1993 chevy g20 conversion van interior
contracting 101
2023.06.03 00:26 Internal_Prune_5108 contracting 101
Residential Contracting 101
With over 20 years of building experience, I would like to share with you my insights in navigating becoming a successful contractor. With many different avenues of the building world its key to understand what problems will arise on any given day. A man once told a saying that stuck-the 6 p’s in life- Piss Poor Preparation leads to Piss Poor Performance. Preparation builds everything in construction, without preparation the jobsite will not run correctly. The best advice I was ever given was to learn a little about every trade giving you the ability to understand trade lingo and secrets. An example would be painters use the terminology flash; this means when the sub structure bleads through the paint. Subcontractors will give the best pricing if they respect your knowledge of the industry. If the subcontractor feels they will have to hold your hand through the job they will charge an extra fee…i.e. I call it the aggravation fee. In this blog I will explain the key elements in finding success in all aspects of the industry. Contracting is a physically and emotionally demanding job which requires planning and foresight to complete projects on time within budget. Picking your customer is just as important as picking your employees or subcontractors. I have worked for some of the most demanding customers leading me to question at the end if the job was even worth it. Sleepless nights, constant changes, lack of payment, lawsuit threats, adding work that was in the contract are just a few things you could face with a tough customer. With so many moving parts at all times it is critical to be able to adapt to changes within a short time frame. Materials will come in damaged, subcontractors will be late, employees will get sick, but the deadline you set does not change. The stress can be overwhelming at times keeping your mind in a good place is key to navigating all that is thrown at you. Choosing your client picking the right jobs-Keep these questions in mind The first question to be asked is what the time frame is to start the job to see if it fits within the timeframe for your business. If the time frame doesn’t work then move on from the project or let them know when you would be available to start. If the client really wants to use, they will wait until you are available. Taking on too much work will only lead to problems. Construction is a serviced based business, staying on top of the project and client will eliminate an unhappy customer and construction issues that will be over seen. With online presence if details are missed and customer service lacks it will only be a matter of time the phone will not ring. The second question to be asked to the client is do they have a budget in mind for the project. If they answer yes this is good, follow through with what the budget is. If the budget seems low let them know, this will eliminate a tire kicker, educate them on what the price range could be. If the budget seems reasonable then continue the discussion to the next question. If they answer no let them know that you can give them an estimate to see if the project is feasible with their finical capabilities. Taking on a job that is not correctly budgeted will lead to an unsatisfied customer due to non-transparency of the construction cost. The third question to be asked is anyone else bidding on the job, if the answer is yes, understand you might just be number check for the contractor doing the job. Dig a little deeper and find out how many numbers they are getting and why. If your business model is to be competitive be completely transparent with customer, this will gain trust with them. Let them know you get what you pay for and if you they choose the lowest bid it could lead into lack of quality of work.
The fourth question I will ask is there any specific subcontractors they wanted to use. If the answer is yes then I would explain to them you only use the subcontractors you have a working relationship with. Otherwise, this could backfire as the subcontractor might not show, do subpar work, talk behind your back to the homeowner. In my experience I would stay away from using any homeowner to alleviate problems down the road. A quick conversation now can save headaches down the road. The fifth question I will ask are planning on getting the job permitted, this needs to be known it takes more time for the permitting process. Plans will have to drawn submitted and approved to the city before work can commence. The sixth question I will ask if a residential remodel is are you going to be living through the remodel if yes understand this will take more time to navigate the project due to answering questions and cleaning the house on a daily occurrence. I would recommend seeing if the customer would be willing to move into an Airbnb or friends for at least the demo portion of the project. If they do plan on living through the remodel add a couple hours a day to accommodate the extra time that will be required. The seventh question I would ask in a residential remodel is how old the house is to see if there is asbestos that would need to removed by a proper company. A home built before 1979 will most likely have some asbestos in the house, use a licensed company with proper insurance to dispose of the materials. If everything looks good to this point find out a little more about the client personality. If the client seems reasonable, I would bid the job. Unreasonable people can cause you more stress than its worth. These are some red flags I would look out for. Some jobs are not worth the money. Very demanding in the way you are going to perform your job- I.e., tell you how you are going to do your job- You’re the professional not them! Give you a hard time about your price- haggle with price you estimated- The price is the price! If they are a family with little money and you want to help them out is one thing, if they are trying to beat you down is another. Mention they have a lawyer-there is no need for them to bring up that they have a lawyer - Run for the hills as if the job goes south, you will be the one losing out! Tell you what the payment terms are. It’s your business you get paid how it works for your company. If you want to get paid every Friday, put it into your contract-If the clients do not agree move on it will save you frustrations If they talk bad about the last contractor, chances are they will talk bad about you. There is a reason why the contractor does not work for them anymore, unless he did subpar work this a red flag Clients are using an interior decorator that will purchasing all of the materials- The materials could be ordered incorrectly by the interior designer your company will not make the mark-up it deserves. Interior decorators usually add time to the job as well as act like your boss. Charging a little extra for the time and stress that it will entail is only fair. Clients want to purchase the materials- You are using your knowledge to buy the correct materials-The mark up on the materials keeps the doors open working for wages only pays the bills The husband and wife do not get along-You will become the mediator between the couple it will lead to taking sides a losing proposition- A drama free work place is always best! Dangling carrot-if you do this job the next one will be better-Only look at what there offering at the present moment, if its not a good fit do not take the job for a job down the road…Its not worth chasing a job that might not happen! The Art of the Sale First things first selling your company is all about presentation. In meeting your clients for the first time show up with a collared golf shirt tucked in, belt, nice jeans, and newer shoes. Have a truck that a clean, no dents scratches, preferably washed the day you are going into your meeting. Have a leather note pad that is clean no dirt or paint visible. Show up 5 minutes early, if you’re running a little late shoot them a text to let them know. Treat the situation as if were going on a first date, best foot forward. As you introduce yourself give them a warm greeting, letting them know you are very interested in the work. Find out a little about them, hobbies, where they lived, etc etc. You are going to be working with them on a daily basis its nice to know what makes them tick. Having a good working relationship from the start is key forming a solid relationship. As the conversation progresses find out who wears the pants in the family…ie who’s the final decision maker. If its fits the wife, chances it is…..then kindly let the husband know happy wife happy life when their in a stall mate on an issue. As your looking at the project throw in some suggestions of what you think would look good from past experiences, this will get their attention that you have knowledge and want what’s best for them. If you see ways to save them money in their project let them know, money is a large point of the sale keep that in mind. Mention that you’re not the least expensive contractor but you’re not the most expensive either. Your customer satisfaction is your number one goal which leads to more time spent on keeping them happy. One happy customer will lead to another, one unsatisfied customer leads to work in the future. Bring up the fact the finishing the job on time is key goal to your business, many contractors run several jobs at once causing the jobs to be finished way behind schedule. You must stand out as having integrity, good morals, and the ability to problem solve to get the job. The clients will be testing you to see if you’re a good fit as well. Keep in mind as you take your notes that you must not forget anything they mention as it will come back before the job is completed…i.e. we mentioned that to you before we started the job! Take pictures of the proposed area for work, that way you can use it to better right your estimate. Let them know you will give them a detailed outline of when the job will be completed letting them see how long each phase will take and correlate it with your payment schedule. Before you leave their house let them know when the estimate will be sent to them. MAKE SURE YOU HIT THAT DEADLINE! Once you sent the email over with estimate make sure you get confirmation that they received it. Wait at least 2 days before checking with them, hopefully they contact you first! If they want negotiate the price, let them know that it is the best price that you can manage, its not worth losing money before you start. I closed 80% of the work I estimated by being very transparent and friendly. If you come off with an attitude charge double what the going rates are you might only land 1 out of 10 jobs as well as getting the reputation of being expensive. Bidding the job Looking up industry standards on pricing is what I would go buy for pricing. If you google the coat of any installation there will be a cost range for everything. Looking at the cost ranging from high to low I would tend to be in the middle. Some items might be low on the internet if this is the case use your best judgment not to lose money. Closing sales is key to success and keep the doors open for business. Being in the middle on pricing is key as most customers shy away from contractors that are extremely low or high on the price range. I tend not bid out hourly as wages do not pay for retirement. Bidding is better as customers no the exact price of the cost of construction. It also keeps the job moving quicker as time and material contractors take longer to complete projects…Thus costing the client more money and valuable time they could spend in their house. Using a Contract Using a detailed estimate tied to a contract covers your butt in 99% of the time. Having a piece of mind that every aspect of the job is covered in the estimate and contract protects both your company and the client. Key terms to include in your estimate/contract are. Have a schedule on excel showing the start dates and dates of each trade this will show the customer you are organized with time lines. If not written in the detailed in the estimate the item is excluded- This ensures if its not written down its not included. TBD- To be Determined- A phrase on a line item that has yet to had final decision of products or service needed. -The pricing will follow the decisions to be finalized Give out what your written warranty will be for parts and labor this changes state to state. If the homeowner provides the product than no warranty will be given on that particular item. In the contract have a start date and end date with the verbiage subject to change due to weather, product delivery, change orders Have a progress payment schedule to ensure the client understands when funding will be expected-Including if not payment is rendered service to the project will stop. Have written terms of how change orders will be charged-cost plus 20% or a set fee Make sure in your contract that arbitration is required versus going to court- This will save lawyer fees and going to court Many contracts can be found online and each state requires different contracts
Finding leads Finding leads is easy with the right network of people. I personally do not find working for friends or family members a good fit. Relationships get strained when money is involved, causing undue stress for both parties. I have listed a couple of ways to build a network or find work using the internet. Get in contact with realtor’s- Realtors have a big client base of homeowners who need work done Contact local Architects to see if they are working with any general contractors Leave some business cards at your local materials suppliers-Doowindow/lumber-many times clients will ask salesman for a referral. Join a business networking group- BNI is one of many Join a internet website lead generation company- Houzz, Angie’s List, Home Advisor, thumbtack, Yelp run an ad on craigslist Use a marketing company to market your website-This could become costly with little results Create a Facebook business page Create a Yelp business page
Building your subcontractor base Having 2 subcontractors for every trade, gives you the flexibility of completing jobs on time if the one the subcontractors is too busy at the time you need their service. Your subcontractors are the face of your business, choose owner run companies that are professional. Check to make sure there license are up to date..ie workman’s comp, liability insurance, state license. Choosing subcontractors with lettered vans, logoed t-shirts is s key to looking professional in the clients’ eyes. In the past I have gotten a lot of subcontractors for material supply shops, stopping by jobsites, researching the internet using Yelp, Home Advisor, etc etc. Once you get one good subcontractor ask them if they know any other trades they would recommend. One good subcontractor leads to another in most cases. The key to having a good group of subcontractors is to let them know that you are there to get help them get the job done. They do work for you but without them you are nothing…keep that in mind! Make them aware a clean jobsite is required at the end of everyday to ensure the proper safety for all parties including theirs! Over the years I have referred a lot of companies work when there is only 1 trade needed. Referring work to subcontractors is a good way to get top priority when you have work that needs to be completed ASAP. Timing is everything in times of emergency having a good group of subcontractors will make your business run smoothly. Pay your subcontractors immediately after performing work, this will make them feel appreciated! A happy subcontractor is one that will gladly go the extra mile for you knowing that there not just a number to your business! Buying lunch once a week for the jobsite is always a good token of appreciation!
Supervising In supervising any jobsite its key to monitor everything from materials on hand, weather, vehicle parking (if applicable), jobsite safety, and subcontractors’ workmanship. If you hired a professional there should be little supervision in the work being performed, on rare occasions a new hire might need some mentoring to get the results completed correctly. If you see a problem with there work address it with the worker directly, no need to call his boss…. building repour with the worker letting him know you got his back goes miles down the road! Checking in on the job first in the morning to answer any questions or changes that need to be conveyed and once in the afternoon to make sure all work be completed is done per construction industry standards. A job that is run blindly will have many more issues than one that is watched over. I have seen many jobs with no site supervision, leading to subpar quality work as well as safety hazards. Its better to be like an eagle than cluck like a turkey!
Working with the City/Inspectors On permitted jobs the city and site inspector will be a large part of how smoothly the job runs. Each phase of construction has an inspection allowing for the project to continue. Make sure your subcontractors are aware that the project is inspected before starting the job. The best way to stay on his good side is to provide a clean jobsite and having the job built to the highest standards possible. When having the site inspected be courteous to the inspector asking any questions or concerns you have with the work during the job. Being completely transparent will save you aggravation of problems down the road. The more he trust you the better if you seem sneaky or rude he will make your life a living nightmare! Many inspectors will have an attitude towards you….I suggest keeping quiet and doing what ever he wants….he’s the boss no need to get in a pissing match you will not win at. How to deal with irate customer Stay calm during any argument with an irate customer. Never raise your voice or show that you are bothered by their disgruntled behavior. If the customer is trying to get more from you than agreed upon stand your ground. Worst case scenario is you walk from the job, which in the long run be more of a loss for the client. I have only run into a couple of these clients; they are unreasonable and not worth losing sleep over a few dollars. Its best to terminate the relationship as it would be my best guess that a referral from this customer would not be one you wanted anyway. If you feel it was just a miscommunication on your end, take reasonability and remedy the problem. Taking accountability for your mistake will go a far way in their eyes and on future issues that arise. Prepping the homeowner pre-construction Before starting the job, it very important to give the homeowners a warning of what will happen during the construction process.
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With over 20 years of building experience, I would like to share with you my insights in navigating becoming a successful contractor. With many different avenues of the building world its key to understand what problems will arise on any given day. A man once told a saying that stuck-the 6 p’s in life- Piss Poor Preparation leads to Piss Poor Performance. Preparation builds everything in construction, without preparation the jobsite will not run correctly. The best advice I was ever given was to learn a little about every trade giving you the ability to understand trade lingo and secrets. An example would be painters use the terminology flash; this means when the sub structure bleads through the paint. Subcontractors will give the best pricing if they respect your knowledge of the industry. If the subcontractor feels they will have to hold your hand through the job they will charge an extra fee…i.e. I call it the aggravation fee. In this blog I will explain the key elements in finding success in all aspects of the industry. Contracting is a physically and emotionally demanding job which requires planning and foresight to complete projects on time within budget. Picking your customer is just as important as picking your employees or subcontractors. I have worked for some of the most demanding customers leading me to question at the end if the job was even worth it. Sleepless nights, constant changes, lack of payment, lawsuit threats, adding work that was in the contract are just a few things you could face with a tough customer. With so many moving parts at all times it is critical to be able to adapt to changes within a short time frame. Materials will come in damaged, subcontractors will be late, employees will get sick, but the deadline you set does not change. The stress can be overwhelming at times keeping your mind in a good place is key to navigating all that is thrown at you. Choosing your client picking the right jobs-Keep these questions in mind The first question to be asked is what the time frame is to start the job to see if it fits within the timeframe for your business. If the time frame doesn’t work then move on from the project or let them know when you would be available to start. If the client really wants to use, they will wait until you are available. Taking on too much work will only lead to problems. Construction is a serviced based business, staying on top of the project and client will eliminate an unhappy customer and construction issues that will be over seen. With online presence if details are missed and customer service lacks it will only be a matter of time the phone will not ring. The second question to be asked to the client is do they have a budget in mind for the project. If they answer yes this is good, follow through with what the budget is. If the budget seems low let them know, this will eliminate a tire kicker, educate them on what the price range could be. If the budget seems reasonable then continue the discussion to the next question. If they answer no let them know that you can give them an estimate to see if the project is feasible with their finical capabilities. Taking on a job that is not correctly budgeted will lead to an unsatisfied customer due to non-transparency of the construction cost. The third question to be asked is anyone else bidding on the job, if the answer is yes, understand you might just be number check for the contractor doing the job. Dig a little deeper and find out how many numbers they are getting and why. If your business model is to be competitive be completely transparent with customer, this will gain trust with them. Let them know you get what you pay for and if you they choose the lowest bid it could lead into lack of quality of work.
The fourth question I will ask is there any specific subcontractors they wanted to use. If the answer is yes then I would explain to them you only use the subcontractors you have a working relationship with. Otherwise, this could backfire as the subcontractor might not show, do subpar work, talk behind your back to the homeowner. In my experience I would stay away from using any homeowner to alleviate problems down the road. A quick conversation now can save headaches down the road. The fifth question I will ask are planning on getting the job permitted, this needs to be known it takes more time for the permitting process. Plans will have to drawn submitted and approved to the city before work can commence. The sixth question I will ask if a residential remodel is are you going to be living through the remodel if yes understand this will take more time to navigate the project due to answering questions and cleaning the house on a daily occurrence. I would recommend seeing if the customer would be willing to move into an Airbnb or friends for at least the demo portion of the project. If they do plan on living through the remodel add a couple hours a day to accommodate the extra time that will be required. The seventh question I would ask in a residential remodel is how old the house is to see if there is asbestos that would need to removed by a proper company. A home built before 1979 will most likely have some asbestos in the house, use a licensed company with proper insurance to dispose of the materials. If everything looks good to this point find out a little more about the client personality. If the client seems reasonable, I would bid the job. Unreasonable people can cause you more stress than its worth. These are some red flags I would look out for. Some jobs are not worth the money. Very demanding in the way you are going to perform your job- I.e., tell you how you are going to do your job- You’re the professional not them! Give you a hard time about your price- haggle with price you estimated- The price is the price! If they are a family with little money and you want to help them out is one thing, if they are trying to beat you down is another. Mention they have a lawyer-there is no need for them to bring up that they have a lawyer - Run for the hills as if the job goes south, you will be the one losing out! Tell you what the payment terms are. It’s your business you get paid how it works for your company. If you want to get paid every Friday, put it into your contract-If the clients do not agree move on it will save you frustrations If they talk bad about the last contractor, chances are they will talk bad about you. There is a reason why the contractor does not work for them anymore, unless he did subpar work this a red flag Clients are using an interior decorator that will purchasing all of the materials- The materials could be ordered incorrectly by the interior designer your company will not make the mark-up it deserves. Interior decorators usually add time to the job as well as act like your boss. Charging a little extra for the time and stress that it will entail is only fair. Clients want to purchase the materials- You are using your knowledge to buy the correct materials-The mark up on the materials keeps the doors open working for wages only pays the bills The husband and wife do not get along-You will become the mediator between the couple it will lead to taking sides a losing proposition- A drama free work place is always best! Dangling carrot-if you do this job the next one will be better-Only look at what there offering at the present moment, if its not a good fit do not take the job for a job down the road…Its not worth chasing a job that might not happen! The Art of the Sale First things first selling your company is all about presentation. In meeting your clients for the first time show up with a collared golf shirt tucked in, belt, nice jeans, and newer shoes. Have a truck that a clean, no dents scratches, preferably washed the day you are going into your meeting. Have a leather note pad that is clean no dirt or paint visible. Show up 5 minutes early, if you’re running a little late shoot them a text to let them know. Treat the situation as if were going on a first date, best foot forward. As you introduce yourself give them a warm greeting, letting them know you are very interested in the work. Find out a little about them, hobbies, where they lived, etc etc. You are going to be working with them on a daily basis its nice to know what makes them tick. Having a good working relationship from the start is key forming a solid relationship. As the conversation progresses find out who wears the pants in the family…ie who’s the final decision maker. If its fits the wife, chances it is…..then kindly let the husband know happy wife happy life when their in a stall mate on an issue. As your looking at the project throw in some suggestions of what you think would look good from past experiences, this will get their attention that you have knowledge and want what’s best for them. If you see ways to save them money in their project let them know, money is a large point of the sale keep that in mind. Mention that you’re not the least expensive contractor but you’re not the most expensive either. Your customer satisfaction is your number one goal which leads to more time spent on keeping them happy. One happy customer will lead to another, one unsatisfied customer leads to work in the future. Bring up the fact the finishing the job on time is key goal to your business, many contractors run several jobs at once causing the jobs to be finished way behind schedule. You must stand out as having integrity, good morals, and the ability to problem solve to get the job. The clients will be testing you to see if you’re a good fit as well. Keep in mind as you take your notes that you must not forget anything they mention as it will come back before the job is completed…i.e. we mentioned that to you before we started the job! Take pictures of the proposed area for work, that way you can use it to better right your estimate. Let them know you will give them a detailed outline of when the job will be completed letting them see how long each phase will take and correlate it with your payment schedule. Before you leave their house let them know when the estimate will be sent to them. MAKE SURE YOU HIT THAT DEADLINE! Once you sent the email over with estimate make sure you get confirmation that they received it. Wait at least 2 days before checking with them, hopefully they contact you first! If they want negotiate the price, let them know that it is the best price that you can manage, its not worth losing money before you start. I closed 80% of the work I estimated by being very transparent and friendly. If you come off with an attitude charge double what the going rates are you might only land 1 out of 10 jobs as well as getting the reputation of being expensive. Bidding the job Looking up industry standards on pricing is what I would go buy for pricing. If you google the coat of any installation there will be a cost range for everything. Looking at the cost ranging from high to low I would tend to be in the middle. Some items might be low on the internet if this is the case use your best judgment not to lose money. Closing sales is key to success and keep the doors open for business. Being in the middle on pricing is key as most customers shy away from contractors that are extremely low or high on the price range. I tend not bid out hourly as wages do not pay for retirement. Bidding is better as customers no the exact price of the cost of construction. It also keeps the job moving quicker as time and material contractors take longer to complete projects…Thus costing the client more money and valuable time they could spend in their house. Using a Contract Using a detailed estimate tied to a contract covers your butt in 99% of the time. Having a piece of mind that every aspect of the job is covered in the estimate and contract protects both your company and the client. Key terms to include in your estimate/contract are. Have a schedule on excel showing the start dates and dates of each trade this will show the customer you are organized with time lines. If not written in the detailed in the estimate the item is excluded- This ensures if its not written down its not included. TBD- To be Determined- A phrase on a line item that has yet to had final decision of products or service needed. -The pricing will follow the decisions to be finalized Give out what your written warranty will be for parts and labor this changes state to state. If the homeowner provides the product than no warranty will be given on that particular item. In the contract have a start date and end date with the verbiage subject to change due to weather, product delivery, change orders Have a progress payment schedule to ensure the client understands when funding will be expected-Including if not payment is rendered service to the project will stop. Have written terms of how change orders will be charged-cost plus 20% or a set fee Make sure in your contract that arbitration is required versus going to court- This will save lawyer fees and going to court Many contracts can be found online and each state requires different contracts
Finding leads Finding leads is easy with the right network of people. I personally do not find working for friends or family members a good fit. Relationships get strained when money is involved, causing undue stress for both parties. I have listed a couple of ways to build a network or find work using the internet. Get in contact with realtor’s- Realtors have a big client base of homeowners who need work done Contact local Architects to see if they are working with any general contractors Leave some business cards at your local materials suppliers-Doowindow/lumber-many times clients will ask salesman for a referral. Join a business networking group- BNI is one of many Join a internet website lead generation company- Houzz, Angie’s List, Home Advisor, thumbtack, Yelp run an ad on craigslist Use a marketing company to market your website-This could become costly with little results Create a Facebook business page Create a Yelp business page
Building your subcontractor base Having 2 subcontractors for every trade, gives you the flexibility of completing jobs on time if the one the subcontractors is too busy at the time you need their service. Your subcontractors are the face of your business, choose owner run companies that are professional. Check to make sure there license are up to date..ie workman’s comp, liability insurance, state license. Choosing subcontractors with lettered vans, logoed t-shirts is s key to looking professional in the clients’ eyes. In the past I have gotten a lot of subcontractors for material supply shops, stopping by jobsites, researching the internet using Yelp, Home Advisor, etc etc. Once you get one good subcontractor ask them if they know any other trades they would recommend. One good subcontractor leads to another in most cases. The key to having a good group of subcontractors is to let them know that you are there to get help them get the job done. They do work for you but without them you are nothing…keep that in mind! Make them aware a clean jobsite is required at the end of everyday to ensure the proper safety for all parties including theirs! Over the years I have referred a lot of companies work when there is only 1 trade needed. Referring work to subcontractors is a good way to get top priority when you have work that needs to be completed ASAP. Timing is everything in times of emergency having a good group of subcontractors will make your business run smoothly. Pay your subcontractors immediately after performing work, this will make them feel appreciated! A happy subcontractor is one that will gladly go the extra mile for you knowing that there not just a number to your business! Buying lunch once a week for the jobsite is always a good token of appreciation!
Supervising In supervising any jobsite its key to monitor everything from materials on hand, weather, vehicle parking (if applicable), jobsite safety, and subcontractors’ workmanship. If you hired a professional there should be little supervision in the work being performed, on rare occasions a new hire might need some mentoring to get the results completed correctly. If you see a problem with there work address it with the worker directly, no need to call his boss…. building repour with the worker letting him know you got his back goes miles down the road! Checking in on the job first in the morning to answer any questions or changes that need to be conveyed and once in the afternoon to make sure all work be completed is done per construction industry standards. A job that is run blindly will have many more issues than one that is watched over. I have seen many jobs with no site supervision, leading to subpar quality work as well as safety hazards. Its better to be like an eagle than cluck like a turkey!
Working with the City/Inspectors On permitted jobs the city and site inspector will be a large part of how smoothly the job runs. Each phase of construction has an inspection allowing for the project to continue. Make sure your subcontractors are aware that the project is inspected before starting the job. The best way to stay on his good side is to provide a clean jobsite and having the job built to the highest standards possible. When having the site inspected be courteous to the inspector asking any questions or concerns you have with the work during the job. Being completely transparent will save you aggravation of problems down the road. The more he trust you the better if you seem sneaky or rude he will make your life a living nightmare! Many inspectors will have an attitude towards you….I suggest keeping quiet and doing what ever he wants….he’s the boss no need to get in a pissing match you will not win at. How to deal with irate customer Stay calm during any argument with an irate customer. Never raise your voice or show that you are bothered by their disgruntled behavior. If the customer is trying to get more from you than agreed upon stand your ground. Worst case scenario is you walk from the job, which in the long run be more of a loss for the client. I have only run into a couple of these clients; they are unreasonable and not worth losing sleep over a few dollars. Its best to terminate the relationship as it would be my best guess that a referral from this customer would not be one you wanted anyway. If you feel it was just a miscommunication on your end, take reasonability and remedy the problem. Taking accountability for your mistake will go a far way in their eyes and on future issues that arise. Prepping the homeowner pre-construction Before starting the job, it very important to give the homeowners a warning of what will happen during the construction process.
- All furniture in the proposed working area must be moved- I would recommend having the clients take care of this to limit the risk of damage to their belongings.
- There will be dust that will be in the house up to 3 months after construction-I would recommend hiring a construction cleaning company at the end of the job even so after it is cleaned dust will be present months after words.
- There will be conflicts between you in the homeowner at some course of the job. - You will do your best to eliminate them as quickly as they arise-i.e. material damages, miscommunication, job delays
- All decisions on materials must be made before the start of the job- this will eliminate job stoppage due to materials not being on site.
- All materials will be on site before commencement of job-
- Payment structures must be made per contract otherwise job will stop until payment rendered
- Cars are to be moved out of the driveway- Ensures ease of loading and unloading of materials/tools
- Give the specific hours that workers will be present- i.e. 7-3:30
- Determine what areas are allowed to be used as staging for tools/materials
- If animals are present in the home that they put outside or in a room during the day
- All valuables in the house are locked in safe
- Ask if using client’s household bathroom is okay or to bring in Porter Potty
- Being transparent as possible is key to keeping a great relationship with your client!
2023.06.01 20:47 AnimatedASMR Salvage Title 80's Vans for Conversion, Should I Bother?
I'm looking to convert a van for life on the road with my limited budget (less than 10g). A mobile art studio for my career. However, anything that isn't the big four vans for conversion (Mercedes Sprint, Ford Transit, Nissan NV, Ram ProMaster) look really boring. I really enjoy the angular look that the 80's and early 90's had for vans. They are very unique compared to today's makes and models. If this van is going to be my home, I want something fun, exciting or unique.
I've been finding old salvage bids at auctions for dirt cheap. 80's misfit toys no one wants like an 87 Toyota Van Wagon. Real sleek but it looks gutted already, which I was already planning on doing since I was going to insulate and soundproof the interior. But I'm not too experienced when it comes to automotive repairs. And I can't tell if I'm finding potential diamonds in the rough or catastrophic money pits.
I wanted to pick the brains of enthusiasts before dumping my budget into something like this. I want to (eventually over time) keep the look but put modern 2010-20's parts into it.
Is this a sensible thing to do or would I be better off going affordable but boring? Any advice or pointers?
Thanks ahead of time.
submitted by AnimatedASMR to VanConversion [link] [comments]
I've been finding old salvage bids at auctions for dirt cheap. 80's misfit toys no one wants like an 87 Toyota Van Wagon. Real sleek but it looks gutted already, which I was already planning on doing since I was going to insulate and soundproof the interior. But I'm not too experienced when it comes to automotive repairs. And I can't tell if I'm finding potential diamonds in the rough or catastrophic money pits.
I wanted to pick the brains of enthusiasts before dumping my budget into something like this. I want to (eventually over time) keep the look but put modern 2010-20's parts into it.
Is this a sensible thing to do or would I be better off going affordable but boring? Any advice or pointers?
Thanks ahead of time.
2023.06.01 11:43 JugglinChefJeff frame damage, how bad is it?
My wife and i bought a 2000 chevy astro conversion van in 2021, we thought we got a sick deal paying 4k for this van, it only had 100k miles on it, drove well, and was perfectly sized for our plan for it. we gutted it, insulated it, added shelves and i even built a custom roof rack for it (it has a fiberglass high top).
little did we know, the engine blew up after having it for roughly 1 month. we had prepared for this, we knew buying a cheaper van that the chances of us replacing the engine were pretty high, so we had no problem doing this. had a new Jasper engine put in.
then the transmission was acting funny, we spent about a year bringing it to mechanics and trying to diagnose the problem, no one was really interested in helping us so we decided to just have a new Jasper transmission put in and also had the power steering gear box replaced (power steering fluids have been leaking for a while, replacing the lines didn't help).
now when we bought the van, we bought it from a friendly guy in NYC (we later learned to never buy a car from NYC because almost every mechanic laughs at us when we tell them where we bought it), he said it was his dads, used to transport kids to and from school and short trips to the beach over the past 20 years. he said it was never in an accident.
when we were having the transmission put in, the mechanic asked my wife if it had ever been in an accident, we said no and he was surprised because he said he saw parts of the frame that had been repaired.
now, my wife is pissed, she wants to sell the van, i love the damn thing, especially since i've put so much time into converting it into something we could take big trips on.
