text:
You Can't Make Me Spit It Out
August 19, 2011
Earlier, that morning…
"Erm…Brother Aloysius?"
Noel wasn't sure what to expect when the bat turned to face him. What he saw was surprise, but there was something tugging at the corners of Aloysius's mouth – up or down, he couldn't quite tell – that suggested something deeper.
"All right?" said Noel, faintly.
"Yes. There is a difference in how you appear just now – that is all, that is all."
"I meant after last night." Noel edged his way further into the sanctity of the archives, bending his spine to fit stacks of books, pawing in short stubby steps to avoid seasons-old records papering the floor.
"I am well enough, well enough. The occasional adventure does an old body no harm. Apologies for the state of my archives – Saskia and I have just been in search of an old record of mine, of mine."
As Aloysius inclined his head toward the book open before him, Noel took the opportunity to reach for the tome weighing down his own coat, the one he and Tam had coaxed from Locria's submissive paws.
"What's that?" Noel asked. Aloysius obliged to lift the cover and show him. "The Complete Records of Brother Timothy Churchmouse?"
The archivist's mild expression betrayed a twinge of what Noel suspected was irritation. The volume was lying open at the end, but Aloysius's claws returned it to the middle.
"An omnibus of mine – although 'complete' may be a relative term, relative term."
"Think this would help?" Noel withdrew the book from his coat and laid it beside Timothy's chronicles. Aloysius leapt up in his seat, the haze of sleep once clouding over him cleared in an instant as he grasped it like the paw of an old and well-missed friend.
"Noel – this is the Heraldry! Where did you get it, get it?"
"A couple of the lads back at the hideout were kind enough to lend it to me." Noel only half-winked, interrupted by that expression renewing itself on Aloysius's face. "What's the matter?"
"Something has indeed changed about you." A flicker of worry crept into Aloysius's eyes. "You remember the story of Blaggut, don't you, don't you?"
"Aye, and I remember another about a beast named Romsca."
Aloysius folded his claws before him.
"Romsca was a brave soul, but a lonely one. In the end she died at violent paws."
"Okay, well." When Aloysius looked up again it was to Noel's grinning teeth. "I don't plan to follow in her exact pawsteps."
"How do you plan to proceed, proceed?"
"I want the killing to stop. I'm goin' to stop the killer."
"You don't mean to attack the Abbot – again -"
Noel waved a paw.
"I can handle one otter in a green dress -" He winced, tilting his head at Aloysius's habit as an apology, and added, "It's the other beasts on his ticket I've got me eye on. Got to make him powerless. I don't know about you, but one more death and I'll…oh, for Martin's sake."
The sorrow that dimmed the bat's face at that final remark said everything Noel needed to know. Aloysius reached for his paw.
"My friend, I have more sad news, sad news."
* * *
Tamarack was waiting outside for him on the lawns, a triumphant grin threatening to burst at her muzzle. Noel hated to rob it from her, but he didn't have to – it was gone as soon as he came slouching forth into the sunlight.
"Fates," she whispered. "What is it? Did he tell -"
"No. It's Bludd." There were no tears this time. Perhaps they had all been spent on Ripple, or perhaps he had already known. "Aloysius found her in the woods this morning. She'd been dead a while."
Tamarack gave a sound that Noel couldn't identify as gasp or sigh, but she covered her mouth all the same. It grieved him that she might have to fake her own horror, but could more death actually shock them now?
"We should've believed her," she whispered, claws reaching up to dig into her forehead. "Say what you like about Cobb, this really is my fault."
"I'll say what I like about whatever I like. It's not and you know it." Noel glared, seeking the fire in his heart until he struck upon the plan outlined to Aloysius not five minutes before. "Who were the beasts after her again? Tell me for certain."
"Brother Isidore. Mr. Rigg was with him."
Noel turned his glare inward. Despite Ripple, despite the impassable void now yawning between them, he failed to conceive an image of that rat capable of such a crime – even knowing the truth, he couldn't make himself see. Why was that? What stood in his path?
"I'm gonna find 'em, then."
"I'm coming with you."
Noel led their storming way toward the Abbot's house. With Tam at his right paw he tried to smile, in vain only because of this nameless obstacle still obscuring his sight.
* * *
They never made it to Isidore. Rigg presented a more immediate opportunity near the entrance to Great Hall, holding conference there with a badger Noel loathed to recognize.
Maybe Rigg sensed this supposed change in Noel, too. He motioned Clacher to silence and nodded at their approach, a faint smile playing about his eyes.
"Noel," he said.
"You seen Fowel this mornin', I guess?"
"You seen Bludd?"
"Aye. Not too long ago." Rigg's smile vanished. "Aloysius brought her in from the little wood. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"We were thinking Brother Isidore might," said Tamarack.
Rigg crossed his arms and fixed the duo with that haughty slant-eyed suspicion Noel was so familiar with.
"I think Brother Isidore's seen enough o' you for a while," said Rigg. "If you've got any sense o' decency you'll let well enough alone."
"Suppose we did see somethin'," said Noel. It came out sudden, harsh and unnatural. He wondered if this was what wheedling sounded like in his voice. "Maybe we could help."
"What do you think you saw?" said Rigg. "I'm fair convinced you two must've dug yourselves a little cave somewhere for when you're not busy attackin' Father Abbot – where do you two get off to?"
Noel swore under his breath and spun toward the Great Hall doors. Tam hung behind him a moment with their still-unfinished business.
"C'mon," he snapped. "I need a drink."
The vixen skipped up beside him, bouncing with impatience and confusion.
"I thought we were going to the Abbot's," she whispered.
"Quick detour. The cellars," said Noel. He was breathing fast. "Stay close to me, Tam."
* * *
The beasts of Redwall Abbey bustled past on their hungry way to Cavern Hole, taking little notice of the grim-faced pair. By contrast with the ground floor halls growing warm with noonday sun, the cellar was cool, calm and empty. It was just the right time of day for heading back through the tunnel. But the plan in Noel's head was different, and too terrible to convey.
"Tam." It was the first thing Noel had said since his abrupt turn back inside the abbey, uttered once they were deep down an aisle of cellarhog ale kegs. "When he comes down the stairs I need you to go, run. Find Flint or Sebastian, whoever we know on our side who's got a spare bit o' muscle between his shoulders."
"Noel, for Martin's sake, what's going on?"
"Clacher's coming."
"How do you -"
"I think he was the one who…did it to Bludd. When I fed 'em that line just now, it wasn't Rigg who looked like he wanted to wring me neck." Noel almost grasped at his own collar. Cassius was wrong, in a way – he could feel the noose tightening, but as if it were snaking around his soul. "Tam, what should I do?"
Tamarack's confusion had failed to lift. Her gaze was one of upturned eyebrows and worried eyes.
"If he killed her," she said, "and if he's one of these beasts we're talking about who's doing Carter's dirty work…we have to get rid of him."
"He has to die."
Tamarack nodded, but it was slow – and worse, doubtful.
Heavy pawsteps rang out like belltolls dampened by rust, cutting short any further protest, obscured only briefly by the slamming of the cellar door and the sound of something dense being set to in front of it. Tam tightened her grip on Noel's paw.
"I won't let him hurt you, Tam," he whispered. "I'll distract him and you run."
"Two dead weasels in a day – a fine day." It wasn't a voice they heard often, but it broke like distant thunder. "Only a shame they didn't bring me the brother's tail to match."
"I won't let him hurt you," said Noel. Tears began streaming at once down either side of his face. "I won't let him, I won't let him -"
"Noel – oh, Fates -"
The thing blocking his sight, the mystery feeling that wouldn't let him see Isidore as a killer, that for years stayed his fist from his brother's face, that breathed in that open letter from the post still sitting in his coat pocket – it sparked and burned and took shape in the light. It stabbed him over and over again somewhere he couldn't defend. Like he could sense love now, he had always been able to sense the truth: that somebeast who had been part of him was dead, and that in a few moments he would be, too.
"Tam, go. Go now!"
She burst forth from their hiding place, tearing across the darkened cellar like a rust-colored comet. Clacher swung his club, but too late, striking a shelf support in her wake. A full keg dropped a yard to the earth, contents running out like watery blood across the floor. Noel leapt forward, taking up one of the shattered staves in his paw.
Something like gunfire exploded into his side and burst in diamond sprays before his eyes. He felt himself flying, only for a moment, until a jutted-out keg tap connected with one of his kidneys. The pitch of his scream was too high to carry sound, but he heard the crunch as he landed and the heavy pawsteps coming for him, fast.
Noel hadn't a chance, he knew. It was Virrel who'd been the brawler. If only he had a gun – he could nick a dry leaf in the breeze – but bullets exploded and mushroomed and killed. And if Virrel was dead, there was nobeast left whom he had ever desired to destroy. He was free.
The club came down just as he rolled out of the way, and it didn't lift fast enough to evade the jagged stave Noel drove sideways into cords of muscle. Clacher made no sound as Noel kicked it deeper into his arm. He would have twisted it to ensure the badger would never lift a club again, but that club was coming for him in the other paw.
Blood was burbling from his gullet like strawberry fizz, but still he darted, still he climbed, finding purchase in the shelves against the wall. They were desperately near the rack hiding the secret doorway from view, and he could suddenly remember the way Aloysius's delicate throat had felt in his claws. It must have been similar to how his ankle felt in Clacher's, now that he had caught him up halfway up his ascent. Noel dug his claws into the back of the shelving, felt his knuckles bury themselves against the wall as from the other end Clacher tried to stretch his long weak body to nothing.
And then he could feel his mind start to spin as up became down and time became infinite and the whole rack came toppling down upon them both.
* * *
Tam was only gone a few moments. Sebastian himself was already on the other side, straining to force the door, witness to their silent pursuit but too late to intervene. When Tam had levered the mighty keg of October Ale free of the door, they paused only long enough to watch it fly down the steps, rolling to a long sad stop against the far wall.
It was there that they found a choking, bloodied weasel pacing in broken steps above a badger, stunned and half-crushed by a demolished rack of shelving, a halo of shattered jars smashed to pieces against his skull.
"What am I gonna do with you?" Noel shrieked. "What am I gonna do?"
Tam rushed toward him, just quick enough to catch him as he slumped into her arms.
Sebastian held back only a moment to assure himself that the beast stumbling into the cellar after them was Flint. When the hedgehog returned to the crisis before him, his rigid face swelled with an unexpected pity.
"You've made a right ruddy mess, haven't you?" he mumbled. Sorting through the heap of tools and glass from the fallen shelves, he produced a bung hammer and shuffled toward the prone form of the badger on the floor.
"Stop." Noel's head emerged from Tam's embrace, a paw wiping the blood from his muzzle. "Open the tunnel. We'll clean up. You and Flint take him through, if you can manage him safe. Tell Locria to find a better place for him than where they stuck Aloysius."
Sebastian shook his head, but question overrided argument.
"What are you goin' to do – chuck every undesirable out into Redwall City like it's your own personal dustbin? And what makes you think they won't come back?"
"They never did," said Noel, pausing to wheeze, "when Martin sent them away."
The hedgehog opened his mouth only to shut it again. He repeated the process twice more before cursing aloud and gesturing for Flint to help him move the rack and expose the tunnel. Tamarack helped Noel move a few yards away, the pair of them feeling his bones crack as if they belonged to one another.
"Mr. Noel," she murmured. "Are you sure that part of the stories was true? They never said if the…vermin ever came back or not."
He could have pontificated about Martin like he did to Isidore in happier days, or to Virrel when he would listen, but he wasn't sure how to tell her that Clacher's life would continue because Noel was a slave to something else besides truth.
In an instant, Tamarack recognized the letter Noel took forth from his pocket.
"Is that from your home?" she asked.
He just handed it to her. This is what it said:
You and I are through, if you think I am going to wait one more day for you to get the idiot out of jail you are gravly mistaken, where have you been? Dad says Redwall is closed but if thats your excuse for not saying nothing to me in 3 months then you can just get stuffed all rite!!
P.S. I hate your stupid flowers, they have all dried out and Mum is on me to get rid of them
At Tamarack's questioning look, Noel lowered his eyes to the ground.
"That's Lucy," he mumbled.
"She don't sound real fond of you at the minute." Tam offered the letter back to him, her voice painfully distant. Noel waved the paper away.
"She's not here right now. You are, though, Tam, and – I need you." He buried his face back in her arms and made no sound.
August 19, 2011
"Qui plume a, guerre a."
Brother Aloysius,
Once I found a story of Redwall long past, a lonely battle long forgotten, born of desperate greed and slain in fire. Its historical provenance is far from certain, but I think you would do well to read it, Brother. Maybe I shall have you printed a copy after this all has ended. If, indeed, either of us survives.
Its chronicler wrote: "Never have I ended a tale with more misgiving."
This shan't be the end of our tale, you and I, but I find myself approaching the end of this book's pages, and those words are fitting enough as I wet the last of this paper with ink and tears. I write with misgiving. I will convey you this letter and this book only with misgiving, you who should know my guilt far better than any of your Brothers. I did nothing.
What ought we to have done? What will become of us?
The records of my business herein, I entrust to you for safekeeping. If you wish to keep all your friends innocent in your thoughts, I entreat you not read them. For that reason alone, they are of inestimable practical value. The records of my days, idle thoughts… those you may find somewhat less distressing.
Saskia considered the best method of searching; Timothy's records did not appear in their newly-written ledgers. Therefore, if it were someplace that she or Aloysius had access to it, it would be among the manuscripts they hadn't yet archived. Unfortunately, they had spent only a few days together working through the largely-chaotic Abbey library, and the rest was–as far as she could tell from Aloysius' apologetic descriptions–irretrievably muddled.
"Account of the Winter of Deepest Snow." Saskia tossed the book aside; Aloysius shot her a stern look and she muttered an apology, stacking it in a corner. "The Spring of the Thrice-Bedamned Tulips," she grumbled, and added another book to the stack.
For his part, Aloysius was not examining any books, contenting himself with swooping about, piling manuscripts in neat towers, and casting long glances over shelves. Apparently he expected to remember what the records in question looked like, perhaps, or hoped for it to leap forth into waiting wings.
"Is it here?" Aloysius asked nobeast in particular. His voice was raspy, as though the night of drinking still lingered in his throat.
"Summer of the Bally Frogs," Saskia sighed. "I've no idea, Aloysius, you would know better than I."
"True. There must be a copy somewhere, somewhere."
Saskia watched Aloysius as he worked; by appearance alone he was much unlike any otherbeast there, wings like living paper stretched around a brittle frame. Despite this fragility, Aloysius held the same enduring quality as his archives–his thoughts and words were proof against any influence.
There was a sudden rapping at the door; three stately knocks resounded in the little room.
"Come in, come in! Ah, Brother Isidore, what brings you here, here?"
The rat pursed his lips. He wandered over to an end-table and ran a scabbed paw over the one sliver of its surface that wasn't covered in age-crinkled paper.
Isidore walked with a bit of a hunch, paws clasped behind him.
"Fine day for a walk, Brother, but there is much to be done back at the archives. Per'aps if you've anything to say, it would be best done quickly?"
Isidore barked what could have been a sour laugh and stopped; they stood now in front of the beehives. "Then let it be done quickly. I hadn't thought it possible you were the one who corrupted Miss Selendra."
Saskia rolled her eyes. "Oh, not this nonsense again, surely. There are better uses of my time." She turned to leave, but shortly found an iron-strong grip around her wrist; iron-strong and faintly sticky. Isidore's paw was burned, scabbed. "Let go."
"You will listen, lass."
Run. Run. Harm him as best you can, and run…
"Wot is it I'm accused of then, in the specifics?"
"You brought dear Selendra over to Case, to the blight that blackens this Abbey."
"Brought 'dear Selendra' over, did I? 'Ave you ever spoken with 'er, then? Spoken with 'er to listen to 'er, I mean. Nobeast could convince 'er of anything–"
His grip tightened around her wrist.
"And it seems the only point on which we're in agreement is that there's something dreadfully wrong 'ere."
"A traitor's lies," Isidore snorted.
"Not a traitor, surely, if this isn't my 'ome? In every account I've read of it, every gardening manual I've set into type, there is one point on which everybeast seems to be in agreement. Blight comes from the inside, outward. If you get my meaning, sah."
"Lies, all the same, lass."
"'Ow'd you burn your paw?"
"Not important." He tightened his grip again. Saskia fancied she could hear the small bones in her wrist grind together, but wouldn't cry out. "You and that ferret, you never should have been brought into this place."
Saskia tried not to flinch. Merritt next… have to try to help him.
"Oh, Merritt 'asn't 'ad anything to do with much of anything, really."
"I know what sort of filth he sells," Isidore growled.
"Besides that, I mean."
"So you are one of Case's minions, then. If you claim the ferret isn't guilty."
I'm trapped.
"No, but you won't believe it."
Isidore dragged her roughly toward a hive. Buzzing filled her ears, a maddening hum. She swallowed. Isidore's tools lay next to the hive, a box full of steel, blunt and sharp alike. He hefted a trowel.
"No, I won't believe it. Not when I heard from Brother Tompkins."
Oh, no. No, no, no…
Saskia's heart thundered in her chest.
I'm sorry Aloysius, I'm sorry Merritt, I want nothing but for you to live–
She took a deep breath.
"You're going to kill me, then." It wasn't a question.
Can I reach my dagger? No.
Isidore didn't answer it. He frowned. A flicker of what could have been regret was stillborn in his expression. The bees buzzed on, oblivious.
Even if I escape for now, he–they–can find me…
"Then I'll tell you something true, something I believe with all my soul." She sighed. "If the rebels 'eld in their 'earts the evil you accuse them of, your Abbot would already be dead."
Isidore shook his head. Saskia stared into his eyes.
Don't cry.
"You know they could 'ave done it, by now."
Saskia closed her eyes. The bees–abruptly–were silent.
Night had fallen; the stars aligned in familiar constellations, blissful in their ignorance of happenings on the terrestrial sphere. Aloysius couldn't decide whether he ought to take comfort in their steadiness or vent bitter fury, that the stars did not know what he'd lost, the news he'd been given. The Abbey lawn was quiet. Somebeast padded through the dark.
Aloysius stood, wings wrapped protectively around himself. He felt as though he'd been thrown down stairs, disoriented and tender.
"I told her she'd come to no good… end," Merritt said, his voice at first like the crunch of an icicle against a stone path, but rising uncontrollably at the end to a chirp of strangled birdsong. He sat down hard on the grass, paws over his eyes. "Perhaps she had the right of it after all. Perhaps I've been foolish."
Aloysius stood, mouth open. "It seems she may be right, be right."
"Have been."
"Y-yes. Have been," Aloysius whispered.
Merritt stood and uncovered his eyes. His mask was unmarked by tears, but he seemed to Aloysius to be looking past him or through him.
"I have a gift for you, or I shall soon enough. A book." He paused. "If you would take me as an ally, or at least the lesser of two evils. I care not for this paltry, filthy little war. But I shan't see a friend go unavenged. Whatever you think of me, I've never brought pain or death into this Abbey." Merritt's voice grew sharper. "I know you cared for her. Help me."
Aloysius swallowed, and bowed his head.
Like a Black Stone Falling
August 19, 2011
Isidore walked. Dawn clarified the world; he winced at the brightness of leaves, grass, the earth beneath his paws.
He lacked his burden. When he tried to speak to the Coffincreepers, he would have said I didn't. We didn't. I couldn't, but the untruth plugged his throat, and so they took the body. In the forest, he managed. Brother Aloysius found…
Enough, said the old tod. Enough death, enough children. Isidore wished he had coins to put on her eyes.
He stumbled into the orchard. A root caught him and he tripped, landing hard on his burnt paw. A pair of arms wrapped around him; this is my death, he thought, but the arms were warm and small and childish. Foweller helped him to his feet. The otter studied Isidore's burn, frowning with all the gravity of a senior physician. "You'll be all right," he declared. "Take whiskey. Three times a day."
"They'll throw me in the Abbey jail."
"I might've said willow-bark tea."
"Boy," Isidore said. "Tell me everything you saw."
He had the whole tale: Camp Willow, the Mask, blood-spattered cobblestone in Redwall City. He chanced to put his paw on Foweller's shoulder, and he spoke gruffly. "You're all right?" Foweller withdrew, contemplating this, then leaned into Isidore. "I don't know," he said, "but he's gone. I did it."
"You did," said Isidore, thinking of the matted, stinking thing he carried, and whether Foweller could smell it. The young otter felt so certain, so real– Carter could not hurt him too. There must always live someone like Foweller. The whole of Hell could batter at the Abbey gate, at Isidore, but he would lock and bar his soul against it. He would keep this.
The brooch in his pocket pricked his thigh. "Can you tell me something? In confidence."
Foweller tensed. He knew. "What?"
"I won't tell. Not even to the Abbot. I swear it."
"You're lying."
"He wants to hurt you. Or he will." Isidore clutched at Foweller. "You saw him kill Brother Andrew. He knows. I won't let him touch you–" he pulled the child close "– please."
"Let me go," Foweller squeaked. "I didn't. I don't know–"
"The vixen. She told me. What happened?"
The otter slouched away, drawing like a snail into its shell. "Andrew said some things about a pin, and a pistol, and his monsters. Bludd 'n me hid, and then Andrew was dead…" He dug in his pocket. "I brought you something. I would've shown you, I was gonna."
The silver pin seemed older than Isidore's brooch: worn knotwork vines climbed the Abbey's walls, cradling the ruby like a flower. At a twitch of Isidore's paw, Foweller pulled it away, but the rat brought out his own.
"Bury it," said Isidore. "Throw it in the cess. You shouldn't know what this is, should never have seen it."
"Isidore, tell me."
"We have an understanding now." Isidore dropped to his knees. "Let me keep you safe." Foweller looked at his feet, and for an instant Isidore thought he would ask for an apple, some whiskey, some childish treat, but instead he took the bone-handled knife from his sash.
"Take it back." He buried the blade in the ground. "Nothing happened. I want to rest."
Carter paced before his fireplace. Isidore didn't like his silence: he had confessed to his dealing with Foweller, but the Abbot gave him no response. Instead he listened to the tread of Carter's paws, a patter light as moths' wings. But it stopped– Carter stood before him, trembling. "Why do you test me? Why now? When I have given you so much?"
What have you given?, he wanted to ask, but then the Abbot knelt before him and took his burnt paw and said, "We are friends. We have that, don't we?"
"Yes, Father."
"I didn't give you leave to speak."
Abashed, Isidore let him examine the burn. "You're healing well," said Carter. "I wonder if you'll remember what happened. What will I do then? What will I give, to keep you here? And what can I take?"
He squeezed Isidore's paw, smiled at the pain he caused, and continued. "It hurts me too, remember. When I tell you to do something, you do it. I don't care if you want it or not." And then Carter drew his claw over the burn, first light and then deep and fast, carving a ragged path in the flesh. Isidore let him. If he allowed this, what else?
Anything, anything. Penance, the satisfaction of their oaths.
"Take the kit," said Carter. "And keep him safe. But you must give me someone else."
In his years alone he learned to read the script of Mossflower. He'd traded for an old book, the Legend of Great Beasts; he thought it was a history, but it was a kind of compendium. It said this: Of all creatures, bees alone were created for the sake of others. They are loved for their virtue, for in all things they are diligent. They collect honey from the air and purify it, build their basilicas of wax, and keep and tend their brothers under the guidance of a king. They have one kind and dwell together until their deaths. One working and flight and flower is common to them all.
Later, Isidore learned this was wrong.
