How to assemble hydro flask lid

I bought the Twice The Pride pack, my friends have core sets so I just bought this pack to use. The Magnaguards were the biggest pain to assemble. I'm not great at assembly but these were especially tricky. I'm not proud of how they look but at least they are built. Dooku and Jango were a breeze to build. Also RIP to one of the chest pieces for one of them. I ended up losing it as it fell off and bounced off my floor. Anybody else have any trouble with any of the models? Looking forward to playing once my friends get their core sets built.

Heating/lighting.
Hey guys. I currently have a 40 gallon breeder with 6 very young highland bronze froglets, and a 20 gallon (tall I believe..) with 2 very young pena Blanca froglets, and a 30x12x16 front opening Zoo med with 5 adult Mourning Geckos.
I talked to several people about this prior and was told that the light will hold a lot more heat than I think, and that's not the case.. Basically if I use a basking lamp (regardless of how high I hang it) if it's low enough to provide the desired heat, it's drying the tank out to quick, and I can't keep their humidity up.
I bought 4 little thermometehumidity readers, that had 4.7 stars with like 17k reviews. And they pretty much read the same. Their hanging out right around 70 degrees. (68-71)
I want them all as close to 75 as I can. So I did a few hours of research last night and bought a few thermostats.. I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU KNOW IF ITS TRUSTWORTHY OR NOT. So I bought a heat gun with tons of reviews and 4.9 stars. Everywhere I scan pretty much shows as 68-70.
I set up a BN Link (BNQ-T7B (H)) And hooked up a "VIVOHOME Seedling heat mat 10"×20.75" " to the 20 gallon Tall. I set it to a low of 74, and a high of 77. (F) I put the probe through the lid, and let it hang about a half inch abave the substrate in the front right corner. The temperature is pretty steady 75 -76, and doesn't activate the mat very often. The tiny thermometer says 78.5, the thermostat says 76.6, and the heat gun says 75.6.
What do I trust??? Also, I don't know if the heat mat is working, because I don't understand the different between the basking lamps, and the strip lights. Right now the 20 g tall has a t5 zoo med fixture with a full length bulb in it, and it seems to provide a pretty steady amount of heat, but doesn't make anything hot. But when I shut it off for day night cycle.. back down to 63-67 (F)
In the Mourning gecko tank. I have the same pad, (but it's green..?) And the same under the 40 g breeder. Hooked up to a "LuxBird" dual thermostat. Set both sides to 75 low, and 78 high (F). They've been going for almost 4 hours hours now, and have come up to 70 degrees from 68.1, and 67.8. Now at 69.8, and 69.7 (F) I just watched one go from 70.1, down to 69.9 while typing this.. The probes are in very similar places. No lights on these guys right now. I know the Geckos need a basking spot, but is was drying the humidity up pretty quick. What do I do about that..? And then I just have a really low, small fluorescent bulb, in a lamp, over the 40 breeder for day time. Adds heat, but mayybee 1 degree at the most..
Please help. I have been pulling my hair out for 36 hours because I'm so stressed, and want to make sure these guys are happy as can be. Any heating ideas, Good thermostat recommendations, bulbs, anything!
How do you guys heat/light your dart frog/Mourning gecko tanks?
The catch is, my house stays at about 62-65 degrees. Otherwise they would stay pretty warm for the most part. I set my thermostat to 74 for the last few days for them till I figure this out, but I think the misting just keeps them at 67, 68 ish..
Thanks for any help in advance! Cheers!🍻

Heating/lighting.
Hey guys. I currently have a 40 gallon breeder with 6 very young highland bronze froglets, and a 20 gallon (tall I believe..) with 2 very young pena Blanca froglets, and a 30x12x16 front opening Zoo med with 5 adult Mourning Geckos.
I talked to several people about this prior and was told that the light will hold a lot more heat than I think, and that's not the case.. Basically if I use a basking lamp (regardless of how high I hang it) if it's low enough to provide the desired heat, it's drying the tank out to quick, and I can't keep their humidity up.
I bought 4 little thermometehumidity readers, that had 4.7 stars with like 17k reviews. And they pretty much read the same. Their hanging out right around 70 degrees. (68-71)
I want them all as close to 75 as I can. So I did a few hours of research last night and bought a few thermostats.. I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU KNOW IF ITS TRUSTWORTHY OR NOT. So I bought a heat gun with tons of reviews and 4.9 stars. Everywhere I scan pretty much shows as 68-70.
I set up a BN Link (BNQ-T7B (H)) And hooked up a "VIVOHOME Seedling heat mat 10"×20.75" " to the 20 gallon Tall. I set it to a low of 74, and a high of 77. (F) I put the probe through the lid, and let it hang about a half inch abave the substrate in the front right corner. The temperature is pretty steady 75 -76, and doesn't activate the mat very often. The tiny thermometer says 78.5, the thermostat says 76.6, and the heat gun says 75.6.
What do I trust??? Also, I don't know if the heat mat is working, because I don't understand the different between the basking lamps, and the strip lights. Right now the 20 g tall has a t5 zoo med fixture with a full length bulb in it, and it seems to provide a pretty steady amount of heat, but doesn't make anything hot. But when I shut it off for day night cycle.. back down to 63-67 (F)
In the Mourning gecko tank. I have the same pad, (but it's green..?) And the same under the 40 g breeder. Hooked up to a "LuxBird" dual thermostat. Set both sides to 75 low, and 78 high (F). They've been going for almost 4 hours hours now, and have come up to 70 degrees from 68.1, and 67.8. Now at 69.8, and 69.7 (F) I just watched one go from 70.1, down to 69.9 while typing this.. The probes are in very similar places. No lights on these guys right now. I know the Geckos need a basking spot, but is was drying the humidity up pretty quick. What do I do about that..? And then I just have a really low, small fluorescent bulb, in a lamp, over the 40 breeder for day time. Adds heat, but mayybee 1 degree at the most..
Please help. I have been pulling my hair out for 36 hours because I'm so stressed, and want to make sure these guys are happy as can be. Any heating ideas, Good thermostat recommendations, bulbs, anything!
How do you guys heat/light your dart frog/Mourning gecko tanks?
The catch is, my house stays at about 62-65 degrees. Otherwise they would stay pretty warm for the most part. I set my thermostat to 74 for the last few days for them till I figure this out, but I think the misting just keeps them at 67, 68 ish..
Thanks for any help in advance! Cheers!🍻