What could be done about the frame damage? what can it cause? from what our mechanic has said, it doesn't seem that bad, but it worries the heck out of my wife. there is a shop near us that says they can do "near total collision repairs, back to better than new condition!" would it be worth it? whats the average cost of something like that?
submitted by JugglinChefJeff to AskMechanics [link] [comments]
little did we know, the engine blew up after having it for roughly 1 month. we had prepared for this, we knew buying a cheaper van that the chances of us replacing the engine were pretty high, so we had no problem doing this. had a new Jasper engine put in.
then the transmission was acting funny, we spent about a year bringing it to mechanics and trying to diagnose the problem, no one was really interested in helping us so we decided to just have a new Jasper transmission put in and also had the power steering gear box replaced (power steering fluids have been leaking for a while, replacing the lines didn't help).
now when we bought the van, we bought it from a friendly guy in NYC (we later learned to never buy a car from NYC because almost every mechanic laughs at us when we tell them where we bought it), he said it was his dads, used to transport kids to and from school and short trips to the beach over the past 20 years. he said it was never in an accident.
when we were having the transmission put in, the mechanic asked my wife if it had ever been in an accident, we said no and he was surprised because he said he saw parts of the frame that had been repaired.
now, my wife is pissed, she wants to sell the van, i love the damn thing, especially since i've put so much time into converting it into something we could take big trips on.
What could be done about the frame damage? what can it cause? from what our mechanic has said, it doesn't seem that bad, but it worries the heck out of my wife. there is a shop near us that says they can do "near total collision repairs, back to better than new condition!" would it be worth it? whats the average cost of something like that?
2023.06.01 06:05 Feeling_Cheesecake51 1986 Chevy G20 Starcraft Camper Van Seat hinge broken. Cannot fold down into bed
I am trying to track down a new seat hinge assembly possibly for a 1986 G20. I am brand new to this van so I am just trying to find out if these hinges would even be available. The seat currently seems to be locked up and I can maneuver it but it will not fold down flat to be used as a bed as it should. It appears a part of the right side hinge had sheared off and I believe that is my issue. We are interested in purchasing this unit but I need to know that I will be able to sort out this issue before we go ahead. Can anyone help me out here?
submitted by Feeling_Cheesecake51 to MechanicAdvice [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 22:45 ScantlyChad [DIPLOMACY] The End of the Ottoman-Safavid War of 1517-1518
Though Shah Ismail Safavid had won two great battles against the Ottoman-Georgian forces which had invaded his realm, his realm could fight no longer. These two victories had come at extremely high costs, rendering the Sfavaids unable to continue the war in any useful capacity. The remnants of Ismail's army was a force less than half of what it once was; it had been reduced not only by Ismail's costly losses on the field of battle but also through disease and desertions, both maladies which now plagued his realm at large. And though he might have wanted to try for a third great victory, it was only after a great deal of protest from his advisors that Ismail was convinced that it was not the external invaders which were the largest threat to his rule, but the rising challenges from within. It was time to make peace.
And so, the Shah dismissed his levies and nomads, wintered in the interior of his realm once again, and then sent representatives to Tabriz to make peace with the Ottomans and Georgians. Ismail's heavy losses, inability to liberate his occupied lands, and piling internal debts and threats meant that his negotiating position would be weak. But, to their credit, the representatives were able to avoid the most extreme of demands, such as the recognition of the right of Hasan Sultan to rule in Shirvan, as well as securing a peace treaty without the unpopular provisions of previous Ottoman-Safavid peaces.
And so, the following treaty had been agreed upon and signed by both parties:
However, with all such peaces, this was nearly immediately broken.
Durmish Khan Shamlu had spent the last year of his loyal service to Shah Ismail skirmishing against the forces of Prince Demetre and Hasan Sultan, and he had been winning! And now, there was news from the Shah that rather than rewarded, he and his brother would be removed from command and sent as prisoners to the Ottomans? The insult was too great.
In what appears to be the first of many such instances, Durmish Khan Shamlu and his brother have renounced their allegiances to Shah Ismail. Abdal Beg Talish, the coward of Baghdad, would be sent in their place. With such great losses, this Shah Ismail cannot be the prophesized, ever-victorious Shia warrior that was said to be sent by God, and why follow anyone if not that great warrior? The prophecy of the Mahdi has not yet come to fruition, perhaps it will come about another day.
In an attempt to restore some of his prestige and reputation as that of a Shia Gazi warrior, Ismail has started to make good on his promise to his fanatical Ulema and Qizilbash followers that his heretical Sunni subjects will be converted to Shia Islam by any manner possible, no matter how harsh. Mass conversions of the Iranian population have only just begun, with some efforts more brutal than others, sparking yet another round of malcontentment amongst the ever-troubled populace.
However, even with this attempt to restore his reputation as a Shia warrior, Shah Ismail is still losing even his most trusted followers. Several Turcoman tribes have migrated away from his realm, some returning to the Ottoman Empire where the new rhetoric of the Sultan Korkut appeals to them, others to the freer territories of the North Caucasus, and some even pressing further east into central Asia. Some of these tribes remain within the realm, such as the Shamlu brothers, who have taken with them a few hundred followers and continue to make war in the north against not just Hasan Sultan but also the people of the countryside. Such acts are common among the now disgruntled class of Turcoman nomads. Brigandage is on the rise in Shah Ismail's troubled realm, spurred on by wild fanatical nomads and Sunni Gazi resistance.
Such issues of the breakdown of the realm peace have also spread to Georgia. Though Armenia was ceded to the Georgians in the peace deal, their grasp over this region is tenuous, as it remains plagued by marauders from Ismail's army who came to this region in chase of the Georgian army and never left after the war was ended. Now, they roam the countryside in search of revenge and plunder against the local Christian population.
MAP
submitted by ScantlyChad to empirepowers [link] [comments]
And so, the Shah dismissed his levies and nomads, wintered in the interior of his realm once again, and then sent representatives to Tabriz to make peace with the Ottomans and Georgians. Ismail's heavy losses, inability to liberate his occupied lands, and piling internal debts and threats meant that his negotiating position would be weak. But, to their credit, the representatives were able to avoid the most extreme of demands, such as the recognition of the right of Hasan Sultan to rule in Shirvan, as well as securing a peace treaty without the unpopular provisions of previous Ottoman-Safavid peaces.
And so, the following treaty had been agreed upon and signed by both parties:
Article I: All parties agree to total, unrestricted cooperation in protecting against pirates in the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean.
Article II: All parties agree to uphold the ancient rights of merchants in each other's realms. This includes providing for their protection, ensuring they are given the same rights as native merchants, and that all debts held by merchants in one realm is considered valid in the other realm.
Article III: Shah Ismail will cede the regions of Armenia and Far Northern Tabriz to Georgia, along with the Melikdoms of Karabakh (Guylistan, Jaraberd, Khachen, and Dizak). Shah Ismail will cede the regions of Van, Mosul, Baghdad, Basra, and Western Ardalan to the Ottomans.
Article IV: To promise peace, Shah Ismail agrees to send his nephews, Hosayn Khan and Durmeş, as hostages to the Ottoman court for the duration of this peace.
Article V: The existing peace will be renewed in five years, upon which, the hostages presented will either be still in their position or be replaced for the sake of peace.
Article VI: The Sublime Porte agrees to pay Shah Ismail 400,000 civilian florins to help rebuild Tabriz.
Article VII: Shah Ismail agrees for Georgian agents to locate and rescue captives within the Safavid realm for a period of five years.
Durmish Khan Shamlu had spent the last year of his loyal service to Shah Ismail skirmishing against the forces of Prince Demetre and Hasan Sultan, and he had been winning! And now, there was news from the Shah that rather than rewarded, he and his brother would be removed from command and sent as prisoners to the Ottomans? The insult was too great.
In what appears to be the first of many such instances, Durmish Khan Shamlu and his brother have renounced their allegiances to Shah Ismail. Abdal Beg Talish, the coward of Baghdad, would be sent in their place. With such great losses, this Shah Ismail cannot be the prophesized, ever-victorious Shia warrior that was said to be sent by God, and why follow anyone if not that great warrior? The prophecy of the Mahdi has not yet come to fruition, perhaps it will come about another day.
In an attempt to restore some of his prestige and reputation as that of a Shia Gazi warrior, Ismail has started to make good on his promise to his fanatical Ulema and Qizilbash followers that his heretical Sunni subjects will be converted to Shia Islam by any manner possible, no matter how harsh. Mass conversions of the Iranian population have only just begun, with some efforts more brutal than others, sparking yet another round of malcontentment amongst the ever-troubled populace.
However, even with this attempt to restore his reputation as a Shia warrior, Shah Ismail is still losing even his most trusted followers. Several Turcoman tribes have migrated away from his realm, some returning to the Ottoman Empire where the new rhetoric of the Sultan Korkut appeals to them, others to the freer territories of the North Caucasus, and some even pressing further east into central Asia. Some of these tribes remain within the realm, such as the Shamlu brothers, who have taken with them a few hundred followers and continue to make war in the north against not just Hasan Sultan but also the people of the countryside. Such acts are common among the now disgruntled class of Turcoman nomads. Brigandage is on the rise in Shah Ismail's troubled realm, spurred on by wild fanatical nomads and Sunni Gazi resistance.
2023.05.29 23:40 redditsucksfuckmods Opinions on a low-mileage '01 2500 gas for use w/ truck camper?
I'm looking to move from a small Chevy van to a larger pickup truck for the purposes of carrying a camper shell. I haven't shopped a camper yet, but I'm flexible and that's a separate question all together. I've found a good deal on a 2001 Ram 2500 (gas) with an eight-foot bed, with under 60k original miles, but I am no kinda truck guy so I'm wondering if anyone here has experience with these 2nd-gen Ram trucks and the specific needs of carrying a loaded down camper shell with one or two people.
I've looked through the history here, and it seems like most of the campers in conversation are the towed variety, and the trucks seem to be more contemporary. Elsewhere, lots of people on their various forums seem to have unkind things to say about the era of Dodge trucks; in particular the transmission and suspension, which would obviously be two of the most taxed components on such a vehicle. I'm comfortable enough with upgrading the suspension, but obviously a "good deal" on a vehicle can go quickly out the window as soon as a new transmission is involved.
So does anyone here have experience with a 2nd gen Ram and camper shells they can share? Thanks in advance!
submitted by redditsucksfuckmods to ram_trucks [link] [comments]
I've looked through the history here, and it seems like most of the campers in conversation are the towed variety, and the trucks seem to be more contemporary. Elsewhere, lots of people on their various forums seem to have unkind things to say about the era of Dodge trucks; in particular the transmission and suspension, which would obviously be two of the most taxed components on such a vehicle. I'm comfortable enough with upgrading the suspension, but obviously a "good deal" on a vehicle can go quickly out the window as soon as a new transmission is involved.
So does anyone here have experience with a 2nd gen Ram and camper shells they can share? Thanks in advance!
2023.05.29 23:37 CatsInTrenchcoats Peacekeeping Pt.2
(Pt. 1) An additional thanks to u/An_Insufferable_NEWT for letting me borrow one of his characters.
...And now for the conclusion.
= = =
Evelra swore. They had come here to uplift humanity from barbarism, not let the powers that be enable humanity’s worst elements while the selfsame Noble cunts indulged in their own pubescent masturbatory power fantasies. Fuck this. She thought to herself with a growl and flicked her comms channel to all units.
“All forces, this is Captain Evelra. The goddess-damned governess’s private militia have opened fire on the civies. Arrest those brother-fucking [bastards] on sight before they can fuck this mess up any further!” She barked over the comms, a bit of local English slipping into her words. She couldn’t call them stiffs; the latter had more class than this.
“Capt, we’ve got three APCs in militia markings barreling down the road in front of the Governess’s mansion from the west. ETA 30 seconds. This is about to get messy.” Prex’s voice cut in with a false calm lent by years of experience.
Evelra could feel the material of her suit creak as her hands briefly tightened into hardened fists. “All west side Pods converge on Pod 7, support Lieutenant Eleynor. Eastern Pods, evac the civies. And Prex? Keep the late arrivals occupied. Don’t let these fuckers get another shot off.” She growled, her Second giving a brief click of acknowledgement over the comms before switching channels to give orders of her own.
Turning back to face Isaiah, Evelra reached a hand down to grab the elder by his medical exoskeleton and hoisted him to his feet. “Looks like the Governess ran out of patience. Get your people out of here, we’ll deal with this.” She explained brusquely, jabbing one finger towards the eastern side of the boulevard. She could apologize for womanhandling him later, right now every second counted.
The moment she was sure he had his feet under him, the marine captain let go and tried to move on Eleynor’s position with all due haste. “Out of the way! MOVE!” Evelra shouted as she strode forward, the sea of humans doing their best to get out of her path. Already, people were starting to scramble as panic spread like wildfire. She could hear the cries of terror and confusion all around her; shouted orders from the protest organizers and her own marines were almost inaudible against the din as they tried to control the chaos.
As she neared pod 7’s position, a horrifying scene unfolded before her. In the shadow of the buildings, at least a dozen of the protesters were currently on fire. Harsh yellow and orange flames rose from the flailing figures to form hazy gray clouds of smoke that hung heavy in the air. Even more humans were covered in burn marks and charred clothes. One woman just sat there, trembling and numb from shock as she stared her bloody arm; the melted remains of her synthetic shirt peeling away with boiled skin. Amidst the chaos, the other protesters were doing everything from trying to help the wounded and burning to running in panic and terror; the latter creating a solid wave of bodies in front of Evelra as they stumbled over one another to flee the danger.
From out of sight, she saw one of the Governess’ militia-kitted thugs go flying; only to watch them get back up and charge in to fight whom Evelra assumed to be Pod 7. Shil’vati might be stronger, but when equally equipped, outnumbered and against human reflexes she knew that fight wasn’t going to end well for her girls if the rest of the western Pods didn’t reach them soon. Then, one of the militiamen stepped forward towards the crowd.
As he strode boldly through the mayhem, Evelra could only watch while one of the protesters tried to confront him; the tide of humans preventing the marine captain from intervening. Inaudible words were exchanged, the protester shouting something as they gesticulated wildly. The Governess’ thug merely responded with two swift strikes of his rifle butt, first to the gut, then to the back of the head, the other man dropping like an anchor. In the distance, out of the corner of her eye, she numbly noted that the rest of the governess’ thugs had arrived and were using their APCs as cover between them and the Pods under Prexith’s command.
Evelra felt her gut sink as the militiamen shouldered his rifle once more, stepping out of the building’s shadow to take aim at the crowd. “EVERYBODY DOWN!” The marine captain roared as she planted her feet and pulled her sidearm in one smooth, practiced motion. Drawing a bead on the Governess’ thug, the panicked crowd tried to clear out of her way; but there were just too many people. She wasn’t going to make it in time. No, no more. Not-
The militiaman’s head disappeared.
A split second later, the now infamously familiar thunderous crack and echoing roar of a large bore human chemical ballistic rifle rolled over them as the corpse spasmed on its feet; a shockwave visibly rippling through the suit it was wearing. “SNIPER!” Somebody bellowed. It might have been her, but in that moment she honestly couldn’t tell. As the headless body crumpled to the ground in a fountain of red, the same gun roared out again… and again. In the distance she could see two sudden sprays of red splatter up the sides of the Militia APCs, one right after the other.
The echoes of gunfire galvanized the crowd into a further panic, a stampede of human protesters slamming into Evelra in their attempt to get away from the violence. For a moment, the marine captain thought she was going to get dragged under by the wave, but then they rolled past her, leaving her staggering into the clear. With the screaming of the crowd now behind her and her ears still ringing from gunshots it was oddly quiet once more, save for the groans of the wounded.
Not letting herself fall into the lull, Evelra kept moving forward only to nearly gag at the smell as she approached the corner of the building. Like a Blue Grail left in the summer sun for a week, the air was heavy with a putrid smoke, reminiscent of the scent of death itself. Quickly sealing her helmet, she took a shuddering breath of fresh air before looking up just in time to see a pair of the Governess’s thugs get bodily tackled into the pavement by Eleynor. The rest of treasonous Militia were either surrendering or trying to run like the Deep-Minder itself was behind them as more Marine Pods came charging around nearby street corners.
Watching the last treasonous bastards eat pavement, the marine captain strode up to the Militaman’s corpse and picked up his blood-stained rifle. Quickly turning the weapon over in her hands, Evelra took one look at its settings and nearly threw the gun away in disgust. Medium power, maximum dispersal. Against even the most basic of modern armor, such settings would be practically useless; but would make for a decent, if imprecise, fire starter. Which is exactly what they’d done. Of course, leave it to the humans to figure out how to turn the most basic of weapons into a tool of terror. She thought bitterly, adjusting the beam spread back to something more logical before strapping it’s sling to her harness.
Now properly armed for anything else the Deep-Minder might decide to throw at her, Evelra flicked open her wrist-mounted omnipad, the integrated AR display in her helmet seamlessly linking to it. A couple quick taps later and the captain had an outgoing call. As the phone line rang in her ear, she tried not to tap her foot, every second feeling like ten.
“911, what’s your emer-”
Before the woman on the other end could even finish her sentence, Evelra interrupted her. “This is Captain Evelra of the Imperial Marines, 4032nd company. We have at least a dozen, I repeat, at least a dozen critically injured burn victims at the corner of 3rd and Main. I need emergency Medivac for the critically wounded.” She barked into the mic.
There was a momentary pause on the other end accompanied by the sounds of a physical keyboard before shortly being followed by a muffled “Fuck.” Evelra shifted impatiently as one second dragged into the next. “Is something the matter?” The marine growled.
“Ahh… No ma’am.” The other woman’s voice was uncertain for a moment before steadying back out. “Just bypassing some red tape. Consider it done. ETA, ten minutes.” She said with a thermocast firmness. Evelra briefly considered hounding the woman for what exactly she meant by ‘red tape’ but decided against it. She sounded confident in her statement and ultimately there was nothing else Evelra could do about it at the moment.
“I’m going to hold you to that.” The marine captain growled before hanging up. One down. Looking up, she glanced over the growing crowd of Marines. Already, some of her girls were pulling out medkits and burn patches as they moved to help injured protesters; her AR display highlighting their ranks and names.
“Sergeant Quixana!” Evelra barked over the din.
“Ma’am!” The medic shouted back over one shoulder, barely looking up from the burn victim she was currently treating.
“We have civilian medivac for the burn victims inbound, ETA ten minutes. You have command over Triage. Anyone in critical condition they can’t airlift out is your responsibility. Clear?” She commanded, watching the Governess’s thugs like a shark as her girls disarmed and secured them. At this point, Evelra honestly didn’t expect them to try anything else; but as always with humans, one never quite knew what they’d do.
“Affirmative!” Quixana replied. Taking a moment to ensure the woman she was treating wasn’t in immediate danger, the medic ushered another marine over to help and began shouting orders of her own. Two down. Satisfied that the situation was under control, Evelra keyed into her comms again.
“Prex, Sitrep.”
A couple moments later, the other woman’s voice came to life in her earpiece. “After the gunshots went off, the little fuckers started stumbling over each other to try and surrender. What in the Deep just happened?” Despite the horror around her, Evelra gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Seems a certain… somebody decided to more than just ‘play’ at being security. And seeing as I still have my head, they’re not a complete bloodthirsty idiot.”
“You certain it’s… them?” Prex asked, a hint of dubiousness in her voice.
“Given that there’s one of the Governess’s thugs sans their head while I still have mine? Yeah. About as certain as I can be. Fits what little we know about their M.O.” Evelra shot back.
There were several long moments of silence before her subordinate let out a low whistle. “Make that three. I’ve got two more over here. Definitely explains why the little Turoxes were so fucking panicky. What now Cap?”
“How many of your Pods do you need to secure your prisoners?” Evelra asked.
“Less than half. They’re more terrified of stepping back into the sights of that sniper than anything else, I think.” Prexith snorted, a dry hint of amusement in her voice.
“Take as many as you think you can spare from guard duty and go arrest the Governess. Alive. Though preventing her from causing any more damage takes priority. Clear?” Evelra’s voice was firm, the unspoken message clear. Try not to kill the bitch if at all possible, but ice her tits if she’s going to make this a problem.
“As a laser lens. Prex out.”
When the line clicked dead, the marine captain took a deep breath and tried to center herself. Now came the hard part.
Politics.
= = =
Evelra stopped outside the governess’ office and took a deep breath to steady herself. Within two hours of getting the fiasco under control, one Agent Lohun had arrived… along with three Pods of Death’s Head Commandos. Upon giving him her report, the petite male had thanked her and politely requested that she remain in her quarters until further notice. The marine captain had known better than to try and test those particular boundaries. It was only now, three days later, that she’d been summoned once more.
In spite of the not quite lockdown state that was currently in effect, word still traveled. Her orders to arrest the governess had been upheld and the bitch had been transferred out to some Interior facility goddess knows where. A minimal local press release had happened; condemning the governess’ actions and requesting cooperation with the authorities as they investigated the incident. Things were still tense, but the daily gathering of thousands of protesters had dwindled to a hundred or so of the most stubborn.
With a little shake to clear her head, Evelra opened the office door and stepped through. Behind the governess’ massive polished wooden desk sat Lohun. The petite male was almost comically out of place; his simple take on the Interior uniform clashing with the room’s ostentatious opulence. Rumor had it that since he was investigating the room’s previous owner, he’d simply co-opted the office rather than bother to set up another workspace elsewhere. Looking up from his omnipad and what she assumed was a proverbial mountain of reports, the Agent gave her a tired nod of acknowledgement.
“Good. You’re here. Please, take a seat Captain D’saari.” He said, gesturing to a much simpler chair in front of the desk. Wincing internally at his usage of her long-abandoned family name, Evelra complied and settled into the offered seat in silence as she tried not to look at the silent woman in the corner with the three-eyed skull mask. Lohun gave his omnipad one last glance before setting it down and letting his carefully focused gaze settle onto her.
“Six deaths.” He stated simply, letting the fact hang there in the air for a moment. “Only half of which were not the aggressors in this situation. That could have gone much, much worse. A job well done Captain.”
Evelra gave an awkward shrug. “Without the… unsolicited fire support it would have been. My girls just did the mop up.”
Lohun hummed, double-checking something on his omni-pad. “About that. The audio logs between you and your second indicated a certain familiarity with this assumed insurgent sniper, yet I can’t find any combat reports that you two share featuring any opposition with this kind of firepower. Care to explain what I’m missing here?” He asked calmly, a polite smile on his face; the Commando in the corner shifting her weight slightly.
Right. That.
A bundle of nerves did somersaults in her gut as she felt her throat go dry. “Ah, yeah. About… one local year ago we had a human male turn up dead. Clear signs of abuse. Autopsy report indicated he had both Nightfel and Viagra in him at the time of death. I had my suspicions, but the ensuing investigation never turned up any evidence.” The marine captain grimaced, scratching at one tusk with her thumbnail. “A few months later, A pod on a routine patrol got ambushed. All three of their heads were blown clean off. Big gun. I think you can guess what we found when we cleared out their belongings.”
“Nightfel and Viagra.” Lohun said cooly, his face grim.
Evelra nodded. “Yeah. The Governess covered the whole thing up in the name of keeping the peace. Released a statement that the young man’s murderers had been found and executed while redacting my report.”
Briefly adding a few notes on his omnipad, the Interior agent gave her a careful look. “Why didn’t you report this breach of protocol to the Interior?”
“Because it worked.” Evelra sighed. “Approval ratings ticked up, minor incidents went down. Didn’t hurt that I also publicly doubled down on mandatory etiquette training for my girls. I’ve seen enough of the Empire’s bureaucracy over the years to know better than to stir up the seabed over something like this. Justice was served, even if it was in a less than ideal manner.”
“And what about the young man’s family?” Lohun pressed, his gaze tightening.
Coughing slightly to clear her throat, Evelra looked away as she felt her cheeks heat up. “Officially, they were given the same story as everyone else. However, I… I may have taken one Shel to visit their home and correct that mistake. They deserved to know.” She finished quietly, leaning forward in her chair to look down at the ground. Anywhere but at the male in front of her.
After several agonizingly long moments of silence, the marine captain glanced up to catch sight of Lohun slowly starting to nod. “Good. That’s good. We can work with that.”
At his words, Evelra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. In response, a ghost of a smile pulled at the edges of Lohun’s face. “Yes, you can relax now. You’re here to help me fix this mess, not to have your tits burned off.”
Evelra bobbed her head, eager for the change of topic. “Gladly. What can I do?”
The ghost of a smile on Lohun’s face broadened slightly, hovering on the edge of a smirk. “Simple. You will be taking over as the Local Governess.” The marine captain felt her jaw go slack as the Interior Agent calmly continued along as if he was discussing something as simple as dinner reservations.
“Of course, there’s a plethora of steps to take along the way. In recognition of your service to the citizens of the empire, you will be promoted two ranks to Lieutenant Colonel and discharged with full honors. We’ll then need somebody to fill your current position. One Sergeant… Prexith Van’sar, your current second, should do nicely. With her service record she's certainly earned herself a commission, I think.” He scoffed in amusement, shaking his head at some distant thought. “Deep, her accolades are almost as impressive as her penchant for avoiding promotions. It’s my hope though that continuing to work with you should be enough to dissuade her of that particular tendency.”
Lohun finally took a proper pause, as if he was only now taking in her shock. “Is something the matter Captain D’saari?”
As Evelra heard him refer to her by her family name again something inside her broke. The sheer absurdity of it all was just too much, and a noise of amusement escaped her mouth. It started as a snort, before growing into a full-on barks of laughter as Evelra shook her head in disbelief. “I- I’m sorry, but you want me, the legally disowned, stiff-sprung cunt to be a local governess? Goddess, you all must be getting desperate if you’re willing to dredge up the cast-off chaff of the noble houses.”
Lohun merely quirked an eyebrow at her before briefly consulting his omnipad again. “So that explains the three separate attempts to change your last name… aannd probably why all three of them never went anywhere.” He let out a small humph as a flicker of distaste crossed his face. “An easy enough fix.”
“Goddess. You’re serious.” Evelra muttered as she slumped back in her chair, trying to process the implications. “Ok. Why me?” She asked, throwing a hand wide.
The Interior agent’s gaze focused in on her as he leaned forward onto the table, steepling his fingers. “Because Captain, over the past three days I have spent an exhaustive amount of time interviewing and interrogating people to get a better handle on what happened and why. Your name came up just as, if not, more frequently than the governess’s; and rarely in a negative light. From both Shil’vati and humans. Deep, even some of the ones that looked like they wanted to spit in my face refused to speak ill of you. Do you understand how goddess-damned rare that is?” Lohun finished, his voice raised and projected, not quite reaching an actual shout.
Evelra was sorely tempted to argue. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to get as far away from the nobility and politics as she could, as nothing good in her life had ever come from them. Then her conversation with Isaiah flashed through her mind. Fuck. The marine captain let out a disgusted groan of frustration as she rubbed her face with one hand. “Alright… but how?” She asked, her brain fervently grasping at straws. “I mean no offense, but… isn’t that a little outside your authority as an Interior Agent?..”
Once more, a slight grin pulled at the agent’s face. “Ah yes. Perhaps some reintroductions are in order. Independent Investigator Lohun Vey’elquiese of the Empress’s own and an Agent of her Interior. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Evelra?..” He said smoothly, letting the end of his sentence hang as he leaned across the massive table to offer a petite fist.
Oh.
For one long moment, Evelra’s brain short-circuited. The petite little male sitting across from her answered to only perhaps a dozen people in the entire Empire, and had the authority to make individuals such as system governesses simply disappear. Of course, abuse of said power carried the death penalty, not that one of the Empress’s own handpicked agents were likely to make that kind of mistake. Suddenly, the three pods of Death’s Head Commandos accompanying him made much, much more sense.
After a couple seconds of slight panic, her brain caught back up and she processed the question he’d carefully interwoven into his reintroduction. Taking a moment to think, she settled on her answer. With a slight smile of her own, she reached out her hand to tap her knuckles to his.
“Van’sar. Evelra Van’sar. And the pleasure is all mine Investigator.”
submitted by CatsInTrenchcoats to Sexyspacebabes [link] [comments]
...And now for the conclusion.
= = =
Evelra swore. They had come here to uplift humanity from barbarism, not let the powers that be enable humanity’s worst elements while the selfsame Noble cunts indulged in their own pubescent masturbatory power fantasies. Fuck this. She thought to herself with a growl and flicked her comms channel to all units.
“All forces, this is Captain Evelra. The goddess-damned governess’s private militia have opened fire on the civies. Arrest those brother-fucking [bastards] on sight before they can fuck this mess up any further!” She barked over the comms, a bit of local English slipping into her words. She couldn’t call them stiffs; the latter had more class than this.
“Capt, we’ve got three APCs in militia markings barreling down the road in front of the Governess’s mansion from the west. ETA 30 seconds. This is about to get messy.” Prex’s voice cut in with a false calm lent by years of experience.
Evelra could feel the material of her suit creak as her hands briefly tightened into hardened fists. “All west side Pods converge on Pod 7, support Lieutenant Eleynor. Eastern Pods, evac the civies. And Prex? Keep the late arrivals occupied. Don’t let these fuckers get another shot off.” She growled, her Second giving a brief click of acknowledgement over the comms before switching channels to give orders of her own.
Turning back to face Isaiah, Evelra reached a hand down to grab the elder by his medical exoskeleton and hoisted him to his feet. “Looks like the Governess ran out of patience. Get your people out of here, we’ll deal with this.” She explained brusquely, jabbing one finger towards the eastern side of the boulevard. She could apologize for womanhandling him later, right now every second counted.
The moment she was sure he had his feet under him, the marine captain let go and tried to move on Eleynor’s position with all due haste. “Out of the way! MOVE!” Evelra shouted as she strode forward, the sea of humans doing their best to get out of her path. Already, people were starting to scramble as panic spread like wildfire. She could hear the cries of terror and confusion all around her; shouted orders from the protest organizers and her own marines were almost inaudible against the din as they tried to control the chaos.
As she neared pod 7’s position, a horrifying scene unfolded before her. In the shadow of the buildings, at least a dozen of the protesters were currently on fire. Harsh yellow and orange flames rose from the flailing figures to form hazy gray clouds of smoke that hung heavy in the air. Even more humans were covered in burn marks and charred clothes. One woman just sat there, trembling and numb from shock as she stared her bloody arm; the melted remains of her synthetic shirt peeling away with boiled skin. Amidst the chaos, the other protesters were doing everything from trying to help the wounded and burning to running in panic and terror; the latter creating a solid wave of bodies in front of Evelra as they stumbled over one another to flee the danger.