Bees kept a fat queen, and they had never issued from dead flesh or strained honey from a summer breeze. But they flew with their queen in swarming. When her wings failed, the company carried her. Those that did not, those that would not work or fight for common cause, doomed themselves to die by their fellow soldiers' stings.
Carter had the Legend in his library. Isidore stroked the thick linen pages, watching Tompkins watching him over the top of his lorgnette. He uncovered knowledge like finding sweet apples in worm-picked windfall. They live in fixed places, are diligent in producing honey, build their houses with great skill, gather honey from various flowers, weave wax to fill their homes with many offspring, have kings and armies with which they wage war, flee from smoke, and are irritated by noise…
The door creaked open and Carter entered. "Brothers!"
"Father," said Tompkins, and he nodded. Isidore did not answer. He resumed reading. And bees choose to their king him that is most worthy and noble in highness and fairness, and most clear in mildness, for that is chief virtue in a king…
"Brother Isidore, will you get the tea?"
He stirred from his rest. "Yes, Father."
He went to the kitchen. Carter had left out a canister of tea redolent with lavender. Isidore ran his claws through the leaf, inhaled the sweet, earthy scent. The kettle was so hot it still squealed when he took it off the fire; in the pot, flower and field mingled with cast iron. It hurt his paw to carry it, even with a rag wrapped around the handle.
"I will make this one thing clear," he heard Tompkins say. "It's unconscionable. I resign."
"The kit could not be helped, Brother."
"And every other beast?"
"Oh, tea, at last." Carter beamed at Isidore.
The Abbot had brought out a service of cups glazed with humble nut-brown. Isidore poured for him first. Carter savored the brew, cradling his cup like it held the finest mead.
"No poison," Tompkins said. "Aren't I blessed."
"No, no poison," Carter said. Isidore felt blood beading on his paw again. Carter's claw tapped against the side of his cup, once, twice, grazed porcelain with the faintest clink, like a distant bell. Isidore unstoppered the kettle, and a gout of steam burst forth.
He threw the tea on Tompkins.
The squirrel toppled from his chair, writhing and squealing, and Isidore could see him flush crimson under his fur. Tompkins scrabbled at the floor. Isidore straddled him and pulled a knife from his sash: his brother's knife, Foweller's gift. The blood had gone from Tompkins– his skin was yellow-white as the knife's bone handle.
The squirrel's flesh peeled under Isidore's touch like a mushroom gone soft. Tompkins groaned, and a horrible chortling word escaped him: "No-ooo."
"You made mockery of us," Isidore said.
"I just wanted– I just wanted– Ruslen," Tompkins whimpered, "and Chamomile." He fixed his gaze on the Abbot, but his eyes were blind, soft marbles. "He made me hold the knife, with Thistledown. That's what he does. Please don't kill me, please."
"Where is Julian Case?" Isidore asked. "Who are his agents?"
"I don't know. Don't let me die. Hyssop and lavender. Please."
"Quiet, Brother. Names."
"The printer. Saskia."
Isidore considered this, and then he slit the squirrel's throat.
"I had to. I had to keep them in, like so many ants in an anthill. You don't leave if there's wolves in the wood." Carter slumped into him. The otter was sweating, and his eyes rolled so a sliver of white showed at the edges. "Yes. Yes. Keep them where Case couldn't– you did it," he said. "You did it. My friend. My champion."
Shoot, Don't Talk
August 16, 2011
The sky was dim and heavy, the horizon glowing red in anticipation of the morning. The dusty track bit at Foweller's cold paws as he trudged on, back hunched over from Martin's weight. The loaded pistol and knife in his sash were rubbing him raw. He had formed a picture of the Mask in his head. The otter he saw was strong and courageous. He was reminiscent of Ripple and Duster, especially when he smiled.
Redwall City was a grand name for a humble town. Old facades from past seasons, faded signs and dusty windows greeted the two otters. The centre of town was near deserted at dawn, every beast indoors and in bed. Save one.
Foweller stopped short at the sight of a lean figure passed out in the gutter of an inn at the crossroads. The Tremontaine Inn, the plaque proclaimed. Foweller clicked his teeth; Rigg just frowned. It was Virrel.
"Good morning," Foweller announced, the words hissing between his sharp little rows of teeth. Virrel squinted open an eyelid. Foweller waved jovially, as if they were old drinking partners. The weasel looked crumpled and beaten, the smell of burnt wood and sweat making Foweller wrinkle his snout.
"Don't you move!" Rigg kicked Virrel down as he tried to scarper. The weasel gave them a hideous look, his eyes lingering across Foweller.
"Come for my blood, huh?" Virrel spat. He looked angry at himself, his gaze darting from window to window, seeking a saviour. Or perhaps checking no beast would be audience to his lamentable state.
"I should demand satisfaction of ye, if I thought ye had the honour," Rigg growled, keeping his otherwise voluminous voice down. Foweller shook his head.
"No. Duelling's for important beasts. It's for the officers and the grown-ups. Diggers 'n weasels don't duel."
"I'm not duellin' or lettin' you anywhere near me!" Virrel shrieked. He struggled to his paws, his paws fidgeting and dusting himself off. Foweller smelled beer on his stale breath. "It was never my fault, Ripple shouldn't have been grabbin-…"
"Don't talk about him!" Foweller's voice tore into a ragged snarl. Virrel rudely turned his back on them and marched off. Dawn was breaking and the orange sun was rising over the road to the east.
"Running again?" Foweller spat. He spat well and proper like the hare corporal taught him on his eleventh birthday. The gobbet of saliva met its mark. Virrel stopped, his paw caressing something in his jacket. Foweller's eyes narrowed.
"Foweller, watch it!" Rigg shouted. Virrel whirled around.
Foweller blinked and sniffed. The smell of smoke was a sweet relief. In the Abbey it had just felt wrong, but out here it was the proper place and time. Rigg's voice had died down into a stunned mumble. Foweller wondered if his hearing had gone.
"You alright?" Foweller blurted. He felt dizzy with emotion. The ground tilted under him and he collapsed with a groan. Curse the day he had lost his tail. He could picture it now, a simple otter's rudder with a dash of black ink across its tip; the fur markings that made him feel unique.
After a few minutes, Foweller struggled into sitting cross legged on the road. Woodlanders and vermin alike had been startled by the noise, peeking out of windows and hiding their little ones from seeing. A maid screamed at the sight of blood. Rigg kneeled by Foweller's side.
"Ye… ye can stand, can't ye, Fowel?" Rigg quavered. Foweller smiled. He was blissfully warm in this sunlight, his little reward for their early, cold start. He should have like to have stayed there and rested. But it was time to move on.
"Just needed… a moment to take it in," he muttered and grasped Rigg's paw. The big Skipper heaved his young charge upright, "We should go, Uncle Rigg."
"Ye can make it to Redwall?"
"Got to get home, Uncle Rigg! Before anybeast tries to stop us. Sister Melina will have our breakfast ready… I have to see Brother Isidore. Maybe play with Tamarack and Bludd too."
"What about Virrel?" Foweller could have sworn Rigg's eyes were going moist.
"Leave him." Foweller cast one more glance at the weasel. Virrel was spread-eagled on the road, glazed eyes staring blankly at the sun. A loaded flintlock pistol was still clenched in his paw.
"Ye're fast, for a kit." Rigg said, a trace of admiration in his deep tones.
"Not that fast. But he had a hangover," Foweller replied. Rigg's friendly grasp in one paw and the smoking wheel-lock in the other, Foweller suddenly felt much lighter. Neither otter looked back as they made their way back home.
The walls shone red in the morning light, the forest pressing the Abbey in on all sides. Foweller imagined the spiky fronds of the bushes were vermin spears in old times. To complete the illusion of a siege, he spotted the glint of a musket barrel peeking over the crenellations of the gatehouse.
"Ahoy! Not asleep at the gate, are ye?" Rigg boomed. An otter's face jerked over the stonework, examining the travellers with sleep-ridden eyes. Foweller saluted politely. The guard disappeared from the wall and soon the heavy wooden door creaked open. Rigg yawned. "Mornin', Remy."
"Sister Melina has made some excellent cherry pies this morning," Remy exclaimed, wiping the crumbs from her tunic. Foweller screwed up his face into an expression of childish revulsion.
"Cherries are gross," he pointed out. Rigg chuckled and tried to muss the otter's fur. Finding it a little too short, he patted the kit on the head instead.
"Aye, well if yer not plannin' on much eatin', maybe ye could take some vittles out for Brother Aloysius. It's been a little too long since last time he collapsed from over-readin'," Rigg suggested.
"Brother Aloysius is weird," Foweller retorted, but Rigg did not let him off the hook.
"I think ye best run along an' do him a kind service," Rigg commanded. Foweller accepted the order with good grace, though his stomach voiced its own complaints.
Foweller was exhausted, though he told himself otherwise. His paws ached, his mind still echoing with the report of the shot he had fired on the lonely crossroads at dawn. He needed breakfast; lots of it. Then he could clamber into that hammock in the orchard and doze through the morning.
No such luck.
"Fowel!" Two arms wrapped about his waist and hauled him unceremoniously into the Abbey school. This early in the morning, the Dibbuns would be safely tucked in bed.
"I'm not sure you've got the hang of hide and seek, Tam," Foweller joked. The vixen responded by swatting his nose and giving the windows a thorough check. Noel appeared, leaning in the doorframe to stand guard over the meeting. Foweller guiltily avoided eye contact.
"The Abbot might've seen you!" Tamarack exclaimed. Foweller's eyes adjusted to their new hiding spot. Dimly lit and abandoned, with little dibbun-sized seats, stacked tablets of slate and a chalkboard.
"I'm not scared of him," Foweller replied, tilting his head to examine yesterday's lesson. It was some sort of battle plan. He could already see the teacher had got it wrong. He took the chalk and scribbled out the ballista. In its place came a stout, short-barrelled cannon. There. A mortar would be far more effective. And instead of flooding the castle's foundations, the sappers should lay barrels of explosive powder.
"Fowel, you've got to stay clear of him. I… I might've let slip something. About you seeing him murder Mr. Andrew." Tamarack winced as the chalk clattered and broke on the floor.
"That's… a complication." Foweller stared at the drawing he had corrected, seeking inspiration. "This cat in the tower. Who is it?"
"I don't know, Fowel, don't you understand? The Abbot could try and kill you next!"
"You know what this cat's problem is?" Foweller tapped the little stick figure stoats on the castle's battlements. "No forward offensive strategy. These stoats have fixed their bayonets, they need to close the distance and capture the artillery. They can't hesitate now, or they've lost."
"Foweller, will you shut up about the stupid picture for one minute?" Tamarack's voice cracked. It was then Foweller noticed the shadow around her reddened eyes, the droop of her tail.
"You need rest. What have you being doing?" Foweller asked. Tamarack waved him off, blinking with weary exasperation.
"It's complicated. Where've you been, anyway?"
"It's complicated. Tam, we need to mobilise fast, or we're going to end up like this cat in the tower. Maybe… I should show Isidore the pin. He'll understand, if I explain what happened. I need him on my side. I'll get Bludd too, any beast that we can trust. What forces can you muster?"
"Muster? Oh, we can trust Mr. Noel. You can't be serious about Brother Isidore! He's the Abbot's beast through and through!" Tamarack balled her fists as if the Abbot were there with them. Foweller drooped.
"I have to try. If he'd rather kill me than help me… well, at least I'll know where he stands." Foweller clicked his claws, another friendly face coming to mind. "What about Uncle Duster?"
"This ain't a war! You got to keep your head down. I don't want to lose nobeast else." Tamarack gritted her teeth. Foweller bared his fangs in return.
"Oh, isn't it? So I should just skulk about until he finds me? I'll be trapped like this poor sod!' The chalk-drawn cat received a sharp tap from the otter's paw. Tamarack ran her claws across the fur on her head, closing her eyes in surrender. "If I do nothing, I'll have no friends left. Then no beast will stand up to Carter. Divide and conquer. He'll kill me like he did Andrew."
"Fine, fine! But for Martin's sake, Fowel, don't start nothing. We've got to… use stealth tactics." Tamarack looked surprised at the military jargon that had slipped over her tongue. The words seemed to touch Foweller, his eyes shining and alert. He chuckled. Tamarack stifled a giggle and they were just kits again, playing hide and seek.
"I promise I won't do anything rash." Foweller held out his paw. Tamarack shook it firmly and slapped a paw on her fellow digger's shoulder. Noel grinned. Foweller shifted his weight from one paw to another and grinned wryly back.