Heating/lighting.
Hey guys. I currently have a 40 gallon breeder with 6 very young highland bronze froglets, and a 20 gallon (tall I believe..) with 2 very young pena Blanca froglets, and a 30x12x16 front opening Zoo med with 5 adult Mourning Geckos.
I talked to several people about this prior and was told that the light will hold a lot more heat than I think, and that's not the case.. Basically if I use a basking lamp (regardless of how high I hang it) if it's low enough to provide the desired heat, it's drying the tank out to quick, and I can't keep their humidity up.
I bought 4 little thermometehumidity readers, that had 4.7 stars with like 17k reviews. And they pretty much read the same. Their hanging out right around 70 degrees. (68-71)
I want them all as close to 75 as I can. So I did a few hours of research last night and bought a few thermostats.. I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU KNOW IF ITS TRUSTWORTHY OR NOT. So I bought a heat gun with tons of reviews and 4.9 stars. Everywhere I scan pretty much shows as 68-70.
I set up a BN Link (BNQ-T7B (H)) And hooked up a "VIVOHOME Seedling heat mat 10"×20.75" " to the 20 gallon Tall. I set it to a low of 74, and a high of 77. (F) I put the probe through the lid, and let it hang about a half inch abave the substrate in the front right corner. The temperature is pretty steady 75 -76, and doesn't activate the mat very often. The tiny thermometer says 78.5, the thermostat says 76.6, and the heat gun says 75.6.
What do I trust??? Also, I don't know if the heat mat is working, because I don't understand the different between the basking lamps, and the strip lights. Right now the 20 g tall has a t5 zoo med fixture with a full length bulb in it, and it seems to provide a pretty steady amount of heat, but doesn't make anything hot. But when I shut it off for day night cycle.. back down to 63-67 (F)
In the Mourning gecko tank. I have the same pad, (but it's green..?) And the same under the 40 g breeder. Hooked up to a "LuxBird" dual thermostat. Set both sides to 75 low, and 78 high (F). They've been going for almost 4 hours hours now, and have come up to 70 degrees from 68.1, and 67.8. Now at 69.8, and 69.7 (F) I just watched one go from 70.1, down to 69.9 while typing this.. The probes are in very similar places. No lights on these guys right now. I know the Geckos need a basking spot, but is was drying the humidity up pretty quick. What do I do about that..? And then I just have a really low, small fluorescent bulb, in a lamp, over the 40 breeder for day time. Adds heat, but mayybee 1 degree at the most..
Please help. I have been pulling my hair out for 36 hours because I'm so stressed, and want to make sure these guys are happy as can be. Any heating ideas, Good thermostat recommendations, bulbs, anything!
How do you guys heat/light your dart frog/Mourning gecko tanks?
The catch is, my house stays at about 62-65 degrees. Otherwise they would stay pretty warm for the most part. I set my thermostat to 74 for the last few days for them till I figure this out, but I think the misting just keeps them at 67, 68 ish..
Thanks for any help in advance! Cheers!🍻

Hey guys. I currently have a 40 gallon breeder with 6 very young highland bronze froglets, and a 20 gallon (tall I believe..) with 2 very young pena Blanca froglets, and a 30x12x16 front opening Zoo med with 5 adult Mourning Geckos.
I talked to several people about this prior and was told that the light will hold a lot more heat than I think, and that's not the case.. Basically if I use a basking lamp (regardless of how high I hang it) if it's low enough to provide the desired heat, it's drying the tank out to quick, and I can't keep their humidity up.
I bought 4 little thermometehumidity readers, that had 4.7 stars with like 17k reviews. And they pretty much read the same. Their hanging out right around 70 degrees. (68-71)
I want them all as close to 75 as I can. So I did a few hours of research last night and bought a few thermostats.. I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU KNOW IF ITS TRUSTWORTHY OR NOT. So I bought a heat gun with tons of reviews and 4.9 stars. Everywhere I scan pretty much shows as 68-70.
I set up a BN Link (BNQ-T7B (H)) And hooked up a "VIVOHOME Seedling heat mat 10"×20.75" " to the 20 gallon Tall. I set it to a low of 74, and a high of 77. (F) I put the probe through the lid, and let it hang about a half inch abave the substrate in the front right corner. The temperature is pretty steady 75 -76, and doesn't activate the mat very often. The tiny thermometer says 78.5, the thermostat says 76.6, and the heat gun says 75.6.
What do I trust??? Also, I don't know if the heat mat is working, because I don't understand the different between the basking lamps, and the strip lights. Right now the 20 g tall has a t5 zoo med fixture with a full length bulb in it, and it seems to provide a pretty steady amount of heat, but doesn't make anything hot. But when I shut it off for day night cycle.. back down to 63-67 (F)
In the Mourning gecko tank. I have the same pad, (but it's green..?) And the same under the 40 g breeder. Hooked up to a "LuxBird" dual thermostat. Set both sides to 75 low, and 78 high (F). They've been going for almost 4 hours hours now, and have come up to 70 degrees from 68.1, and 67.8. Now at 69.8, and 69.7 (F) I just watched one go from 70.1, down to 69.9 while typing this.. The probes are in very similar places. No lights on these guys right now. I know the Geckos need a basking spot, but is was drying the humidity up pretty quick. What do I do about that..? And then I just have a really low, small fluorescent bulb, in a lamp, over the 40 breeder for day time. Adds heat, but mayybee 1 degree at the most..
Please help. I have been pulling my hair out for 36 hours because I'm so stressed, and want to make sure these guys are happy as can be. Any heating ideas, Good thermostat recommendations, bulbs, anything!
How do you guys heat/light your dart frog/Mourning gecko tanks?
The catch is, my house stays at about 62-65 degrees. Otherwise they would stay pretty warm for the most part. I set my thermostat to 74 for the last few days for them till I figure this out, but I think the misting just keeps them at 67, 68 ish..
Thanks for any help in advance! Cheers!🍻

Hello, like the title says I am autistic, have severe treatment-resistant depression (for over a decade now), and also have ADHD. This is all relevant because it greatly affects what type of job I can do, not just which ones I can perform well at but which ones I can keep a job at without having to quit due to it making me miserable. I’m bad at trying to explain things about myself due to the aforementioned issues but I will try, feel free to ask any questions you have and I will do my best to answer. I’ve talked to people about this issue before (family, my therapist in college, friends) but they just end up getting frustrated with me because none of their suggestions would work, which is kind of funny since I experience the same frustration except I can’t just walk away, this is my life.
I will include more info about my work and educational background below, but I was wondering if a job matching the following description exists, and if it does, would I be in any way qualified for it: The job consists of me doing whatever productive thing(s) largely on my own, largely unsupervised, with few disturbances; there needs to be at least a little critical thinking involved, not something like an assembly line repeating the same exact same over and over; it can’t involve much manual labor; I could wear earphones to listen to podcasts / music etc. and have my phone out at least some of the time as long as I got the work done satisfactorily. Does anyone know of a job like this?
I currently work at the front desk of a hotel. I started in the field almost exactly a year ago, I started out working nights only after it was suggested to me as a job that didn’t involve doing much actual work. However, I was too good at the actual job parts of the job so I got moved to working day shifts. Eventually they kept increasing the amount of work I was expected to do (some weeks I ended up working 80 or more hours) without any corresponding pay raise, until I couldn’t take it anymore and got a job at a different hotel after working there for 6 months. It’s been almost 6 months at the new hotel, and while they don’t work me half-to-death hours-wise like the old hotel, the job itself involves quite a bit more work, and the schedule is crazy. (On the new “regular schedule” starting next week, in one week I will work two 7am-3pm shifts, one 3pm-11pm shift, and two overnight 11pm-7am shift… with one “day off” between working an overnight and a 7am.)
The problem is not that I am bad at my job, in fact I am very good at it, but the toll it takes on my mental health. Also, I want to move to a bigger city soon, and at those hotels usually more than one person works at the front desk at a time, and I can’t do a job where I am always being observed. My favorite parts of my job are preparing the reservations for check-in, there are lots of details that need paid attention to, different types of reservations have to be set up differently, and I am very good at doing so accurately, I’m good at following a sort of flowchart in my head, being aware of multiple rules at once if that makes sense, and when I was first trained for the job I was told I picked it up the quickest out of anyone the managers had ever trained. I like assigning rooms to guests based on their preferences, making the keys, personalizing their registration cards based on details like their rewards club status and whether they’ve stayed at the hotel before, etc.
As for other jobs I’ve tried, I was a substitute teacher for a few months (did not enjoy besides when I got to just read a book for most of the day because the work left for them was worksheets, I’m not a fan of children and I don’t like explaining things to people, or rather I am bad at it due to my language processing disorder) and worked as a cashier at a grocery store for less than a month because I was actually about to end it all from how miserable it made me. As for my education, I have a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science (regretfully) from a good school (Carleton College) with a not-great GPA (2.75-ish) and am unable to pursue further education due to an inability to write essays (due to ADHD, and a lack of funds).
I am sorry if this was too long or unfocused, but any help or advice would be deeply appreciated, as my mental health is suffering a lot and I do unfortunately need to make money to survive. It would also help if the job paid at least as much as my current job (I make $16.50 as a hotel front desk clerk in a city close to Nashville) as I am trying to save up enough money to move out of an emotionally abusive family living situation.

