers. Let’s get going before we meet a real thief then, urged my sister, all this talk about someone thinking our jewels are real is giving me the right chills.

  

Our drunken little group then merrily, if not a little more guardedly, made our way home..

 

This next bit is my favorite.

 

We rode the elevator up to the boy’s room, as the girls called our room, where we drank beer, danced to music and talked on a bit about the reception. The girls stayed in dress and I happily soaked up the pretty picture the pair of admirably attractive girls presented with their long sheets of straight hair now just hanging down, their “diamonds” sparkling and all other assorted frills enticing.

About two hours later found Brian and myself sitting on the couch in kind of a hazy stupor while holding onto our beers. Ginny and my sister were standing directly in front of us, holding beers of their own and giggling over some girlish nonsense, the hypnotic swaying of their longish glossy black satin gowns slowly putting me to sleep.

  

Brain, draining a beer, got up to get another, bumping against my sister and playfully grabbed a handful. My sister started giggling at him as he sauntered off grinning, turning her figure so the brooch at the center of her gowns’ waistline almost hit me on the nose. Half asleep I reached over and lifted it up.

Looking up at the girls I saw that neither was paying no never mind towards me. Ginny, however, laid a hand on my twins shoulder, drawing her close so she could whisper some girlish secret about Brian. I continued on, and was able to undo the brooch, and slip it carefully off without notice. I slipped her jewel into my pocket; waiting until I could think of now that I did it, how would I go about teasing me twin with the deed?

  

Brian stopped on the way back and reset the music, a slow song. Sis went to him, and the pair started dancing. I rose and taking Ginny by the hand, followed suit, leading her to the bit of a dance floor we had cleared. She was again, pure heaven in my arms and my hands slipped liberally up and down her smooth, slinky gowned figure.

 

Ginny smiled! I knew that smile, and realized that something was going on behind her pretty green eyes. She flicked back her sheet of ginger hair, and leaned against me. I saw you, she huskily whispered, her voice putting a tickle in my ear. Saw me I asked, not getting it. I saw you lift that dame’s diamond brooch, Ginny said in a sultry voice as she looked over towards where my sister was dancing, (no, she was actually swooning), in Brian’s arms. You see that one over there, in the black dancing with the bearded gent? I looked over, as she continues, look at ‘er necklace, I have a fancy for diamonds, and if you don’t want me to call security, I suggest you get hers for me, darling, she said with conspiracy like tones, acting like she was some old time actress in a movie. I loved the devilishness of Ginny’s role play idea and it did not take much to toss me whole heart and soul into the assignment!.

  

Check out the Sonia clip shortcut at the end of my tale( recommend viewing)

  

Now wide awake, I got fully into Ginny’s game. As we continued dancing, my eyes watched Brian and me sister, taking careful inventory of all the “dames” sparkling jewelry. Sis turned, and caught my eyes looking her over, she blushed, and not knowing what was really going through my mind, smiled at me. As I smiled back, my eyes drinking her fetchingly attired figure up, I was imagining that all of her ample collection of rhinestones so prettily positioned on her figure, were real diamonds. And that I was an actual thief plotting to nick her lovely sparklers. I looked into Ginny’s eyes. You have a deal miss, I whispered, making my voice deep and throaty, as I imagined meself as some Humphrey Bogart type character in some grit tingly shadowy film noir style black and white movie.

  

The song ended and a second, even slower one began playing. Brian and my sister were still locked into each other’s arms, but I felt that the time to make my move was now. Throwing Ginny a wink, I went over and cut in, Brian looked drunkenly at me like “whattsup chap,” but Ginny was right behind and swirled him away before he could properly react.

  

And as I took the pretty, wide eyed with innocence looking “dame” into my arms I found it exciting that she was oblivious to my nefarious intentions. Naïvely unaware, that in indifference to her own words earlier, someone did now want to nick the jewelry which was quite so merrily dangling from her svelte figure. Now, don’t forget at this point to me she was no longer my sister, but a sweet innocent victim weighted down with desirable loot. And I? I was nothing more than a suave thief deliciously hungering after her bright baubles, albeit, a slightly inebriated suave thief!

  

I bided my time, appearing to look into my twins/victims half opened eyes ( she was really lit by this time, as we all were) , my mind was working overtime on how the best approach to reach my objective. Then it came to me, quite clearly, and so Bob became my uncle, and I began his suggested approach…. And if Iwould have dared say so at the time, I executed my bit of jewel thievery like a pro….That is if there are actually pros at this sort of thing1?

  

Employing the same method that I remembered the jewel thief using in the Gilligan’s Island episode to remove his dance partners necklace, I began to compliment my twin on how devastating her and Ginny looked both looked that evening (no lies), slowly moving my one hand up the slick material of the gown covering her back as I whispered my praise. Easily I reached the dangling part of her hook and eye necklace with its’ glittering rows of “diamonds”. She ate it up, blushing and closing her eyes, naively cooperating by tilting her head down, exposing even more of the back of her throat, and laying bare the chain of her “diamond” necklace. As she fawned over my words of (not false) praise, I subtly lifted up the chain of her necklace, whilst my free hand held her ever so her tightly around the waist. I could feel the heat emanating from my victims squirming figure. As well as feeling me own heart pounding a storm.

 

I gently used my free left hands’ fingers to unhooked the clasp, and let the necklace fall over her one shoulder. Sis never felt it hanging, or noticed it as I peeled it off her chest (whisking along her gown smooth as silk) and pulled it over her gown’s satin shoulder till it slipped sparkling down behind her. I held it hanging loose behind her back for a few turns, still pouring out the compliments, until I pocketed it, letting it join her purloined brooch.

  

Meanwhile, Brian had left Ginny to go to the loo, and I saw Ginny, who had been eagerly watching all of it, give me a wink. Then she turned and stole out the apartment door, her longish slinking gown slipping through behind her as she closed the door. I made ready to make some excuse to break away from my sister and head after her with my loot.

  

But just as I opened my mouth to make that excuse , Sis pulled her arms behind me head, and laid her own head back on my shoulder and closed her tired eyes, getting into the music’s deep beat. One of her longish rhinestone earrings just hung there sparkling, mocking me to touch it, and like Gingers diamonds, I saw them as quite ripe for the picking.

  

With the prize within my grasp, I momentarily forgot about the departing Ginny, and I made my move. I found meself trembling a bit, as I reached up and placed my hands gently alongside her ear, her eyes still shut, my victim smiled prettily. The rest of the manoeuvre was surprisingly easy, as I glided my fingers down and slipped it off the earring in one effortless motion. The sparkling beauty came away from her sweaty ear as smoothly as an ice cube moves along a steaming hot grill ( I actually did have a thought like that). I held it in one fist for a bit, watching my victim, she had not felt so much as a tickle on her earlobe, as I had removed her earring. Relishing in my success, I looked at it dangling and shimmering in my hand behind her back. Then, as I secured her diamonds away, I thought about trying for the other. But thought better of it, knowing Ginny was just waiting on the other side of the door.

  

I finished out the dance, taking my sisters hand with its dazzling bracelet and rings, and admired them while I kissed it, the “Dames” Bracelet tantalizing slipped down along her wrist and brushed against me knuckles. At that moment, We both heard the toilet flushing, and my twin looked over her shoulder laughing. As she did do, I saw an opportunity and taking her dangling diamonded bracelet in me fingers, tugged it down ever so discreetly. Surprisingly the clasp popped opened ( right about being flimsy luv, I silently agreed with my twin’s earlier statement)!

I daringly pulled it free from around her wrist and slipped it in me pocket as she turned back around to face her dance partner. I could see in her eyes that she had not felt nor noticed anything outta place. I’d better be off after Ginny I said, clearing me throat, and then , with no fanfare, let go of her hand. It dropped to her side, rings flashing, purloined bracelet gone from where it had, with cheeky regality, held shimmering court all evening.

Nice doing business with you I said, bemused as I watched the puzzlement creep into her half awake eyes while I backed away from her towards the door.

 

And that chaps, is how I left her. With my black and white movie still playing out in my mind, she just was standing there puzzled, a wealthy lady in fancy dress, unknowingly watching the dashing stranger leave, whilst the “fortune” in jewels she thought she still was wearing, left the room in his scoundrel’s possession!

  

However it was my turn to look puzzled as I went out, Ginny was nowhere to be seen. I quickly looked around, then headed to the elevator and rode down in it, alone at this early morning hour, to the lobby.

  

I arrived there, and at first the lobby appeared deserted, cept for a lonely desk clerk with her head buried in a novel. Then breathed a sigh of relief, there, around a corner, Ginny stood talking to some older lady wearing a garish grey pant suit, with this blue tinted helmet of curly hair covered by a large silk head scarf, and carrying an overlarge purse. I suddenly realized that now my anxiety had gone, another urge had taken its place. Ginny looked up, and smiles happily at me, and I smiled back, indicated that I had to go for a minute, and headed meself to the loo.

  

Coming out after I finished, I saw that the lobby was actually now really empty, not even the desk clerk was visible. Thinking Ginny may have gone back upstairs, I first went to the hotels double doors to chance a look outside onto the street below. I just caught sight of a wisp of black gown moving just out of sight past the stairs, on the now smoggy sidewalk below.

  

I headed out, and there was Ginny walking with the Blue haired stranger, they appeared to be looking for something. I started wondering if Ginny had invited this stranger to go on out walk with us? But no, apparently the blue haired lady in the unfortunate grey pantsuit had discovered her keys were missing, and thought they had dropped somewhere after getting out of a taxi just around the corner. And Ginny, bless her kind heated soul, had offered to help the distressed lady look for them.

  

As Ginny was telling me all this after I had caught up, the blue haired older lady , her cheerful face now stern, had started rummaging in her large shoulder bag, I sneaked a peek over her shoulder and saw that is contained quite an amazing assortment of items , ( no wonder it had to be so big). Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, found them she said, triumphantly pulling out an interesting assortment of skeleton type keys on a small ring. Happily smiling at Ginny, she pulled her into an enveloping hug for her efforts, before quickly leaving, but not without first giving me a sidelong glance with a disapproving look from her now pursed–lipped mouth as she passed. But I at the time put it down as her just being stressed out from believing she had misplaced her keys.

  

I am so glad she found her keys remarked Ginny, taking up me hand. That lady was ever so nice, she wanted to know where I had been dressed up all pretty like I am, and when I told her about the wedding, she said it must have been lovely. Then she admired me dress, and rhinestones. Then asked if me ruby ring was a gift from the bride. Liked your ring huh, I asked Ginny, my mind clearing up a little. Oh yes she said, lifted my hand, looked at it an everything!

Then the poor dear missed her keys, and asked if I could be a dear and help her look outside, and that was that until you showed up. (Looking outside for keys at 2:30 in the morning? I thought to myself) As I said ti Ginny, it is a pretty ring, and taking her arm, we started down the block together.

  

My mind, now somewhat attuned to the reality of things, went back to the blue haired lady and her large shoulder bag. Among some of various items I had seen had been a penknife, a length of old silk sash cord, small bundle of lacy handkerchiefs, and a small torch! Then add in the odd assortment of keys on her “misplaced” keyring, and put it all together, it all began to sum up to a new, slightly more sinister meaning of her intentions, in my take on the episode.

  

As we walked, I said nothing in reply to the happily chirping, richly attired girl walking beside me , as for the first time, and not the last, I wondered if something had been afoot with the Blue Haired, pursed mouthed lady that Ginny had seen as a kind older lady needed help, like the bird with a broken wing she had tried to help a few days past( a blue jay!). So was the blue haired lady, with the silk scarf and wearing a rather unisexual pantsuit, acting out the part of a “blue jay”, using her “broken wing” as a ruse to lure my Ginny safely away for her own nefarious reasons?

  

Surreptitiously, I carefully checked over Ginny from head to heeled toes as we walked, to make sure nothing was amiss. Her rhinestones were still safely all in their place, but I did not see the ruby ring, and me heart went still, and chills prickled down my spine! Bullocks! I swore under my breath, that pucker faced tart walked away with it. Ginny, I said, a little choked, she swirled facing me, her green eyes questioning, as she raised her hand to her perked breasts, and there it was, the small, but rather pricey, ruby ring she so loved wearing, the glittery darling had turned around on her finger so it was hidden from my view

.

 

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, I just wanted to say how lovely you looked this evening my lass, I said saving myself. She smiled winningly, giving me a deep hug for my words. We walked on, as my beating heart slowed down, I convinced myself that maybe the incident of lost keys had all been harmless, and I was just being a worry-wort. I apologized silently for what I had called the fashion challenged blue haired lady in my mind. But I was still beginning to feel like ever a fool to have let Ginny, handsomely decked out as she was, out of my sight at this early hour of the morning.

  

I opened my mind and let all such thoughts flee my head, for the world was now ours, as we made our journey together, hand in hand. We ended up making a very long stroll in the Provincial Park, and reentering the same isolated, secret glen we had been in earlier, proceeded to continue acting out the role playing game we had started at the apartment.

  

Ginny went to the middle of the clearing to wait, pretending she was smoking, like a moll from a gangster movie. I circled and watched her sparkling figure, black in the glens shadows, move about a bit.

  

And as I did, my thoughts wondered a bit, and I remember reflecting ( not for the first time) how in the older black n whites, the heroine, or villainous, is always wearing gowns, elegant long gloves, and jeweled to the sparkling hilt. Then she walks alone to and then waits in some dark alley or other desolate spot for her contact, or hero to show up, much like Ginny was acting out now. So how is it that those fancy dressed and well jeweled unescorted dames, always manage to get to those spots, and are able to wait around in them alone, in those movies, and nary ever meet a ruffian who strips them of those pricy looking sparklers they are flaunting about? Just saying!

  

Saying a brief prayer that my thoughts were not tempting a fate of that type to occur to us now that I had been thinking it, I came out of the shadows and approached Ginny. Keeping my left hand in my pocket like I was carrying a heater. Hey sister, I said, been waiting long? No, she whispered, did you get the goods. Hot as ice I said proudly, producing the necklace and earring I had liberated from the dancing “dame”.

  

As I showed Ginny my take from “the dame”, she squealing over the fact I was able to take one of her diamond earrings, bonus she chanted. Playing a thief’s role, I kept mum about the bracelet, no honour amongst thieves I thought mischievously .

We laughed over what the “dames” reaction would be when the jewels were discovered missing. As we snickered, Ginny caught my eyes and then we got off on a tangent about jewel thieves in love, and ended up reenacting the “lure” scene from the movie ‘To Catch a Thief” ending up producing fireworks of our own making as Ginny lost all her jewels as well as her “innocence”.. We then made our way back home, as the cock crows, receiving a few odd looks from the occasional early morning lorry drivers.

  

And above all, I still remember feeling pretty bloody cocky as Ginny and I had sauntered our way to the park. And why not, I ask? Cause not only did I get to stroll about with the most captivating ginger haired lass, sparkling in fancy dress around, But I also had totally scored a hat trick in the jewelry lifting department, collecting two Quid to boot, and that’s what life is all about for us boys, winning the game, taint it?

 

So ends my story

Please leave a comment at the end of the story you rather liked the telling..

  

The Sonia clip shortcut ( recommend viewing)

youtu.be/HAZdjhNVjxk

  

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Please consider leaving a comment at the end of the story if you rather liked the telling..

 

The forest of Anor Lass is well known for very rich floral growth, consisting of thousands and thousands of different herbs that can be found amongst its trees. Herbalists from all over the realm venture into Anor Lass to collect herbs for their potions and alchemical concoctions. Some of them have built small wooden houses there, in case they need to spend the night to collect some rare night or early morning plants.

 

Gedion, one of the oldest herbalist in town, witnessed something very unusual one night.

"The Moon was young and the sky was clear so I took the opportunity to collect some fallen leaves of Moonskin tree. With every full moon the tree makes room for new leaves on it and sets free old ones. They are very hard to see during the day and even harder yet during the night. But when the moon is young and not obscured by the clouds, edges of fallen leaves glow shyly and that make them easier to spot. Tea made from those leaves helps you stay awake and if you lose track of the cups you drank, your eyes can adjust to dark much more easily.

 

I was just picking up the third leaf and suddenly the earth started to tremble. The shakes were getting stronger and the noise scarier. It was coming from the direction of my house, and just as I realized that the treetops were glowing with a faint red hue, out of nowhere, my house was among the treetops. As I saw that, everything stopped immediately - except the red light. I was scared and I wanted to run, but being 71 years old, that was not an option, so I just hid myself in a bush by the road. After some time I heard my horse, so I went back there to see if is it hurt or in trouble.Goddamn horse, bringing me nothing but trouble! When I got back to the house, I saw it high on a big black rock, and some man holding on to his head with one hand and some strange hat and staff in other. When he saw me, he went in my direction and asked me "Is that your house?" Being scared at the moment, I told him that I will let my dog Ando on him if he came any closer, so he stopped right away and said that he means no harm. That was actually quite good because God knows where Ando was at the time. To hell with the dog to, he is no better that that horse. Strange man put his even more stranger hat on his head and introduced himself, but I forgot his name right away. He asked me again if that was my house and I said yes. He started apologizing and apologizing and mumbling something in god knows which language, and then started saying that he got overexcited and that this was an accident and that he will fix everything. After quite a long apology, he said that he will be back before the sky turns blue and that I should wait for him. I said nothing for that whole time and as he turned away, I just saw him disappear in the dark.

 

Three big crystals rumbled the earth and popped out of it. Very pleasant for the eye and warm when touched, they were the source of the red light. After I finished observing them, I looked up and saw that my house is not on some big black stone but on a giant black hand. The realization made my sight blurry, and the next thing I remember was someone poking me with the stick and asking me if I am allright. And it was him - the man who ruined my house! In my 71 years of life, this was the most unpleasant awakening, and also first time to see my house from way down below. He helped me to get up while mumbling apologies, but then I start yelling that sorry will not fix my house and bring it down from that horrible demon hand. And that was when he showed me my "new" house. The damage done to it was gone and it was looking as it was brand new. The rumbling and quaking must have changed the course of some underground stream because now there was even a spring of fresh water flowing underneath it.To be honest, it looked even better than before, but I could not admit that to this asshole. The only thing that was truly different was that now I had a stairway up to my front door. How in fourteen worlds does that fool think that a 71 years old man can walk that many stairs? So I started yelling on him again, but he just calmly walked to the stairs and started doing something with his staff and a bag of something strange that he unhooked from his belt. After a few moments some dust come out from the bag and started climbing up to the stairs, sinking into the stones on the stairs and giving them a faint glow. He said "There! On these stairs you will never be tired, you will never slip, you will always see where you are going and it will never freeze. Here. Try it!". And try it I did. Honest to all four gods, I never felt more rested while climbing. On the middle way up I turned to ask him what kind of a stone that was but he was already gone and I never saw him again. That was probably good, because who knows where would my house could end up with our next meeting.

 

To this day people are coming from the city to see my house on the giant hand with its magical stairs. Once a thief tried to steal the stones from the stairs but he could not move them at all. Heh, stupid thief.

 

One winter passed since that quite unordinary day and the stairs are still here, as you can see, and house still looks brand new. The crystals lost their glow after few full moons, and over time even started losing their red color. Still, they look nice and they are ever warm to the touch. I think that is the complete story of how my house got up in the sky. Now, would you like a cup of tea?"

Daddy wants my sissy faggot body, he wanted me to be at his house while his wife was away for a long weekend. He asked me to wear his wife's bra and panties, he thinks I look much sexier than she does in them! He wants to make love to me in their bed and I will be unable to stop him, which excites me even more! I can't wait to go down on him, feeling his penis grow hard in my mouth, as he caresses my breasts through the bra, mmm! Then he unhooks 'my' bra, it falls on the bed. He leans down and takes my breasts into his mouth one at a time as I hold the back of his head lovingly feeling him engulf my entire breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling against my nipple and I moan as I feel him become ready to take me. He lays me on my back, pushes my legs high in the air and smells my sexiest pew thru his wife's panties, his nose pushing the nylon fabric of her bikini panties into my ass (so yummy!) before he slips them off me. He spits into my asshole to lube me, then I feel his big dick pushing into my tight stink, slowly at first, then picking up speed as I moan in delight! I look up at him, wrap my arms around him to pull him closer and then we hold hands as I feel him bending lower to kiss my lips, then feel his tongue reaching for mine as I enjoy his huge penis fucking me in the ass, oh god this feels so good, I just can't wait to feel his seed in me! I position myself to allow him to go as deeply as possible in me, as I want to feel him explode his creamy load directly into my belly! "Oh Honey, it feels so nice, Baby I want you to cum in me, yes baby, I want you to make me pregnant, oh honey please, Mmmm, so good, oh babe cum inside of me, oh please, Oh Please, Oh God PLEASE!!!" Knowing he would be cumming in me instead of his wife made me feel more excited! Soon I felt the inside of my belly getting splashed with his yummy cummies, then he pulled out and once again held my legs in the air, this time so he could admire his creampie dripping out of me!

Old phone never ringing anymore

The forest of Anor Lass is well known for very rich floral growth, consisting of thousands and thousands of different herbs that can be found amongst its trees. Herbalists from all over the realm venture into Anor Lass to collect herbs for their potions and alchemical concoctions. Some of them have built small wooden houses there, in case they need to spend the night to collect some rare night or early morning plants.

 

Gedion, one of the oldest herbalist in town, witnessed something very unusual one night.

"The Moon was young and the sky was clear so I took the opportunity to collect some fallen leaves of Moonskin tree. With every full moon the tree makes room for new leaves on it and sets free old ones. They are very hard to see during the day and even harder yet during the night. But when the moon is young and not obscured by the clouds, edges of fallen leaves glow shyly and that make them easier to spot. Tea made from those leaves helps you stay awake and if you lose track of the cups you drank, your eyes can adjust to dark much more easily.

 

I was just picking up the third leaf and suddenly the earth started to tremble. The shakes were getting stronger and the noise scarier. It was coming from the direction of my house, and just as I realized that the treetops were glowing with a faint red hue, out of nowhere, my house was among the treetops. As I saw that, everything stopped immediately - except the red light. I was scared and I wanted to run, but being 71 years old, that was not an option, so I just hid myself in a bush by the road. After some time I heard my horse, so I went back there to see if is it hurt or in trouble.Goddamn horse, bringing me nothing but trouble! When I got back to the house, I saw it high on a big black rock, and some man holding on to his head with one hand and some strange hat and staff in other. When he saw me, he went in my direction and asked me "Is that your house?" Being scared at the moment, I told him that I will let my dog Ando on him if he came any closer, so he stopped right away and said that he means no harm. That was actually quite good because God knows where Ando was at the time. To hell with the dog to, he is no better that that horse. Strange man put his even more stranger hat on his head and introduced himself, but I forgot his name right away. He asked me again if that was my house and I said yes. He started apologizing and apologizing and mumbling something in god knows which language, and then started saying that he got overexcited and that this was an accident and that he will fix everything. After quite a long apology, he said that he will be back before the sky turns blue and that I should wait for him. I said nothing for that whole time and as he turned away, I just saw him disappear in the dark.

 

Three big crystals rumbled the earth and popped out of it. Very pleasant for the eye and warm when touched, they were the source of the red light. After I finished observing them, I looked up and saw that my house is not on some big black stone but on a giant black hand. The realization made my sight blurry, and the next thing I remember was someone poking me with the stick and asking me if I am allright. And it was him - the man who ruined my house! In my 71 years of life, this was the most unpleasant awakening, and also first time to see my house from way down below. He helped me to get up while mumbling apologies, but then I start yelling that sorry will not fix my house and bring it down from that horrible demon hand. And that was when he showed me my "new" house. The damage done to it was gone and it was looking as it was brand new. The rumbling and quaking must have changed the course of some underground stream because now there was even a spring of fresh water flowing underneath it.To be honest, it looked even better than before, but I could not admit that to this asshole. The only thing that was truly different was that now I had a stairway up to my front door. How in fourteen worlds does that fool think that a 71 years old man can walk that many stairs? So I started yelling on him again, but he just calmly walked to the stairs and started doing something with his staff and a bag of something strange that he unhooked from his belt. After a few moments some dust come out from the bag and started climbing up to the stairs, sinking into the stones on the stairs and giving them a faint glow. He said "There! On these stairs you will never be tired, you will never slip, you will always see where you are going and it will never freeze. Here. Try it!". And try it I did. Honest to all four gods, I never felt more rested while climbing. On the middle way up I turned to ask him what kind of a stone that was but he was already gone and I never saw him again. That was probably good, because who knows where would my house could end up with our next meeting.

 

To this day people are coming from the city to see my house on the giant hand with its magical stairs. Once a thief tried to steal the stones from the stairs but he could not move them at all. Heh, stupid thief.

 

One winter passed since that quite unordinary day and the stairs are still here, as you can see, and house still looks brand new. The crystals lost their glow after few full moons, and over time even started losing their red color. Still, they look nice and they are ever warm to the touch. I think that is the complete story of how my house got up in the sky. Now, would you like a cup of tea?"

Acolyte

 

The Prologue:

Julie had come alone. Having missed her ride with a friend to deal with some pressing servant related issues, she had taken her father’s roadster out and had driven the curving, often bumpy road into the city by herself. Parking it, she had made her way to where the festivities were already in full swing.

She now stood at upstairs entrance, allowing herself a minute to unwind from her driving to breathlessly take it all in. As she stood to one side, allowing the swarming mass of guests to pass uninhibited by her as they headed downstairs to the party chambers below, her eyes grew wide with the splendor below.

Julie still possessed some of the awkwardness of youth, and it showed by the way she carried herself. From her constantly gawking eyes, to her nervously moving hands, down to the high heels on her feet that occasionally still tripped her up as she walked. But despite all that, she still managed to present a total picture of elegance and grace, the result of years of etiquette being forced down her pretty throat.

Now, anyone down below who happened looked up at the entrance, would have given Julie a second look, and they did.

With that second look the following would have been taken in; long brown hair hung down in silken masses past her shoulders. The hair framed an oval face, with large, innocently wide, eyes, heavy with the mascara that always gave her face a perpetually surprised look. Resplendent in a long soft gown that seemed to pour down forever over her quite perky youthful figure, a purple satin sheet of flowing liquid, broken only by the black bolero jacket with its shimmering ornament. The hem of her gown almost covered the pointed toes of her coal black high heeled shoes.

A diamond necklace blazed in rippling fire hung from Julie’s throat, its brilliance matched by the long diamond earrings that peeked in and out as they swayed vibrantly, like a twin beacons. A sparkling diamond brooch with swinging sapphire’s that matched the colour of Julies eyes , had been placed high on one side of her black satin bolero styled jacket. She wore no gloves, and her bare fingers were home to a rather lively assortment of gem encrusted rings.

Soon two ladies also broke away from the crowd and joined Julie in her observation, as they commented to one another about the scene below. They then asking Julie if she agreed, as if the strangers and she were old acquaintances, Julie gave them both the once over as she reluctantly agreed with them.

Both Ladies were red heads, although the younger one, with pretty hazel eyes, was more of a ginger ( like Julies maid), Julie finished giving both a swift appraisal before turning her attention back to the crowd, looking for an opening to make her escape. The ginger, a young miss stunning in a gown of deep green brocaded satin with silken emerald frills, apologized for the intrusion, then let out a small squeal, commenting on how adorable Julie’s jacket was, as she lifted it up, of Jules of Paris( Pariee is how she pronounced it), and your gown, it’s of the house of Yevonne, is it not, the young lady asked? No Julie said, starting to shake her head, which made her earrings sparkle even more erratically, as the other lady continued admiring Julie’s satin jacket, momentarily covering the bright brooch from view. At the same time the other lady, a bit older ,becomingly clad in a fine gown of red wine colured Taffeta, placed a hand on Julies other shoulder, asking the now disconcerted girl if she knew how late the orchestra was playing, Julie continued shaking her head, as she looked into the older lady’s deep green eyes, mesmerized as they just oozed kindness , No, sorry ma’am she answered obediently . The younger one finished her admiration of Julie’s s attire by patted Julie’s shoulder, well nice meeting you, and with a cheerful tootles, both women left, melting ahead into the crowd.

Julie watched them for a few seconds as the pair swished downstairs, straightening her jacket as she did. Suddenly all thoughts of the two ladies were pulled from her mind as she realized something was amiss. It took her but a second to realize the brooch her maid had pinned onto her jacket was now absent. Bother she said under her breath as she looked around her on the empty floor, it must have fallen off in the roadster! Under her breath she chastised both the roadster, and the road, remembering the way the vehicle had lurched to and fro on the bumpy roadway in her haste to reach the city. She must have words with that maid of hers for not fastening it properly, that brooch was simply too valuable for her to be so careless... Julie then puts the brooch out of her mind; she decides she will have the maid search the roadster for it in the morning.

