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Blendover Episode Eight
Featuring Jeremy Rosen
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
What did you think of this episode? Have any questions? Suggestions?
LET US KNOW: Tweet Us | Give Us A Facialbook | Shoot Us Some Hate Mail
Or comment below!
- RIP Kenji Eno
- YouTube Networks
- Metal News
- #FreeSuperDaE
- Canadian Penny
- Alan Bean
- Exoplanet Kepler-37b
- Vulcan: Pluto's Moon?
- Christopher Dorner
- Pope Benedict XVI Resigns
- Recommended Reading
BlendoveR is a fun, hard-hitting pod-cast where rules are regularly thrown out the window in favor of honest, open commentating opinions. Presented by Greg Davies (cGt2099 from The-TrukstoP.com), and Terr Ciavarra (Media Nox from medianox.bandcamp.com), we stray on to any topic that presents itself or wanders off onto its own tangent.
RIP Kenji Eno
Game designer and musician Kenji Eno dies at 42
Game designer Kenji Eno, best known for his work on the D series, passes away at the age of 42
Kenji Eno, Japan's Maverick Game Creator, Dead at 42
YouTube Networks
YouTuber Zack James Deletes Videos & Uploads Protest Against Machinima and Maker
YouTuber Zack James Videos – Reddit Thread
Metal News
AFP Media Release: The AFP and FBI unite against terrorism and transnational crime
FBI involved in raid over Xbox secret
FBI raids home of SuperDaE hacker over the next Xbox
The Incredible Rise and Fall of a Hacker Who Found the Secrets of the Next Xbox and PlayStation—And Maybe More
Microsoft denies involvement in FBI raid on Xbox 720 leaker SuperDaE
One of FBI's most wanted caught in Sydney
Strategy to Combat Transnational Organized Crime: Addressing Convering Threats to National Security – July 2011
Canadian Penny
Canada officially eliminates the penny, 35 billion pennies will be collected and melted down
A Farewell–Of Sorts–to Canada's Penny
The most worthless coin in the world
Alan Bean
Reflections – Alan Bean, fourth person to walk on the Moon, during Apollo 12 – the second manned mission to land on the Moon [4095×4095]
Exoplanet Kepler-37b
Astronomers Find the Tiniest Exoplanet Yet
Exoplanet Kepler 37b is tiniest yet – smaller than Mercury
A team of researchers detected Kepler-37b, the smallest planet ever spotted outside the solar system
Vulcan: Pluto's Moon?
Vulcan and Cerberus win online poll to name Pluto's smallest moons
Vulcan has a strong lead as the name for one of Pluto's newly discovered moons
Vulcan Tops Online Voting to Name Pluto's Moons
Christopher Dorner
After manhunt, L.A. police again have an image problem
Charlie Brooker's Weekly Wipe S01E04
Christopher Dorner in gun battle with authorities, source says
Christopher Dorner Shootout – Cops say "Burn It Down"
LAPD chief: Review of cop firing vital for public trust
Photo from the "Officer-Involved Shooting" injuring two women in a blue truck
Reality Check: Did Cops Intentionally Set Fire To Chris Dorner's Cabin?
Responses to Dorner case contain surprises
Women shot during LAPD ex-cop manhunt had no warning, lawyer says
Pope Benedict XVI and the next Pope
Cardinal who covered up child abuse considers himself a scapegoat, compares his plight to that of Jesus, and will help elect the next pope
Is the Next Pope the Last Pope?
Pope Benedict XVI to resign, citing age and waning energy
Pope Conclave Change? Vatican Raises Possibility Of Early March Election
Pope resigns – Nostradamus and St Malachy predictions
Pope Struggling to Tame Intrigue Won't Let Cardinals See Dossier
Top British Cardinal Resigns, a Day After Charges of 'Inappropriate Acts'
Vatican scandal cited in Pope resignation
Recommended Reading
Life and Death in Shanghai by Nien Chang
Music Featured:
- "Alan Bean" by Hefner – from the album Dead Media
- "The Pope Song" by Tim Minchin – available free online at the official Tim Minchin site


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In finale, a winning edition
Despite struggling at home this season, the Bisons left Coca-Cola Field and Herd fans on a good note; winning on a walk-off single by Luis Rivera in the bottom of the 10th inning.
Buffalo beat the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees, 4-3, on Thursday afternoon on the final home game of the 2009 season.
The Bisons close out their 2009 campaign with five games in Lehigh Valley, including a doubleheader on Friday.

subset: commoncrawl


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The Poetic Research Bureau presents...
Friday, November 9, 2012
Doors open @ 7pm, reading @ 7:30pm
The Poetic Research Bureau @ The Public School
951 Chung King Rd.
Los Angeles, CA
Peter Jaeger is a Canadian poet, literary critic and text-based artist now living in the UK. His published work includes the poetry books Power Lawn (Coach House Books 1999), Prop (Salt 2007), Rapid Eye Movement (Reality Street Editions 2009), and The Persons (information as material 2011). He is currently writing a book on John Cage, which is set to be published by Continuum Press next year. Jaeger teaches poetry and literary theory at Roehampton University in London.
Ara Shirinyan is a poet based in Los Angeles. He is the publisher of Make Now Press and the co-director of the Poetic Research Bureau. His books include Syria Is In the World (Palm Press, 2007), Your Country Is Great (Futurepoem, 2008), and Handsome Fish Offices (Insert Press, 2008).


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DOVER, Del. – Wesley College's 14th-ranked football team advanced to its fifth-straight NCAA Quarterfinal, defeating No. 24 Ithaca College, 23-15, on Saturday afternoon at Scott D. Miller Stadium. The Wolverines (10-2) have now won ten games five consecutive years while the Bombers' season ends at 9-3.
Jamar Baynard carried the ball a career-high 20 times for 103 yards as Wesley accumulated 181 yards on the ground compared to -50 (sacks included) for Ithaca. This was the second time this season that Baynard, a freshman from Townsend, Del., went over the century mark. Jeremiah Howe also rushed for 41 yards on nine attempts.
Joe Callahan was efficient in the passing game, completing 14-of-25 times for 100 yards while also running for 17 yards, including a pivotal 19 yard scamper on a third down in the second quarter. Howe also led the team with five catches for 64 yards and now ranks eighth at Wesley with 121 career catches, tying Fran Naselli ('92). Steve Koudossou also hauled in three catches for 56 yards and move into fourth place on the Wolverines career receiving yards list (2,235).
Callahan's quarterback sneak from a yard out midway through the first quarter put the Wolverines on top, 6-0, but the lead was short lived as Ithaca's Sam Carney ran back the ensuing kickoff 91 yards for a touchdown. After missing the extra point earlier in the game, Jon Storck redeemed himself on Wesley's next drive with a 35-yard field goal, putting the Wolverines back on top, 9-6, with 3:55 left in the first quarter.
The Wolverines defense, who recorded seven sacks and 11 tackles for loss on the day, then forced a Bombers punt and took over inside their own 20, but Callahan led Wesley on a quick scoring drive to extend the lead to 16-7 just three minutes into the second quarter. Callahan hit tight end Kyle George down the seam for 15 yards, and Baynard registered 20 yards on his next two carries to get the ball to midfield.
Howe then caught a bomb from Callahan for 42 yards, putting the Wolverines at the Ithaca five-yard line. Baynard then ran for his first of two touchdowns on the day right up the gut.
Wesley went into the half with the nine point lead and the offense came out of the intermission fast with a 15 play, 82 yard drive that last over eight minutes. The possession culminated with two yard touchdown run by Baynard who accounted for 41 yards on the drive. Accounting for the other 41 yards on the possession was Howe.
Ithaca was able to cut the deficit to a single score with a touchdown pass from Tom Dempsey to Vito Boffoli with 2:44 left in the game, but the onside kick was unsuccessful. Baynard then received the call on the first two plays for Wesley and ran two straight times for six and 15 yards to seal the victory for the Wolverines.
Defensively, Luke Maginnis recorded a team-high ten tackles for Wesley while Sosthene Kapepula tallied nine stops with a sack and two pass breakups. Aamir Petrose finished with six tackles, 2.5 tackles for loss and a sack while freshman Zane Campbell recorded his team-leading sixth interception of the season. Eight different players were credited with at least half a sack.
Waiting for Wesley on Saturday, December 7 at 12 pm will be a familiar opponent in Mount Union. Kickoff is likely to be held in Alliance, Ohio. The two perennial powerhouses have met just twice, both Wesley losses, coming in the 2009 and 2011 Semifinals at Mount Union.