From out of sight, she saw one of the Governess’ militia-kitted thugs go flying; only to watch them get back up and charge in to fight whom Evelra assumed to be Pod 7. Shil’vati might be stronger, but when equally equipped, outnumbered and against human reflexes she knew that fight wasn’t going to end well for her girls if the rest of the western Pods didn’t reach them soon. Then, one of the militiamen stepped forward towards the crowd.
As he strode boldly through the mayhem, Evelra could only watch while one of the protesters tried to confront him; the tide of humans preventing the marine captain from intervening. Inaudible words were exchanged, the protester shouting something as they gesticulated wildly. The Governess’ thug merely responded with two swift strikes of his rifle butt, first to the gut, then to the back of the head, the other man dropping like an anchor. In the distance, out of the corner of her eye, she numbly noted that the rest of the governess’ thugs had arrived and were using their APCs as cover between them and the Pods under Prexith’s command.
Evelra felt her gut sink as the militiamen shouldered his rifle once more, stepping out of the building’s shadow to take aim at the crowd. “EVERYBODY DOWN!” The marine captain roared as she planted her feet and pulled her sidearm in one smooth, practiced motion. Drawing a bead on the Governess’ thug, the panicked crowd tried to clear out of her way; but there were just too many people. She wasn’t going to make it in time. No, no more. Not-
The militiaman’s head disappeared.
A split second later, the now infamously familiar thunderous crack and echoing roar of a large bore human chemical ballistic rifle rolled over them as the corpse spasmed on its feet; a shockwave visibly rippling through the suit it was wearing. “SNIPER!” Somebody bellowed. It might have been her, but in that moment she honestly couldn’t tell. As the headless body crumpled to the ground in a fountain of red, the same gun roared out again… and again. In the distance she could see two sudden sprays of red splatter up the sides of the Militia APCs, one right after the other.
The echoes of gunfire galvanized the crowd into a further panic, a stampede of human protesters slamming into Evelra in their attempt to get away from the violence. For a moment, the marine captain thought she was going to get dragged under by the wave, but then they rolled past her, leaving her staggering into the clear. With the screaming of the crowd now behind her and her ears still ringing from gunshots it was oddly quiet once more, save for the groans of the wounded.
Not letting herself fall into the lull, Evelra kept moving forward only to nearly gag at the smell as she approached the corner of the building. Like a Blue Grail left in the summer sun for a week, the air was heavy with a putrid smoke, reminiscent of the scent of death itself. Quickly sealing her helmet, she took a shuddering breath of fresh air before looking up just in time to see a pair of the Governess’s thugs get bodily tackled into the pavement by Eleynor. The rest of treasonous Militia were either surrendering or trying to run like the Deep-Minder itself was behind them as more Marine Pods came charging around nearby street corners.
Watching the last treasonous bastards eat pavement, the marine captain strode up to the Militaman’s corpse and picked up his blood-stained rifle. Quickly turning the weapon over in her hands, Evelra took one look at its settings and nearly threw the gun away in disgust. Medium power, maximum dispersal. Against even the most basic of modern armor, such settings would be practically useless; but would make for a decent, if imprecise, fire starter. Which is exactly what they’d done. Of course, leave it to the humans to figure out how to turn the most basic of weapons into a tool of terror. She thought bitterly, adjusting the beam spread back to something more logical before strapping it’s sling to her harness.
Now properly armed for anything else the Deep-Minder might decide to throw at her, Evelra flicked open her wrist-mounted omnipad, the integrated AR display in her helmet seamlessly linking to it. A couple quick taps later and the captain had an outgoing call. As the phone line rang in her ear, she tried not to tap her foot, every second feeling like ten.
“911, what’s your emer-”
Before the woman on the other end could even finish her sentence, Evelra interrupted her. “This is Captain Evelra of the Imperial Marines, 4032nd company. We have at least a dozen, I repeat, at least a dozen critically injured burn victims at the corner of 3rd and Main. I need emergency Medivac for the critically wounded.” She barked into the mic.
There was a momentary pause on the other end accompanied by the sounds of a physical keyboard before shortly being followed by a muffled “Fuck.” Evelra shifted impatiently as one second dragged into the next. “Is something the matter?” The marine growled.
“Ahh… No ma’am.” The other woman’s voice was uncertain for a moment before steadying back out. “Just bypassing some red tape. Consider it done. ETA, ten minutes.” She said with a thermocast firmness. Evelra briefly considered hounding the woman for what exactly she meant by ‘red tape’ but decided against it. She sounded confident in her statement and ultimately there was nothing else Evelra could do about it at the moment.
“I’m going to hold you to that.” The marine captain growled before hanging up. One down. Looking up, she glanced over the growing crowd of Marines. Already, some of her girls were pulling out medkits and burn patches as they moved to help injured protesters; her AR display highlighting their ranks and names.
“Sergeant Quixana!” Evelra barked over the din.
“Ma’am!” The medic shouted back over one shoulder, barely looking up from the burn victim she was currently treating.
“We have civilian medivac for the burn victims inbound, ETA ten minutes. You have command over Triage. Anyone in critical condition they can’t airlift out is your responsibility. Clear?” She commanded, watching the Governess’s thugs like a shark as her girls disarmed and secured them. At this point, Evelra honestly didn’t expect them to try anything else; but as always with humans, one never quite knew what they’d do.
“Affirmative!” Quixana replied. Taking a moment to ensure the woman she was treating wasn’t in immediate danger, the medic ushered another marine over to help and began shouting orders of her own. Two down. Satisfied that the situation was under control, Evelra keyed into her comms again.
“Prex, Sitrep.”
A couple moments later, the other woman’s voice came to life in her earpiece. “After the gunshots went off, the little fuckers started stumbling over each other to try and surrender. What in the Deep just happened?” Despite the horror around her, Evelra gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Seems a certain… somebody decided to more than just ‘play’ at being security. And seeing as I still have my head, they’re not a complete bloodthirsty idiot.”
“You certain it’s… them?” Prex asked, a hint of dubiousness in her voice.
“Given that there’s one of the Governess’s thugs sans their head while I still have mine? Yeah. About as certain as I can be. Fits what little we know about their M.O.” Evelra shot back.
There were several long moments of silence before her subordinate let out a low whistle. “Make that three. I’ve got two more over here. Definitely explains why the little Turoxes were so fucking panicky. What now Cap?”
“How many of your Pods do you need to secure your prisoners?” Evelra asked.
“Less than half. They’re more terrified of stepping back into the sights of that sniper than anything else, I think.” Prexith snorted, a dry hint of amusement in her voice.
“Take as many as you think you can spare from guard duty and go arrest the Governess. Alive. Though preventing her from causing any more damage takes priority. Clear?” Evelra’s voice was firm, the unspoken message clear. Try not to kill the bitch if at all possible, but ice her tits if she’s going to make this a problem.
“As a laser lens. Prex out.”
When the line clicked dead, the marine captain took a deep breath and tried to center herself. Now came the hard part.
Politics.
= = =
Evelra stopped outside the governess’ office and took a deep breath to steady herself. Within two hours of getting the fiasco under control, one Agent Lohun had arrived… along with three Pods of Death’s Head Commandos. Upon giving him her report, the petite male had thanked her and politely requested that she remain in her quarters until further notice. The marine captain had known better than to try and test those particular boundaries. It was only now, three days later, that she’d been summoned once more.
In spite of the not quite lockdown state that was currently in effect, word still traveled. Her orders to arrest the governess had been upheld and the bitch had been transferred out to some Interior facility goddess knows where. A minimal local press release had happened; condemning the governess’ actions and requesting cooperation with the authorities as they investigated the incident. Things were still tense, but the daily gathering of thousands of protesters had dwindled to a hundred or so of the most stubborn.
With a little shake to clear her head, Evelra opened the office door and stepped through. Behind the governess’ massive polished wooden desk sat Lohun. The petite male was almost comically out of place; his simple take on the Interior uniform clashing with the room’s ostentatious opulence. Rumor had it that since he was investigating the room’s previous owner, he’d simply co-opted the office rather than bother to set up another workspace elsewhere. Looking up from his omnipad and what she assumed was a proverbial mountain of reports, the Agent gave her a tired nod of acknowledgement.
“Good. You’re here. Please, take a seat Captain D’saari.” He said, gesturing to a much simpler chair in front of the desk. Wincing internally at his usage of her long-abandoned family name, Evelra complied and settled into the offered seat in silence as she tried not to look at the silent woman in the corner with the three-eyed skull mask. Lohun gave his omnipad one last glance before setting it down and letting his carefully focused gaze settle onto her.
“Six deaths.” He stated simply, letting the fact hang there in the air for a moment. “Only half of which were not the aggressors in this situation. That could have gone much, much worse. A job well done Captain.”
Evelra gave an awkward shrug. “Without the… unsolicited fire support it would have been. My girls just did the mop up.”
Lohun hummed, double-checking something on his omni-pad. “About that. The audio logs between you and your second indicated a certain familiarity with this assumed insurgent sniper, yet I can’t find any combat reports that you two share featuring any opposition with this kind of firepower. Care to explain what I’m missing here?” He asked calmly, a polite smile on his face; the Commando in the corner shifting her weight slightly.
Right. That.
A bundle of nerves did somersaults in her gut as she felt her throat go dry. “Ah, yeah. About… one local year ago we had a human male turn up dead. Clear signs of abuse. Autopsy report indicated he had both Nightfel and Viagra in him at the time of death. I had my suspicions, but the ensuing investigation never turned up any evidence.” The marine captain grimaced, scratching at one tusk with her thumbnail. “A few months later, A pod on a routine patrol got ambushed. All three of their heads were blown clean off. Big gun. I think you can guess what we found when we cleared out their belongings.”
“Nightfel and Viagra.” Lohun said cooly, his face grim.
Evelra nodded. “Yeah. The Governess covered the whole thing up in the name of keeping the peace. Released a statement that the young man’s murderers had been found and executed while redacting my report.”
Briefly adding a few notes on his omnipad, the Interior agent gave her a careful look. “Why didn’t you report this breach of protocol to the Interior?”
“Because it worked.” Evelra sighed. “Approval ratings ticked up, minor incidents went down. Didn’t hurt that I also publicly doubled down on mandatory etiquette training for my girls. I’ve seen enough of the Empire’s bureaucracy over the years to know better than to stir up the seabed over something like this. Justice was served, even if it was in a less than ideal manner.”
“And what about the young man’s family?” Lohun pressed, his gaze tightening.
Coughing slightly to clear her throat, Evelra looked away as she felt her cheeks heat up. “Officially, they were given the same story as everyone else. However, I… I may have taken one Shel to visit their home and correct that mistake. They deserved to know.” She finished quietly, leaning forward in her chair to look down at the ground. Anywhere but at the male in front of her.
After several agonizingly long moments of silence, the marine captain glanced up to catch sight of Lohun slowly starting to nod. “Good. That’s good. We can work with that.”
At his words, Evelra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. In response, a ghost of a smile pulled at the edges of Lohun’s face. “Yes, you can relax now. You’re here to help me fix this mess, not to have your tits burned off.”
Evelra bobbed her head, eager for the change of topic. “Gladly. What can I do?”
The ghost of a smile on Lohun’s face broadened slightly, hovering on the edge of a smirk. “Simple. You will be taking over as the Local Governess.” The marine captain felt her jaw go slack as the Interior Agent calmly continued along as if he was discussing something as simple as dinner reservations.
“Of course, there’s a plethora of steps to take along the way. In recognition of your service to the citizens of the empire, you will be promoted two ranks to Lieutenant Colonel and discharged with full honors. We’ll then need somebody to fill your current position. One Sergeant… Prexith Van’sar, your current second, should do nicely. With her service record she's certainly earned herself a commission, I think.” He scoffed in amusement, shaking his head at some distant thought. “Deep, her accolades are almost as impressive as her penchant for avoiding promotions. It’s my hope though that continuing to work with you should be enough to dissuade her of that particular tendency.”
Lohun finally took a proper pause, as if he was only now taking in her shock. “Is something the matter Captain D’saari?”
As Evelra heard him refer to her by her family name again something inside her broke. The sheer absurdity of it all was just too much, and a noise of amusement escaped her mouth. It started as a snort, before growing into a full-on barks of laughter as Evelra shook her head in disbelief. “I- I’m sorry, but you want me, the legally disowned, stiff-sprung cunt to be a local governess? Goddess, you all must be getting desperate if you’re willing to dredge up the cast-off chaff of the noble houses.”
Lohun merely quirked an eyebrow at her before briefly consulting his omnipad again. “So that explains the three separate attempts to change your last name… aannd probably why all three of them never went anywhere.” He let out a small humph as a flicker of distaste crossed his face. “An easy enough fix.”
“Goddess. You’re serious.” Evelra muttered as she slumped back in her chair, trying to process the implications. “Ok. Why me?” She asked, throwing a hand wide.
The Interior agent’s gaze focused in on her as he leaned forward onto the table, steepling his fingers. “Because Captain, over the past three days I have spent an exhaustive amount of time interviewing and interrogating people to get a better handle on what happened and why. Your name came up just as, if not, more frequently than the governess’s; and rarely in a negative light. From both Shil’vati and humans. Deep, even some of the ones that looked like they wanted to spit in my face refused to speak ill of you. Do you understand how goddess-damned rare that is?” Lohun finished, his voice raised and projected, not quite reaching an actual shout.
Evelra was sorely tempted to argue. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to get as far away from the nobility and politics as she could, as nothing good in her life had ever come from them. Then her conversation with Isaiah flashed through her mind. Fuck. The marine captain let out a disgusted groan of frustration as she rubbed her face with one hand. “Alright… but how?” She asked, her brain fervently grasping at straws. “I mean no offense, but… isn’t that a little outside your authority as an Interior Agent?..”
Once more, a slight grin pulled at the agent’s face. “Ah yes. Perhaps some reintroductions are in order. Independent Investigator Lohun Vey’elquiese of the Empress’s own and an Agent of her Interior. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Evelra?..” He said smoothly, letting the end of his sentence hang as he leaned across the massive table to offer a petite fist.
Oh.
For one long moment, Evelra’s brain short-circuited. The petite little male sitting across from her answered to only perhaps a dozen people in the entire Empire, and had the authority to make individuals such as system governesses simply disappear. Of course, abuse of said power carried the death penalty, not that one of the Empress’s own handpicked agents were likely to make that kind of mistake. Suddenly, the three pods of Death’s Head Commandos accompanying him made much, much more sense.
After a couple seconds of slight panic, her brain caught back up and she processed the question he’d carefully interwoven into his reintroduction. Taking a moment to think, she settled on her answer. With a slight smile of her own, she reached out her hand to tap her knuckles to his.
“Van’sar. Evelra Van’sar. And the pleasure is all mine Investigator.”
2023.05.29 17:33 TheScribe_1 [The Book of the Chosen] - Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
‘Get moving!’
Sara watched the men readying their horses, squinting at the bright-ness of the stone. The courtyard was full of the sound of boot-steps and creaking leather. Overhead, a thin veil of rippled grey hung over the early winter sky, and the dawn sun tugged gleaming at its edges. Over-head, the dull black shape of an old stormtower bled the sky. Empty, just like the rest of them. There was something very jarring, Sara de-cided, about the worn jerkins and stubbled cheeks of her father’s men, ensconced in a pillared courtyard of vast stone. They were out of place, and they had been every moment since arriving in Uldoroth, she real-ised. They didn’t belong here. Her own anxiety was mirrored imper-fectly with the relief on their weary faces, and the dark rings under their eyes seemed just a little less deep. There may be Black Hand to deal with, back in the Westmere, but it was home. At least there your ene-mies had the decency to show themselves. Sara realised she was chew-ing her lip. At her back, two of the Black Guard waited wordlessly in their gold-touched armour, much more in keeping with the finery of the courtyard, and everything else in the capital. They were waiting to es-cort her away to the Queen, unaware they found a girl not so eager for the honour as she had been, just a few days before.
‘Father!’ She called out, spying him across the writhing mass of men in their moss green cloaks, but he seemed not to hear her. He was standing near the arched cloister at the far side of the square, cloaked and ready for travel, in hurried conversation with a shaded figure stand-ing beyond the marble facade. She squinted, trying to make out the oth-er man, but there was nothing but a dark shadow to trace.
‘Well then, M’lady.’ A voice said beside her, and she turned to find Halin looking down at her, a kind smile on his broad face. ‘You’ll be a right proper Princess when I next see you, methinks.’
Sara smiled at him and shook her head sheepishly. ‘Uldoroth is not my home, yet, Halin. I won’t forget.’
‘Be careful you don’t, Lady Sara.’ Halin glanced distrustfully at the Black Guard behind her. ‘Lots of fancy folk here. Fancy folk with fan-cier lies.’
‘I’ll be careful, Halin.’ She told him seriously.
He smiled again, and the sternness dissolved away from his face.
‘Take care, M’Lady.’ He told her, dipping his head politely. She re-turned the gesture, dropping into a small curtsy.
‘Look after my father, will you?’
‘Always, M’Lady.’
Halin hurried off into the throng in the square, and Sara watched him go, feeling her the knot in her belly tighten. The conversations with her unexpected visitors had left their mark, a nagging uncertainty gnawing at the excitement that had carried her through her first few uneventful days in the capital. The little comfort she had taken in the presence of her father and his men was a loss she could ill afford. She watched her father’s back, frowning softly to herself. Her thoughts were not what she had imagined, when she had thought of him leaving. A hundred dif-ferent times, and more. Had she expected tears, grief at the parting? Re-lief? Instead, there was only the fear, a dull, leaden weight in her belly, clammy-cold as marsh-water.
‘Come on, you whoresons! I want to be on the road before lunch!’ Halin roared, and the men quickened their work. Her father had not moved, still deep in conversation, just out of sight. She peered a little closer, and for a moment the pale sunlight crept over the top of the square, flashing against a colourful doublet marked with a silver brooch. The Fox’s lips barely moved as he spoke from the shadows of the cloister, and her father was scowling. Sara frowned.
‘Mount up!’
The ornate wagon that had been her home all those weeks trundled into the square, then, drawn by a pair of stout horses. Sara saw her fa-ther turn reluctantly towards it, striding out into the square. Sara peered past him into the cloister, and for a moment Lord Bywood’s sharp eyes caught hers. Then he smiled, dipping his dark, smooth head, and van-ished himself away into the shadows.
‘Father!’
Sara hurried out into the crowded square, leaving her escort behind, darting between the shifting limbs of the horses. Her father turned to-wards her as she approached, and smiled small smile, in two parts, one weary, one sad.
‘Sara.’
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest for a moment, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She knew her role, and the knowing of it made her safe for a moment. Then she stepped back, looking up at him.
‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I… There was much preparation to do.’
Sara did not reply. His eyes had that same distance that they had had since they arrived in the capital. Uldoroth had worn at him, as if all the brightness and finery had made his skin dull, eyes darkened like the contrast of shadows in bright sun.
‘Will you write?’
He blinked as she spoke, then smiled, and the tiredness fell away from him for a moment. He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
‘Yes, I will write.’ He told her, and she saw again that fierce ambi-tion in his eyes, the look she had known so well on their journey from the Westmere. Swollen around the soft, lazy ease of diminished strength. ‘And I shall expect news in return. The Rose of Westmere will show these fools how a real lady charms.’
Sara smiled and lowered her eyes self-consciously.
‘I… I will not disappoint you, father.’ She said quietly, and found, in spite of herself, that there were tears in her eyes.
‘See that you do not.’ He replied. Then he let go of her chin and climbed quickly into the carriage. He leaned out from the window for a moment, before they were gone, banging a hand against the wooden panels of the door impatiently.
‘Move out!’
‘You heard him!’ Halin bellowed in response, holding his horse in check beneath him. ‘Back to Westmere, before your wives go stray-ing!’
With that, her father’s men spurred their horses away into the white corridors of the citadel, bound for the sky-cages and the city below. They had arrived on foot, leading their steeds, but they left by horse-back, hurried by grave purpose towards the long road west. She watched the window of the carriage as it trundled away with the horses, but her father did not appear again. She stayed there, staring after them, until the party were out of sight and the great gate of the keep heaved closed behind them, slamming into the distant stone with a resounding thud.
‘M’Lady.’
She turned to find the Black Guard waiting, watching her with dark eyes through the narrow slits of their polished helms. For a moment, the suddenness of the departure threatened to overwhelm her. What was it he had told her, slurring over his unfinished dinner, in the pristine per-fection of their lodgings, surrounded by invisible eyes? Power belongs to the strong. To those who take it. Just then, standing in the courtyard, watching alone as her father departed, she realised that he was right. And he wasn’t strong enough. She took a deep breath, smiling for the Black Guard, and followed them out of the ancient courtyard into the halls beyond.
*
The broad, open avenues and garden-ways of the Keep of Eranor closed in to interior corridors rather quickly, when you knew the way, and soon Sara was following her black-gilded escort through pale pas-sageways lined with statuettes and tapestries, ceilings lost far overhead to the flickering light of amber flames. An occasional glimpse of pale sunlight leaped out across the stone floor, shimmering through shifting motes of dust. Sara was her Lady-self again, graceful and poised, glid-ing over the polished floor after her escort. The giant corridors were a maze of twists and turns, past fragment-views of gardens and libraries and sitting-halls and galleries, but she was dimly aware they were mov-ing towards the Hall of the King. The thought made her a little giddy.
‘Will I be received in the King’s Hall?’ She asked as they walked, but the Black Guards didn’t reply, and their armour clinked in the quiet. Sara frowned, following them. The passage curved, rising, and she found that the wall on her right side suddenly gave way to the hall be-low. One of the galleries, set high in the rafters of the King’s Hall. She stopped, putting her hand on the balustrade and peering out over the ledge, into the vaulted, silent emptiness of the hall. Some fifty foot be-low, the patterned black and white marble of the floor gleamed in flashes of reflected amber, quiet and empty. At the far end, pale sun-light caught the Night Throne, setting fire in the mirrored stone. Over-head, the matching nightglass ceiling gleamed like a lake in starlight, and swirling figures swept back and forth across it in the shifting light of the chamber. Sara felt a little thrill run over her neck.
‘Sara.’
Sara blinked, starting, and found Dana standing beside her.
‘Sister!’ Sara took hold of her sister’s hands and rose onto her tip-toes, pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘Here to welcome me into the fold?’
She was struck again by the strangeness of her sister, the difference in her. Dana wore black, a dress of simple lines and inlaid jet, at once relaxed and taut as a lute string. Her pale hands were folded over her belly, and her muddy dark hair was pulled back into a bun. The Black Guards halted behind her, waiting.
‘I am to escort you to the Queen’s chambers.’ Dana said simply. With that she turned and began to walk away along the balcony, to-wards a closed door at the throne-end of the hall. Sara frowned, hurry-ing after her.
‘Do the King and Queen not share chambers?’ She asked as they walked, and the hall below drew on beside them.
‘Their Majesties prefer… to keep their own space.’
The Black Guard fell into step at a respectful distance behind them, armoured heels clicking against the stone.
‘How many others are there?’
‘How many what?’
‘Handmaidens. How many does her Majesty keep?’
Dana did not break stride. ‘Two others, and the Matron.’
‘I suppose we shall not have servants of our own.’ Sara said quietly, eyeing the shadows shifting over the nightglass ceiling. ‘No need to spy on us when we are so close.’
‘Sara-’ Dana began, but Sara cut her off.
‘Father is gone, you know. This morning.’
‘I know.’ Dana replied, looking ahead.
‘You did not come to see him.’
Dana did not turn.
‘I’m sure he will miss you terribly, sister.’
Sara bristled suddenly, grabbing her sister’s arm.
‘I did not ask for it!’
Dana looked down at the hand on her arm, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Any of it!’ Sara told her, angry now, her whisper cracking. ‘I didn’t ask to stay. I didn’t ask him to send you away. I would have given any-thing to go with you. I thought he would never let me leave.’ She low-ered her voice, flicking an eye back towards the waiting guards. ‘I did not ask for the way he… the way he…’
She took a breath, swallowing, and straightened, looking her sister in the eye.
‘There are worse things than being ignored, Dana.’
Dana’s hand folded over hers.
‘Let’s… let’s put it behind us.’ She said quietly. ‘You are here, now.’
Sara blinked at her, nodding. She wanted to say more, but her words would not come, locked away from her tongue by the choked gulping of her breath. She lowered her eyes, and Dana squeezed her hand.
‘Sara, listen to me.’ Dana murmured, leaning close. ‘You must be careful. The Queen-’
The door at the far end of the gallery swung open, creaking on its hinges. The pair fell silent, frozen, and whatever Dana might have said, she held instead.
*
‘Wait here.’
The Matron, the head of the Queen’s Keepers, was an elderly wom-an with rounding hips and hair the colour of ash tied into a tight bun behind the worn-leather creases of her forehead. She was wearing black, same as Dana, though her smock was somehow plainer, when she opened the door onto the gallery, ushering the sisters wordlessly in-to the corridor beyond. Dana had bowed her head deferentially, wither-ing under the Matron’s hard eyes, and quickly disappeared into one of the many doors of the hallway. Sara almost asked for her to stay, but instead she steeled herself, remembering her lessons, and followed the stern old woman down the long, flickering hallway. The corridors of the keep were all severe, all lit by weak, flickering torchlight and gleaming the gleam of cold stone, but here they were particularly bare. There were no busts, no tapestries, no mosaics. Nothing but cold, dead rock, lent a little life by the dim thrustings of infrequent braziers. In her own apartments, she had understood the quiet, but here, in the keep proper, there was an eery silence to the corridors that jarred with Sara’s anticipation. Where were the nobles in their gay clothes, where was the music and laughter of a King’s Hall? Sara frowned to herself, and kept walking.
The room at the end of the hallway was broad and rounded, like a kind of circle made out of many flat edges, each holding the low light of a brazier. The marble floors were black and white and patterned like a gamesboard, empty but for a broad nightwood table at its centre, matching the room itself for its odd roundness. On the far side, a wall of shutters opened out onto a large, bare balcony, and over the intricate-ly wrought stone balustrade, Sara could see the City of the Moon be-low, sweeping away towards the edge of the Heartspire, empty stormtowers stabbing black into the sky. Beyond, the great emerald plains of Valia stretched out into the west, past the fiery line of the river Arq, scored with jagged, dark rock and silver streams. Sara swallowed, realising she’d never been so high up.
‘Wait here.’
‘But-‘ She protested, frowning, but the Matron was already gone, turned on her heel and disappeared back the way she had come. Sara flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, and the silence of the room prickled at her skin. The breeze rustled over the balcony, swirling about the pillared windows, but the air inside was still as the grave. She stepped slowly over to the table, touching the polished wood. This much nightwood would have cost more than a wagonload of gold. She traced the knotted lines across the black surface, trying to ignore the cold weight churning in her gut.
Time stretched on around her, and the minutes dragged by like years. Despite the open air flooding through the windows, the chamber was not cool, warmed by the subtle glow of the braziers, and she felt a little wetness beginning to build under her arms. She looked about her-self, trying to calm her heart. There were four other doors in the room, besides the one they had entered through, all dark and heavy looking, and each bore a pattern of silver on its face. There was a cradle, and opposite it, a pendant with teeth like a wolf. Beside the cradle door, a small drinks table, a glass jug of purple wine atop it, with a pair of matching glasses. The two doors closest to the balcony bore a sun and a crescent moon. She looked a little closer, and realised that the markings were not moonsilver, merely an imitation in gleaming silver paint, and the door she had entered through bore no markings at all. Sara watched them, imagining the rooms that lay behind each. Which one was the Queen behind, she wondered, and her heart quickened at the thought, stomach churning. She was stranded, here, now, in the capital. What if the Queen didn’t like her? What if she said something wrong? Would she be sent away again, back to her father?
‘Lady Westmere.’
The crescent moon had swung open, and the Queen glided through, a beautiful shadow in a studded black dress, arms glistening with little sharpened sequins the colour of midnight. Her hair had been contorted into an elaborate maze of raven curls over her pate, and her pale skin took on a translucent sheen in the pale light from the balcony doors. The throat of her dress was open, as it had been in the King’s Hall all those days ago, and she wore the same golden necklace, its myriad points sharp like daggers with their drops of ruby blood.
Sara blinked, then remembered herself, and dropped into a low curt-sy, bowing her head.
‘Your Majesty.’ She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.
The Queen did not reply. Sara was dimly aware of her shadow mov-ing across the floor, crossing to the drinks table beside the cradle door. Sara risked a glance up, then, and found the Queen’s slender back to her. When she at last turned, she had a glass goblet of wine clutched in her narrow fingers. Sara lowered her eyes again.
‘You are a pretty one, aren’t you.’ The Queen said quietly, as if to herself. Her voice was cold, like ice leaking over lakewater, deep and still. She took a sip from her cup, and Sara could feel the cut of her eyes against her skin. ‘What did the Weasel of Westmere do to sire such a pretty daughter. Your sister, maybe, I understand, but you…’
Sara forced herself not to frown.
‘Well trained, I see.’ The Queen murmured, smiling coldly. She took another sip of her wine. ‘Your mother’s touch, I assume, not your fa-ther’s.’
Sara hesitated. She glanced up at the Queen, then lowered her eyes again, nodding.
‘I hear she is unwell.’
Sara looked up again, braver this time, and found the Queen’s dark eyes watching her over the rim of her glass.
‘She has an affliction, Your Majesty. She does not eat, and rarely sleeps. The Keepers say it is a disease of her mind.’
‘The one thing none of us can escape.’ The Queen sighed, toying idly with her glass and looking out of the window over the city below. ‘Still, there are worse places to be sickly than a Lord’s hall.’
‘I suppose… I suppose that is true, Your Majesty.’
The Queen raised an eyebrow. ‘Suppose, do you?’
Sara squirmed for a moment under the weight of her eyes, but then the Queen turned away, stepping slowly around the edge of the table till she was standing beside the open windows. She took another sip of her wine, back to Sara again.
‘Your sister met you, this morning.’
Sara hesitated, thrown for a moment by the abruptness of the state-ment.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And she came to you yesterday, in the apartments Bywood found for you.’
‘Yes.’ Sara felt the cold weight return in her belly. She thought of what the Fox had warned her. There is always someone watching. She cast her mind back to her conversations with Dana. Gods. What had they spoken of? Had she said something out of turn?
‘Curious, that she did not seek out your father.’
Sara let out her breath slowly. That was not a particularly well-hidden curiosity.
‘Dana must have been very busy, Your Majesty.’
‘She is as busy as I make her, and that is rarely too taxing.’
Sara sighed. ‘They have… sometimes not seen eye to eye.’
‘And you?’ The Queen turned as she spoke, fixing her eyes to Sara’s again. Behind her, the distant sounds of the city drifted lazily up through the air, swirling around far-off columns of wispy smoke. ‘What do you say of him?’