And she makes her way out into the stream of guests and begins her descent, carefully as her high heeled feet negotiate the stairs…..

***

The Tale

Dazzling!

This was the word that best described the vision enclosed within the massive chamber that evening. Filled wall to wall with a seemingly endless swarm of guests, presenting an endless sea of colourfully be gowned, be gloved, and bejeweled ladies, escorted by a small army of tuxedoed and top hatted male chaperones. The crème del a crème of the huge cities finest citizens were there, displaying a good portion of what their all the hard cold pounds and guineas could buy.

The guests had entered via a large double stair case that led down into the sub street level chamber. On the east end was a mammoth stage, which stood about 4 feet above the dance floor, easily holding the 30 piece orchestra with room to spare. The music that was played was as diverse as the guests in attendance, appealing to every age group present.

Couples and singles milled about talking merrily, just a low murmur heard just below the music. A jazz number was being played and a number of the “young bright ones” were on the floor dancing earnestly with various random moves.

A stream of fresh guests had entered, making their way downstairs, gaining the attention of a few of those already in attendance. Jewels sparkled radiantly as many a satin gloved hand was raised in greeting, many a female head was turned to point out someone they could spread gossip about, and in the process exposing a multitude of jeweles in various sparkling colours.

One of those newcomers, a raven haired, black eyed woman with a dark features, possessing an almost feline like beauty, came onto the upstairs landing. She was probably aged in her mid-twenties, surprisingly alone and unescorted. She was waved to by no one, pointed out to by many. Looking around she suddenly spied something down below that made her smile, a wide Cheshire cat like grin that quickly spread across her wickedly pretty face. She scurried down the stairs, pushing, not gently, a young miss in in a purple satin gown and black jacket, who had been moving slowly ahead of her, wobbling in her high heels, the poor girl fell against the wall, clutching it for support with well ringed fingers.

The raven haired beauty parted several more pairs of guests as she made her way down, moving too slow for her, without a word of apology. At the middle landing, she shoved her way past a pair of ladies, moving slowly as they regarded the pretty scene being played out below in the well lite chamber. One was red head wearing a tailored wine coloured taffeta gown that made a swishing noise as the lady passed, and her companion, about the same age as the intruder, (a kid sister, or cousin of taffeta gown?) was dressed in gown of deep green brocaded satin with silken emerald frills, her long hair done up in a high bun, held by dangling rows of rhinestone ropes. She looked at the lady who was unexpectedly cutting between them, but said nothing; as the lady paid neither one no never mind. The raven haired lady continues down, and still never uttering a word or wearing even the slightest look of apology, trips up yet another lady, clad in a long pure white satin gown, with emerald bracelets dangling from her white gloved wrists, who actually had started to fall, and would have if the pair of red headed ladies in wine and emerald gowns had not caught and steadied her, and in the process an emerald bracelet is lost to sight.

The raven haired, dark beauty finally landed onto the chamber floor and began snaking through the crowd, licking her vibrant red lips as her eyes darted about searching for any distractions to avoid keeping her from her selected designation, (and prey)! Her long thin figure was sleekly covered by a lengthy body-hugging black satin sheath, her heavy mascara, and long flowing hair matching the dress. She wore opera length satin gloves, red as her lips. Her jewels were all white diamonds, earrings, necklaces bracelets, and a large brooch hanging from the low cut of her gowns neckline. She wore a number of fancy rings, one of which was a large diamond cocktail ring on her left hand, while her right, gripping a red satin clutch purse, was home to 3 smaller versions of the same ring. She slowed down suddenly, and opening the purse pulled out a long telescoping holder, and opening a gold (14k) case extracted a long white cigarette and inserted it.

She than bee lined and circled around, flanking a young miss wearing(limply) a long pretty satin dress of pink coral, white pearls hanging expensively down from her ears and neckline. She wore white wrist length satin gloves, with a diamond merrily glittering from a long slender finger on her left hand. She was talking to a rather handsome youth her own age, dapper in his tails and top hat, a precision trimmed Saxon style beard, and a face with solid Welsh features, and hazel coloured twinkling eyes. A long gold chain and fob held a solid gold engraved pocket watch to his chest (all 14 k) and he wore a ruby pin in his black ascot.

As she stole behind the back of the poor princess in coral, she gave her a venomous gaze, which quickly changed as she touched the young man on the shoulder, as he turned to her, the raven haired beauty, whose name was Lilith, eyes were now brimming with contrived admiration.

Hello darlings Lilith said, in a syrupy low voice, addressing them both, although she did not even glance at the girl. Both hoarsely said hello back, and the boy took the offered hand and kissed it, her large ring shinning, blindingly in his eyes. Would you be a dear then? She asked, waving the cigarette holder in front of his face. He obligingly lit it, and she let out a puff of smoke, aimed directly in the girls face, who started coughing Lilith smirked, panting her on the back, sorry dearie, mind if I borrow him for a bit, and she led the young gentleman away, before the pretty girl in coral and pearls could regain whatever composure she had left. Charles! Be a dear and buy me a drink please Lilith asked him, and he (with proper breeding of the titled) led her off without question, abandoning the young miss who watched them trot off with tears brimming in her blue eyes.

 

The drinks came, and Lilith sat her cigarette holder down next to them, dance with me Charles, and she took his arm and led him off to the dance floor, just as his fiancé in the coral gown and borrowed pearls had managed to catch up.

 

Charles held Lilith in his arms, as one might hold a cold blooded serpent. She moved close, appropriately hissing in his ear. Why are you wasting time with that silly Ginny creature, don’t you know her parents are about to lose all their money, and that Ginny’s only interest was in his title, and his parents fortune, silly bean. Charles looked warily at Lilith, than over at the forlorn Ginny, just standing there. He genuinely liked , maybe even loved, Ginny, even had given her a friendship ring, signifying his desire to become closer , But there were the rumors of her father being swindled of his fortune, and if his parents ever found out!. He looked back into his dance partners beady black eyes, they held a seductive fire which played immensely to his vanity. She was smiling winningly at him, she had made her selection, and although it would never show in her eyes, in the back of her devious mind, she was starting to think how the letter would go that his parents would anonymously be soon receiving concerning Ginny, the little pipsqueak, Lilith called her silently in her mind.

***

Meanwhile the pair of red haired ladies who had had the cheekiness to stop on the middle landing of the grand staircase, impeding Lilith’s progress, were now walking the perimeter of the mammoth chamber, meandering, taking in all of the sparkling and shininess of the surroundings, their eyes missing very little as they talked. The young, ginger haired one, pretty in her gown of deep green brocaded satin with silken emerald frills, seemed a little peeved about something, and her companion noticed that her grey eyes had turned a certain shade of green, always a sign of something amiss. She stopped her and asked her to please spill it out.

Oooh how I despise that witch, a seething Lydia said to her companion in the wine coloured taffeta gown, spitting out each word like a hissing cat, even Lydia’s back was arched a little like a feline. Her friend, whose longish flaming red hair was lying over her left shoulder, hanging down in a picturesque manner over her full bosom, was surprised at Lydia’s reaction. Who dear? Asked her friend, Angie. The lady in white satin Angie asked? No, spit out the usually collected Lydia, not her, she was really fuming. Angie continued, I was going to say, if it was, than taking her emerald bracelet should have been revenge enough, Angie stated, then continued. So just who are we talking about Lydia?

 

That one!, Lydia snarled, nodding her head, the witch in black who rushed through us on the stairs and went that way! Angie stopped, looking off in the direction Lydia had nodded. Oh her, she said, the one in black satin. Lydia just glared, and Angie knew she had gotten it right. She asked Lydia, does this witch have a name? Lilith! Lydia spat it out like a swear word, followed by a gushing tirade. She is a backstabbing creature who can charm any man into submission while making a girl cringe and wince with the merest of glances. She is a gold digger extraordinaire with two ex-grooms who couldn’t see her for her true colours until they had been gutted by her gilded claws!!

Really exclaimed Angie, her green eyes becoming brighter! Two of them? Yes, Lydia went on, both wealthy, both became available when their parents received anonymous poison letters about their then betrothed.

I’d give anything to knock her down a few pegs, Lydia continued through clenched teeth.

Angie mulled it over; realizing anything more she said would just add fuel to Lydia’s fire. She decided to let her simmer down on her own, and then perhaps they could get on to their business. She suggested a drink, and they moved off, passing a forlorn young lady in a limp coral coloured gown, wearing a nice display of pearls, who seemed to be staring off in the distance at something with tear filled eyes.

Skirting the dance floor, they soon attained the lounge and settled in……..

 

***************************************************

It had now been four years since Angie had taken the charmingly talented young Lydia under her wing.

She had encouraged her blossoming skills, abilities that Lydia herself had self-taught by playing games with her siblings, until she encountered a professional she could learn from. That professional had been Angie. Lydia now possessed the little dog eared ancient pamphlet that had been the secret to Angie’s success as a light fingered lady pickpocket, focusing mainly on the fine jewels worn out and about by rich girls and women in society.

 

(Please visit our albums section and peruse the various Angie Albums for more background stories on Angie and her “light fingers” the Eds.)

 

It had cost Angie a necklace to acquire the pamphlet, and it had been worth it. It had cost the younger, ginger haired Lydia her brooch and ring for a chance to do the same. Lydia caught on quickly, mastering certain moves in half the time it had taken Angie, and for which Angie gave her high praise.

 

But sadly it was now less frequently that they worked as a team, each after a time branching off on their own paths.

 

Lydia was a different creature than Angie in the respect that coming from a wealthy family she was supported, even though most of the family lands, money and titles would go to the heir, Lydia’s twin brother. For her lifting items from her wealthy friends and relations had started out as an edgy game. Now it had evolved into a challenging pastime, a trophy hunt of sorts where she collected jewels like her father collected animal relics. Some of her lesser trophies were passed onto Angie, who had the connections to dispose of them, turning them into ready pound notes.

 

Whereas Angie had been born to impoverished English parents who had immigrated to Canada. They made her, their only child, an orphan at age 6 upon their untimely deaths in an epidemic. At the crowded orphanage the nuns taught her a little about manners, how to act properly for a lady, and the rest she had learned on her own, what she needed to say to please them and avoid the “floggings” that they administered to those who refused to “fit” in. She fled the orphanage when she was 14 and forged her own, often lonely path in the years that followed. For her lifting a ladies valuables was a means of lively hood as much as it brought her thrills. And she had accomplished it all without Lydia’s advantages, which had been a pair of a willing accomplices, AKA a sister and brother, to practice on!

 

But the pair remained in constant touch and it had been at Lydia’s beckoning that Angie had met her in London a few days prior. From London they had travelled by rail to attend this once a year function, and to attend the various balls and other affairs that were the natural outgrowths of the Gala.

 

It had been an eventful journey, the train ride had proven to be even more profitable than usual for the two light fingered ladies.

 

Lydia had written Angie a letter (to Angie’s solicitor who she saw at least one a month) telling her about the upcoming gala, and how would she would like Angie to join her in for the hunt. Their plans were to attend the gala and its outgrowths, then spend a few months of the upcoming party season continuing Lydia’s education. They had met at the London station, and after checking their bags found themselves with a little time to kill before boarding. Now outside the station there was a sprawling green where several vendors had set up their wares, a haven for those possess a light fingered touch. The two ladies meandered, catching up on what had been happening in their lives since they last time they had been together.

 

Now as they walked the green, they also kept their eyes open, and it was the second time they had passed a group of small benches, across a path from where an organ grinder was performing with a pet monkey, which they stopped, giving some serious attention to something they had both glanced at the first time in passing.

 

There was a trio of young ladies by one of the benches. Later they learned the trio were three sisters awaiting for the arrival of their parents and older brother. All three wore eye catching outfits, the younger 2 siblings in silk dresses of canary yellow and butterscotch, the elder sister was in a long flowing black skirt with a glistening silver coloured ruffled satin blouse. The jewels the three were innocently wearing in public were also worth a second look. The youngest (12) wore a pretty selection of silver, the middle (14) wore gleaming pearls, their older sister and chaperone (19) was wearing gold bracelets, a fine collection of rings and (probably unwisely) an expensive sapphire brooch at her throat.

 

Now the first time they had passed the oldest was seated at a bench reading a magazine, while her siblings played on the lawn. They had stopped to watch the sisters, under the pretense of watching the crowd around the organ grinder and his monkey. They watched both groups with some interest, but were distracted when Lydia pointed out a pickpocket working the crowd across the way. Angie spotted him immediately, he was chatting to a pair of ladies wearing fashionable day gowns of shiny damask. It looked to be a wealthy mother and her younger sister. As the grey top hated gentleman thief engaged the mother in conversation, he was reaching around and gingerly lifting the silver watch of the younger sister, her attention being paid out to her two young nephews. They watched until he had pocketed the watch, his skill level about average for the type, before Lydia and Angie headed off for the far side of the green.

 

The second time around they saw that the oldest had fallen asleep, sitting on the bench and the younger two were sitting on the grass, watching the monkey from across the way. The grey top hated man who had relieved the lady of her watch, was now lurking on the scene, eyeing the two sisters sitting on the grass, their dresses splayed out, making the small glistening pools that had probably been what first caught his attention, before noticing their jewels, which were ripe for the picking now that their chaperone eyes were closed.

 

Lydia and Angie, without a word between them, moved in for the kill. Lydia went straight to the younger sisters, while Angie made a wide circle, cutting in front of the top hatted gentleman, who nodded to the pretty, clever faced, red head. Angie than seated herself on the far end of the bench, primarily to keep the grey top hated man and any other opportunist who may also have designs on the sound asleep older sister’s jewelry, at bay.

 

Lydia meanwhile had come up behind the younger pair of sisters, laying a hand on the older ones shoulder as she chirped a happy hello to them. Asking them if they would give some coins to the monkey for her, they got up and allowed Lydia to lead them across the path.

 

The girls called to the little monkey and handed him their coins, while they all laughed at the tricks he performed for them. The younger one was looking up at Lydia who handed her another coin; she scrunched down, and gave it to him, as they waited for him to perform again. Lydia placed her hand on thy older sister’s silken covered shoulder, than her fingers quickly slid up to the necklace of pearl, and with two fingers, flicked open the hook and eye clasp, and pulled away the pearls in one motion. She then moved back, leaving the younger siblings to play with the monkey and melted back into the crowd,

 

Watching all this, Angie made a noise after Lydia had vanished from sight, waking the sleeping lass, who immediately looked around for her wayward sisters. Spying the pretty red head sitting at the end of the bench, she smiled (girls always felt more at ease around other women), Angie smiled back, and looked towards the monkey, and the sister also looks, and spies her siblings. She calls out to them, and as they come back Angie sees with satisfaction that Lydia had been busy. The sister also notices something amiss; the middle one is missing her pearls.

 

They begin to look, with the concerned red head kindly offering her” a hand” in their search. After a fruitless 15 minutes spent searching through the crowd of huddled people watching the organ grinder and his monkey, the nice red headed lady gave her apologies’, saying she must leave to make her train. The pretty lady takes her leave, holding the girls hand as she earnestly expresses her hopes that the pearls are found. She holds out her arms, and is given a hug for helping by the grateful older sister. Angie places a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes, as her other hand reaches up and unhooks the sapphire brooch from the sisters satin blouse, palming it effortlessly.

 

As Angie disappears in the crowd the search goes on in earnest, It is not much after the red headed lady had swished her way through her crowd towards the train, that the older sister discovers she is wearing on less ring! As she in bewilderment places a hand to her silk covered chest, her fingers feel nothing, and start to feel around fruitlessly for her brooch, her sapphire brooch, its gone, not even so much as a tear on her satin blouse where it had been pinned by her maid that morning. The older sister feels a hand placed on her shoulder, she looks up into the smiling eyes of a dapper gentleman in a grey top hat, I something wrong my dear? He asks her, showing genuine concern in his smiling eyes.

 

As the gentleman in the grey top hat was giving his upmost attention to the young lady Angie had been “helping”, Angie entered the train, and walking to the end of the last passenger car, settled into the seat next to Lydia.

Lydia Turned towards Angie, and speaking in French, Commented:

La levée de suite les bijoux d'une jeune femme est comme une plume prise !

Dear, Angie said in an almost motherly tone of voice, I really wish you would not go about quoting that Arsène Lupin wretch, as a pickpocket the man is a butcher.

Angelica, Lydia teasingly chided, you say that about all men with light fingers, like our gray hatted friend back there.

Honey, Angie smiled, most men like that are serpents, and Lupin is still a butcher.

Lydia watched Angie settle back in her seat with a secret smile. She did not know too much about Angie’s past, but there was something there about Monsieur Lupin, (whose exploits had been made into print, tickling her young girls fancy, as she poured over them), that seemed to get at Angie’s goat. A lot about Angie’s past life was a secret to Lydia, but she knew well enough when to let sleeping dogs lie..

Lydia than settled in as the train lurched forward, taking them safely away from the London park, along with the sister’s “trinkets “the pair had obtained.

 

A little later, it became Lydia’s turn to show her mettle.

 

An hour after leaving London Station, the train stopped at a fashionable suburb. Lydia watched with half opened eyes, the disembarking passengers, and the new arrivals now walking to and fro along the wooden platform. Suddenly her eyes opened wide, and she made a small noise. Angie looked up from her book with interest, immediately spotting it too.

 

A young couple was walking past their window. He was wearing a 3 piece suit, walking stick, a silver timepiece, and a small brown derby. It was his wife, though, upon which the ladies interest lay. She was sporting a slinking satin frock, pretty in itself as it lay along her voluptuous figure, but it was her necklace that stole the show, and as she walked it was noticed by more than a few of the people she passed. It was a buoyantly bright gold drop necklace that encircled her neck, with a large stone ruby in the center of the drop that lay along her bare throat. The necklace really vexed Lydia’s interest and she watched it, and the lady who wore it for as long as she could before finally losing sight and settling back in the seat with a long sigh.

 

Only a few short minutes later she her heart leapt in her throat. The couple had entered their car, probably heading for one of the private cars at the end of the train she reasoned, as her eyes took in every detail. But no, the couple stopped at the empty seat just before the one Angie and Fiona occupied.

 

Now Lydia and Angie had the end seats in the car, their back was to the cars wall, and directly across from them was a small storage room, , so the seating across the aisle started up about three rows, which meant that basically no one could see them unless they were walking past. Lydia continues to watch with interest as the couple settled in, the wife taking the window seat, in front of Lydia a. Angie just kept her nose buried in the book she was holding; this was all Lydia’s show. Lydia watched the lady as she sat back, her and her necklace reflected in the windows, The ladies shoulders were just above the seat, and after she had settled in, she made a show of doing up her long hair in a bun, giving Lydia ample time to study the valuable necklaces gold box clasp, and plan her way to it.

 

After listening to the few sharp words the lady gave her husband, Lydia decides this elegantly coiffured lady was somewhat a prima donna. Her husband tries to place his arm around her, but is chased off. They both finally fall off to sleep, and as the twilight outside takes over, Lydia sees her chance and seizes it. Lydia reaches over, and after licking her fingers, plays with the man’s ears. He groggily wakens, still aroused now that he thinks his wife is also now amorous, he reaches over and pets her affectionately. She wakens, angry and pushes the husband away. But Lydia is prepared, as the wife leans towards her husband, and away from the window, Lydia’s fingers have already flicked open the box clasp and whisked of the gold necklace from the opposite direction, towards the window, where she catches its reflection as slips over the back of the ladies seat and curls up in Lydia’s open palm.

 

Lydia and Angie now had private, “front” row seats for when the wife’s loss was discovered. It was always a performance that Angie never tired of watching when she could chance it. And Lydia? Sticking around and watching her victim’s reaction at being pickpocketed was one of the reasons she started lifting jewelry in the first place. Neither of them was disappointed on this occasion.

 

Now wide awake, the wife settled back down to read her book, playing with a strand of her hair that had fallen while she was chastising her husband. As she did her fingers brushed her neck, she stopped reading, and carefully felt around her throat, before letting out a yelp that woke her husband, and several of the other passengers ahead of her. She cried out (in a heavy Italian accent) my jewels, La mia collana , è svanito, it is gone? In panic she rose and started to look around, her hand to her throat, giving everyone watching a nice display of her pretty figure in its shiny dress and of her remaining jewelry. Angie, Lydia, a Stewart and the couple two seats ahead got up and helped in the fruitless search. Her necklace had somehow mysteriously vanished.

After things finally settled down Angie and Lydia made friends with the husband, but his wife remained angry and distant….

The rest of the trip had been uneventful, mainly because Angie and Lydia had had their fill of their appealingly pretty little games for the time being.

*******************************************************************

Angie suddenly perked up, letting go of her thoughts. She looked over at Lydia who was nursing her drink, her eyes looking a little less peeved. Did you see her, she asked? Who? Answered Lydia, Lilith? No answered Angie patiently. Not the Girl in the coral gown and pretty pearls, that one looked miserable enough without our help, stated Lydia? No, not her, but Angie reflected, Her pearls were nice, I almost suggested a go at them, but glad we didn’t, your right she did seem sad enough as it is. No, I mean that one over there, and she threw her eyes over to the entrance of the lounge.

Oh, Lydia exclaimed, I see what you mean. In the corner just outside the enclosed lounge area stood a lady in teal velvet, carrying a purse, her silver satin gloved wrist and fingers, home to a rather nice set of blazing emeralds and diamonds, matching those around her throat and hanging from her ears. Lydia looked over the situation.

 

The new mark wearing the teal velvet, was idling looking around, obviously trying to spot someone. Lydia looked at Angie, her Hazel eyes turning green with anticipation. Who gets her, she asked sweetly. Angie nodded,( wanting something to take Lydia mind off …..) she is all yours princess ( a nickname that Angie sometimes used on Lydia, and about the only person in the world Lydia could tolerate calling her that).

And watch her movements, added Angie in an instructing tone, See how she jumps up to peer over the crowd? Try and use it to your advantage. Lydia smiled and watched, licking her lips in anticipation.

 

Now Lydia’s forte was lifting necklaces, so that whenever it was Angie’s turn to be the spotter, she would always be on the lookout for Ladies wearing necklaces that would be within easy reach of Lydia’s talented fingers. Likewise Lydia, when spotting for Angie, kept an eye out for brooches. So, when Angie told Lydia the mark was hers, it was her emerald necklace that received close study first.

 

Lydia waited until the lady had her back to them, and she rose and carefully threaded herself through the maze of tables to the entrance of the lounge, her gown rustling against any object it touched. She came up on the lady in teal. Violet she cried out, as she raised one arm, wrapping around it around the girl’s back, while the other gripped the girl’s arm as Lydia drew the lady up against her figure in an embrace..

 

The girl tried to turn, squirming in Lydia s clasp, and as she did so, Lydia’s hand had already snaked up to the studied necklaces clasp, popping it open. I’m not Vio…. the startled girl tried to say, but as she turned around, Lydia exclaimed, you’re not Violet, oh I ‘m so sorry she said, asking for forgiveness sweetly,( undoing the clasp of the necklace and lifting up one end) I thought you were my cousin violet, Lydia apologized profusely, while her one hand squeezed the girls arm, finger bails digging in, as the other one holding the end of the necklace on her shoulder, moved down behind teal velvets back, slipping away the fiery necklace with it.. As Lydia balled up the necklace in her hand, she begged her leave, expressing regrets that she did not have time to chat with her new friend, have to find where Violet wandered off to she explained, squeezing the girl’s arm.

 

The mark was only too glad to accept the pretty stranger’s apology at not being able to stay and chat. The lady watched Lydia swish off into the swarming crowds. Her eyes slightly puzzled, before she remembered that she was also looking for someone, and went off, soon forgetting the entire incident ( and later, when the loss of her necklace was discovered, her brief encounter with Violet’s confused cousin was not even thought of)!

 

As Lydia sauntered off she stowed away the emerald necklace, and then meandered about the chamber, taking her turn to spot fresh victims, whose jewels were doomed to disappear under Angie’s talented fingers.

 

Meanwhile across the Ballroom another scene was being played out…..

********

Lilith was now holding court at the edge of the dance floor; her second straight dance had ended with the young gentleman she was leading to believe fascinated her. She was busy continuing chatting him up, expressing her utter delight at the wonderful dancer he was, when Ginny timidly approached. She drew near her erstwhile boyfriend, asking him for their dance, as she desperately tried to keep her lips from trembling. Lilith’s eyes lit up in false apology (Ginny could see that all too well), darling! Lilith exclaimed, could I borrow your young man for a bit more, he promised me a drink. She placed her arm around him, isn’t that right darling? The overly polite boy, choked up a bit, unsure of what to do, his breeding not letting him wanting to hurt either Ginny, or Lilith, despite what his true desires actually were, and that was to be alone with Ginny! Although the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind by Lilith were beginning to take root and he was starting to have worries about what if future with Ginny would become an actuality.

 

Ginny, Charles started, faltered, than tried again, Ginny, the band is going to play The Charleston, you know how you like to dance to it, why don’t you go and I’ll catch up with you soon, promise. Yes darling, Lilith chirped maternally at poor Ginny, It will be just a quick one darling, and taking Charles by the arm, led him off, leaving Ginny standing there, wilting away as the Lilith’s words and actions burned through to her very soul. The music stared, and she reluctantly, if not a little obediently, did as Charles wished. Three dances later, he still had not shown up as promised, and Ginny danced on, a burning hole opening ever wider in her heart.

**********

Meanwhile, as poor Ginny started dancing to her second of three solo dances, we visit another end of the chamber, where Lydia is found talking merrily with three girls around her own age that she had collected around her. She had lured them into her web by engaging the considerable charm, elegance and sophistication that had been bred into her by her parents pretty much since birth.

 

Three pretty maids all in a row, overloaded with a multitude of dripping jewels, and Lydia was waiting for Angie to make an appearance and lighten their load! A blond haired lady in shiny red satin, a brown haired maiden in bright blue, and a tow headed damsel in silky gold. As Lydia was chatting up the three girls, her eyes, discreetly and unobtrusively, take an account of their jewels, their placement and their value.

 

Amongst the jewels the lady in red is wearing the most valuable is a necklace of small diamonds and a ring around her right hand’s pinky that is a large diamond cluster that shimmers spectacularly as she plays with a locket of her lion’s mane like blond hair.

 

The pretty maiden in blue was displaying a nice collection of gold jewelry, braided chains with small flecks of silver woven in. But above her left breast, was her only jeweled piece, pinned with a simple c-clasp, a gold brooch with a center stone of blue topaz surrounded by dazzling ½ caret diamonds.

 

Then there was the damsel in the pretty gold coloured gown, woven of some type of exotic, overly expensive, material that just shimmered in the massive chandelier’s light. She was also wearing opera length gold satin gloves, from which were dangling a pair impressive jeweled bracelets, their stones a multitude of rainbow coloured gems. She also wore a long pair of dangling diamond earrings, held loosely by rather ancient hinge clasps. Although her many other jeweled pieces were pretty valuable, these two twin sets were by far the most valuable pieces that anyone in the group was wearing.

 

Lydia feasted on the show her three marks jewels were displaying as she won them all over, soon bringing them into fits of giggling and laughter as they started to talk about the things most groups of women by themselves talk about, men! Out of the corner of her eye Lydia spied Angie coming up and around to see what’s up. She circled past each of the girls, slowly, nonchalantly, attracting no notice from the others in Lydia’s little group.

 

As Angie passed behind the blond in red satin, Lydia adjusted one of her rings, like it was bothering her, the motion caught Angie’s eye. Then Angie passed behind the gold gowned miss, and her eyes darted to Lydia, who lifted up her hair, exposing her ears, than absentmindedly started playing with a bracelet. Then Angie went behind the little blue gowned miss, and saw Lydia suppressing a cough, patting her chest to stifle it, her fingers splayed just above her left breast. Nodding, as much to herself as Lydia, Angie melted back into the crowd, and made a wide circle before approaching Lydia’s side.

 

Angie touched Lydia on her shoulder and she swirled, delighted that her “new friend” had shown up. (for whatever the reason, it always makes the mark(s) more comfortable when a pair of newcomers are related or are friends, Gaston Monescu, page 15 paragraph 2), Lydia excitedly introduced Angie to her three new chums, explaining to them how Angie and her had met on the train and had bonded, and how nice Angie was, and how very interesting a life she had led, along with other bits of flummery.

 

Angie’s first formal introduction was to red satin, Jessica. Whom Angie took by the hand, then reached around and hugged her, receiving a warm embrace in return. After the embrace, Angie clasped Jessica’s right hand in both of hers, praising Jessica on her pretty gown. As Jessica looked down, lifting a portion of the gown’s skirt with her left hand to show it off better, all eyes looked down. As everyone’s attention was diverted for that fraction of a second, Angie released Jessica’s right hand, slipping off from Jessica’s satin clad pinky, the large diamond clustered ring. Angie discreetly passed off the ring to Lydia, who was standing close to one side.