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The "Old Winery" is a collection of 6 outstanding romantic and luxury holiday homes: 4 of them are located in a big Renaissance house (actually a winery built in 1580) on the first belt of the ramparts (built 3 centuries earlier in the year 1291). The property is facing the famous Schoenenbourg Grand Cru vineyard producing some of the best Alsace wine; 2 other apartments are in a 17th Century adjacent house. The houses are surrounding a small garden. The Old Winery just earned (2016) a Golden Award for the quality of the renovation works.
These holiday homes belong without any doubt to the finest vacation rentals in Alsace.
All apartments on this side are designed and equiped to offer you the best. They earned an official 4 and 5 stars rating. Four of them have a private winter garden, a balcony or even a terrace which is a seldom opportunity in a medieval national heritage building.
A collection of 3 beautifully renovated romantic holiday gites in a historical and unique environment: the second belt of medieval ramparts of Riquewihr, built in the year 1500.
The Western side of our properties are part of the ramparts. On the eastern side, in the picturesque 'rue des Remparts', the house appears as a traditional Alsatian timber framed house. These holiday homes belong also to the finest gites in Alsace.
A collection of 5 new holiday gites in the heart of Riquewihr.
Four apartments are located above a famous historical wine cellar. These 4 gites just came out of renovation and decoration works.
The Marco Polo gite is a very large apartment on the opposite side of the street, in one of the most beautiful National Heritage houses in Riquewihr.
La Vancelle is a beautiful residential village only 25 minutes north of Riquewihr. If calm, rest, silence and nature - while being near to all important places to see, including the Alsace wine route (only a 10 minutes drive) - are important for you during your holidays in Alsace, you should definitely have a look at our Mountain Hiker holiday home in La Vancelle.
Our guests believe that our charming gites (the French word for vacation rentals or holiday homes) in Riquewihr belong to the finest places to stay in Alsace.
We offer several beautiful apartments for rent in a historical and unique environment. Our holiday homes in Alsace are available for self catering holidays all year round. All our holiday apartments in Riquewihr are within a short walking distance (see map on HOW TO GET THERE page and zoom in for the village map), so that it is easy for larger parties to remain all together within a same area. For our guests looking for a bed and breakfast service or even half board (including dinner) we have special agreements with local restaurants within a very short walking distance (50 to 150 meters).
Our rental policy: we try to be as flexible as possible but we are not a hotel neither a bed-and-breakfast. We cannot confirm any stay for one night only. Our costs would exceed our income. Our best rates are available for stays of 7 nights and more. Shorter stays (3-6 nights) are possible when planning opportunities exist and/or when the requested dates come exactly before or after an existing booking (see availability calendars for each gite).
Alsace and the medieval city of Riquewihr are in eastern France on the Rhine River border with Germany. It is unquestionably spectacularly beautiful. Alsace offers a very special combination of history, culture, scenery, and especially food and wine makes it one of the most delightful places to visit in all of Europe.
The Lonely Planets Best in Travel 2010 has picked Alsace as one of the hot regions in the world to visit. Alsace is one of the most beautiful and distinctive regions of France and is famous for its wine, gastronomy and wine tourism facilities. Joseph Ward, an American wine lover and wine specialist writing for The Washington Post says "Riquewihr gets my vote as France's most beautiful wine town".
Riquewihr is indeed the jewel in the crown and looks today exactly as it did in the 16th Century. Riquewihr is also a very practical base to visit all Alsace, the Vosges mountains and even nearby Germany and Switzerland.
Park your car and forget about it! There is more to do in Riquewihr than rushing with the tourist crowds in the main street! Open your eyes, look at the details on the old houses. Explore the side streets. Riquewihr, while being only a village with 1300 inhabitants, is the third city in Alsace for the number of National Heritage buildings (48), just after the large cities of Strasbourg and Colmar! This is the reason why Riquewihr is so popular worldwide. But at the end of the afternoon, when the tourists of the day are gone, you will have Riquewihr for yourself. A very privileged feeling indeed. You will probably need a week or so to discover the main attractions within walking distance or with the local bus.
The village of Riquewihr (sometimes wrongly spelled Riquewhir or Riquevir) is one of the highlights in Alsace in any season. First of all, you will discover the historical and picturesque streets of Riquewihr.
The fame of the village of Riquewihr is mainly due to its vineyards which - since the end of the Middle Age - are producing some of the best and most famous white wines in the world... The main street (rue du Général-de-Gaulle) crosses the village and will offer you a festival of gorgeous medieval houses. No, this is not a Walt Disney movie scenery! It is just reality! Left and right, smaller streets will attract you for even more surprises. Step by step you will walk uphill until you will reach the impressive Dolder tower (built in 1291) and the picturesque 'rue des Remparts'. Riquewihr, while being only a village with 1300 inhabitants, is the third city in Alsace for the number of National Heritage buildings (48), just after the large cities of Strasbourg and Colmar! This is the reason why Riquewihr is so popular worldwide. But at the end of the afternoon, when the tourists of the day are gone, you will have Riquewihr for yourself. A very privileged feeling indeed. All our holiday homes (outstanding self catering accommodation) are within the medieval heart of that lovely village.
For centuries, Riquewihr produces some of the most beautiful wines of Alsace and the world. Alsace enjoys some of the lowest rainfall in France (just 400-500mm or 16-20 inches per year) and Riquewihr is right in the middle of the driest area.
A superb landscape of vineyards and wooded mountains is protecting this exceptional jewel: Riquewihr. Ramparts, rich residences and more modest medieval houses make Riquewihr the pearl of the Alsatian vineyard and one of the most visited and most beautiful villages in France. Visitors can easily explore the heart of the vineyards in Riquewihr and neighbour villages as Hunawihr, Ribeauvillé, Bergheim, Kientzheim, Kaysersberg..., along one of the many wine trails.
Joseph Ward, an American wine lover and wine specialist writing for The Washington Post says "Riquewihr gets my vote as France's most beautiful wine town".
More about Riquewihr and wine tasting on the Alsace Wines route >>
We are wine lovers and enjoy excellent personal connections to some of the best local winemakers. We will of course be happy to share our best addresses with our guests.
The Lonely Planets Best in Travel has picked Alsace as one of the hot regions in the world to visit. Alsace is one of the most beautiful and distinctive regions of France and is famous for its wine, gastronomy and wine tourism facilities.
Alsace has been singled out as one of the hot regions in the world to visit by the Lonely Planets Best in Travel some years ago. The annual Best in Travel guide aims to give a collection of the worlds best journeys, destinations and experiences for the year ahead to take travellers out of the ordinary. One of the highlights of the guide is the Top 10 regions which brings Alsace to the forefront.
Joseph Ward, an American wine specialist writing in the Washington Post said: "Alsace is a region apart. German in appearance and character but French in spirit and fact, it has captured the best of both".
Any questions about your trip to Alsace? Just ask. We will do our best to answer.
Subscribe to our newsletter or join our Facebook fans and ask your questions.
The village of Riquewihr (sometimes wrongly spelled Riquewhir or Riquevir) is one of the highlights in Alsace in any season.
We think that - especially for a rather long stay (most of our guests are discovering the slow travel concept and are staying 7 nights and more) - it is not enough to sleep well during the night but it is necessary to enjoy the stay in a place which is somehow of the same level as the historical surroundings, the landscape, the mountain and the vineyards: beautiful. We put a lot of effort and care in the renovation and decoration of our vacation rental apartments because we want our holiday homes to be a memorable part of your travel experience to Alsace and France.
|Our environment
|Mountain , Rural area , Village , Historical site , Remarkable environment , Vehicle not necessary
|Our facilities and services
|Telephone , Internet , Wifi
|Topics and style of your holiday
|Romantic , Hiking holidays , Nature first , Traditions and Culture , Gourmet , Luxury , Elegant
IMPORTANT NOTICE: all our vacation rentals are stricktly NON SMOKING.
Well behaved children are welcome under the full responsability of the parents. Age restrictions may apply in some of our apartments. Please check descriptions. A credit card print is requested upon arrival to cover damage if any.


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Baltimore's new police commissioner is set to officially take over the force at a time when the city's stubborn homicide rate is trending upward.
Anthony Batts will be sworn in Thursday by Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake. He was picked in August to take over for Frederick Bealefeld, who retired after 31 years with the city police.
Bealefeld oversaw reductions in violent crime, and last year marked the first time since the 1970s that the city recorded fewer than 200 homicides. Still, Baltimore remains one of the nation's most violent cities.
This year, there have been 189 homicides, compared with 176 at this time last year. Batts is a former police chief of Long Beach and Oakland in California and has been a low-key leader so far as he evaluates the department.


text: The other morning I called my daughter around 8:30 a.m. A child whom sounded like my grandson (in a muffled voice) answered and said " Hi Grandma" I said, " Why do you have your Mom's phone" and he said " I am in school" then the call ended. My grandson, nor any of my other 3 grandson's had a phone in school. Could this be a voice from the other side? Would love to hear anyone's input.


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We saw these awesome videos of salt creations depicting Darth Vader, Johnny Depp and Optimus Prime and decided to get in on the action. We contacted Bashir Sultani, the salt artist, and asked him if he could do one for AnyMeeting.
He created our logo with table salt, one white and one green, then scattered the particles. With a little editing he reversed the process. We think it looks pretty cool.
What do you think? Let us know in the comments or on Facebook and Twitter.


text: HomeTesina collection Gown no 11Fabric : OrganzaSize ChartRETURN POLICYWe have a sizing chart that is for your reference while ordering. However, we will call you for your exact measurements. SIZING CHART : ₹25,000.00PriceSizeSelectWould you like it in another color ? Please type in which color you like (optional)500QuantityAdd to Cart


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Strata Design 3D CX utilizes the 3D graphics card in your computer for drawing the modeling windows. This can include, but is not limited to the movement of objects and displaying textures in the various windows.
It is also used for other functions in the program. It is usually a good idea to keep your graphics drivers up-to-date.
Strata Design 3D CX users with nVidia graphics cards are strongly encouraged to set your Display Preferences to Millions of Colors (32 bit) for the best possible user experience.