Sara hesitated again, stuttering. ‘He is my father, Your Majesty. I trust that he always knows what is best for his daughters.’
‘In my experience it is fathers who know the least about their own daughters.’ The Queen replied dryly, sipping again. ‘Come, let me look at you, then.’
She came back around the nightwood table, her long, narrow limbs gliding over the polished floor, and stopped in front of Sara, setting her glass down beside them. She took Sara’s chin in two spindly fingers and tilted it upwards so that she was looking her in the eye, only a few inches from her face. Sara realised again how tall she was, as tall as her father, at least, though her slender frame made her seem much smaller. She tried not to squirm, but she found that the Queen’s fingers dug un-comfortably into her chin, dark eyes flitting back and forth across her face like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes, very pretty.’ She said at last, not releasing her chin. Sara could feel her breath on her face, smelling softly of dark wine. ‘No wonder. You look like her, you know.’
‘Who-‘ but the Queen had already turned away, back to the table, picking up her wineglass in one bone-stretched hand.
‘The Matron will meet you outside. She will give you your tasks and show you to your chamber. You will begin tomorrow.’
Sara flinched, realising she had been holding her breath. She curt-sied to the Queen’s back, suddenly a little giddy.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You may go, girl.’
Sara turned to go, not at all sure what to make of the encounter. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, but found the Queen looking out over the city silently again, wineglass in hand, black dress glistening with jet. Sara hesitated a moment longer, then hurried out into the corridor beyond the unmarked door, closing it behind her.
*
The night before her father leaves, she wakes in darkness.
She does not open her eyes, but she knows it is not yet dawn. The sounds of the garden beyond her shutters are soft and murmuring, wind-stirred and drip-spotted.
She can feel him over her, the tense stillness of him, closer than shadows. He smells of wine. Sweat. She is cold, but she does not move. She dares not move. She can feel the weight of his eyes, dulled with drink, tracing the lines of her. His breathing sounds like anger.
She does not know how long she waits there, frozen. But she does not open her eyes. Not once. Time stretches out before her in that mo-ment, an eternity of breathless terror.
Then he leaves. The smell of him lingers long after the door has closed behind him. She lays there a while longer, motionless, dead as stone. Then she curls into her own arms, and weeps silently until the dawn.
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*
Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
‘Get moving!’
Sara watched the men readying their horses, squinting at the bright-ness of the stone. The courtyard was full of the sound of boot-steps and creaking leather. Overhead, a thin veil of rippled grey hung over the early winter sky, and the dawn sun tugged gleaming at its edges. Over-head, the dull black shape of an old stormtower bled the sky. Empty, just like the rest of them. There was something very jarring, Sara de-cided, about the worn jerkins and stubbled cheeks of her father’s men, ensconced in a pillared courtyard of vast stone. They were out of place, and they had been every moment since arriving in Uldoroth, she real-ised. They didn’t belong here. Her own anxiety was mirrored imper-fectly with the relief on their weary faces, and the dark rings under their eyes seemed just a little less deep. There may be Black Hand to deal with, back in the Westmere, but it was home. At least there your ene-mies had the decency to show themselves. Sara realised she was chew-ing her lip. At her back, two of the Black Guard waited wordlessly in their gold-touched armour, much more in keeping with the finery of the courtyard, and everything else in the capital. They were waiting to es-cort her away to the Queen, unaware they found a girl not so eager for the honour as she had been, just a few days before.
‘Father!’ She called out, spying him across the writhing mass of men in their moss green cloaks, but he seemed not to hear her. He was standing near the arched cloister at the far side of the square, cloaked and ready for travel, in hurried conversation with a shaded figure stand-ing beyond the marble facade. She squinted, trying to make out the oth-er man, but there was nothing but a dark shadow to trace.
‘Well then, M’lady.’ A voice said beside her, and she turned to find Halin looking down at her, a kind smile on his broad face. ‘You’ll be a right proper Princess when I next see you, methinks.’
Sara smiled at him and shook her head sheepishly. ‘Uldoroth is not my home, yet, Halin. I won’t forget.’
‘Be careful you don’t, Lady Sara.’ Halin glanced distrustfully at the Black Guard behind her. ‘Lots of fancy folk here. Fancy folk with fan-cier lies.’
‘I’ll be careful, Halin.’ She told him seriously.
He smiled again, and the sternness dissolved away from his face.
‘Take care, M’Lady.’ He told her, dipping his head politely. She re-turned the gesture, dropping into a small curtsy.
‘Look after my father, will you?’
‘Always, M’Lady.’
Halin hurried off into the throng in the square, and Sara watched him go, feeling her the knot in her belly tighten. The conversations with her unexpected visitors had left their mark, a nagging uncertainty gnawing at the excitement that had carried her through her first few uneventful days in the capital. The little comfort she had taken in the presence of her father and his men was a loss she could ill afford. She watched her father’s back, frowning softly to herself. Her thoughts were not what she had imagined, when she had thought of him leaving. A hundred dif-ferent times, and more. Had she expected tears, grief at the parting? Re-lief? Instead, there was only the fear, a dull, leaden weight in her belly, clammy-cold as marsh-water.
‘Come on, you whoresons! I want to be on the road before lunch!’ Halin roared, and the men quickened their work. Her father had not moved, still deep in conversation, just out of sight. She peered a little closer, and for a moment the pale sunlight crept over the top of the square, flashing against a colourful doublet marked with a silver brooch. The Fox’s lips barely moved as he spoke from the shadows of the cloister, and her father was scowling. Sara frowned.
‘Mount up!’
The ornate wagon that had been her home all those weeks trundled into the square, then, drawn by a pair of stout horses. Sara saw her fa-ther turn reluctantly towards it, striding out into the square. Sara peered past him into the cloister, and for a moment Lord Bywood’s sharp eyes caught hers. Then he smiled, dipping his dark, smooth head, and van-ished himself away into the shadows.
‘Father!’
Sara hurried out into the crowded square, leaving her escort behind, darting between the shifting limbs of the horses. Her father turned to-wards her as she approached, and smiled small smile, in two parts, one weary, one sad.
‘Sara.’
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest for a moment, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She knew her role, and the knowing of it made her safe for a moment. Then she stepped back, looking up at him.
‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I… There was much preparation to do.’
Sara did not reply. His eyes had that same distance that they had had since they arrived in the capital. Uldoroth had worn at him, as if all the brightness and finery had made his skin dull, eyes darkened like the contrast of shadows in bright sun.
‘Will you write?’
He blinked as she spoke, then smiled, and the tiredness fell away from him for a moment. He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
‘Yes, I will write.’ He told her, and she saw again that fierce ambi-tion in his eyes, the look she had known so well on their journey from the Westmere. Swollen around the soft, lazy ease of diminished strength. ‘And I shall expect news in return. The Rose of Westmere will show these fools how a real lady charms.’
Sara smiled and lowered her eyes self-consciously.
‘I… I will not disappoint you, father.’ She said quietly, and found, in spite of herself, that there were tears in her eyes.
‘See that you do not.’ He replied. Then he let go of her chin and climbed quickly into the carriage. He leaned out from the window for a moment, before they were gone, banging a hand against the wooden panels of the door impatiently.
‘Move out!’
‘You heard him!’ Halin bellowed in response, holding his horse in check beneath him. ‘Back to Westmere, before your wives go stray-ing!’
With that, her father’s men spurred their horses away into the white corridors of the citadel, bound for the sky-cages and the city below. They had arrived on foot, leading their steeds, but they left by horse-back, hurried by grave purpose towards the long road west. She watched the window of the carriage as it trundled away with the horses, but her father did not appear again. She stayed there, staring after them, until the party were out of sight and the great gate of the keep heaved closed behind them, slamming into the distant stone with a resounding thud.
‘M’Lady.’
She turned to find the Black Guard waiting, watching her with dark eyes through the narrow slits of their polished helms. For a moment, the suddenness of the departure threatened to overwhelm her. What was it he had told her, slurring over his unfinished dinner, in the pristine per-fection of their lodgings, surrounded by invisible eyes? Power belongs to the strong. To those who take it. Just then, standing in the courtyard, watching alone as her father departed, she realised that he was right. And he wasn’t strong enough. She took a deep breath, smiling for the Black Guard, and followed them out of the ancient courtyard into the halls beyond.
*
The broad, open avenues and garden-ways of the Keep of Eranor closed in to interior corridors rather quickly, when you knew the way, and soon Sara was following her black-gilded escort through pale pas-sageways lined with statuettes and tapestries, ceilings lost far overhead to the flickering light of amber flames. An occasional glimpse of pale sunlight leaped out across the stone floor, shimmering through shifting motes of dust. Sara was her Lady-self again, graceful and poised, glid-ing over the polished floor after her escort. The giant corridors were a maze of twists and turns, past fragment-views of gardens and libraries and sitting-halls and galleries, but she was dimly aware they were mov-ing towards the Hall of the King. The thought made her a little giddy.
‘Will I be received in the King’s Hall?’ She asked as they walked, but the Black Guards didn’t reply, and their armour clinked in the quiet. Sara frowned, following them. The passage curved, rising, and she found that the wall on her right side suddenly gave way to the hall be-low. One of the galleries, set high in the rafters of the King’s Hall. She stopped, putting her hand on the balustrade and peering out over the ledge, into the vaulted, silent emptiness of the hall. Some fifty foot be-low, the patterned black and white marble of the floor gleamed in flashes of reflected amber, quiet and empty. At the far end, pale sun-light caught the Night Throne, setting fire in the mirrored stone. Over-head, the matching nightglass ceiling gleamed like a lake in starlight, and swirling figures swept back and forth across it in the shifting light of the chamber. Sara felt a little thrill run over her neck.
‘Sara.’
Sara blinked, starting, and found Dana standing beside her.
‘Sister!’ Sara took hold of her sister’s hands and rose onto her tip-toes, pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘Here to welcome me into the fold?’
She was struck again by the strangeness of her sister, the difference in her. Dana wore black, a dress of simple lines and inlaid jet, at once relaxed and taut as a lute string. Her pale hands were folded over her belly, and her muddy dark hair was pulled back into a bun. The Black Guards halted behind her, waiting.
‘I am to escort you to the Queen’s chambers.’ Dana said simply. With that she turned and began to walk away along the balcony, to-wards a closed door at the throne-end of the hall. Sara frowned, hurry-ing after her.
‘Do the King and Queen not share chambers?’ She asked as they walked, and the hall below drew on beside them.
‘Their Majesties prefer… to keep their own space.’
The Black Guard fell into step at a respectful distance behind them, armoured heels clicking against the stone.
‘How many others are there?’
‘How many what?’
‘Handmaidens. How many does her Majesty keep?’
Dana did not break stride. ‘Two others, and the Matron.’
‘I suppose we shall not have servants of our own.’ Sara said quietly, eyeing the shadows shifting over the nightglass ceiling. ‘No need to spy on us when we are so close.’
‘Sara-’ Dana began, but Sara cut her off.
‘Father is gone, you know. This morning.’
‘I know.’ Dana replied, looking ahead.
‘You did not come to see him.’
Dana did not turn.
‘I’m sure he will miss you terribly, sister.’
Sara bristled suddenly, grabbing her sister’s arm.
‘I did not ask for it!’
Dana looked down at the hand on her arm, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Any of it!’ Sara told her, angry now, her whisper cracking. ‘I didn’t ask to stay. I didn’t ask him to send you away. I would have given any-thing to go with you. I thought he would never let me leave.’ She low-ered her voice, flicking an eye back towards the waiting guards. ‘I did not ask for the way he… the way he…’
She took a breath, swallowing, and straightened, looking her sister in the eye.
‘There are worse things than being ignored, Dana.’
Dana’s hand folded over hers.
‘Let’s… let’s put it behind us.’ She said quietly. ‘You are here, now.’
Sara blinked at her, nodding. She wanted to say more, but her words would not come, locked away from her tongue by the choked gulping of her breath. She lowered her eyes, and Dana squeezed her hand.
‘Sara, listen to me.’ Dana murmured, leaning close. ‘You must be careful. The Queen-’
The door at the far end of the gallery swung open, creaking on its hinges. The pair fell silent, frozen, and whatever Dana might have said, she held instead.
*
‘Wait here.’
The Matron, the head of the Queen’s Keepers, was an elderly wom-an with rounding hips and hair the colour of ash tied into a tight bun behind the worn-leather creases of her forehead. She was wearing black, same as Dana, though her smock was somehow plainer, when she opened the door onto the gallery, ushering the sisters wordlessly in-to the corridor beyond. Dana had bowed her head deferentially, wither-ing under the Matron’s hard eyes, and quickly disappeared into one of the many doors of the hallway. Sara almost asked for her to stay, but instead she steeled herself, remembering her lessons, and followed the stern old woman down the long, flickering hallway. The corridors of the keep were all severe, all lit by weak, flickering torchlight and gleaming the gleam of cold stone, but here they were particularly bare. There were no busts, no tapestries, no mosaics. Nothing but cold, dead rock, lent a little life by the dim thrustings of infrequent braziers. In her own apartments, she had understood the quiet, but here, in the keep proper, there was an eery silence to the corridors that jarred with Sara’s anticipation. Where were the nobles in their gay clothes, where was the music and laughter of a King’s Hall? Sara frowned to herself, and kept walking.
The room at the end of the hallway was broad and rounded, like a kind of circle made out of many flat edges, each holding the low light of a brazier. The marble floors were black and white and patterned like a gamesboard, empty but for a broad nightwood table at its centre, matching the room itself for its odd roundness. On the far side, a wall of shutters opened out onto a large, bare balcony, and over the intricate-ly wrought stone balustrade, Sara could see the City of the Moon be-low, sweeping away towards the edge of the Heartspire, empty stormtowers stabbing black into the sky. Beyond, the great emerald plains of Valia stretched out into the west, past the fiery line of the river Arq, scored with jagged, dark rock and silver streams. Sara swallowed, realising she’d never been so high up.
‘Wait here.’
‘But-‘ She protested, frowning, but the Matron was already gone, turned on her heel and disappeared back the way she had come. Sara flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, and the silence of the room prickled at her skin. The breeze rustled over the balcony, swirling about the pillared windows, but the air inside was still as the grave. She stepped slowly over to the table, touching the polished wood. This much nightwood would have cost more than a wagonload of gold. She traced the knotted lines across the black surface, trying to ignore the cold weight churning in her gut.
Time stretched on around her, and the minutes dragged by like years. Despite the open air flooding through the windows, the chamber was not cool, warmed by the subtle glow of the braziers, and she felt a little wetness beginning to build under her arms. She looked about her-self, trying to calm her heart. There were four other doors in the room, besides the one they had entered through, all dark and heavy looking, and each bore a pattern of silver on its face. There was a cradle, and opposite it, a pendant with teeth like a wolf. Beside the cradle door, a small drinks table, a glass jug of purple wine atop it, with a pair of matching glasses. The two doors closest to the balcony bore a sun and a crescent moon. She looked a little closer, and realised that the markings were not moonsilver, merely an imitation in gleaming silver paint, and the door she had entered through bore no markings at all. Sara watched them, imagining the rooms that lay behind each. Which one was the Queen behind, she wondered, and her heart quickened at the thought, stomach churning. She was stranded, here, now, in the capital. What if the Queen didn’t like her? What if she said something wrong? Would she be sent away again, back to her father?
‘Lady Westmere.’
The crescent moon had swung open, and the Queen glided through, a beautiful shadow in a studded black dress, arms glistening with little sharpened sequins the colour of midnight. Her hair had been contorted into an elaborate maze of raven curls over her pate, and her pale skin took on a translucent sheen in the pale light from the balcony doors. The throat of her dress was open, as it had been in the King’s Hall all those days ago, and she wore the same golden necklace, its myriad points sharp like daggers with their drops of ruby blood.
Sara blinked, then remembered herself, and dropped into a low curt-sy, bowing her head.
‘Your Majesty.’ She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.
The Queen did not reply. Sara was dimly aware of her shadow mov-ing across the floor, crossing to the drinks table beside the cradle door. Sara risked a glance up, then, and found the Queen’s slender back to her. When she at last turned, she had a glass goblet of wine clutched in her narrow fingers. Sara lowered her eyes again.
‘You are a pretty one, aren’t you.’ The Queen said quietly, as if to herself. Her voice was cold, like ice leaking over lakewater, deep and still. She took a sip from her cup, and Sara could feel the cut of her eyes against her skin. ‘What did the Weasel of Westmere do to sire such a pretty daughter. Your sister, maybe, I understand, but you…’
Sara forced herself not to frown.
‘Well trained, I see.’ The Queen murmured, smiling coldly. She took another sip of her wine. ‘Your mother’s touch, I assume, not your fa-ther’s.’
Sara hesitated. She glanced up at the Queen, then lowered her eyes again, nodding.
‘I hear she is unwell.’
Sara looked up again, braver this time, and found the Queen’s dark eyes watching her over the rim of her glass.
‘She has an affliction, Your Majesty. She does not eat, and rarely sleeps. The Keepers say it is a disease of her mind.’
‘The one thing none of us can escape.’ The Queen sighed, toying idly with her glass and looking out of the window over the city below. ‘Still, there are worse places to be sickly than a Lord’s hall.’
‘I suppose… I suppose that is true, Your Majesty.’
The Queen raised an eyebrow. ‘Suppose, do you?’
Sara squirmed for a moment under the weight of her eyes, but then the Queen turned away, stepping slowly around the edge of the table till she was standing beside the open windows. She took another sip of her wine, back to Sara again.
‘Your sister met you, this morning.’
Sara hesitated, thrown for a moment by the abruptness of the state-ment.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And she came to you yesterday, in the apartments Bywood found for you.’
‘Yes.’ Sara felt the cold weight return in her belly. She thought of what the Fox had warned her. There is always someone watching. She cast her mind back to her conversations with Dana. Gods. What had they spoken of? Had she said something out of turn?
‘Curious, that she did not seek out your father.’
Sara let out her breath slowly. That was not a particularly well-hidden curiosity.
‘Dana must have been very busy, Your Majesty.’
‘She is as busy as I make her, and that is rarely too taxing.’
Sara sighed. ‘They have… sometimes not seen eye to eye.’
‘And you?’ The Queen turned as she spoke, fixing her eyes to Sara’s again. Behind her, the distant sounds of the city drifted lazily up through the air, swirling around far-off columns of wispy smoke. ‘What do you say of him?’
Sara hesitated again, stuttering. ‘He is my father, Your Majesty. I trust that he always knows what is best for his daughters.’
‘In my experience it is fathers who know the least about their own daughters.’ The Queen replied dryly, sipping again. ‘Come, let me look at you, then.’
She came back around the nightwood table, her long, narrow limbs gliding over the polished floor, and stopped in front of Sara, setting her glass down beside them. She took Sara’s chin in two spindly fingers and tilted it upwards so that she was looking her in the eye, only a few inches from her face. Sara realised again how tall she was, as tall as her father, at least, though her slender frame made her seem much smaller. She tried not to squirm, but she found that the Queen’s fingers dug un-comfortably into her chin, dark eyes flitting back and forth across her face like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes, very pretty.’ She said at last, not releasing her chin. Sara could feel her breath on her face, smelling softly of dark wine. ‘No wonder. You look like her, you know.’
‘Who-‘ but the Queen had already turned away, back to the table, picking up her wineglass in one bone-stretched hand.
‘The Matron will meet you outside. She will give you your tasks and show you to your chamber. You will begin tomorrow.’
Sara flinched, realising she had been holding her breath. She curt-sied to the Queen’s back, suddenly a little giddy.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You may go, girl.’
Sara turned to go, not at all sure what to make of the encounter. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, but found the Queen looking out over the city silently again, wineglass in hand, black dress glistening with jet. Sara hesitated a moment longer, then hurried out into the corridor beyond the unmarked door, closing it behind her.
*
The night before her father leaves, she wakes in darkness.
She does not open her eyes, but she knows it is not yet dawn. The sounds of the garden beyond her shutters are soft and murmuring, wind-stirred and drip-spotted.
She can feel him over her, the tense stillness of him, closer than shadows. He smells of wine. Sweat. She is cold, but she does not move. She dares not move. She can feel the weight of his eyes, dulled with drink, tracing the lines of her. His breathing sounds like anger.
She does not know how long she waits there, frozen. But she does not open her eyes. Not once. Time stretches out before her in that mo-ment, an eternity of breathless terror.
Then he leaves. The smell of him lingers long after the door has closed behind him. She lays there a while longer, motionless, dead as stone. Then she curls into her own arms, and weeps silently until the dawn.
2023.05.29 02:22 dragonagitator Bellingham-Area Mechanics Master Post
Since it seems that no one can be bothered to search the sub for the word "mechanic" before making a new post, I searched it for you and summarized two years' worth of posts below.
TL;DR the recommendation is almost always "Rising Sun Motors" unless you've got an unusual vehicle or situation. Also, apparently XSrcing has spent the past couple years quietly helping poor people fix their cars for free/cheap, so everyone be sure to buy that guy a beer next time you see him.
2023-05-29 Mobile mechanic for Ford F250 diesel truck
submitted by dragonagitator to Bellingham [link] [comments]
TL;DR the recommendation is almost always "Rising Sun Motors" unless you've got an unusual vehicle or situation. Also, apparently XSrcing has spent the past couple years quietly helping poor people fix their cars for free/cheap, so everyone be sure to buy that guy a beer next time you see him.
2023-05-29 Mobile mechanic for Ford F250 diesel truck
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2008 Ford F250 diesel truck, mobile mechanic
- Commenters suggested: New post so no suggestions yet. Check back later for updates --DA 5/29/23 17:11
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1995 Honda Del Sol body work
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Joe’s Automotive Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: Subaru 2013 Forester
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Northwest Rally Sports, Bruce Cox Imports, Dewey Griffin Subaru, TK Automotive Repair, Hi-Tech Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1989 Isuzu Trooper
- Commenters suggested: Unlimited Service Downtown, Axton Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: Volvo
- Commenters suggested: Rainbow Auto Service, Bruce Cox Imports, Manieri Motorworks
- Vehicle and/or issue: Subaru
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Harmony Motorworks, Northwest Rally Sports
- Vehicle and/or issue: Prius, asking about specific mechanic
- Commenters suggested: Chuck’s Midtown Motors Automotive Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Autotech Car and Truck Repair, Bruce Cox Imports, SK Motorsport, Birchwood Auto Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: walnut blasting valves
- Commenters suggested: SK Motorsport
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1972 Chevrolet truck body work
- Commenters suggested: Bailey’s Classic Collision, No.1 Automotive Body Repair, Heavy Metal Custom Shop, Nitro Autolab
- Vehicle and/or issue: unhappy customer
- Commenters suggested: OP deleting their post, Bellingham Automotive, Trottners Auto Repair Service, Sterling Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1997 Ford E350 bus
- Commenters suggested: SMG Equipment and Marine, Unlimited Service Bakerview
- Vehicle and/or issue: air-cooled Volkswagen
- Commenters suggested: SK Motorsport, HMC Garage, Northwest European Autoworks, Peace Vans (in Seattle)
- Vehicle and/or issue: free/cheap mobile mechanic for person living in a van
- Commenters suggested: XSrcing
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Cornerstone Auto Care, Axton Automotive, Rising Sun Motors, Hi-Tech Automotive, Birchwood Auto Repair, Harmony Motorworks
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1958 Chevrolet pickup truck inspection and fluids
- Commenters suggested: Heavy Metal Custom Shop
- Vehicle and/or issue: Nissan Altima CVT transmission
- Commenters suggested: TK Automotive Repair, Midas, Barrett Transmission Specialties, Hi-Tech Automotive, Flat Black Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: free/cheap diagnostic
- Commenters suggested: Complete Auto Repair Service, Rising Sun Motors, Hi-Tech Automotive, Les Schwab
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1998 Volkswagen Beetle manual transmission
- Commenters suggested: TK Automotive Repair, Dr. John’s Auto Clinic, Euro Sport (???), Cunningham Tuning
- Vehicle and/or issue: windshield wiper motor replacement completion help
- Commenters suggested: XSrcing, Trottners Auto Repair Service
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1994 Toyota pickup truck
- Commenters suggested: Hi-Tech Automotive, Rising Sun Motors, Flat Black Automotive, Axton Automotive, Sterling Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: Ford truck computer transplant
- Commenters suggested: Birchwood Auto Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2015 Honda Civic transmission
- Commenters suggested: Barrett Transmission Specialties
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Flat Black Automotive, Rising Sun Motors
- Vehicle and/or issue: unhappy customer / general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Panacea Automotive Repair, Alignment & Brakes Plus, Rising Sun Motors, OP learning to fix their own vehicle if they want to be cheap about it
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Joe’s Automotive Repair, Flat Black Automotive, Nitro Autolab
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2006 Suzuki XL-7 timing chain
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Sterling Automotive, XSrcing, Rising Sun Motors, Joe’s Automotive Repair, Davis Automotive, Hi-Tech Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1989 Chevrolet G20 camper van, garage with a lift that can handle tall vehicles
- Commenters suggested: Camping World (in Burlington), Unlimited Service Bakerview, Northwest Chevrolet
- Vehicle and/or issue: oil change and inspection
- Commenters suggested: Master Lube, Sterling Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2005 Subaru Outback, payment plans
- Commenters suggested: XSrcing, Firestone Complete Auto Care
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2000 Ford Ranger transmission, free/cheap diagnostic
- Commenters suggested: Midas, XSrcing, Firestone Complete Auto Care
- Vehicle and/or issue: truck tune up
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Sterling Automotive, Flat Black Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Joe’s Automotive Repair, Sterling Automotive, Whatcom Radiator & Battery (closed?), Bernard Tech Services, Naztek Automotive, Sound Truck & Auto Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: Prius oil change
- Commenters suggested: Master Lube, Sehome Express Lube, Rising Sun Motors, Lucky’s Auto Shop, Rod’s Japanese Auto Care, literally anywhere because it's just an oil change
- Vehicle and/or issue: Honda replace stolen catalytic converter
- Commenters suggested: Flat Black Automotive, Rising Sun Motors, Bellingham Automotive, Panacea Automotive Repair, Marlin’s Auto Service, Service Pro, Faction Automotive, Davis Automotive, Harmony Motorworks
- Vehicle and/or issue: Honda CR-V AC, respectful to women
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Flat Black Automotive, Bellingham Auto Air, Reference Automotive, Sterling Automotive, TK Automotive Repair, Toyota of Bellingham, Juracich Auto Repair (closed?), Steves Auto Repair, Faction Automotive, Integrity Auto Care (in Arlington), NAPA Auto Parts Blaine, Pete’s Auto Repair, Import Autosport (in Anacortes), Whatcom Radiator & Battery (closed?)
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1988 Chevrolet truck
- Commenters suggested: Marine Drive Auto Services, Unlimited Service Downtown, Chuck’s Midtown Motors Automotive Repair, Bellingham Automotive, Davis Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Joe’s Automotive Repair, Steves Auto Repair, Dr. John’s Auto Clinic, Rising Sun Motors, Superior Auto, Hi-Tech Automotive, Toyota of Bellingham, Sterling Automotive, Harmony Motorworks
- Vehicle and/or issue: Subaru brakes
- Commenters suggested: Alignment & Brakes Plus, Rising Sun Motors, Harmony Motorworks, Joe’s Automotive Repair, Northwest Rally Sports, Chuck’s Midtown Motors Automotive Repair, Birchwood Auto Repair, TK Automotive Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1990 Ford E-250 Econoline van engine replacement
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Sterling Automotive, Lucky’s Auto Shop, Joe’s Automotive Repair, Rude’s Auto Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: assorted motorcycles
- Commenters suggested: Cycle Therapy, BBRP, OP just has bad gas
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2010 Prius
- Commenters suggested: Unlimited Service Bakerview, Unlimited Service Downtown, Bellingham Automotive, Rising Sun Motors, Toyota of Bellingham, Midas, Lifestyle Motor Co
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2004 Toyota RAV4
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Joe’s Automotive Repair, Sterling Automotive, Davis Automotive, SK Motorsport, Hi-Tech Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: Honda PIlot seatbelt & airbags, mobile mechanic
- Commenters suggested: Unlimited Service Downtown, Rising Sun Motors, Whatcom Radiator & Battery (closed?), Davis Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: mobile mechanic for pre-purchase inspection of used car
- Commenters suggested: AR MECHANIC, Trottners Auto Repair Service
- Vehicle and/or issue: Ford pickup truck
- Commenters suggested: Davis Automotive, Dan's Automotive (closed?), Sterling Automotive, Rod’s Japanese Auto Care
- Vehicle and/or issue: pre-purchase inspection of used car
- Commenters suggested: Joe’s Automotive Repair, Rising Sun Motors
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1990 Ford E350 van exhaust
- Commenters suggested: Ben Richards Fabrication (in Burlington)
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2001 Toyota Camry fuel pump
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Sterling Automotive, Rod’s Japanese Auto Care, Dr. John’s Auto Clinic, Birchwood Auto Repair, Trottners Auto Repair Service
- Vehicle and/or issue: mobile mechanic
- Commenters suggested: O’Reilly Auto Parts (to test battery), some dude named Will
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2008 Suburu Outback
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Steves Auto Repair, Sterling Automotive, Birchwood Auto Repair, Bruce Cox Imports, Joe’s Automotive Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2008 Ford Fusion rough idling
- Commenters suggested: Premier Auto Repair (in Mount Vernon), Faction Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: windshield wipers, open Sunday
- Commenters suggested: AutoZone Auto Parts, Firestone Complete Auto Care
- Vehicle and/or issue: 1983 Ford Ranger
- Commenters suggested: Foreign Auto Clinic, Panacea Automotive Repair, Van Loo’s Auto Service, Hi-Tech Automotive, some dude named Zach
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2004 Subaru Forester
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Northwest Rally Sports, Harmony Motorworks, Lucky’s Auto Shop, AR MECHANIC, Chuck’s Midtown Motors Automotive Repair, Bruce Cox Imports
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2000 Volvo V40 electrical issues
- Commenters suggested: Rainbow Auto Service, Harmony Motorworks, Keith Cox Autobahn
- Vehicle and/or issue: Honda Element
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Sterling Automotive, TK Automotive Repair, Trottners Auto Repair Service
- Vehicle and/or issue: Fiat
- Commenters suggested: SK Motorsport, Keith Cox Autobahn, Rising Sun Motors, Northwest European Autoworks
- Vehicle and/or issue: Toyota
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Marlin’s Auto Service, Davis Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: Subaru
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Northwest Rally Sports, Bruce Cox Imports, Unlimited Service Bakerview, Flat Black Automotive, Dewey Griffin Subaru
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2002 Ford leaking oil
- Commenters suggested: Sterling Automotive, Rising Sun Motors, Unlimited Service Bakerview, Birchwood Auto Repair, Bruce Cox Imports
- Vehicle and/or issue: 2010 Mercedes AMG, asking about specific mechanic
- Commenters suggested: Keith Cox Autobahn, Bruce Cox Imports, Harmony Motorworks, Meridian Auto And Tire
- Vehicle and/or issue: Lexus SUV (GX470)
- Commenters suggested: Harmony Motorworks, Rising Sun Motors, Toyota of Bellingham, TK Automotive Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: Subaru brakes
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Northwest Rally Sports, Sterling Automotive, Axton Automotive
- Vehicle and/or issue: general inquiry
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, Firestone Complete Auto Care, Sterling Automotive, Barnett Automotive, Joe’s Automotive Repair, Whatcom Radiator & Battery (closed?), Panacea Automotive Repair, TK Automotive Repair
- Vehicle and/or issue: pre-purchase inspection of used car
- Commenters suggested: Rising Sun Motors, AR MECHANIC, Birchwood Auto Repair, Hardman Auto Care (closed?), Keith Cox Autobahn, Trottners Auto Repair Service, Meridian Auto And Tire, Harmony Motorworks
2023.05.29 01:08 MyFuneralHomeStories Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
I was pouring drink number three when my phone rang… I'm 20 years old, a little drunk and in about an hour, I will have almost shot my colleague in the chest in front of three police officers and two frozen dead bodies. Weird. I can't say that I'm mentally ready for what I'm about to see this evening, who’s ever really ready to walk into a garage with a Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullets and two frozen gang bangers inside. My name is Grant and These are My Funeral Home Stories.
Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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2023.05.29 01:04 MyFuneralHomeStories Chapter Two: 3 drinks, 2 dead & 1 Candy Bar
I was pouring drink number three when my phone rang… I'm 20 years old, a little drunk and in about an hour, I will have almost shot my colleague in the chest in front of three police officers and two frozen dead bodies. Weird. I can't say that I'm mentally ready for what I'm about to see this evening, who’s ever really ready to walk into a garage with a Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullets and two frozen gang bangers inside. My name is Grant and These are My Funeral Home Stories.
Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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2023.05.28 13:03 FelicitySmoak_ On This Day In Michael Jackson HIStory - May 28th
 | 1971 - The Jackson 5 play at the Spectrum (now closed - 2009) in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. submitted by FelicitySmoak_ to MichaelJackson [link] [comments] 1988 - Michael's duet with Stevie Wonder , "Get It", from Stevie's album Characters peaks at #80 on the Hot 100 Chart while it was at #6 on the R&B chart 1989 - Michael was one of the few winners present at the Black Radio Exclusive awards show at the Universal Amphitheater in Los Angeles. He was honored as the "Triple Crown Winner for Outstanding Achievement in Pop, Rock and Soul." The elegantly laminated plaque has a black and gold edging, with purple printing on a faux-marble background, with a stylized photo image of Michael in his trademark black fedora. 1997 - His 2nd day in Poland starts with a stop at the presidential palace where Michael is received by the first lady. In his quest for a residence in Poland, he then visits the luxury Hotel Bristol. Price for the hotel ended up being too high. He then went to the Warsaw City Hall where he signed a “preliminary letter of intent” to develop a 'Michael Jackson’s Family Entertainment Park', in the Polish capital. https://preview.redd.it/l8aax0vbmf2b1.jpg?width=800&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2058be4c166fe6a5d16dc17142e7910fac7aad1f “My dream is to appeal to the child that lives in the heart of every man and woman on this planet and to create something in Poland that is so unique and so unusual that it cannot be experienced in any other place", he saidThe letter mentioned no price, but Jackson’s business manager, Tarak Ben Ammar, said in an interview that estimates of Jackson’s contribution range between $100 million and $300 million--modest sums by Western theme park standards. Poland would add an unknown amount. https://preview.redd.it/v3vax6femf2b1.jpg?width=636&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=fe01e404092b93a587184acbb64809e82e8675fe https://preview.redd.it/svjneycfmf2b1.jpg?width=800&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e9994183672ab7fe0eb2496407b91cafc3196922 " I would also like to tell a great truth, I have traveled all over the world six times and have been everywhere, but nowhere I liked it more than in Poland. A visit to Poland is the fulfillment of my childhood dreams...." He shops at the Kidiland toy store, reportedly in the amount of $670,000. He then goes to the children's hospital, with his arms loaded with gifts. https://preview.redd.it/kok5pazgmf2b1.jpg?width=639&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3ebb70051f68409f937c0775426c55ff67f9009c https://preview.redd.it/ncl93ephmf2b1.jpg?width=594&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=31621e03ff28ea84d04b050dcb0d9e0a1a403c49 Next he takes a helicopter to Lubiaz, in order to see Cistercian Abbey of Lubiaz, wich he also planned to purchase. Accompanied by Professor Marek Kwiatkowski, who guided him during his visit, Michael spends 45 minutes marveling at the Baroque architecture and the relics. He'll even try a little "heehee" in the middle of the Hall des Princes to test the acoustics! Michael, who wanted to settle in Poland, already saw himself owning this old building, despite the millions of dollars in restoration to be expected. https://preview.redd.it/ih1lgr0jmf2b1.jpg?width=389&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4d38bf32bbf497853881a2ee5ee22587d7672d2b In the evening, he flies to Bremen, Germany where in three days he will begin the 2nd leg of his HIStory Tour. https://preview.redd.it/2ea4068kmf2b1.jpg?width=547&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3cb5c1e7f75c3f9226c6c3fa9752b601cec7b5ca https://preview.redd.it/di920gqnmf2b1.jpg?width=736&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=72307480617262d831871b2f5b9e0d55a927a11a The plans to build the amusement park at a nearby military airport won approval from state officials in February 1998. Michael asks for sketches to be drawn up for the proposed theme parks, however, following the project’s approval and a huge hiatus, the army owning the airport does not agree to make it available for the park. Two grounds pointed out by the government will also be denied due to local protests. The Polish government abandons this project altogether and nothing will come out of it 2004 - Santa Barbara County Superior Court Judge Rodney Melville has ordered a trial-setting conference hearing today. Thomas Mesereau, Brian Oxman & Joe Jackson go to the courthouse; Michael's appearance isn't required. They argue for a reduction in his $3-million bail and seek an order to force prosecutors to move faster in sharing evidence. In accusing the prosecution of moving too slowly in giving the defense access to the evidence, as required by law, Mesereau said Michael's right to a fair trial was “jeopardized by the undue delay of discovery.” “The investigation of this case involves dozens of, if not over 100 witnesses, voluminous documents and expert examination on a variety of topics,” Jackson’s lawyers wrote. “The defense needs ample time to conduct follow-up witness interviews, locate and interview rebuttal witnesses and conduct its own forensic examinations, among other things.” Prosecutors have responded that they have turned over vast amounts of evidence already and are processing the information they have as quickly as possible. They also are strongly resisting an attempt by Mesereau to substantially reduce Jackson’s bail on grounds that it is much higher than the bail for other defendants facing similar charges. The bail-reduction request notes that Jackson has no prior record, arrests or convictions & that he has fully complied with all conditions of his release on bail, including attending court when ordered. “Mr. Jackson’s ties to this community are substantial,” the defense motion states. “The record reveals that Mr. Jackson is not a flight risk or a danger to the community. It is also apparent that Mr. Jackson intends to confront and vigorously defend rather than evade the allegations in this case.” Though Mesereau noted that Santa Barbara County’s bail schedule calls for bail of about $135,000 for the conspiracy and molestation charges in the grand jury complaint, prosecutors oppose the request on grounds that Jackson is a flight risk and that his wealth should be a factor in retaining high bail. Melville said early in the proceedings that he hoped a trial could begin before the end of this year, but legal experts and many criminal lawyers predicted that would be impossible. September 13 is set as the date for the trial to begin On another legal front, Janet Arvizo filed a claim against county child protection officials accusing them of moving too slowly in investigating leaks to the media that were helpful to Jackson’s defense. Before a psychiatrist who had examined Gavin told Santa Barbara County officials that the child had been molested, Welfare officials had interviewed the family after Living With Michael Jackson aired in early 2003 A memo written by authorities after Jackson’s arrest said the family had denied any sexual abuse. The memo was subsequently released on a website. Attorney Larry R. Feldman, representing the Arvizos, said he filed the claim, a necessary step before a lawsuit, to force county officials to speedily conclude their investigation to ensure that such a breach of confidentiality “will never occur again to another innocent child.” 2006 - Michael visited a Tokyo orphanage and told a group of 140 excited children "I love you" in Japanese. Michael's van was swarmed by 100+ fans as he arrived. Inside the Seibi Gakuen children's home, he watched a performance of traditional music and dance by the children before speaking briefly on stage. He later shook hands and signed autographs for the children. https://preview.redd.it/5lt7jdhqmf2b1.jpg?width=767&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7d3a34ad3850b3460555a46dee82abca40bdbb9a Michael's children and Grace visited with the children on this tour of the Japanese orphanage. https://preview.redd.it/f9q2mu3tmf2b1.jpg?width=218&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a3110b0dca7829696b7bbdb23ff3a6afc2557bbf "I look forward to seeing old friends and saying hello to my huge fan base in Japan who, like my other fans around the world, have for so many years consistently shown their love and support to me and my family."- MJ"Everyone couldn't believe such a big international star was visiting us," said Kiyoko Mito, headmistress of the Christian-run school. "The children only believed me after seeing the news yesterday that Michael Jackson was actually in Japan," she said 2009 - Having not heard from AEG regarding his salary, Conrad Murray sent another email to AEG & receives a response from Tim Wooley https://preview.redd.it/53qvtjwumf2b1.png?width=513&format=png&auto=webp&s=c048d2d7ca288f12a6a423237ced8234dba40b05 https://preview.redd.it/tsc7mzuvmf2b1.png?width=513&format=png&auto=webp&s=521de2b6de9a122d1ae45ba25caf39a5b7fb76a2 2013 - Jackson v AEG Trial Day 18 Katherine, Janet, Rebbie and Randy Jackson are in court. Only one of the siblings was allowed in the courtroom as they are potential witnesses. Janet accompanied Katherine during morning session while Rebbie was with her during the afternoon session. Paul Gongaware Testimony Jackson direct Paul Gongaware is one of the defendants in the case. He's an adverse witness called by the plaintiffs. Gongaware is Co-CEO of Concerts West, part of AEG Live. Gongaware has toured with Beach Boys, Led Zeppelin and is currently on tour with The Rolling Stones. He worked for Jerry Weintraub in the 80s He produced Prince's tour in 2004. He has not promoted/produced tours since. Gongaware has not talked to Prince after the tour Gongaware was a CPA licensed in NY and Washington. He said he believes he's still licensed but hasn't checked status since there's no need Gongaware testified that landing Jackson, whom he felt was the biggest artist of his era, was huge for AEG. In a 2008 email to AEG Live President and Chief Executive Randy Phillips, Gongaware described how the company should approach Jackson and his manager about a possible comeback tour: We need to start at the fundamentals. How we do it. The difference between [Live Nation] and us is huge. We are artist-based, they are Wall Street-driven. We are smart people. We are completely honest and transparent with everything we do. That's how [founder] Phil [Anschutz] wants itGongaware said he worked on an Elvis Presley tour. Panish asked if Elvis died of drug overdose, and Gongaware said "Yes". Gongaware replied to a condolences' email on July 5, 2009: I was working on the Elvis tour when he died, so I kind of knew what to expect. Still quite a shock "So you knew what to expect when Michael Jackson passed away, is that right, sir?", Brian Panish asked.Despite working as a tour promoter for 37 years -- including for Led Zeppelin, the Grateful Dead and many others -- Gongaware testified that the only artist he ever knew that was using drugs on tour was Rick James Panish asked about working for Jackson 5, Gongaware said had no interaction with Michael. Gongaware was a logistics manager on the Dangerous tour in 92-93. Panish said Michael made $100 million and donated it to charity. Gongaware said he didn't know When Gongaware met Jackson was with Colonel Parker (Elvis' manager) in Las Vegas. Michael had wanted to meet the Colonel Gongaware explained the difference between being tour manager and managing the tour. He talked about Michael's History tour Panish: "You knew that Michael had been to rehab during the dangerous tour?"Gongaware said he never knew MJ was involved with drugs until after the end of the Dangerous tour. Gongaware told LAPD he was aware of Jackson's previous use of pills/painkillers but did not want to get involved. Gongaware had known for years that Michael Jackson was taking painkillers but wasn't aware he was abusing them until MJ abruptly canceled his Dangerous world tour in the early 1990s to enter rehab. Gongaware said he knew of "two occasions" when Michael used painkillers between shows, but he claimed he didn't grasp the scope of the Michael's sickness until the taped 1993 announcement. "I would dispute knowing that he had a problem. I wasn't aware that there were problems", Gongaware said Gongaware said he knew a doctor was medicating Jackson during the Dangerous tour but did not find out why the tour was eventually cut short. "Didn't have time,I was just dealing with what was in front of me", he said Panish said Dr. Finkelstein testified under oath that Gongaware knew Michael had problems with painkillers before the Dangerous tour ended. Panish: "Do you dispute that?" (Finkelstein testimony)Gongaware said Dr. Finkelstein is his doctor and friend and that they talk off and on, but he doesn't know specifics of the doctor's deposition. Dr. Finkelstein said he gave MJ painkillers after the concert in Bangkok following Michael's scalp surgery. In Gongaware's video deposition: "Did you ever ask Dr. Finkelstein if he treated Michael during the Dangerous tour?"Another part of Gongaware's video depo: He said yes, he "occasionally treated Michael Jackson on the Dangerous tour" Panish: "Were you always honest with Michael?"Panish elicited contradictory testimony asking over and over about Gongaware's memory, how long he spent with lawyers to discuss testimony. On the Bad Tour MJ sold out 10 stadiums at 75,000 tickets per night. Panish: "That's a pretty big number?""No one knows how many shows we can get with Mikey," said Gongaware. Panish asked about name "Mikey" - he said he used it occasionally Email on 2/27/09 from Gongaware to Phillips: We are holding all of the risk, if Michael won't approve it we go without his approval.We let Mikey know just what it will cost him in terms of him making money, and then we go with or without him in London. We cannot be forced into stopping this, which Michael will try to do because he is lazy and constantly changes his mind to fit his immediate wants.Gongaware said his use "Mikey" was affectionate, not disparaging, and that the 'lazy' crack amounted to "poor choice of words" but one that accurately reflected how Michael "really didn't like to rehearse. He didn't like to do these kinds of things." "People were aware at this point there would be a press conference. Michael wouldn't show up at the conference, it'd cost money," Gongaware said. "It wasn't much risk at all, we hadn't spent money," Gongaware said about that point of the tour. This was prior to news conference. Gongaware said the situation in London, where they constantly referred to Michael as "Wacko Jacko" would impact marketability to sell tickets "He doesn't want to do this kind of things, but it was important to show Michael to the world if he wanted to do a show," Gongaware explained Jurors were shown several e-mails from Gongaware that Jackson lawyers suggested were evidence that AEG Live deliberately misled Jackson about how much money he would make from his comeback concerts and how many days he would have to rest between shows. Gongaware wrote to his boss, AEG Live President Randy Phillips, that they should present gross ticket sales numbers to Jackson, not the percentage of the net profits, during contract talks. "Maybe gross is a better number to throw around if we use numbers with Mikey listening"Panish talked about an email Gongaware sent to his secretary suggesting that she design a concert calendar for Jackson using light tan colors for show dates, while drawing attention to his rest days Don't want the shows to stand out too much when Michael looks at it.Less contrast between work and off. Maybe off days in a contrasting soft color. Put 'OFF' in each off day after July 8, as well. Figure it out so it looks like he's not working so much. Panish: "Did you want to change the color of the schedule to show Michael would not be working so hard?"Gongaware said it would be obvious when Michael would be working and not and he wasn't trying to trick him. Email on 3/25/09 from Phillips to Gongaware: "We need to pull the plug now. I will explain" Panish: "Mr. Phillips wanted to pull the plug on the show, right sir?""Kenny wanted the pull because the way she (Faye) handled situations," Gongaware explained. "She tried to control access to Michael and Kenny didn't like that" Karen Faye expressed strong opinion that the tour as dangerous and impractical for MJ. Panish asked about a chain of emails where Gongaware said the pulling the plug refers to Ms. Faye. "I believe he was," Gongaware repeated. In another March 25, 2009, email, Ortega wrote Gongaware that it was Faye's "strong opinion that this is dangerous and impractical with consideration to Michael's health and ability to perform.". "I thought he was in good shape at the press conference, I was there," Gongaware said at the deposition. Gongaware was at O2 arena and Phillips was with Michael. "Michael was late, Randy [Phillips] was saying I'm trying to get him going, I'm trying to get him going".As to Dr. Conrad Murray, Gongaware said there was 1 rehearsal he said hello to him. "It was basically a hello, on the floor at the Forum. Mikey asked me to retain him. I never hired him"Panish played an interview of Phillips to SkyTV after Michael died: "The guy is willing 2 leave his practice for large sum of money, so we hired him""I was told Michael wanted him as his doctor for the show," Gongaware said. Gongaware said Michael did not have any illness that he knew of. Gongaware: "He had taken a physical, he passed the physical and from what I understand there was nothing wrong with him. Maybe some hay fever"Gongaware said he received an email from Bob Taylor that everything was fine and that Michael had passed the physical. Gongaware said he never saw the results of the tests and doesn't know who saw them. Panish showed video deposition of Gongaware and a declaration he signed about a month before giving the deposition. They contradict themselves.At first, Gongaware insisted he did no negotiating with Murray, but, confronted with emails and his previous testimony, he changed his position and said, "The only thing I did with Dr. Murray was negotiate a price." Gongaware said that neither he nor anyone at the AEG investigated Murray's background or credentials Panish: "First you said how much did you want?"(to Dr. Murray)Gongaware said Dr. Murray had been Michael's personal doctor for the past 3 years. He said he did not know how many times MJ had seen the doctor. "Michael insisted on him, recommended him, and that was good enough for me, it was not for me to tell him who his doctor should be" Gongaware said "The fact that he had been Michael Jackson's personal physician for three years was good enough for me," Gongaware said. He said that Murray initially asked for $5 million to travel to London with Jackson and tend to him during the tour. "I just told him it wasn't going to happen," he said, recalling that Jackson then suggested offering him $150,000 a month. "Michael Jackson insisted on it and recommended him and it was not for me to tell him no," said Gongaware. "I wanted to provide what was necessary for him to do his job...He wanted a doctor and I wanted him to be healthy." Even after the offer of $150,000, Murray wasn't satisfied. "He started saying he wanted more and I said, 'The offer is coming directly from the artist," Gongaware said. Minutes later, he said Murray accepted. "Did that seem desperate to you?" asked Panish."We agreed on what the compensation was going to be, but there were a lot of issues to be resolved," Gongaware said. Gongaware said he recalled meeting with Dr. Murray where he was told the doctor was going to take care of the medical licensing in London. Gongaware and Timm Wooley are longtime friends. They are currently working on The Rolling Stones tour. Gongaware said he negotiated the price for Dr. Murray, but didn't negotiate the contract. Gongaware explained that he didn't do the negotiation, he would normally refer that to Wooley. Dr. Finkelstein and Gongaware have been friends for 35-plus years. Gongaware said he never offered Dr. Finkelstein the job of being MJ's doctor and said the doctor would be mistaken if he testified otherwise. Gongaware told the jury he called Dr. Finkelstein to ask what a fair price for a tour doctor would be. Doctor told him it was $10,000/week. As to Dr. Finkelstein wanting to be the tour doctor, Gongaware said he didn't recall specifically, but knew he wanted it."After his death we may have talked, but I don't recall specifics," Gongaware said. Gongaware said he sees Dr. Finkelstein a few times a year, but the subject of Michael never came up. Panish asked Gongaware if Dr. Finkelstein wanted to know if Michael was clean or using drugs. Gongaware said he didn't recall the conversation Panish asked: "You could have told Dr. Murray at any time that his services were no longer needed, couldn't you?"Gongaware told nanny, Grace Rwamba, that her services would not be needed anymore because AEG was cutting down on Michael's expenses "I never read the contract, I was there when Michael signed it, but didn't see what was in it," Gongaware said, "Doctor Murray was 100% Michael's cost" Based on the contract, Gongaware said 95% of the production expenses were Michael's responsibility, 5% AEG. Panish: "Who decided there was a need for a written contract with Dr. Murray?"Gongaware said that if the tour went forward, Dr. Murray would've made $1.5 million for 10 months. Ortega would've made almost that. Gongaware said although AEG never did a background check on Murray, in his view they had "checked out" the doctor according to their standard practices. "When we check out someone, we either rely on if we know the person or if they're known in the industry or if they're recommended by the artist & in this case, Dr. Murray was recommended by the artist, in fact, the artist insisted" Panish pressed Gongaware: "You did nothing to verify anything about Dr. Murray, isn't that true, sir?"Panish asked Gongaware if he approved budgets for April-July including Dr. Murray as production expense. He said he didn't know which budgets he approved. "It's my job to get that show on the road," Gongaware said. Gongaware said he had to know how much the production had spent at any given time, but didn't have time to read the budget. Panish: "Do you think you're good at your job, sir?"Gongaware testified that he didn't pay attention to the tour budgets that he approved, even though he was the tour manager.Paul Gongaware said he didn't read through the budgets, instead trusting that the tour accountant knew what he was talking about. Gongaware testified that Dr. Murray's salary, although included in the company's budget for several months, wasn't something he saw as an actual payment that would be made. "If there's a potential for cost we put it in our budget so there are no surprises later", he said. Gongaware often pleaded poor memory of events. He said he may have met with Jackson as many as 10 times, but could remember only two of the meetings and only one when Murray was present Gongaware said he doesn't remember how many meetings he attended at Carolwood house. He didn't recall a meeting where a vase was broken. "There was a meeting where he signed the contract," Gongaware recalled, saying there were more but he doesn't remember specifics. At the meeting in early June, Gongaware said he was present along with Kenny, Randy, Frank DiLeo, Dr. Murray and Michael. "The meeting was about making sure Michael and Dr. Murray had everything they needed to care for Michael," Gongaware explained. "Yes, we did talk about health-related issues. It was more a general meeting about what Dr. Murray would need", Gongaware said. He had told the police the topic of the meeting was Jackson's overall health ( i.e., diet, stamina and his weight) He remembered that Jackson arrived late from a doctor's appointment and had slurred speech. Gongaware said Michael Jackson "was a bit off". "He was just coming back from visiting Dr. Klein. I believe he was under the influence of something. That was the only time I saw him like that", Gongaware said. Jackson had missed a rehearsal and was thought to be dancing at home. However they discovered he was only watching video. Doctor Murray was receptive to their concerns and indicated he would take care of the situation Court Transcript |
2023.05.28 00:05 RickyBobby_DriveFast 2000 Chevy Conversion Van - Fuel pump nightmares
 | Hey everyone, I could use some tips on rewiring the fuel pump on my sweet travel van (Express 1500). Whoever did the wiring conversion looks to have screwed this 6 ways to Sunday. I've found some different digrams and schematic but want to confirm how these new connectors are supposed to be wired. The pictures are how I found my new pump wasn't working. I tested it out of the tank by itself, not in assembly. submitted by RickyBobby_DriveFast to projectcar [link] [comments] Can anyone confirm the connector is supposed to be in this order? The colors are all wrong from what I'm seeing. I know the OEM power, ground, level signal, low ground. Need the 4 pin on the assembly confirmed. TIA! |
2023.05.27 20:54 Bathroom-Salt Here it is. In full. Grammar errors and everything.
Reading dbrand's fine print is kind of like joining a secret club - one that entitles you to learn all of the most legally questionable aspects of our business. Creative accounting Tricks? Plans to destroy the sun? Horrific industrial "accidents" that have claimed the lives of countless scientists? It's all in here - this fine print sheds light on things that probably should have stayed in the dark. On that note- remember how we called it a "secret club"? Well, it's your responsibility to make sure it stays that way. If you fail to do so, just remember: we know where you live.
For some, it expresses a preference that all consumer goods should offer a Matte Black colorway. For us, it means we won’t rest until the entire world is coated Matte Black. How do we accomplish this? Simple, we destroy the sun. For the past five years, all of our money – or rather, your money – has funded the production of a cartoonishly large laser beam. We’ll cut to the chase: star-destroying lasers aren’t cheap. Neither are our products – you can blame the sun for that. Our accounting Robots just sent out an internal email. The message was clear: we’ve officially made too much money. As a result, our corporate bank accounts have been frozen. Turns out bribing the bank to unfreeze your assets is a lot easier when your assets aren’t frozen. Lucky for us, kidnapping the CEO’s son is free. With our exorbitant profits safely returned and a newfound distrust for financial institutions, we turned to the time-honored storage solution of simply stashing cash under the mattress. Here’s the deal: we need to buy a hundred thousand mattresses. Your order is bankrolling that purchase. Here’s hoping Casper ships in bulk.
Pastel skin development was a bit of a bumpy road. It began with us rounding up hundreds of test subjects and strapping them into chairs. Then, we blasted about sixteen million different colors directly into their eyeballs over the course of... thirty days? To be honest, we weren't really keeping track. Afterwards, as the lights came back up, we asked them to list their favorites. Their response, sadly, was not the perfectly recited list of CMYK values we had hoped for. Instead, a few of them said something about violating the Geneva Convention. We gently reminded them that they were a focus group, not prisoners of war. That seemed to shut them up. The remaining 99% of test subjects seemed completely incapable of speech for some reason. In the end, we got little usable data from the exercise. Instead, we picked eight colors at random. Don't let our test subjects' sacrifice be in vain.
The bees are dying. It starts with their exposure to pesticides. Over time, an acute poisoning sets in. Immune system? Ravaged. Their cognitive abilities fade to nothingness. Death ensues. They're dropping like flies out there. Soon, we'll be saying "they're dropping like bees out there." As a hive's worker bee population gets decimated, the queen runs out of servants. Much like yourself, the queen can’t do anything on her own. She dies too. The hive follows suit. This is a phenomenon known as “Colony Collapse Disorder,” and it’s contributing to bee shortages all over the globe.
You may be wondering: what does any of this have to with our products? Absolutely nothing. Don't let that stop you from buying some. Where were you when dbrand succeeded in their planetary conquest? Don't answer that - we know where you were. You were buying stuff off our website. Well, we've got good news. Once we've assumed control, we'll be instating a representative for the human race - mostly as a figurehead, so that you'll all keep giving us your money. How will we select this representative? First, we'll stage a cruel, bizarre decathlon. Events will include running an obstacle course constructed entirely of flamethrowers and holding your breath while submerged in a tub of hot sauce. The winner of the decathlon will get absolutely nothing – we’ll just stage it for kicks. Then, we’ll select the representative for all humankind based on how many dbrand orders they’ve placed.
We were halfway through building a fort out of your money when we realized… we need a fireplace that we can use to burn money. For warmth. There’s one problem: if we use cash to build the fireplace, we have less to burn. You see the issue, yes? Excellent. That’s why we’re having a sale. Did you know that was the origin of the term "fire-sale"? To describe a promotion that would generate revenue to use as kindling? Look it up. In a book. Then, give the book to us. We won't burn the book - we're not monsters. We'll just pawn the book off and burn the sweet, flammable proceeds. Once we've completed our money fireplace, we'll need to hang something over the mantlepiece. We were thinking of hiring an interior designer for that. Have you ever hired and interior designer? Of course not. Anyway, their rates are ridiculous.
We get a lot of questions about where our money comes from. To be fair, most of them come from the IRS. It's apparently a "red-flag" that a phone case manufacturer has accumulated enough wealth to construct an island fortress in shark-infested waters. We tried explaining that the sharks came with the property. They didn't care. Anyways, we extended an invitation for their auditors to come out and meet the Sharks for themselves. Upon arrival, we gave them a “carefully guided tour” through our compound, fed them a lunch that contained absolutely no arsenic, then brought them down to the pier to observe the sharks from a safe distance. You're probably wondering: why didn't we give the sharks an auditor-flavored lunch? Simple: Since their safe return to Washington, the IRS is now turning a blind eye to our “enterprise.” While the auditors may be off our backs, those sharks aren't going to feed themselves. Maybe we'll bring the Supreme Court down for a visit.
In 2020, Apple decided to enter the Magnet game. This was a mistake for everyone. You see, our magnet division have been preparing for this inevitability. Shortly after Tim got off stage, our magnet scientist unveiled what can only be described as the most powerful magnet on Earth. Once removed from containment, the magnet barreled into the nearest robot with so much force, the entire population of French Polynesia heard the impact. Naturally, a single robot was not enough to stop the magnetic rampage. To make a long story short, a gigantic ball of assorted metals has been wreaking havoc along the Guatemalan coast for the past few years. Needless to say, we went with a slightly less powerful magnet for the grip case. Our only advice is to keep it far, far away from Guatemala. Imagine, if you will, a vaguely criminal business enterprise. This “business,” which shall remain nameless, can only attribute about 11% of its annual revenues to activities that the police might describe as, “legal”. The accountants for this “business” advised that, in order to avoid a catastrophic financial investigation, they'd need to “cook the books”. Strange advice, right? How would a warehouse of oven roasted books help to satisfy a Government Audit? Turns out, “cooking the books” is actually slang for “fraudulent accounting tactics”. Why did the accountants wait until the entire building was on fire to mention that? Doesn't matter. Point is, we need some new books to cook, and your wallet is on the menu.
Here's a fun fact: every month, at least three psychopaths request that we make skins out of real human flesh. Ten times out of ten, the “should we call the cops?” conversation is preempted by a different, more important question: “is this an opportunity to make money?” Needless to say, we bought a van. After driving around and “collecting” a bunch of hitchhikers, we returned to HQ only to find we had been charged with kidnapping. Since it's apparently illegal to monetize humans in the way we had planned, we decided to pivot to Cow Hides instead. If you've ever wondered whether or not we can launch a product line from within the walls of a maximum-security prison, Leather is your answer.
While we're on the subject of maximum-security, prisons, have you ever broken out of one? Turns out, it's far more challenging than one might think. Our first thought was to bribe all of the guards. Apparently. The banks saw this coming and froze our assets. With the easy route closed, we had no choice but to rely on our business acumen. After a few months of deal making and strong arming, we had amassed a commercial empire within the walls of the prison. In other words, we add enough cigarettes to recreate the Great Chicago Fire. This is, in fact, precisely what we did- Just replace Chicago with Toronto East Detention Center, then burn it to the ground. Speaking of which, did you know that the Great Chicago Fire was started by a cow? Google it, then rest easy: with the launch of. With the launch of Leather, Justice was finally served. Henry Ford once said that a customer can have a car in any color, so long as it's black. Apparently, Sony missed the memo with their white PS5 Henry Ford? Spinning in his grave. We exhumed his corpse and saw it for ourselves, having unearthed A perpetual motion machine. That defies all known laws, the laws of physics we set to work: How could we utilize this self-powered skeletal term vine to power the production of dark plates?