 

Then Lydia introduced Angie to the elegantly gold gowned young lady, Abby. Angie raised one arm, wrapping it around Abby’s back, while the other gripped her wrist, flicking open the jeweled bracelet‘s safety chain, as she drew the gold gown wearing Abbey up against her figure. The girl tried to turn, squirming in Angie’s embraces. Angie’s hand patted the girl on the back as the girl halfheartedly did the same, feeling Angie’s face bury itself in her shoulder. Effectively blocking from view the hand the held her wrist, which was picking open the bracelets clasp. Angie pulled away, looking the young miss in the eyes, everyone else eyes were also on Angie, which is what she was aiming for. And as she told the sweet young thing that it was her pleasure, she patted the ladies wrist, squeezing open the bracelet, slipping it off and into the slightly open purse at her side. As she does, her other hand goes up to the lady in gold’s dangling earring,( all eyes follow this movement) admiring the earring openly, taking its clasp into consideration for possibly an attempt later if they meet somewhere outside after hours. One never knows.

 

The last one to be introduced was the pretty Miss wearing the blue gown, Meria. Lydia, laughingly teasing her about being last, led her by the elbow and pulled the Meria towards Angie, and while she was turning, Angie took a small step forward and made sure her left side would bump against her. As Angie drew her in for an embrace, her right hand right hand was on the brooch while Angie’s left was grasping Meria’s left shoulder. Performing a move so familiar and well-practiced it was almost second nature, her middle finger pushed the c clasp out of its hook releasing the brooch into Angie’s palm. Pulling her hand down, she deposited the brooch into her purse, as she enveloped the girl in a hug. Then she stepped back, and began chatting with all three, soon winning them over like Lydia had done, keeping them distracted from themselves and their missing fine trinkets. Angie told them a quick, funny story about a man she had met on the train recently, which soon had them all giggling.

 

Angie took her leave after about 5 minutes, making an excuse that she needed to freshen up, she again took each ladies hand in goodbye, including Lydia’s, whom Angie slipped off a ring from her finger, so if things got sticky, she would be one of the victims also.

 

Lydia stayed behind to keep the three darling ladies occupied. She noticed one by one the missing jewels of each girl. The three shimmering silken lambs had been most professionally sheared, the most expensive of their jewels disappearing in such a manner that requires a ladies touch, no mere male, not even the talented Arsène Lupin, could have done better in the same scenario. As she looked them over, Lydia mused that with the mass quantities of jewelry each of the three were wearing, it would be some time before any of them realized some were missing.

 

********

 

Meanwhile across the ballroom, as Angie had been introduced to her last of the three ladies and their jewels that Lydia had lined up; another scene had started being played out…..

 

Lilith had just finished her second drink with Charles, while the third song of a five song set had just started, fast and one meant for singles (favored mainly by the ladies, one of who was the wretched Ginny). Lilith looked at Charles, and suggested he should join the gentlemen up in the smoke room (she had seen him watching them mass exodus of gentlemen heading that way when the current set of songs had started). Charles hesitated, I should really see about Ginny, he cautiously stated, not sure of Lilith’s reaction. Lilith smiled, licking her re lips, don’t you worry yourself over the poor dear, I will go and keep her company until you return, she promised happily.

 

Defeated, Charles wearily accepts her suggestion, and Lilith watches him depart, then smugly looks in the direction of the dance floor, and exultantly plucking the fag from the gold holder, squashes it down quite hard in an ash container. She snaps closed the telescoping holder, and with a positively wicked grin, leaves her seat with a pounce and heads onto the dance floor, her hips swinging her black satin gown with a fluid motion, not unlike like a black cat making a move against a frightened mouse, or perhaps a snake slithering towards its victim.

 

It is a known fact that in the wild herding animals will avoid any member who is ill or dying. This may explain that, with Ginny’s 3rd dance of the 5 song set, she was still alone. It was like her wretchedness was felt by others and so kept their distance, leaving poor Ginny alone in her own empty circle, dancing at a far end of the chamber. This is also why she was not hard to spot by one who was now specifically seeking her out.

 

Ginny jumped as a hand grasped, not softly, her shoulder, and a voice said her name, with an evil hiss into her ear…

 

Ginny turned to face Lilith, whose look of utter hatred made that she gave the poor girl, made Ginny cringe as she backed away, dancing was now the last thing on the poor girls mind.

 

Darling, Lilith said spitting out the word as she looked around to make sure no one else was listening in, I have some very bad news….

 

Lilith launched into a tirade filled litany of reasons of why “Her” dear Charles would simply never be able to have anything more to do with her. Starting with her jewelry( really dear, you had to borrow them?) jumping to her moneyless parents( penniless in-laws, really darling it just isn’t done ), her now lowered position in society, (not to worry though , after she(Lilith) and Charles were marred she would find Ginny a maids position somewhere). And finally, that Charles was leaving because he was angry with the jealous way the sniveling Ginny had been acting.

 

With each sentence that was thrown in poor Ginny’s face she stepped back, the hateful words (some of which she knew had truth in them) slicing like a knife into the already tormented girls soul.

 

Finally she could take it no longer, and openly weeping she turned and tried to flee, looking fruitlessly around for Charles, but Lilith was quick, and grasped the poor girl before she could make good her escape..

 

Oh, you poor darling, I haven’t hurt your feelings have I spat Lilith in mocking tones, her , and she drew Ginny to her in a tight embrace, feeling the girl squirming in her arms, much like a mouse would squirm under a cat’s clawed paw, or perhaps wrapped in a serpents coils( both scenarios fit Lilith). Lilith finally released the poor thing, who fled recklessly away.

 

Lilith stayed and watched Ginny bolt, an indulgent smile creeping upon her face. She started to move in rhythm with the music, extremely pleased with herself, her sleek, slinky black gown and gloves flowing down along her devastatingly pretty figure making her appear like some slithering serpent rising up from the bowels of some glittering hell….

It was no more than 2 minutes later that a hand was placed from behind on Lilith’s shoulder.

********

As Charles headed off to relish his cigar, and Lilith headed off to relish tormenting Ginny; Lydia was continuing to entertain the three young ladies, while biding her time until the next conquest of the evening.

 

Suddenly Angie appeared from the crowd, again behind the three unsuspecting girls still under Lydia’s spell. Angie gave her a subtle signal, indicating that she has spotted fresh prey in dire need of being shed of her jewels, and needed Lydia’s help with the shearing. Lydia encourages the three ladies to meet her a little later, she sees a gentlemen (winking) whom she had promised a dance. They let their friend go, thinking she should wait for a slow dance, the music being played now was no way to dance close and personal, but they unknowingly were quite wrong.

 

After leaving the 3 young ladies, Lydia soon reached Angie’s side by the edge of the dance floor. Angie turned and nodded her head indicated one side of the floor, is that Lilith? She asked Lydia’s eyes followed Angie’s nod, soon eyeing the solitary lady in black standing at one end talking with the girl in coral and pearls.

  

Yes it is she answered, why? Attend, said Angie, and Lydia listened as Angie laid out her plans before her, as Lydia watched her witch, and the diamonds she wore that flickered around her black encased figure like so many evil tongued serpents. Suddenly she saw the girl in coral whose pearls the ladies had admired earlier, suddenly turn and flee, crying. Still up to your dirty tricks, are you Lilith!, Lydia thought spitefully.

Ready, the pair of scheming red heads than made their move.

*********

Lilith turned to see whose hand it was, half expecting to see Ginny, she checked herself quite nicely when turning, when she saw Lydia’s beaming face.

The two ladies dance in step for a few seconds, than Lilith gushes, why Lydia dearest, I hadn’t noticed you were here. Perfectly lovely darling, then Lilith added, but who brought you this evening? She asked, appearing very casual.

 

Lydia stayed silent on the subject; she wouldn’t give Lilith the satisfaction of knowing that she had not found anyone since Lilith had stolen Lord St. Claire, her longtime Beau, from under her nose.

 

Instead, Lydia praised Lilith, her lovely figure and gown, false praise, and Lilith knew it. They both continue dancing, almost sparing like a pair of fencers, with sharp eyes, and tongues rather the swords.

 

***********

Having been pre-warned by Lydia that the situation would become volatile very fast, Angie had come up behind Lilith very quickly, and started to dance behind her, coming ever closer, unnoticed by Lilith whose guard was totally centered on Lydia.

 

Angie saw her chance and tripped on Lilith’s Gown, sending her into Lydia’s waiting arms. Angie’s hands at the same moment had flew up to clasp of Lilith’s diamond necklace, unsnapping it, and sending the necklace falling into Lydia’s hands as she pushed away Lilith, who was in the process of turning and rounding on the person who dared ruin her expensive gown. As she spat at Angie, reprimanding her for her careless ness, Lydia moved in between, flicking the clasp of Lilith’s diamond broach in the process. Pushing the pair apart, Lydia apologies, as her right hand neatly slipped of the opened broach from Lilith’s satin gown, saying it was her fault for dancing so close to Lilith that she had backed poor Lilith into the lady.

Lydia took Angie’s hand, apologizing, slipping her the necklace and broach into Angie’s half open purse in the process. And with that, Angie turned and went on her way, never looking back, Hearing Lilith saying something to Lydia about the clumsy bitch, as she left.

 

************

 

Later that evening found Angie walking through the lounge of an upscale hotel, having joined in with the spillover from the fancy dress ball that had gathered there. She had stashed in her hotel room the shimmering collection of purloined jewels that Lydia and her had lifted while attending the Ball proper.

For the past half an hour she had been having an enjoyable conversation with the sparkling (both in personality, and attire) tow headed lady in silky gold that Lydia had introduced her to at the ball, and who still had not noticed she was shorn of a one of her bracelets from her gloved wrist,. Angie had come across the damsel sitting alone by the bar, her friend (The pretty maiden in blue who had been displaying the nice collection of gold jewelry- less one brooch) had left her to party on with a male friend of hers.

Angie had just left the pretty ladies side, also leaving her without the bother of placing her earrings and one of her twin bracelet in the hotel safe that evening. She as of yet failed noticed that now her dangling diamond earrings that had been loosely held by their ancient old fashioned clasps, had gone the same route as her Bracelet. Angie had slipped off the earrings while giving her a generous hug of greeting after watching and waiting for her to be alone.

 

*******************************

 

Lighting a cigarette Angie left through the lobby and headed into a late night pub. As she nursed her first scotch, neat over ice, a familiar figure approached and slid onto the empty stool next to her. Thought I’d find you here, chirped a much happier Lydia. Just wanted to pop to give you an update, She waited and made small talk until after the bartender had taken and served her drink (a whiskey Soda) then began to fill in Angie.

So what was her reaction when you pointed out her jewels were missing, Angie asked Lydia with great expectations of what had happened? Well when I pointed them out, instead of thinking you (Angie) had been the culprit, Lilith assumed they had been taken by” Ginny” (the sad one wearing the coral gown and pearls) when Lilith had been hugging her. That little toad, Lilith had spat out to Lydia, and turned to hunt Ginny down.

Poor dear, said Angie, felling a small pang of sorrow for the little Ginny creature. No, answered Lydia, not really, and she continued…

Lydia had followed, realizing that Lilith was out of control, worried that someone innocent may be hurt.

And she was correct, because Lilith approached Ginny and lit into her something fearsome.

Lilith literally grabbed Ginny and started shaking her, demanding that she give them back. The girl was petrified, and Lilith started calling her some pretty nasty names.

A crowd started gathering.

Then all of a sudden this bloke wearing a gold pocket watch, cuts through the crowd and rescues the poor girl from Lilith’s clutches. Like a white knight Angie commented. Well he was in black tails, and boy was he angry with Lilith, he held the girl in coral tight as he looked at Lilith lividly, his face the reddest I have ever seen on an angry young man.

Lilith finally, collected herself, and I saw all fire drain from her face, and she turned around and stormed out of the chamber. I don’ know, nor care what became of her, stated Lydia.

 

Feel better now, princess? Angie asked Lydia.

 

Lydia smiled perking up, actually for the small bit of solace it may have been worth, it had made her feel better now that she had thought about it.

 

She smiled at Angie, producing a necklace of pearls, it seemed easier to do when she was so happy, Lydia confessed. So you do feel better Princess, Angie stated happily.

 

Lydia smiled, and the pair finished their drinks in thoughtful silence.

 

Lydia was the first to leave, smiling she bade Angie a good night, and began walking away.

Lydia had only gone a few feet, when she turned, and looked at Angie who had been watching her.

Lydia, a sly smile brightening her face and eyes, happily quoted “Assistez à un oeil de demoiselles dans vos s , chatouiller les dames de fantaisie avec une main”

Angie finished Lupin’s quote quote with a faraway look in her eyes

“tout en soulevant ses bijoux avec l'autre”

Till the morrow, Princess, Angie said in parting.

Till Tomorrow answers Lydia, turning with a skip, her gown flowing out behind her as she, now in very good humor, leaves into the smoke swirled darkness of the city to walk the few blocks to her hotel.

*****

The Epilogue:

Late afternoon of the next day, after attending an early afternoon Garden Soiree, Lydia and Angie are strolling through a park, both still dressed in their party dresses, both still wearing their fancy day jewels, (worn so they would fit in with the well to do female attendees), and both with secret pockets holding jewels lifted from some of said female attendees.

Lydia looks back at Angie, Lifting that silver dragon brooch with the ruby eyes and diamond scales was a nice move on your part Angie, she praises.

It was a lot easier with your help Lydia, Angie responded.

Lydia turned her head back onto the path, her pony tail whipping around, the pearls she had woven into it shining a bright white.

Angie said to Lydia’s back, that girl in the crème satin dress, you know I was going to go for her gold braided necklace, then you came out of nowhere and beat me to it.

Lydia just smiled satisfied to herself, I know she responded,, I wanted it to be my coup, she did not turn back to look at Angie’s reaction., but continued.. you laid down the gauntlet ,(or in this case satin glove) Angie when, as you commented on how pretty the necklace looked as it slithered along the front of her crème satin dress, you said it would take extremely deft fingers to slip it off her throat. Although I though her sisters pearls were a better score.

Angie, still walking behind her now had a secret smile on her face, and her eyes had glazed over as if her mind was drifting a million miles away from that quite park in the English countryside where the pair were now walking.

The two pretty red heads continue to walk on a bit, both in the silence of their thoughts.

Angie, Lydia asks, plopping down on a bench.

Yes dear, Angie says, her train of thought broken.

Lydia pulled out a long her gold braided necklace and was admiring it. The lady in the Crème satin dress who wore this lovely thing,; her sister, the one wearing the emerald silk gown and the pearls I fancied, you said she reminded you of a story you promised would tell me sometime? Could you tell me it now?

Angie smiled, Princess, you certainly are an inquisitive one! Let me think a minute…

Angie settled down next to her, and after mulling it over a bit, finally began…

It was during my first time in Monte Carlo, I had left the states soon after I had scored a major haul, and decided to ply my trade in new waters. It was during the fall of…

Lydia interjected, It was because of your haul at that politicians daughter’s wedding, (see album Angie being receptive)

Yes princess, that and a few other functions helped fund that trip. Angie confirmed, then went on…

I had met this pretty young like in an emerald silk gown, positively dripping in gold jewellery with rubies and emeralds…

Lydia cut in again, please start at the beginning; we have the rest of the day all to ourselves.

Angie smile, very well, I will start at the beginning: …….

 

( We will post in the album’ Angie “holidays” in Monte Carlo’ the rest of the tale stated in the epilogue. Once the story we recently unearthed in previously unknown chronicles of Angie’s life have been modified …The eds)

  

The lifting away a young lady’s jewelry is as a feather taken

La levée de suite les bijoux d'une jeune femme est comme une plume prise

 

Editor’s Notes:

Our Thanks to Mr. J. Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide

If you enjoyed our little story, please like and leave a comment.

And if you wish, describe what intrigued you the most about it…

Thank You

 

And last, but not least,

Kudos to the Light Fingered Lady who planted the seed of the flower that became Lydia

 

Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

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All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents

 

The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.

 

No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.

 

These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.

We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.

 

By the time we reached Leicester North station on our second trip the sun was setting. Great Western Railway Modified Hall 4-6-0 6990 Witherslack Hall has just been unhooked and we will shortly run forward into the headshunt.

NOT SO FAR APART

 

When you are no more

In my gaze,

And the soft voice’s die,

In my thoughts you remain,

And in my memory you lie.

 

We never said ‘farewell’,

Words, to hard to say,

Couldn't even look upon

One another,

For we were wishing we

Could stay.

 

The linked chain that we became,

Is for now, unhooked,

But maybe in time it will claspe

Us together again,

For I believe we are like the hills

That I have dreamed upon long into

The setting sun, surrounding the

Beautiful deep valley,

We’re,

Not so far apart…

 

By The Visual Poet

© The Visual Poet 2009

The Big Freeze - London, February 1991

At the beginning of February 1991, a bitterly cold spell of weather brought heavy snow to eastern and central England. Temperatures remained below zero in these areas continuously between the 6th and 9th of February and maximum temperatures were between -3 and -5C. During the night of the 7th the snow became heavy and persistent in London, bringing 20 cm in central London and 25cm in boroughs such as Croydon and Bromley, the deepest snow since the winter of 1962-1963.

 

This brought the rail network into chaos, Heathrow was forced to cancel flights and Gatwick and Birmingham airports were closed. On the 8th of February, the snow was lighter and started to ease. However, the cold spell and the snow lasted for several days. More information here:

www.weathercast.co.uk/nc/weather-news/news/article/heavy_...

 

and here: www.netweather.tv/forum/topic/34026-winter-1990-91-the-gr...

 

Everyone likes a bit of rail chaos - especially when you were a basher in the 1980s-90s!

Another time capsule from the Big Freeze of Feb 1991. A massive Class 56 is seen here at Dartford station, waiting to drag a pair of 4-EPBs on a local NSE service to Charing Cross. An extremely rare event indeed and I couldn't believe my luck, as I'd just had a Crompton drag out from my home station of Lewisham. However, my hopes were dashed when a fitter came along to unhook the Grid!!! Apparently, the driver hadn't been trained up on 56s :( UPDATE - Just found my original log book and the Class 56 PUSHED the EPB sets from London Bridge to Dartford!!! Hence the red lights still showing :)

 

Taken with a Nikon F-501 SLR camera with 75-200mm lens.

 

You can see a random selection of my railway photos here on Flickriver: www.flickriver.com/photos/themightyhood/random/

Henriksdal wastewater treatment plant

 

Nacka, Sweden

The Crewe paparazzi line up for important visitors on 7th October 2017: Class 87 No. 87002 'Royal Sovereign' has just arrived from London Euston with the first leg of 'The caledonian' rail tour which celebrates fifty years of the Class 50s, while on the left Class 50 No. 50007 'Hercules' (and 50049 'Defiant' out of view) wait for the electric to unhook prior to taking the train, 1Z50 0610 Euston - Glasgow Central, north. Copyright Photograph John Whitehouse - all rights reserved

L574 backs down the mainline to the rest of its train. By this time the unloading crew has slackened all the cables securing the packs to the car. A guy heads up the ladder to unhook those cables and drop them to the ground one by one. January 15, 2024.

If you follow my stream, you will recall the cute pooch I had spayed last July....."Traci" belongs to a hispanic family that needed financial help to pay for her spay. I arranged the discount for them. Traci's story: www.flickr.com/photos/rainriver/4677033240/in/set-7215760...

 

I hadn't visited Traci for a month or more so decided to check on her after releasing my feral kitty this morning. Imagine my anger when I saw her tethered outside to a chain not more than two feet long. She had no room to move around. Water was out of reach.

 

After unhooking her, she ran and ran.....then immediately relieved herself in the corn field as she probably had been holding it for a long time. I gave her water and let her run around while I had a "friendly conversation" with her owner. I then went to the local hardware store and purchased her a ten foot long chain and one of those swivel posts to attach it to.

 

I also had a talk with my local no-kill pet shelter and put her on their waiting list. You see, her people don't interact with Traci at all. She is invisible to them. They find her to be a nuisance now because they never took the time to train her. She is starved for attention so will jump [ in a friendly way] on the children and grabs their fingers....so she really needs a new home. See below.

 

Oh....and this cat was at the same location. I went to the nearby house and asked if the cat was their's. It was. I asked the woman about the cat....she seemed to know very little as the cat "belonged to her husband". She didn't even know the gender. I asked if they were going to get him/her "fixed". She assured me they would. Somehow I'm doubtful.

Fire Lookout Tower, Park Butte | Press L to view in lightbox

 

Trip Report - Part II

 

The temperature at 5400 ft was not becoming any warmer and has turned any form of moisture in the air to snow crystals. The wind was howling through our surroundings. Pine trees were bending. It was as if the butte was in near blizzard conditions. Luckily the temperature didn't drop dramatically. Snow has turned into rain and slush. However, visibility was still poor. The condensation on our corrective lenses made it much worse.

 

Ryan and Corey were about 10 minutes ahead of me. They had already unhooked the lookout tower's storm door when I got there. Yes, I was slow. I was dragging my feet up mainly due to pain just below my hip line. The hip belt of my 55 liter backpack was causing me grief the entire trip.

 

The fire lookout tower wasn't exactly a 5 star hotel, though it seemed like it was. It was complete with tools and all sorts of amenities. One of the best things we were really thankful for is the clothesline. It was awesome for hang drying our wet shell jackets and pants, and socks too! We would have never been able to air dry all of our soaked clothing inside a tent.

 

Immediately after unpacking, we cooked dinner and rested. Nothing beats a warm bowl of teriyaki and cup of tea. Well, except maybe for mac and cheese or spaghetti with meatballs. :D

 

Taps was early. We passed out a little after 8 PM. The alarm was set to 6 AM -- we were hoping to catch a fiery sunrise and a glimpse of Mount Baker.

 

The morning was somewhat disappointing -- no fiery sunrise and no chance to see Mount Baker. The wind was still howling and we had whiteout conditions. Oh, well.

 

We ran out of water and had to melt snow. Corey mentioned it tasted like plastic. A mixture of coffee fixed it up. It took several trips to get the ample amount of water we needed.

 

At 7 AM, the temperature was still hovering around 30°F. Every single breath was showing visible condensation (photo above).

 

The photo above is not technically perfect nor is it something you can wow about. I am posting it because it somewhat expresses the relief we had from the previous day's torturous trek (Good job Corey and Ryan!).

 

Please do not tell me to correct the distortion -- it looks uglier corrected. I tried.

 

To be continued...

 

__

Please do not post icons and images in the comments. Any constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks!

Double trailer road train, just arrived from the east, and is heading to the Northam Road Train Assembley Area. (RTAA)

The second trailer will be unhooked, and left behind, ax the driver heads to Perth with the first trailer and dolly.

Title from 'Valentine', by John Fuller. VERY worth reading!

 

The things about you I appreciate

May seem indelicate:

I'd like to find you in the shower

And chase the soap for half an hour.

I'd like to have you in my power

And see your eyes dilate.

I'd like to have your back to scour

And other parts to lubricate.

Sometimes I feel it is my fate

To chase you screaming up a tower

Or make you cower

By asking you to differentiate

Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.

I'd like successfully to guess your weight

And win you at a fete.

I'd like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,

Falling like water over boulders.

I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.

Your collar-bones have great potential

(I'd like all your particulars in folders

Marked 'Confidential').

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,

I like the way your lips disclose

The neat arrangement of your teeth

(Half above and half beneath)

In rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.

The way they focus on me gives me twinges.

Your upper arms drive me berserk.

I like the way your elbows work,

On hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,

I like the fingers on your hands.

I'd like to teach them how to count,

And certain things we might exchange,

Something familiar for something strange.

I'd like to give you just the right amount

And get some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.

I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.

I like your legs when you unwind them.

Even in trousers I don't mind them.

I like each softly-moulded kneecap.

I like the little crease behind them.

I'd always know, without recap,

Where to find them.

I like the sculpture of your ears.

I like the way your profile disappears

Whenever you decide to turn and face me.

I'd like to cross two hemispheres

And have you chase me.

I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers

Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.

I'd like you to embrace me.

I'd like to see you ironing your skirt

And cancelling other dates.

I'd like to button up your shirt.

I like the way your chest inflates.

I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt

Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

I'd like you even if you were malign

And had a yen for sudden homicide.

I'd let you put insecticide

Into my wine.

I'd even like you if you were the Bride

Of Frankenstein

Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian's 'Jekyll and Hyde.

I'd even like you as my Julian

Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.

How melodramatic

If you were something muttering in attics

Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean Mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.

You are the eternal feminine.

I'd like to find a good excuse

To call on you and find you in.

I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin,

And see you grin.

I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,

I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin,

I'd like to make you reproduce.

I'd like you in my confidence.

I'd like to be your second look.

I'd like to let you try the French Defence

And mate you with my rook.

I'd like to be your preference

And hence

I'd like to be around when you unhook.

I'd like to be your only audience,

The final name in your appointment book,

Your future tense.

 

=Some Years Ago. The Moth Cave=

 

"You mean to tell me you've never had a birthday party?" Drury asked incredulously. He ​lowered the auto-parts catalogue, and stepped away from his desk, his face smeared with axel grease from his latest back-firing Mothmobile.

 

Julian shrugged passively. "My parents were Jehovah Witnesses. They didn't believe in material possessions or celebrations, or, holidays for that matter."

 

"Right, well, we're fixing that!" Drury declared, patting him on the back enthusiastically.

 

"That's... Not necessary," Julian protested.

 

"Nonsense," Drury scoffed. "You're a Misfit. And the Misfits, know how to party."

 

~-~

 

The party in question, took place at Crazy Quilt's, the nightclub owned by Paul Dekker, the Misfits' eccentric tailor who ran a series of profitable (albeit morally dubious) ventures on the side under the guise of the bar's namesake.

 

"Hmph, well, it's not quite the Gotham Royal," Morty Drake stated, turning his nose up at the venue, as the young waiter guided the party to their seats.

 

"Yeah, well, when you pay off your debts, you can pick the venue... You know you don't need a pheasant pantry, right?" Len Fiasco rolled his eyes.

 

"A life without luxury is a life not worth living my uptight friend," Drake educated him.

 

"It's fine. Really," Day assured the pair, as the trio sat down at a corner booth. Drury, Chuck and Blake were already sat down, each wearing paper crowns on their heads. Drake and Fiasco were now looking over the drinks menus.

 

"Here: happy birthday, Jules, I baked you a banana cake. It's even got dates!" Drury grinned, as he handed him a neatly wrapped parcel. Blake, was already stifling a laugh, to Julian's confusion who looked down at the loaf and frowned.

 

"I appreciate the... gesture, but I don't like dates," he stated glumly.

 

"Pfffft! What are you doing calling yourself the fucking Calendar Man then," Blake chortled, as he raised his hand, and smacked Day's buttocks.

 

"Ah. A joke, I see."

 

"Here, drinks are on me! I'll have a Porn Star Martini; Sex on the Beach for the pencil," Blake pulled the waiter close, a goofy grin on his face.

 

"Drury, you have to try this whiskey," Drake spoke, ensuring that Blake would not order on his behalf too. "A Macallan for the boy and I, good man. 72 years, if you could be so kind."

 

"We're on a budget," Drury blushed..

 

"There's no such thing as a "budget" when you're celebrating," Drake toasted.

 

"Château du Blanc, please," Day asked politely.

 

"I, uh, I'll have a creme soda," Chuck said.

 

With the waiter out of earshot, Fiasco leaned in. "What the hell is a 'Sex on the Beach?'" he scowled.

 

"Course, you wouldn't know," Blake teased. "That's a joke, put down the steak knife. It's a cocktail, man. Jeez."

 

While the two bickered, Chuck saw his chance. "Here. Happy birthday," Chuck smiled as he passed a red and white present over to Julian.

 

"Thank you, Charlie. I.... take it Garfield couldn't make it?" Day presumed.

 

"Ah, no. No. He has that thing with Sionis; Black Mask. Guy's a real up and comer. Looking for muscle. Thought it could be a pretty good gig for us," Drury explained.

 

"Sionis? That lowly drug lord in the narrows?" Drake pondered.

 

"You didn't say he was a drug dealer, Dru," Chuck stated, a little wary of it.

