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Reblog if this applies to you:

australian-government:

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On The Tube

dduane:

From Facebook: a magic moment.

I am having such a wonderful day on the tubes I can’t not share this story.

Let me build the scene:

Central Line between Oxford Circus and Chancery Lane, possibly St Pauls.

To my right is sat a lady, 25-30, wearing a revealing dress.

To my left is an old lady, almost dead is how old she is.

Standing in front of us is a man, 50’s, suit and tie, eyeing revealing dress.

Suit leans over to the revealing dress lady and says “Have some self respect when you dress yourself”

Revealing dress lady blushes to the colour of her almost not there dress.

Old soon to be dead lady is having none of this and in a south london accent shouts out “She can wear or not wear whatever the fuck she likes, even if she was naked with a sign pointing to her fanny” (she said fanny on the central line by St Pauls) “and the sign pointed to her fanny which said …PARTY CITY ALL INVITED…then that would still be none of your bloody business now fuck off back to your bored wife!”

Red dress then hugs the walking dead and old suit walks off.

That old lady will be my hero for the rest of her life, even if the rest of her life is like only another week. She was so old.

(Slightly edited to add final two lines that got dropped out somehow when I pasted this in….)

A Break

Armoured again against the threat of snipers, Adri made her way down from Manor Hill to the Merchant’s Coin. There’s probably no real danger here, she mused to herself, for perhaps the hundredth time that week, but this is one of the most predictable places to find me. She kept a watch above as well as in the shadows, and listened for the calls of the local ravens. They all knew her, and she counted them among her friends. They would warn her of things she couldn’t see.

As she’d expected – or so she told herself – she made it to the Coin without incident, and made her way upstairs to her friend’s room, where she knocked. The much taller and stockier priestess opened the door and ushered her in, closing it quickly after her.

“Good evening, dearie. I see you got my message.” The raven-haired priestess seemed amused, as she often was, though it could be hard to tell with her Grenth-marked gaze. Adri’s initial attempt at a response was interrupted by insistent head-butting and leg-twining accompanying the sudden appearance of a loudly purring grey-black ball of fur.

“Yes, Mister Percival, I missed you, too!” The faux redhead squatted to pet the cat. She fed him a fish treat, looking back up at the priestess. ‘Aye. I got it.” She canted her head, pondering briefly. When she next spoke, she had switched from Krytan to Old High Kurzick. “You said you may have found a clue?”

Alyssia arched a brow, then slowly lowered it as she nodded. “Full of surprises, aren’t you, dearie?” That came in Krytan, after which she, too, switched languages. “I believe I have found such, yes. It’s not much. Barely more than a pair of names, but it seems to be the names of Houses.” She pulled out much-abused scrap of a letter or note which had been in a fire at some point, and showed it to her smaller friend.

careful which Valdis you report to
word the last Jardin has been handled

The scrap’s edges were burned away, and it was clear that the lines had originally been longer. Adriwyn turned it a bit, looking at it from various angles in the light, and even sniffed at it, then sighed. “Names. Names I can even try to look into. Not sure that’s enough watermark left to trace, though, and the soot blots out anything the ink might have told me.”

Aly nodded. “As I had told you, yes? A pair of names.”

An answering nod from the smaller woman, who resumed petting the insistent cat. “Yes. Names of Houses, and apparently a warning as to which member of one House to report to about… doing me in. You’re sure this was related, and not just finding something else going on in the area?”

“The right deaths had been involved, and the ravens you had sent me were sure of the trail of refuse.”

Adri nodded, playing with Percy some more as she thought. “Have you any further use for this?”

“No. It is yours.”

“Thank you. I know someone who might get further with tracing things like watermarks from it than I would.”

“Good.” Switching back to Krytan, the priestess added, “And you clearly need a decent meal, dearie! Tut! No arguments! Come! Eat!”