As it turns out, Henry Ford generates less energy than it took to dig him up. Without sufficient electricity to power our Darkplates production lines, we instead applied for a Nobel Prize in Physics. The plan was to spend the prize money on a nuclear reactor. Turns out, the Nobel foundation has some “ethical code” which “prohibits” participants from “needlessly” exhuming corpses based on a “hunch” that the deceased has begun to spin. We’ll see how they feel when we’re digging up their graves. When we decided to redesign the Darkplates, we quickly realized that it was going to be a monumental task. This led to the formation of dbrand’s Plate Science division… or at least, that was the plan. See, we quickly realized that the term “Plate Scientist” means many things to different people. To geologists, it might mean “someone who studies Plate Tectonics,” which would explain why 100% of our applicants were geologists. With our newly assembled team of people who think a PlayStation is a Nintendo, we got to work. Normally, this story would end with the successful development of Darkplates 2.0. Instead, these so-called Plate Scientists gave us a bag of rocks. After both the Plate Science division and the geologists who staffed it had been dissolved, we went back to the drawing board. Turns out, our Industrial Design Robots had already designed Darkplates 2.0. A portion of the proceeds went towards replenishing our supply of sulfuric acid.
On Canada Day, we waived all shipping fees. Why, you ask? Simple – as Canadians we know that saving money on shipping means more opportunity to buy life-saving snowshoes. As the great Wayne Gretzky once said, “snowshoes – they’re the only sure-fire way to escape a polar bear attack.” Not Canadian? No clue why a polar bear would be attacking to begin with? Allow us to paint you a picture.
You just finished tapping the sap out of a faithful Maple Tree. A few unassuming drops spill on your parka. The polar bears don’t necessarily care for the sap – it’s the smell of fear and flesh they crave. Within moments, you’ve become prey. As your snowshoe-less boots dash gracelessly toward your igloo, narrowly escaping the third hyper-carnivorous near-death experience of the week, you pause to reflect: “Why the hell do I live in an igloo? It’s July.” Your sense quickly returns to remind you of the truth: you spent most of your money on dbrand and ice is cheaper than bricks. As your makeshift home melts around you and the grumbling stomachs of a polar bear family close in, your frostbite-ridden lips manage one final sentence: “I’m sorry I didn’t spend more on dbrand.”
When Linus “Tech Tips” Sebastian rang us up to propose a limited edition dbrand collaboration, we couldn’t hang up fast enough. Seventy-two “missed” calls later, Anthony Young’s name popped up on our caller ID. One phone conversation later, the Linus Face Tips drop was born. Our elevator pitch? It’s like if the LTT Store was good. Well, half-good.
See, here at dbrand we believe in offering choices. Specifically, a right choice and a wrong choice. Do we trust you to choose correctly? Never. That’s why we’ve designed our business model around your terrible decisions – we get paid either way. Great thinking, dbrand. Every time an iPhone screen shatters, Tim Apple feels a pleasant chill run down his spine. It can happen at any time: while he’s exercising, doing his taxes, eating an apple… even while he’s getting some shut-eye. Good ol’ Timmy hasn’t had a solid night’s sleep in over a decade. Why does this strange convulsion happen, you ask? Easy: from anywhere in the world, he can sense the repair fees he’s about to rack up. He’s like a shark, sensing the blood money in the waters. Unlike most sharks, this one can breathe oxygen and chairs one of the largest mega corps in the world. Scared? You should be. You’re already frantically Googling “Shark Repellent,” aren’t you? Stop that right now. He can sense your fear. Instead, get a screen protector. If we can prevent an iPhone screen from ever shattering again, it’ll cut off Tim’s main food supply and send him back to the ocean, where he belongs.
Are you sitting down? Good. We want you to remain calm. See, the truth is… the cows have escaped. It all started when one of our “interns” forgot to lock a gate at our Leather Production Facility. The rest is history – just like the intern. Is it accurate to say that we fired him? Debatable, really. On one hand: “firing him” implies that he worked for us by choice. On the other hand, his ashes are currently in the care of his family. None of this changes the fact that a legion of angry cows is currently on the loose. There’s no telling what they’ll do. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and buy some Leather while you still can. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got some herding to do.
Every Valentine’s Day, you ask yourself the same question. “Why am I still single?” We’ll answer your question with one of our own: do you have any idea how strict our character limit is? If we could fit our best-selling book “Why Nobody Loves You” into this space, we would. We can’t… so instead, here’s Chapter 11: you’re broke. Did we have something to do with that? Probably. Is that going to stop us from bleeding you further? Absolutely not. There’s only one solution: buy enough vinyl to fill the colossal hole in your heart. Look on the bright side: it’s cheaper than dating.
Despite our best efforts to detain Zack at our Teardown facility, he somehow keeps finding ways to escape. To overcome this hurdle, we held auditions for “volunteer Zacks.” Average, untalented Americans looking for a shortcut to YouTube superstardom. It was a disaster. Putting aside the fact that their baldness required constant maintenance, it turns out they were utterly incapable of jerry rigging anything. Normally, we’d just incinerate them and move on. Unfortunately, Zack is a bit of an environmentalist. As a result, our “Recycling Department” reluctantly devised a zero-emissions way to repurpose the volunteers. After replacing some unnecessary organs with mechanical upgrades, we soon had assembly lines of bald cyborgs tearing down devices around the clock. To make a long story short, we’re now offering consulting services to other corporations looking to shift away from human labor. If they’re going to collapse the job market, we may as well bankrupt them in the process.
Every time you get a package from dbrand, you can hardly contain your excitement. It’s not because you’re excited to give us your money – though you should be. It’s because you’re excited to read the bizarre text on the packaging. Think of it as a reward for making the effort to read – certainly, a lot more work than you’re used to. Now, You’re here. The disappointment has begun to set in. You’re realizing that you’ve been bamboozled. You’re reading a metacommentary on our packaging copy. What is this, school? The last time you took one of those fancy-pants book-learning classes, they had to invent a grade lower than F. You don’t even know what commentary means, let alone “metacommentary.” To be perfectly honest, we’re surprised you made it this far. Spoiler alert: there is absolutely nothing you can do to get this time back. Signed, a Robot.
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For some, it expresses a preference that all consumer goods should offer a Matte Black colorway. For us, it means we won’t rest until the entire world is coated Matte Black. How do we accomplish this? Simple, we destroy the sun. For the past five years, all of our money – or rather, your money – has funded the production of a cartoonishly large laser beam. We’ll cut to the chase: star-destroying lasers aren’t cheap. Neither are our products – you can blame the sun for that. Our accounting Robots just sent out an internal email. The message was clear: we’ve officially made too much money. As a result, our corporate bank accounts have been frozen. Turns out bribing the bank to unfreeze your assets is a lot easier when your assets aren’t frozen. Lucky for us, kidnapping the CEO’s son is free. With our exorbitant profits safely returned and a newfound distrust for financial institutions, we turned to the time-honored storage solution of simply stashing cash under the mattress. Here’s the deal: we need to buy a hundred thousand mattresses. Your order is bankrolling that purchase. Here’s hoping Casper ships in bulk.
Pastel skin development was a bit of a bumpy road. It began with us rounding up hundreds of test subjects and strapping them into chairs. Then, we blasted about sixteen million different colors directly into their eyeballs over the course of... thirty days? To be honest, we weren't really keeping track. Afterwards, as the lights came back up, we asked them to list their favorites. Their response, sadly, was not the perfectly recited list of CMYK values we had hoped for. Instead, a few of them said something about violating the Geneva Convention. We gently reminded them that they were a focus group, not prisoners of war. That seemed to shut them up. The remaining 99% of test subjects seemed completely incapable of speech for some reason. In the end, we got little usable data from the exercise. Instead, we picked eight colors at random. Don't let our test subjects' sacrifice be in vain.
The bees are dying. It starts with their exposure to pesticides. Over time, an acute poisoning sets in. Immune system? Ravaged. Their cognitive abilities fade to nothingness. Death ensues. They're dropping like flies out there. Soon, we'll be saying "they're dropping like bees out there." As a hive's worker bee population gets decimated, the queen runs out of servants. Much like yourself, the queen can’t do anything on her own. She dies too. The hive follows suit. This is a phenomenon known as “Colony Collapse Disorder,” and it’s contributing to bee shortages all over the globe.
You may be wondering: what does any of this have to with our products? Absolutely nothing. Don't let that stop you from buying some. Where were you when dbrand succeeded in their planetary conquest? Don't answer that - we know where you were. You were buying stuff off our website. Well, we've got good news. Once we've assumed control, we'll be instating a representative for the human race - mostly as a figurehead, so that you'll all keep giving us your money. How will we select this representative? First, we'll stage a cruel, bizarre decathlon. Events will include running an obstacle course constructed entirely of flamethrowers and holding your breath while submerged in a tub of hot sauce. The winner of the decathlon will get absolutely nothing – we’ll just stage it for kicks. Then, we’ll select the representative for all humankind based on how many dbrand orders they’ve placed.
We were halfway through building a fort out of your money when we realized… we need a fireplace that we can use to burn money. For warmth. There’s one problem: if we use cash to build the fireplace, we have less to burn. You see the issue, yes? Excellent. That’s why we’re having a sale. Did you know that was the origin of the term "fire-sale"? To describe a promotion that would generate revenue to use as kindling? Look it up. In a book. Then, give the book to us. We won't burn the book - we're not monsters. We'll just pawn the book off and burn the sweet, flammable proceeds. Once we've completed our money fireplace, we'll need to hang something over the mantlepiece. We were thinking of hiring an interior designer for that. Have you ever hired and interior designer? Of course not. Anyway, their rates are ridiculous.
We get a lot of questions about where our money comes from. To be fair, most of them come from the IRS. It's apparently a "red-flag" that a phone case manufacturer has accumulated enough wealth to construct an island fortress in shark-infested waters. We tried explaining that the sharks came with the property. They didn't care. Anyways, we extended an invitation for their auditors to come out and meet the Sharks for themselves. Upon arrival, we gave them a “carefully guided tour” through our compound, fed them a lunch that contained absolutely no arsenic, then brought them down to the pier to observe the sharks from a safe distance. You're probably wondering: why didn't we give the sharks an auditor-flavored lunch? Simple: Since their safe return to Washington, the IRS is now turning a blind eye to our “enterprise.” While the auditors may be off our backs, those sharks aren't going to feed themselves. Maybe we'll bring the Supreme Court down for a visit.
In 2020, Apple decided to enter the Magnet game. This was a mistake for everyone. You see, our magnet division have been preparing for this inevitability. Shortly after Tim got off stage, our magnet scientist unveiled what can only be described as the most powerful magnet on Earth. Once removed from containment, the magnet barreled into the nearest robot with so much force, the entire population of French Polynesia heard the impact. Naturally, a single robot was not enough to stop the magnetic rampage. To make a long story short, a gigantic ball of assorted metals has been wreaking havoc along the Guatemalan coast for the past few years. Needless to say, we went with a slightly less powerful magnet for the grip case. Our only advice is to keep it far, far away from Guatemala. Imagine, if you will, a vaguely criminal business enterprise. This “business,” which shall remain nameless, can only attribute about 11% of its annual revenues to activities that the police might describe as, “legal”. The accountants for this “business” advised that, in order to avoid a catastrophic financial investigation, they'd need to “cook the books”. Strange advice, right? How would a warehouse of oven roasted books help to satisfy a Government Audit? Turns out, “cooking the books” is actually slang for “fraudulent accounting tactics”. Why did the accountants wait until the entire building was on fire to mention that? Doesn't matter. Point is, we need some new books to cook, and your wallet is on the menu.
Here's a fun fact: every month, at least three psychopaths request that we make skins out of real human flesh. Ten times out of ten, the “should we call the cops?” conversation is preempted by a different, more important question: “is this an opportunity to make money?” Needless to say, we bought a van. After driving around and “collecting” a bunch of hitchhikers, we returned to HQ only to find we had been charged with kidnapping. Since it's apparently illegal to monetize humans in the way we had planned, we decided to pivot to Cow Hides instead. If you've ever wondered whether or not we can launch a product line from within the walls of a maximum-security prison, Leather is your answer.
While we're on the subject of maximum-security, prisons, have you ever broken out of one? Turns out, it's far more challenging than one might think. Our first thought was to bribe all of the guards. Apparently. The banks saw this coming and froze our assets. With the easy route closed, we had no choice but to rely on our business acumen. After a few months of deal making and strong arming, we had amassed a commercial empire within the walls of the prison. In other words, we add enough cigarettes to recreate the Great Chicago Fire. This is, in fact, precisely what we did- Just replace Chicago with Toronto East Detention Center, then burn it to the ground. Speaking of which, did you know that the Great Chicago Fire was started by a cow? Google it, then rest easy: with the launch of. With the launch of Leather, Justice was finally served. Henry Ford once said that a customer can have a car in any color, so long as it's black. Apparently, Sony missed the memo with their white PS5 Henry Ford? Spinning in his grave. We exhumed his corpse and saw it for ourselves, having unearthed A perpetual motion machine. That defies all known laws, the laws of physics we set to work: How could we utilize this self-powered skeletal term vine to power the production of dark plates?
As it turns out, Henry Ford generates less energy than it took to dig him up. Without sufficient electricity to power our Darkplates production lines, we instead applied for a Nobel Prize in Physics. The plan was to spend the prize money on a nuclear reactor. Turns out, the Nobel foundation has some “ethical code” which “prohibits” participants from “needlessly” exhuming corpses based on a “hunch” that the deceased has begun to spin. We’ll see how they feel when we’re digging up their graves. When we decided to redesign the Darkplates, we quickly realized that it was going to be a monumental task. This led to the formation of dbrand’s Plate Science division… or at least, that was the plan. See, we quickly realized that the term “Plate Scientist” means many things to different people. To geologists, it might mean “someone who studies Plate Tectonics,” which would explain why 100% of our applicants were geologists. With our newly assembled team of people who think a PlayStation is a Nintendo, we got to work. Normally, this story would end with the successful development of Darkplates 2.0. Instead, these so-called Plate Scientists gave us a bag of rocks. After both the Plate Science division and the geologists who staffed it had been dissolved, we went back to the drawing board. Turns out, our Industrial Design Robots had already designed Darkplates 2.0. A portion of the proceeds went towards replenishing our supply of sulfuric acid.
On Canada Day, we waived all shipping fees. Why, you ask? Simple – as Canadians we know that saving money on shipping means more opportunity to buy life-saving snowshoes. As the great Wayne Gretzky once said, “snowshoes – they’re the only sure-fire way to escape a polar bear attack.” Not Canadian? No clue why a polar bear would be attacking to begin with? Allow us to paint you a picture.
You just finished tapping the sap out of a faithful Maple Tree. A few unassuming drops spill on your parka. The polar bears don’t necessarily care for the sap – it’s the smell of fear and flesh they crave. Within moments, you’ve become prey. As your snowshoe-less boots dash gracelessly toward your igloo, narrowly escaping the third hyper-carnivorous near-death experience of the week, you pause to reflect: “Why the hell do I live in an igloo? It’s July.” Your sense quickly returns to remind you of the truth: you spent most of your money on dbrand and ice is cheaper than bricks. As your makeshift home melts around you and the grumbling stomachs of a polar bear family close in, your frostbite-ridden lips manage one final sentence: “I’m sorry I didn’t spend more on dbrand.”
When Linus “Tech Tips” Sebastian rang us up to propose a limited edition dbrand collaboration, we couldn’t hang up fast enough. Seventy-two “missed” calls later, Anthony Young’s name popped up on our caller ID. One phone conversation later, the Linus Face Tips drop was born. Our elevator pitch? It’s like if the LTT Store was good. Well, half-good.
See, here at dbrand we believe in offering choices. Specifically, a right choice and a wrong choice. Do we trust you to choose correctly? Never. That’s why we’ve designed our business model around your terrible decisions – we get paid either way. Great thinking, dbrand. Every time an iPhone screen shatters, Tim Apple feels a pleasant chill run down his spine. It can happen at any time: while he’s exercising, doing his taxes, eating an apple… even while he’s getting some shut-eye. Good ol’ Timmy hasn’t had a solid night’s sleep in over a decade. Why does this strange convulsion happen, you ask? Easy: from anywhere in the world, he can sense the repair fees he’s about to rack up. He’s like a shark, sensing the blood money in the waters. Unlike most sharks, this one can breathe oxygen and chairs one of the largest mega corps in the world. Scared? You should be. You’re already frantically Googling “Shark Repellent,” aren’t you? Stop that right now. He can sense your fear. Instead, get a screen protector. If we can prevent an iPhone screen from ever shattering again, it’ll cut off Tim’s main food supply and send him back to the ocean, where he belongs.
Are you sitting down? Good. We want you to remain calm. See, the truth is… the cows have escaped. It all started when one of our “interns” forgot to lock a gate at our Leather Production Facility. The rest is history – just like the intern. Is it accurate to say that we fired him? Debatable, really. On one hand: “firing him” implies that he worked for us by choice. On the other hand, his ashes are currently in the care of his family. None of this changes the fact that a legion of angry cows is currently on the loose. There’s no telling what they’ll do. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and buy some Leather while you still can. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got some herding to do.
Every Valentine’s Day, you ask yourself the same question. “Why am I still single?” We’ll answer your question with one of our own: do you have any idea how strict our character limit is? If we could fit our best-selling book “Why Nobody Loves You” into this space, we would. We can’t… so instead, here’s Chapter 11: you’re broke. Did we have something to do with that? Probably. Is that going to stop us from bleeding you further? Absolutely not. There’s only one solution: buy enough vinyl to fill the colossal hole in your heart. Look on the bright side: it’s cheaper than dating.
Despite our best efforts to detain Zack at our Teardown facility, he somehow keeps finding ways to escape. To overcome this hurdle, we held auditions for “volunteer Zacks.” Average, untalented Americans looking for a shortcut to YouTube superstardom. It was a disaster. Putting aside the fact that their baldness required constant maintenance, it turns out they were utterly incapable of jerry rigging anything. Normally, we’d just incinerate them and move on. Unfortunately, Zack is a bit of an environmentalist. As a result, our “Recycling Department” reluctantly devised a zero-emissions way to repurpose the volunteers. After replacing some unnecessary organs with mechanical upgrades, we soon had assembly lines of bald cyborgs tearing down devices around the clock. To make a long story short, we’re now offering consulting services to other corporations looking to shift away from human labor. If they’re going to collapse the job market, we may as well bankrupt them in the process.
Every time you get a package from dbrand, you can hardly contain your excitement. It’s not because you’re excited to give us your money – though you should be. It’s because you’re excited to read the bizarre text on the packaging. Think of it as a reward for making the effort to read – certainly, a lot more work than you’re used to. Now, You’re here. The disappointment has begun to set in. You’re realizing that you’ve been bamboozled. You’re reading a metacommentary on our packaging copy. What is this, school? The last time you took one of those fancy-pants book-learning classes, they had to invent a grade lower than F. You don’t even know what commentary means, let alone “metacommentary.” To be perfectly honest, we’re surprised you made it this far. Spoiler alert: there is absolutely nothing you can do to get this time back. Signed, a Robot.
2023.05.27 20:18 jimbobbypaul Ranking the Top 131 FBS Programs of the Last 40 Years: 90. Indiana
Main hub thread with the full 131 rankings
Hoosier Daddy? Indiana finally comes in at 90 after weeks of clamoring from their fans. The Hoosiers don’t have a lot of historical success, with just 2 AP top 10 finishes since 1936, when the poll originated. What they do have, is a loyal and passionate fanbase. I can’t imagine they’ll continue to struggle forever, as each of their last 3 coaches have gotten them to a bowl game, and they have a strong alumni base. Still, they come in as the 4th worst Power 5 team on this list and the last placed team in the Big Ten.
1984 Indiana wouldn’t have even been the best team in their state if they went down a level—Indiana State was ranked atop the Division 1-AA polls for most of the year after a 9-0 start. Still, the theme of the season for the 1984 Hoosiers was “growing pains”. Led by first year head coach Bill Mallory, Mallory would go on to become the school’s winningest coach with a record of 69-77-3 from 1984-96, making 6 bowls and appearing in the AP Top 25 in 6 separate years. So for the 1984 season, it was about laying the foundation to break a losing culture that had lasted over 3 decades. After starting the season losing 24-31 to (eventual) 2-9 Duke and 14-48 to Kentucky, Indiana slowly improved throughout the year, losing 6 Big Ten games by one possession. QB Steve Bradley threw for 2544 yards 10 TD 20 INT, but somehow was drafted in the 12th round of the 1986 NFL Draft despite never posting a single season with more TDs than INTs. OT Kevin Allen was by far the most talented player on the team, picked with the 9th overall selection by the Philadelphia Eagles in the 1985 NFL Draft, but would go on to be a collasal bust and despised in Philly. Allen was ranked as the 4th worst player in NFL history by Deadspin in 2011.
5. 1991 (7-4-1 overall, 5-3 Big Ten)
We’ll see 4 seasons from coach Mallory in this top 5. After a great 1987 and ‘88, Indiana had fallen back into their old ways in ‘89-90, going 11-11-1 and 6-9-1 in the Big Ten. Mallory brought Indiana back to the Big Ten’s top 4 in 1991, mostly thanks to the consensus All-American season by RB Vaughn Dunbar, but also because of the emergence of QB Trent Green. Dunbar finished 6th in Heisman voting, amassing 2068 yards and 12 TD from scrimmage. He set the school record for rushing yards with 1805, unbroken until Tevin Coleman in 2014. Green led the Big Ten in TDs with 25, completing 59% of passes for 2627 yards and 12 TD 14 INT, while rushing for 202 yards and 13 TD. Indiana mostly beat up on teams that finished with losing records (but are known today as solid programs) like Michigan State, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. One possession losses to #4 Michigan and #19 Ohio State showed they could compete with the big boys too. The season came down to 5-4-1 Indiana vs 4-6 Purdue for the Old Oaken Bucket and a bowl appearance for Indiana. Purdue lined up for the winning 36 yard FG with 30 seconds left…and sailed it wide right. Indiana took the Bucket, made the Copper Bowl, and trounced Baylor 24-0 to finish 7-4-1 and 32nd in my rankings.
4. 1993 (8-4 overall, 5-3 Big Ten)
This was the last great Mallory-coached team, and the last Indiana team to make a bowl game until 2007. The run game was much weaker than usual, but this was easily the best defense in the Mallory era, giving up just 16.4 PPG with 9 players that played in the NFL. Indiana jumped out to a 5-1 start, giving up just 12.3 PPG, then shut out Northwestern 24-0 and #22 Michigan State 10-0. Indiana was ranked #17, at 7-1 overall and 4-1 in the Big Ten, and had one of the best defenses in the country giving up just 9.3 PPG. A pivotal game against #19 Penn State was one of the biggest “prove it” games in recent memory for Indiana, and they nearly delivered, losing just 31-38. Indiana would also put up a great fight against #5 Ohio State, losing 17-24, before finishing 8-3 with a win over Purdue for the 5th time in 7 years. #21 Indiana lost 20-45 to #22 Virginia Tech in the Independence Bowl to finish the year 8-4, 4th place in the Big Ten, and #27 in my rankings.
3. 1987 (8-4 overall, 6-2 Big Ten)
This Indiana team was subtly stacked. This was Mallory’s 4th year as head coach, going from 0-11 to 4-7 to 6-6 the previous 3 years. 1987 was when they put the Big Ten on notice for the first time, and was in serious contention for the Big Ten title. After starting 3-1, Indiana headed to #9 Ohio State, who was coming off 8 straight years of AP top 15 finishes. The game wasn’t close—and not for the team you think. Indiana held Ohio State to just 10 rushing yards in the 2nd half of a 31-10 win, which Buckeyes coach Earle Bruce called “The darkest day in Ohio State football since I have been associated with it,” dating back to 1979. After a win over Minnesota, #15 Indiana hosted #20 Michigan in front of a nearly sold out crowd of 51,000, and caused delays on Michigan’s drives in the 2nd quarter because of crowd noise. The Indiana defense dominated yet again, winning 14-10, and this was the last time Indiana would beat Michigan until 2020.
The Big Ten was suddenly an unexpected 2-horse race between Indiana and Michigan State. #11 Indiana, their highest ranking in 18 years, made the trek to Kinnick Stadium, where dreams go to die, and Iowa beat the Hoosiers 29-21. Following up with a win over Illinois—Indiana controlled their destiny: Beat Michigan State and Purdue, and you’re Big Ten champions. Playing on national TV, #13 Michigan State dominated #16 Indiana 27-3, and the Spartans won the conference title. Purdue kicked the (old oaken) bucket in the rivalry game, and Indiana rolled to a 35-14 win and a 3rd place finish in the B1G. A close loss to Tennessee in the bowl and they finished 8-4.
The team was subtly stacked as I mentioned. RB Anthony Thompson ran for 1000+ yards and would go on to become a 2x consensus All-American. WR Ernie Jones caught 66 passes for 1265 yards and 13 TD, and was the Big Ten co-Player of the Year and a 1st Team All-American. OT Eric Moore was 2nd Team All-Big Ten and a top 10 NFL Draft pick in 1988. LB Van Waiters was 3rd Team All-American. Coach Mallory won Big Ten Coach of the Year. This has a real claim as the “best” Indiana team due to the wins over Ohio State/Michigan.
2. 2020 (6-2 overall, 6-1 Big Ten)
One of the darlings of 2020. The Penix → Fryfogle connection took the Big Ten by storm first in name, then in production. Indiana was coming off an 8-5 year in which they nearly missed out on 9WINDIANA status, and brought momentum into 2020. It seemed like everyone else overlooked them, though. The turning point in the season came immediately—week 1 against #8 Penn State. Down 35-28 in OT, Indiana scored on a 9 yard TD and elected to go for 2. Going for the left corner, Penix DIVED from the 5 yard line, reaching for the pylon…GOT IT! INDIANA WINS 36-35! 2 weeks later they’d beat #23 Michigan 38-21, their first win against the Wolverines since 1987. 1 week later Indiana would beat Michigan State 24-0 thanks to a standout defensive effort and a breakout 200 yard receiving performance from WR Ty Fryfogle.
That set up #9 Indiana at #3 Ohio State, the top 10 matchup we all saw coming. And boy, Indiana came to PLAY. Ohio State narrowly escaped with a 42-35 win, with Justin Fields throwing 3 INTs and Fryfogle going for 7 catches, 218 yards, and 3 TD. This Indiana team was legitimately a really good team, and they even beat #16 Wisconsin 14-6 to finish off the regular season. They’d lose the Outback Bowl in an upset to 4-5 Ole Miss, but finished #12 in the AP Poll, the highest in over 50 years. Penix finished 2nd Team All-Big Ten with 1645 passing yards 14 TD 4 INT. Fryfogle won the Big Ten WR of the Year, catching 37 balls for 721 yards and 7 TD. A whopping 4 defensive players finished 1st Team All-Big Ten, with the entire secondary making the 1st-3rd Team. Even special teams had no weaknesses, with kicker Charles Campbell going 10/11 on FGs. Penix has since transferred to Washington and continues to live up to his potential, finishing 8th in Heisman voting in 2022.
1. 1988 (8-3-1 overall, 5-3 Big Ten)
2020 was good…but 1988 was dominant. They opened with 41-14 and 35-16 wins over Rice and Kentucky. After tying Missouri and blowing out Northwestern, Indiana hosted Ohio State a year after the “darkest day” in Ohio State history. This was arguably worse. Indiana scored on 4 of their first 5 possessions, held a 28-0 lead at halftime, and big brother’d the Buckeyes 41-7. An unthinkable result today. Fast forward a few weeks later, 5-2 Indiana hosted 4-2-2 (their record, not a soccer formation) Iowa. Iowa QB Chuck Hartlieb would set the single game school record with an insane 558 passing yards, and Indiana RB Anthony Thompson broke a school record with 47 carries. Indiana won 45-34, after Iowa nearly came back from a 35-3 deficit. In the last week of the regular season, Indiana blew out Purdue 52-7 on their home turf, in one of the greatest performances in the rivalry’s history. Even the bowl game was a wipe, beating 8-3 South Carolina 34-10.
Indiana scored 33.0 PPG while giving up just 19.6 PPG. 7 wins were by 20+ points, and 4 by 30+. QB Dave Schnell, former 1985 high school player of the year, was 2nd Team All-Big Ten, leading the conference in yards per attempt. RB Anthony Thompson won his 1st of 2 Big Ten POTYs, rushing for 1686 yards and 26(!) TD on 4.7 YPC. 9 players total were 1st/2nd Team All-Big Ten. Kicker Pete Stoyanovich was 1st Team All-B1G, and went on to be Dan Marino’s kicker on the Miami Dolphins for 7 years from 1989-95. He also served as a kicking double in Ace Ventura, Pet Detective (1994).
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submitted by jimbobbypaul to CFB [link] [comments]
Hoosier Daddy? Indiana finally comes in at 90 after weeks of clamoring from their fans. The Hoosiers don’t have a lot of historical success, with just 2 AP top 10 finishes since 1936, when the poll originated. What they do have, is a loyal and passionate fanbase. I can’t imagine they’ll continue to struggle forever, as each of their last 3 coaches have gotten them to a bowl game, and they have a strong alumni base. Still, they come in as the 4th worst Power 5 team on this list and the last placed team in the Big Ten.