The Cat's in the Cradle
August 16, 2011
Aloysius and Saskia parted ways in the cellar, where the gatekeeper began his nightly headcount far too late for his liking. He had missed a few hours from the fire whiskey and assault, but by his best reckoning, it was near dawn, and Abbot Carter would be expecting his report soon.
Clinging to a ceiling beam, Aloysius chirped. In a corner of the cellar, the hedgehogs were stirring, each one of them accounted for. With a mental note and a nod, he left them to rouse on their own. He spared no time for morning greetings and chastisements; he had far too much to do.
In the early hours of the morn, the abbey was already bustling. The friars were preparing breakfast, the otters and squirrels were out on patrol, the infirmary maids were checking on patients, and too many beasts were missing from their beds. Aloysius hung from the outer rafters, watching the sun rise as a golden orb across the forest canopy beyond Redwall City. He had missed his chance—it was impossible to count the heads, now. There was nothing left but to count his loses and deliver his missing report. A fleeting thought came to him of lying. Carter was not a forgiving beast, and the bat feared the repercussions waiting for him. But he was no Dibbun with an excuse to hide behind. Whatever punishment lay in store he deserved, and it did well for his hubris to teach him not to follow silly adventures.
There was a gust of wind, and Aloysius turned his ears at the sound of claws scrabbling for purchase. A warm body hung next to him.
"I hate the sun, the sun," Fyfe murmured beside him.
"It is not so bad so early in the morning, morning," Aloysius replied.
"It is too bright, and hot, and my eyes hurt. Did you find your answers?"
"They only brought more questions, more questions that need more answers." Aloysius looked at the sun, squinting his eyes as he watched it leave the bed of treetops and spill its light over the abbey walls. "I am sorry you came at such a troubling period, Fyfe."
"As am I, am I. It is not often I get to see my kin, and Abbey Naming Days only come once a season. We will depart at sunset, sunset. Redwall has not been hospitable to us, and neither have you."
Aloysius nodded. "You told me before to write the history, instead of storing it."
"I did, I did."
"The only time I ever tried to mold history with my wings, many beasts died, and a great city lost."
Fyfe was silent, listening.
"When I left Bat Mountpit to seek the legends of Martin the Warrior, my first stop was the birthplace of his only love, Laterose of Noonvale. There I became their archivist, and later, advisor, when war knocked at their door."
"You never told me…"
"The ash from those ancient records and stories followed me for miles, miles."
"But they still remain in your heart, and in every heart you speak of them to. History is never lost, brother, it is just forgotten, forgotten."
Aloysius closed his eyes. The sun had become too bright.
"Eilonwy loves your stories, your stories. She misses you."
"How is she?"
"She is searching for her playmate. A little wildcat by the name of Bludd, Bludd."
"They had better not be near my archives."
"They are not your archives, brother, Brother." Aloysius turned his head at the title. "They are everybeast's. I did your count. There are five-hundred and thirty-four beasts in the abbey. How you can do this every night is a mystery to me, to me."
"Fyfe, thank you, thank you."
"We still depart at sundown. If the abbey is not too dangerous for my daughter now, it will be, it will be." Fyfe laid a wingtip on his brother's shoulder. "I hope for your sake you find your answers. It is never too dishonorable to run, not you, who hold Redwall's history in your heart, your heart." And then Aloysius found himself alone.
Opening his wings, Aloysius dropped from his perch and sought out Carter's house. He wheeled through the air, letting the wind guide him on a lackadaisical path. It had been a while since Aloysius had ridden the winds for the simple enjoyment of flying, and he supposed he could afford the time to clear his head and ready himself for his report.
There was something in the air though, Aloysius noticed, as he came upon the southern wall. An ugly smell that reminded him of the Coffincreeper household moments before a funeral. Changing his course, Aloysius followed the odor, and as he came closer, determined it did not smell like the undertakers' dwelling at all. This was more potent, more sinister, with no flowers and embalming fluids to mask the scent of death.
He came down upon a small glade. The sun's morning light had not yet penetrated the thick canopy of leaves, but a soft blue glow surrounded him on all sides. He wondered for a moment if he had found the moon's resting place after she had set, but he did not dwell long on such poetic fancies. The smell was overpowering. Aloysius chirped, and the glade erupted in a brilliant silver sheen. He found himself on a rocky outcrop, and little mushroom stems littered the rock and forest floor. Off to the side was a rotting log, covered with moss and small ferns that were beginning to sprout. Next to that was the still body of a small wildcat.
Aloysius's chest seized up; his throat closed entirely. She was unrecognizable—her head had split, and dried blood formed hideous growths that her bandana could not hide. Stricken with shock and grief, he collapsed to the floor and crawled to her side.
"Oh my dear, sweet child, what have they done to you?" He could barely speak; his breath had not yet returned to him. All he could manage was a hoarse whisper. "What have they done to you?"
He cradled her in his wings, her beautiful, mauled body, and he rocked her, as though he were simply putting her to bed. She was so soft, and stiff, and cold.
"I'm sorry, sorry, for the archives." He pulled her close, resting his head against her neck. Something crawled on him, and he flicked his ear, and it was gone. "It's all right. I forgive you, you and Eilonwy both."
His body shook as he fought the sobs that came unbidden. She was so young, so full of life and energy, and they had taken it away from her, and had not even spared her the decency of a proper burial. She was only a child.
"I never told you of Gingivere Greeneyes," Aloysius said through his tears. "He was a wildcat, a wildcat who lived in Martin's time. The son of Verdauga, the ruler of Kotir, and brother to the evil Tsarmina. But he was not like his sister…" He lifted his head, and stroked her broken forehead. Her eyes had not closed, and reflected a milky blue in the phosphorescent light. He brushed his wing over her eyelids, closing them as he would a finished volume.
"He was good, and cared for the baby hedgehogs Ferdy and Coggs when they were sealed in the dungeon next to his cell. When he was freed, he went east, east, and started a bloodline of good wildcats that lasted until Matthias's time. They lived on a farm. I would have liked to take you there…" He choked. "And Ripple as well."
Shifting her in his wings, Aloysius struggled to rise. Even though she was a young wildcat, he was a small bat, and she was nothing like the books in his archives.
"Come now, child," he tried to say, but his heart was broken. "Let me take you back to the abbey. Eilonwy has been looking for you, for you."
It was a long walk back to the abbey. Aloysius did not often use his feet, even in the great sandstone building, and there was no bag to place Bludd as he would often use for his books. She was heavy, and often he had to pause and shift the weight, but he would not leave her, not when she had been abandoned so callously. As he left the abbey forest, the few beasts that were going about their early morning tasks would stop and stare, but none offered aid to the tear-stained bat with a dead beast in his wings. It was a solemn and lonely progression.
Brother Isidore was waiting for him at Carter's door. The rat stood as Aloysius approached, tapping the tobacco out of his pipe and placing the pipe in his pocket. He froze when he saw what was in the bat's wings.
"Brother Aloysius," Isidore began.
"I must speak with Abbot Carter," Aloysius cried, stumbling to the ground. He did not drop her, he would never drop her. He hugged her close to his body. "I must speak with Abbot Carter."
Isidore nodded and entered the house. A moment passed, and Carter was outside, Isidore on his heels.
"Brother Aloysius, what—"
"It's Bludd, Bludd," Aloysius wailed, presenting her broken body to the Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey. "Look at what they've done to her! She was only a child … a child!"
Carter went to Aloysius's side, placing a paw on his wing, and another on Bludd's chest. "Murder has breached our abbey walls. Brother Isidore, take her to the Coffincreeper household. She'll be in good paws there."
Brother Isidore stooped to collect the kitten, but Aloysius pulled her away. The rat laid a paw on his other wing, and Aloysius looked up. There was pain in his eyes, a sadness that he could not deny. He offered him the kitten. He could trust him; he was a Brother.
"Come inside, Aloysius," Abbot Carter said as Isidore left with Bludd in his paws. "I'll brew you some tea."
They entered the dwelling and Carter led him to the kitchen, where he lit the small stove and put a kettle on to boil. Aloysius staggered. He felt so light without the young wildcat's weight pulling him down. He clambered onto a chair by the table and laid his head in his wings, but a warm smell distracted his grief. Looking up, Carter was proffering blueberry scones. The bat reached out to accept one, but there was blood on his wingtip, and he refrained.
"My apologies," Carter said softly. "Let me get you something."
In a trice he was gone, then back with a moist cloth.
"Where did you find her?" the abbot asked.
Aloysius did not respond immediately. Instead, he wiped at his claws until the stale blood was gone, then at his wing where her head had rested. Carter waited patiently.
"She was in the forest, the forest by the southeast corner of the abbey," Aloysius said, and took a deep breath. "It was a small glade, where the mushrooms glowed like the moon, the moon."
"Was there anybeast else there? Any tracks, or evidence?"
Aloysius shook his head. "Her body was so cold. Oh Father, who could do such a thing?"
"A cruel beast, to be sure. Eat, my son; you look rather haggard."
Aloysius took a scone, but he was not hungry. Still, he played with it and nibbled at the corner as an act of politeness.
"No doubt you have heard the rumours of a small uprising against this abbey," Carter said softly. "Your brother Fyfe brought them, didn't he?"
Still nibbling at his scone, Aloysius nodded.
"I'm afraid they may have found a way inside. Did you check the gatehouse records?"
"Two are missing, missing."
"And that accounts for two deaths in the abbey. One by murder, the other, by his own paw."
Aloysius lifted his head. "No," he breathed.
Carter nodded. "Our friend Cobb took his life earlier this evening."
The scone fell to the table. Aloysius felt like he was going to sick up.
"These are dark times we live in, my son," Carter said. "Tell me, did Fyfe bring word of the kinslayer's accomplice?"
Aloysius opened his mouth but before he could speak, the tea kettle screamed. Carter did not move. The bat's eyes went to the kettle, watching the steam as it spewed forth. He didn't know what to do. Betray Saskia, Tamarack, and Noel? If he could not possibly be wrong, that was what Saskia said. Duty was a mountain, and Aloysius found himself at the bottom of its chasm.
The otter grunted and went to retrieve the pot. The screaming stopped, and Aloysius was left to his own thoughts. Carter believed Bludd to have been murdered by the rebels, but something was missing, like a torn page from an ancient record. Why had Bludd been left to rot in the abbey forest, where she could not be found by a passing abbey beast? It was messy, too, and there had been no attempts to hide the body or make it seem like it was an accident. It was nothing like the firsts deaths, that had been dumped unceremoniously at the abbey gates. She at least would have been presented as a warning.
A steaming mug was placed before him. It smelled of chamomile. "Perhaps it will comfort your weariness," Carter said, sitting back down. "By your clock, you should be readying for bed."
"Thank you, Father," Aloysius whispered, blowing on the steam and taking a sip. "Tell me, do you believe these traitors killed Bludd, Bludd?"
"Who else would it be, my son?"
Aloysius nodded; he had his answer. "Fyfe brought wind of a treacherous beast. The birds have left their roost, for there's a hunter in the trees."
Carter's eyes grew wide. "Cassius…" He reached out and grasped the bat's wing. "Thank you, my friend."
The rest of their tea was spent over conversations of times gone past, of Raimun, and Ripple, and Bludd, too, for even the Abbot had not been spared her reckless behavior. They spoke of all the deaths, of Andrew and Cobb and Chamomile and Ruslen. Of Sister Sarah and Brother Xander, and Sister Thistledown, and everyone else, too.
And when they parted ways, it was in laughter and tears brought from sadness and good times. Aloysius did not return to the attic. His archivist's mind had an itch, and he desired to scratch it.