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2011 is already over in magazine-land, where January '12 issues are filling up newsstand shelves. This allows us to ask, and answer, the hard questions, like: did people buy a catastrophic number of magazines with Kim Kardashian's face on them this year, or just a distressingly high one? And what's the deal with Sarah Jessica Parker, anyway? SJP proved a reliable cover subject on Elle, Vogue, and Marie Claire, earning each magazine its second- or third-bestseller of the year. Kim Kardashian had Glamour and Cosmopolitan's bestsellers, but on the front of Harper's Bazaar, Self, and Lucky, Kim's face elicited only average sales. Women's Wear Daily reports that "a source said that her January 2012 Glamour cover with sisters Khloé and Kourtney is on track to fall below 400,000 sales — a really poor performance." Peering into the American id by way of magazine-buying habits has its interesting findings: people like Mark Sanchez more than they do Derek Jeter. They don't like Reese Witherspoon, but they do like Gwyneth Paltrow — just not on the cover of Bon Appetit. Heidi Klum did well, and so did Mila Kunis, who delivered 15% above-average sales for W and 10% above-average for Cosmopolitan. But people hate Justin Timberlake on a cover: with Mila, he had the fourth-best Elle of the year, but alone, he was Esquire's worst seller. Also unwanted on magazine covers in 2011: Justin Bieber. Nobody bought Bieber's Vanity Fair — it was the third-worst selling issue not only of the year, but of editor Graydon Carter's entire tenure — and his Rolling Stone sold 5% below average. Maybe all of those Beliebers who buy up multiple copies of his albums should show a little love to their local newsagent? And Lady Gaga had both the third-best and the third-worst Harper's Bazaar issues of the year (May being best and October being worst). Either people were all like, 'Wait, we just got a Harper's Bazaar with this lady's face on it, what gives?' or they prefer Gaga with makeup and weird facial prosthetics. (Her October cover was au naturel.) [WWD]
A little girl was trampled at a mall in Indianapolis after doors opened on the release of a new Air Jordan shoe. A shoe. Just a fucking shoe. [Styleite]
Kimora Lee Simmons is Photoshopped to the familiar standard of "perfection" for her new cover of Harper's Bazaar Singapore. [DS]
Anna Dello Russo uploaded this video of her dancing with a man dressed as Santa Claus, for your holiday viewing pleasure. [YouTube]
Benetton is donating this sculpture of a dove to the city of Tripoli as part of its new Unhate ad campaign. The dove is made of spent bullet and shell casings. So Libyans spend eight months fighting for their freedom from dictatorship, and all they get for their trouble is to be the background of a fucking Benetton ad. [WWD]
- GQ has named Jared Leto the Worst-Dressed Man In The World. Sounds pretty bad in title case, doesn't it? The magazine says "the essence of the Leto Complex" is that he is "s man who can afford an Alexander McQueen suit-conceivably a very nice one — but opts for Ugg slippers and a couture Snuggie." That and a black mesh wifebeater. [GQ]
- A fire this weekend tore through and destroyed the home of fashion advertising executive Madonna Badger. Her parents, Lomer and Pauline Johnson, and her three daughters, Lily, Grace, and Sarah, were all killed. Badger and a friend named Michael Borcina survived the blaze. Lomer Johnson worked as a department-store Santa Claus, most recently at the Saks Fifth Avenue flagship in Manhattan. Badger art-directed Calvin Klein's famous campaigns with Mark Wahlberg and Kate Moss. The cause of the fire has been described as "fireplace related" by investigators, and the Stamford, Connecticut, police and fire departments have scheduled a press conference for 5 p.m. today. [NYTimes, WWD]
- Marie Claire editor and Project Runway judge Nina Garcia announced that she's joining online trunk-sale retailer Moda Operandi as a consultant. [@NinaGarcia]
- Model Chrissy Teigen and singer John Legend got engaged over the holidays. Teigen deadpanned, "he went to Jared." Also, here is a fish they caught, cooked, and ate in the Maldives. [@ChrissyTeigen, So Delushious]
- Australians hate shopping, and they hold poor customer service responsible. 44% of respondents to an Australian survey say that rude and/or pushy retail staff have undermined their shopping experiences, and 22% say they often encounter sales assistants who are lazy. Strangely, no mention was made of goods that are "priced such that they remain inaccessible to the undesirable." [WWD]
- Sears announced it will close 100-120 Sears and K-mart stores it regards as underperforming. In the first two months of this quarter, same-store sales at the chain have fallen by 4.4% year-on-year, which is pretty dismal. Another thing Sears could save money on would be those asinine fucking sponsored Tweets it keeps spamming everyone's feeds with. [WWD]
- The Hollywood Reporter mentioned the efforts of a TV producer named Scott Sternberg to shop a Casey Anthony interview for $750,000 were coming to nought — but it ran a photo of Band of Outsiders founder Scott Sternberg by mistake. [P6]
- We were intending to read this story on the New York opening of a Canadian tearoom chain, but the lede stopped us cold: "Tea does not have a terribly sexy reputation in America, where it tends to be the beverage of choice for the fussy or the British or the mothball-scented elderly." Excuse me? Excuse me? What a load of cold, spent leaves. Tea is not "fussy" — it's a hell of a lot easier to make a good cup of tea than a good cup of coffee. Tea isn't the privileged domain of the few, it's a good, honest, easy-drinking beverage that hydrates and enlivens. And as for the Canadian who "couldn't find good tea anywhere" in New York: Stop being purposefully obtuse and go to fucking Fairway. They sell more varieties of looseleaf than you could blend and give insipid, punning, twee little names to ("All the Raj," "The Skinny") in a lifetime. Hmm. Now we need a cup of tea. [WWD]
- British-based lingerie chain La Senza has filed to enter bankruptcy protection in the U.K. La Senza is owned by Lion Capital, the private-equity firm best known on this side of the pond for its heavy investment in American Apparel and skeevy corporate parties. [WWD]


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Diamondback Overdrive Comp 27.5 Mountain Bike - 2017 (Silver) (Xlarge)
Unavailable Online
This item is not available for purchase online. You may want to search our site for a similar item.
COVID-19: We ask for your understanding as you may experience delivery delays.
This product was added to our catalog on February 18, 2019


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Young and sexy. Did I mention he is legal! Ow Ow. Chris Brown has a certain swagga that is undeniable, but he is still a cutie! His new cd drops tomorrow...Exclusive. Go get it and keep doin ya thing boo.
-Doe Chee$e
Posted by Doe Cheese at 11:38 AM 0 comments
Labels: chris brown, Eye Candy


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- Home
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As seen on Insta @SIRTHELABEL
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Your message has been successfully sent. Someone from our Customer care team will get back to you shortly
If your measurements are not consistent with a single column, use your waist measurement to determine your ideal size.
Measure around the fullest part of your chest, keeping the tape level to the floor
Measure directly under your bust (around your rib cage, where your bra band sits), keeping the tap
Measure around your natural waistline (the smallest part of your waist).
Measure aroud the fullest part of your hips. Slim-hipped ladies can take this measurement from 20cm/8in below the waistline.


text:
- Description
Since the 1970s the automotive supply specialist Climair has developed and produced wind and rain deflectors for car side windows and sunroofs. High quality is a trademark of Climair products. This has been achieved with the knowledge and experience gained over many years of technical production.
Climair deflectors are precision made in Germany and are T.U.V approved with a two year guarantee.
Climair are an OEM approved supplier to the world's finest vehicle manufacturers. These products are tailor-made for every type of car, van and commercial vehicle. Each product comes with full fitting instructions and helpful tips.
These deflectors install quickly inside your window channel. They do not stick on the outside.
Further advantages:
• Helps ventilate the interior
• Ideal for pet owners and smokers
• Reduces problems of misting windows
• Reduces penetration from wind and rain
• Reduces side glare in summer
• Enhances exterior styling
• Allows Vehicle ventilation when parked
• Protects armrest switches
• Made from tinted acrylic.
TUV approved. Two year guarantee
Additional Information
Brand Climair OEM / Aftermarket Aftermarket Warranty 24 Months Warranty Lead Time Special Order - 1-2 days Part Number PM155 Vehicle For Discovery 2
- Delivery
We despatch parcels worldwide on a daily basis. Here is a guide to some of the services we offer. For full information regarding our delivery services please view our Delivery page.
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Orders less than £50.00 exc VAT (£60.00 inc VAT). - Economy Service: £5.00 exc VAT (£6.00 inc VAT), Express Service: £10.00 exc VAT (£12.00 inc VAT)
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Mainland Europe
Belgium, France, Germany, Luxembourg, Netherlands: £5.00 exc VAT (£6.00 inc VAT) per 30kg parcel.
Austria, Denmark, Ireland, Italy*, Spain***: £10.00 exc VAT (£12.00 inc VAT) per 30kg parcel.
Bulgaria, Croatia, Czech Republic, Estonia, Finland, Greece, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Portugal**, Romania, Slovak Republic, Slovenia, Sweden: £15.00 exc VAT (£18.00 inc VAT) per 30kg parcel.
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Mary Jones Theatre Program Collection
- Collection
- 1937-1941, 1952-1986
The collection contains a variety of theatre and music programs from across Canada, with a special emphasis on events held in and around Halifax, Nova Scotia. There are also programs from England, United States, France and Russia. Programs date fr...