 

"This is what I never understood..." Julian rolled his eyes. "Why do you even entertain the notion of dealing with these... mobsters. You would think, that after Bressi-"

 

"Hey," Drury snapped. "Tony Bressi was a two-bit gangster who thought he was better than me and the other capes. Sionis isn't like that. He's got a mask. He's got a gimmick. This is good for us! We finally have a freak on the high table, and it'd be stupid not to capitalise on that. It's good business: Gar, Len and I had that arrangement with Twag and Falcone way back, and that was solid!"

 

"I heard Falcone had Twag whacked," Len noted.

 

"That... doesn't matter. It's all good news guys, honest!"

 

==The Gotham Royal==

 

East Hallway: Floor 24

 

Time until Detonation: 46 minutes

 

Drury and Chuck led the way; followed by Sharpe, Flannegan and Joey. Lastly, Gar walked slowly behind them. Needham and Mayo had taken the party guests in the opposite direction, and even with the bomb still in play, Gar's mind began to wander.

 

Intuitively, Drury picked up on this behaviour, and halted the group's progression. "What is it?" he asked, as he walked over to his friend.

 

Gar, kicked the ground. "It's nothing, I-"

 

"Uh, hello! Fearless Bomb, anyone?" Sharpe waved at the pair impatiently.

 

"I... I gotta go back for Jenna," Gar decided.

 

"You... What-?" Drury stammered, but it was no use; Gar had already turned back in the direction of the second group

 

"Uh, no, you don't," Sharpe chased after him. "Half an hour ago, she thought you were going to propose, and instead, you gave her a fucking homework assignment. This is real shit we're in, Lynns. Whatever happened to bros before -"

 

"You know, it's a wonder more people don't shoot you in the head," Rigger shook his head in disbelief.

 

"Most people miss," Sharpe winked cheekily.

 

Though his mind was made up, this gave Gar pause. "I didn't- She- She didn't actually think I was gonna propose, right?"

 

"Go," Chuck assured him. "We'll go on ahead. Just, uh, send her our best."

 

"Their best," Flannegan corrected him. "I don't know the broad."

 

As Gar departed, Drury's comms device began buzzing with static. Already agitated, he put his finger to his ear, and cursed loudly. "Blake, I swear to god-"

 

"Now, now. Let's not bring Him into this. This mess is all yours," a cold voice cut him off.

 

"Julian..." Drury said in shock, turning to Chuck, his face pale.

 

"Julian-?" Chuck stammered. "How did you get this frequency?" he wondered.

 

"I took the earpieces from Thomas and the Ten-Eyed Man. They're unharmed, don't worry. They're much more useful to me alive, after all."

 

As he spoke, a horrifying thought entered Chuck's mind. "Wait, if you've got their comms, that means-"

 

"I'm afraid so. For what it's worth, it seemed like a very good pla-"

 

Chuck ripped his earpiece out, tossed it to the ground and crushed it with his heel. In turn, the other Misfits did the same. "Actually, I think I might just put mine in my pocket," Joey reasoned. "Might be handy later."

 

"Right. Yeah... Probably shouldn't have smashed mine," Chuck admitted.

 

"Probably not, no... Guys, I hate to be the pessimist here, but... what now?" Joey wondered. "Jules knows we're coming."

 

"Gar could be walking straight into an ambush..." Drury shook his head.

 

"And we're all gonna be huffing crazy gas if you don't stop Day. You three need to get in that penthouse, we'll back up Lynns," Flannegan stated, gesturing at Sharpe. "Besides. I owe Krill a rematch," Flannegan smirked, as he and Sharpe strutted off.

 

As they prepared their next move, a fist chapped on the bathroom door opposite them. "Hello? Is it safe to come out yet?" Booker's nasally voice called out.

 

Chuck, Joey and Drury each looked at one another. "No."

 

==East Stairwell: Floor 19==

 

By the time Gar had caught up to them, Needham had already taken the grumbling ensemble of party guests down three flights of stairs; L-Ron was lagging behind, pushed forward by a rather high spirited Mayo; Franco was muttering obscenities to anyone who would listen (namely, Jenna, Rosso and Gaige) and the Great White Shark was whistling sea shanties.

 

"Jenna! Jenna!" Gar called out.

 

"What does that bacon-faced prick want now?" Franco whispered to Rosso.

 

"Hey, Eric, can you give us a minute?" Gar halted the group.

 

"Sure," Needham shrugged. "Let's keep moving, people," he ordered.

 

"Gar? What's wrong?" Jenna's brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"

 

Gar twiddled his thumbs, avoiding her eye-line. "No. I mean, I am, but listen; I know all this is crazy. You went to this party, I dunno, to escape the craziness of our lives. And instead there's a calendar killer, and a really irritating Brit. It's mad. But it's more bearable, I think, I hope, if we face it... Face it..."

 

"What is it, Gar?" she smiled expectantly.

 

His eyes bulged as he noticed a familiar figure take aim at him. "Duck!"

 

Before Jenna could react, Gar had pushed her to the ground, as a purple, ice-cold polka dot soared overhead, where he and Jenna had been standing just moments before: Krill, had found them.

 

"'Ello, lads. Heard ya were looking for me," he smirked, as he hurled a second dot at the stunned party guests; one Needham halted with a well-aimed web.

 

"Into the hallway!" Needham ordered the crowd, as he pushed White through the fire door.

 

Gar helped Jenna to her feet, and took a defensive stance against Krill. "Go with them," he instructed her, as he gestured half heartedly to Franco. "I got this," he added, thoroughly unsure of himself.

 

"Sure you do," Krill chuckled dismissively. "Sure you- Ow!"

 

Gar's brow furrowed; A white baton had struck Krill on the side of his head. Sharpe, was sliding down the banister towards them, while Flannegan followed along on foot.

 

"You... shouldn't have been able to hit me," Krill rubbed the fresh bump on his head.

 

"I'm full of surprises!" Sharpe grinned as he knocked Krill through the fire door with a flying kick: Despite Gar's best efforts, the fight had carried over into the hallway. Needham and Mayo had pushed most of the guests onwards, but Franco's ensemble had elected to stay behind and watch the fight.

 

"Away from the guests, you moron!" Gar snapped at Sharpe.

 

"Oops?" Sharpe apologised with mild sincerity.

 

Meanwhile, Flannegan was throwing scattered, furious punches at Krill, with none of them finding their mark; With every punch the Misfits threw his way, Krill simply redirected the blow to hit one of their own; Gar aimed an uppercut at Krill, and struck Flannegan instead; Sharpe aimed his leg at Krill's groin and instead incapacitated Gar; Flannegan attempted to headbutt Krill, and instead collided with a brick wall; it was a disaster.

In a last ditch effort, Gar unhooked an incendiary grenade from his belt, and tossed it at Krill, who diverted the explosive towards a charging Flannegan; as the resultant explosion knocked him down, the disruptor slid out of Flannegan's grip. Not appreciating what the device really was, Krill kicked it aside and let out an amused chuckle. He knelt beside Flannegan, and peeled a familiar, buzzsaw-like dot off of his suit. "Now," he smirked at Flannegan. "Am I the only one having an intense case of deja vu right now?" he joked.

 

Gaige, glanced back at the fight, and against his better judgement, broke away from the crowd.

Puzzled, Franco clutched the Physician's arm. "What are you doing? This is exactly what we wanted," he smiled. "Let that calendar creep and his goons have their fun, when they're done, we can have Gotham- you and-"

 

Gaige nudged past him, and stomped off in Krill's direction, Walker's words ringing in his head.

 

"Where are you going-? Physician!" Franco protested. "Ah, fuck this!" he exclaimed, thrusting his fist through the plaster on the nearby wall. "Physician, what are you doing?!" he panicked, chasing after him.

 

Ignoring Franco's tantrum, the 'Physician' calmly picked the disruptor up from off the ground and latched it onto Krill's back.

 

"What the- Who the fuck are you-?!" Krill exclaimed nervously, desperately trying to remove the now chirping device from off his person.

 

"Physician!" Franco snapped defiantly.

 

"I'm not The Physician, son," The man warned. "I'm The Doctor."

 

"Doctor! Doctor who?" Krill protested, now fruitlessly trying to open a portal.

 

The Doctor smiled, pulled off his ascot, and wrapped it around his head. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a replacement gold tie, and tied it around his neck. "Doctor Gaige, you polka dotted prick," he announced as he pulled his fist back, and launched it at Krill's face.

 

"Oh." Krill stumbled backwards; blood trickling down his face. "So... so does anyone actually stay in prison these days, or is it just a fucking bed and breakfast?"

 

"Holy crap, Gaige?! Aw, man, Drury's gonna freak out!" Sharpe exclaimed. Having already put the pieces together himself, Gar simply glanced at him, and shook his head.

 

"Hey, Dickhead," a gruff voice called up at Krill, and before he could react, Flannegan's own fist had collided with Krill's jaw.

 

Intent to join the winning team and hoping to get back in Jenna's good graces, Franco smirked at his date and advanced forward. He picked up a discarded suitcase and threw it against Krill's back. 'Y'know, something chivalrous. Romantic, even.' That notion soon dissipated as Krill turned back, scowled, and drop kicked him across the hallway with damning ease.

 

"Tsk, tsk. Naughty Davey. Naughty. Leave the fighting to the professionals," he tutted.

 

As Franco reached for his pistol, Krill shot a pink dot at him, striking him in the side. Franco peeled back his dinner jacket, and scowled at the fresh, deep gash the dot's ridged edge had left.

 

"Davey!" Jenna screamed.

 

As she motioned to help him, however, she suddenly found herself unable to move, as though she had been rooted to the spot. Rosso stared back at her, and marched over to Franco in her stead, placing a hand over his wound and pressing down. Hard.

The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and in that instant, they resolved to fix this the only way they knew how: Franco reached into his bloodstained jacket and retrieved his phone; his final attempt to get control of the situation and of Gaige and Jenna. "Hello? This the Mothkiller?" he asked in a hushed tone into the receiver. His answer, was the heavy breathing of a longtime smoker. That confirmed it.

Franco cleared his throat, and continued. "I... I think I have some information you might be interested in."

 

~-~

 

The Misfits now knew what they had to do: Without his portals, Krill was just another C-Lister with a gimmick. And those, they knew how to deal with.

 

As his desperation grew, Krill kept frantically ripping the dots off his suit, and hurling them at the pair, one after another; Gar ducked; Gaige blocked them; Flannegan took two to the chest but kept moving; Sharpe leapt over them one after the other.

And then, Krill looked down at his costume: He'd ran out of dots. Flannegan grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and flung him against the far window; glass shattering as he made impact. He reached for a shard of broken glass, pulled Sharpe towards him, and held the shard close to his throat.

 

"Go on then!" he warned the Misfits. "Bring it on, you dicks! You think I won't kill this prick? I killed Manga Khan! And guess what, I liked him! He didn't hit me in the head with a fucking billy club neither."

 

"Hem-hem," a tinny voice called out.

 

Krill's eyes darted feverishly towards the approaching figure. "They really don't pay me enough for this," he gasped. "Alright, Johnny Five, what have you got?"

 

L-Ron, bowed his metal head. "Excuse me, but you did not kill Lord Manga."

 

"Eh-?" Krill's mouth twitched.

 

"Lord Manga, isn't dead," L-Ron restated. "Lord Manga is an energy being. Essentially formless. And you, took the head off of his favourite armour."

 

A cloud of pink mist erupted through the broken window frame, wrapped itself around Krill's face, and pulled him and Sharpe through the open window.

 

"No!" Gar cried, as he ran over to the broken windowsill. "I can't- I-"

 

He paused. "I don't believe it."

 

Krill and Sharpe had landed on the cloth awning above the hotel lobby, and though they were both worse for wear, they were breathing: Sharpe's powers had saved them both.

 

==Sionis Penthouse: Floor 48==

 

"Abner? Abner, come in. Krill!" Day bellowed down his comms device. No answer.

 

"See," Blake chuckled. "That's the one thing you need to know about the Misfits, pal-"

 

"I know everything there is to know about the Misfits," Day snapped at him.

 

"It's that, we may be assholes, but we're persistent assholes."

 

"I- I don't think I'm an asshole," Ten stated.

 

Day's lip curled; his head rocked from side to side, and it looked like he might throw up. Then his body stiffened. "Noted," he said softly.

 

==Jumbo Carson's Apartment==

 

"WHAT?!" Carson bellowed, flipping over a table in blinded rage. "Walker's back in Gotham? Why the hell did no one tell me that?!"

 

"Dad, calm down," Bridget pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

 

"No!" he dismissed her, tossing the Christmas tree onto its' side. "Who does Day think he is? Trying to cut me out of the action? Me?! How dare he! The Royal's like ten minutes away! We could've coordinated! I could've been there! I approached him: me! But no, he's too good for me! First, he denies me, then he bosses me around, and now he won't even give me the time of day! Fuck him!"

 

Carson set the phone down, and took a deep ragged breath.

 

"He's dead, Bridget," he growled. "That bald little prick is dead. What about it, Hayden? Fancy a trip out?"

 

The pirate, nodded excitedly. "Silly little red man throwing quite the fit.

Silly little red man, hasn't thought it through a bit.

So you take the silly little man, all dressed in black and red

And you grab the red man by the throat and you cut off his head."

Mistress brought her toy Jacey to the beauty salon for some monthly maintenance. That included a full body wax, skin treatment, eyebrow waxing, a manicure, a pedicure, some hair treatment, and a hair cut.

 

As usual, Jacey went in full slut mode, with thick false lashes, layers and layers of eye shadow, barbie pink lipstick, three layers of cherry scented lip gloss, and powdery pink cheeks. And ofcourse, Mistress applied a couple sprays of Sexy Seduction perfume behind Jacey's ears, on her wrists, under her armpits and between her legs. To make sure Jacey left a trail, Mistress continually sprayed Jacey's neck, chest, and breasts until Jacey could feel the slutty scented liquid drip down her body.

 

After Jacey was done with her beautification treatment, Mistress order the tramp to expose herself next to the waiting area while Mistress waited for her hair and nails to be finished. Jacey was not to turn around during the her wait and was ordered to oblige should any of the salon's waiting customers approach for a request on her body.

 

Jacey was lucky as that was a slow day at the salon. Only two customers approached - both ladies in their late 20's. One laid up behind Jacey and caressed Jacey's still developing C cup breats for about five minutes. The seductive moans Jacey was producing enticed a second lady to take advantage of Jacey's services. She reached into Jacey's top, unhooked her bra, and groped Jacey continuously. As the lady was called for her appointment, she snuck her hand into Jacey's panties and slipped in her business card. She then explored Jacey's rear for about 10 seconds as she landed upon Jacey's tampon string. She nudged it a couple times to remind Jacey her fake female organ was leashed before leaving Jacey alone.

Chronicles of lifting Light B (Bridesmaids)

The alternate version of Chronicles of lifting Light C (The Reception Game)- Album

 

“ The wedding was a little over the top. The bride wanted her girl’s dresses to be something they would wear out again. A nice thought, but the gowns she found were a little too long for anything but formal evening wear, according to our girls who were asked to be part of the bridal party. The maid of honor wore a red satin version; midnight black satin was selected for the 6 bridesmaids.”

 

“A few years ago, “Ginny” was watching some type of show when I heard her squeal out. Our Golden Retriever ‘Sam’ meandered back in to see what all the fuss was about? I obediently followed. She pointed out to me an actress ( Emma Watson at the premier for NOAH) , That’s M’gown she exclaimed with enthusiasm, you remember, The ones your sister and I first wore for “Shiela’s” brides party, the one where your sister thought she had been ro… but she broke it off as something caught her attention on the telly.”

 

“Squirrel I thought, as Sam and I both looked. It was a black satin gown very strikingly similar in colour, cut, and material ( but Ginny’s version lacked a dangling train behind) to the one worn by Ginny ( and me sister) at thier chums wedding years before ( and winningly worn several times hence I might add). It is a pretty thing to behold my charming Ginny wearing it, and in its time, it has born witness to a few goings on that most ladies wearing a gown like that would most likely never encounter…….”

 

Chronicles of lifting Light B

*************************************** **************************************** *****

This story is true, and is really pretty much told as it happened, but in writing it down for the first time ever I found I could not resist the temptation to embellish and expand some of the scenarios. It makes for a much better story I believe.

 

It is long, so here goes it….

 

My twin sister and our friend “Ginny” were invited to join in a school chums bridal party. The groom didn’t have enough to go around so my sister’s boyfriend “Brian” and I were pressed into service.

 

At the reception Ginny made a comment about the flimsy clasps on the longish rhinestone earrings they were wearing. My sister, touching an earring, told her, “ no worries, luv, no one would nick them anyways, they are only rhinestones”. I wasn’t sure what was going on in my sister’s head that made her come out with that reply. But as I watched her pull at an earring, a seed was planted in my head about something I myself had seen in an old TV show (An episode that first wakened an interest in pickpocketing).

 

Much later that evening found Brian and I alone, and a little drunk (always a precarious time with us). I had been enjoying watching our girls on the dance floor. “Ginny” was dancing a slow dance with the brides Groom ( an awkward chap with the sometimes unfortunate name of Cecil), Sis was dancing with some boorish banker bloke whose name I choose not to remember. As I watched the girl’s swishing gowns move and flutter about in quite an interesting exhibition, I found meself mesmerized by the manner in which their display of jewels were sparkling. Not being able to shake Ginny’s earlier comment, nor its answer, out of my head, my mind began to drift and wander in some very deep waters; pulled about in some strong personal currents.

 

Suddenly, I had an epiphany, and I started to tell Brian about the show that had vexed me all these years past. It was an old Gilligan’s Island episode ( The Kidnapper). Ginger was dancing in formal wear with the thief they were trying to reform. He lifted up her long hair, exposing these long diamonded earrings she was wearing. When he let her hair back down, gone went Ginger’s diamond Earrings.( he also nicked another ladies diamond necklace in a similarly devious fashion).

 

I had been thinking about it, and saw that this may be a prime opportunity to try and mimic what I had found so intriguing in my younger day’s ( is what happened to Ginger possible in real life?) and so I drew Brian’s attention to where my sister was dancing and intentionally pointed out her healthy collection of rhinestones ( the lot of matching sets the bride had picked out for her girls to wear with their silky gowns was a bit overkill in Brian’s opinion, a view not shared by me).

 

I decided then to plant my own seed, so I questioned out loud if it was possible to pickpocket jewelry in the manner the thief in Gilligan’s Island had so cunningly carried out? We discussed it for bit, ending the friendly dispute that ensued by daring that the other couldn’t pull it off. I focused on my sister, because I figured that would be more of a tantalizing bait to dangle in front of Brian, who was horribly smitten with her, and I was right on the money! So my twin sister in the black satin gown and her rhinestones ended up being the preferred guinea pig for the goad.

 

Brian lost the toss and danced with her first,( happily cutting in on the banker fella) and was surprisingly as successful as he was swift. I watched as he swirled sis around the dance floor. For such a gig guy, “Brian” is surprisingly light on his feet, which is why in school he was an outstanding rugby player. I was watching eagerly, trying to guess what he was going after. His large hands began inching down her satin gown’s sleeves, so I was sure he was going for one of her dangling rhinestone bracelets.

 

He must have said something funny, for my sister raised her head back laughing, her long straight hair falling charmingly back, baring her throat to him. Brian’s hands moved back up, and in behind her throat. Then in a manner quite graceful for fingers that large, unclasped and slipped away the thin necklace from around her sweat glistened throat and pocketed it before she had finished her spurt of laughter. The song soon ended, and the pair of ‘em came back, Brian with a very smug grin on his bearded mug. He then took “Ginny” (who had just rejoined us after shaking off a seedy looking bloke who had wanted her to dance) by the hand and led her off dancing, his eyes taunting me to make my attempt.

 

Not to be outdone, I immediately led Sis back onto the floor before she had time to catch a breath. We danced to a rather Latin type beat. My sister turned her backside into me, and sort of did this gyrating move up and down my front side, with her hands held high above her head. As her warm, sweaty figure, slipped up and down slickly against mine, I looked things over, deciding on which of her remaining jewelry to target.

 

I started by placing my hands at her waist and let them slither up the silky sides of her satin gown, as I made my choice, one of her shimmering bracelets that were winking at me from her wrists waving above my head. With the prize within my grasp, I made my move. I found meself trembling a bit, as I moved my hands to her shoulders , with the thought bring down her arms in order to work my fingers down her gowns’ sleeve, where just below would be lying my objective. But just as I did, Sis pulled her arms behind me head, and laid her head back on my shoulder and closing her eyes, getting into the music’s deep beat. Her longish rhinestone earrings just hung there, like Gingers, ripe for the picking.

 

Without really putting any thought into it, I reached up and placed my hands gently alongside her ears, her eyes still shut, my victim smiled. The rest of the maneuver was surprisingly easy, as I glided my fingers down and slipped it off the pair of em in one effortless motion. The sparkling beauties came away from her sweaty ears as smoothly as an ice cube moves along a steaming hot grill ( I actually did have a thought like that). I held them in one fist for a bit, relishing in my success, before securing them away. We finished out the song, me basking in the fact that she was innocently unaware that her shiny earrings were now in her dance partners vest pocket.

 

But, not willing to be satisfied with the initial success of our experiment, we found that the dares kept coming out. Becoming so competitive between us, that by the time we left for the evening, the score was 5 pieces of jewelry to 4, with Brian winning the bragging rights, and my sister out all of the rhinestone pieces she had started out wearing about on her person.

 

Of course this is sounding like a masterful bit of pickpocketing, but our efforts were aided by keeping our pretty victim plied with alcohol ( wondering all the while if that is a technique is used by pickpockets working over their victims in real life?). Using that as an edge; another turn on the dance floor, a compliment induced hug, and the victim falling into deep sleep in a lounge armchair, enabled us vultures to eventually part my twin from all of her sparkling jewelry.

 

Also, as a side note here, all four of us had a discussion later about what it said of us as a society that none outside our group seemed to notice or bother pointing out to my sister about her slowly disappearing baubles!

 

We left the reception well after midnight and started walking the ten city blocks back to the hotel where Ginny and my sister shared a joining room with Brian and meself. As were making our way through a wooded Provincial park, we stopped in a small, isolated clearing and circling around her ,finally asked my sister about her missing jewels. Her reaction was absolutely, rewardingly priceless.

 

Her startled response was to the effect of: “Gasping, My God” as she fruitlessly felt about for them, her rustling gown glistened dark in the moon light. “My jewels, where did they go!, who took them, I’ve been robbed, mugged?” she pleaded helplessly, her thought patterns and speech a little slurred by her rather intoxicated condition. She looked desperately around at us, then seeing the look on upon our faces, and upon noticing that Ginny was still adorned with her jewels, Sis froze with the realization that we had all been up to something no good. As the silliness of her conjectures came home, she blushed, and told us to spill it out.

 

Here, we had all thought she had eventually caught on to what we had been up to all evening and was just humoring us, but in reality she had been utterly clueless. Ginny ( who had soon caught on to our little game but played dumb) was merciless in her teasing of my sister, rubbing it all in as she helped my twin place back on the Rhinestones that Brian and I dug from our pockets. I didn’t add any fuel to the fire, but I noticed that when Sis had uttered the word mugged, Ginny had automatically held onto her necklace and pendent!

Sis ended up taking it all with her usual good humor, or so we thought.

 

This next bit is my favorite.

 

We went up to the boys room, as the girls called our room, where we drank beer, danced to music and talked a bit. About two hours later found Brian passed out on the couch, and me sitting next to him in kind of a hazy stupor while holding onto a beer. Ginny and my sister were standing directly in front of me, holding beers of their own and giggling over some girlish nonsense, the swaying of their long glossy black satin gowns slowly putting me to sleep.

 

Ginny started giggling at one of sis jokes, and turned her figure so the brooch at the center of her gowns’ waistline almost hit me on the nose. Half asleep I reached up and lifted it. Looking up at the girls I saw that Ginny was paying no never mind towards me, my sister however, did notice (this is why I like the Sonia clip) and she laid a hand on Ginny’s shoulder, drawing her close so she could whisper a secret. I was able to undo the brooch, and slip it carefully off without notice. I held it up to my sister’s hand, which closed over it, and then she turned and plopped down next to me on the couch.

 

We both started talking to Ginny, now standing in front of us, as if nothing was going on. Puzzled I waited for my sister to flaunt the brooch in Ginny’s face. Instead, as she got Ginny into another giggling fit, she leaned over and whispered the word pendant in my ear, her hand holding out her own for added emphasis. I knew then she had thought up some grand plan.

 

Now wide awake, I got into fully my sister’s game. As I watched the giggling Ginny, my eyes took careful inventory of all her finer points (not just her jewels I will admit) . Now role playing that I was a professional pickpocket, and my twin was the spotter, pointing out whose jewels were worth taking. Ginny stopped, and caught my eyes looking her over, she blushed, and not knowing what was really going through my mind, smiled at me, as I smiled back, my eyes drinking her fetchingly attired figure up. I was imagining that all of Ginny’s collection of rhinestones was real diamonds. And that I was an actual thief after her lovely sparklers.

 

Thinking for a moment, I rose to my feet, and feeling like the real thing, I took Ginny’s hand and led her across to the window the couch was facing. We were on the 14th floor with a grand sweeping view of the great cities skyline. I asked her if she knew what the pink lights were about (there were no pink lights) and as she looked and kept asking where, I saw in the windows reflection that behind me my sister was pinning Ginny’s brooch onto the Brian’s passed out figure. Smiling, I got to the task at hand.

 

Using my hands I got Ginny to bend over more to help in her search, watching her dangling “diamond “ chain with its’ oval “diamond” pendent swinging an enticingly beckoning reflection in the window. I reached around with one hand and easily undid the clasp to poor befuddled Ginny’s chain. Using the pendants reflection in the window as a focal point, I subtly lowered my other hand underneath it, and as I caught it, let go of the chain. Pendent and chain slithered into a nice little pile in my palm, which I immediately closed up around it, hiding it from my victim’s possible notice.

 

I turned and nodded to my sister, who rose, tipsily, and slinked across the room to us. She brushed up against me with the pretense of seeing what we were up to. I felt her arm go around my waist, and handed Ginny’s necklace off. Sis than circled around us, giving Ginny a squeeze, and looked at me meaningfully, her fingers brushing an earring. She went back to the couch and began draping the shimmery chain and pendent on poor Brian.

 

A slow song had been playing, so I told Ginny to no never mind pink lights, and taking her hand, asked “madameswell” if she cared to dance. I tried it in an accent, failed miserably, and got Ginny to giggling as she accepted. I lead her the long way around the couch to where we had cleared out a little bit of a dancing floor. As I took her into my arms I found it exciting that she was oblivious to my intentions. Innocently unaware, that in indifference to my sisters words earlier, someone did now want to nick the earrings so merrily sawing from her ears.

 

I bided my time, appearing to look into Ginny’s eyes, my mind was working on something else. When I made my first move it was as subtle as could be, and it paid off. Raising me hand, I lifted her hair above an ear, and an let my fingers run back down through. One of her earrings vanished into my hand, and reaching around, was neatly tossed into another. As my sister placed it on Brian’s ear,( by now he was looking quite comical, and it was all we could do to keep from bursting out laughing), I leaned in and whispered something into Ginny’s now bare ear, while my other hand reached around and plucked the other earring away, and tossed the sparkler gracefully over to my sisters waiting hands.

 

Needing no more direction from sis now that I knew her plan ( It was her way of getting back at Brian for our game, and at Ginny for her teasing, it never occurred to me to wonder what my punishment would be!), I carried on alone.

 

Employing the same method that the thief had used in the Gilligan’s Island episode to remove his dance partners necklace, I began to compliment Ginny on how devastating she looked ( no lies), slowly moving my one hand up the slick material of the gown covering her back until I reached the dangling part of her hook and eye necklace with its’ glittering row of single “diamonds”. Lifted it up as she fawned over my words of (not false) praise, holding her ever so her tightly around the waist with my free hand, I unhooked the clasp, and let the necklace fall over one shoulder. Ginny never felt it hanging, or noticed it as I slipped it off her chest and over her gown’s satin shoulder till it slipped sparkling down behind her. I held it hanging behind her back for a few turns, still pouring out the compliments, until I was close enough to neatly toss her necklace over the couch to my waiting partner in crime.

 

Sis was waiting, and as the necklace sailed over the couch, I saw her raise a hand, and pull at one of her rings. How?, I mouthed, and she held up a finger motioning me to wait a sec. I continued to dance with Ginny, who was growing ever heavier in my arms, as sis placed the necklace around poor Brian’s throat.

 

I watched as me twin got up and passed us , her satin gown whispering as she walked, heading to get a beer from the fridge. She stood for a moment then gave me a signal to twirl our victim around.