Best Seasons and Highlights
1. 1988: 21. Indiana: 8-3-1 (16.958) 2. 2020: 25. Indiana: 6-2 (14.813) 3. 1987: 26. Indiana: 8-4 (10.760) 4. 1993: 27. Indiana: 8-4 (9.215) 5. 1991: 32. Indiana: 7-4-1 (8.940) 6. 2019: 50. Indiana: 8-5 (-0.987) 7. 1990: 52. Indiana: 6-5-1 (-6.329) 8. 1994: 51. Indiana: 6-5 (-6.404) 9. 2007: 60. Indiana: 7-6 (-6.490) 10. 2001: 61. Indiana: 5-6 (-9.143) 11. 1986: 54. Indiana: 6-6 (-9.350) 12. 2015: 72. Indiana: 6-7 (-10.429) 13. 1989: 62. Indiana: 5-6 (-12.269) 14. 2018: 78. Indiana: 5-7 (-12.319) 15. 2013: 75. Indiana: 5-7 (-12.406) 16. 2016: 69. Indiana: 6-7 (-12.984) 17. 2017: 82. Indiana: 5-7 (-16.099) 18. 1992: 66. Indiana: 5-6 (-16.837) 19. 1998: 67. Indiana: 4-7 (-18.081) 20. 2006: 73. Indiana: 5-7 (-20.689) 21. 1999: 76. Indiana: 4-7 (-20.726) 22. 2022: 94. Indiana: 4-8 (-23.599) 23. 2010: 83. Indiana: 5-7 (-24.550) 24. 1996: 78. Indiana: 3-8 (-24.727) 25. 2014: 92. Indiana: 4-8 (-25.542) 26. 2009: 93. Indiana: 4-8 (-27.758) 27. 2000: 86. Indiana: 3-8 (-28.932) 28. 2012: 90. Indiana: 4-8 (-29.149) 29. 1985: 81. Indiana: 4-7 (-29.364) 30. 2005: 98. Indiana: 4-7 (-30.671) 31. 2004: 90. Indiana: 3-8 (-32.732) 32. 1983: 85. Indiana: 3-8 (-32.762) 33. 1995: 91. Indiana: 2-9 (-38.537) 34. 2008: 105. Indiana: 3-9 (-39.597) 35. 2002: 100. Indiana: 3-9 (-42.548) 36. 2021: 114. Indiana: 2-10 (-43.031) 37. 1997: 100. Indiana: 2-9 (-45.071) 38. 2003: 108. Indiana: 2-10 (-50.839) 39. 2011: 114. Indiana: 1-11 (-56.035) 40. 1984: 105. Indiana: 0-11 (-57.235) Overall Score: 8059 (90th)
- 181-281-3 record
- 0 conference titles
- 2-9 bowl record
- 4 consensus All-Americans
- 55 NFL players drafted
Top 5 Seasons
Worst Season: 1984 (0-11 overall, 0-9 Big Ten)1984 Indiana wouldn’t have even been the best team in their state if they went down a level—Indiana State was ranked atop the Division 1-AA polls for most of the year after a 9-0 start. Still, the theme of the season for the 1984 Hoosiers was “growing pains”. Led by first year head coach Bill Mallory, Mallory would go on to become the school’s winningest coach with a record of 69-77-3 from 1984-96, making 6 bowls and appearing in the AP Top 25 in 6 separate years. So for the 1984 season, it was about laying the foundation to break a losing culture that had lasted over 3 decades. After starting the season losing 24-31 to (eventual) 2-9 Duke and 14-48 to Kentucky, Indiana slowly improved throughout the year, losing 6 Big Ten games by one possession. QB Steve Bradley threw for 2544 yards 10 TD 20 INT, but somehow was drafted in the 12th round of the 1986 NFL Draft despite never posting a single season with more TDs than INTs. OT Kevin Allen was by far the most talented player on the team, picked with the 9th overall selection by the Philadelphia Eagles in the 1985 NFL Draft, but would go on to be a collasal bust and despised in Philly. Allen was ranked as the 4th worst player in NFL history by Deadspin in 2011.
5. 1991 (7-4-1 overall, 5-3 Big Ten)
We’ll see 4 seasons from coach Mallory in this top 5. After a great 1987 and ‘88, Indiana had fallen back into their old ways in ‘89-90, going 11-11-1 and 6-9-1 in the Big Ten. Mallory brought Indiana back to the Big Ten’s top 4 in 1991, mostly thanks to the consensus All-American season by RB Vaughn Dunbar, but also because of the emergence of QB Trent Green. Dunbar finished 6th in Heisman voting, amassing 2068 yards and 12 TD from scrimmage. He set the school record for rushing yards with 1805, unbroken until Tevin Coleman in 2014. Green led the Big Ten in TDs with 25, completing 59% of passes for 2627 yards and 12 TD 14 INT, while rushing for 202 yards and 13 TD. Indiana mostly beat up on teams that finished with losing records (but are known today as solid programs) like Michigan State, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. One possession losses to #4 Michigan and #19 Ohio State showed they could compete with the big boys too. The season came down to 5-4-1 Indiana vs 4-6 Purdue for the Old Oaken Bucket and a bowl appearance for Indiana. Purdue lined up for the winning 36 yard FG with 30 seconds left…and sailed it wide right. Indiana took the Bucket, made the Copper Bowl, and trounced Baylor 24-0 to finish 7-4-1 and 32nd in my rankings.
4. 1993 (8-4 overall, 5-3 Big Ten)
This was the last great Mallory-coached team, and the last Indiana team to make a bowl game until 2007. The run game was much weaker than usual, but this was easily the best defense in the Mallory era, giving up just 16.4 PPG with 9 players that played in the NFL. Indiana jumped out to a 5-1 start, giving up just 12.3 PPG, then shut out Northwestern 24-0 and #22 Michigan State 10-0. Indiana was ranked #17, at 7-1 overall and 4-1 in the Big Ten, and had one of the best defenses in the country giving up just 9.3 PPG. A pivotal game against #19 Penn State was one of the biggest “prove it” games in recent memory for Indiana, and they nearly delivered, losing just 31-38. Indiana would also put up a great fight against #5 Ohio State, losing 17-24, before finishing 8-3 with a win over Purdue for the 5th time in 7 years. #21 Indiana lost 20-45 to #22 Virginia Tech in the Independence Bowl to finish the year 8-4, 4th place in the Big Ten, and #27 in my rankings.
3. 1987 (8-4 overall, 6-2 Big Ten)
This Indiana team was subtly stacked. This was Mallory’s 4th year as head coach, going from 0-11 to 4-7 to 6-6 the previous 3 years. 1987 was when they put the Big Ten on notice for the first time, and was in serious contention for the Big Ten title. After starting 3-1, Indiana headed to #9 Ohio State, who was coming off 8 straight years of AP top 15 finishes. The game wasn’t close—and not for the team you think. Indiana held Ohio State to just 10 rushing yards in the 2nd half of a 31-10 win, which Buckeyes coach Earle Bruce called “The darkest day in Ohio State football since I have been associated with it,” dating back to 1979. After a win over Minnesota, #15 Indiana hosted #20 Michigan in front of a nearly sold out crowd of 51,000, and caused delays on Michigan’s drives in the 2nd quarter because of crowd noise. The Indiana defense dominated yet again, winning 14-10, and this was the last time Indiana would beat Michigan until 2020.
The Big Ten was suddenly an unexpected 2-horse race between Indiana and Michigan State. #11 Indiana, their highest ranking in 18 years, made the trek to Kinnick Stadium, where dreams go to die, and Iowa beat the Hoosiers 29-21. Following up with a win over Illinois—Indiana controlled their destiny: Beat Michigan State and Purdue, and you’re Big Ten champions. Playing on national TV, #13 Michigan State dominated #16 Indiana 27-3, and the Spartans won the conference title. Purdue kicked the (old oaken) bucket in the rivalry game, and Indiana rolled to a 35-14 win and a 3rd place finish in the B1G. A close loss to Tennessee in the bowl and they finished 8-4.
The team was subtly stacked as I mentioned. RB Anthony Thompson ran for 1000+ yards and would go on to become a 2x consensus All-American. WR Ernie Jones caught 66 passes for 1265 yards and 13 TD, and was the Big Ten co-Player of the Year and a 1st Team All-American. OT Eric Moore was 2nd Team All-Big Ten and a top 10 NFL Draft pick in 1988. LB Van Waiters was 3rd Team All-American. Coach Mallory won Big Ten Coach of the Year. This has a real claim as the “best” Indiana team due to the wins over Ohio State/Michigan.
2. 2020 (6-2 overall, 6-1 Big Ten)
One of the darlings of 2020. The Penix → Fryfogle connection took the Big Ten by storm first in name, then in production. Indiana was coming off an 8-5 year in which they nearly missed out on 9WINDIANA status, and brought momentum into 2020. It seemed like everyone else overlooked them, though. The turning point in the season came immediately—week 1 against #8 Penn State. Down 35-28 in OT, Indiana scored on a 9 yard TD and elected to go for 2. Going for the left corner, Penix DIVED from the 5 yard line, reaching for the pylon…GOT IT! INDIANA WINS 36-35! 2 weeks later they’d beat #23 Michigan 38-21, their first win against the Wolverines since 1987. 1 week later Indiana would beat Michigan State 24-0 thanks to a standout defensive effort and a breakout 200 yard receiving performance from WR Ty Fryfogle.
That set up #9 Indiana at #3 Ohio State, the top 10 matchup we all saw coming. And boy, Indiana came to PLAY. Ohio State narrowly escaped with a 42-35 win, with Justin Fields throwing 3 INTs and Fryfogle going for 7 catches, 218 yards, and 3 TD. This Indiana team was legitimately a really good team, and they even beat #16 Wisconsin 14-6 to finish off the regular season. They’d lose the Outback Bowl in an upset to 4-5 Ole Miss, but finished #12 in the AP Poll, the highest in over 50 years. Penix finished 2nd Team All-Big Ten with 1645 passing yards 14 TD 4 INT. Fryfogle won the Big Ten WR of the Year, catching 37 balls for 721 yards and 7 TD. A whopping 4 defensive players finished 1st Team All-Big Ten, with the entire secondary making the 1st-3rd Team. Even special teams had no weaknesses, with kicker Charles Campbell going 10/11 on FGs. Penix has since transferred to Washington and continues to live up to his potential, finishing 8th in Heisman voting in 2022.
1. 1988 (8-3-1 overall, 5-3 Big Ten)
2020 was good…but 1988 was dominant. They opened with 41-14 and 35-16 wins over Rice and Kentucky. After tying Missouri and blowing out Northwestern, Indiana hosted Ohio State a year after the “darkest day” in Ohio State history. This was arguably worse. Indiana scored on 4 of their first 5 possessions, held a 28-0 lead at halftime, and big brother’d the Buckeyes 41-7. An unthinkable result today. Fast forward a few weeks later, 5-2 Indiana hosted 4-2-2 (their record, not a soccer formation) Iowa. Iowa QB Chuck Hartlieb would set the single game school record with an insane 558 passing yards, and Indiana RB Anthony Thompson broke a school record with 47 carries. Indiana won 45-34, after Iowa nearly came back from a 35-3 deficit. In the last week of the regular season, Indiana blew out Purdue 52-7 on their home turf, in one of the greatest performances in the rivalry’s history. Even the bowl game was a wipe, beating 8-3 South Carolina 34-10.
Indiana scored 33.0 PPG while giving up just 19.6 PPG. 7 wins were by 20+ points, and 4 by 30+. QB Dave Schnell, former 1985 high school player of the year, was 2nd Team All-Big Ten, leading the conference in yards per attempt. RB Anthony Thompson won his 1st of 2 Big Ten POTYs, rushing for 1686 yards and 26(!) TD on 4.7 YPC. 9 players total were 1st/2nd Team All-Big Ten. Kicker Pete Stoyanovich was 1st Team All-B1G, and went on to be Dan Marino’s kicker on the Miami Dolphins for 7 years from 1989-95. He also served as a kicking double in Ace Ventura, Pet Detective (1994).
5th Quarter
Will Indiana ever surpass Purdue as a football program? Why hasn’t Indiana been as good in football as they’ve been in basketball? Did Penix score that 2 point conversion against Penn State in 2020? Who was really the best Indiana squad between 2020 and the 1980’s teams? And where do you think Indiana stands as a program going forward?If you appreciate the effort, please consider subscribing on substack!
2023.05.27 03:55 No-Independent-4212 Changing leaf springs on a Chevy 3500 Express
I have a 2012 Chevy 3500 express conversion van. It’s a 9 seater with the extended wheelbase. The ride in the rear is pretty rough even when fully loaded with people. I’ve had a single leaf spring removed from a professional shop which made a slight noticeable difference. I’ve installed sulastic shackles in the rear which helped with the jarring over rough roads but not necessarily the stiff bounces. I have replaced all the shock absorbers which improved ride quality but not bounce. The only time the ride is tolerable in the rear is the few times I’ve towed with the van.
My question is if leaf springs from a Silverado 1500 will fit in my 3500 express and is this a good or bad idea?
Thanks
submitted by No-Independent-4212 to AskMechanics [link] [comments]
My question is if leaf springs from a Silverado 1500 will fit in my 3500 express and is this a good or bad idea?
Thanks
2023.05.27 00:26 Internal_Prune_5108 contracting 101
Residential Contracting 101
With over 20 years of building experience, I would like to share with you my insights in navigating becoming a successful contractor. With many different avenues of the building world its key to understand what problems will arise on any given day. A man once told a saying that stuck-the 6 p’s in life- Piss Poor Preparation leads to Piss Poor Performance. Preparation builds everything in construction, without preparation the jobsite will not run correctly. The best advice I was ever given was to learn a little about every trade giving you the ability to understand trade lingo and secrets. An example would be painters use the terminology flash; this means when the sub structure bleads through the paint. Subcontractors will give the best pricing if they respect your knowledge of the industry. If the subcontractor feels they will have to hold your hand through the job they will charge an extra fee…i.e. I call it the aggravation fee. In this blog I will explain the key elements in finding success in all aspects of the industry. Contracting is a physically and emotionally demanding job which requires planning and foresight to complete projects on time within budget. Picking your customer is just as important as picking your employees or subcontractors. I have worked for some of the most demanding customers leading me to question at the end if the job was even worth it. Sleepless nights, constant changes, lack of payment, lawsuit threats, adding work that was in the contract are just a few things you could face with a tough customer. With so many moving parts at all times it is critical to be able to adapt to changes within a short time frame. Materials will come in damaged, subcontractors will be late, employees will get sick, but the deadline you set does not change. The stress can be overwhelming at times keeping your mind in a good place is key to navigating all that is thrown at you. Choosing your client picking the right jobs-Keep these questions in mind The first question to be asked is what the time frame is to start the job to see if it fits within the timeframe for your business. If the time frame doesn’t work then move on from the project or let them know when you would be available to start. If the client really wants to use, they will wait until you are available. Taking on too much work will only lead to problems. Construction is a serviced based business, staying on top of the project and client will eliminate an unhappy customer and construction issues that will be over seen. With online presence if details are missed and customer service lacks it will only be a matter of time the phone will not ring. The second question to be asked to the client is do they have a budget in mind for the project. If they answer yes this is good, follow through with what the budget is. If the budget seems low let them know, this will eliminate a tire kicker, educate them on what the price range could be. If the budget seems reasonable then continue the discussion to the next question. If they answer no let them know that you can give them an estimate to see if the project is feasible with their finical capabilities. Taking on a job that is not correctly budgeted will lead to an unsatisfied customer due to non-transparency of the construction cost. The third question to be asked is anyone else bidding on the job, if the answer is yes, understand you might just be number check for the contractor doing the job. Dig a little deeper and find out how many numbers they are getting and why. If your business model is to be competitive be completely transparent with customer, this will gain trust with them. Let them know you get what you pay for and if you they choose the lowest bid it could lead into lack of quality of work.
The fourth question I will ask is there any specific subcontractors they wanted to use. If the answer is yes then I would explain to them you only use the subcontractors you have a working relationship with. Otherwise, this could backfire as the subcontractor might not show, do subpar work, talk behind your back to the homeowner. In my experience I would stay away from using any homeowner to alleviate problems down the road. A quick conversation now can save headaches down the road. The fifth question I will ask are planning on getting the job permitted, this needs to be known it takes more time for the permitting process. Plans will have to drawn submitted and approved to the city before work can commence. The sixth question I will ask if a residential remodel is are you going to be living through the remodel if yes understand this will take more time to navigate the project due to answering questions and cleaning the house on a daily occurrence. I would recommend seeing if the customer would be willing to move into an Airbnb or friends for at least the demo portion of the project. If they do plan on living through the remodel add a couple hours a day to accommodate the extra time that will be required. The seventh question I would ask in a residential remodel is how old the house is to see if there is asbestos that would need to removed by a proper company. A home built before 1979 will most likely have some asbestos in the house, use a licensed company with proper insurance to dispose of the materials. If everything looks good to this point find out a little more about the client personality. If the client seems reasonable, I would bid the job. Unreasonable people can cause you more stress than its worth. These are some red flags I would look out for. Some jobs are not worth the money. Very demanding in the way you are going to perform your job- I.e., tell you how you are going to do your job- You’re the professional not them! Give you a hard time about your price- haggle with price you estimated- The price is the price! If they are a family with little money and you want to help them out is one thing, if they are trying to beat you down is another. Mention they have a lawyer-there is no need for them to bring up that they have a lawyer - Run for the hills as if the job goes south, you will be the one losing out! Tell you what the payment terms are. It’s your business you get paid how it works for your company. If you want to get paid every Friday, put it into your contract-If the clients do not agree move on it will save you frustrations If they talk bad about the last contractor, chances are they will talk bad about you. There is a reason why the contractor does not work for them anymore, unless he did subpar work this a red flag Clients are using an interior decorator that will purchasing all of the materials- The materials could be ordered incorrectly by the interior designer your company will not make the mark-up it deserves. Interior decorators usually add time to the job as well as act like your boss. Charging a little extra for the time and stress that it will entail is only fair. Clients want to purchase the materials- You are using your knowledge to buy the correct materials-The mark up on the materials keeps the doors open working for wages only pays the bills The husband and wife do not get along-You will become the mediator between the couple it will lead to taking sides a losing proposition- A drama free work place is always best! Dangling carrot-if you do this job the next one will be better-Only look at what there offering at the present moment, if its not a good fit do not take the job for a job down the road…Its not worth chasing a job that might not happen! The Art of the Sale First things first selling your company is all about presentation. In meeting your clients for the first time show up with a collared golf shirt tucked in, belt, nice jeans, and newer shoes. Have a truck that a clean, no dents scratches, preferably washed the day you are going into your meeting. Have a leather note pad that is clean no dirt or paint visible. Show up 5 minutes early, if you’re running a little late shoot them a text to let them know. Treat the situation as if were going on a first date, best foot forward. As you introduce yourself give them a warm greeting, letting them know you are very interested in the work. Find out a little about them, hobbies, where they lived, etc etc. You are going to be working with them on a daily basis its nice to know what makes them tick. Having a good working relationship from the start is key forming a solid relationship. As the conversation progresses find out who wears the pants in the family…ie who’s the final decision maker. If its fits the wife, chances it is…..then kindly let the husband know happy wife happy life when their in a stall mate on an issue. As your looking at the project throw in some suggestions of what you think would look good from past experiences, this will get their attention that you have knowledge and want what’s best for them. If you see ways to save them money in their project let them know, money is a large point of the sale keep that in mind. Mention that you’re not the least expensive contractor but you’re not the most expensive either. Your customer satisfaction is your number one goal which leads to more time spent on keeping them happy. One happy customer will lead to another, one unsatisfied customer leads to work in the future. Bring up the fact the finishing the job on time is key goal to your business, many contractors run several jobs at once causing the jobs to be finished way behind schedule. You must stand out as having integrity, good morals, and the ability to problem solve to get the job. The clients will be testing you to see if you’re a good fit as well. Keep in mind as you take your notes that you must not forget anything they mention as it will come back before the job is completed…i.e. we mentioned that to you before we started the job! Take pictures of the proposed area for work, that way you can use it to better right your estimate. Let them know you will give them a detailed outline of when the job will be completed letting them see how long each phase will take and correlate it with your payment schedule. Before you leave their house let them know when the estimate will be sent to them. MAKE SURE YOU HIT THAT DEADLINE! Once you sent the email over with estimate make sure you get confirmation that they received it. Wait at least 2 days before checking with them, hopefully they contact you first! If they want negotiate the price, let them know that it is the best price that you can manage, its not worth losing money before you start. I closed 80% of the work I estimated by being very transparent and friendly. If you come off with an attitude charge double what the going rates are you might only land 1 out of 10 jobs as well as getting the reputation of being expensive. Bidding the job Looking up industry standards on pricing is what I would go buy for pricing. If you google the coat of any installation there will be a cost range for everything. Looking at the cost ranging from high to low I would tend to be in the middle. Some items might be low on the internet if this is the case use your best judgment not to lose money. Closing sales is key to success and keep the doors open for business. Being in the middle on pricing is key as most customers shy away from contractors that are extremely low or high on the price range. I tend not bid out hourly as wages do not pay for retirement. Bidding is better as customers no the exact price of the cost of construction. It also keeps the job moving quicker as time and material contractors take longer to complete projects…Thus costing the client more money and valuable time they could spend in their house. Using a Contract Using a detailed estimate tied to a contract covers your butt in 99% of the time. Having a piece of mind that every aspect of the job is covered in the estimate and contract protects both your company and the client. Key terms to include in your estimate/contract are. Have a schedule on excel showing the start dates and dates of each trade this will show the customer you are organized with time lines. If not written in the detailed in the estimate the item is excluded- This ensures if its not written down its not included. TBD- To be Determined- A phrase on a line item that has yet to had final decision of products or service needed. -The pricing will follow the decisions to be finalized Give out what your written warranty will be for parts and labor this changes state to state. If the homeowner provides the product than no warranty will be given on that particular item. In the contract have a start date and end date with the verbiage subject to change due to weather, product delivery, change orders Have a progress payment schedule to ensure the client understands when funding will be expected-Including if not payment is rendered service to the project will stop. Have written terms of how change orders will be charged-cost plus 20% or a set fee Make sure in your contract that arbitration is required versus going to court- This will save lawyer fees and going to court Many contracts can be found online and each state requires different contracts
Finding leads Finding leads is easy with the right network of people. I personally do not find working for friends or family members a good fit. Relationships get strained when money is involved, causing undue stress for both parties. I have listed a couple of ways to build a network or find work using the internet. Get in contact with realtor’s- Realtors have a big client base of homeowners who need work done Contact local Architects to see if they are working with any general contractors Leave some business cards at your local materials suppliers-Doowindow/lumber-many times clients will ask salesman for a referral. Join a business networking group- BNI is one of many Join a internet website lead generation company- Houzz, Angie’s List, Home Advisor, thumbtack, Yelp run an ad on craigslist Use a marketing company to market your website-This could become costly with little results Create a Facebook business page Create a Yelp business page
Building your subcontractor base Having 2 subcontractors for every trade, gives you the flexibility of completing jobs on time if the one the subcontractors is too busy at the time you need their service. Your subcontractors are the face of your business, choose owner run companies that are professional. Check to make sure there license are up to date..ie workman’s comp, liability insurance, state license. Choosing subcontractors with lettered vans, logoed t-shirts is s key to looking professional in the clients’ eyes. In the past I have gotten a lot of subcontractors for material supply shops, stopping by jobsites, researching the internet using Yelp, Home Advisor, etc etc. Once you get one good subcontractor ask them if they know any other trades they would recommend. One good subcontractor leads to another in most cases. The key to having a good group of subcontractors is to let them know that you are there to get help them get the job done. They do work for you but without them you are nothing…keep that in mind! Make them aware a clean jobsite is required at the end of everyday to ensure the proper safety for all parties including theirs! Over the years I have referred a lot of companies work when there is only 1 trade needed. Referring work to subcontractors is a good way to get top priority when you have work that needs to be completed ASAP. Timing is everything in times of emergency having a good group of subcontractors will make your business run smoothly. Pay your subcontractors immediately after performing work, this will make them feel appreciated! A happy subcontractor is one that will gladly go the extra mile for you knowing that there not just a number to your business! Buying lunch once a week for the jobsite is always a good token of appreciation!
Supervising In supervising any jobsite its key to monitor everything from materials on hand, weather, vehicle parking (if applicable), jobsite safety, and subcontractors’ workmanship. If you hired a professional there should be little supervision in the work being performed, on rare occasions a new hire might need some mentoring to get the results completed correctly. If you see a problem with there work address it with the worker directly, no need to call his boss…. building repour with the worker letting him know you got his back goes miles down the road! Checking in on the job first in the morning to answer any questions or changes that need to be conveyed and once in the afternoon to make sure all work be completed is done per construction industry standards. A job that is run blindly will have many more issues than one that is watched over. I have seen many jobs with no site supervision, leading to subpar quality work as well as safety hazards. Its better to be like an eagle than cluck like a turkey!
Working with the City/Inspectors On permitted jobs the city and site inspector will be a large part of how smoothly the job runs. Each phase of construction has an inspection allowing for the project to continue. Make sure your subcontractors are aware that the project is inspected before starting the job. The best way to stay on his good side is to provide a clean jobsite and having the job built to the highest standards possible. When having the site inspected be courteous to the inspector asking any questions or concerns you have with the work during the job. Being completely transparent will save you aggravation of problems down the road. The more he trust you the better if you seem sneaky or rude he will make your life a living nightmare! Many inspectors will have an attitude towards you….I suggest keeping quiet and doing what ever he wants….he’s the boss no need to get in a pissing match you will not win at. How to deal with irate customer Stay calm during any argument with an irate customer. Never raise your voice or show that you are bothered by their disgruntled behavior. If the customer is trying to get more from you than agreed upon stand your ground. Worst case scenario is you walk from the job, which in the long run be more of a loss for the client. I have only run into a couple of these clients; they are unreasonable and not worth losing sleep over a few dollars. Its best to terminate the relationship as it would be my best guess that a referral from this customer would not be one you wanted anyway. If you feel it was just a miscommunication on your end, take reasonability and remedy the problem. Taking accountability for your mistake will go a far way in their eyes and on future issues that arise. Prepping the homeowner pre-construction Before starting the job, it very important to give the homeowners a warning of what will happen during the construction process.
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With over 20 years of building experience, I would like to share with you my insights in navigating becoming a successful contractor. With many different avenues of the building world its key to understand what problems will arise on any given day. A man once told a saying that stuck-the 6 p’s in life- Piss Poor Preparation leads to Piss Poor Performance. Preparation builds everything in construction, without preparation the jobsite will not run correctly. The best advice I was ever given was to learn a little about every trade giving you the ability to understand trade lingo and secrets. An example would be painters use the terminology flash; this means when the sub structure bleads through the paint. Subcontractors will give the best pricing if they respect your knowledge of the industry. If the subcontractor feels they will have to hold your hand through the job they will charge an extra fee…i.e. I call it the aggravation fee. In this blog I will explain the key elements in finding success in all aspects of the industry. Contracting is a physically and emotionally demanding job which requires planning and foresight to complete projects on time within budget. Picking your customer is just as important as picking your employees or subcontractors. I have worked for some of the most demanding customers leading me to question at the end if the job was even worth it. Sleepless nights, constant changes, lack of payment, lawsuit threats, adding work that was in the contract are just a few things you could face with a tough customer. With so many moving parts at all times it is critical to be able to adapt to changes within a short time frame. Materials will come in damaged, subcontractors will be late, employees will get sick, but the deadline you set does not change. The stress can be overwhelming at times keeping your mind in a good place is key to navigating all that is thrown at you. Choosing your client picking the right jobs-Keep these questions in mind The first question to be asked is what the time frame is to start the job to see if it fits within the timeframe for your business. If the time frame doesn’t work then move on from the project or let them know when you would be available to start. If the client really wants to use, they will wait until you are available. Taking on too much work will only lead to problems. Construction is a serviced based business, staying on top of the project and client will eliminate an unhappy customer and construction issues that will be over seen. With online presence if details are missed and customer service lacks it will only be a matter of time the phone will not ring. The second question to be asked to the client is do they have a budget in mind for the project. If they answer yes this is good, follow through with what the budget is. If the budget seems low let them know, this will eliminate a tire kicker, educate them on what the price range could be. If the budget seems reasonable then continue the discussion to the next question. If they answer no let them know that you can give them an estimate to see if the project is feasible with their finical capabilities. Taking on a job that is not correctly budgeted will lead to an unsatisfied customer due to non-transparency of the construction cost. The third question to be asked is anyone else bidding on the job, if the answer is yes, understand you might just be number check for the contractor doing the job. Dig a little deeper and find out how many numbers they are getting and why. If your business model is to be competitive be completely transparent with customer, this will gain trust with them. Let them know you get what you pay for and if you they choose the lowest bid it could lead into lack of quality of work.
