The ground is soft and I'm ready to dig

The goal of this account is to spread seizure awareness, education, ableism/discrimination of them.

Halandil Fang: I’ve come to you with hat in hand. Do you want to invest in the city’s future?

Elodie D'vyen: … Well normally I need to see a business plan before I make an investment. *sighs* When we first got together, my grandmother, when she was still with us, um, made me make one promise. The promise that she asked me to make, she said, ‘Elodie, you come from means’, and, ah, though I did not follow in the family business, I had to make my own merchant’s company myself, she said: ‘If you’re going to couple with an actor, you have to think now about what you’re gonna say’. And I said, grandma, what do you mean? And she said, ‘you need to think about what you’re going to say when he asks you for money’. How much are we talking about, Hal?

Hal, with a rather wobbly smile: Not too much. A few hundred gold.

Elodie, startled: Oh! Oh, a few hundred gold? Oh, my god, yes.

Like, it’s so clear that she was braced for a much higher number. A few hundred thousand, maybe. Seed money for a commercial venture. She’s so clearly stunned by the low ball. And it’s funny. It is funny. But it’s also so fucking sad.

In the first place, because of the sheer disparity of expectations here. Hal is just trying to get enough to scrape together a food bank, enough money to feed (admittedly a couple hundred) people just long enough for other options to open up, so they won’t be dependent on the city’s cult leader for jobs after a mass firing happened in the wake of political shenanigans. The Schemers were there calculating, okay, 1 gold per person per day, just for a couple of weeks, just until we can get options lined up. Just so these people don’t have to immediately join a cult to feed their families. They’re there trying to work out how many jewels from their thieves’ stash they can sell to keep people afloat for even a week or two. A few hundred gold. We’ve just got to give them one or two weeks without starving.

And then here’s Elodie, who isn’t even nobility, just one of the better classes of merchant, and she’s clearly … Like. She was clearly expecting at least a few thousand here. Possibly because he’d framed it as an investment? Investing in the city’s future. Her reaction when it’s only a few hundred is so …

You can tell which of them is used to having a few hundred to throw around when needed, shall we say.

And then, on the more personal level …

You need to think now about what you’re going to say when he asks for money. How much are we talking about, Hal?

And the thing is, we’ve seen this before, shadows of this. Hal and Thaisha. Her reminding him, carefully, around what were clearly old wounds and old discussions, that while she knew he didn’t like it, the Lloy money was there for him if he ever needed it. And Hal … not saying much of anything in response.

There’s so clearly an expectation. A view of Hal in operation. ‘If you’re going to couple with an actor’. Hal is an entertainer, a kid from the Rookery, a troublemaker’s brother. And he has children with not one but two entirely separate ladies of much higher class and means than him. And Thaisha was first. So by the time he got to Elodie, there was clearly enough of an opinion of him circulating that Elodie’s grandmother took her aside to warn her. He’s a gold digger, honey. You’ve got to start thinking now about how much you’re willing to give him.

(Also, if you’re going to couple with an actor? Not be with him, not have a relationship with him. Just couple. As if sex is all there is to it. Ouch).

There’s a view of Hal happening here. And Hal is clearly conscious of it. He’s not surprised at Elodie saying what her grandmother told her. He just looks … wryly sad. All rueful acknowledgement and lopsided smile. That line of his that finishes the conversation:

“You are always too good for me. Your grandmother was a wise woman.”

… How much does it hurt, that so soon after it was all going well for him, after he’d finally gotten the deed to the Hallowed Round, after he’d finally managed to start making a more respectable name for himself, that everything came crashing down? His brother dead. The city abruptly under siege from seemingly every direction. His every dream under threat. And now …

Here he has to be. Hat in hand. Playing the damned gold digger, just like everyone’s always expected of him, and not even for himself. Just to try and keep the city afloat.