Blackwater Bay. 200 AC OST - See the Fire in Your Eyes (Moving Camps) Hymnal
Willem stood on the rocky shores, his weary eyes fixated on the devastating aftermath that lay before him. The acrid stench of burnt flesh mingled with the briny scent of the sea, assaulting his senses and leaving an indelible mark upon his weary soul. The once pristine waters, now tainted with the remnants of a great battle, lapped ominously against the scarred shoreline. The morning mist cloaked the beach, lending an eerie ambiance to the desolation that stretched as far as his aged eyes could see. Swollen and charred corpses dotted the shore, their broken forms a grotesque tapestry of twisted limbs and contorted expressions frozen in eternal agony. Each lifeless body told a tale of valor and despair, of dreams cut short and promises unfulfilled.
Amongst the fallen, Willem's gaze fell upon a young soldier, barely a man, his visage marred by the cruel hand of war. A splintered beam lay upon him, wrapped in the fraying salted ropes of rigging. He had a rusting bit of armor on. It likely was polished before his doom. This boy was a knight. The knight's eyes, once filled with hope and determination, stared lifelessly into the endless expanse of the heavens above. Willem felt a pang of sorrow deep within his chest.
"I do not believe that she has condemned us to destruction."
A mournful wind whispered through the rigging and ropes strewn across the beach, a haunting chorus that accompanied the tragic tableau. On the wind he heard Ser Ilyn Crakehall's reply. Every face he looked upon, swollen and charred, every lightless eye. The remnants of destroyed ships, mere fragments of their former glory, served as a solemn reminder of the carnage that had taken place upon the waters. The sea, once a source of life and sustenance, now offered naught but a final resting place for the fallen, claiming their battered forms as its own. The surf and tide were awash with the aftermath.
As Willem treaded along the shoreline, his weathered boots sinking into the sand, he couldn't help but reflect upon his own life. His once unyielding sense of honor had been tarnished by the relentless march of time, battles fought and comrades lost. Deeds done. The weight of regret settled upon his weary shoulders, his footsteps echoing with a melancholic cadence.
He had unironically warned a member of the Kingsguard of the impending destruction, a dire premonition that had fallen upon deaf ears. The bitterness of that moment still lingered, a bitter taste upon his tongue. Willem had seen the fire in his dreams, and had felt the impending doom like a weight upon his very soul, and yet his warnings had been dismissed as the ramblings of an old knight lost in his own sorrow.
Now, as he walked amidst the aftermath, Willem couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. The battles fought and lives lost seemed but a tragic cycle, an unending dance of death and despair. Yet, amidst the ashes souls, timber, sail, and fallen heroes, a flicker of purpose ignited within his weathered heart. He would not let his tarnished honor define his final days. Perhaps, in this desolate landscape of broken dreams, he could find redemption, a chance to restore a glimmer of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
With each step, Willem carried the weight of the fallen upon his shoulders, their unfulfilled dreams and shattered lives etched deep within his soul. The somber melody of his footsteps, accompanied by the mournful dirge of the wind, became a requiem for the fallen, a testament to the fragility of life and the indomitable spirit that resided within the human heart.
The sun began to pierce through the heavy clouds, casting its feeble light upon the battlefield of land and sea, Willem raised his gaze. He would not falter in the face of despair . He would honor the fallen, fight for the dreams that had been lost, and see the fire in his own eyes once more.
As Willem continued his solemn march along the shore, he became aware of a somber congregation of smallfolk. Their presence was a stark reminder that the devastation wrought by war extended far beyond the fallen warriors and into the lives of the innocent. Scavengers, driven by desperation and survival, scoured the wreckage for any semblance of value, their actions a heartbreaking testament to the harsh realities of a world torn asunder. Some scavengers, their faces etched with weariness and sorrow, delicately pulled the lifeless bodies from the tangled flotsam and shattered remnants of once-proud ships. Their hands moved with a reverence born of necessity, for even in death, these fallen souls deserved a modicum of dignity. It was a bittersweet sight, as the scavengers toiled, both driven by the instinct to survive and burdened by the weight of their macabre task.
But amidst the scavengers, Willem's gaze settled upon a group of holyfolk, figures draped in somber robes that denoted their sacred calling. The Silent Sisters, their veiled faces concealing both their grief and their dedication, moved with solemn grace. They tended to the fallen, preparing them for their final journey, cleansing their bodies, and whispering prayers for their departed souls.
Nearby, septas and septons stood in prayerful contemplation, their voices carrying the weight of solace and hope. They offered words of comfort to those gathered, soothing the wounds of loss and lending strength to the weary hearts of the bereaved. The solemnity of their presence added a touch of divinity to the desolate shore, reminding all who witnessed their devotion that even in the darkest of times, faith could still be found.
Willem approached the holyfolk. He watched as they carefully arranged the lifeless bodies upon wooden pyres, creating a solemn assembly of kindling for the flames of farewell. The scent of incense mingled with the acrid remnants of battle, offering a brief respite from the harsh realities that surrounded them.
Moved by a sense of duty and the remnants of his tarnished honor, Willem approached one of the holyfolk, his voice low and filled with quiet resolve. "How may I assist you in this solemn task, sister?" he asked, his weary eyes meeting hers with a flicker of recognition, but then determination.
The sister, her eyes lined with sorrow, offered a faint smile of gratitude. "Your presence alone is a comfort, good knight," she replied, her voice laden with weariness and resilience. "If you would lend a hand in preparing the pyres, it would be a kindness to both the fallen and those left behind." She spoke quickly, but her voice was kept low - reverence was key here.
And so, Willem joined the holyfolk, his weathered hands embracing the weighty responsibility of bidding farewell to the fallen. Together, they placed the bodies upon the pyres, their movements guided by a delicate balance of reverence and practicality. The flickering light of the approaching flames danced upon their faces, a gentle caress of warmth that seemed to offer solace even in the face of tragedy.
Pyres were set ablaze and Willem felt a profound sense of purpose fill his weary heart. He had not witnessed the battle upon the bay, but in this solemn moment, amidst the scavengers and the holyfolk, he became an unwitting witness to the aftermath, a bearer of witness to the cost of war. And in this act of service, he found a flicker of redemption for his tarnished honor, a chance to ease the suffering of others and breathe life into the embers of hope that still glimmered within him.
Together, they stood, smallfolk and knight, united in their shared sorrow and the collective determination to honor the fallen. As the smoke rose skyward, carrying the souls of the departed to realms unknown, Willem's gaze remained fixed upon the flames, his heart heavy with the weight of the fallen and the resolute desire to see the fire in their eyes burn bright once more.