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A/N: This is for an angst/tragedy contest on the Serebii forums. There's a warning for language—including several uses of the 'f-word'—and some violence.
I don't own Pokémon, but I did give Falkner his surname, and I did make up Southernwood Town and Tamarack City, as well as the few OCs who appear/are mentioned. Also, I don't own the Dragon Clan, but I did make up some of the traditions implied in the story.
This is actually the first in a trilogy of one-shots called 'Disillusions'. Game inspired, but there may be a few tinges of the anime… I can't be sure. More notes on the bottom, but I suggest reading the story first. (grins)
"Hey, you!"
The irritable voice rang through the corridor, making Lance stiffen slightly with apprehensive expectation. He halted mid-stride, turning to face the black-haired operative who had just burst through the doors Lance was passing, and cursed inwardly when he saw the man's eyes were indeed on him and not one of the other grunts hurrying through the corridor. Damn. I don't have time for this.
"Yes, sir?" the Elite Trainer asked in a neutrally deferential tone, keeping his head down so the brim of his cap shaded his eyes and face. True, people usually recognised him through his hair and bearing, but there was no point in being careless and he wasn't entirely sure his annoyance wouldn't show in his eyes. He was a good actor—he had to be—but he could never get his eyes to lie.
It was bad enough being where he was; he didn't need to get picked up for being disrespectful. Not now, not with so much at stake.
The sallow-faced man thrust a sheaf of papers at him, and Lance had to restrain the instinctive twitch to go for a pokéball, instead taking the forms quietly. "Take these to Inventory," the man snarled. "And leg it, we don't have time to dawdle!"
Without further explanation the Rocket spun around and stalked with a bang back through the double doors, headlined by a sign saying 'Engineering'. With an internal sigh, forcing his taut muscles to relax—damn, but I hate it when they call me up for something inconsequential like that—Lance turned on his heel and started back way he'd come, mentally cursing the horrible timing.
If he wasn't on that chopper by the time it left…
Not gonna let that happen, the Dragon Master thought grimly, shuffling the papers into order, keeping a wary eye on the busy grunts he passed in the shiny, well-lit corridor. We've waited too long for a break like this; I can't afford to miss this opportunity.
He hadn't exactly planned on the opportunity, either, but when Koga had called it in he wasn't about to pass it up, even though he was disturbingly under-equipped. He simply hadn't had the chance to sign out on some of the gear he usually would have wanted at hand; he just had to hope that nothing went wrong and he wouldn't end up needing a wiretap or bug.
Worst comes to worst, I can call in; Will's standing by, and he should've contacted the others by now.
He mentally ran through the list of Elites who would be available for backup, jogging up a metal stairwell leading to the string of rooms housing Inventory, his boots clanging on the steps. Surge's been chomping at the bit for some action for weeks—he'll have to be teleported in, but that's not much of a loss. The Vermillion City gym was one of the few non-clan-owned facilities which actively taught combative techniques, and was a favourite of retired or discharged military and law enforcement types. The lieutenant ran the place like a boot camp, but it did mean that Lance had some trained men at his disposal in addition to the team of Enforcers he'd called in from Blackthorn City.
Falkner's on call, and Bruno would still have been at the Plateau when I left.
Blaine had been waiting for a breakthrough in the case, same as everyone else, but he wasn't exactly qualified for field operations; Will had probably contacted him and the other scientists but not much else. At the very least he'll be waiting and ready for when the raid's over. Between the five of us, my and Surge's men and the local police we should be able to handle everything.
At least that was one thing in their favour, Lance reflected as he dodged a black-uniformed grunt rushing the other way, carrying a stack of small cartons. The operation they were trying to take down was covert—it had been working under the radar for over a year since they came aware of its existence, and God-only-knew how much longer than that—which meant it was relatively small in terms of men.
Small, but frighteningly deadly.
Just thinking about it made Lance's stomach twist with anger. Sure, the Rockets hired unscrupulous scientists to work their trade all the time, but rarely was there so much collateral damage involved. This case, however…
This case involved nothing less than the endangerment of thirteen small-time towns across Tohjo, to say nothing of the pokémon populations surrounding them. In certain secluded areas the Rockets had deliberately placed foreign substances in the springs, in the groundwater, in the soil… and it was seriously affecting the health of the towns that used the resources. In one town, thirty-four percent of the population had cancer—eighty-seven percent had been at increased risk of such—and sixteen percent had been listed as fatal!
And the reason?
Controlled experimentation of the pokémon populations—just another attempt to create super-pokémon, without morals, without regard for the excess, without care for the consequences—
The rattle of a trolley brought him up short and he just managed to step out of the way of the crate-burdened vehicle and the blue-skinned machoke pushing it. Shit! The dragon tamer flattened himself against the wall as the pokémon and its trainer passed, head lowered to hide the steel in his eyes. Get a grip, this is no time to be getting distracted!
He pushed down the anger beating in his chest, forcing his previous thoughts from his mind, and made his hands unclench, smoothing out the crinkled paper. Then he took a deep, bracing breath and slipped into the broad antechamber which connected the string of supply rooms to the main section of the depot.
Almost instantly he realized he probably should have taken a moment or two longer to compose himself. The more people around, the more likely it was that someone would recognise him; his stomach was still tight with nervous tension, making his eyes flit automatically, warily, around at all the activity.
Can't help it now.
He kept his face down as he dodged agents—and some pokémon—hurrying every which way, moving crates and boxes, pushing trolleys, and generally just trying not to crash into each other in the chaos. His back prickled insecurely every time someone went out of sight-range and he had to consciously stop himself from jerking for a pokéball, swallowing his heart back down, when a stocky grunt dragging a trolley snarled at him as he darted past.
He finally reached the other side of the room where the irritable-looking officer in charge stood, her long blonde hair tucked in beneath her cap, her hand moving with ill-tempered motions as she checked off supplies on her clipboard. "What?" she snapped without looking up.
"Ma'am," he said, mercifully straight-faced and monotone, and held out the forms, eyes flickering discreetly down to her board as he banished all thoughts of what had brought him there and returned to what he was supposed to be doing. With an impatient click of her tongue the woman snatched the papers out of his hand, scanning them quickly and covering up her own pages in the process.
With a mental sigh Lance could only stand back and wait, eyeing the equipment going past him at a furious pace and wishing he could find out what to expect. Not that there's any guarantee all this stuff's going to the lab; this outlet probably helps supply a dozen different Rocket operations.
It was galling to let it continue to run, but the Rockets had no idea the Elites knew of its presence and location. They'd used it as a lead more than once, although that might have to change if the Team suspected they'd used it to get to the lab—he hadn't had time to be cautious about covering his tracks. With luck Koga would be able to lay a false trail before the ninja pulled out of his mission.
"Parker!" the woman bellowed suddenly, making Lance twitch violently in surprise, his heart striking up against his ribs and his breath catching.
Damnit, woman, give me some warning, will you?!
A mousy-looking man hurried up, struggling past a rogue cardboard box, and the woman handed him Lance's papers. "Deal with this."
Parker nodded and disappeared into the bowels of Inventory while his superior went back to muttering under her breath and checking off supplies, totally ignoring Lance and leaving the dragon tamer to back away to the wall to wait.
A discreet check of his cellphone's clock told him he had little over forty minutes to get down to the hangar and make himself useful. He took another deep, relatively calming breath, still keeping a wary eye on the bedlam in front of him in the event one of the Rockets wasn't concentrating too hard on their work to notice him. Unlikely, since they were all constrained by the clock, but Lance was feeling severely under-prepared, uneasily fingering one of his dragon's pokéballs and wishing he'd had a little more time to get ready.
Hell, he'd settle for just a little more time.
Parker slipped back into the main room with a plastic packing case in hand, looking harassed as he navigated through the pandemonium and practically shoved his burden into Lance's hands. "Sign here," the man said shortly, slapping the forms on top, and between juggling the box and handling the pen Lance managed to scrawl down one of his pseudonyms. Parker took it just as his superior hollered his name again, and with a roll of his eyes he turned around and left the Dragon Master to fend for himself.
Not that Lance was complaining. Tucking the box under his arm, the Elite turned on his heel and wove his own way out of the supply room, hurrying as much as he could while trying to control his heart-rate with deep, controlled breaths, resisting the urge to check the clock again. Instead he focussed his mind on thinking of alternatives, of shortcuts, of backup plans, in the event that he was sent on another useless errand away from the hangar bay.
S'pose I could always throw it off onto someone else… faking authority is something I'm good at. He smiled grimly. Probably because it's not usually faked.
By the time he got back to Engineering he'd lost over fifteen minutes and the senior agent in charge was practically spitting chips, snatching the box out of Lance's hands almost as soon as he came through the door and thrusting it at a hapless technician. "Get that fucking hardware fixed!" he snarled, gesturing violently at a partially disassembled computer bank before turning back to Lance. "And you—"Lance tensed—"get that down to the hangar!"—pointing at a loaded trolley in the corner.
Snapping a salute for good measure—not that the man saw it, he'd already turned away—Lance gratefully interposed himself behind the cart, manoeuvring it out of the spacious room. I might actually make my flight after all.
The hangar, when he got there, was even more of a hive than Inventory, although this time there was space enough for agents to step back and allow pokémon to do the heaviest lifting. Most of the activity was centred around the twin-rotor helicopter settled in the centre of the area, beneath a blast-door leading up and out, as agents frantically prepped the vehicle for its supply run.
Lance steered the trolley around a stack of crates still to be loaded, and then around the sleek-furred vigoroth who had just stepped in his way. His eyes found the huge clock on the opposite wall, telling him there was less than twenty minutes left before the chopper was scheduled to leave, and his stomach tightened with familiar urgency, his pace automatically quickening as he navigated the buzzing floor-space.