He doesn’t want to. We know he doesn’t want to. Thaisha wouldn’t have stepped half so carefully around that conversation unless she knew it hurt him. This wouldn’t clearly be the first time he’s ever asked Elodie for money, the first time she’s ever had to mention what her grandmother said, if he was at all easy about it. It clearly is a sore spot for him, if only one you have to be as close as Thaisha to notice, maybe. And it’s a sore spot that makes sense. There’s so clearly a view of him that’s developed, and not on purpose, not by anyone’s intention, it’s not Thaisha or Elodie’s fault that they were born to money, no more than it’s Hal’s fault that he wasn’t, but there is …

An actor. An entertainer. A lover. And both his baby mamas are women of means.

Yeah. There’s a reputation there, I think. And I don’t think Hal likes it. At all.

(A reputation probably not helped by whatever the hell happened with Thjazi and Aranessa’s marriage, too. Those Fang boys, huh. A whole family of gold diggers over there. Hold tight to your money, ladies, the Fang brothers are in town).

There is such a theme with the Schemers. The working nine-to-five. The ones born in poverty or struggle, the ones who know how to fight to make ends meet.

Stephanie: We have bad news Tim. You should sit down.

Tim: Oh shit did someone actually die?? Who was it this time?

Dick: Remember that civilian that we catch trailing after us every so often? The one who was involved in the Penguin incident awhile ago?

Tim: Oh. Clarissa O’Neal? What about her?

Damian: She was taken hostage by one of Black Masks henchmen. We didn’t make it in time to save her.

Tim: ? And that’s why you guys are so upset? C’mon guys lighten up, it’s movie night

Jason, getting visibly pissed: What the Fuck dude. A civilian we were close to fucking died because we didn’t make it in time

Dick: I know you didn’t like her much but show a bit of empathy Timmy. You usually take these situations seriously

Tim: I’ve been trying to kill her off for ages. Why would I be upset??

Steph: Tim you have 10 seconds to fix your attitude before i fix it for you

Jason: Since when do you take people’s lives so lightly? Dude you need to leave before I do something i regret.

Tim: I didn’t know you guys were so attached to her. I could revive her if you want, but honestly it’s more effort than it’s worth. And she was getting unwanted attention from the rogues so she had to go.

Damian: Revive?? Timothy what are you on about? And why are you saying that like you personally set up her demise?

Tim: Because I did? The planning for it took forever but I have to admit everything went a lot better than I was expecting.

Dick: TIM WHAT—

Jason: WHAT THE HELL—

Damian: MURDER? You?!

Steph, screaming over everyone else: WAIT SHUT UP

Steph: TIM NO YOU DID NOT

Steph: TIM DON’T TELL ME YOU DID IT AGAIN

Dick: Again?!? What are you talking about?!

Steph, laughing: Guys calm down. HE was Clarissa

Tim: You guys didn’t know??

Jason: HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT THE HISPANIC LOOKING WOMEN IN HER MID TWENTIES AND A CRIME ALLEY ACCENT WAS YOU

Dick: Tim i am THIS CLOSE to burning down your disguise room.

Damian: Timothy explain yourself

Tim: I had an undercover op that I needed a female field agent for a couple years ago to infiltrate penguins operations. Over time She became a bit too important and Black mask was threatening her. So I decided to kill her off. I got the info I needed already and it was becoming a bit of a drag keeping up appearances

Steph: You need to stop getting us emotionally invested in your aliases and then killing them off. This is the fourth time you did this to me. I’ll never forgive you for Alvin Draper, I still grieve him even though i know you’re alive!

Tim: YOU guys need to start recognizing me in disguise. Worlds greatest detectives MY ASS

Jason: DUDE YOU GAVE YOURSELF DOUBLE D’s WHY WOULD WE ASSUME THAT WAS YOU

Damian: My training in this area has been neglected. Timothy show me your disguise lair

Tim: Sure, after movie night. Let’s go

Dick: This is gonna bite us in the ass. Damian is already so good at impressions. We will never know if someone we are talking to is him or not

Tim: LMAO When i’m done with him? Yea everyone’s fucked

Steph: It’s gonna give Roger from American dad

Bruce from the corner: *Breathes a sigh of relief*

Need some motiv-ocean to leap into the weekend? You got this!