June 3, 2023. 10:34PM Perhaps I am being a little unfair when I say that this place is Hell’s collection plate for those not wicked enough for eternal condemnation but not quite lucky enough to be born to purgatory, which is to say, I am right at home. I suppose Wylwood is my home now. As someone once told me, “You really never can go back.” Not that I ever want to go back home, though I suppose the offer is still on the table. But I am getting ahead of myself. Wylwood is one of those little towns tucked deep in the dark Appalachia forest where everyone knows every single thing about everyone else and their last twelve generations going back. Just ask any person you run across what exactly a “double first cousin” is. Of course, for the towns older women, this is treated as a matchmaking request, so please apply caution here. Wylwood is a small town, population of around 2,200, if you only count people and not the many ghouls, bears, and other large commonly thought to be extinct mammals that call this place home. The town is rather snake-like and follows along an abundant river that carves a path between steep and unforgiving hillside. Incidentally, as a traveling passenger goes by, they will notice all of the towns buildings that haven’t been burned or boarded up are located between rock and river with nearly ludicrous amounts of train track interspersed. Coal, poverty and despair are the major exports of this town. Visitors to the nearby national park are the only true imports. The town also proudly supports it’s very own emergency room, post office, and no less than three dollar stores, and one restaurant in a converted car repair garage. My name is Kate Fugate, you may call me Kate, you may call me Katie, frankly you can call me Fido for all I care. You may not call me by my birth name, and just to make myself clear, no, I’m not going to tell you, so there. I am 27, and I have recently decided that I need to start this online diary as well, this is really, really, REALLY hard for me to acknowledge. “Just accept it Kate.” My inner dialogue says. “Must I though?” I argue, “Nothing is certain, it is not set.” “Damn it, Kate.” The dialogue is much more forceful this time “It happens to EVERYONE, it has spared NONE of them, not one, and you are not special.” “Fine, but let me do this on my terms.” I concede. I, Kate Fugate, probably, though will not say for certain, have a hereditary, issue? Conundrum? The problem is, my entire hereditary line of females, probably going back to Lilith herself has had an early onset dementia with some downright weird symptoms. The great majority of them are able to “pass” as socially normal but everyone always feels something is just a bit off. Would they feel the same, I wonder if they shared a home for as long as I did? The point of this journaling is because I want to retain as much memory as possible and I want a reference point, so when or if my grasp with reality become untethered, I won’t be too adrift. Already, I feel something is very wrong with the picture. Why in one of the biggest coal producing areas is there a hydroelectric plant? You tell me. No, seriously tell me. Most of the locals are opposed to renewable energy as they feel it is a threat to their livelihood but when talking about this specific hydro plant it is considered absolutely crucial. Why is it too, that absolutely no one local would be interested in this job when it was a better option than most in the area? I was offered a very generous sign on bonus with the government after graduating with a Marine Biology degree that, after being given ton of loans, I found out was not in as much demand as the college led me to believe. The contract outlines that I must stay here for 10 years, housing will be provided, but failure to stay my term will result in “severe penalties.” “And what exactly are those penalties, Mrs. Wedgewood?” I ask to the 6ft, very stern woman across a poorly constructed desk from me. I estimate she is in her 60’s going on her 70’s. She is wearing khaki pants and a blue button down shirt and has white hair that is nearly shimmering over with a purple tint. “Listen, Miss, umm, Miss is the name your pare- “ She looked at me inquisitively before I cut her off. “Yes, yes it is. They were non traditional individuals. Just call me Kate, please.” I give her a look to hope she finds it in her to understand. “Okay, Miss Kate, listen if you are unsure about this job, my recommendation is that you don’t take it. I have seen many like you come and go. The job isn’t hard but for whatever reason, people can not handle it. It is no secret, the turnover is high, most don’t last the year. I have seen people driven mad, people have had accidents, people have -“ I cut her off again. “What do you mean, ‘went mad’ ?“ I ask. “Well, one of my men, maybe the fifth or sixth from the last one, said he seen a snake with a million eyes wink at him, then said it started shooting him with rainbows. And that when he drove off a cliff, into the river, we never recovered the body.” She replied almost flatly like this was the fifteenth time she told this story and couldn’t believe it herself. It took me a second of awe stuck silence to realized, “But wait, if he died how do you know what he saw?” “All vehicles are installed with cameras and audio equipment, for insurance of course.” She was getting tired of all my questions. “We do try and make note of unusual events and get Washington visitors to collect recordings and water samples among other things every other week. They are very invested in our operations here and you will get used to them in time. Now dear, what does your family think, it is a big move after all?” I squirmed a bit as I thought out the ‘right answer’ for these situations. “Well you see Mrs. Wedgewood, the thing is I am a, uh well, let’s go with orphan?” I sputtered out hoping she would not ask for clarification like many others have. “Well dear, I am not going to dive any deeper into that, although I am sorry for your loss, and I’ve been there many times too. We can go ahead and offer you a position as a plant operator, and we can start as early as tomorrow. The singles cabins are ready for move in today, though it isn’t much to look at.” Her dark chocolate brown eyes held a look someone gives before announcing to a plane full of passengers that the good news was that none of them would have to pay for their plane today, the bad news was they wouldn’t be the ones collecting the refund. “I’ll take the job.” I said with all of the enthusiasm I could muster as a newly installed lifer“Do you allow cats in the housing, by the way?” She gave me a big smile of slightly mismatched coffee stained teeth. “Yes, we will allow it. But can I see the little thing?” Of course, I led her to my truck. It was a black 1992 Dodge Dakota, the floor was nearly falling out of the bottom, the lining in the roof was being held up by tacks, staples, glue and pine sap. The paint was chipping off, leaving behind bare metal and rust. The gate of the bed was barely holding together by sting and barbed wire, but damn it, she was mine and to me, the most beautiful thing in the whole fucking universe for that matter. It was something of a parting gift from Todd and Ron, the last thing I would ever receive from them. I wonder if they knew that. “Here Stan, psst psst psst.” I call, as you can see a pair of eyes peeking out of under the seat. I pick him up only to be met with terrified screaming coming from Mrs. Wedgewood. “Kill it, kill it now. What even is that thing.” She said with forceful conviction. It took me two hours to convince her that Stan was probably harmless, or at least I hope he is. Hell, I had the same reaction to Stan when I first met him. You see, I was basically living out of my truck before this job. During the trip, I found several gas stations only to find that every single one either had no functioning bathroom or that they were not public bathrooms and the cashier only took payment in oaths of eternal allegiance to the muses. I didn’t have time for that nonsense, so I popped out back long enough to make friends with a tree and get back on that road. I must’ve left my door open just long enough for the little bastard to crawl in. Next thing I know, I have this overgrown buck naked rat licking the salt off my leg. After recreating a PSA on ghost drivers, me and Stan got better acquainted over some chicken salad with cranberry jelly. We then moved to the actual dam site, it was large old two story brick building approximately 12 miles out of town. The building was most likely built in the 20’s or 30’s and had a large art-deco window spanning from first to second floor. There was a large staircase going down the hill in which the under the building sat yet another level partially underground. From one side of the bottom of the stairs was a large metal sidewalk with grated floors overhanging the river, and on the other side was a path leading to the woods. We walked in silence until we stood on the grated sidewalk. “These are the output valves for the plant.” Mr. Wedgewood shouted over the sound of roaring water. This is where the water exited the hydro plant and returned to the river. We then took the path leading into the dark woods. “I’m sorry, these are somewhat inconvenient to get to, but you have to remember that they were built before cars were a common luxury.” She indicated this warmly and apologetically. I looked at the cabins, two in total. “Which one is yours?” I asked. “No, I don’t actually live here, I’m afraid. I prefer to live in town and generally my role is administrative as opposed to operations so other than a few brief visits, you will probably rarely see me around. Feel free to pick whichever cabin you like, we have no other current occupants.” Mrs. Wedgewood gestured to the cabins. After much deliberation, I chose door number two. Mrs. Wedgewood opened the door and to my utter awe I could not contain myself. “Well fry me up and call me dinner, this is something else.” Mrs. Wedgewood quickly apologized, “I know they really are not in the best condition, but you don’t have to live here if you really don’t want. You can rent or buy in town.” “No” I replied “This is perfectly sufficient, thank you.“ The cabin was only a single room with two widows, just big enough for a bathroom with a tub, a small single bed, and an old yellow armchair with pictures of wheat and a tractor. There was a fridge, oven, and small kitchen table that looked remarkably like a picnic bench. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that no only did I have no hope of renting another place, this was better than I had imagined. As she departed into the evening dusk with my promise to absolutely call her if anything happens, I settled into the cabin, I couldn’t help but rummage through some of the cabinets. “Hey Stan, look I found some cans! Looks like we are eating good tonight!” I said excitedly. Stan did not return my enthusiasm, but that is probably because he is an asshole. Oh, Shit! I never did find out exactly what happens if I try and break contract. Well, maybe next time, this is Kate, logging off.