He came to the chopper's open hatchway, pulling into line behind a blue-haired woman and her brawny machoke, and settled down to wait until the man at the entrance had finished checking off the supplies the muscular pokémon was carrying.
Not much longer, the Elite trainer thought grimly, resisting the urge to tap his fingers, or fidget, or anything. God, he hated inaction.
You're in the middle of a Rocket base, isn't that enough for you? a mental voice which sounded remarkably like Clair said acerbically, and Lance's mouth twisted wryly. He'd specifically ordered Ephraim not to wake his cousin up when he'd called into the Blackthorn gym for reinforcements—she and her dragons had just come off an intensive training regime, he didn't want to disturb her if he could help it—but somehow that never stopped her from nagging him, even if it was only in his own mind.
At least one of us is getting a good night's rest. It was a quarter past two in the morning.
The minutes dragged past with all the ease of a kingdra on land. The blue-haired woman got into an argument with the other grunt, and their voices punctuated the general chaos with sharp words and exclamations—to say nothing of gestures. Lance watched them with one eye, keeping the other open for whoever was in charge of the hangar and who would no doubt come down on them like a flight of dragons any minute. He really didn't want to be involved in this just for being nearby.
The last thing I need right now is further complications.
He had barely completed the thought when there was a ruckus somewhere out in the corridor through the open double-doors, faint, but growing louder. Lance's brow furrowed, his gut tightening slightly as his eyes flickered once again to the clock. It's nowhere near past my call-in time yet, and besides, a raid would make a helluva lot more noise than that.
It was possible that a member of the backup team had gotten picked up on the radar, but with so much at stake Lance couldn't imagine that any one of them would be so careless.
"Let go of me!" a slightly muffled voice shouted—a young voice—and Lance's heart plummeted.
Oh God, don't tell me…
Eyes all around the hangar strayed to the exit as there was a thud and the tramp of many feet, and then a black-clad security team swept into the room, dragging three bound, struggling and shouting teens with them.
Lance stood frozen, his heart pounding in his throat and his stomach a coil of knots, all other considerations abruptly swept away by the course his sleepless night had suddenly taken.
Three kids. Here. Kids.
It seemed incomprehensible that this could be happening—there were members of the League keeping watch, for God's sake—
Members whose focus was on the base and what was coming out, not going in, and if the kids had come from a different direction or already been nearby…
One of the boys—he can't be more than twelve!—tried to bite his captor as the thickset Rocket dragged him deeper into the hangar, closer to the chopper, and in response the man belted the kid across the face with an audible smack. With a pained grunt the boy's head snapped to the side and his body followed, landing with a hard thump on the concrete floor, his backwards cap tumbling from his tousled hair.
Lance twitched violently as the other kids, a scrawny short-haired girl and a taller, stocky boy, were shoved to the ground beside their friend. He swallowed hard, fisting his white gloves and forcing himself to calm down, to breathe deeply, to think rationally. You can't afford to blow your cover—not now. You can leave with the chopper and then come back with a team to rescue the kids. It's about time we took out the trash here anyway.
The tension in his stomach didn't ease—taking out the depot was a huge task, but if it had to be done then it had to be done. It just didn't change the fact that three kids were still here and at the mercy of the Rockets, with no idea what they had gotten themselves into, no idea what they were up against… they never knew, they always thought that having pokémon made them powerful enough to take on anyone, they didn't know…
A cold voice sounded through the havoc, silencing just about everyone and halting most—if not all—activity.
"Would you care to explain what the hell's going on here, Agent?"
That was when Lance saw him, only a dozen feet away and half-hidden by the chopper's bulk: a tall blond man, striding into sight with languid steps, his black uniform straight and crisply cut as per the officers' uniform regulations, one hip adorned with a pokéball and the other a gun.
Lance's stomach turned over in dread and realisation. Oh God.
Jace Patterson.
Sub-admin. Wanted in relation to six confirmed murders, who knows how many unconfirmed, several counts of fraud, blackmail, and various other crimes common to the Rockets.
And he doesn't leave witnesses.
"Caught 'em prowling around," one of the Rockets said matter-of-factly, a nondescript man in the same black uniform as almost everyone else, except he bore an eclectic trio of bags slung over his shoulder. "Behave," he admonished the girl a second later when she tried to stagger to her feet, forcing her back down again with his hand on her head. She jerked away from him, her nose wrinkled with disgust and fear.
Lance's jaw tightened at the look on her face, schooling his muscles to stillness. It was taking everything he had just to keep himself from going for one of his dragons. Closing his eyes for a moment helped, cutting off the sight of the younger boy looking oh-so-naively defiant, the girl pale but rebellious, the older, stockier teen grimly apprehensive.
"You won't get away with this!" the younger boy shouted, fighting the ropes tying his wrists, half rising up onto his knees only to be shoved roughly back down again. Lance's tingling fingers spasmed momentarily before he managed to block out the sounds of furious, childish threats, forcing himself not to act, to think, because there was far too much at stake here to just jump into the fray.
If I call in for backup it would blow my cover. I can't attack without blowing my cover. If I can't get to the lab tonight it could be another year before we get another opportunity like this.
Meanwhile, the people and pokémon of those towns would continue to suffer and die. They were trying to help, they had health experts and doctors all over the data, but it wasn't enough without knowing exactly what the Rockets used as contaminants. There was only so much they could pinpoint from blood tests and symptoms.
Help these kids and lose the chance to end this case.
Or take down the lab… and sacrifice these kids.
He couldn't make that decision. He couldn't. They were kids. He had to do something—
I have to do nothing.
Swallowing hard against the rock in his throat, the dragon tamer fought himself to continued immobility, his fists clamped at his sides and gaze locked upon the scene not more than a dozen feet in front of him.
"Was there anyone else with them?" Patterson was asking the man who led the security detail, and Lance tried to listen, tried to pay attention in case someone said something important, but it was so hard just to look and not act.
"Nada," the man answered with a shrug.
Patterson nodded without a change in expression, ignoring the younger boy's yells and threats, his indignation that the sub-admin wasn't taking them seriously. Instead the Rocket reached for the gun at his hip, drawing it, racking the slide with an intimidating clunk-snap which made the boy fall silent at long last, staring at him with too-wide eyes as all the agents nearby stepped out of firing range.
Lance went cold. No. No you don't, you bastard, don't you dare—
—do something, do something, do something—
His hands clenched, trembling slightly against the roaring in his ears which seemed to be taking over every other sound, against the beast in his chest that was ravaging him from inside out, he could swear that he was being eaten alive—
Patterson raised the gun.
—don't you dare, I'll hunt you down if you do, I'll throw you into a lake of gyarados—
There seemed to be a split second of utter silence as the boy's body toppled. Then there was a slight thud as it hit the ground, and the spell was broken.
With a hysterical, incoherent scream, the girl threw herself at Patterson, her voice almost drowning out the hoarse shouts of the other boy, but the Rocket just caught her roughly around the arm and threw her back down to the concrete. Without a change in expression he shifted his aim and a gunshot later there were two bodies on the blood-streaked floor.
Lance hardly heard it or saw it—the pound of his heart in his ears had taken over everything, his vision a have of smouldering red as he trembled beneath the fury consuming him from within. It took his white flashes in front of his eyes before he realized he wasn't breathing and managed to inhale shallowly, shakily, not daring to take more than that in case he drew attention to himself.
The next thing he knew he was staring at three limp corpses, spreadeagle and slumped in a pool of red.
His hand spasmed violently and he quickly turned away, clenching an iron grip around the handle of the trolley instead of a pokéball as he so desired, shaking with rage and anguish and guilt so sharp that for one irrational moment he thought Patterson had shot him as well.
And that might actually come true in a minute if you don't get a grip! rebuked some part of him that was still paying attention, and he managed to swallow once, twice, taking deep, unsteady breaths until the pounding in his head and chest eased and he could once more pay attention to what was happening around him.
The bustle of the hangar had started up again, the sounds of many echoing footsteps and the scrape of wood against concrete and metal. Yes. I am… loading the helicopter.
I am loading the helicopter to go to the lab.
He narrowed his focus on that one thing; that was his task, and it was an easy one. If he could just do that then he could handle the thing to come after, and when he'd handled the next thing then he could handle the next…
It was still a moment before he could unclench his hand from around the handle of the trolley and straighten, trembling from the massive adrenaline rush.
"Is there a problem, Agent?" an emotionless voice asked from the side.
Lance's body seized up, his heart skipping, and for a moment his vision wavered red once again as he turned his head slightly to look out beneath the brim of his cap—just enough to see Patterson beside him.
The hidden blade he wore at his back burned him through his clothes. So near—so close—
It would be so easy, he wasn't expecting it, no one was expecting it—
Lance unstuck his throat, his jaw aching from his teeth being gritted, his voice coming out hoarse as he lied, every word harsh on his lips. "My apologies, sir… I have a sister their age."
Patterson studied him for a moment longer with those sharp eyes, a moment in which Lance didn't dare breathe or move, his chest painfully tight and arms locked into place.
Then the thin Rocket seemed to shrug, accepting that some people had family, loved ones, even if he didn't. "To work, Agent."
"Yes, sir," the Elite whispered as Patterson turned away, and one hand quivered slightly as though with the lingering desire to unleash the full fury of his dragons upon the Rocket, a desire Lance bridled and pounded down until numbness was the only thing left.
Will fidgeted restlessly, fingering the edge of his mask and swivelling slightly on his revolvable chair, his brown eyes fixed to the flatscreen in front of him. On it the region's topography was laid out in bright green contours, the gridded map centred on an area in the mountains northeast of Violet City, quite close to Southernwood Town, where he was currently stationed. There were five glowing red dots strung out near the base of the map, motionless and waiting.
The monitor to his left was scrolling with numbers, but he wasn't in control of it; that computer had been routed to the technicians up at the Plateau. Thanks to some data Koga had provided, they were currently leaving the mainframe of the Rocket base where the ninja was stationed in shambles.