Leaping blennies are amazing amphibious fish. They can launch themselves off rocks and into the air sometimes up to 50 times their body length. Not only do they flash their red dorsal fins to communicate, but they can also live on land temporarily in tidepools and rocky coasts. 

Except... tooth fairies (a type of fae, not a singular entity) do exist in Aramán, and they do collect teeth and leave various small valuables in return. It's just that they're as limited in speed of travel as any other beings (especially since the Shapers War and difficulties with magical travel), so you're only likely to be visited by one if you lose your tooth close to where tooth fairies live. Those areas were scarce enough before the gates to Faerie closed, and now the few remaining pockets shrink ever further away from the dangers of close contact with the other species of Aramán.

...With the notable exception of the Golden Orchard.

Which will set up the Seekers for a very unexpected conversation someday when one of them gets a tooth knocked out in a fight, and they find that Sir Julien Davinos is determined to find the stray tooth once the fight is over because how else are you going to trade it to the tooth fairy? Of course it has to be traded to a tooth fairy. That is what one does with lost teeth. It does no one any good to just leave them to rot in the dirt. (He did formally waive collection for one of his when he was thirteen and tipped the fairy a silver in recompense for the trouble, but that was to keep it for a specific purpose, not just wasting it.)

Things to consider when Writing about Heists!!

⊹ What are they actually stealing and WHY. money is boring unless there's a specific reason they need that exact amount. magical artifact? information? person? the declaration of independence? make it interesting and personal

⊹ Who planned this thing. because the planner is usually not the leader and that creates tension. is the plan genius or are they just winging it and pretending they know what they're doing

⊹ What's everyone's role. you need: the mastermind, the muscle, the hacker/magic user, the conman, the thief, the driver/getaway person, the inside person, the wildcard who's chaos incarnate. everyone has a job and also a reason they can't just be replaced

⊹ How did this crew even form. old friends? recruited specifically for this job? forced together by circumstances? some of them hate each other but need each other's skills?

⊹ What's the target. museum? casino? palace? dragon's hoard? corporation? secure facility that's supposed to be impossible to break into (it's not but it's close)

⊹ What's the security like. guards, cameras, magic wards, traps, locks that require specific keys, biometrics, creatures guarding it, all of the above. make it seem genuinely difficult

⊹ What's the timeline. do they have weeks to prepare or is this a "we have 48 hours" situation. rushed heists are messier and more fun

⊹ What's everyone's motivation. money obviously but also: revenge, saving someone, clearing their name, thrill seeking, blackmail, ideological reasons, debt. mixed motivations create the best conflict

⊹ Is there a traitor. there's usually a traitor. or at least someone with a secret agenda that contradicts the group's goals. trust issues everywhere

⊹ What's the escape plan. because getting in is only half of it. how do they get out without getting caught or killed. what if the escape plan fails (it will)

⊹ What can go wrong. everything. something WILL go wrong. alarm gets tripped early, guard that wasn't supposed to be there, someone gets injured, the thing they're stealing isn't where it should be, betrayal. plan B time

⊹ What are the consequences if they fail. prison? death? worse? are there people threatening their families? debts they can't pay? this raises the stakes

⊹ How much prep/planning do you show. the planning montage is iconic but don't make it boring. show the research, the practice runs, the moments they realize how screwed they might be

⊹ Is this crew's first job together or have they done this before. experienced crews have history and inside jokes and old grudges. new crews don't trust each other yet

⊹ What's the moral line. are they robin hood types stealing from the evil rich? morally gray criminals? fully selfish? do they have rules about collateral damage?

I've wanted to do something with this general shape for awhile, and finally figured out how I wanted to approach it - intertwined rainbow gradients. Blackwork embroidery on 14-count Aida cloth.

Getting a drink of water is one of those things I’d like to say I could do in my sleep, but ironically that was not the case tonight. The water bottle on the bedside table was usually trustworthy. Sometimes you just fumble the basics, though, and this time I fumbled it right onto the bed. Soaked the blanket and my favorite pajamas too. 