 

I lifted her hand, and spun Ginny around in a pirouette . The poor thing, already more than a little tipsy, fell hard against me, giggling. I did it again, and as she stared to lose her balance, my sister walked past and faking a trip, bumped into Ginny and both girl’s went down in a heap of black swishing satin. As I bent over to help the pair of giggling dolls untangle, I manage to slip off a ring off from over the sweaty knuckles of Ginny’s left pinky finger.

 

I helped them both up, and as my sister helped straighten Ginny’s gown while giggling over the incident, Ginny placed her hands behind her back, exposing her bracelets. I pocketed the ring, and moving up against Ginny from behind, attempted to remove the first “Diamond” bracelet from around her wrist. It came away with absolutely no resistance, or notice, and I moved off, and went to stand next to my sister, hands crossed behind me back. She put her arm around me, hugging me against her, I felt her fingers go to my hand, and I opened my fingers and let her take the ring and bracelet. Keeping her fist closed, she coolly left us, retrieving her unopened beer from the floor, and headed back smoothly to the couch.

 

I will admit I was now getting overly confident. I asked Ginny if she wanted a beer and we went over to the kitchenette to get them. As we walked, I placed my hands on her slick waist and led her there, as she giggled tipsily the whole way. I held the door open, and as she was bending down to get them, she laid her arm along the top of the drawer. I then made my seventh attempt, on her other “Diamond” bracelet

 

I had undone the clasp, and was getting ready to take it when I made the fatal error at looking over her shoulder at the couch. My sister was inwardly laughing at her handiwork, and to see a person like Brien, who takes his masculinity with pride, now decked out like some bearded floozy, was too much. I chuckled, and the bracelet fell, clanking against the door, landing at Ginny’s feet. I was caught red handed and my attempt at any more thievery was thwarted. Ginny smirked; here now lad, don’t try yer games on me.

 

Behind her, Ginny head my sister snort, and looking at my smirk, demanded to know what we had found so funny. So I grabbed her, spun her around, and led her back around the couch until she caught sight of the still snoring Brian! We both joined my sister in busting a gut laughing. Then, come to find that poor innocent Ginny thought that it was my sister’s rhinestones plastered all over poor Brian. When we pointed out the errors of her conclusion, it was my sister’s turn to laugh and tease the poor girl over her dumbfounded expression as now it was her hands failing to find her missing pieces of jewelry. Then Brian woke and he became the new center of the joke.

 

Ginny had reclaimed her rhinestones and had disappeared into the ladies room to replace them to their rightful perch and rejoin in with their remaining companions, which I thought, being so late, why bother? And Brain and Sis were on the couch still teasing the other. Suddenly I felt a hand softly placed on my shoulder, and looking up found myself trapped in a “come hither” look, emanating from Ginny’s twinkling green eyes, a look that I have come since to know very well.

 

We left the pair of gigglers on the couch, and went out into the evening, just the two of us, meeting nary another living soul at that early morning hour. The only exceptions were a weary desk clerk with a nose buried in her book, and a curious short blue-haired lady wearing a grey pant-suit, carrying a large handbag, who came upon Ginny in the lobby, while I was absent using its restroom . The odd thing here is, that until I showed up after doing my business, the lady appeared to be trying to lead good hearted Ginny outside to help search for some lost keys or such, at 2:30 Am! I suggested her to wait until light.

 

After managing to pry Ginny away, receiving the now disapproving look from purse –lipped blue haired lady for my efforts, we otherwise were not held up in our progress. The world was now ours, as my richly attired lady and her tuxedoed (handsome?)Escort made their journey together hand in hand. We ended up making a very long stroll in the Provincial park, and reentering the same isolated, secret clearing, proceeded to acting out our own role playing game, ala the movie “to Catch a Thief”, complete with fireworks of our own making.

 

And I still remember feeling pretty bloody cocky as Ginny and I left our room and rode the elevator down. And why not, I ask? Cause now , not only was I out strolling about with the most captivating ginger haired lass, sparkling in fancy dress around, but I had totally creamed Brian’s score in the jewelry lifting department, and that’s what life is all about for us boys, winning the game, isn’t it?

 

So ends my story, of which I have written 2 versions.

My question is now this:

Which version, if one reads both, do you believe to be the truer?

Please leave a comment at the end of the story you believe is..

In appreciation,

Thank You

 

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In Appraisal

This story may be unique in its nature, but if not we would love to hear about it. Please leave a comment or drop an email ( or both) about you own experience.

Thank You

 

The Sonia clip shortcut ( recommended viewing)

youtu.be/HAZdjhNVjxk

 

Ps. Check out Chronicles of lifting light C for a less embellished telling this particular event

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The town’s name was Penance. A truly pitiful thing, strewn across the most desolate region of what had come to be called the Red Desert, in the land not yet the state of Wyoming. An unusual place. Unforgiving like you could not fathom, though tranquil, at times, to such a degree that even the most sorrowful being should forget all else that this country had endured. I know as much.

 

It was explained to me, during my sojourn therein, that ownership of all twelve buildings had exchanged hands as many times as months had gone by since its completion. No one wanted it. Penance was no destination, merely a place to rest one’s head on the way to one. So, in truth, everyone was a stranger in Penance. The strangest of them, in this humble narrator’s opinion, was to arrive the final day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1871.

 

He was astride a grey horse. He wore a grey coat—yes, that grey coat—over his shoulders in such a way, it seemed the weight of gold. His grey hat, as incriminating as the coat, did not hide his face as well as, I suspect, any soul would have preferred it to.

 

Leaving his mare on the stoop without a rope to hold her, he wordlessly joined our congregation in Penance’s saloon. Before his boots passed the swinging doors, we each of us had seen only the beast on which our new companion rode. The second, that being a grey wolf, with a head as large as a cauldron, plodded along at the man’s spurs. It sank mildly to its belly at the threshold, still managing to give us all a good fright. Eli gripped my hand where it lay on the table.

 

And yes, as this type of story goes, the drab outsider walked to the unoccupied bar, nary a glance at a single one of us to repay our gawking. Better that way, as I do believe a child or another woman would have fainted to be caught by his right eye, yellowed and lidless as it was. A gruesome window in the cheek of the same side displayed his teeth. His worn cuffs rested upon the counter, ever so lightly. Penance’s temporary bartender was no braver than any one of us, but he approached the patron anyway.

 

The bartender extended an ordinary “friend” to the disfigured man, where the word may have easily been taken for a question rather than a greeting. The stranger’s response was no less ambiguous, as the slight tip of his hat looked to be indicative of the man’s goodwill, as much as it did his weariness. Whatever the case, I could sense the room had thankfully begun to breathe again.

 

“I hope that you, sir, can sympathize- that is, understand our situation here, and that I can afford you only one drink,” our bartender decreed, in a tone delicate like cobwebs.

 

“I’ll thank you kindly for water. Any that ain’t bein’ drunk.”

 

The bartender was unsettled by this. “Pardon me for saying, but a man who found his way here with not but a horse and the… clothes on his back, might could do with something stronger.”

 

“Water,” the man reassured him, “will be jist dandy.”

 

He was given his request by a shaky hand not a minute later. Us gathered folks were back to finding it a genuine task to draw air. The man sipped from the glass with his neck crooked so that he did not lose any through his wound. It was then that he did at last acknowledge the rest of our being there. As I had worried, one of our women gasped and indeed fell on her husband’s shoulder when she met the horrible gaze. Our tormentor cleared his throat.

 

“I was thinkin’ to myself, how nice it was to ride into a town without the starin’. I see now that was on account of all the prairie dogs hunkerin’ down in their hole.”

 

The young cowboy, with which Eli and I had shared a stagecoach to this point, was none too pleased by the teasing. A guardian angel must have stayed his hand from reaching his gun, though the boiling emotions on his face were left unchecked. A number of our men had guns, but were not so keen nor impatient to employ them.

 

The stranger troubled the bartender once more. “’TIS a mite crowded in here, wouldn’t you reckon?”

 

“Yes sir?”

 

“Well now it ain’t picnic weather out, but I also ain’t seen so many bodies lookin’ to be under one roof, less’n there was a storm comin’, or festivities. Well… I behold a clear sky and long faces.”

 

Another group’s coachman—an older but not yet frail man—spoke for us. “We’re ALL in here; every one of us, in Penance. Seven days here, it’s been, for my party.”

 

“What keeps you, the lively atmosphere?” the stranger mocked, propping himself up with his elbows on the bar.

 

“It’s like this,” the coachman informed gravely. “There is presence, a… manifestation, on the range that leads westward away from here, and it has allowed no man or woman safe passage.”

 

“Them first words sound to me like fancy oratin’ for ‘ghost.’”

 

The man’s insinuation elicited a harsh murmur that washed over our assemblage. It was not a thought that had escaped us, but the actual vocalization of such a notion was all the more taboo. Eli rose from his chair, still clutching my hand.

 

“We are not simple, sir. These here folks know what they saw,” he berated the man, who just glared. I stood with Eli, now with both hands on his. He never did have tolerance for being made smaller. I would like to think I was good for him in that way, guiding him away from intemperate actions. I had lived with the denigration a greater deal of time than he, and despite it all, learned to keep living.

 

“Three groups have made for the ridge,” the coachman continued. “My own, and the second, we lost one of our number each before we turned back. The last that tried… lost all except one.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the boy sat beside him: no more than fourteen years old, wheat-colored hair and, as I understood the world, faces only ever got to be so pale if they had been within an arm’s length of Death.

 

“We’ve stopped everyone else who’s come along,” the coachman concluded.

 

“It were me younger brother it took!” a middle-aged woman with red hair wailed, her husband and children huddled close.

 

“My littlest one. My only girl,” a father whispered from the other end of the room. For the three days Eli and I had been here, he had confided in no one and no thing, save for his glass.

 

“It had wings. Like a raven’s, but bigger. Didn’t it, boys?” said a rancher, who had ridden with the childless father. His partners concurred with somber mumbling.

 

“It had lots of voices,” was what the Irish woman’s girl had to contribute, before being shushed.

 

“The wind up and quits blowin’ when it’s near, that’s how you kin tell w-“

 

“You weren’t one of the ones what went there Zed, shut yer mouth!”

 

“So,” the stranger finally cut in, having not let up for a moment with watching my Eli. “You ain’t been there for yourself.”

 

“These people have no cause to lie,” Eli rationalized sternly. “No grounds to embellish such awful loss! Shame on you, insinuating they’re spreading falsehoods about the departed!”

 

I could have struck him for his rashness, but against all expectations, the stranger did not appear to take offense.

 

“Jist gittin’ the facts, son. I believe in ghosts myself. My issue was with givin’ it some highfalutin name that don’t do ‘em justice,” he clarified, prompting the coachman to furrow his brow and look down at his table. The man pushed off from the counter, glass in hand, of which he had drank very little.

 

“I aim to see to my horse. Then I aim to be crossin’ that mountain pass by sundown. Anyone who rides with me will have my protection, I can guarantee.”

 

Dead silence was the travelers’ answer to him. Without so much as a nod, he started for the door. It was I who let my voice be heard next.

 

“We two,” I announced, Eli at my side. “We will join you.”

 

“Don’t go with him!”

 

With his outburst, the young cowboy Eli and I had kept company with immediately stole away the critical eyes (the stranger’s included) that had shifted to me when I spoke.

 

“Don’t go with him,” the lad again advised. “I know him. I… I know you, mister. Now I was raised to let every man say his piece, but your word is not to be trusted.”

 

When the stranger remained quiet, the cowboy yelled for all the town to hear. “If that there uniform didn’t already suade all you’uns, maybe knowin’ him by his name will! This man is Jonah Hex.”

 

The title was of no significance to me, but a few of us (chiefly the men of Jonah Hex’s own age) looked, all at once, a sight more vengeful. I could tell then that Eli was making to move between me and the brewing contention, so I held him firmly in place.

 

“I never socialized with you,” Hex calmly asserted to the incendiary.

 

“I know you, even so. I heard you done plenty of killin’ for the rebels,” the cowboy accused. His thumb fidgeted at the hem of his coat.

 

“You keep that hand off’n your belt, friend,” Hex warned.

 

“I heard you defected, soon as you knew the rebels was losin’, just so you could do more killin’ for the other side.”

 

“Y’don’t hear so good then. I ain’t stirrin’ up any hostilities, now or later.”

 

The cowboy briefly regarded Eli and me out the corner of his eye. There was a fire within it. He returned his attention to Hex.

 

“… You sometimes forget what color you’re wearin’, mister?”

 

“No. I do not.”

 

“Smug bastard,” the cowboy fumed. “Smug son of-“

 

The grey wolf was suddenly there in our midst, having been acutely aware of the mounting tension. It had clamped its fangs onto the young firebrand’s right wrist before the hand there attached could fully draw and aim its weapon. By some miracle, the pistol did not discharge in the process of clattering across the floorboards, at my shoes. Hex observed peaceably the great creature’s escorting of the cowboy in a complete circle with short, violent yanks. Every other person was still as a stone. When the cowboy attempted to box the wolf in the ear, it let go of the one arm in exchange for the left, and the lad took to hollering something terrible.

 

“Hex!” was the only whole, intelligible word I could tell you was uttered.

 

The grin Hex gave the cowboy was somehow more fiendish than the wolf’s own. “I can’t rightly guess what you’d appreciate me doin’.”

 

“Call off the dog, for… GAH! In the name of God!”

 

“Fool thing jist follows me around. I ain’t very well taught it to ‘drop’.”

 

The cowboy’s whimpering had become difficult to stomach. “Then… then leave, please! Make it follow you!”

 

Hex did not directly oblige. He ambled up to Eli and me, picking up the gun that had been cast aside. To say the least, it took me by surprise when the intimidating man, still facing us, holstered the weapon safely back into the boy’s belt. Hex growled (in a tribal language I did not know) what was presumably a command for the wolf. It’s eyes and jowls slackened, but it did not budge. Hex repeated the phrase more coarsely, and the beast unhooked itself from the cowboy’s poor arm right away, bounding back out the saloon, all aggression purged from its behavior.

 

Hex then tendered what was barely discernible as an apology to the cowboy. “He weren’t so interested in listenin’. He don’t take to bein’ called ‘dog.’”

 

The cowboy shook, in his ignominy, and in noting the wolf’s response. “Lyin’… you lyin’ snake-“

 

“Clean them bites. I ain’t had him looked at by one of them… veteran-Aryans, they call ‘em.”

 

My laugh at Hex’s unknowing was rude, I knew, but it could not have been helped. He peered at me, and I composed myself; a gesture born of respect, mind you, not fear. I was certain of that then. I thought Eli too, in that instance, had begun to reevaluate just who this man was.

 

“You say you two are goin’ over that ridge with me…”

 

It was the faintest I had heard him speak. His question—the one yet unsaid—hung in the air as plainly as if he had finished; the question of why I, of all the people in Penance, was accepting of his offer. I replied with no insincerity.

 

“I should not be glad to see you go alone.”

 

I must have confused him immensely. He did not call me a fool, nor feel the need to remind Eli of his woman’s rightful place. It was but the most minute bow I earned, as the bartender had received earlier.

 

Just then the posse of ranchers was collecting their belongings and heading out to their coach. The one who had previously chipped in now addressed Hex.

 

“We’ll be going too. We won’t be having that thing take any more of us,” he affirmed.

 

A stout yet meek-looking man seated by a window got up, hat in hand. “They sent word from Oregon that my mother is ill. I… I can’t wait here, not another day.”

 

The pale boy that had been orphaned not a week prior ran to where Hex was standing, abandoning the elderly coachman that had taken the child under his wing. The driver pleaded for him, to no avail.

 

“I won’t stay!” the boy shouted defiantly. “My father was Brom Cavender, and he was not a coward or a nobody! I am Hadley Cavender, and neither shall I be a coward or a nobody!”

 

The coachman’s defeat was in his eyes when he, next, reasoned with Hex. “He came back from the mountain by himself. All covered in blood he was. The boy has no more family he knows of, anywhere, and you see, I… have a duty to stay with the family I set out with. … See to it that Hadley settles in a decent town, where he will be cared for.”

 

“That I will,” was Hex’s pledge.

 

All appeared to be resolved with the details of our venture, and so Eli and I were prepared to make our way to our coach, with or without our cowboy associate who now carried a considerable grudge. Jonah Hex impeded us, however, with a gently raised glove and an astonishingly penitent expression.

 

“Seems as though I won’t be a’tall lonesome. Aught to set yourselves down here, see if some soldiers don’t pass through and hep you better’n I can.”

 

“No,” Eli cleared up with haste. “We’ll go, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

“Well then,” Hex muttered quite vacuously, apparently unaccustomed to denial delivered in such a non-confrontational manner. Likewise, contrasting his bullying of the cowboy, he sounded apologetic, properly so; on what basis, I could only speculate. I did not think the courtesy towards me necessary.

 

A sporting lady (perhaps the only one living and working in Penance at the time) emerged from the back of the room, draped herself about a post supporting the ceiling and sang after Hex, who was no nearer to exiting, past all the delays.

 

“There’s no sense in rushin’ off just yet,” she beamed. “Why not leave in the morning?”

 

“Can’t, missy. I already have a lady to attend,” Hex dismissed, waving his water beyond the saloon’s entrance, suggesting he had some intention to quench his horse straight from the glass itself. “I wouldn’t be unfaithful. She’s a woman I know I can lean on. ‘sides that, she has a finer rump than you.”

 

As I said, he was undoubtedly the strangest stranger that ever there was.

  

***

  

True to our words, those of us claiming the audacity to weather whatever devilry had beset the westward hills did just that. We withdrew from Penance as the sky grew tired and Mr. Hex grew more surly, suffering the impediments of some of us reviewing our luggage twice, or bidding the town a farewell lengthier than a blink.

 

Twenty minutes on, from the start of our excursion, left Penance nothing but a candlelight in the sea of sand and grass at our backs. The ridge there that our sights were set on taunted us for every step our horses took. I conjured, that night, the irrational belief that the ever-growing mountain was, in no uncertain terms, eager to blot out what precious sunlight we had remaining; it is a conviction I hold to this day, for no scripture or trust in a Savior has since quelled the concern in me that the earth, on that particular evening, in that particular place, was itself evil.

 

We had, as our convoy, fewer than a dozen ranchers; some, atop their own steeds, and others at the reins of the three stagecoaches. Eli and I rode in a fourth. Our young cowboy had elected to stay behind, with his pride so bruised, even when Eli had promised to him that there would be no incentive to answer to Mr. Hex, in any capacity, for the journey’s duration. Thusly, the lead rancher (whose named we learned was Amos) was our new courier. Same as the two other couples on this trip, Eli and I were instructed not to leave our compartment for any occasion, as we were perceived to be most ill-equipped for the dangers the hardened riders knew to be lying ahead. I alone knew Eli owned a firearm, and could cleanly hit his mark from a respectable distance.

 

Hadley, the boy, shared our cab. He did not fill the air with endearing contemplations that I might have assumed all children his age had in abundance. Neither did he show overt grief, in returning to the site of his family’s tragic and senseless murder. Instead he was intensely fixated on Hex’s revolvers, swinging at the veteran’s hips as his horse kept pace with us. Hex caught wind of the goggling shortly thereafter, and cast a scowl at the boy.

 

“My father could shoot,” was Hadley’s defense.

 

“Hell of a lot of men could. That’s why so damn many of ‘em ain’t around to shoot,” Hex droned, unimpressed.

 

By this time, the mere hours in which I had had dealings with Jonah Hex told me there was no requisite of inuring myself to him. Elsewhere, the entirety of my life, there had been in effect an ordinance for me to hold my tongue.

 

“You need not be crass with him.”

 

Upon reproving Hex’s methods, the most unreservedly gratifying thing occurred: A man, older and more seasoned than I, listened to my words.

 

That Southern cavalryman, with his burns and cuts, looking as mean as a cornered bear, simply surveyed for several moments the last sliver of sun which shone over the crags and drifts of our mountainous obstruction. He had an air of rumination about him, and took a long breath before responding.

 

“The way I seen it, boys grow up to die young, if’n y’don’t teach ‘em how things are.”

 

Eli tugged at my sleeve discreetly, wanting no trouble to arise.

 

“There is a time for compassion, also, Mr. Hex. When a boy could benefit from a little understanding, rather than further indelicacy. Both are rudimentary to a child’s upbringing,” I declared.

 

Hadley and Eli were silent. Hex wrung the leather reins in his hands and squinted (more than he did by nature), but eventually relaxed in his saddle; a concession of having been bested.

 

“You speak real finely, miss.”

 

“And you do not, sir.”

 

Mr. Hex let out an amused grunt.

 

“What do I call you other’n ‘miss’ then?” he inquired, misconstruing my objections to his conduct.

 

I smiled. “‘Euryale’ is my name.”

 

Hex tried unsuccessfully to interpret the pronunciation. “… ‘My eye’s a’ what, now?”

 

“‘Eu-rya-le’,” Eli annunciated, fondly. “It means she will ‘roam far.’”

 

“Strange,” decided Hex, hardly the one to comment on such things.

 

I expounded. “Its origins lie in a very old story; a Greek narrative, that my father came across, and passed on to me.”

 

“And your father, he could read,” Hex inferred. He said it cautiously, not disbelieving-like.

 

“My father was smarter than most cared to notice. Yes, he did read. Texts and poems, journals… anything that he knew the master of our plantation would not recognize as being misplaced, in the time we required to finish them.”

 

Eli seized my hand again, when realizing the memories had upset me. I found inside myself the will to disclose, “He only took the stories for my siblings and me. We begged for them, not knowing what he risked.”

 

“Your master let you keep that name?” Hadley redirected, skeptical.

 

He was so very young, and I could not be cross with him. “The plantation’s owner and his family had their own name for me, but it was not mine. … Would you like to hear the story that my name comes from?”

 

Hadley seemed invested.

 

“Euryale was not the hero of the tale, nor the focus, for that matter. Her sister, Medusa, was wronged by a being she could never hope to have authority over. The story says that he was a deity, but he was wicked, instead of benevolent like our God. For the infraction she did not commit, Medusa was blamed by others of the false idol’s kind. A sorceress among them cursed Medusa to be a loathsome monster, never to have another commiserate her; to but look at her face, then, would turn one to stone.”

 

There, I paused, to enjoy Hadley’s rapture, Eli’s warmth… Hex, even, leaned suspiciously on his mount, intrigued. His wolf, trotting dutifully near his stirrup for the past hour, stared at him with its giant orange eyes. And while it was a simple animal, Hex became ill at ease, conscious of himself, and he sneered at the creature.

 

“As fate would have it, Medusa would find consolation in her sisters: Stheno and Euryale. Though they were gifted with remarkable longevity, and though they were free of the guilt that the corrupt rulers had ascribed to Medusa, the sisters chose to stand with her, and bear the same undue punishment. … And so, you see, there is dignity to be found in those demonized by history. I cherish my name, for this reason.”

 

Hadley frowned at the conclusion. “But… no one saved them? What did the monsters look like?”

 

“You’ve neglected what younger ears gather from stories,” Eli chaffed quietly.

 

“Boys’ ears, perhaps,” I retorted, turning my nose up at him.

 

It had all been in good humor. Eli smirked and apprised Hadley. “Listen here then, Hadley. These sisters grew tusks, like those elephants you may’ve seen at the circus have. And their hair, it was replaced by snakes, bigger than rattlers…”

 

I adored Eli so, for his gift of preoccupying small ones; Hadley was soon lost in his regaling of heroes and quests from across oceans, and I, paying no mind to the menace of hills before us, discovered there was solace to be had. I composed a silent prayer for those safeguarding our expedition, as well as those of us being transported with bated breath and far less steely resolve.

 

Jonah Hex watched me do so. He had adopted a curiously approving countenance.

 

“It’s a fittin’ name… miss.”

  

***

  

Palpable, suffocating darkness was now the usher of our caravan. No more was Penance a beacon to us. With our riders’ torches revealing the primitive trail only a yard or so around us, and the discontinuity of stars alone defining land from sky, it was hard to guess the span of wilderness that we had yet to brave, if we were to reach the ridge’s summit.

 

Our climb was steady. Hadley had fallen asleep between Eli and me, exhausted by stories and the monotonous trek. Some ranchers endeavored to establish if we had already passed the rise on which they had, a week ago, faced their malicious spirit; the fretting and deliberating proved to excite the husband and wife riding in the coach behind us, and it necessitated a scolding from Amos for them all to keep their heads. He then called to us from his perch in the driver’s box; he did so in a gravelly timbre, so as to not again ignite any alarm.

 

“We’re twenty minutes from the peak, y’hear? … You both seem sensible, so I should tell you, this is about where my company saw… it, when first we rode. But, you rest easy now; we heard weird things then, long before it finally took the Rainer girl. This time, I haven’t seen OR heard anything.”

 

“Neither’ve I,” came Hex’s drawl, his mare’s gait matching Amos’ position. “But it don’t make me ‘rest easy.’ There ain’t no critters anywhere in these hills, ‘part from us.”

 

Amos tossed the reins and jutted his chin out at the animals there harnessed. “Horses look at peace. No better judges of surroundings than them, I’ve learned.”

 

“I think,” Eli proposed, “… we would feel it also, if something unholy walked this region, this day. Our souls, not our worldly perceptions, would warn us.”

 

I drew Eli’s eyes to mine. “You say you do NOT feel anything now? Then I envy you, and pray my own intuitions are misguided.”

 

Eli pondered this. I hugged Hadley’s bobbing head to my dress’ collar. “… I pray there are better lives waiting for us all, past this mountain.”

 

“What got you both hightailin’ west, trouble? You findin’ one of your families?” Hex pressed.

 

“We heard tell of the river,” Eli shared. “A grand one, just over this range. You’re right, sir; we are seeking Euryale’s family. They may be there.”

 

“They surely may be,” mused Hex. “Railroad made it to that town some years back, can’t recall how many. Good a place as any to settle, when you’re fixin’ to git hitched-“

 

“Mr. Hex!” Eli and I drowned him out in unison; we were boisterous enough to rouse poor Hadley. Hex’s forthright ways could fluster most anyone, and I do not mind saying that I, who welcomed his candor in many aspects, was no exception.

 

Unsure of who else had been attentive to Hex’s maundering, namely Amos, Eli readied to mend the conversation. “… You know same as all of us, Mr. Hex, a boy and a girl like us wouldn’t… even if there weren’t laws, it would not be correct for-“

 

“Why in tarnation not? What laws?!” Hex’s puzzlement was earnest.

 

I grabbed the coach’s door and pulled my head outside. “Mr. Hex, PLEASE. This is not to be discussed at these volumes.”

 

This conciliated Hex, though he was still none the wiser to the realities that Eli and I withstood regularly.

 

“I’d like it not to be left open-ended; Euryale and myself wouldn’t dream of carrying out an ambition so… outlandish,” Eli fibbed. It was intended to appease Amos, should he have been attuned to the subject.

 

The rancher’s acknowledgement drifted in our cab’s window with plumes of dust being kicked up by the horses. “Needn’t be afraid of what I think. I’m a simple farmhand, born and raised. Never had big ideas, like them congressmen, ‘bout what men can and can’t do.”

 

Amos freed a hand from his steering and patted our roof comfortingly. “I’ll keep your secret. But tell me, son.. you really couldn’t find a filly more like you?”

 

Our driver cackled at his own joke, unaware Eli felt equally insulted as I.

 

“I shouldn’t need find a woman more like me,” Eli maintained, reaching over Hadley and brushing a lock of hair from my temple. “I’d just a’soon find the one I love.”

 

Hadley wrinkled his nose, swiftly coaxing us away from our seriousness. Hex bent in alongside the coach, grimly preparing his next words.

 

“You don’t have kin in Green River, then.”

 

“She has no kin to speak of, now,” Eli confessed. “Mine… I disowned. Being that they couldn’t see the war was over. Or that a war was had at all.”

 

As Eli had come to my aid many a time when I evoked my past, so did I come to his. I knew he must have been remembering his brother, when his blood ran cold in my grip on his arm. He swallowed, then faced Hex, who waited patiently.

 

“Euryale and I, we crossed paths a year after the fighting. And maybe it won’t be in Green River, but we’re going to make a home for ourselves, in one town or the next,” Eli vowed with determination.

 

“See that you don’t run outta country,” Hex bade us heavily.

 

“HOLD! WHOA, WHOA!”

 

At the foremost rider’s cry, our progress was halted. Hex jolted out of his repose, startling me with just how quickly the enmity and dogged constitution could return to him. From my seat, I saw our scout wrestling with his horse, which stamped nervously to and fro, bellowing, and frothing through its halter bit. The man swung her about, and jerked towards two other ranchers. Their rallying devolved into frenzied hisses and jeers, keeping us others in suspense.

 

“What is it?” Amos barked.