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subset: commoncrawl


text:
(Received 18 February 2000; accepted 8 May 2001)
Published Online: 01 October 2001
Cite this document
In order to use the Iosipescu V-notch beam test for determining the in-plane shear strength of high strength 2D 2 × 2 biaxial braided composites, two modifications were made to the specimen geometry. First, they were tabbed to prevent buckling at the gage section and pinching of the specimen at grip sections. Tabbed specimens having gage sections of 0.50″, 0.35″, 0.188″ were studied. Also, to reduce the load required for failure, the shear area was decreased by deepening the V-notch. Failure modes of specimens having notch widths of 0.425″, 0.350″, 0.325″, and 0.300″ were examined. In this investigation, high toughness PR520 epoxy resin was selected to make panels by resin transfer molding (RTM). An initial study was conducted to find the best possible specimen geometry using ±45° braid. Then, both ±45° and ±60° braid angles were studied for the selected geometry. In order to investigate the cut direction effects on the ±60° braid in-plane shear modulus and the strength, the specimens were cut in both 0° and 90° directions of the panel. Tabbed specimens with a gage length of 0.188″ demonstrated the highest average shear strength. The notch width of 0.325″ produced acceptable failures. Thus, it was selected as the minimum notch width. Then, both ±45° and ±60° specimens having gage section of 0.188″ and notch width of 0.325″ were tested for shear properties. The tabs minimized the bending loads due to buckling and pinching of the specimens across the gage section. Modifications increased the in-plane shear strength by about 33–55% for ±45°. The 0° cut-direction specimens, which had ±30° fibers with respect to the loading path, had lower strength and modulus values than that of the 90° cut-direction specimens. Modulus results for ±60° specimens were close to analytical predictions regardless of the cut direction.
Author Information:
Tomblin, JS
Assistant professor, Wichita State University, Wichita, KS
Seneviratne, WP
Research associate, National Institute for Aviation Research, Wichita, KS
Stock #: CTR10999J
DOI: 10.1520/CTR10999JAuthor


text:
Lemay's St-Henri office was the site of festivities last Sunday, June 18, as it hosted the inauguration of the mural "Le Phénix des droits humains" (The Phoenix of Human Rights) by renowned Japanese Canadian artist Taka Sudo.
The event brought together ambassadors for the cause of human rights, including community activists Heidi Yane and her daughter Megan, who came up with the idea for the project and drove its development. The unveiling was hosted by Ian Hamilton, executive director of Equitas, a foundation promoting the advancement of equality, social justice and respect for human dignity around the world.
Special guests, whose fundamental rights had been flouted, were invited to share their experiences, and supported the mural's message by adding their own colourful handprints to it.
The work of art aims to raise public awareness of the importance of human rights with a symbolic phoenix: a powerful bird that has been reborn and has risen from its ashes.
A part of Lemay's 60th anniversary celebrations, this artistic initiative is also a legacy for Montreal's southwest borough, where Lemay has worked since the 1970s.
"Lemay is honoured to support the incredible talent of artist Taka Sudo as well as Heidi's initiative, while at the same time providing visibility to a cause that demands our constant attention," said Louis T. Lemay, president and excellence facilitator.
The spectacular mural now adorns the façade of Lemay's office at 3500 Saint-Jacques St., outside Lionel-Groulx metro station at the corner of Saint-Jacques and Greene streets. Its colourful triumph is worth a detour!


text:
This is a variation on a chicken fricassée, using a classic French mirepoix to flavor the sauce. The addition of a little prosciutto or ham to the mirepoix gives the finished sauce a nice depth. If the ham you choose is particularly salty, season the chicken only very lightly with salt. Serve the chicken in wide soup bowls with egg noodles or rice, if you like, and the sauce spooned over all. Serves four.
NOTE: Chicken skin becomes limp after simmering in mirepoix sauce, so you may either remove it altogether before serving, or opt to crisp up in a hot oven while finishing the sauce. Also, buying pre-diced mirepoix saves a LOT of time!
- Yield
- 4 servings
- Ingredients
- 2 Tbs. butter
- 4-lb. chicken, cut into 6 pieces (or 3-1/2 to 4 lb. chicken pieces)
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 1 medium onion, finely chopped
- 1 medium carrot, finely chopped
- 1/2 rib celery, finely chopped
- 2 oz. prosciutto or country ham, finely chopped
- 3/4 cup dry white wine
- 3/4 cup homemade or low-salt canned chicken stock
- 3 Tbs. heavy cream (at room temperature)
- Chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
- Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Season the chicken with salt and pepper and cook it in the skillet on the skin side to brown it and to render the fat from the skin, about 15 min. Turn the chicken over and cook on the bone side for about 5 min. Remove and reserve the chicken. Pour off all but 2 Tbs. of the fat from the pan. Add the onion, carrot, celery, and prosciutto or ham and sauté until the onion is browned and the vegetables are softened, 8 to 10 min. Add the wine and chicken stock to the pan and stir to combine with vegetables. Put the chicken back into the pan. Bring the liquid to a boil, reduce to a simmer, cover the skillet with a lid, and simmer the chicken in the sauce until cooked through, 20 to 25 min. Remove the chicken from the pan, turn the heat to high and bring the liquid to a boil. Reduce the volume of liquid by half, about 5 min. (or 6 to 7 min. if you want a thicker sauce). Add the cream, stir to combine, and remove the pan from the heat. Transfer the chicken to wide soup plates; taste and season the sauce with salt and pepper if necessary and spoon it over the chicken. Sprinkle with the chopped parsley.