Previous
If I were to guess, I’d imagine they took Andrew to Boss Harold before anyone else and the rumors around Golgotha seemed to support this supposition; the Bosses enjoyed their personal retribution away from the eyes of citizens, maybe it was talking or maybe more, and although there were whispers of the boy being strung up on the wall or maybe he’d be violated in the stocks for all to see, I imagined that the council I held with Boss Harold might’ve had something to do with that never materializing. When I was allowed to the boy’s cell, it was dark, and his face was bruised and the bandaging I’d applied to his severed wrist had been removed probably for amusement. The room was small and there were no windows and only a single doorway let out into the hallway which contained other cells and further, near the exit, there was the office of wall men. The guard that’d let me in locked the door behind me and Andrew sat on a metallic cot without cushioning, and he stared at the grimy floor through swollen eyes.
“Hello,” he said. And I was taken aback by the comment because he spoke it as quickly as he might passing a person in the street. He'd been through so much that the word was abrupt, skittish. I nodded and moved to him, reaching for his arm where he’d been nearly fatally wounded. It was infected. Without fighting me, he allowed me to tend to it without even a question; I wiped it and applied salve. Once it was cleaned and rewrapped and only after I’d settled on the cot beside him, he spoke again, “I heard stories about the cells, but I never thought they’d smell.”
I withdrew a handful of antibiotics, and he took them without putting them to his mouth. “You should have them,” I said, “You might lose the whole arm if not.”
“I might lose my life.”
“Maybe not,” I offered a grim smile and water with for the pills. “You’re alive still.”
“How much longer though?” He took the medicine and grimaced hard. The boy looked older than he was. “It smells like blood here. I can smell the people that’ve been here before.”
I patted him on the back and removed myself from the cell and he did not call after me, not even to ask for the return of his hand and I hoped that I could stave off whatever tortures the Bosses might have in store for him.
It’d been two days since I’d returned with Dave and Andrew and quickly after our arrival, I’d tried departing from the man and hoped he’d drop whatever revenge he believed I could assist him with, but it was to no avail for he attended everywhere with me since our return to Golgotha. Although he’d not been allowed to enter the cells alongside me, he was waiting for me outside as I stepped through the wall men’s office and into the noonday sun; I deftly plucked a pre-rolled cigarette from my pocket and tried at lighting it but before I’d even gotten the chance, he was there at the stoop of the office, pestering, “We should go somewhere quiet,” he said.
“What do you take me for exactly?” I asked while maintaining eye contact with the flame off a match.
“You’re capable enough. You could be a hero. I’d do it with you. We could scrounge up a handful of people and change things. We really could.” Dave was casting sidelong glances at those that passed us in the dirt street just off the stoop, but nary one seemed to care about our conversation.
“Leave it.”
“I won’t.”
I sighed.
He put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
Felina’s was a structure partially built from ancient shipping containers directly in the heart of the hydroponics towers in the center of town; the chicken shit smell from the base of the towers came with nauseating stagnation and could make a passerby sick, but upon entering Felina’s, the smell subsided and was replaced with the smell of body sweat. The older barwoman stood behind the counter and me and Dave took up on the far corner where we sat around an old card table, using crates as chairs; no one else was there—the smell of the hydro towers probably had some hand in that.
Dave took in close to me so that I could feel the moisture off his breath, “I’ve been talking to a few others over at the towers and they feel the same way I feel—but with you—well without you I don’t think I’d want to do it.”
“No, please go on without me,” I slanted my body across the table to push my face away from Dave’s; with me positioned with my back against the wall, I spied Felina beyond the counter, arms across her chest and watching us with an air of suspicion. She came to our table, slowly with her club foot and upon reaching us, she used our table for mild support with her big hands and greeted us without excitement.
Dave asked for water and her gaze shifted to me and I dismissed her, and we were alone till she limped back over with a pitcher and glass and Dave drank it greedily while Felina watched on from beyond the counter—her eyes suspicious but pretty blue too. She kept the haft from a dismembered axe behind the counter and was known to throttle unruly patrons with it.
Although some might have called Felina’s a bar, it was just short of it because of the rarity of spirits—besides, it was the upstairs brothel portion that the establishment owed to its popularity. Anyone might brave the smell from the street for companionship and if the noises from the rusted overhead support beams were anything to measure, the clientele was content indeed. A man descended from the stairs by the bar, gave a brief nod to Felina then to us and disappeared through the front door; a waft of the outside air rushed in, and Dave scrunched his nose.
“It’s a funny thing, I’ve passed by here all the time, but I don’t think I’ve been inside since before—” he paused, “Well, since before anyway.” He took a drink of water and rubbed his palms against his cheeks. “I know someone that works underground and could get us some gunpowder.”
I merely laughed at this. “Gunpowder, huh?”
“Well sure. The Bosses have reserves in the basements. We could blow them sky high.”
“More likely that you’d blow your hands off.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you?”
I thought, “Could you promise no one would die?”
Dave seemed baffled at the question. “Who cares?”
“These things hardly ever happen quietly—or without collateral. How’s this? Could you promise that no innocents get caught in stray fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are as ill prepared as I’d imagined.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The meek are intended to inherit, but many will die before all that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I wish you’d leave it be.”
Another patron stumbled down the stairs, a scrawny tall man with a thin beard came charging into the chamber without clothes and a voice followed him, crying loudly, “Sonofabitch tried choking me!” A pair of arms and legs came stumbling down after—the source of the cries. There was a topless woman, a belt secured around one of her wrists and a pink mark around her throat. The naked man protested and put up his hands as the woman swung the arm with the belt and whipped at him with it, striking across the forearm he’d shielded himself with.
Felina moved carefully from around the counter, raised the haft, then brought it down across the man’s back. He stumbled to his knees, pleading. The barwoman raised the weapon once more and the sound was like wood against wood as it met the man’s head and his body was taken to the ground completely, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. The two women lifted the man out the door and Felina spat through the opening. Outside wind came again and Dave scrunched his nose once more before the door shut. The topless woman removed the belt from around her wrist, tossed it to the floor, then secured an arm across her chest before hurrying upstairs.
“So, gunpowder?” I asked Dave.
He nodded and took another drink of water while eyeing Felina as she took herself back to the counter and stowed the makeshift club into whatever place she kept it. “Yeah.”
“Go for it then and leave me out of it.” I fiddled with my thumbs across the table. “I’ll even make you a deal for when you come running to me for help later. If you blow your fingers off, I’ll try and help you find them. How’s about that?”
“I’ll wear you down.”
Another gust of wind came from the far door and I half expected to see the man that’d been removed there in the doorway, standing on his feet and ready for another round of punishment, but there was no one there in the hollow spot; as my gaze drifted from person-face level, I saw a medium sized mutt there in gray fur, pushing the door in with its nose and then sliding the rest of its starved body through—each of its yellowy sad eyes peered in and I could not tell the breed but Dave lifted himself from his seat and Felina went to the dog too.
“No dogs,” stated the woman.
Dave, the indomitable sweetheart that he was knelt to the dog’s face and touched its snout; it licked his hand and Dave said to Felina, “He’s not mine, but have you got some water for him?”
“No dogs inside. I don’t like repeating it.”
“Fair enough,” said Dave, “I don’t know who he—” he froze and then examined the rear of the dog before petting the dog on the head, “She belongs to, but I’ll take her outside. Just. Please some water, won’t you?”
The barwoman first drummed her fingers against her leg then went to the counter and I noticed Dave flinch as she reached under there, but she came back with a bowl and he took it and ushered the dog out; as he exited, he called to me, and I sighed and moved with him.
Remaining in the street was the man that’d been tossed out, face up, half-opened eyes, and flies buzzed about, and I touched him with my foot, but he didn’t move. Blood leaked from his ears. “Dead,” I said.
Dave took the dog from the body around to the side of the building and the feces smell was strong with the hydro towers, but he sat the water down and the dog went at it quickly, without restraint and spilt half before the man went to steady it with his hand; he knelt by the dog and pushed a shoulder against the wall of the brothel.
“There you go,” I told him, “You’ve found someone dumb enough and maybe loyal enough to follow through with your little gunpowder plan. Strap a handful of dynamite to him and watch him go boom in the Boss’s faces.” I genuinely did try it as a joke.
“You can be very mean,” said Dave.
Once the bowl was dry besides dog spit, he returned it to Felina, reentering briefly, and it was just me and the dog and the dog looked up at me and I turned away while its voice whined in the back of its throat and I took a piece of hardtack from my pocket and tossed it on the ground—the dog went after it, assuredly snapping up dirt in the process. Then the creature made a dry and throaty sound from swallowing too quickly, but moments after the thick cracker was gone. It licked my hand gently, and I scratched its chin and Dave returned and upon seeing me with the dog, he gave me a look and then brought himself to the height of the dog in a hunker.
“Hey there,” he said to it, “Someone’s beat you up pretty bad, huh?” It was true; scars stood out in places where the dog had no fur.
In response, the weathered mutt hoisted its forepaws onto his knees and pushed its nose into his.
“Yeah, girl,” he took one of the dog’s ears between his forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently and the animal looked up, sad eyed, “What’s a good name for you?”
“Dog-meat?” I proposed.
Dave shook his head. “What sort of sick joke is that?” but he was smiling, “No. I’ll come up with something to call her. Isn’t that right?” He asked the dog, massaging the face of the animal with his thumbs; the dog stared dumbly at him. “Maybe a Beth or a Patty might suit you. How do you like them?”
The dog licked his face but couldn’t speak.
“Well,” I said, “It’s a shame it got you, you’ll pick a person name for it and that’s strange. Why not call her Mary if you want a person name?”
“Bah,” said Dave, rising to a full stand; momentarily, even with the other folks passing us in the street, he took a moment to see the dead man we’d passed on our way out of Felina’s and for a moment he remained quiet. “I’ll come to you again Harlan. Maybe when I’ve got more of a plan. I only hope you’ll listen to the stuff I’ve said about it. I really do. I really hope you’ll be on the right side of this thing.”
“Sides are overrated.”
Dave put a hand on my shoulder, “Of course,” he nodded, “Whatever you say.”
He left with his new friend—the dog following him traced from left to right close behind Dave and I watched him take off and around the nearest hydro tower and I was alone on the street and evening wouldn’t be far away, so I took to home while staring at my moving feet and speaking to no one. A few people along the way tried nodding at me or saying a small greeting here or there, but I was absorbed in my own head, and nothing took me from it once I got going. Maybe that was one of the reasons I enjoyed the wastes; there were no pretenses out there and with the constant thought of death there was no other thing to think about than each passing moment. I could not shut my thoughts up. I could ramble more about the motivations of a scavver, but I don’t think I should—leave that for someone that cares.
Upon taking the catwalks where I could look out on a swatch of Golgotha with the sun beating down and the constant hum of people going about their business, I was frozen on the railing and wishing I’d taken my own life and wishing that Dave had not found me out there; maybe if I was faster or smarter or better in whatever way that mattered.