The psychic had his doubts they'd find anything useful, but they were leaving a discreet trail behind. After the lab was raided the Rockets would probably search their mainframes, find out it had been tampered with, and assume the Elites had managed to break their codes for the coordinates, leaving the depot open for continued surveillance.
Of course realistically it would take weeks to break any kind of code to find the lab's location—and that was assuming it was there to begin with—but if the ploy worked the Rockets wouldn't know how long they'd had the data anyway, so it really didn't matter.
Meanwhile Koga would slip out of the base with them none the wiser… too bad he wouldn't get out in time to join the rest of them.
Although we're not exactly doing much either, the purple-haired psychic sighed, sitting back in his chair and swinging idly around on the rotating chair to scan the rest of the room.
It was relatively quiet, aside from the stamp of Surge's boots as the broad-shouldered blonde paced the wooden floor restlessly and the soft click of metal as two of the gym leader's men silently checked and rechecked a set of handguns they'd brought with them over in the opposite corner. Will wrinkled his nose a little at the sight; he wasn't qualified to fire a gun and wouldn't have taken one anyway, but not everyone was equipped to defend themselves the way he was in the event pokémon weren't able to handle the danger.
Bruno was seated on the floor in the corner to Will's right, legs crossed and eyes closed, his lowered face half shadowed by his thick, shaggy hair. The psychic wasn't sure if he was meditating or just trying to snatch a few more minutes of sleep—both states of mind had some similarities, depending on their depth. This whole situation had been a rude awakening for everyone except Koga, who had, apparently, been undercover since morning.
The only other people present, seated at the long oval table in the centre of the room, were the last two of Surge's squad, both of them ruddy, muscular and grim, occupying themselves by double-checking the rest of the equipment brought from the Vermillion City gym.
Quiet, maybe, Will thought with a slight frown, rubbing his forehead as he turned back to his computers. But definitely tense.
He'd caught Surge projecting once or twice, radiating displeasure and impatience, wishing he could be out there ready to storm the depot instead of 'locked inside this prison of a meeting room waiting for thatpretentious porcupine-haired dragon tamer to drop us a nonexistent line'.
You'd think he hates Lance, the way he's been going on.
It wasn't true, of course; hostility was just the lieutenant's way of dealing with the tension. Will had taken his fair share of insults in the past, and so had just about everyone else Surge worked with.
The slender psychic fingered his earpiece glumly, wishing Lance would hurry up and call in already and not entirely sure whether the thought belonged to him or not.
Or he could at least leave the depot. The base was installed with signal-suppressing equipment, so Will couldn't lock onto the dragon tamer's cellphone until he left the facility.
He could have called Falkner for an update, but the idea that Falkner would know more about what was going on just because he was closer was a fallacy. The bird trainer was as near to the supply outlet as he dared to go without tipping the Rockets off, and the team of Dragon Clan Enforcers was waiting in the wings a little further back—most dragons didn't have particularly good night-sight compared to Falkner's noctowl and hoothoot.
Meantime, Karen had already been alerted and was taking care of things on the political and administrational end, while Blaine and the other scientists were en route to the labs at the Plateau (or already present, as was in the case of most of them). Other than that there wasn't anything any of them could do but wait.
Restlessly the psychic shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them again, inwardly cursing the atmosphere of the room. It's times like this I hate being empathic. He could feel Surge's impatience like it was his own, despite his attempts to block it, and it was making him uneasy.
Abruptly Will's stomach turned over and his breath caught, making him swallow hard against an intense feeling of nausea. His skin prickled, the scars on his left cheek seeming to burn, and one hand automatically came up to rub them anxiously beneath the mask. Okay, Surge isn't causing that.
There was only one thing Will knew of which caused 'that'. He may not have visions as powerful or often as Sabrina did, but he did get premonitions, and right now one was telling him that something had just gone horribly wrong.
His fingers twitched for the earpiece to call Falkner, but he hesitated, staring at the green-lined map on the screen, at the clock down the bottom. It's only two-nineteen. Not even two hours since Lance went in.
He wasn't supposed to send in reinforcements unless an operative had missed their call-in time by more than an hour.
He didn't give me a call-in time.
But he had said to give him four hours at the outside.
What if whatever had gone wrong wasn't something that would keep Lance from completing the mission? Sending Falkner in could blow the Champion's cover.
Dissatisfied, Will forced himself to sit back in his chair and cross his legs in a parody of composure—but he wasn't able to take his hand from his still-tingling scars.
Ten minutes later, when a small red dot blipped up on the screen and flashed, his heart leapt to his throat and he almost catapulted forward for the keyboard, his fingers flying as he logged in the time and location of the signal and set the satellite to track it.
Behind him he heard Surge's footsteps halt, felt every eye on his back, and tapped his earpiece with a hand trembling with adrenaline. "Falkner, they're on the move."
"Understood. Returning to Southernwood."
Once Falkner got there—it was too dangerous to try and track the helicopter by air, the vehicle was sure to be equipped with a high-tech radar—the fliers could transport the equipment and men while Will directed them from the Southernwood Police Station. When Lance had arrived at his destination, Will would radio the nearest local police force and then teleport there to help set up a control room and meet the others.
"Let's saddle up, people!" Surge barked from somewhere behind him, and the room was abruptly filled with the sound of people moving, but Will didn't shift his focus from the monitor, automatically blocking out the veritable buzz of grim apprehension and hoping, praying, that his premonition had been wrong after all.
"—been arrested pertaining to their involvement in the lab and its research. They are currently under guard in Tamarack City, awaiting transport to Cianwood, where they will be held until—"
Falkner shut the door, momentarily blocking out the low sound of the television, and ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair with a sigh. Should've known the news would be on.
He didn't mind reporters so much, and often it was useful just to see what the media was saying—and how much they were getting wrong—but he didn't have the energy to listen to it right now, not when it was something he'd experienced himself. He'd gotten all of two hours' sleep before the raid and hadn't managed to drop off afterwards; it was now early afternoon and he'd given up on his nap after tossing and turning for half the morning.
So he'd pulled on a yukata, left his shared lodge, and made his way through the gardens to the gatehouse common room. At first glance the tastefully furnished room appeared to be empty, even despite the blare of the massive flatscreen television on the opposite wall, casting flickering light over the leather armchairs and polished, ornately carved tables. The bird trainer frowned and took a few steps in to find the remote and turn the TV off, the carpet soft under his bare feet, before he finally spotted Will sitting cross-legged and half buried within a pile of cushions, the psychic's hair blending in remarkably well with the navy-blue of the couch. Will looked as tired as Falkner felt; he wasn't even wearing his mask, the scars on the left side of his face looking pearly in the intermittent light from the television.
That doesn't bode well, Falkner thought grimly as he changed his course, shifting aside some cushions and plopping himself down on the couch next to the younger man. "Why aren't you in bed?" the bird trainer asked quietly, sinking gratefully back into the pillows—he still ached where he'd taken a glancing blow from an arbok's Poison Sting. Thank God for body armour.
"Why aren't you?" Will returned almost rhetorically, his gaze still fixed upon the television and voice strangely morbid.
"Yeah, well…" Falkner trailed off with a wry half-smile, quickly vanished. It had been a difficult night and morning. He wasn't entirely sure how or why, yet; on the outside it seemed like it had been the most successful bust in a year. The whole lab and everyone involved had gone down, and that included the suppliers, if not the depot.
It had included Jace Patterson, wanted for murder, extortion, and God only knew what else. He'd been on the Elites' watch for/wanted list for months.
And yet…
Falkner looked around the empty room again, gaze drifting past the moving images on the TV which held Will spellbound. It seemed ironic that they were about the only two who got a chance to sleep and couldn't. Bruno was probably still in Tamarack City, helping out with the prisoners' transport to the Cianwood Detention Facility. Surge had received a bad raticate bite, which was luckier than one of his men, who had broken a few ribs and received several burns after being sideswiped by some pokémon's Explosion. Since he'd been pulled off duty by the bite Surge insisted on staying in Tamarack until Sergeant Murdoch was released from the hospital, which probably wouldn't be for a while.
And Lance…
Falkner frowned. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Lance since the raid itself. He hadn't stayed in Tamarack to help secure the prisoners until Chuck and his people came to transport them, which in itself was uncharacteristic; but neither could Falkner recall seeing him helping a harassed-looking Karen handle the press, and while the Dragon Master harboured a strong distaste for reporters he preferred to at least be present for such high-profile releases.
And that, the blue-haired gym leader suddenly realized with a pang of realization, was why he kept on feeling that something was amiss. Lance.
He hadn't had a chance to think about it at the time, but during the raid Lance had been… unsettled.
Falkner pondered that word for a moment, then mentally slapped himself upside the head. 'Unsettled' is an understatement, Arrington, he berated himself. Try upset, agitated, discomforted, distressed…
He had to stop on that one. When was Lance ever detached? Composed, sure, he was composed all the time—it came with the territory—but if there was one distinguishing characteristic about Lance (besides his hair) it was that Lance had energy, he had focus, he had presence. Even when he was consciously keeping himself from letting it out, as he frequently did when undercover, you could always see it just by looking in his eyes.
Falkner had only spoken to Lance face-to-face once after the raid, and something had gnawed at him, something that screamed 'wrong!' during the whole conversation.
It was his eyes, the bird trainer realized with another, sharper pang, his stomach twisting. His eyes had been…
Like staring at a window while there was a storm going on outside. You knew there was motion there, but while you stared at the window all you could see was your own reflection. A barrier. Nothingness.
Except when I mentioned Jace Patterson, Falkner recalled with still more clarity. He had been the one to catch the sub-admin, attempting to escape with some of his subordinates in a Landrover. He knew that Lance would have wanted to hear that personally, to know that such a threat was off the streets.