I grumbled and complained about it, hurrying to grab the bottle and pull the blanket off before it seeped further. The sheets were dry, thankfully. I piled everything wet on the floor, turned on my dim reading lamp, and got new pajamas. 

I complained thoroughly and creatively, but Telly wasn’t there to flick an ear about it. She didn’t even peek her head in through the little door in the cat ramp near the ceiling, so she must have been elsewhere on the ship. Probably just as well. I would have felt bad if I’d spilled water on her too. 

Though, to be fair, she was the reason my spare blanket was waiting to be washed instead of ready to throw on the bed and go back to sleep. The dang thing stank of seafood, because my darling feline had apparently managed to steal more of Blip and Blop’s favorite shrimp sticks and eat them on the bed.

Great, choice, cat, I thought as I gathered up both blankets and my wet clothes. Spectacular choices all around. I should probably talk to the twins about where they were keeping those, since she had been really chowing down in the last couple days.

I’d ask in the morning, though. For now, I grabbed the empty water bottle and bundled my armload of cloth out into the quiet spaceship hallway, padding along on bare feet while reflecting that it was good the cleaning station was quiet. I didn’t want to wake anybody up. 

This is one of the scariest things I’ve ever done! Putting myself out there and asking for things is HARD, and I genuinely don’t know if there’s enough interest in this for it to be viable.

BUT shy bairns get nowt and all that, and if there is enough support and this does work out, then it’s a chance to do something really exciting. Very few people have had a properly fitted suit of historical plate to test with, and even fewer of them have an audience of this size to share their findings with. And while I may not be the best person for the job, I’m the only person that I am.

SO, if you want to see how far I can push movement in plate armour, or how many fantasy tropes I can recreate; if you want to see the process of making and fitting a full suit, and learn more about historical craftsmanship; OR if you want to watch a goofy goober pole dancing and attempting gymnastics in a clanky tin suit, with lots of failure along the way, please support this project.

There’s no way I can do it on my own, but if enough people chip in, there’s a chance!

The provisional cast on lets you cast on stitches that you can undo later to reveal live stitches:

🧶 Using a crochet hook and scrap yarn, make a couple of chains and then start casting stitches on the knitting needle as shown. Make an extra chain or two at the end.

🧶 Start #knitting with your proper yarn

🧶 Undo the cast on and transfer the stitches onto a knitting needle

Soldiers: What's up, we're calling ourselves the Fanged Falcons :)

Thaisha: no

Schemers: What a coincidence, our network is a Mischief of Magpies. A Tiding of Magpies to friends :)

I held the box while Paint greeted the client. “Good morning! I must say, you have lovely weather here.” Her orange scales shone in the sun, and if we hadn’t been busy making a delivery, she probably would have been searching out a nice flat rock to lie on.

The client standing in the doorway just looked tired. “Thanks,” he said. “We’ve worked hard to make it nice. Many years of terraforming.” He took the payment tablet that Paint offered with his own blue-furred hands, moving with all the enthusiasm of an exotic alien beaver who hadn’t had coffee yet.

“Well you’ve done a great job,” Paint said firmly, looking around at the lush greenery that surrounded the building. “I hope you can enjoy these waterspheres with a sense of accomplishment.” She took the tablet back and turned towards me.

I held out the box, which was reasonably heavy on account of all the water. “Where would you like it?”

“Just stick it on the table,” the client said, pointing out at something near my knees that could charitably be called a table. It had tools strewn across it and a cabinet above. He added, “I want to put some in there before stocking the rest.” A glance back at him showed me that he was pointing at the cabinet.

“Righto.” I stepped aside and set it down, glad to be done carrying its slightly wobbly weight. “Careful opening it. It’s pretty heavy; I think they filled it all the way to the top.”

“Good to know,” he said. Without further ado, he waddled over and peeled back the label to unfasten a catch that made the lid pop free, which he set aside with the ease of someone who had gotten many things mailed in. The box was full of bags, not individual waterspheres (thankfully), but it was definitely very full. Lots and lots of little grape-sized balls of hard water with regular water inside.

“That ought to last you a while,” I said.

“They’re not for me,” he muttered with a look back into the building.