I pushed into the door into my small abode and cool blood pushed through my body on seeing the robed girl there on my mattress, holding a shotgun with its barrel angled directly at me; she donned a flowy mess of dresses and kept her head wrapped in garb so that only her eyes shone through, but her arms stuck from the mess of cloth and I could see they were skinny with long scab marks like a blade had drawn across the flesh.
“Harlan?” asked the girl.
“Is that mine?” I nodded at the pump-shotgun in her hands. The slowness of the world was gone, and I could think again; if things were different, I’d have been a dead man, but it was unloaded, and I knew it.
“It was hanging on the wall—I don’t know how to use the thing anyway. I don’t know what I was doing with it,” she said, “You just scared me, and I didn’t know who you might’ve been.”
“This is my place.”
She laid the shotgun on the bed and unwrapped her face; it was Gemma, “You were with Andrew.”
“I was.”
“You said he was dead.”
I brought in air slowly through my nose. “I did.”
“You lied.”
I nodded, letting the air come out.
“Why?”
“I needed to find you.”
“But you found us both then, I guess.”
“Not on purpose.” A thought occurred to me, “Does you father know where you are right now?”
She shook her head; although rest had done her good, there was still a fair amount of fatigue present on her. “I snuck out.”
“Would’a though you learned your lesson on that front.”
“Is Andrew okay? No one will tell me anything about it.”
“He’s locked up right now, but he is alive. For how long? I don’t know. I figured your pop paid a visit to him already—wouldn’t you know about that?”
She shook her head again. “Woo,” Gemma slumped onto the side of my mattress and gathered the robes around her, “I’m feeling faint.”
I moved to the bed and gathered the shotgun, putting it back on the hooks in the wall. “You shouldn’t break into people’s homes.”
Cupping her brow in a hand so that I could only see her mouth and the bottom of her nose, she said, “I just needed to know he was alive. These past days I’ve been so worried about him. I knew you told me he was dead, but I knew you were a liar too. So, I had bad thoughts about what might’ve happened to him out there. If what happened to me was anything to go off.” Her voice broke for a moment and then she pulled her hand from her face and blinked a few sudden times. “I just.”
“I get it. You love the boy.”
She nodded without looking at me.
“So, beg your dad to let him go.”
“Everyone’s so mad at him. It’s funny that everyone’s so mad at him, but it was my idea, and they all treat me like a darling little flower. Like I couldn’t have been the one with the idea of running away. I had more reason to run than he ever did.”
“You should leave.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t you see that’s what I’ve been saying? Judge all you like. Call me rich all you like, but I can tell you this: I don’t feel like it.” Gemma grabbed the edge of the bed as her head wavered on her shoulders. “Dizzy spells are awful.” She shook her head. “Like no sickness ever.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Help me.”
“I’ve already tried convincing them not to kill him.” Taking a pause, I thought to add, “And I personally saw to his injuries. Please go and leave me be.”
“Oh, but you’ve asked for it,” she said, “You put yourself in the business of it.”
“Look. All’s I wanted was to save you if I could and get the water running again. That’s it. Now go.” I put my arm up to wave her out the door and she stood to make her way there, catching herself on the frame, then out on the catwalk railing before turning and looking at me over her shoulder.
“Bastard.” she said.
“Yes.” The door shut between us, and I took myself to sitting on the bed’s edge and reminiscing over how Dave reminded me so much of Jackson. Jackson was a real tough one; whatever happened he always kept a cool head (so I reckon him and Dave would be different in that way) and the idea of being a hero was so big for him. It’s a curious thought: whether Dave would have such ideas if hadn’t been for the tragic loss of his family.
The shotgun sat on there on the wall, and I took it and looked over it, putting the stock in my left hand then my right and laid it across my legs; the woven strap on it had gone thin so that the place I’d once worn it over my shoulder was mostly threadbare. I moved to the cabinet by the sink where I kept a few essentials and in the very back there was an old box of shells—it was a surprise they still seemed good, but with old ammo you never could tell, and the shells were just as likely to fire true as they might be to never send pellets from the barrel. I took a knife and began whittling into a shell I’d plucked from the box. Pellets spilled between my feet as I sat on the bed and they rolled across the floor and then I found the gunpowder and rose again, sprinkling it onto the cabinet top into a neat pile. Dave said he had a fella’ he knew that worked in the underground—the sort of person that could get him all the gunpowder he needed. Was he familiar with its destructive force; had he ever fired a gun? He promised me no one innocent would die and I knew that was a lie and there’s surely a piece of him that knew it was a lie just as well.
It was just then as I took a forefinger and thumb and pinched up a bit from the gunpowder splat that I remembered a thing that Jackson told me all the time when he thought none of the others were listening. The gunpowder rained from my fingertips as I rubbed them together and I sniffed the place where they’d become sooty, taking in a smell I’d not smelled in a long time. Jackson would say, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure that he don’t become a monster.” It wouldn’t be for a long time—after I’d visited the libraries in Alexandria or Babylon (take your preference)—till I realized it was a quote that Jackson stole from some guy named Neet-chee. It seemed like a good thing to adhere to, and it was certainly something I wasn’t good at keeping with and if I couldn’t then there was little certainty that Dave would keep to it either. Maybe I had become a monster; morally dubious anyway.
Jackson was a hero, and he was dead as was Sibylle as was Billy as was John and all of them. We’d tried heroing and it got all of us dead. Almost all of us.
I hung the shotgun on the wall and left it there and swept the gunpowder into the floor with a flat palm where the pellets were and chucked the box of old shells into the cabinet again.
Ringing of bells came from the hall of the Bosses and it was time for a display. Denizens gathered in the front square by the gates and awaited while they trotted out Andrew; perhaps the words I’d passed to Boss Harold rang hollow after all. The Bosses were there just as always, drinking their wine on the platform, and Maron was out front with his wall men in the semicircle of gathered Golgotha residents. Of the population, only a hundred or two gathered for this poor boy’s execution. The guards had, at some point after my departure, removed the bandage on his empty wrist and he looked more sickly in the face than before and his cheeks were swollen and he wept, seemingly not from the terror of it but from the skin around his eyes having been so damaged; tears came through swelled eyelids and a wall man kept him by the elbow and Maron marched to the boy and lifted the boy’s face with his hand to look into it and maybe he whispered something to him.
I weaved through the crowd, moving to the steps that led to the stage where the Bosses stood with their foods and wines and their plenty and upon approach, I was stopped by a wall men, but upon catching Boss Harold’s eye, he told the guard to let me through and I took the stairs and from the platform, I could see over the crowd—Dave was far in the rear of those gathered, totally disconnected from the others for he hunkered by a set of crates, patting the head of the dog we’d found just earlier in the day. For a moment, I wished I was there with him and not on the stage at all.
“Dear boy!” Boss Harold shouted at me over the excited jeers of the others, “It’s so good to see you again. You are quite the hero, and it’s always good to be in the company of those.”
I nodded at him and within a flash, he’d slammed his cup of wine into my hand, telling me to drink, and only moments passed before his own cup was replaced by a nearby servant. “We spoke about this?” I tried.
His face was red, and I could just make out the miniscule veins vibrant along the corners of his nose; the man was far gone drunk. “That boy’s been a thorn in my side for too long, so I know you understand it when I say that he needs punishment. I took all that you said into account,” his words slurred, and the sweet sick came off him in a breath of hot air when he pulled me in, resting his ear on my shoulder. “Nobody dies today, but ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’,” the Boss paused. “You’re not a father yourself, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah! Then you might not be familiar with that proverb required in bringing a child up in this world.” Boss Harold laughed. “I’d never take my sweet Gemma out in the square like this, but God there’s been times I’ve wanted it. ‘Spare the rod’.” He repeated. “But we’ve something a fair bit more interesting than a rod for that boy.” Boss Harold swayed on his feet and took the fist containing his cup of wine, pointing with his index finger at the open place by the wall where Maron and Andrew and the wall men were. “Speaking of!” Boss Harold was giddy, and he took a magnificent gulp from his cup, throwing his head far back. “You’re a learned man, yes?”
“What?”
“You know how to read? Maron said something about your reading. That’s a rare quality! I’d love to talk about books with you sometime. I’ve my own personal collection.”
The wall men stripped Andrew of his clothes then threw them to the ground and a gasp escaped the audience and the boy shouted and Maron moved to a nearby bucket and reached into the mouth of the container, coming back to a full stand; a whip was coiled around his arm. The Bosses didn’t even look on. The punishment was for the benefit of Boss Harold, and not even he looked on. He jabbered on about how he’d like to speak with me over an old philosophy called Objectivism then he went on about how he’d learned long ago the greatest achievement of man was his own happiness and I listened to the drunk man and when the whip broke skin the first time, I’m sure Andrew felt every bit.
Blood exploded in violent dew off his back and the crack of the whip struck the boy till he couldn’t stand and then several times more. Splatter reached onlookers each time Maron lifted the whip over his head, and it was only once the boy stopped moving that the Boss Sheriff swaggered over to inspect him; Andrew had fallen face down and Maron took his boot to the boy’s side so that the boy rolled onto his back and seconds passed without movement and even Boss Harold quit with his talking. The prone body just lay there and for a moment Andrew looked like the body I’d seen earlier out front of Felina’s. Then the boy spasmed and gasped air and Maron shouted about how he was still alive before giving the toe of his boot to Andrew’s ribs.
“What a show,” said the Bosses—what a show indeed.
The crowd dispersed in clumps, taking back to their jobs or leisure and I left the platform only after agreeing that Objectivism sounded good and Boss Harold laughed and stumbled in pivoting to take on in conversation with the other Bosses and I briefly imagined giving him a nudge, so he’d fall off the stage, but refrained from doing so.
When I met the boy lying in the dirt there, there was me and Dave moved in too and Maron had taken to his station where there was a table by sandbags, and he was engrossed in a game of solitaire; it seemed the man was totally unfazed by the justice he’d dealt. There was a time when that body could’ve been a hero and yet there he was, poisoned.
I called out to the Boss Sheriff, “Ain’t you going to put him back to his cell?”
Without even looking over, Maron swept his mustache with his fingers and waved me off, “Harold was real clear on letting the boy out of custody once it was done.” He lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head while looking at the cards on the table then he laughed. “He’s a free man. I’ve heard that was your meddlin’ that did it.”
I moved to the boy and snatched up the clothes they ripped from him and Dave, not saying a word with his new mutt by his side, helped me to return some dignity to the boy.
We took him to my small apartment and washed him and tended over him while he lay in my bed.
Gemma came soon after Andrew had been draped in a sheet—she was there in disguise as she’d been earlier and upon me opening the doorway, she began to ask me if the boy was with me. I merely stepped aside, and she rushed to Andrew’s side; if he was aware of her presence, there was no way to tell.
“They killed him.” She’d taken to her knees to be nearer his level. “Oh. Oh, he’s dead.” She touched him and he shivered at the touch. Gemma removed the wrappings of cloth around her head and looked at her sweetie closer and she put a hand to her mouth. “They took his hand!”
“No,” said Dave, “He’s going to live.” The man looked to me and I shrugged. “Yeah,” his voice didn’t sound sure, “He’ll live.”
I moved to the catwalk and Dave came with me, the dog following behind him—the timid mutt looked over the edge of the catwalk to the city below then stepped away and returned to my room. When Dave took up beside me, leaning over the railing, and the sun hit his face just so, he looked exactly like Jackson and maybe that was why when he raised eyebrows then cut his eyes at me with a question—the question was everything and I finally nodded.
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RoyalRoad
Neovel