And for a moment it seemed like the glass was breaking. A chill ran down his spine at the memory, an echo of the one he'd felt at the time, the one he'd attributed to the cold night air and the breeze. Whatever was behind it… is something I don't think I want to see. Ever.
Then the moment had passed… Lance had apparently shored up his walls without Falkner ever noticing.
Not consciously, at least.
"Have you seen Lance since the raid ended?" Falkner asked Will, breaking the silence abruptly, the bird trainer's unease settled between them like thick cotton.
The purple-haired psychic didn't bat an eyelash, but his gaze darkened and one hand came up to his face to trace the scars which crossed his eye. "Only in passing," he said quietly, but then lapsed into silence.
"And?" Falkner prompted after a moment, feeling a little more unsettled than before. Will could be frustrating to talk to, especially when he felt he was gossiping, but he didn't usually finger his scars unless something was bothering him. He doesn't usually let them show unless something's bothering him.
"He was projecting," Will answered slowly, as if half in thought, although his gaze never shifted once from the flickering television screen. "A lot." He moved for the first time, turning his head slightly to look at Falkner out of the corner of his eye. "Lance usually has more control than to project like that. It was almost painful to be near him."
Falkner stomach twisted tighter, his unfounded fears confirmed, his mind racing to put the pieces together. He was trying to shut everything out, but he was projecting strongly enough that Will couldn't block it. "Why…?"
Will shook his head, his thick hair ruffling, getting in his eyes. "I don't know. But I did have a premonition of something horrible sometime last night, while we were waiting."
"You didn't—" Falkner began, but cut himself off with a shake of his head and a mumbled 'idiot, of course he didn't'. If Will had Seen anything specific he would've said so. Unless it was something he doesn't feel he has the right to tell, a doubtful voice said inside him, but with a sidelong glance at the other Elite Falkner dismissed it. Psychics were notoriously strict about keeping oaths and secrets, but Will would have done something, even if it was just to go to Lance himself, and right now he seemed as much in the dark as Falkner was.
Ignorant of, or more likely ignoring, Falkner's inner dialogue, the slighter young man shrugged slightly, his too-big nightshirt slipping down one shoulder. "When the signal came I thought maybe I'd been wrong."
At that the gym leader could only stare at him with mixed incredulity and apprehension. "When have you ever been wrong?"
Another shrug, then nothing. This time both the Elites let the silence linger, turning back to their unwatched and unabsorbed program, the light flickering over their faces, one grim with thought and the other bleak with the knowledge of some unknown horror.
"—although the Dragon Master Lance was unavailable for comment, the significance of the bust today indicates his involvement. This makes the Dragon Master directly or indirectly responsible for almost twenty-one percent of the arrests made in the past year—"
He didn't comment at all? Not even in Tamarack? Falkner brushed his blue hair back with a frown, ignoring the wisps that fell beneath his hand and back into his eyes. That is…
"Unusual," Will murmured, and when Falkner looked over to him he found the psychic sitting ramrod-straight in his seat, one hand still tracing the scars on his cheek and his eyes glittering strangely with the light of the television. "Very, very unusual."
Chilled, Falkner made a decision. "I'm going to call Clair."
It was quiet. That was good. Quiet meant that he didn't need to focus on anything. He didn't want to focus on anything. Nothingness, right now, was… what he wanted. What he needed.
"…arrested almost three dozen men and women affiliated with Team Rocket, including the seizing of sensitive research material. Frederick Johansson, mayor of Tamarack City, has cited the raid as the most successful bust this year…"
He gazed down at the thick black overshirt in his hands, rubbing a thumb over the seam marking the edge of the glaring red 'R'. What was I doing?
I was… putting this away, wasn't I?
He couldn't remember.
"—contribute to the safety and security of our citizens, thanks to the efforts of Tohjo's Elite—"
A chime went off. One o'clock. Eight hours since the raid. How many since he'd come home?
…Two. And a half. I think.
Did it matter? He couldn't think why it did.
…except perhaps that he still hadn't put the uniform away… but what was the rush…?
He rubbed the red fabric again, thoughtfully, consideringly. It was easier to look at the red than his room.
Why is that?
"Among those arrested today includes Jace Patterson, a known Rocket operative for more than three years. He has been linked to at least six murders around Tohjo, including the assassination of Kanto's former Executive Minister of Environmental Health, Don Whitley…"
The jacket hit the carpeted floor.
Lance stared it numbly for a moment, trying to decide why he'd thrown it down in the first place. He lifted his head, his eyes trailing over the boots lying abandoned on the floorboards by the closed doors, the shirt he'd worn beneath the coat rumpled on the carpet, his belt and gloves and vacant pokéball holster beside it.
Where are my dragons?
He didn't remember coming in, but he must have met one of the Handlers on his way up and given them to him or her to heal and feed. Yes, that's right… they'll take care of them.
He considered the clothes strewn over the floor, knowing that he should pick them up to save the cleaning staff some work, but it seemed like far too much effort. Instead his gaze drifted over the carved stone walls of his suite, the colourful tapestries, the plush chairs and antique timber of the tables…
The huge window he skipped, the sky looking disturbingly blue through the glass, although he knew if he went to look out he'd be able to see the whole eastern side of the gym's grounds, and wasn't that thought almost as bad?
I think… I might prefer it…
It was high, but he had no problem with heights… and it was far, far away from everyone else, which was what he wanted…
Isn't it?
The closed door to his study beckoned from across the carpeted floor to his right, but he just stared at it for several long moments. His computers were in there. His television. His link to the Plateau and the world outside his rooms.
He hadn't been in there yet. He hadn't needed to. There had been some Initiates watching the news in their common room as he passed, and he had heard all he needed to hear.
"—unavailable for comment, but Karen Delaney, noted member of the Elite Trainers of the Indigo Plateau, has confirmed the Champion's direct involvement in this case—"
Abruptly he wished he hadn't lost the jacket, because it was so much easier to look at that than at this…
Why is that?
…because that, at least, was truth…
So is this. Isn't it?
He knew he could have just picked it up again but that seemed like too much trouble. Instead he turned around mechanically, intending to go into his bedroom—he didn't feel like sleeping, but he thought he should probably go to bed anyway, that's what people who'd been up for a night and a day and a half usually did, right?—but then remembered that he'd been in a fight not all that long ago, so he should probably shower first. Don't want to make Clara lecture me for getting blood on the sheets again.
That brought up another thought: was he injured? He didn't think so, but then, it was hard to tell. Everything was so—
"—Rockets were killed during the course of the raid, while seven more were wounded. Members of the League suffered only minor injuries—"
He reached the en suite bathroom adjoining his bedroom, unconsciously taking in the marble surroundings: most of it white, some of it grey, with deep steps leading down into the spa-sized tub, rippled glass bordering the broad shower area, heavy opaque curtains obscuring where the staff entrance was to the left. It was all so rich, so opulent—
Why is that…?
—so fitting to someone of his status and wealth…
Movement caught his eye and he stopped, stared.
His reflection stared back at him from the mirror adorning the entirety of the opposite wall.
And yet it wasn't his at all.
Who… is that…?
That man's hair was windswept and tangled, shaggy with dust, greyed by ash and mortar. His face was caked with grime and dirt and oil, his black-rimmed eyes hollow, his shoulder and arm coloured an awful red by the heat of flames—I don't remember that happening—the blood- and sweat-stained undershirt leaving a stark pale outline over his torso.
Where was the spiky hair, gelled back into some semblance of order, where was the confident bearing, the sharp eyes, the handsome young man who appeared so often in magazines and papers—
"Oh, in case you were wondering: that ridiculous 'Star Watchers' publication voted you the most exciting Elite member of the year. Again. I believe the words 'dashing', 'heroic' and 'gorgeous' were used. Run and read by women, obviously."
"I wasn't wondering, Karen."
—where was the Dragon Master, pride of the Clan, where was the Elite Trainer, the Champion, the so-called hero—
He's just an illusion.
—replaced by this usurper, this soldier, this spy, this killer—
The reflection shattered.
There was a moment of complete stillness in which he hardly felt the mirror's shards digging into his knuckles, the tremble of his body, his breathing loud and ragged despite the fact that his throat was so tight he could hardly breathe to begin with—
Child. Killer.
Something roared in his ears, something hot and unstoppable, there was something pushing at the block in his throat, something over his eyes, he couldn't see through the red—
—someone was screaming, he could hear them through the thundering in his head, he was hitting something, and pain, there was pain, he was burning—
Sound, shouting; something wrenched him away from the hazy image of a shattered mirror, someone pulled him close, the cold unyielding wall replaced by warm skin.
Abruptly the red haze snapped. He was in someone's arms, his flushed, hot face pressed against their shoulder, his throat raw, his head still pounding with his heartbeat and the throb in his bloodied knuckles cutting away the last of his rage.
The only thing left was the fist clenched so tightly around his chest that he could hardly breathe.
He tried to take in some air and failed, shuddering with a sob, and then another, and another, until he quaked with gasps and tears, his knees buckling under their force. Whoever had him took his weight, lowering him gently to the debris-strewn floor, but he couldn't pull back to see who it was or speak to them or do anything except cling to them desperately and cry.
Stomach twisting with apprehension, Clair could only hold her shaking cousin to her more tightly, helplessly stroking his hair as they sat, collapsed, in a sea of red-stained glass.
- finis
A/N: For those wondering—a yukata is a piece of Japanese clothing, similar in cut and style to a kimono but a lot less bright and used more informally; except on certain occasions, it's the kind of thing that would be worn around the home, like after a bath or for sleepware or whatever (If I'm wrong, correct me).
No, that isn't Ash and company, but I've noticed that a lot of journeyfics seem to go with the boy/boy/girl recipe, and in the anime (to say nothing of the protagonist in the games and the many fics out there) they always seem to get into trouble with TR and deal with it on their own, even though they're only teens. TR is a feared and powerful crime syndicate, for goodness' sake, it's the adults who should be taking care of stuff like that. So I kinda wanted to make a point on that too, by making their appearances vague but similar.
Will having a scarred face isn't canon, but a lot of fans have speculated on why he wears his mask, and that's one of the theories they've come up with. I'm of that camp, obviously. Just don't ask me how it happened, I haven't figured it out yet. (grins)
I think that's it. Reviews are loved!