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Requires Windows, Mac, or Linux
Maybe he is new because I was talking about world map game and he wanted to play it, and I showed him how to register and play the games!
You don't know him that well.
Quote from: deoxy99 on May 15, 2010, 10:28:47 PMYou don't know him that well.Despite the fact I sit next to him everyday in class?
NEXT TO is not the same person! You don't know anything about him, and you claim I don't know him? He was over at my house yesterday. He left because my dad thought he was destructive. (Yep Flashstar, that's why, my dad also thinks youpurposely cut the yucca plant! If you did, I would please like to know why, I won't be mad.)
yes. I know. But you (deoxy) thought you knew that I (me, atomic7732)DIDN'T KNOW Flashstar in real life.But, I do.


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No longer must you wait to be informed of what were the best albums released this year; the long awaited, highly revered Operation Manatee Music Prize is finally here!
Because I went a little nuts with this list last year, and because 2016 saw so damned many good albums compared to this year, I've dialed it back a bit. Instead of this year's 100 best albums, this list will only grow as long as needed, and will likely be pared more liberally. Frankly, 2017 just didn't have as many great releases as last year.
However, that's not to say that there wasn't still plenty of great music released.
Previous lists, for reference:
2016-long | 2016-top 5
2015-long | 2015-top 5
The list below is ordered by artist last name or band/artist/act name, in the case of artists crazy enough to release more than one work this year (looking at you, Dear Criminals… and wft, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard?), they are listed first by act name, then by release order.
Got that?
Good. That said, I give you the 2017 Operation Manatee Long List:
Continue reading "OPERATION MANATEE MUSIC PRIZE 2017: THE LONG LIST"


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ESPN's Jon Gruden is often criticized due to his bouts of hyperbole, but his stance on Ohio State head coach Urban Meyer may have redefined even his barometer.
What Ohio State accomplished last season was certainly astounding.
After the team lost to the hapless Virginia Tech Hokies 35-21 during the second week of the season, the Buckeyes changed gears and eventually ran roughshod through the Big Ten's conference schedule and championship game, into the first ever College Football Playoff and grabbed the school's eight national championship.
"Maybe the best coach in the SEC went to the Big Ten," Gruden told Colin Cowherd during a radio interview, via CoachingSearch.com. "Urban Meyer did the greatest coaching job of all time. Winning a national championship with his third-string quarterback, I've never seen that before. … I've always respected him. Won two national titles at Florida.
"What he did at Ohio State, losing a Heisman Trophy candidate and then doing what he did with two different quarterbacks that were backups. Amazing to me."
All of this came a year earlier than expected. Next year's Ohio State squad was supposed to be the breakthrough team for Meyer in Columbus. Instead, the program is a year ahead of schedule and will almost certainly enter this coming season as the No. 1 team in the country.
However, none of that makes the most recent National Championship run the greatest in football history. Yes, the Buckeyes were forced to start three different quarterbacks. But all of them were more talented than…say…Craig Krenzel, who led the Buckeyes to the 2002 National Championship.
In fact, Ohio State was considered a 12-point underdog to an absolutely loaded Miami Hurricanes squad that year. The difference in overall talent level from top to bottom was actually in Ohio State's favor against the Oregon Ducks in January.
It was a tremendous run by Meyer and his Buckeyes, but this is another case where Gruden remains completely over the top with his comments.


text: I am trying to point my domain from our google blog site with Enom to Yola and wondered how long it should take. I have tried to publish my new website on Yola, but it says that my domain is not pointed correctly. I have emailed Enom/google apps too, but any help you can give me would be great. I have followed your tutorial.


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Are you looking for a fun Xmas present idea?
You are at the right place, I have an idea foryou: COOOOOOOOOOKIES IN A JAR!
Ingredients to put in the jar following this precise order:
250 gr Flour
150 gr Brown sugar
50 gr Sugar
0.5 Tsp Baking powder
A pinch of salt
+ 1 egg and 170 gr soften butter to be added when you are ready to bake
On the recipe label attached to the jar you may write:
Pre-heat oven at 180 degrees. Pour the entire jar contents into a bowl, add butter and egg, mix well. Place heaping spoons of the mix onto a non-stick cookie sheet. Bake for 10-14 minutes.
ENJOYYYYYYY and Merry Xmas!


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Subscribe Now
and get our June/July issue for FREE!click here
Spencer Sutherland is pulling at our "Heartstrings" with his new video
Spencer has shared the stage with the likes of Big Time Rush, MKTO, and even Ariana Grande! If you're a fan of his former tour mates Plug In Stereo and Before You Exit (from our April/May 2014 music issue!), then you're totally gonna dig Spencer's stellar new tune.
"Heartstrings" is so honest that it makes us feel like we know everything that's on his mind. The beat of this song is crazy fun and dance-y, too. Spencer even pulled a Taylor Swift à la "I Knew You Were Trouble" by throwing a few bass drops into his usual poppy sound.
Check out Spencer's "Heartstrings" lyric video to see what we're talking about…
Want more from this self-taught singer/songwriter? He's currently in the studio working with Grammy-winning song writers/producers such as Andreas Carlsson, Andreas Oberg, Johnny Andrews and O.A.R band member/producer Jerry DePizzo so expect to hear more from him soon. In the meantime, you can keep up to date with all of Spencer's happenings HERE.
Are you digging Spencer's new "Heartstrings" video? Share in the comments below.
+ OMGossip! Get the latest from Tinseltown right here
+ Which Divergent faction do you belong in? Take the quiz!
+ Calling all bookworms! Read reviews and write your own stories at Inkspiration
MAJOR PLUS Get the latest from GL on Google+ and Instagram.
POSTED IN entertainment, review, music reviews, music, music we love, music videos, Celebs, watch this


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The Zoo has many options for weddings and wedding receptions. If you are seeking a specific reception area or had additional areas of the Zoo in mind, please leave a comment in the request form below.
If you have any questions, please call 816-595-1207.
Penguin Wedding Packages*
$3,500 Host your wedding reception for up to 150 guests in a penguin-riffic venue and have your ceremony in the most unique place in Kansas City. Helzberg Penguin Plaza can provide unforgettable moments for your special night. Your evening can begin with ceremony on the penguin ice shelf with up to 10 of your flock joining you. Other guests can witness this snow-covered moment from the warm cover of Aurora Australis in the entry way rotunda. Available 6 – 11 p.m.
$3,000 Enjoy an early evening ceremony on the penguin ice shelf with up to 10 guests followed by a small reception for 50 of your favorite penguin pals in the Helzberg Penguin Plaza entry way rotunda. Available 6 – 8 p.m.
$2,000 Get married with the penguins! Have your ceremony on the penguin ice shelf with room for up to 10 guests any day of the week between 9:30 a.m. and 4 p.m.
*Please note this may not be penguin-perfect for every couple. Being on the ice shelf is:
- A slippery slope. Stable ice-worthy shoes are needed.
- It's a bit fishy, you may smell a bit like their food following your adventure.
- Cold enough to have snow, long dresses could get wet and the air temperature is 45F.
- Limited to 30 minutes. For your safety touching penguins is not allowed.


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Knowing your audience
You can get to know your audience better by taking time to reflect on these questions:
- Does your audience share your perspective and level of knowledge? Your wider views?
- Are there different ways you can 'frame' your message for different audiences, based on their knowledge of the subject and interests?
Getting to know what makes your audience tick will be important for building trust between you and your audience.
Trust and credibility - in both the message and the messenger - define the extent to which the public will pay attention to a scientific message, the belief they will have in the message and the level of support they will give to the policy implications of the science.
Whilst research shows consistently high levels of trust in scientists in Europe,1,2 scientists cannot automatically assume that they are seen as trusted experts when communicating scientific evidence with important policy implications.
Politically conservative groups are more sceptical of 'impact scientists', (e.g. climate scientists) who examine the environmental and health impacts of technology and industrial activities. These same groups hold greater trust in 'production scientists' such as engineers or chemists who produce new technologies and marketable products.
Getting to know your audience
Exercise 1: A good way of learning how to make your research legible and relevant for a non-expert audience is to practice talking about your research with a friend, family member or colleague from outside your field of expertise. Imagine them as a stranger sat on the bus who has asked you what you do for a living. Can you create an elevator pitch (1 minute long) for your research which quickly and clearly communicates why your work matters for the person you are speaking to?
Exercise 2: Work with a colleague to interview each other about your research (10 minutes each). Use this elevator pitch as the basis for your answer in the interview. Then each of you report back to the other a summary of what you heard. Did your colleague report back to you what you would want them to have heard and understood about your research? What could you have done or said differently?
Exercise 3: This exercise is designed to help you think about the challenges of communicating with different types of audiences. Discuss with a colleague (10 min) how you would speak with someone from one of the categories below. Create a list of what you imagine to be their interests, needs and motivations, and what barriers and challenges these present for communicating climate change to them.
- Someone from your local community
- European policy maker
- European College student
- Rural farmer in Uganda
- European business owner
The content of these webpages draws on a series of workshops created and developed by Climate Outreach and the Tyndall Centre for Climate Change Research as part of the Helix project.
1 Dunlap, R.E., Marquart-Pyatt, S.T., & McCright, A.M. (2016). Political ideology and views about climate change in the European Union. Environmental Politics, 25, 338–358. doi:10.1080/09644016.2015.1090371;
2 US National Science Board. (2016). Chapter 7: Science and technology: Public attitudes and understanding. In Science and Engineering Indicators 2016. Arlington, VA: National Science Foundation.