I rented a 2 bedroom 2 bathroom in BC for 6 months. Before leaving we did a thorough clean and left the place in pristine condition. We were out on the last day of the month before 1 pm, our landlord had the place rented on the 1st so he had a cleaning person come to clean the unit. Since we left it very clean I was confused that he wanted a cleaning person to come in but I didn’t think much of it. He rents it out very short term in the summer on Airbnb. I reached out to him a few days later about the damage deposit and he responded that the cleaning person told him it took them 8.5 hours to clean the unit to get it back to “original” order and that I was going to be charged $30/hour for the clean.
This took me a back as we it left very clean and ready to be occupied, so it seemed very suspicious to me. We did not do a walk through at the beginning of our tenancy . He showed me how to turn the dishwasher on and things like that but we never looked at and documented damages or anything like that. We never did a ending inspection as he had this cleaning person come in.
The landlord also sent me the utilities that we owed. We agreed to pay utilities in the lease but we were never provided the hydro or gas bills during our stay. I was sent an email with a list of what we owed from his “calculations”, and the utilities owing + the cleaning fee meant we owed him money (after him pocketing our damage deposit).
I told him I was not paying until he sent me the actual bills from BC hydro and Fortis. I am fine with paying for the utilities because that’s what we agreed to, but from his “calculations” they seemed extremely high. As for the cleaning I asked to be provided with pictures of the unit and a description of what was needed to be cleaned. Like I said before i left the place in pristine condition. I told him that he has 15 days to return the damage deposit and that after that I will go through dispute resolution as provided through the land lord tenancy act.
Is there anything that I am missing here? I know in retrospect I should have taken pictures after I cleaned since we hadn’t done an initial walk through. It feels like he is holding my damage deposit hostage as some sort of leverage/collateral for this cleaning fee, and it all feels shady.