text:
The epic battle for the 2012 Lucas Oil 250 Motocross Championship is still fresh in our minds, but the ranks of the class were set to be gutted for 2013. Justin Barcia and Dean Wilson were heading to the 450s, and Eli Tomac was begging at the chance for a big bike, too.
But Wilson ended up back in 250SX, and Tomac has a 250SX West number one plate to defend. Wilson (and possibly Tomac, too) will be on a 450 outdoors, though. By 2014, Wilson and Tomac will have their tickets punched and their bags packed for big-time 450 deals. This season, a new crop of 250 riders has the chance to step up and fill the void.
You can count on the likes of Wilson, Tomac, Blake Baggett, Ken Roczen and Marvin Musquin, who all have professional titles to their credit, to have a big year. But who else is poised for a move? The year has the potential to be a make-or-break one for a few riders. First, we'll look at some established 250 riders, and then we'll look at some newcomers.Blake Wharton — Wharton returns to Rockstar Energy Racing for his second season on a Suzuki, and most likely his last in the 250SX class (more on that later). Upon entering the pro ranks full-time with GEICO Honda in 2009, Wharton captured his first career 250SX win only five races into his career. Consistency has also been a trademark for Wharton during his four-year career, as he has never finished outside the top-5 in 250SX points during that span, and has collected eight career podiums, including two career wins.
So why would Wharton have pressure to "step up" in 2013? It's pretty simple actually … because he's about to step up a class. Wharton almost pointed out after his first three years, but barring something unforeseen, he is almost a lock to have to move up in 2014. According to the AMA /FIM Supercross Rulebook, a rider that earns at least 135 points in a nine-race season or 120 points in an eight-race season in three seasons will be ineligible for the 250SX class. Meaning, if Wharton, who scored 158 points (9 race season) in 2012 and 125 points (8 race season) in 2011, scores over 135 points or wins a championship in 2013, he will no longer be eligible for the 250SX class.
Based on his solid riding and maketability, Wharton will likely find a nice landing spot on a 450 for 2014 if he indeed does have to move up. But the door is open for Wharton to make a huge move in 2013 if he's able win multiple races and battle for a title. If he does so, his options may broaden heading into 2014. The up-coming season could have lasting effects on what may lie ahead for Wharton.
The up-coming season could mark Wharton's last in the 250 class.
Simon Cudby photo
Zach Osborne — If you had Zach Osborne penciled in for two podium finishes in four West Lites Supercross races (Osborne went back to Europe after round 4 of the series) in 2012, you may have been the only one. The former amateur sensation had a rough go in his early AMA pro career, but turned it around with a run through the GPs. The Virginia native had revitalized his career overseas (which included a GP win in Turkey his inaugural year), and thanks in part to that tremendous four-race SX stint in 2012, he secured a ride with the powerful GEICO Honda squad for 2013.
Osborne is used to the pressure he will face in 2013. He was facing a move to the MX1 Class in Europe, a step he wasn't prepared for, so he entered last year with one last chance to secure a ride in the U.S. And what an impression he made! But thanks in part to his powerful 2012 season, Osborne will no longer be overlooked. He will be expected to contend and bring home race wins. And with Barcia (and soon, Tomac) heading to the 450SX class, someone will have to pick up the slack for GEICO Honda. Asking Osborne to replace Barcia's wins may be too much, but expectations are high for the #338 in his return to the States.
Osborne has high expectations entering his first season with GEICO Honda.
Simon Cudby photo
Darryn Durham — After a career year in supercross in 2012, which included four podiums and one win (all career firsts), Darryn Durham has dealt with a rash of injuries. Shoulder surgery on a torn labrum following a practice crash left Durham on the sidelines for the entire 2012 Lucas Oil Pro Motocross Championship, the series where he expected to do the most damage. Durham returned to testing in early October only to suffer what he described as "a dumb injury off the bike." Although he is expected to make a full recovery from a severed Achilles, this will mark his second major injury in a span of six months.
Unlike Wharton, Durham isn't faced with an impending move to the 450 class (unless he so chooses), but that doesn't make him immune to the pressures of securing a ride for 2013. Entering the last year of a two-year deal with Monster Energy/Pro Circuit Kawasaki, Durham has a lot riding on this season.
A rags to riches tale following a two-year stint with Eleven10 Mods, Durham's 2012 SX campaign proved he's a bon-a-fide title contender with factory equipment. But after missing half the 2012 season, and with no guarantees he'll make the East Region season opener (Note: Durham said in October he expects to be ready) the dreaded "your only as good as your last race" cliché starts to creep in. Luckily for the Pennsylvania native he still has one more year on some of the best equipment in the business and can easily catapult back to the forefront of the 250SX class.
Will two major injuries in 2012 hold Durham back next season?
Simon Cudby photo
Will any of these veterans of the 250 scene have a breakthrough season? Or will a younger crop make the leap? We'll check out a group of younger threats, next.