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Lighthouse Excursions is a locally owned and operated tour company located in Ketchikan, Alaska. We have been sharing our community with guests to Ketchikan since 2001. We pride ourselves on providing a professional quality tour with an authentic, local, family feel. You are invited to take in the beauty of our home and the environment we love, while we share with you the cultural, geographical, and industrial history of our local area. We're lucky to say all of our captains are local Alaskans, each with long-term experience navigating our unique environment, and as members of our vibrant local community.
We look forward to hosting your Ketchikan excursion experience that you and your family are sure to remember. Welcome aboard!


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Are you furnishing an office? Relocating? Upsizing? Downsizing? Setting up an office at home? If you are, then you could save 60% plus on the cost of the furniture that you need to get on with your work.
This month's special!
Where do you keep the documents you just can't afford to lose? Quite simple really, in a fireproof filing cabinet of course. Having been asked to deliver one of these to a local firm of solicitors, the 900lb, three drawer unit was man-handled up the three steps into the office.


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In a story about an onerous bill that was brought down, in part by the efforts of a Virginia blogger, we learn that
Political blogs proliferated during the 2004 presidential election. Many have survived and are becoming powerful tools for generating grassroots responses on public policy."Flogged"? "Spreading misinformation or distorted information quickly"? I thought that was the job of Fox News.
Rem Rieder, editor of American Journalism Review, said the blog phenomenon has both positive and negative consequences.
"It's certainly a way of stimulating participation in the political process. It's a way to get involved instantly," he said. "But the potential for bullying and intimidation is there. You wouldn't want people to not be putting in bills because they'd be flogged by blogs. And it can be a way of spreading misinformation or distorted information quickly. Blogs, while they are fascinating, are not journalism."


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Imagine you had a surreal dream about a Bunny Girl wearing a White Rabbit costume who points at two spheres, one here on Earth, the other in the Andromeda galaxy. It's a long trip from one sphere to the other upon the background of space, which is expanding faster than light.
But the spectral Bunny Girl indicates there's a shortcut: You can walk into the sphere on your Earth and moments later walk out of the sphere in Andromeda. That's the Bunny Girl's Rabbit hole of a wormhole.
When to follow the Bunny Girl's flicking tail, she reveals that her Yoni wormhole also allows for time-travel. "You can go into the future or into the past using traversable wormholes," said astrophysicist Eric W. Davis, of the EarthTech International Institute for Advanced Studies at Austin.
There are no pointlike electric charges, the physicist John Wheeler once proclaimed; rather, "electric field lines can thread the mouth of a wormhole. What looks to you like an electron is actually a tiny wormhole mouth."
If you were small enough, you could slide inside the electron and emerge from a positron far away, such as Andromeda.
It just so happens your dreams are made up of spun electrons, and when lucid within the dream, your consciousness is small enough to (OOBE) Out Of Body Experience slide into the wormhole mouth of an electron.
Ancient Shamans speak of an inner tunnel, others to have inadvertently experienced when experiencing a (NDE) Near Death Experince, which can be seen as a wormhole.
Shamans claim that their consciousness can consciously enter the inner tunnel when accesseing hypnagogic trance unto dreams, which allows ingress into other worlds.
The Shamans symbolically equate the inner uterine tunnel with the vagina, which can also symbolically manifest as an entrance into a womb cave, or doorways, hallways, windows, mirrors, whirlpools and Wizard Of Oz whirlwinds within Surrealist dreams.
It gives a new slant on Santa Claus zipping in and out of chimneys, who is essentially a Wizard of Oz Shaman. Hence you have Alice, who fell down a Rabbit hole into multiverse Wonderland.
The question is, who is the White Rabbit? If you have a highly advanced ancient civilisation frequenting a distant galaxy, which exists in the present, the far distant past, or far flung future, a time-travelling denizen of the other galaxy, or even that of an alternate Earth existing within a parallel universe, may be communicating via a vaginal wormhole tunnel within your electron dreams.
Sounds absolutely crazy doesn't it, until you realise that your quantum computing brain is far more advanced than a quantum computer, whose multiverse computations are based upon the spin of an electron, which act as inner-space wormhole doorways into other worlds.
The above Artwork is available as an Art Print on Saatchi Art. If you are interested, Please Click Here.


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The Project
Rubique Technologies is a Fintech Startup that came up with an ultimate lending solution, the new Rubique TAB (Tech Assisted Business Solution). The Tab helps MSME's through evaluation of credit history and helps avoid high rejection rates due to various reasons. It caters to simplifying the process for an individual to get access to financial such as loans, credit cards by making use of the Matchmaking Algorithm that helps one understand the results within a few mins. Also, matches the individual to the right banks and creates an end to end solution rather than waiting for months thus turning to be a one-stop transaction platform which handles the lead from origination to disbursement.
Rubique thus assigned the task to Ingenious Folks to create an introductory video (explainer video) showcasing the features of the new Rubique Tab.
- Client : Rubique
- Industry : Fintech
- Services : Motion graphic Video


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Cebu Diving
Tepanee Beach Resort in Malapascua, CebuFriday, July 15, 2016
It's my second time in Malapascua Island, Cebu. I was looking for an affordable and basic accommodation on the island. I searched o...
It's my second time in Malapascua Island, Cebu. I was looking for an affordable and basic accommodation on the island. I searched on tripadvisor and I found Tepanee Beach Resort listed as number one of all hotels on the island.
How to get to the resort?
The private transfer for 4 person costs P 5,000 per way. This is the most convenient way traveling to Malapascua. However, traveling in a small group can be expensive because the transfers cost P4,500 for 2 persons per way so it's better to travel in a group of at least 4 persons. Traveling by commute is way cheaper but it would eat up most of your time.
How to travel by commute?
Please see my old post about Malapascua.
Review of the Resort
The resort is situated on the south-western tip of the island. It has its own private beach. For those who like quiet time, this place is for you because it's secluded from the main strip.
Another great thing about the location is that it's super near from three of the best restaurants on the island, Angelina's (serves Italian cuisine), Amihan (Italian) and Kokay's Maldito (all cuisines. lol!). The resort also has bar near the beach perfect for happy hour and sunset viewing.
Just beside the resort is Angelina's - the number one restaurant on the island as per Tripadvisor. It's really the best! Eating pizza on the beach may not be that appealing for some, but the food's really really good! We even ate everyday here. They have pizza, pasta, gelato - all authentic!!
The room is pretty basic but we got everything we need. Split-type air condition, shower, heater, refrigerator with affordable snacks and water, comfortable bed.
What I love most about our room is the veranda.. Not what I expect from the price we're paying.
Massage Area.
Chiringuito Bar for sunset viewing
Tepanee's private beach
The resort has an in-house restaurant that serves Italian cuisine . It's on top of a hill which is amazing as you can see a beautiful ocean view while dining.
The breakfast is P300 that includes brewed coffee, fresh fruit juice, unlimited bread, and choice of main meal. They don't serve Filipino breakfast unfortunately. :)
If you have extra money to spend on accommodation, you can book the deluxe/superior room that has a veranda facing the ocean. I've checked the view from the rooms and it's really stunning.
For the dive shop Tresher Shark Divers, I wasn't really satisfied with their service. Click the link to see my review on Tripadvisor: Thresher Shark Divers Review
PS. I found out that the month of June is the 'fly' season in Malapascua. They're everywhere during this season. They're quite annoying but tolerable.
Safe travels! XOXO


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Hey, I just wanted to announce that my webinar series on self-publishing is now under way, with 5 dates to choose from! I mentioned this a few months ago when discussing the 5
reasons excuses that people give me when they say they want to write a book but haven't started or completed it.
When you join any of my webinars this month (held weekly on Thursdays) I'll bust those excuses and show you how you can become an author in 2016! You will also learn how you can get my exclusive Authorpreneur Resource Pak that contains 6 templates to help you plan, write, self-publish and promote your book.
SIGN UP today, and catch me live or watch the recording.
Can't wait to see you there!


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Multi Desktop DVD
Multi Desktop DVD with all the Fedora desktop live media on it
- Name: Christoph Wickert
- email: <firstname.lastname@example.com>
Current status
- Targeted release: Fedora 14
- Last updated: 2011-01-12
- Percentage of completion: 95%
Detailed Description
The Multi Desktop DVD is a single dual layer DVD with all the Fedora desktop live media (GNOME, KDE, Xfce, LXDE and Moblin) for both 32 and 64 bit on it. The individual spins are stored as ISO images, so it is possible to burn CDs or make live USB keys from the data. To create the image the Multiboot Media Creator is used.
Benefit to Fedora
One problem the ambassadors are facing that the hardly don't know what kid of media the audience on an event is requesting most: Once they want KDE, the next time they want GNOME. Once they want 32 bit, the next time 64. As a result they need to bring more media to an event, this means more shipping and more leftovers. Although the costs for a dual layer DVD are slightly higher than for a standard DVD, the Multi-Desktop DVD will dramatically lower the costs of media production. It also is more environment friendly.
ISO Name / FS Label
- Artwork: Handled by feature owner based on the F14 media art.
- Testing: Was performed by members of the EMEA ambassadors group
- Image creation: To be handled by rel-eng (as per Media Handout Requirements)
- Usage instructions on the media sleeve: To be handled by Jared Smith (as per Media Handout Requirements)
- Media production: Handled by feature owner with Media bit
Scope / Testing
As all the individual spins have have their own test plans and undergone intensive testing, so there is not much we need to test. We mainly need to test the boot manager: All entries must boot the desired spin and boot correctly. They also must install correctly. So far this has been tested independently by 3 ambassadors.
Testing can be performed within any virtualization that can boot off ISO images, but for full coverage a virtualization that can do both 23 and 64 bit is needed.
User Experience
A user only has one DVD and can select the spin he wants to boot in the boot manager. The boot menu is shown by default and if no selection is done within 60 seconds, it automatically boots into the 32 bit GNOME desktop spin.
Spins Page
None, the media is only for physical distribution on events. Nevertheless it will be hosted on http://alt.fedproject.org.