hey i dont even know where to find the answer to this questions but as u can see. i dont have my ccl but i have heard some states consider your campsite to be your home temporarily and you dont need a ccl to carry maybe michigan is chill like that idk how to find out. im transporting it (as legal as i think it gets) broken down locked and in a little locked safe box inaccessible to me. but i want to assemble and load it while chilling in my folding chair cooking or sleeping in my truck maybe even while strolling through the forest. what can i do legally. how illegal will i be if i do all these things? thanks yall.

So I suppose my situation is a little specific here. I got a hand me down coffee pot from my mom that needed cleaning up since it was in her shed for a while. Works good for as I can tell.
Only problem that seemingly mud dobbers tried making their home in it. Took care of the nest and I cycled the thing most the afternoon with white vinegar and plain hot water (alternating every two turns) to get rid of any dirt and yuckies inside too.
When I opened the lid I found the butt of a dead wasp sticking out of the little hole the water drains to, in order to cycle through the rest of the pot. Tried getting him out with a fork and accidentally pushed him out of my reach and deeper into that hole when I finally found the needle nose pliers. I also have tweezers as a backup plan. So now I have a wasp in my coffee pot I'm unsure of how to get him back where I can pull him out with the tweezers.
Since I'm heading to bed soon and don't have the time to try cycling him back up (hoping the bubbles will push him up or something) I have pure white vinegar sitting in the basin overnight until I can deal with him again tomorrow when I'm off work. Hoping to either have him float back up or dissolve him enough to cycle him out.
Kinda stuck till then so any and all advice is welcome!
(Also he was long dead by the time I got the coffee maker. So no wasp abuse on my end. )

Narration
The academic doesn't hold a candle to the ancestor as a narrator. DD1 has tons of lines that are dripping with flavor and give great insight into the ethos of the world. Meanwhile, the academic is dusting off his thesaurus to create the most heady, vapid, and uninspired quotes. I know he is the "academic", but him being overly verbose does not make him compelling, it makes him sound like a pseudo-intellectual highschooler.
Many quotes from the first game really resonated with me, such as:

• "Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious Killer."
• "Great is the weapon that cuts on its own."
• "Suffer not the lame horse, nor the broken man"

I literally just beat DD2 and can't think of a single quote. I was cringing about half the time the narrator said anything.
Premise
I find the whole premise of the game to lacking as well. In DD1 I was dealing with my ancestor, my manor, and my army. There was something special about the permadeath system. When my level 5/6 units died, it felt devastating. There were special moments where my vestal would hit a clutch heal or my highwayman would tank several deathblows. Now when Dismas dies, I don't feel anything but frustration, because it means my run is likely over, and that is the only long term consequence.
Back into the carriage to climb the mountain to "face my fears", which is not in and of itself a bad premise, but by the end of the game, I found myself not giving a shit about any of the characters. I don't know how much this is due the memory shrines being an utter slog to play through, or the fact that I found the world of this game much less interesting, but I was having a hard time feeling invested.
I miss spending my resources to upgrade my town, instead I throw candles at a statue.
Antagonist
I really don't understand this one. Maybe I am just an idiot who missed something, but who is the student? Is he just an evil dude? I mean I get he ruined the world and all, but "one-dimensional evil entity" is certainly a downgrade from a layered character like the ancestor.
Its funny, in every way that DD2 is a video game, it is the superior game. The combat is better, the balance is better, no more grinding for currency, there are a variety of playstyles for each character, I like assembling teams and equipping them in was a given situation calls for, etc. But with all that being said, I definitely prefer DD1 as an experience. I feel like DD2 lost what made DD1 special. There are plenty of indie games that have really tight mechanics, but most of those games don't have the soul that DD1 has.
Overall I still enjoyed the game, but the writing was a huge disappointment for me.