 

“Euryale?”

 

Hadley stammered my name, pawing at my arm. “I won’t tell anyone you want to marry Eli.”

 

“Thank you Hadley, that is kind,” I validated, hoping he would be heartened. He jumped from our seat and joined Eli by the right-side door. They craned their necks to deduce the hinderance ahead.

 

Amos’ already fragile tact was waning. “Well?! What’d he see?”

 

“He says, ‘a man!’” one rifleman reported.

 

Hex’s wolf sniffed the night breeze; docile, though alert. Its owner noticed I had become chilled, and, remiss in his deed, Hex began to offer me his coat.

 

I eyed the article, unable to gracefully put into words his oversight. My speechlessness led Hex to comprehending just as well.

 

He donned the coat, frustrated. “I weren’t thinkin’.”

 

“No, please,” I interrupted, “ … I cannot accept the thought of wearing those colors, but know that I do not think of you, and their connotations, as inseparable.”

 

Hex emoted not at all.

 

“You do not… represent that side of history,” I rephrased.

 

Amos continuously interrogated his fellow ranchers; the account, growing no more coherent.

 

“You say the man didn’t walk, now how is it that he’s in a different place than where you spotted him?”

 

“It… DIDn’t walk, it moved without walkin’, I try to tell yeh!”

 

I looked at Hex ardently. “You do not wear them because you are proud; you wear them because you are not.”

 

…

 

“I think it is a merciless thing, what retribution you have placed upon yourself.”

 

“Do you now?”

 

“Do you not imagine your judgement should be left to more righteous hands?” I implored further.

 

“No ma’am.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“God weren’t there… that day.”

 

I was to unearth no more of Hex’s background, for at that moment, an unannounced, malign rush of dread overcame us all. It was not at all comparable to wind, no; the air was venomous. I saw that the sensation was not all my own when Eli took on a pallor so chalky that it could have been distinguished with or without the assistance of a lamp. From behind and beyond our cab, disturbed yelps from men and women alike rang out. Hex’s horse reared, and his wolf skulked at the coach’s wheel, no longer the formidable predator we beheld in Penance.

 

A shot punctuated the tumult, and then more followed. I hauled Hadley to the floor instinctively.

 

“In the brush! Kill it!”

 

“Where?!”

 

“Hold your fire!”

 

“It’s circlin’ behind us!”

 

Eli had not drawn his gun. “Mr. Hex! Can you see it?”

 

I lay prone. Shielding Hadley’s face, I tipped the nearest door slightly ajar. Hex had momentarily restrained his frantic mare by grasping her bridle itself and running a hand down her cheek. Had he been a second faster, he may have evaded another horse—this one, having succeeded in throwing its rider—which bucked madly and collided with the pair. Hex’s leg was pinned by the beasts’ flanks, while the bronco viciously bit his mare’s shoulder. She shrieked in an appallingly human way, and all three thrashed on the ground.

 

The righthand window of our coach was splintered by an unseen force. Eli thrust Hadley and I out of the transport as we were showered in debris. Impacting the cool dirt blurred my vision, but, for the rest of my days I shall remember, with absolute lucidity, the sight of our horses engulfed in a fire that burst forth from below their hooves, and the coach upending; hurled, like a toy. Amos was propelled along with it.

 

Hadley was not in my arms. I crawled through the billowing haze, and spied Hex wrenching his heel from the saddle cinch as his mare righted herself, and galloped away, utterly crazed. She corrected her flight too late, tumbling over a fatally-steep slope. There was distant whinnying, and then nothing at all. The abstruse battle had dissolved.

 

I now ask of all those immersed in this tale to grant their credence generously. For the gossiping and prating surrounding this mountain range, and that which had circulated Penance, was far from unfounded. It was our luckless host’s lot to encounter, on that thirty-first day of October, the horror that Hadley, Amos and the other men had once survived, and all that remains to be read, here, is a documentation of stark savagery, and of woe.

 

Over the crest of the ridge stood what one might have mistook for a man. I should say, moreover, one might have mistook it for standing. It in fact was not.

 

It was faintly silhouetted against the inky sky, but my eyes were acclimated well enough to the environment by that time that I may now soundly state that a body, brittle and decaying, hung there by a noose lashed around its throat. Light zephyrs traversing the hills made the cadaver oscillate, and the toes of its boots traced the sand lazily. Its twisting rope stretched on and on into the cavernous black above, as though it were puppeteered by some cruel divinity.

 

Eli, Hex and all the rest were forgotten for an instant. I could not move of my own volition. The aura of our enemy was crushing, relentless, nearly insurmountable. In our company was some unearthly thing not accounted for by the confines of sanity, and only by the grace of God was I able to bring myself to renounce the consuming void.

 

Our coach, and one other, were irreparable, scorched masses, scattered like seeds. A third, I saw speeding down the mountain, with those left behind given up for dead. The fourth was overturned, and I recognized, scrambling out of it, the man who sought to reach Oregon. He sobbed and held a palm out at the phantom; it had neared, without my realizing it.

 

Tears streamed from underneath the stout man’s spectacles. “Please Ma… I’m coming home now. I know I was away, but I-I… there was the war. We stopped the rebs. I’m coming home now. You can’t go. You ain’t s-seen the medal your son got yet.”

 

Like a diseased marionette, the apparition dangled a shadowed arm out to the man at its feet. The son, and former soldier, was reduced to a tortured child before my eyes. His audible anguish stabbed at the still of the night.

 

“Back, devil!”

 

Recovered from his ridicule, and with bandaged forearms, it was our young cowboy: racing up the path on horseback, taking aim at the foul wraith. Two bullets were fired; one buried itself in the soil, while the other punched neatly through the desired target’s lapel. It absorbed the projectile like the lifeless husk it was.

 

The cowboy was forty yards off and closing in, lining up his third shot. A gleam was visible in his eyes, even from this distance. “Fire and brimstone unto you, you-“

 

Flame from the nearby wreckage swelled, licking the cowboy’s face; it had done so with undeniably hostile intent directing it, shifting not as a natural blaze should. The lad writhed and slipped off his mount, brutally coming to rest in a shallow ditch.

 

I screamed for Mr. Hex. He had been dragged so carelessly by his mare that he was recuperating with great toil. He coughed, and laboriously rolled onto his stomach. I knew there would be no time for Hex to intervene.

 

The cowboy pointed his gun, using his one intact arm, and he drew a bead on his foe, using his one unimpaired eye. The hanged thing performed a stiff, swiping motion, and the nails, harnesses and varied metal objects littering the ground rose as one, contorting and melting into one another to form a long, pitted stave. It leveled with the cowboy’s skull. He cocked his pistol’s hammer.

 

The spear darted at its victim, but I watched as Hex’s wolf, battered and singed, leapt into view and foiled the lethal blow, which glanced off the canine’s haunch. A howl died in the animal’s lungs, and it crashed to the earth at the cowboy’s side. The cowboy’s chest heaved, then the beast’s. They were alive.

 

Our attacker made no effort to try again. It lingered in subdued obstinacy; swaying, and crackling with rot all the while.

 

The ashes and planks of our coach buckled, and Eli appeared beneath them, partially pulling himself loose. Relief flooded my soul. He choked my name, but neither he nor I dared to run to the other to embrace; the ghost had glided, on its macabre leash, squarely between us. It then spun in my direction.

 

“No! Euryale!” Eli rummaged for his weapon, but his hip and holster were still trapped under much of the coach’s remnants.

 

I waved him off, recalling the cowboy. “Don’t shoot at it!”

 

I was prepared to die, but not ready to. The dark shape was two body’s lengths away, obscuring Eli. I kept my head high; were this the Devil, it would be in his nature to savor one’s groveling, and I would permit him no such satisfaction. By now, I was hearing its “breathing,” were that the unbroken, low whistle issuing from behind its drooping brim. This was when Hadley stepped out of the clouds of smoke corralling the scene of our impasse. The boy was, with hands atremble, wielding one of Hex’s revolvers, which had been mislaid during the horses’ skirmish.

 

“Don’t, Hadley! Get away from it!” Eli exhorted.

 

I tried to be resilient, for Hadley; he was disconcerted enough as he was. “Go to Eli!”

 

Hex was on one knee, rasping, clenching his ribs like they might fall away without his care. His eyes widened, once seeing Hadley and his objective, and the man opened his mouth to prevent the impending threat; a deep, thick red spilled out instead.

 

Three of Hadley’s fingers encircled the trigger. “I can kill it…” the boy grimaced.

 

“Hadley, stop!”

 

The ghost’s knotted neck rotated to where the child had boldly planted himself. Hadley seized up, and all the world hesitated with him. The flames may have frozen, too; I could not be sure. Quaking, Hadley slowly repositioned his shot.

 

The barrel was trained on me.

 

Hex staggered upright.

 

Eli panicked. “EURYALE!”

 

“What’re you doin’, son…” said Hex, hauntingly.

 

Hadley’s lip quivered. “It’s them.”

 

“Speak up,” Hex told him sharply.

 

“My father w-wasn’t a liar.”

 

“… We ain’t of any such opinion-”

 

“It’s them,” Hadley seethed, in a voice that both was and was not his own. His hold on his weapon tightened. “They betrayed us, our good work and our food. They left with the Yankees. And the land came to death. They ruined us.”

 

“You’re not shootin’ my gun. You hearin’ me?”

 

“DAMN THIS-“ Eli failed again to lever the boards from his back. “EURYALE!”

 

“Let Hadley go,” I demanded of the suspended body. It creaked and danced, in an abrupt gale that ate through to my core. The thing tricked no one, playing dead.

 

Hadley straightened with a shudder. “They have no right. No rights.”

 

“NO!” Eli roared.

 

Hex had been thirty paces from Hadley, but had crept up to twenty. The man’s good eye narrowed. “Ain’t none of us have a right to be here. We jist are.”

 

“My father didn’t lie to me.”

 

“SHOOT IT, HEX!”

 

“I forgive him, Lord,” I whispered. “It is not his doing.”

 

Something akin to words seeped out of the ghost:

 

“indulge me…

indulge in me”

 

This was heeded not by Hex. “Put my gun down.”

 

“They’re not human.”

 

“You’re not shootin’ anybody.”

 

“My father doesn’t have a coward for a son.”

 

The muzzle of Hadley’s gun twitched. Its mechanism ticked.

 

There was a pop.

 

Hex had drawn.

 

Hadley was sprawled in the dirt.

 

I forgot any need to be wary in the presence of the hanging reaper; caring little if I were snatched up by its malevolent thrall, I threw myself to Hadley. I desperately checked his heartbeat. My despair was like no other I have harbored in my lifetime; a maroon badge pooled on his breast.

 

Hex dropped his revolver. Eli was unresponsive, gazing at our dismal spectacle.

 

I cradled Hadley, staining my clothes. “What have you done, Jonah Hex?”

 

“Hey you,” the gunslinger rumbled.

 

I was shaken to see him studying me, and my mournful burden. Hate was etched into him, every inch. I understood, though, that it was not a hatred for us; perhaps, not even for the entity taunting Hex from over his shoulder. Not all of it, anyhow.

 

Hex turned to the dormant oblivion. His bearing was soft; pacifying, even. It made his acid tone considerably more disquieting.

 

“I’m supposin’, if I were to shoot you, you wouldn’t be so accommodatin’ as to die.”

 

The morbid pendulum rocked a stride closer.

 

“’t’sa shame. That arrangement sounds mighty agreeable to me.”

 

Amos stumbled forward, dazed, and coated in soot. One proper look at our spectral nemesis coerced the rancher into groping for his gun, but I, supporting Hadley, mouthed “no” and shook my head vehemently. Amos reluctantly eased, gave a melancholic glance to the body I carried, and then proceeded to Eli to release him from his prison; beyond their chore, they were transfixed, as I was, by Hex advancing on the anomalous evil.

 

“See, you jist killed my horse, and you made me shoot a boy who weren’t responsible for hisself. And I’m findin’ no excuses whatsoever not to take you by that big fuckin’ necktie of yours and haul your chickenshit hide back to hell. Not-a-one.”

 

A dull groan escaped his opponent.

 

“Real ornery feller. But you’re a small feller also, ain’t you?”

 

The ghost’s rope strained, deafeningly so. I gathered Hex had infuriated whatever sinister will manipulated it. The space between the two of them wavered, rippling like a pond. The effect swept over Hex, but no unfavorable consequences came of this; he continued his serene walk.

 

“Filth,” Hex spat. “What you think you can show me I don’t already see every day?”

 

The air stirred a second time.

 

“Jeb don’t blame me for Fort Charlotte. He’s wrong not to, but he don’t blame me.”

 

A third time, the villain unleashed its witchcraft, whose impurity found its way to me as it did Hex. Flashes of my family invaded my mind. They never experienced a life outside of the plantation.

I fled without them.

left them to die…

No.

I did.

I did not.

 

“White Fawn done what she done. I couldn’ta stopped her. She were too free a spirit,” snarled Hex. “You’re nothin’. You have nothin’. I know what you really are.”

 

Eli was at last freed, and he hastened to me, aware of my disorientation. I saw truth and decency again when he enfolded me. We held Hadley, together.

 

Jonah Hex was a single step from it, now. Another jet of fire, wreathing with sentience, erupted from the earth and almost slashed through his torso, but it fell short. Hex deliberately plunged his arm into it, as a demonstration of contempt. He sustained sparse injuries, for the flame recoiled at his touch.

 

“It’s not a war when it’s one side that’s fightin’.”

 

The corpse’s dried bones clacked beneath its garb, and it crooned to Hex in a horrid, pealing chant, not unlike it was spoken from inside a hollowed-out tree:

 

“it comes ever naturally to your ilk…

your trivial desires…

your infantile bickering, clawing…

you and all my cousins’ bastard creations, affronts…

you will always be so good at it…

for me”

 

Its withered fingers extended, but Hex nabbed the wrists, forcing them apart. I could swear to you now, even by the paltry light of Amos’ lantern and what little help the moon was providing through the canopy of fog, that the figure wore the Union Army’s blue on one sleeve, and grey on the other, like Hex himself bore. The cavalryman pulled the hanging atrocity toe-to-toe with himself.

 

“Best be gittin’, now. It’s the dead stayin’ dead, what scares me.”

 

Thunderous percussions—similar to those of drums, and not of a storm—sounded over the land. The sky bowed and fluctuated about the astral tether belonging to Hex’s captive, and, as equivocally as it had surfaced, the blight then receded into thin air. The man who had vanquished it was left there: fists empty, panting, with twice as many lesions and contusions as he had before sunset.

 

I wish I could tell you there was an ambiance of resolution to accompany the victory, but this was not so. Embers, and the fetor of burnt horses’ flesh, stung our senses. The night was dense. A downcast Amos relieved me of Hadley, after trying and failing to express his condolences. I initially resisted surrendering my charge, until Eli persuaded me to with a shivering hand cupped on mine. The stout man had collected himself, and gotten our cowboy to his unsteady feet; over and over (but expecting no reply), they both questioned in manic tones what we had all witnessed still living, lurking, feeding, here in the vast frontier of America.

 

Jonah Hex trod to the cliff where his mare had met her end; on his way, he stooped but once to retrieve the weapon he had used that evening. Eli and I trailed him.

 

“Mr. Hex…” Eli disturbed his grieving. “We’d like you to know… we know what you done for us, and I thank-“

 

Hex’s revolver snapped to Eli’s brow. We were in shock; immobilized, and struck dumb by the act.

 

“You ever ended a life, son?”

 

Eli was unflinching. “No sir, I haven’t.”

 

Hex moved close to Eli’s face. Marring the man’s features, in addition to those terrible abrasions, was the same outrage he had fostered before. His triumph over the demon had not soothed his conscience in the least.

 

“Don’t you thank me for what I done. Don’t you ever thank a man for killin’ for you. You can’t know what they gave up.”

 

He was broken, a thousand times over. I was sorry for him, truly; therefore I was taken aback by my own immodesty, which ensued once Hex lowered his gun. My memory of this night is vague only here, and though I know I am accountable, I wish it were true that I was scarcely in control of the regrettable words that passed my lips.

 

“I would not thank you,” I swore fiercely. “Not in all the years I have left will I thank you, for choosing my life over another. He was a boy, Jonah Hex!”

 

I refused Eli’s arm shepherding me away, pushing it aside.

 

“My life was payed for by the blood of One other… and you have made it so my life has been payed for by the blood of two. I would have died in Hadley’s stead, but you are selfish, and arrogant and you dispense death on a whim. No, you will not have my gratitude or forgiveness.”

 

I fear I must have hit him, or chastised him with more profane language than I can admit to using, myself. Hex justified himself in no way, standing as a statue would.

 

Amos had rounded up a spooked horse and mounted, with Hadley enclosed securely in front of him.

 

“I’ll ride back to Penance, and tell everyone… tell everyone the way is clear.”

 

“And we’ll stay here. If that monster shows itself again, we know how to fight it,” the stout man ensured. The young cowboy nodded.

 

Hex’s wolf limped to him. He stroked its ear, then worked up the nerve to look at Eli and me.

 

“I’ll be takin’ you to Green River,” he croaked.

 

And so he did.

  

***

  

We did not speak to our scarred stranger for all the remainder of the journey. He led our horses to town. Without us asking, he gruffly convinced the local hostelry to provide Eli and me with rooms. Then he rode west; a wolf in tow, and a heavy coat on his back.

 

Eli and I would find lasting sanctuary in a mission, in the heart of Arizona territory. It was 1882 by then. Our son Hadley would come to us in the summertime of 1883.

 

I pray as I have prayed in these many years since, that Mr. Jonah Hex did cease to be that man all in grey, that never did let another tend to his wounds.

jatiswarer prem :

 

sunya hriday akase dana mele

megher kachhe kore basonter darbar

matal aranye jai abhisare

jyotsna ratri sango chae amar

 

nil diganto theke bhese asa thanda batas

bristi bheja niyan alo , sisirer sabdo

kuasa hoe dheke dao amar moner hahakar

rupkathar rajye chai mukta danar avijan

harano hriday er simaheen swadhinata

kajoler arale lukano madokata

ar .... sajano swapner sambhar

 

se esechhilo alokkhye

jatiswarer mone takhano kichhu smriti chhilo jibanto

ure gelo damka haoae

achetan anubhutir ajan futkare.

ei ki tomar prem ?

na ki supto akankhar obak morichika ?

asru hoe jhore paro kobitar khatae .....

 

tabuo ichchhera chhilo anabil

ghumer jagote mrityur dese dulchhe jiban bhela

tomar buke matha rekhe ghumie pori sese

suru hoe swapner holi khela ....

  

Greendale: Day 11 of the Misfits' Undercover Operation

 

With the rest of the Misfits still enrolled in the college, Drury had left Rigger, Reardon and Gar to browse the nearby mall. With them distracted, and in good enough spirits, he was able to enter the Ballroom, a small bar in Greendale's town center without arousing their suspicions. As he opened the door, he was met with a large, suited guard, standing between him and his contact.

 

"You're late," the guard noted.

 

"Couldn't find a parking space I liked," Drury lied, placing his cocoon gun and the accompanying cartridge of white pellets onto the cork crate beside him: holding his arms out so that the guard could pat him down, pausing as their hands reached the large stuffed rabbit Drury had forced halfway down his back jacket pocket.

 

"It's for my son," Drury blushed. "He'll be 20 this month."

 

The guard raised a judgemental eyebrow, but gave way nonetheless, allowing Drury access into the private booth. The seated occupant rose to his feet and offered his hand out to greet him.

 

"Mr Walker. We haven't been formally introduced yet. My name is David Li, but you can call me-" he began, only for Drury to cut him off.

 

"-Bookworm, yeah, yeah, Roman's right hand, I know. Chuck's mentioned you. Said you were an honourable sort. Or at least as honourable as a mob accountant gets, I suppose... He's also said that he wished you'd find more... eh, 'ethically sound' employment."

 

"Oh, I'm quite satisfied in Mr Sionis' employ, thank you," Li smiled politely. "Although we have been... challenged, as of late. Perhaps it's better to show you: Here."

 

Li reached into his briefcase and handed Drury the first of many photos, as Walker tried his very best not to throw up.

 

"Lucio Moxxom. October 31st. Halloween. Head decapitated and mailed to the Sionis penthouse," Li explained, before moving onto the next victim:

 

"Marco Viti. November 5th. Bonfire Night. Thrown into a Steel Mill furnace. Headfirst."

 

And the next:

 

"Angelo Mirti. November 16th. Thanksgiving. Drugged and strung up outside the East End Warehouses. A pound of C4 placed... Well, in a place best left unsaid. And since then, there have been three other murders just like them. Remind you of someone?"

 

"Julian..." Drury realised, as his heart sank.

 

"Yes. There was a note attached to the first victim's... ah, head, which matches the handwriting we have on record... Here's the copy I made," Li handed Drury a small sheet of paper, and he read it aloud:

 

"'Roman Sionis... should've stayed in Italy... blah blah... day of reckoning...' bit pretentious... 'Before this year is through, we will see you burn.'" Drury read. "How come I didn't hear about this sooner? Why didn't you go to the cops?"

 

"Because the last thing Mr Sionis wants is the GCPD intruding on his businesses. He gets enough bother from the Bats: Something we have in common, I hear. We can help you with that," Li lowered his glasses. "Mr Sionis, believes there's a connection between Day, and this man: The White Mask. And, on Halloween, a recent blood test confirmed his suspicions that White Mask, real name: David Franco, is the son of Richard Sionis. His father. This revelation has Mr Sionis reeling, as he's now certain that Franco, has joined forces with Day to remove him from power."

 

Though he had only been half listening, Drury suddenly perked up. "Sorry, Dave Franco-?"

 

"Yes, believe me, we all know what it sounds like... Might we skip the jokes and focus, please?" Li sighed.

 

"Oh, no, we can not just gloss over that. I've got so much material to work with!" Drury joked.

 

"If you could concentrate please-" Li restated, as he motioned to his bodyguard, the burly man who had patted Drury down earlier with firm enthusiasm.

 

"Right, yes, sorry," Drury gulped. "Continue."

 

"In the weeks since he first received those blood tests, Mr Sionis has turned to Henry Ferris: Iron-Hat, a vile man really. Ferris, believes that to catch Day, we must first lure him out into the open. And what better way is there, than with a holiday party? I believe you're familiar with the annual Janus Cosmetics Christmas ball."

 

"I am, yeah," Drury reminisced. "But you could wrap Roman in tissue paper and a big red bow, and Jules would probably still show up. Doubt it matters to him, but it would limit casualties."

 

"You're being sarcastic, I take it," Li noticed. "Believe me, you have every reason to distrust my employer, hate him even, but if you do nothing, if The Calendar Man kills Roman Sionis... Well, you have no idea the kinds of monsters he's kept at bay. Or the evils that will rise up in his place..." Li stopped himself from elaborating further and instead, took a pen from his breast pocket, and scrawled a few digits onto the napkin beneath his soda. "The offer stands. We can grant you safe passage into Gotham, however many guns you require, and in exchange, we request your expertise in dealing with Calendar Man. I'll be staying in the hotel on Rhodes Street; visit me there when you have an answer."

 

==Greendale: Day 17==

 

"You didn't tell me you were working with Sionis," Kuttler frowned.

 

"No, I didn't..." Chuck murmured, just as confused as he was.

 

Drury approached the False Facers and shook hands with Li. "You remembered my terms, yeah?" he asked.

 

"Yes," Li spoke. "We already have people bringing Mr Sharpe to the rendezvous point," he confirmed. "We are, however, still struggling to locate Mr Fiasco. We've not heard from him since he was released from GCPD custody."

 

"Forget it, Len knows how to disappear: he'll be deep underground by now," Drury reasoned. "He's never really liked the spotlight."

 

"Quite," Li agreed. "We have a small smelting plant in one of the neighbouring towns. I've arranged to have your truck moved there, where it can be quietly decommissioned."

 

"But not before you 'quietly' scavenge whatever Bat-Tech you can get a hold of, right?" Drury questioned him, hesitantly reaching into his back pocket, and placing the keys into Li's expectant palm.

 

"Perhaps," Li said coolly.

 

"Oh, mind you, I quite like the hood ornament," White remarked, as he ran his fingers along the grill of the truck. "Might have to keep that for myself."

 

"Uh, Drury?" Chuck interrupted, speaking on the group's behalf. "Could we maybe talk about this for a minute?"

 

Drury, looked back over to Li. "Five minutes," the Bookworm relented. Walker nodded gratefully, and rejoined the rest of the Misfits.

 

"How exactly did you arrange an escort from the Great White Shark of all people? Did you subscribe to the Iceberg Lounge's loyalty scheme?" Kuttler inquired, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

 

"They do that?" an oblivious Mayo asked. "What a gip!"

 

"Dru?" Rigger asked expectantly, electing to ignore Mayo.

 

"Well, you remember those couple of days we spent in the city center? Blake had his teaching gig, you got your sword, Gar got that nifty new lighter and we all had a brief pint in that place on L-Street?"

 

"Sure, that was the happiest I've ever been," he replied.

 

'Really?' Gar thought.

 

"Well, while you were browsing through shops, I actually had a meeting with Li there: The guy with the hat. We'd been texting for a couple of days prior; think Sharpe maybe gave him my mobile... Doesn't matter. Well, matters a little... But, what's important is, Li told me that Sionis' people are being taken out one by one. On holidays," he stated, pausing for dramatic effect.

 

'Julian...' Chuck gasped.

 

"Jules?" Blake wondered. "But that'd mean..."

 

"Exactly. I think we've found our mastermind," Drury concluded.

 

Ten placed his head in his hands. "God, Drury, I thought we moved past this," he sighed wearily.

 

"We did, I know, I'm sorry, but look at the facts: We know Carson isn't smart enough to play the long game. Julian is. If he's part of- or the leader of the Outcasts, we have to take him down. We could end this all, right here."

 

"Just like in Nanda Parbat, right?" Reardon asked, standing his ground.

 

"That was different. Please," Drury pleaded.

 

"Ok, Drury, let's say that he is behind all this, that he paid Krill and promised Carson revenge: that still doesn't explain that Zolomon ghoul," Chuck addressed it. "What does he get out of this?"

 

"Guess we'll just have to ask him ourselves," Gar stated, as he stood by Drury's side.

 

The other Misfits, looked more hesitant to join him.

 

"There'll be a party," Drury tried to entice them. "Booze. Food. Women," directing each of these at Flannegan, Mayo and Blake in that order.

 

"I'm in," Blake replied confidently, as Rigger also cheered enthusiastically.

 

"You know me, boss, I'm just here for the paycheck," Otis agreed.

 

"And if there's a free buffet-" Mayo licked his lips. "Well, that'd just be swell."

 

'Swell...' Gar mouthed, looking at Drury and nodding affirmatively.

 

The next to speak, Chuck sighed. "God, peer pressure is a bitch... Hell yeah, let's do it," he smiled. That just left Ten.

 

"Hey. You said you trusted me," Drury smirked.

 

"Eh-" Reardon protested.

 

"You said, 'Drury, I trust you,' you did," he teased.

 

"Hey, if you said that, it's on you," Blake shrugged.

 

"Well, that's- That's not a direct quotation," Reardon responded. "It's not!" he repeated to the skeptical ensemble. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "Fine."

 

"Does it even matter what I think?" Kuttler asked bitterly.

 

"I mean, I thought I'd at least give you the illusion of choice," Drury smiled boyishly.

 

"Good job," he scoffed.

 

==Gotham City==

 

The Apartment of the Deceased Jumbo Carson. Now home to his brother Ted, his daughter Bridget and their lackey Roger Hayden

 

The door creaked open, as Julian Day entered the room, his hands smelling strongly of hand sanitizer: A habit he had taken up since his meeting with The King of Cats. Hayden, was currently sat atop the kitchen stool, watching cartoons with intense delight, while his hands caressed his beloved Medusa mask. ​

At the side of the room, Bridget was putting up a Christmas tree; with many of the decorations recovered from her childhood home to celebrate the first Christmas she was spending with her father since his return- a gesture gone unnoticed by Carson himself.

 

"Allow me," Day said softly, as he reached into the cardboard box of mementos and placed the star at the top of the tree. 'No tinsel?' he noted. 'Pity.'

 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Carson perked up. "Who'd you kill this time, huh?" he demanded, as he poured himself a cup of black coffee.

 

Day didn't reply.

 

"And where the hell's Krill anyway?" Carson continued to press. "Would never have agreed to this arrangement if I'd known you'd be poaching my people for god knows what."

 

Bridget, was actually quite grateful for Krill's absence. Though responsible for bringing her father home, Krill himself had been both crass and disrespectful to her family, with his constant jokes aggravating Carson's already foul temper. Day, at least, buried his insults in flowery language that often went over her father's head.