Adri rolled her eyes and shook her head in amusement. “Fine. For once, I remembered not to eat before I came over.”

reblog if you think that holding hands can be platonic

jabberwockypie:

juicecarlosortiz:

hatpire:

wearetylerspeople:

ryuukid:

someone yelled at me for it

If you can’t hold hands with your best friend while walking home who can you hold hands with

If holding hands is supposed to be sexual, then wouldn’t that make a handshake something like second base?

My best friend and I held hands at a Fourth of July event going on by my house and we got weird stares from like everyone.

I’m pretty sure holding hands is only sexual if at least one of the parties involved is a Vulcan.

On that note, do not high five Vulcans. (Not without clear consent and stuff, anyway.)

Interlude / Synopsis

(( A recap of events not blogged because work has been eating my time and nearly my soul. As they are also old news, the whole post is OOCly done and just telling rather than showing in the interests of brevity. It’s about IC events, yes, but not ICly told. That comes next, when I get the current part of the story. ))

About 7-8 weeks ago now, Adri was out mining (as she often has). This time, though, the hazards were not the usual bandits, centaurs, or Risen. On a plateau above the southern end of Lake Bounty, collecting a bit of exposed iron, she barely felt a disturbance in the air behind her before something large pushed her over the edge, almost scooping her away, and falling toward the rocks and water below. Having been completely unprepared, she angled to try to turn her fall into a dive, aiming for deeper water as best she could. Shots rang out from above, from two different positions (and two different sizes of guns). Her armour was better than it looked, and she was mostly only bruised, but then one shot, probably technically a miss, got inside the tails of the outer coat, creasing her hip and hitting her in the back. Controlling her dive became much more difficult, as her legs were no longer responding to her will – but it was late enough in the process that she made it fists first into the lake.

Swimming in a lake with skale and barracuda in it, while bleeding, and with no use of her legs, was a trying thing. Fortunately she had her Pact-issued rebreather still, and her usual collection of weapons. After a lot of fighting off the lake’s denizens, and leaving more blood and easier pickings in her wake, she surfaced in a cavern complex, and pulled herself up onto the rocks with her arms, dragging her useless lower body along. Trying to catch her breath, she realised that her communications devices had been lost in the fighting, or perhaps even just in the first impact in the water. She started watching the local skale (and fighting more of them off or killing them when they decided she looked like lunch), trying to find patterns enough in their movements that there might be a good time to try swimming back out. It took a while, and a fair amount of eating raw skale, and trying to bandage up what she could reach of the injuries they did to her useless legs, after long enough, she found a time that worked well enough.

Without too much additional injury or fighting on the way, she made it to the shoreline as close as she could get to the roads by the southern-most bridge over the lake, and eventually got the attention of a Lionguard patrol. They weren’t sure what to do with her, but they did use her coat as a sort of stretcher to get her to a nearby waypoint, which she used to take herself to Baroness Sharo’s Kessex/Brisban border estate. It wasn’t long before Rose found her trying to pull herself up the stairs of the front portico, and from there a near army of staff was mobilised into getting her inside, and examined.

After seeing just how bad it was (multiple fractures and septic wounds in her left leg, bullet extracted from the a crushed vertebra), Rose told her, “However this turns out, know that it was worth it.” An explosion of magic around her later, Adri was shaking her head and trying to piece it all together, when she realised she could move her feet – and that she had no pain. She turned to see Rose crumpled up against the wall, and looking rather grey. She took the risk of moving, and found she could. She revived Rose (eventually, and with the help of Rose’s staff), and discovered that she wasn’t just – somehow – fully healed from her recent injuries, but that she had no scars at all any more.

A few days of recuperation for both of them, and Adri was caught up on correspondence – including the letter from Luna Lancastir dumping her, and exchanges with her friend Alyssia Dore (who had been looking for her). When she could, she looked for clues in the area where she’d been attacked, but couldn’t find anything. Later, in discussion with Rose over such things, she felt forced to promise not to go out alone like that any more, at least until the perpetrators were caught or dealt with. Given that she nearly lost Rose as the price of her own healing, she’s not arguing, even though it does make trying to find the culprits a lot trickier.

In the meanwhile, Alyssia Dore has taken it upon herself to investigate on her friend’s behalf.