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NEW YORK (Reuters Life!) - Eating a Mediterranean diet rich in fish, olive oil, legumes, fruit and vegetables may strengthen the heart but the cost strains the wallet and may deter healthy eating, according to Spanish researchers.
A study by the Department of Preventive Medicine and Public Health at the University of Navarra looked at the costs of Mediterranean and Western diets in more than 11,000 Spanish university graduates with a similar level of income.
All of them were taking part in a long term study launched in 1999 to assess ties between diet, food costs and obesity.
The analysis, published in the Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health, revealed that the more closely these people adhered to a healthy Mediterranean diet, the more money they spent each day on food.
In contrast, the more closely they followed a "Western" diet - high in saturated fat, sugar, and red meat - the less money they shelled out each day on food.
Researcher Maira Bes-Rastrollo said this study showed that a healthy Mediterranean dietary pattern is more expensive to follow than a Western dietary pattern.
"I am sure that the same study conducted in the United States would find the same results or even higher differences in costs between dietary patterns," she said in a statement.
This "economic barrier" should be considered when counseling populations about following a healthy diet "because cost may be a prohibitive factor," she added.
The researchers also found that 31 percent of study subjects gained weight during the study — just over half a kilo, or 1.1 pounds, every year.
After adjusting for factors likely to influence the results, people who spent the most on food were 20 percent more likely to gain weight, regardless of which dietary pattern they favored.
Those with higher food bills tended to be older, were more likely to have quit smoking, tended to drink more calorie-laden fruit juice, soft drinks and alcohol and generally weighed more to begin with - suggesting that they were more prone to weight gain due to lifestyle or genetic factors, the researchers said.
Reporting by Reuters Health


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Looks like Artimesia doesn't have a portfolio yetExplore our community
Being is a designer means having to be creative and offer a unique perspective on every project...sometimes it works...
Cathy is a web developer and graphic designer located in Canada.
Interested clients may send her a private message with the intention of viewing her online portfolio or potentially hiring her for projects that are outside SitePoint.
Member since: August 07, 2005


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Kris -
I've always been interested in cognitive processing, even back when I was a kid. I was fascinated by the process of thinking -- and storytelling. I toggled back and forth between the two, wondering about people, and imagining them.
The fascination with storytelling resulted in a BA in film studies. The fascination with cognition motivated a lot of my post-graduate work.
My first dip into post-grad life resulted in me co-authoring a book about the differences in how people process information. This led to graduate work in Ed. Psych.
The plan was to get that PhD and become a science writer, thus melding my two passions. That didn't happen.
I have two kids, both of whom carry disabilities. Because of a lot of issues and reasons, life did not mesh in a way that allowed me to finish my degree. But it's the kids, really, that brought me to develop characters with disabilities.
My eldest daughter lives with severe ADHD. Being immersed in her life, plus my two passions for cognitive science and storytelling, led to the creation of Rysa Torres, the heroine of my Fate Fire Shifter Dragon series. Rysa, like my daughter, has ADHD.
I wanted to write a character who represented the struggles of ADHD for women in a realistic way, even if the universe is science fiction/ fantasy.
Fiona -
No two people experience the same disability in the same way physically, mentally, socio-economically. Can you explain how you looked at symptoms of ADHD and determined how to apply them to your character and how it impacts her ability to function in her role in your fantasy world?
Kris -
I know there is disagreement about ADHD, about what it is, how to diagnose it, etc. Some people even think it's a made up syndrome meant to get naughty kids out of schoolwork.
It's real.
ADHD stands for Attention Deficit Hyper Activity Disorder, and like every syndrome, it manifests differently across all sort of factors.
Boys tend to be more hyperactive. Girls, less attentive. My daughter is also hyperactive.
Basically, with ADHD, the executive functions in the front part of the brain move from task to task too fast.
The underlying cause is often (but not always) counterintuitive, in that the jumping is caused by slow processing.
Look at it this way: The executive functions operate as gatekeepers, among other tasks. It's all about sorting and organizing thoughts, application of effort, delaying gratification -- all those fun things we associate with being an adult.
What happens with ADHD is that the operation of those control functions happens too slowly. A moment is not labeled important quickly enough, so it is passed by.
This is why Adderall and the other amphetamine drugs help a lot of people with ADHD. They speed up the necessary processing.
Now, with boys and girls, we run into all sorts of society's stereotypes about who is supposed to be active and who is not. Which is why boys get diagnosed earlier and more often -- physical hyperactivity is more obvious with them. With girls tend to fidget, get in trouble, and ignore their homework. They're more likely to labeled as not as smart.
But really, ADHD has little to do with intelligence, though it does effect working memory, which interferes with learning.
My daughter had all the symptoms -- and I mean all of them. She's a cut and dry, textbook case.
She still had an unending number of problems in school.
I wanted to give her, and all the women out there who are dealing with ADHD and any of the issues related to it, a heroine who represented them. So I wrote Rysa.
Fiona -
Can you explain how you looked at symptoms of ADHD and determined how to apply them to your character and how it impacts her ability to function in her role in your fantasy world?
Kris -
The character's journey into the fantastic side of the universe is fast, intense, and overwhelming, which mirrors life with ADHD.
She has a hard time keeping track of who has what power and why.
She also has a hard time dealing with her own power set because it's very much like dealing with all of her own little voices.
A common symptom with girls with ADHD is low self-esteem and hyper sensitivity to criticism.
Life's ups and downs are extraordinarily high and extraordinarily low, and everything is a high or a low.
This is one of the truths of Rysa's life -- that the battles ahead of her are extraordinary not only in a fantasy way, but also in an internal, "How is it that I have this power?" way.
And it's reflected in everything.
Rysa, like my daughter -- and me, to be honest -- has a rich inner life. All her struggles have a "voice" and she looks at the world in a metaphorical way, so her power set manifests for her as something that is not quite her.
My daughter will occasionally see her hyperactivity that way.
Her reconciliation of the otherness into the whole is also part of the character's ADHD.
But in the end, her scattered way of looking at the world, and her powers, are what allows her to save the world.
Ultimately, Rysa harnesses her ADHD for the good of everyone.
That's really what I wanted to do with the character. To have her grow into herself and to figure out how to live with and use her atypical cognition.
As a side note, it's really important for anyone with ADHD to have support. Most of the characters around Rysa help instead of hinder.
Fiona -
When you're constructing your characters with atypical processing do you define this for your readers? Do your characters know they have, for example, ADHD? Or are you allowing those who have experienced this either within themselves or with friends and loved ones?
Kris -
Rysa knows she has ADHD and lampshades it.
Lampshade is a TV Tropes thing: Putting a lampshade on an issue to point it out for the viewer or the reader. MORE HERE
Basically, it's when extra care is given to the explanation for a character's behavior because it's not "normal."
"Oh my God, he's sucking that person's blood!" "It's okay. He's a vampire." is an example. Without knowing that you're dealing with a vampire, that behavior could be all sorts of nasty.
Rysa explicitly tells everyone that she has ADHD. Now, it's also an excuse on her part, so there's a balancing there.
But the reader knows. They know they're in the head of someone who switches topics, moves between stimuli, and has a hard time paying attention.
It's hard from some readers. I have one review that says the reader wants to punch everyone with ADHD because of my book.
Again, though, a lot of people don't think ADHD is real. They think it's just an excuse for the character to behave "badly."
I also have the POV of Rysa's love interest, who doesn't have ADHD, as a counterpoint. He's not as... speedy. He also has a lot of compassion for her and her difficulties.
Oh, and there's a dragon.
Every girl needs a dragon, and like any good dragon, he's the wise one who takes care of everyone.
Overall, several other characters in the same universe live with some type of issue. One main character is hearing impaired, and his brother lost the lower half of his leg. Another is blind. Several suffer from an immortal form of PTSD.
There are genetic issues that arise when the two groups with different powers have babies. I try to bring in some scientific realism when fleshing out worlds, even in fantasy.
But then again, it's really a science fiction universe, so it's just world building.
Stay in touch with Kris Austen Radcliff:
We thank you!


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Five Dinner Guests
Today's prompt for HAWMC is to pick 5 people you would want to have as dinner guests (alive or not).
To be completely honest, I really don't know who I'd want as dinner guests but I'd love to have people eating with me whom share the same interests. Better conversations… usually. I love talking with others who are bright and happy and ready to take on a conversation- of any caliber.
So, here's my list of people I know and who I'd love to chow down with.
Amber! My love, chef and author of Almost Vegan Chef blog and Practically Raw. She is one of my favorite people in the world. She's smart, beautiful, loves food, has the coolest fiance ever (hi, Matt!!), and I'm just waiting for the date when I can come visit her in her new casa!
Alisa at Go Dairy Free – I just cannot tell you how much I love this lady. Incredibly intelligent, always positive, a business savvy entrepreneur, and I've had the privilege of dining with her before! It must happen again.
Michelle and Lori at blog, Pure2Raw – Two amazing chicks on a mission to feed the world with delicious healthy foods. They have been my inspiration from the start of my blog and onward. I love you girls!
Christin of Purple Bird Blog – I've met this girl once and I know it has to be done again. She's tattooed, loud, and SUPER awesome. She makes some mean peanut butter, too. (mmmm! SO good!). As far as a FoodBuzz partner in crime goes, she's my #1 choice. 😉
Ela at Ulterior Harmony – Sweetest woman ever. Huge heart and definitely a great writer. And I know for a fact she makes some killer raw cheesecake (sadly, I've only seen pictures)!
Mom and Dad and Sister – Because I love them and they're pretty fun. They also LOVE my cooking, so that's a huge bonus.
Friends of all kinds and from all areas (that I know personally, not just from the blog-world): Anne, Kris, Robin, Sascha, Jeff, Danielle, and many others.
Michael Eisen, founder of Youth Wellness Networks – Happiest, most positive person I know. He's my happiness mentor.
Ani Phyo – She was one of the first people I got information from when I went raw/vegan/super healthy a few years ago. I learned a lot of great info and tons of wonderful recipes.
Julieanna Hever – I'm loving her book, which I mentioned yesterday. But she has a hilarious YouTube cooking show with amazing, and super easy to make, foods.
I know there has got to be more but… That's my list.
Not sure what I'd serve at dinner but I do know I'd start the meal with a nice big, sweet and spiced, green juice- and my favorite one!
Spiced Sweetly Cabbage-Apple
Serves 1, from The Juicing Bible
- 1/4 head of cabbage, cut to fit juicer tube
- 1/4 fresh fennel bulb
- 1 green apple
- 1/2-inch thick piece of ginger
- 1/8 tsp cinnamon
Juice cabbage pieces, fennel, apple, and ginger together. Sprinkle cinnamon on top and whisk to combine.
Sip and enjoy.
Who are the top 5 people you would want as dinner guests?
Who'd be making the food…?