 

"My partners have Krill working on a separate assignment right now," Day spoke. "You, should stay focused on yours."

 

"Separate assignment- Stay focused? But I'm not doing anything!" Carson disagreed.

 

"Precisely," Day said coldly. "I can't have you bumbling around Gotham like a drunk Darth Vader."

 

"I-," Carson stammered. "We should be out there, searching for the putz who killed Jacob!"

 

Day took the coffee pot out of Carson's hands, and poured the steaming liquid into his festive mug. "No. You really shouldn't," he disagreed. "The matter has already been dealt with. Pass the milk, please, Roger."

 

Carson intercepted Hayden's hand. "No, 'Roger,' don't pass him the goddamn milk! Dealt with? Dealt with?! You have no right to-"

 

"Oh, and you do?" Day scoffed. "It was your failure at the hospital that got Ant-Man captured. And your inaction that got him killed."

 

Bridget arrived at her dad's side and placed her hand on his shoulder, in an attempt to calm him down. "It's not worth it," she urged.

 

Carson took a deep breath. "That's my point," he told Day. "Listen, if you'd just let me talk to your partners, we could coordinate on this. Let me set the gas mains alight, hit the power station. Something big to draw Walker out of hiding!"

 

Day paused to process the magnitude of Carson's suggestion, and brow furrowed, turned to Bridget sympathetically.

 

Dejected, Carson changed direction. "At least I'm trying! While you were out... washing your hands? I, had a talk with the White Mask. Turns out, he's seeing somebody,"

 

Day rolled his eyes. "Barson, I'm really not interested in tabloid news and idle gossip," he said disinterestedly.

 

"But you'll like this: His new girlfriend, is none other than Jenna Duffy. Lynns' girl. You know what that means, don't you? They broke up," Carson said gleefully.

 

Day raised an eyebrow, suddenly invested. "Really?" he wondered.

 

"Really?" Carson quoted. "Yes, really, why would I lie? It was a big teary eyed thing, Franco said. Apparently, Lynns had to choose between her and his best friend, and he chose Walker. Crazy, right?"

 

"Crazy," Day repeated. "Hn. Congratulations, Barson, perhaps you're not all that useless after all," he concluded.

 

=The Iceberg Lounge's Private Bar=

 

Sionis was sat in the backroom, in a makeshift surgery room. Doting over him, was Lazlo Valentin: Professor Pyg. Sionis, had refused anaesthetic, of course: He'd heard all kinds of horror stories about Valentin transforming simple surgical procedures into nightmarish experiments. Presently, Valentin had been put to work adjusting Sionis' face in anticipation of the holiday party: Sandpapering his scalp, varnishing the surface and tracing over his skull-like features with a small scalpel, all to accentuate Sionis' fearsome visage

 

"Pretty as a picture," he snorted, as he kissed Sionis' bald scalp tenderly.

 

"Thanks, Porky. Feel better already," Sionis remarked disingenuously, as he unhooked the white bib from his person, and admired himself in the overhead mirror.

 

"Sir, the Misfits are outside," Li's voice announced through the door.

 

"Alright, give me a minute," Sionis replied as he swatted Valentin away.

 

"Look lively, the strippers are here!" White yelled crassly, as he and Li led the Misfits into the parlour. The convoy, had arrived later than scheduled, having first stopped off at Kuttler's home, to allow him to recover various devices and gadgets he believed would be useful against Day and his apparent henchmen.

 

"Just remember," Drury was warning them, "Roman's not exactly our biggest fan. Because we keep trying to kill each other. So tread carefully." He paused, as he sniffed the air. "Did you just varnish this floor?" he addressed Sionis' bodyguards. "Smells great."

 

"Lynns!" Sionis greeted them, as he entered through the backdoor, adjusting his red tie as he made his way towards them.

 

"Mr Sionis, sir," Gar replied a little awkwardly, as the two shook hands firmly.

 

"Roman, son. Call me Roman. Here, sit down," he offered, pulling a chair out for his former employee, and handing him a crystal glass of whiskey. "You too, Flannegan."

 

Chuck looked like he was going to throw up. "Otis, he threw me off a building," he muttered in his ear.

 

"That's business, Brown, you gotta look past things like that," Flannegan responded, as he too accepted a glass from Sionis.

 

"Aha, Kite-Man," Sionis sneered, finally addressing the rest of the group. "How was your trip?"

 

"Eventful," Chuck responded.

 

"Oho, I'll bet," Sionis replied, recalling their last encounter with sadistic pleasure. "Please, as a sign of good faith; your comrade in arms." With the snap of his fingers, the door opened behind them, as Montgomery Sharpe was escorted in by Iron-Hat Ferris, and a rather familiar hooded figure. As Ferris made his way to Sionis' side, his attention was drawn to Gar and Rigger. "Aw, look, they come in different colours now, that's neat," he said mockingly.

 

As Gar's fist clenched, Joey instead pulled his arm back as if to say 'It's not worth it.'

 

"Hello everyone, happy holidays to you all," The Dragon King cheered. "Montgomery has told me all about you, of course," he elaborated, placing a hand atop Sharpe's shoulder.

 

"Love that guy," Sionis said. "Caught him raking through my dumpster for body parts a while back."

 

"Quite so," Ito said nostalgically. "When Mr Sionis first asked me to tend over Montgomery, I was hesitant, but during our weeks together, I have been most impressed by his growth and maturity."

 

"That Montgomery?" Reardon asked, noting Sharpe's uncharacteristically quiet composition.

 

Ito paused, as his reptilian eyes locked onto Drury, and his gaze softened. "Ah, of course, you must be Cliff Walker's boy. You look so very much like your father."

 

Ito's remark, was intended as a compliment, sure, but Drury had never felt sicker. He put on a fake smile, and thanked him.

 

"Alas, I'm afraid I cannot stay for the festivities," Ito admitted. "My daughter, Cynthia, is having a sleepover this weekend with her fellow classmates, and it is paramount I remain there to supervise her, to limit any potential ruckus. She gets awfully rebellious when she has too much sugar. But, you should know that I have cookie dough proofing in your fridge downstairs. Once it has been baked, it shall be splendid."

 

"Thank god," Sharpe whispered under his breath, as he finally exhaled. "He's a nice guy and all, but he eats pizza with a fork and he hides all the alcohol," he confessed to an appalled Blake. "Lost $200 to his fucking swear jar already."

 

"Montgomery?" Ito inquired in a paternalistic tone.

 

"I said ducking."

Carriage window opening system. The sash type window is raised and lowered by use of the leather strap. It takes some juggling as the not insubstantial weight of the window needs to be eased upwards to take the strain off the leather belt, so as to unhook it. Once in the desired place the window's weight must again be held whilst hooking the belt in place. IOW Steam Railway.

Es una escultura en bronce colado que se alza elegante en la avenida Roncesvalles, mirando en dirección hacia la emblemática Plaza de Toros de Pamplona.

La obra congela en un instante la carrera de los mozos perseguidos por los toros, con una atrevida habilidad y un acertado equilibrio de fuerzas que dejan entrever la angustia constante y el valor.

La paradoja del “dinamismo congelado” se muestra ante nuestros ojos, y parece como si los morlacos quisieran salir de su disfraz de bronce para recorrer una vez más las calles de Pamplona tras los valerosos mozos antes de volver a su molde perpetuo.

 

Un impresionante monumento concebido para ensalzar el mítico encierro de Pamplona. Representa con un realismo impactante el momento de mayor excitación para los corredores; ese en el que pueden sentir el aliento de los animales tras de sí. 11 mozos, en frenética carrera, tratan de conducir a la manada compuesta por 6 toros y 3 cabestros.

El escultor bilbaíno Rafael Huerta ha conseguido plasmar gran equilibrio y movimiento a su obra gracias a la compensación de volúmenes hacia un lado y otro de los puntos de apoyo. Todos los mozos trasmiten con su pose, y con su gesto, la misma emoción que se vive cada mañana de las fiestas de San Fermín. La angustia, el valor de los mozos y la potencia de los morlacos reflejan la constante lucha vivida con intensidad.

 

El encierro nació por la necesidad de trasladar a los toros desde los extramuros de la ciudad al coso taurino, y la costumbre de los mozos por saltar al recorrido y correr delante de las astas hizo que el encierro se incluyera en el programa. Tiene lugar del 7 al 14 de julio y comienza en los corralillos de Santo Domingo cuando el reloj de la iglesia de San Cernin marca las ocho en punto de la mañana.

Tras el lanzamiento de dos cohetes, las reses salen en tropel para recorrer tras los mozos 825 metros en un tiempo medio de entre tres y cuatro minutos, aunque en ocasiones excepcionales la carrera se prolonga por quedar “descolgada” de la manada alguna de las reses. La rapidez, el caos y un estallido de sensaciones culminan en la Plaza de Toros. A partir de ahí, más distendida, la fiesta continúa…

 

turismo.navarra.com/item/monumento-al-encierro-pamplona/

 

It is a cast bronze sculpture that stands elegantly on Avenida Roncesvalles, looking towards the emblematic Pamplona Bullring.

The work freezes in an instant the run of the runners being chased by the bulls, with a daring skill and an accurate balance of forces that hint at constant anguish and courage.

The paradox of "frozen dynamism" is displayed before our eyes, and it seems as if the bulls want to emerge from their bronze disguise to once again run through the streets of Pamplona after the valiant runners before returning to their perpetual mould.

 

An impressive monument conceived to extol the mythical running of the bulls in Pamplona. It represents with striking realism the moment of greatest excitement for the runners; the moment when they can feel the breath of the animals behind them. 11 runners, in a frenetic race, try to lead the herd made up of 6 bulls and 3 steers.

The Bilbao sculptor Rafael Huerta has managed to give great balance and movement to his work thanks to the compensation of volumes to one side or the other of the support points. With their poses and gestures, all the young men convey the same emotion that is experienced every morning of the fiestas of San Fermín. The anguish, the courage of the runners and the power of the bulls reflect the constant struggle lived with intensity.

 

The encierro was born out of the need to move the bulls from the outskirts of the city to the bullring, and the custom of the runners jumping onto the course and running in front of the horns meant that the encierro was included in the programme. It takes place from 7 to 14 July and begins in the corralillos of Santo Domingo when the clock in the church of San Cernin strikes eight o'clock in the morning.

After the launching of two fireworks, the bulls troop out to run after the runners for 825 metres in an average time of between three and four minutes, although on exceptional occasions the race is prolonged because some of the bulls get "unhooked" from the herd. Speed, chaos and an explosion of sensations culminate in the Plaza de Toros. From there, more relaxed, the fiesta continues...

 

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)

 

Taken only 12 years ago so very much recent history in my eyes but this location has now vanished without trace beneath a housing development. A look at Google Earth suggests the loco would now be stood in someones back garden in Tramway Drive !

66 178 is seen in J&W Watts Ltd, Warehouse Sidings at the back of London Road Goods Yard in Carlisle. By 2006 there was no rail traffic to the warehouses but all the sidings were retained and on rare occasions like here they could be used to remove rolling stock by road. This need was driven by the fact there was nowhere suitable in Kingmoor Yard or Upperby Yard due to overhead electrification or Currock Wagon Works as it had a steep approach road.

On this occasion 66 178 has arrived with a Caledonian Sleeper carriage removed from a passenger train the previous week after developing a wheel bearing problem. The consist had run as 5Z05 12.10 Kingmoor Yard to London Road Yard and 66 178 is seen prior to unhooking from the coach which was to be winched onto a low loader and removed to Polmadie by road.

©2012 Susan Ogden-All Rights Reserved Images Thruthelookingglass

 

www.fluidr.com/photos/captured_echoes (LOVE VIEWING THIS WAY!)

 

While i was tidying up my office and rearranging things, i decided to take a closer look at my little vintage camera collection that i started about 8 mos. ago. i have a friend that loves to poke around flea markets and garage sales for things for her business. She is UBER talented and SO very fun! I LOVE going trekking with her to find treasures! i managed to find the cutest little camera....a vintage 50’s or maybe very early 60’s Baby Brownie with a little leather braided strap! i was in love! i love small objects of interest like this! The woman that was selling it said it was her’s as a youngster. She had taken a table at the flea market and had cleaned up her closets and was getting rid of stuff she would never use. We discussed the camera for a bit and i asked if her price was firm. It was only marked $15.00 and it was SO very cute! She told me that since i was interested in photography, and she had a feeling it was getting a good home, she would give it to me for $12. So began my interest in vintage cameras.

A few months later, a friend mentioned that her husband was in the process of cleaning out his dad’s house to ready it for sale. He had found a camera there and told her to ask me if i had any interest....It was a Zeiss Contaflex, top of the model line for it’s time, in beautiful condition with a ratty leather case. After some research, it appeared that they are selling for about 10.00 on ebay...this one being in fabulous condition i asked if they would take 15 for it. They did....add to that my mom’s old Brownie Box Camera....i think from the late 40’s, another Baby Brownie, a 1950’s Brownie Box camera, a 1960 something Polaroid and this little Eastman Kodak “vest pocket camera”....which i am really not sure of the age and i have enough to display in my office on my bookcase!

THIS one is called the Kodak Vest Pocket camera....it is quite flat when folded up and snapped shut....but when you open it the little leather bellows thing slides out on rails! My husband had picked it up at a garage sale for me last fall, and i had not opened it....mainly because i had no idea it opened like this! Last night i unhooked what looked like a little latch on the end, and the entire back side of the camera came off. it had little scooped out sections at each end for the roll of film. Strange....the front had just what appeared to be a black leather insert with a hole in it. i tried looking through the hole......nothing. i turned it over and over in my hand looking for a shutter button or some clue. That is when i noticed that the front cover looked like it had very tiny hinges inset in it and a very tiny clip....so i got a little knife and used that to help pry open the cover. There inside was pure magic!! all squished up into the body was the little leather bellows thingy ...lens....shutter....settings.....eyepiece.....i was mesmerized and fascinated.......and SO excited!! i love this little thing! i wonder if it works! the little leather bellows thingy is a bit dry but in really great shape.....the little shutter handles click and one of them almost emits the sound of a timer. The settings for your shots are on the bottom just below the lens...., the right part which slides, reads Dull, Gray, Clear and Brilliant!!! It slides around to the left and shows numbers that match up with the words Dull, Gray, Clear, and Brilliant.....i imagine those to be shutter speeds and ISO...but really do not know.

Today i took it out on the rocks by the pond...mainly because i am really smitten with it and it was a beautiful day for a bokeh shot with one of my new toys!! It had to pose today tho...until i can get my hands on some film that might fit and i can try it, just for kicks and giggles!

 

HAPPY BOKEH WEDNESDAY!!

  

The Designline built trolleybus of 10 March 2009 snapped leaving the Lambton Interchange during the morning peak of Tuesday, 12 April 2016.

 

Wellington, New Zealand's capital, is now the only city in Australasia that still enjoys trolleybus operation. A fleet of 60 Designline-built single-decker buses operate on up to nine routes. The majority were introduced in 2008/9 and they ousted the previous Volvo fleet towards the end of 2009. Unfortunately, the Greater Wellington Regional Council announced in June 2014 that it will not be renewing the trolleybus contract in 2017. Therefore sometime in 2017 trolleybuses in Wellington will be history.

Enjoy them while you can!

 

TROLLEYBUS JUMPS WIRES, GETS ELECTRIC REVAMP TO GET A NEW LEASE ON LIFE

14 July 2016

Trolleybus 362 has been liberated.

NZ Bus has unhooked its first Wellington trolleybus from the overhead wires and given it a New Zealand-first refit with electric power.

The company runs the trolley network that ends mid-2017, and will convert its 57 trolleybuses to a hybrid system by Wrightspeed - the company started by Tesla co-founder Ian Wright.

NZ Bus ripped off the roof components and stripped down bus 362, took out its old rear motor and started adding its new power source. The prototype should be running by mid-October.

It will be the first in a $43 million refit of the trolleys and several hundred diesel buses. It will also future-proof them because Wrightspeed can go fully electric as battery technology improves.

NZ Bus chief executive officer Zane Fulljames said as trolleys came off the road, Wrightspeed or diesel buses would be introduced.

The company was in discussions with Greater Wellington Regional Council over the transition for the trolley routes once they stopped next year, Fulljames said.

The Wrightspeed buses could run permanently on the old trolleybus routes if the company kept the route in a re-tender of the entire region's bus services this year.

Or they could go anywhere around the country, he said.

Without the refit the trolleybuses would have headed for the scrapheap.

Project manager for Wrightspeed in the Newlands workshop was Sytse Tacoma, who got the job after he built his own electric motorbike in his garage.

In December the machine featured in national media, then out of the blue Tacoma got a call from the US.

"I got a phone call from Ian Wright saying 'hey, we like your bike and we've got a job for you'."

Tacoma said Wright was his idol, with a vast knowledge of electric vehicles.

"I thought, 'yes, I got a call, I'm off to build electric vehicles'. It's my life dream, so it had to be done."

Tacoma left his job as a mechanical engineer building wineries in Blenheim and headed north to Wellington, with his electric bike.

Once the trolleys end their run in mid-2017, Wellington will have to take down about 80kms of wires, and the poles not required to support other critical infrastructure. The bill is expected to hit about $11m.

NEW FROM OLD

The Wrightspeed has an electric motor that runs off rechargeable batteries at the back of the buses, where the trolley engine used to go.

It will have a diesel-powered "range-extender" engine that can deliver a quick-charge to the batteries while the bus is on the road.

The buses are expected to run fully electric for about 10 of the 12 hours on the road. Eventually the range extender can be removed as batteries improve. - Stuff

 

Story and video:

 

i.stuff.co.nz/motoring/news/82109793/trolley-bus-jumps-wi...

 

I have my cowgirl hat on and my 12 gauge shotgun.

The shotgun is not a "prop", It is an important item of survival here.

9 years ago, I had this very same shotgun aimed at a medium sized Blackbear [ about 300 pounds.]

I was unhooking a trailer that I had brought down with me at around 6:00AM and there he was.... Standing there looking at me.

He could not have been there more than 5 minutes before I saw him because my truck had Physically been on that spot he was standing at that time as I was turning around.

I'm glad he wasn't really hungry that day

because I would not have made it to the cab of my truck to grab the shotgun in time.

However, I did. And I had the bear In my sights I could have killed him easily at that point as he was only about 50 feet away from me.

He turned and walked uphill into the woods, I was soooooo glad that he did.

This was only about 150 feet from where I am actually sitting here, but 9 years ago this property didn't look anything like this at the time.

Heck,there wasn't even a pond here then.

Anyway, this is a pic of me and my trusty dog Fate.

 

The London, Brighton and South Coast Railway (LB&SCR) A1 Class is an English class of 0-6-0T steam locomotive. Designed by William Stroudley, 50 members of the class were built in 1872 and between 1874 and 1880, all at Brighton Works. The class has received several nicknames, initially being known as "Rooters" by their south London crews. However, the engines were more famously known as "Terriers" on account of the distinctive 'bark' of the exhaust beat.

 

A1X (Terrier) Class 0-6-0T No. 72 ‘Fenchurch’ (72 ‘Newhaven Docks Company’, 636, B636 & 2636 & BR No. 32636) designed by William Stroudley, built in 1872 at Brighton Works. Rebuilt to A1X in 1913.

 

It was sold to Newhaven Harbour Company in 1898 for £500 working with the No.72, it returned to the Southern Railway in 1925 when they took over the operation at Newhaven Harbour. It became part of the capital stock as B636 in 1927 following the absorption of the Harbour Company as part of the Southern Railway. When the Western Breakwater line was closed the need for locomotives with light axle loads to cross the swing bridge ceased and Fenchurch was no longer required at Newhaven.

 

From May 1963 the locomotive transferred to Eastleigh but in fact it went to Fratton to supplement the other Terriers A1X Class engines based there for working the Hayling Island branch. The Branch closed in November and all the members of the class were withdrawn from service.

 

From 1950 until withdrawal in November 1963 No.32636 had the distinction of being the oldest locomotive in British Railway stock. After withdrawal it was sold for £750 to Bluebell Railway where it is still preserved

 

Photographer: Peter Heelas – taken while beinging unhooked at Sheffield Park Station, Bluebell Railway on 13/02/2023.

 

The plan was relatively simple. My dad and I would travel south of Norwegian Memorial to Starbuck Mine with a goal of locating a shortcut route directly into Starbuck Mine along Washington's rugged northern coast. Prior we had explored a short distance into the forest near the mine location and felt confident we could pick up the path if it existed.

 

We would access Norwegian Memorial via a different, well-established shortcut route that we've traveled numerous times in past years. Upon arrival to the trailhead of the shortcut route we discovered over a dozen vehicles. Norwegian Memorial proper was sure to be packed – all the more reason to travel further south to quieter camping possibilities.

 

The hike out to Norwegian was without event, minus meeting with about half a dozen men from one of the big groups. They were headed out for a resupply. We asked if they were “the pirates” – a group that frequents this section of coast - and although they surely were, they seemed a little reluctant to identify themselves as such.

 

Once at the beach, we assessed the tide in relation to the first headland south of Norwegian Memorial. Not as formidable as others headlands in the area, it still required a tide of 5.5 or lower to safely pass. With waves already crashing on the headland rocks we knew we would have to travel the overland trail to hike further south.

 

We had traveled this particular overland trail once prior. Not out of necessity, rather just to explore the route. Similar to other coastal overland trails, it is steep, muddy and requires use of ropes and ladders. With a full backpack, these overland routes can be a bit of a challenge. Prior to the start of the overland trail we met with two men who were departing from Cedar Creek. They relayed there was no one else in the area. It appeared we would have several miles of coast all to ourselves.

 

The overland route begins with a steep climb. Shortly beyond I discovered a fallen tree on the trail. The tree was located at a somewhat precipitous location. On one side a steep embankment on the other a drop off to the beach far below. With no way to squeeze underneath the tree we had to go over. We ended up taking off our backpacks and one-by-one shuttling ourselves and packs across. I wondered how in the world I would tackle that obstacle had I of been by myself.

 

Beyond the crest of the overland trail, the trail drops – quite steeply in places. The steep incline and attempt to not slip quickly fatigued my legs. By the time I reached the ropes and ladder my thighs already felt shaky. I got a slow start. Clinging to the rope I wasn't sure how to begin. Facing out to the sea, I felt certain I was going to slip on the unstable earth. Ultimately, I turned around and faced the hillside to inch my way down to the rope towards the ladder.

 

The ladder gave challenge. But step by step I made the descent towards the sand below. The final step was broken, making for an awkward and large drop into the sand.

 

Cedar Creek proved little obstacle to cross. The sandy beach near Cedar Creek gives way to steep, rocky banks on the approach to Starbuck Mine, about a quarter mile south. With the tide on its way in, we wasted little time and proceeded south. We located the site of the old Ranger Station platform south of Cedar and considered camping there as the tide was already pushing us into the driftwood. But Starbuck was only a short distance further so we continued on.

 

Arriving at Starbuck my initial concern was water. The nearby creek did not appear to be flowing very well, but a bit of bushwhacking to creek’s edge further inland gave access to swift flowing, nearly clear water. We decided to set up camp at Starbuck Mine, hoping such would allow us more time to locate and travel the possible shortcut trail into camp.

 

After camp was setup we took to the beach. With the tide high and headlands on either side of us our ability to wander was limited. Nevertheless, we traveled south beachcombing amid the driftwood piles that abutted the steep banks overhead.

 

Returning to camp we snacked on food and rested. I wandered up into the woods and fairly easily picked out a ribbon-marked route heading inland. An hour or two later we decided to follow the path. Per maps, we believed the route would be about a mile long. We knew the general direction we needed to travel if we were to meet up with the desired old logging road(s). Though I would not call the path a “trail” it was obvious that someone had spent time marking and maintaining the route.

 

Travel wasn't difficult but route finding slowed our pace. With our eye on the clock, we set a 4PM turnaround time. About 400 feet from the end of the road, 4PM was approaching fast. So close, but converging pathways led us astray and it took us a few passes to find the correct route. Once the road was found, we way-pointed on our GPS and began the walk back. In the dense coastal forest, it became somewhat of a race against the sunset. We should have come better prepared. I had toilet paper, but faced with “only a one mile walk” we had neglected to bring water or headlamps.

 

Fortunately, we made it back to camp without event. The early evening was spent making dinner, purifying water and hanging out in camp. Around 6:30 or 7PM we heard loud explosions to the north. We figured it was the pirates. The camp at Starbuck Mine lies a distance into the forest. We innocently decided to head out closer to the beach.

 

A short distance from camp, the path in the woods descends a series of steep stairs. I navigated these without issue, and then, to my horror, turned to see my dad slip and fall down the same set of stairs. His first words came fast and calm, “I just broke my leg.”

 

I helped him to an upright position, checked his leg for obvious signs of break. I asked him if he was able to move his leg and foot. He was. Was his ankle just sprained? I tried to help him stand, but it became clear, very quickly, he could not put any weight on his right foot.

 

The situation felt dire and as that began to set in, I helped him crawl back to his tent. Crawling with him, I tried to stay positive. Very positive. Everything will be okay. We’ll get you warm. We’ll assess the situation. I’ll go get help. Everything will be okay.

 

Back in his tent, he said he was okay. My mind was running, full of the various scenarios that might present themselves.

 

I knew that there was no one in direct proximity to lend assistance. I knew that I alone would have to figure this out. I would not be able to carry my dad out. The tide was currently low. Low enough I could travel, in the dark, around the headland. To the pirates. Would the pirates lend assistance? Would they be sober or coherent enough to do so? What about my dad’s current situation? He was in pain. But it did not appear overwhelmingly so. Nor did he appear to be in shock. He was slightly cold, but getting warmer. Would it be okay to wait until daybreak to proceed?

 

I asked him to be honest with me. Did I need to go get help now? The window was narrow, but now would be the time. High tides would dictate otherwise come morning. He said he would be okay. That I should get some sleep.

 

I went about picking up camp, my mind still aflutter. I retired to my tent. I journaled for a little while, trying to make sense of the situation. Disbelief flooded through me. I couldn't believe this was really happening. Instead of getting upset I attempted to keep a level-head. I studied tide charts in relation to the headland just north. I noted our location coordinates. I again went over all the different scenarios trying to better prepare myself for the choices I would be making in the coming hours and day.

 

About an hour later I went to check on my dad. He was still awake and told me he was cold. I filled a Nalgene bottle with boiling water and gave to him in hopes of warding off the chills. I again asked him if I should go get help. He again said no and encouraged me to get some sleep.

 

I managed to sleep but awoke at 2:30AM. I exited my tent and wandered over to my dad’s tent. I discovered he was still awake. He told me he had not slept and his ankle still hurt. I told him I would leave early morning to go for help. I would set my alarm. I would set it early to allow enough time for us both to break camp. I would help him pack up his gear. Then, closer to low tide I would help him out towards the beach after which I would leave to get help.

 

Sunrise was at 8AM. Lot tide was about 15 minutes later. It would be a 2.9 foot tide. A 5.5 foot was recommended to round the headland. This did not give me much comfort. The window felt very narrow.

 

I set my alarm for 5AM. Then 4:30AM. But as I lay awake in my tent, I again reset to 4AM worrying we may need more time to prepare than I had originally thought. Ultimately, unable to sleep I got up well before 4AM. My dad had started packing up items within his tent. I brought him his backpack to better assist and went about packing up my own gear.

 

Gear packed. Time to reassess situation. I tried to see if I could help my dad walk. No. He couldn't put any weight on his foot. What if he had crutches? In the dark of predawn, I climbed up the hillside into the forest searching for branches that could fashion as possible crutches. I found two candidates and returned to my dad. The verdict? No. He wouldn't be able to walk in any way.

 

Confirmation of this knocked out a few of the scenarios I had considered. If he had been able to walk, we could have attempted exit via the Norwegian shortcut or the newly found Starbuck Mine route. Either way I would need to shuttle backpacks. Either way would prove long and tiresome. But it would have been doable.

 

Now, other scenarios floated to the surface. The type of scenarios I've read other hikers facing. The type of scenarios that I, a hiker, have naturally thought about from time to time, but have never had reason to plan out or truly prepare for. I didn't really know the proper way to get emergency help while in the wilderness. Had a ranger been nearby, I would have traveled to their location. Had a group of fellow and able hikers been nearby I would have traveled to them to ask for assistance – or simply advice. A little bit of advice would have given great encouragement.

 

Instead, it was just my dad and I. I was thankful he was in good spirits, coherent, and able to discuss the situation with me.

 

I had thought that cell phones were able to make emergency calls anywhere. I quickly discovered that is not the case. Neither my dad’s (Verizon) or my cell phone (AT&T) was able to place an emergency call from Starbuck Mine.

 

We did know that my dad’s cell phone had reception at the trailhead. The trailhead would be my goal, unless service was acquired sooner. Regardless of where service was acquired I would need to leave to call for emergency help.

 

In the dark, my dad crawled out to a high perch above the beach. I brought him his gear. I brought my own gear out. I sat down. We waited. The hour approached 6AM. It would not take me long to reach the headland. Maybe twenty or thirty minutes. I didn't need to leave until 7:30AM, but with my own anxiety building I ended up departing around 6:45AM.

 

With my full pack on, my feet sank into the steep, rocky banks of the shore. To my left waves crashed. In the dark my headlight shone light on what appeared to be an all-too-close wall of white waves incoming. I felt unsettled. I felt scared. Many questions ran though my head.

 

Would I be able to get around the headland, or would the tide be too high? If I had to go over the overland, would my still-fatigued thighs give out on the rope ladder? How in the world was I going to get myself – and backpack – over that damned downed tree? Once I was near Norwegian, would I get cell phone reception? Or would I have to travel all the way back to the truck? Would the pirates be up? Would they be able to help?

 

The crossing of Cedar Creek did not prove an issue, and was certainly the least of my concerns. As suspected, I reached the headland in about twenty minutes. The moonlight aided my headlamp, but it wasn't enough for me to make a decision as to whether I could get around the headland. I would need to wait for daybreak around 8AM. I knew this was the best decision. Even if I could not make it around the headland, daylight would be beneficial on the overland trail. I backtracked to a pile of driftwood and sat down. I grew cold and began pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. Waiting for daylight, I created a series of mini-goals in the hopes that reaching them would keep me calm and level-headed.

 

I also spent a great deal of time saying, out loud, “You’ll figure it out. Everything will be okay.”

 

My self-pep talks continued as dawn approached. I stood near the rocky headland and reasoned that it certainly looked doable. I watched a series of waves. I inspected how high they were getting. I countered my fears of waves washing me out to sea with knowledge that the tide was, in-fact, still technically going out. I set out on the rocks. My self-pep talks grew louder and more confident. There was no room for fear. I needed to stay safe and get by this headland.

 

And, I did. Once on the sandy shores, adrenaline rushing through me, I retrieved my dad’s cell phone and attempted to place an emergency call to 911. The call appeared to be going through, but then dropped. I moved around on the beach and tried again. Success. The operator answered and inquired the location of my emergency.

 

I answered on the Washington Coast. But this was not enough detail and I knew if I named "Norwegian Memorial" or "Starbuck Mine" this would only further confuse the situation. Instead, I simply said, “Olympic National Park” which resulted in being transferred to ONP’s emergency dispatch. A gentleman answered and inquired about my emergency. I remained calm and relayed basic information before giving specifics such as the coordinates where my dad was located, his age and what gear he had with him. He asked me to stay on the line as he contacted an ONP ranger. I waited for a few minutes and then realized my call had, once again, dropped.

 

I called back. Was transferred back to ONP emergency dispatch and subsequently cut off. I called back again. The 911 dispatcher apologized and connected me to ONP dispatch. The dispatcher asked if I received message from the ranger. No, I had not. He relayed that procedure dictated that a ranger travel to the site to assess the patient. The ranger would be on-site in two hours. I asked if I should return to my dad and wait, expressing need for quick decision with the now incoming tide. The dispatcher encouraged me to return and keep my dad warm until the ranger arrived. I thanked him and wasted no time getting back around the headland.

 

Breathless, I arrived back to my dad and relayed the news. A ranger should be on site around 10AM. 10AM came and went. The fog grew thicker and the tide rose higher. I made my way back and forth to the beach, keeping an eye out for the ranger. Around 10:30AM I spotted a figure emerging from the fog. Once closer, I approached. It was the ranger, Tim Saskowsky. Stationed at Mora, I realized a short time later that I had been in touch with him prior regarding a pesticides canister found near Cedar Creek.

 

Tim was very kind and immediately I felt better knowing I was no longer in the situation alone. Nevertheless, he made it clear from the beginning this would not be a quick process. Apparently emergency rescues are rarely fast. In fact, it could take days before my dad was rescued.

 

He made the initial assessment of my dad, noting swelling of the ankle and possible presence of mild shock. He suggested that we move my dad back into the trees and get him into his sleeping bag to keep him warm. He also suggested we sent up his tent. My dad was initially reluctant about this idea – likely because it foretold that rescue would not be immediate. Ultimately we did set up his tent. Once in there and on his sleeping pad he quickly fell asleep, which was likely best. Much patience and waiting would be required for the next several hours.

 

Due to location, a carry out rescue was not the best – or perhaps even a possible – option. Instead, Tim requested helicopter evacuation via the United States Coast Guard. The Coast Guard may, or may not, choose to take the mission. They use these rescue missions as training. Conditions were somewhat poor at the time the call went in. Low visibility due to increasing fog and the incoming tide was fast decreasing the amount of space available for a rescue swimmer to safely touchdown.

 

The initial request was denied. A second briefing would be held two hours later at 3PM. If conditions improved, it was possible they would perform evacuation that day. If not, it was likely we would be spending another night at the coast. Tim was not prepared to stay the night, so he would need to leave.

 

We spent time collecting fire wood with the mindset: better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Throughout I tried to keep a level head by asking questions an observing Tim’s communications with dispatch and the Coast Guard. When the Coast Guard asked for my dad’s full name, it was taken as a good sign. At least they were considering the mission.

 

We were thankful to see conditions improving by the time 3PM rolled around. But without confirmation from the Coast Guard, Tim cautioned we should not jump the gun or prepare for evacuation just yet.

 

With additional communications, Tim felt encouraged rescue would take place. I woke my dad and we helped him get back out to the bluff above the beach. I quickly broke down his tent and repacked his backpack. There was good chance the Coast Guard would be able to transport his gear with him – which would be of great help as I could not hike out with two backpacks once my dad was rescued (the Coast Guard only transports injured persons, hence Tim and I having to hike back out on our own).

 

Tim received confirmation that the Coast Guard was en-route. This was really going to happen. We helped my dad scoot further down on the beach. We stood waiting, eyes peeled on the headland.

 

And then, all of a sudden, above the headland to the north a helicopter appeared.

 

In that moment everything became very real for me. I think up until this point I had been operating on emergency instinct. Instinct devoid of much personal emotion as I knew getting upset or giving in to fear was going to do little to help the situation. I very much felt a sense of needing to "show up" and "be present."

 

Seeing the helicopter however, choked me up. It felt surreal – as though I was witnessing a scene from a movie playing out in my real life. The helicopter circled wide a couple of times. Tim said it is easier for the pilot to circle, rather than keep the helicopter stationary, as the rescue swimmer prepares.

 

The helicopter approached. The prop wash was strong. The noise was engulfing. I decided, in further effort to remain calm, I’d document the rescue with photos and videos. The salt spray was of concern for my camera but I figured, if need be, I’d buy a new camera.

 

Once the rescue swimmer was ready, the helicopter got into position. The prop wash grew fiercer and Tim motioned me back up to the bluff. I obliged, saying goodbye to my dad along the way.

 

Atop the bluff I watched the scene unfold. The rescue swimmer was lowered onto the beach. He unhooked himself and made his way over to Tim, and then to my dad. They helped him down onto the beach, into position for rescue. The ranger retrieved my dad's backpack. The basket was lowered. They helped my dad into the basket. The rescue swimmer gave command to lift. Up went my dad to the outside of the helicopter and then inside. Once in, a line was lowered. The rescue swimmer strapped on my dad’s backpack, hooked up his harness and away he and the helicopter went. Soon the tremendous noise of the helicopter was gone. All that was left was the sound of the sea.

 

Tim returned, pumped up with adrenaline. It was his first time placing anyone in a Coast Guard basket. I thanked him profusely for all of his assistance. There was little time waste. With darkness fast approaching, if he and I were to hike out that day we needed to get going. I asked him what route he wished to take. His answer was, "The quickest one." While my fears and gut wished for me to take the lesser-traveled, though perhaps safer, Starbuck Mine shortcut I knew that the quickest route would be back via the Norwegian shortcut. This would entail skirting by the headland and tide for the third time that day - or navigating the overland trail route.

 

We hiked fast. Approaching the headland I noted the tide was certainly higher than when I had passed by in the morning. But the rocks were exposed. Neither of us really wanted to use the overland. I pushed my fears aside and we headed for the headland.

 

Atop a rock, a wave approached fast. I quickly had soaking wet feet and an even faster racing heart. I apologized to Tim admitting this was, “a little out of my comfort zone.” Now with water in my boots, I no longer worried about getting wet and made slightly faster progress – my main focus on ensuring safe footing.

 

Finally, reaching the sand, I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I had hiked the Norwegian shortcut in the dark before and felt comfortable with the remaining route to the trailhead. Tim radioed to ONP dispatch and received word that my dad was not being taken to Neah Bay as originally planned, rather the Coast Guard was transporting him back to Port Angeles. I would be able to pick him up at the hospital in Port Angeles.

 

Once at Norwegian, Tim made a quick stop to talk with the pirates who were quite the lively bunch gathered around a campfire listening to the Seattle Seahawks game on a radio. Tim admitted he didn't have time to really address the situation. There were obvious violations – such as improperly stored food and general lack of leave-no-trace practices in camp. He said he would return the following day.

 

I loaned Tim my dad’s headlamp and we began the one mile hike back out through the mud and muck. We made quick time and were back to the trailhead around 6:30PM. After some minor paperwork, we began driving – me to Port Angeles and Tim back to La Push.

 

I arrived at the hospital around 9PM. My dad was in good spirits, despite knowledge that his ankle was broken in three places. We made a quick stop at McDonalds to get some food. I realized I had hardly eaten all day – nor had my dad. The remainder of the ride home was without event, which was entirely welcome after all that had just transpired.

 

. . .

 

One year later. My dad's injury and subsequent recovery kept him from the trail for the majority of the year in 2014. For the first time ever I wasn't able to plan and share wilderness adventures with my my dad. The absence of my dad's company on the trail only further highlighted the fact that he is my primary hiking partner.

 

But, I couldn't not hike. Hiking is what I do. It is what makes me happy. So the year unfolded in different and new directions. I applied for a permit to the Enchantments and the Wonderland Trial. I was unsuccessful at obtaining either. Back to the drawing board. Dayhikes here and there. My first solo overnighter - to the ocean during a big storm. I enjoyed the company of friends and family on the trail (thank you all). I volunteered, a lot (Washington Trails Association work parties, Washington CoastSaver cleanups, Olympic National Park's Marmot Monitoring Program and Mount Rainier's MeadoWatch). Yet, no "big" trip presented itself on the horizon. At least not one of the hiking variety. Instead, an opportunity to visit the Island of Hawaii in late fall. It would require a substantial amount of vacation and likely would keep me from a longer, multi-day trip on the trail. Ultimately 17-days of sunshine was too good to pass up and I put my trip-planning energies into researching and getting to know the Big Island.

 

The Big Island was special. Large in size and vast in beauty, it was an ideal place to play "explorer" for an extended period of time and I felt very much "in my element" as I adventured about the island.

 

My deepest connections to the island came not when I was driving here or there to behold breathtaking vistas and visit magnificent beaches, but rather when I simply put my feet to the earth and started walking. I had the pleasure of making a few hikes while on the island.

 

Hiking out to Lake Waiau and summiting Mauna Kea was certainly a highlight of the trip for me. The challenge of hiking at such high elevations (just under 14,000-feet) was demanding and intense - but so very exhilarating. I felt a great sense of happiness being at Mauna Kea. A few days later I hiked the Kilauea Iki Trail in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. I felt overjoyed hearing the sounds of my footsteps upon the new-to-me landscape. I breathed deeply and took in the sights, sounds and smells. Later in the trip, I made the short - but steep - descent to Kealakekua Bay and the Captain Cook Monument via a well-traveled footpath on lava rock. After several hours of snorkeling the hike back up the path during the heat of the day was a bit tedious. Despite sweat and lack of breath, all I could think was how wonderful it is to challenge our bodies - and in the process - have opportunity to make memories and connections with different places.

 

I hike because I am happy doing so. But, it's more than that. It is, perhaps, the best way I know how to care for myself. Each time I hike, each time I hear the song of my footsteps on the trail - I am, in essence, telling myself, "You are worth it." Worth what? Worth taking care of. Worth creating a practice that has proven, time and time again, to aid in betterment of my mind, body and spirit.

 

I certainly feel thankful to my dad for teaching and encouraging me to hike. The practice has led to life lessons, amazing adventures and discovery of self. This past weekend Lance and I had the pleasure of sharing 10 miles of trail with my dad. Though his recovery continues, I'm happy to have his company return and look forward to seeing where our footsteps take us this year.

Having arrived at the old Southport London Excursion platform sidings, the shunter is preparing to unhook Class 60, No 60084 'Cross Fell' from its train forming the Northenden - Appley Bridge Binliner. The Class 60 in 'Construction' sector markings will then run round its train and reverse back into Platform 6 of Southport Station before proceeding forward to Appley Bridge. 10th August 1993. (D.2981)

Copyright: Doug Birmingham (8A Rail)

 

Arocs - SLT

This is an adlternate model for the

42043 Mercedes-Benz Arocs 3245

 

Details of the model:

 

- A high-quality engineering model for fans and collectors

- Total number of components required - 2876 bricks

- Dimension of model B / T / H = 17,7 / 45,2 / 23,8 cm

  

Functions - electric:

 

Drive forward - backward

Steering left - right

 

Functions - mechanical:

 

Four-axle suspension

Doors for opening

Opening the side boxes

Attaching or unhooking to the saddle

 

The parts list have been optimized for quantity, color and availability.

  

For the instructions click here - STORE CB Technic-MOC´s

 

Thanks for visiting!

   

File: 2012005-0026

  

Ashdown Camp, at Ashdown Farm, off Badsey Road, Evesham, Worcestershire, England, United Kingdom, on Saturday 23rd of June 2012.

  

About this photograph.

 

I should point out that I did not go there to take photographs, I wasn’t doing any projects, not doing any photo-shoots, just simply that my kid and I went there on a day out. We went there just to enjoy a day out, and I only brought along my camera out of habit. My kid and I wanted to enjoy looking at those military vehicles, watch the re-enactment events, and because of this, I did not take any notes of what is going on. I did not read any of the information placed next to the vehicles, and I did not take notes of any details. So details about the subjects are sketchy and as best as I could make out, after finding out from the Internet.

 

This photograph shows one of those old military trucks in the main arena.

 

I have totally no idea of what this truck is, but it looks like a 1910s era truck. The uniforms those re-enactors are wearing, are actually First World War British uniforms, thus I assume that the truck must have been made in the 1910s, and used during WWI. (But then again, it could have been an Interwar era truck, specially if they don’t have any working WWI era trucks.)

 

In the photograph, they are seen getting off the truck, their next course of action was to unhook the field gun, get it into position and set up ready for firing blank rounds, as part of the show.

 

I do not have any knowledge on what this field gun is, I don’t even know what calibre this gun use, but it is likely to be a First World War field gun.

  

About the overall subject.

 

Wartime in the Vale is an annual re-enactment event, held at the former Second World War camp, next to the town of Evesham, during the summer. The event is organised by the Military Vehicle Trust – South Midlands Area.

 

The event is held during the weekend, and believed to have at least more than 500 military vehicles of various eras, but mostly of First and Second World Wars, on display as well as re-enactment events in the main arena, including blank firing of weapons. They even have a flypast over the area.

 

The Ashdown Camp is a 40 acres site, with some old WWII era buildings, mainly huts, located near the Ashdown Farm, just to the east of Evesham.

  

.

You are welcome to comment on my photos, but do NOT use canned comments, which are pre-prepared comment codes that talks more about the groups than my photos. Those are considered to be spam, and will therefore be deleted.

 

Going through old shots from back in July. I've cropped them quite a bit to show their black tipped antennae, not hooked at the end like the Large skipper or orange/brown like the Small skipper. I've learnt quite a lot this summer discovering butterflies, lots more to learn though, roll on next spring!

 

Canon 550D EF-S55-250mm f/4-5.6 IS

ƒ/5.6 250.0 mm 1/1000 ISO 800

The Big Freeze - London, February 1991

At the beginning of February 1991, a bitterly cold spell of weather brought heavy snow to eastern and central England. Temperatures remained below zero in these areas continuously between the 6th and 9th of February and maximum temperatures were between -3 and -5C. During the night of the 7th the snow became heavy and persistent in London, bringing 20 cm in central London and 25cm in boroughs such as Croydon and Bromley, the deepest snow since the winter of 1962-1963.

 

This brought the rail network into chaos, Heathrow was forced to cancel flights and Gatwick and Birmingham airports were closed. On the 8th of February, the snow was lighter and started to ease. However, the cold spell and the snow lasted for several days. More information here:

www.weathercast.co.uk/nc/weather-news/news/article/heavy_...

 

and here: www.netweather.tv/forum/topic/34026-winter-1990-91-the-gr...

 

Everyone likes a bit of rail chaos - especially when you were a basher in the 1980s-90s!

Another time capsule from the Big Freeze of Feb 1991. A massive Class 56 is seen here at Dartford station, waiting to drag a pair of 4-EPBs on a local NSE service to Charing Cross. An extremely rare event indeed and I couldn't believe my luck, as I'd just had a Crompton drag out from my home station of Lewisham. However, my hopes were dashed when a fitter came along to unhook the Grid!!! Apparently, the driver hadn't been trained up on 56s :( I was at least treated to a replacement in the form of a Crompton all the way into Charing Cross - massive ;) UPDATE - Just found my original log book and the Class 56 PUSHED the EPB sets from London Bridge to Dartford!!! Hence the red lights still showing :)

 

Taken with a Nikon F-501 SLR camera with 75-200mm lens.

 

You can see a random selection of my railway photos here on Flickriver: www.flickriver.com/photos/themightyhood/random/

Back out again on A scenic kayak fishing trip this time . I choose Loch Leven , the one in the Highlands of Scotland . With The Pap of Glencoe for background and mild weather the trip looks promising . Only 3 kayak this time , It's Monday ! We Camped in the 4 wheel tin-box the night before , right thing to do , Early rise and ready to go .We paddle out facing the gorgeous Scenery and head for the big Buoy right in the middle . We tie on ,1,2,3 kayak tied on to each other . The first drop into 150 ft of water is looking good , 10 minutes wait creating a scent trail and fish are coming up fast . The inevitable Dogfish , Small Ray and Mackerel are coming from the very deep and even a ling for good measure .Trio of kayakers lifting fish and releasing looking for something extra special . We moved to the next structure and there armed with light tackle and sabiki we lift some more mackerel , Whiting and Saith . Fresh Mackerel will make great bait later on and we moved to another buoy . I hook into this fish and I know it's a ray . Heavy lifting from the very deep , My arms are hurting and I love it . This is a doubler , Ray and dogfish hooked together ,And the ray the size of a massive dinner plate . I unhook the Dogfish , release it and process with the Ray . Those fish are amazing , looks like they have been there a million years ago . The skin is rough , plenty sharp bits on the tail end and I carefully unhook the fish and let it fly back to the depths . We are fishing like gladiators and working 2 rods each this is fun . We head to the little island where ancestors were buried , the very old Clan, little break , walk about and we are off again . Last Buoy to try , the one in the far distance about a mile away . Once again we tie on and the challenge is not to catch any dogfish , those are really plentiful . I set my heavy boat rod and bait the feeder cage . Knock ,knock , and then a proper slow heavy pull . I know this fish is heavy straight on . A dozen turn of the reel and then Ding ! The fish chew the heavy trace . Lesson Learned , this one was a biggie and I'll shall use wire trace the next time . We finish off the day with great smiles on our faces and not even a frost bite . Heading back home with images of Scotland in our heads , and this constant lifting , What a great day

The latest adventure took us to the bonnie banks of loch Lomond . Loch Lomond is one of the largest water in Britain .We started from Balmaha , scenic tiny village , full of tourists in the summer months .Early morning on the water ,three kayaks in total .We paddled out there slaloming through the moored boats . First stop was between the islands , we anchored there hoping for some coarse fish in the deeper channel .Swim feeder ,maggots ,home dig worms and all we were hoping for some activity down below .I knew this would be a waste of time , with a very wet summer we had lately in store the water was totally coloured , and the visibility nul . I decided to paddle on and fly fish for pike further away close to the numerous islands . The paddle took us less than 10 mn and I managed a small pike trolling a deep diving lure .Catching a fish is always a bonus , I unhook the toothy creature and promptly let him swim back to the cool water .We fished on close to the island , nothing is biting , the water is well coloured .Time to move on again .Charlie is back today after 2 years of no kayaking .Bad shoulder but the man is soldiering on .This is not just fishing ,we are exploring the wild Scotland with no one in sight ,amazingly the city close by homes 800 000 people . I decided to paddle around the main island , the cloud cover around our head is phenomenal and the osprey circling above is magical .Back to the deep channel again ,we anchored there .I think hard hoping for a perch . A single perch would make my kayak fishing season species catch go up to 19 .Nothing is biting once again , and the rain is about to lash .We paddle back to the boatyard ,boatyards are always good , fish like covers .Nothing is biting there either so I decided to head back for another paddle .Stuart in his hobie pedal kayak is doing great , the pedal kayak is immensely powerful and fast . Last shallow bay and last try for a fish .The weed is covering the bay and the fish are hiding just below .I paddle through the jungle and spook some monsters .We decide to head home slowly . I cast and cast again drifting ,fish number two is on ,another jack pike ,small and feisty .I cast my favorite deep diving lure ,find the drop off and paddle away and then fish on .Nothing big but hey this is a perch ,a bonnie little perch I will remember for a while because this is species number 19 on the kayak 2015 . I hate to say my friends had no fish today ,one of those day .But our way of fishing will always be wilderness ,nature , adventure and friendship .Long last Kayak fishing and I hope this will inspire others .

Original mech unbroken:

www.flickr.com/photos/94659235@N06/12012426553/

 

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as requested :)

 

I actually have a few more shots of the plating around the dragon but they're essentially just attached to that 4L bar via clips + brackets :)

 

The pic on the left actually has one 1x2 plate with bar unhooked from that 1x2 red inverted slope :/ only noticed it now but it's supposed to be attached for stability of the top "armor" to the waist section.

 

p.s. here's to hoping to see more mechanized dragons ;)

To view more of my images, of insects and creepy crawlies, please click "here" !

 

The Brazilian salmon pink bird-eating tarantula (Lasiodora parahybana), also simply known as the Salmon Pink or LP, is a relatively large tarantula from north-eastern Brazil. L. parahybana is considered to be the third largest tarantula in the world (behind Theraphosa blondi and Theraphosa apophysis; however, the largest spider is the giant huntsman spider in terms of leg-span). It was discovered and described in 1917 by Cândido Firmino de Mello-Leitão, in Paraíba, where the tarantula is endemic. They are popular pets in the tarantula hobby due to their large size and readiness to breed. The salmon pink bird-eater can attain a leg size of up to 11 inches; especially in males as their legs are longer than the female’s. However, females can weigh more than 100 grams. Females are often ‘bulky;’ they have a large body size in comparison to their legs. Males tend to be slender in body size. This is sexual dimorphism. Mature males will also have tibial hooks on the front pair of legs; these hook back a female’s fangs during mating. They are considered a ‘pretty’ tarantula species; they are a uniform black colour, and once mature, have pink-red hairs along the legs, chelicerae and abdomen; in males, the colour tends to be more vibrant. Black or brown hair covers the rest of the tarantula.

L. parahybana are endemic to Brazil in the Atlantic forest region of the country; they are known from one area near Campina Grande. When threatened, the tarantula will raise its legs in the air, as well as the front of its body, in order to deter predators. If the attacker continues to attack, the tarantula will bite. The Brazilian salmon pink tarantula is capable of delivering a painful bite. They are known to bite only when provoked, and even then, this is a last resort. Bites from an L. parahybana are mechanically dangerous; fangs can be up to an inch long. Some sites claim that a bite from a salmon pink is similar to that of a cat. However, rather than biting, they choose to flick urticating hairs from a patch on their abdomen; these hairs are covered in barbs which irritate the skin and put off potential predators. These hairs are extremely irritating; in the hobby, they are considered to be one of the more painful hair types. If the hairs are thrown into the eyes, blindness can occur. In the wild, a salmon pink will feed mainly on large insects, and occasionally amphibians and small reptiles. Although they are known as a bird-eating spider, there is very little evidence to suggest they actually catch and eat birds. They do not spin webs to catch prey; instead, they will lie in wait and strike prey as it passes by. As an ambush predator, they will quickly inject venom into prey to subdue it. In the wild, the tarantula will inhabit the forest floor, where it will take up residence in hiding places such as leaf-litter, inside logs, or in burrows or out in the open. Due to their exoskeleton and method of growth, salmon pinks will regularly moult out of their old skin; this is known as ecdysis. Like most tarantulas, they will lie on their back and force themselves out of their old skin. During this time, they are at risk of predation. A tarantula will stop eating a few days before this process. During the breeding season, males will deposit sperm from their abdomen onto a webbed mat, also known as a sperm web. They will then “soak” up the sperm with its pedipalps and find a female. When a female is located, the two trade signals in order to establish species, and to discover if the female is receptive. The male will push a female back with his front two legs, using the tibial hooks to push the fangs back in order to prevent being over-powered and eaten by the female. He will then insert his pedipalp into the epigastric furrow on the female’s abdomen and empties his pedipalp. He repeats this with the other pedipalp. Once mating is over, the male will unhook his front legs from the female and run. Females have a tendency to give chase for a short while; males who are too slow are at risk of being eaten in order to sustain the future embryos. Brazilian salmon pink tarantulas are very popular in captivity; this is for a number of reasons. Their appearance, both in size and color, makes them desirable. Their willingness to sit out in the open also makes them popular. They are also a cheaper option than a T. blondi; L. parahybana reproduces in large numbers to the point that the price of spiderlings drops dramatically.

 

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A young fisherman proudly unhooked his most recent catch and added the fish to his bucket. While he proudly turned to us to tell us about his success, the fish literally leaped out of the bucket, through the railings in the pier, and back to the sea and safety several yards below. That was one less fish to fry.

Looking splendid in its BR green with full headcode panel display, 40145 bathes in the sun on platform 2 with the 1000 from Rawtenstall.

 

Here at Bury, the 40 unhooked in order to hand the train over to 50015.

Arrived in Zion NP yesterday evening, just as the sun was going down and it was well after dark when I had everything all set up and ready for a little peace and relaxation.

 

My memory card reader, the one that has been with me since the beginning, gave it up a couple of days ago, while I was at Antelope Island, and so I got to go out hunt one down today before going out shooting. Ended up in Hurricane, that is past Springdale, Rockville, Virgin, etc., and so bought some groceries and one of those little crock pots for $4. Amazing what one can cook when they have electricity - even got to try out my microwave this morning, almost forgot that the thing was down in that cupboard. For tomorrow I have the little coffee pot out to make some brew. Woo hoo, living high. It is warm, sunny, the bathroom is next door, quiet, slow, peaceful and everything that I could possibly need. And some things I don't right now, like cross country skis and snow shoes. Actually thinking at this point that warm weather is where it is at and those things might not be needed this winter. Amazing how a little electricity can improve one's disposition! Tomorrow I will have to get back on the roof and work on sealing it some more - after that I just pray. Roughing it is overrated once you reach a certain age.

 

Antelope Island is an interesting place and difficult to shoot because of the smog that fills that valley. Salt Lake is perfectly still and the mountains are reflected in it but the haze is thick. Still, I enjoyed myself and had time to just hang out. The short trip from Willard SP to Antelope Island was hell because the traffic was thick and the trailer was not pulling well. I was ready to unhook and walk away. But I was able to make sure the tanks were empty and my belongings were distributed differently. The trailer pulled to Zion like a dream and I gained more than two miles per gallon. Huge progress as I was sucking up gas and it was driving me crazy. So it was a good stop over.

 

Didn't make it out until late in the afternoon and drove right past the hoards of photographers lined up on the bridge and then took the wrong turn. Got to the 1.1 mile tunnel and told myself that I might as well go home because this crap was not going to work. Made it through, barely. Another couple of miles before realizing that it was the wrong road and then suddenly it was the right turn when I found the big horns on the red rocks. It is that time of year again and the boys are out. This gal was rejected and she wasn't too happy about it.

This was the first view I had of New River Beach. We had to stop here even before we unhooked the trailer from the truck. The view was amazing. I still can't get this picture out of my head...I could spend an eternity there just sitting watching the tide come in and go out.