The fourth question I will ask is there any specific subcontractors they wanted to use. If the answer is yes then I would explain to them you only use the subcontractors you have a working relationship with. Otherwise, this could backfire as the subcontractor might not show, do subpar work, talk behind your back to the homeowner. In my experience I would stay away from using any homeowner to alleviate problems down the road. A quick conversation now can save headaches down the road. The fifth question I will ask are planning on getting the job permitted, this needs to be known it takes more time for the permitting process. Plans will have to drawn submitted and approved to the city before work can commence. The sixth question I will ask if a residential remodel is are you going to be living through the remodel if yes understand this will take more time to navigate the project due to answering questions and cleaning the house on a daily occurrence. I would recommend seeing if the customer would be willing to move into an Airbnb or friends for at least the demo portion of the project. If they do plan on living through the remodel add a couple hours a day to accommodate the extra time that will be required. The seventh question I would ask in a residential remodel is how old the house is to see if there is asbestos that would need to removed by a proper company. A home built before 1979 will most likely have some asbestos in the house, use a licensed company with proper insurance to dispose of the materials. If everything looks good to this point find out a little more about the client personality. If the client seems reasonable, I would bid the job. Unreasonable people can cause you more stress than its worth. These are some red flags I would look out for. Some jobs are not worth the money. Very demanding in the way you are going to perform your job- I.e., tell you how you are going to do your job- You’re the professional not them! Give you a hard time about your price- haggle with price you estimated- The price is the price! If they are a family with little money and you want to help them out is one thing, if they are trying to beat you down is another. Mention they have a lawyer-there is no need for them to bring up that they have a lawyer - Run for the hills as if the job goes south, you will be the one losing out! Tell you what the payment terms are. It’s your business you get paid how it works for your company. If you want to get paid every Friday, put it into your contract-If the clients do not agree move on it will save you frustrations If they talk bad about the last contractor, chances are they will talk bad about you. There is a reason why the contractor does not work for them anymore, unless he did subpar work this a red flag Clients are using an interior decorator that will purchasing all of the materials- The materials could be ordered incorrectly by the interior designer your company will not make the mark-up it deserves. Interior decorators usually add time to the job as well as act like your boss. Charging a little extra for the time and stress that it will entail is only fair. Clients want to purchase the materials- You are using your knowledge to buy the correct materials-The mark up on the materials keeps the doors open working for wages only pays the bills The husband and wife do not get along-You will become the mediator between the couple it will lead to taking sides a losing proposition- A drama free work place is always best! Dangling carrot-if you do this job the next one will be better-Only look at what there offering at the present moment, if its not a good fit do not take the job for a job down the road…Its not worth chasing a job that might not happen! The Art of the Sale First things first selling your company is all about presentation. In meeting your clients for the first time show up with a collared golf shirt tucked in, belt, nice jeans, and newer shoes. Have a truck that a clean, no dents scratches, preferably washed the day you are going into your meeting. Have a leather note pad that is clean no dirt or paint visible. Show up 5 minutes early, if you’re running a little late shoot them a text to let them know. Treat the situation as if were going on a first date, best foot forward. As you introduce yourself give them a warm greeting, letting them know you are very interested in the work. Find out a little about them, hobbies, where they lived, etc etc. You are going to be working with them on a daily basis its nice to know what makes them tick. Having a good working relationship from the start is key forming a solid relationship. As the conversation progresses find out who wears the pants in the family…ie who’s the final decision maker. If its fits the wife, chances it is…..then kindly let the husband know happy wife happy life when their in a stall mate on an issue. As your looking at the project throw in some suggestions of what you think would look good from past experiences, this will get their attention that you have knowledge and want what’s best for them. If you see ways to save them money in their project let them know, money is a large point of the sale keep that in mind. Mention that you’re not the least expensive contractor but you’re not the most expensive either. Your customer satisfaction is your number one goal which leads to more time spent on keeping them happy. One happy customer will lead to another, one unsatisfied customer leads to work in the future. Bring up the fact the finishing the job on time is key goal to your business, many contractors run several jobs at once causing the jobs to be finished way behind schedule. You must stand out as having integrity, good morals, and the ability to problem solve to get the job. The clients will be testing you to see if you’re a good fit as well. Keep in mind as you take your notes that you must not forget anything they mention as it will come back before the job is completed…i.e. we mentioned that to you before we started the job! Take pictures of the proposed area for work, that way you can use it to better right your estimate. Let them know you will give them a detailed outline of when the job will be completed letting them see how long each phase will take and correlate it with your payment schedule. Before you leave their house let them know when the estimate will be sent to them. MAKE SURE YOU HIT THAT DEADLINE! Once you sent the email over with estimate make sure you get confirmation that they received it. Wait at least 2 days before checking with them, hopefully they contact you first! If they want negotiate the price, let them know that it is the best price that you can manage, its not worth losing money before you start. I closed 80% of the work I estimated by being very transparent and friendly. If you come off with an attitude charge double what the going rates are you might only land 1 out of 10 jobs as well as getting the reputation of being expensive. Bidding the job Looking up industry standards on pricing is what I would go buy for pricing. If you google the coat of any installation there will be a cost range for everything. Looking at the cost ranging from high to low I would tend to be in the middle. Some items might be low on the internet if this is the case use your best judgment not to lose money. Closing sales is key to success and keep the doors open for business. Being in the middle on pricing is key as most customers shy away from contractors that are extremely low or high on the price range. I tend not bid out hourly as wages do not pay for retirement. Bidding is better as customers no the exact price of the cost of construction. It also keeps the job moving quicker as time and material contractors take longer to complete projects…Thus costing the client more money and valuable time they could spend in their house. Using a Contract Using a detailed estimate tied to a contract covers your butt in 99% of the time. Having a piece of mind that every aspect of the job is covered in the estimate and contract protects both your company and the client. Key terms to include in your estimate/contract are. Have a schedule on excel showing the start dates and dates of each trade this will show the customer you are organized with time lines. If not written in the detailed in the estimate the item is excluded- This ensures if its not written down its not included. TBD- To be Determined- A phrase on a line item that has yet to had final decision of products or service needed. -The pricing will follow the decisions to be finalized Give out what your written warranty will be for parts and labor this changes state to state. If the homeowner provides the product than no warranty will be given on that particular item. In the contract have a start date and end date with the verbiage subject to change due to weather, product delivery, change orders Have a progress payment schedule to ensure the client understands when funding will be expected-Including if not payment is rendered service to the project will stop. Have written terms of how change orders will be charged-cost plus 20% or a set fee Make sure in your contract that arbitration is required versus going to court- This will save lawyer fees and going to court Many contracts can be found online and each state requires different contracts
Finding leads Finding leads is easy with the right network of people. I personally do not find working for friends or family members a good fit. Relationships get strained when money is involved, causing undue stress for both parties. I have listed a couple of ways to build a network or find work using the internet. Get in contact with realtor’s- Realtors have a big client base of homeowners who need work done Contact local Architects to see if they are working with any general contractors Leave some business cards at your local materials suppliers-Doowindow/lumber-many times clients will ask salesman for a referral. Join a business networking group- BNI is one of many Join a internet website lead generation company- Houzz, Angie’s List, Home Advisor, thumbtack, Yelp run an ad on craigslist Use a marketing company to market your website-This could become costly with little results Create a Facebook business page Create a Yelp business page
Building your subcontractor base Having 2 subcontractors for every trade, gives you the flexibility of completing jobs on time if the one the subcontractors is too busy at the time you need their service. Your subcontractors are the face of your business, choose owner run companies that are professional. Check to make sure there license are up to date..ie workman’s comp, liability insurance, state license. Choosing subcontractors with lettered vans, logoed t-shirts is s key to looking professional in the clients’ eyes. In the past I have gotten a lot of subcontractors for material supply shops, stopping by jobsites, researching the internet using Yelp, Home Advisor, etc etc. Once you get one good subcontractor ask them if they know any other trades they would recommend. One good subcontractor leads to another in most cases. The key to having a good group of subcontractors is to let them know that you are there to get help them get the job done. They do work for you but without them you are nothing…keep that in mind! Make them aware a clean jobsite is required at the end of everyday to ensure the proper safety for all parties including theirs! Over the years I have referred a lot of companies work when there is only 1 trade needed. Referring work to subcontractors is a good way to get top priority when you have work that needs to be completed ASAP. Timing is everything in times of emergency having a good group of subcontractors will make your business run smoothly. Pay your subcontractors immediately after performing work, this will make them feel appreciated! A happy subcontractor is one that will gladly go the extra mile for you knowing that there not just a number to your business! Buying lunch once a week for the jobsite is always a good token of appreciation!
Supervising In supervising any jobsite its key to monitor everything from materials on hand, weather, vehicle parking (if applicable), jobsite safety, and subcontractors’ workmanship. If you hired a professional there should be little supervision in the work being performed, on rare occasions a new hire might need some mentoring to get the results completed correctly. If you see a problem with there work address it with the worker directly, no need to call his boss…. building repour with the worker letting him know you got his back goes miles down the road! Checking in on the job first in the morning to answer any questions or changes that need to be conveyed and once in the afternoon to make sure all work be completed is done per construction industry standards. A job that is run blindly will have many more issues than one that is watched over. I have seen many jobs with no site supervision, leading to subpar quality work as well as safety hazards. Its better to be like an eagle than cluck like a turkey!
Working with the City/Inspectors On permitted jobs the city and site inspector will be a large part of how smoothly the job runs. Each phase of construction has an inspection allowing for the project to continue. Make sure your subcontractors are aware that the project is inspected before starting the job. The best way to stay on his good side is to provide a clean jobsite and having the job built to the highest standards possible. When having the site inspected be courteous to the inspector asking any questions or concerns you have with the work during the job. Being completely transparent will save you aggravation of problems down the road. The more he trust you the better if you seem sneaky or rude he will make your life a living nightmare! Many inspectors will have an attitude towards you….I suggest keeping quiet and doing what ever he wants….he’s the boss no need to get in a pissing match you will not win at. How to deal with irate customer Stay calm during any argument with an irate customer. Never raise your voice or show that you are bothered by their disgruntled behavior. If the customer is trying to get more from you than agreed upon stand your ground. Worst case scenario is you walk from the job, which in the long run be more of a loss for the client. I have only run into a couple of these clients; they are unreasonable and not worth losing sleep over a few dollars. Its best to terminate the relationship as it would be my best guess that a referral from this customer would not be one you wanted anyway. If you feel it was just a miscommunication on your end, take reasonability and remedy the problem. Taking accountability for your mistake will go a far way in their eyes and on future issues that arise. Prepping the homeowner pre-construction Before starting the job, it very important to give the homeowners a warning of what will happen during the construction process.
- All furniture in the proposed working area must be moved- I would recommend having the clients take care of this to limit the risk of damage to their belongings.
- There will be dust that will be in the house up to 3 months after construction-I would recommend hiring a construction cleaning company at the end of the job even so after it is cleaned dust will be present months after words.
- There will be conflicts between you in the homeowner at some course of the job. - You will do your best to eliminate them as quickly as they arise-i.e. material damages, miscommunication, job delays
- All decisions on materials must be made before the start of the job- this will eliminate job stoppage due to materials not being on site.
- All materials will be on site before commencement of job-
- Payment structures must be made per contract otherwise job will stop until payment rendered
- Cars are to be moved out of the driveway- Ensures ease of loading and unloading of materials/tools
- Give the specific hours that workers will be present- i.e. 7-3:30
- Determine what areas are allowed to be used as staging for tools/materials
- If animals are present in the home that they put outside or in a room during the day
- All valuables in the house are locked in safe
- Ask if using client’s household bathroom is okay or to bring in Porter Potty
- Being transparent as possible is key to keeping a great relationship with your client!
2023.05.27 00:26 JulianSkies Blackriver Cases - Season 3 “Linked” - Episode Single “Hunter”
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Season 3 “Linked”
Episode Single “Hunter”
“This is very irregular, you know?”
“And so is importing an extremely dangerous, viciously intelligent predator all the way from nightside to dayside.”
It had taken an entire paw for someone to finally arrive, and it felt disgusting the entire time. They didn’t have any real facilities for storing corpses, so they had to improvise by partially dismantling the interior of the breakroom’s fridge and messing with the settings. She had thought that she’d feel disgusted dealing with a corpse, but somehow that wasn’t it, it was that for some reason it felt wrong to store it like that.
And it took an entire paw for a necrologist to finally arrive. Of course they couldn’t do their forensics here, they’d need to transport it somewhere with proper facilities, and somewhere deep inside her she felt better about the cooled van they were going to use to transport the animal, it was certainly more respectful than a jury-rigged freezer.
“Guess he’s getting to you isn’t he?” Keya mutters to herself, finally having finished the handoff in the garage. Hopefully nothing like that would happen again anytime soon, or ever if possible. She makes her way back to the central administrative room of the precinct, passing by the armory as one always does on the way to the garage.
“This is just a game to you!” “And what do you know of fucking reality?!” “Nothing! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR YOU BRAHKIN APE!” it was curious why Marik even allowed Santos inside the armory if they were going to fight. Still, they might be a little more shouty right now but the stress of the previous mission must be getting to them, and in her knowledge they could sort themselves out soon.
She stops as soon as she enters the central room, it always distresses her lightly how this precinct didn’t even have a single office, she lets her mind sit on the idle thoughts about the everyday functions of her workplace as her tail thrashes uncertainly behind her. After all that stress it was difficult to get her emotions ordered enough to think straight, and the latest change to her nightmare didn’t help. She’d expected to see the nixa as her chaser, as it’d happen for a time every time she’d deal with something particularly dangerous, but instead it was at the very end, in Santos’ arms, as if the human had died trying to protect it. “I guess that was a positive change? Maybe?”
She shakes her head with enough force to draw some attention, then walks over to Lunek’s desk. He’d still be out of commission for a bit, the shoulder wounds could easily have cost the man his arms if they had taken even a fifth of a claw longer to get to the hospital, but thankfully muscular reconstruction was within their capacity and the wound sufficiently fresh they wouldn’t need to worry about nerve reconstruction. But there was something weird about his wife’s reaction to the news, she’d seen family being distressed at a wounded exterminator, but she seemed angry instead of scared or even worried.
Then, she walks over to Santos’ desk. He had given her permission to check his work, he’d been working on the animal database and had stuck to a string of old cases for a mysterious predator nicknamed ‘the black claw’, something that was incredibly elusive and had been killing even in the middle of the capital. Cases as old as the republic itself, in fact. Santos’ datapad had a map containing cases he’d decided were relevant, and a diagram of the wound patterns was also visible, thankfully no images of the wounds themselves but something about it was familiar.
But her thoughts about the human’s grisly cataloging were interrupted by said man’s guttural roar of fury and pain. The words that accompany the roar are so jumbled her translator can’t even recognize them and she doubts another human could either. Everyone present turns their attention to the door towards the armory as loud crashing and metallic noises echo down the hall. And then a horrible noise she couldn’t identify for a moment, a high-pitched bleat that sounded like a venlil’s mimicry of a furious roar.
Everyone had stood up, having drawn their tranq pistols and focusing on the doorway. The first one to walk out of it is Marik, walking nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. Except something clearly had happened, he had four marks across his face, his right shoulder was deeply stained orange with his blood and his eyes had a look of fury she had never seen in her kin before, but perhaps most distressingly was the red stains in his paws and running down his mouth “I don’t know how you handle this, it’s absolutely brahking disgusting” he says, ignoring everyone who’d instinctively raised their guns at his entrance, picking up a medkit that’s always hanging at the wall and beelining to the breakroom.
And right behind him is another grizzly sight. Looking the very sight of everything everyone feared humans would look like, orange staining the white of his sleeves as well as his nails, Santos spits a tuft of fur from his orange-stained mouth “And you taste absolutely fucking foul too” with that morbid remark she notices he’s also deeply stained with red, three ragged gashes down his left arm and a portion of his right ear missing, spilling red down his right shoulder. He calmly follows Marik to the breakroom.
“What… Happened…”
-^-
It wasn’t, in fact, pretty. Santos knew very well this was an absolute fucking disaster. Taking a bite of your coworker’s shoulder would have been a complete disaster if they were both humans, and by everything that’s holy the fucking devil sheep was pretty much one, but he was a venlil and given how often ‘eaten’ was a cause of death for this species the optics of this situation was as horrible as it could be.
Sure, the devil sheep had started it. He’d completely flown off the handle at whatever it was he had said and managed to perform the miracle of making those stubby claws of his tear through his arm before trying to break his skull with his. And the damage to his ear was a good sign the demon was willing to fight like a goddamn animal, so he just returned the favor in kind.
At least the damned devil sheep still had enough of his faculties to realize both needed medical attention and the hospital wasn’t a viable choice, so now they were both lying down on the couches of the breakroom while Keya carefully applied the contents of the medkit on his enemy. He’d insisted she check him out first, even going as far as growling at her, which just prompted her to give a twist of her right ear equivalent to a human raising an eyebrow.
As soon as she had applied the stitching gel to Marik’s face and shoulder and applied an adhesive bandage to the bite marks the devil sheep silently walked out of the room. “What happened?” Keya asks, with a simultaneously stiff and angry tone that made him question what side of the bed she woke up today, he was betting it wasn’t the cold bastard right now.
“Dunno.” he winces as she applies stitching gel to his ear, the devil sheep’s grinding teeth had managed to somehow take a piece out of it “I said something that set him off worse than I’ve ever seen, but nothing I haven’t said before. I expected him to go talk to you before it got down to blows”
Keya stops for a moment to move herself in his field of view “And he got so angry you bit him?” before returning to his side to start applying a bandage to his ear across the head.
“No, he got so angry he did this” he raises his wounded arm, the cuts are deep and jagged like cut with a rusted and chipped knife “And then all bets were off”
There’s a loud thumping noise of Keya slamming her tail on the ground “And somehow after taking pieces out of each other you just calmly walk over here to get treated like nothing happened?!” it was definitely her if she was getting angry like this.
He takes a deep breath to prepare for the stinging when she starts applying the stitching gel to his arm, thank heavens none of the cuts hit a serious blood vessel “Look, I’ve seen people like that before. Couple of times I had to trade fists with people in that state after the bombs, sometimes the only way to get what you’re feeling out is some violence. And no offense, but your people don’t know how to deal with that need”
Keya sighs “With you calling him a devil sheep in the middle of an exterminator’s precinct it surprises me this didn’t happen earlier…”
At that moment Santos’ mind halts. Something is failing to add up “Wait. Hold that thought- The translator is doing something weird” he turns to face Keya to continue saying something only to be interrupted by the pain of the bandages on his arm.
“I really hope it is because you don’t call people that” she had very purposefully made the bandaging process painful.
“There is zero reason the words, the meaning of the words I’m using, translate to anything you have real context for here” he stares at Keya, who gives him a sideways stare in return “I’m calling him a sheep, the same way he calls me an ape. What you’re talking it seems i’m using one of your idioms here and I doubt that’s true”
Keya takes a seat “The translator is good at finding meanings” she gives a dismissive tail wave “From what I understand the software knows enough to see that you’re using an animal reference as an offensive adjective to construct a phrase we can understand from it. Or at least it’s been able to for… What… The last three terran months at least”
Santos puts a hand on his forehead “So it’s not that word. Do you have a word for a devil? A creature that’s the embodiment of evil in some religion?”
It was a pain talking about translator issues through the translator, everyone knew that “An old faith that still holds some pretty strong roots sees the darkness and the night as evil. The meaning of what you call him keeps getting translated as… A child born of the Night itself.”
The human raises an eyebrow “What, like a vampire or something?”
Keya closes her eyes, and slowly tilts her head to the side “That parsed… I didn’t think humans had those kinds of myths too. But a little less blood drinking and more flesh eating”
He bites his lower lip, he can feel the genuinely foul taste of the orange blood that he still hadn’t cleaned from his face “Of course… A mythologization of ‘predator disease’ itself. Not unlike a changeling, fuck.” he rubs his forehead “And with his high aggression and staring habit, of course he’d see it like that. He never reacted that badly to it before”
Only at this moment he realizes Keya is… Surprisingly, terrifyingly calm about staring at his still blood-soaked visage “I bet he knows you had no idea about what you were talking about. But it’s still a sensitive thing” she stands up “Talk to him, but later. Not going to intrude in his personal life more than this. For now, you’re dismissed until your next shift” she turns to give him a side-eye stare “And clean up before you leave”
Very obviously he was going to clean up before leaving. Walking around drenched in venlil blood wasn’t going to fly in the capital, here in bumfuck nowhere Blackriver? The fact that he had accidentally been using something on par with some old human racial slurs against Maurice didn’t sit well with him, he was an annoying ass with a prickly personality that always got under his skin, but that was all it was.
Face clean and sleeves rolled to hide the stains, he heads out, still mostly looking like he’d lost a fight. Thankfully, the trip to his apartment is quick, and so is the process of getting properly cleaned and changed. He takes additional time cleaning his mouth with mouthwash- This planet made him hyperaware of some things and at this point he was certain he wasn’t going to get the taste of Maurice’s blood out of his tongue for a few days no matter what he did.
But it was better to try to do something about it than sit here and feel weird about it. It meant he should probably go out and eat something, which was a bit of a problem. There were a pair of restaurants on Blackriver, and none of them would deny him but it was always such a laborious process to get served, they were simply not used to humans here and at least half the servers were worse than that. But he just needed a flavor distraction, not really nutrition, so… There was one place where he was very much welcomed.
Ready to leave, he heads out again. The trip is longer this time, but it’s very easy to find one’s way to where he’s going, very much literally the center of town. Blackriver had a large park at it’s center, and parks in venlil cities always amused him in a dark way, they were as wild as wilderness was allowed to get in this planet. What is left of nature here is simply allowed to exist freely in those places, and venlinese cities often had a large amount of them, more than most terran cities. Interestingly, for as little this town had to offer to anyone not working in the farms, the park actually had something that he understood was a bit of a tourist attraction, the forgotten tree.
It is a very large tree, which seemed to grow into unnatural shapes and colors, but that was due to the sheer amount of grafts it had received over time. For some reason, multiple branches had been grafted on it, and even in the time he’d been here there’d been new branches added to it. And on top of that, the branches were often decorated. Never the original branches, always the grafts, and they all were decorated with a variety of things, all of which seemed to be personal effects. Just one detail unnerved him sometimes when looking at it, it was very common for what was seemingly braided wool to be used as a decoration, and there was exactly one source of a material like that in this planet. He knew it was called ‘the forgotten tree’ by the locals, but he never really understood why.
But his objective wasn’t in the park itself, but a place that had a great view of the forgotten tree. The Watchful, a somewhat strange small café, had most of its seating area outside and the kitchen inside and was generally a very silent place. He’d come here once early on when he was looking around the town, the staff here was wary about him as always, one even had asked him why he was here instead of elsewhere. Tired of that kind of reaction, he’d just been honest and said he wanted a drink while looking at the pretty tree. And for some reason the staff seemed to warm up to him very fast from that point on, and he couldn’t quite understand- Other than the fact the tree was probably important, and given the name of the establishment it was probably set up here exactly for people to eat while looking at this strange tree.
He ordered something powerful and intense, a starberry and firefruit juice which was a local blend known to annihilate your sense of taste with its potency and a small fashik salad, one of the most costly items in the menu being an import from the Grand Herd, and to him something that tasted just like breaded and fried cauliflower despite it being raw leaves. All very helpful in washing away the taste in his mouth. He sat there in the seat outside, looking at the forgotten tree, nobody bothering him about his wounds. There was a sense of calm to doing this that really helped alleviate his nerves.
But something caused him to tense, something he saw. Maurice himself had shown up, not at the café however, but at the tree. He watched the night-black venlil walk up to the tree, sit in front of it and just… Stay there. And it made him curious, at this point he was done with his snack and he needed to talk to him anyway. So he walks over calmly.
He notices the man has something on his lap, it looks like a pair of metal rods with some electronic components on them, and he had a small box of tools with him. On closer inspection, those rods seemed like a part of the rifle he had used yesterday. But some unseen force, some understanding inside him, made him unable to start up a conversation.
He looks up at the tree, it sways gently as the everlasting breeze cannot seem to overpower it for more than a moment at a time, the sun through its leaves shines a mosaic pattern on the ground. The decorated branches remind him deeply of something… Ceremonial. Like something you’d see at a temple. So he just sits down in front of the tree as well, looking up at it. “Do you know what this tree is?” Marik asks.
Santos just shakes his head gently
“It’s a grave” he looks at Marik “There’s many traditions out here. In one of them, when someone dies their death is marked by grafting a new branch on a special tree” the venlil looks up at the tree “Do you know this tree’s name?”
“I’ve heard it called the forgotten tree”
“The special tree… It’s supposed to represent one’s family. In that tradition” he looks back down, and continues to adjust the component he was messing with “A person’s passing is remembered by adding another branch of the family tree”
Santos looks back up at the tree “If this is that kind of tree then… Whose family is this?”
“This one… This one is different” Marik takes a slow breath “Once upon a time, someone wanted to leave a mark for a nameless person. Someone who’d died without a herd, or even a family.” his hands stop moving for a moment “So, they grafted a scion to a random tree, in the name of a forgotten one”
Then, he continues the adjustments “And someone heard about it, someone that needed a forgotten one to be remembered. So they came here too, and added another branch. And it happened again. And again.”
“This is a grave for the herdless, the reviled, the forgotten.” Marik looks up again, but he notices this time he’s looking at somewhere specific on the tree “A grave for the ones everyone else wanted to forget, but one last person wanted to remember” he looks back to his work “A tree for the forgotten”
Santos takes in the tree again, looking at the various decorations. He doesn’t really form a real thought about the tree, or the branches, he just lets his mind take it in “They… Set up the café back there, so they could come visit without anyone asking, isn’t it?”
Marik points to a branch about halfway up the tree, one where a thick rope of braided wool serves as an adornment. The rope’s wool is of two contrasting colors, a deep jet-black and a dirty white “That… It’s my parents’ hand binds”
Hand binds… He trusted the translator to have given him the right meaning, especially given what else Marik had just said. Earth also had some traditions with hand binds for marriage.
Marik takes a deep breath turns to face him “You will keep your mouth shut while I speak” then he looks back at the tree
It didn’t feel like a threat, strangely enough. And he had the feeling this was going to get complicated “My mother had predator’s disease, she was a violent predator that once very much put a kid’s head through a locker in my school because the kid annoyed her too much.” he wanted badly to say something “My father was part of a death cult, he’d raise dangerous predators and set them off in the town. And the worst of all, for me at least, he spent every waking moment caring for his flesh eaters, he loved them more than me”
That sounded horrible, but something felt off. Marik’s tone sounded as flat as the cold bastard’s. But he was told not to speak until he was done. Marik then sets down his tools and the piece he was working on, and pulls out a small white box with two subdivisions from a satchel and he keeps it firmly held in his lap, Santos can identify it easily as a holder for contact lenses. And just as it seems, Marik brings up one of his hands up to his face, and very gently and carefully removes one of his contacts, revealing the terrifying color of his eye. Then he repeats the procedure with the other, storing his contacts in the box, and turns to face Santos- Staring at him with those two demonic eyes.
Deep black sclera and blood-red irises, when coupled with his night-black wool and nasty disposition it really made him look like a demon. It made sense why the word ‘nightchild’ was used. He’d seen him without his contacts once before, when they fought the first time, the one time he shouted at him for real. “I have hyperchromia” he says, in a flat tone.
Marik keeps his face trained on him, but his ears are pinned back “My body produces far more pigmentation than natural. Venlil don’t get this deep black” he grabs at his wool “Without special care, this fur falls off on its own. My mother always had a lot of missing patches, making her look sick” Marik adjusts his facing to look directly into Santos’ eyes, but it wasn’t the usual side-eye that other venlil give, it was a terrifyingly unnerving human stare that hit him directly into the uncanny valley. But in that stare, Santos could see a thin green film over the man’s cornea “It affects my vision. The pigmentation seeps into the cornea and distorts light. Anything with color… It bleeds off, overwhelms everything around it”
“You’re blind…” it was muttered, he almost flinched expecting Marik to snap at him, but he doesn’t.
“It has overtaken my entire vision, except for a small bit, at the far left side of my right eye. There’s a ten degree angle where its effects are… Lesser. I can see shapes, and shadows”
Then, Marik turns to face the tree again. It’s visible how much he can’t put it into focus with how his stance is different. “I’m a nightchild. Fur black as the night, the eyes of a predator, and the disposition of one” he looks down, and starts getting his tools back into the box. The way he does it without error, and the way he stores the gun part back in his satchel as if he could see perfectly, speaks of his practice of doing this.
“You do not know what it is you call me, but I’ve heard it all my life. I couldn’t take it as well when I was a kid” he looks back up “That girl… She’d always call me a monster. A predator. She’d say nasty things every paw, every time I met her in the corridors she’d berate me.” he takes a deep breath “One day I lost my patience, like I did with you last paw”
That causes Santos to wince, knowing where this was going “I smashed her head through the locker. Bent the flimsy metal with her skull. She was sent to the hospital” he didn’t know if he wanted to know what happened next.
“The exterminators got involved. I was panicking when I heard it, we all know what happens when they get involved. But my parents arrived before they did.” Marik takes a deep breath “I inherited my hyperchromia from my mother” he pauses for another moment “I remember her as the gentlest woman I have ever met, she was careful with every movement, she taught me how to guide my movement with my tail to make up for lack of sight” he tilts his head slightly to the side “That time, she’d put an unnatural aggression in her voice, she growled at the exterminators like a beast. They asked things, and she admitted that the girl had been annoying her, so she’d smashed her head”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and Santos says nothing until Marik pulls something else out of his satchel. It’s a book that seems to have survived a fireplace somehow, which he hands over to him. “Do you remember those athai that had nested in an abandoned house? That problem you solved that made Keya start trusting you, when you decided to move their nests?” Marik turns to face him, without his lenses to give his eyes focus that glassy and distant stare is unnerving “I lived there. With my father” he turns back to the tree.
The book is something he can’t read, but it looks half burnt and there seems to be something inside of it. He considers for a moment, and decides to pick up his datapad to have the visual translator tell him at least the title “The Linked Chain”. He opens up the book carefully, this thing has survived an attempt at destruction and it shows, whatever it had to say was mostly lost to the flames. But there were some objects being held by the book. A small charm with three metal hoops all connected at the center, a data storage device with clear signs of heat damage and a fragment of a burned photograph.
The photograph was of a short venlil, jet-black wool, black sclera and blood-red irises, but at the burned edges of the image he could see something else, a hand holding the image of the one in the photo, just a wisp of off-white wool and almost difficult to notice just the shoulder of another, much smaller, jet-black venlil. This once was a family photo.
“He was certain he could save the failing crops with the athai. He raised them carefully, kept them out of trouble, let them roam the fields. The crops were truly failing back then” Marik takes a deep breath “My lenses, they were the only gift he ever gave me. They’re not normal lenses, they can selectively change the intensity and frequency of light that crosses them, they use programmable nanostructures so they can be adjusted for the user.” he takes a deep breath “I’m… The only one with those. They let me see, by taking away the color of things… They use military cloaking technology, technology that isn’t available to civilians”
Santos continues to page through the book, and at the very end he finds one last object. A fragment of a letter of all things, almost completely burned only a handful of words and a sigil can be seen, the sigil is of three leaves crossed together “One day exterminators showed up at our house. They said a dangerous death cultist was trying to get everyone killed, and wanted to talk to my father.” he extends his hand to him, and Santos returns the book.
“I was familiar with the precinct’s personnel, they’d bothered my mother relentlessly in the past. I recognized the chief of the time, but not the others.” he takes a deep breath again “They didn’t bother asking questions when my father showed up, they didn’t bother about collateral. It was all he could do to shove me out of the effect range”
Santos bites his lower lip, wanting to say something. But there was no sense of finality to Marik’s words yet “And then they just left. No followup. Not making sure the body was consumed. I knew enough to grab a water bucket, but wool burns like dried ipsom. He always carried that book with him, hidden, he didn’t trust it anywhere else. He had no strength for words, he barely had the strength to start pulling it out of where it was”
“I wonder… If my father would be proud” he closes his eyes “Now that i’m just like his beasts.” before Santos could be tempted to answer, he continues “Predator, bah. Stupid name. Like you humans say, it denotes a relationship. Who eats, who gets eaten. Stupid, that means nothing”
Marik raises a hand up to his face “Look at you. That word means nothing, it doesn’t tell you who is dangerous. No, no… The important word is hunter. They are the ones who kill.” he slowly flexes his fingers “Humans… There’s almost no human hunters. Bet even the arxur have those who aren’t hunters either. But we all forget us herbivores have hunters too.” he closes his hand in a fist “The difference is that you eat what you kill, we just leave it to rot” he lowers his hand “I am a hunter, and I love it.”
Marik stands up “Santos. I hate humans” his voice is distressingly cold “And more than any one of your kind I hate you” he turns to face him “My life was simple, before you arrived”
Especially now, it always caught Santos off-guard how Marik could growl “I knew who to hate, I knew what was right and wrong, it was simple. But you took that from me” he steps closer “And you took it from me in the most terrible, sadistic way possible” and he steps even closer, close enough he can feel the man’s wool against his chest “You took it from me in such a way that I don’t want it back anymore. You took that ease, that simplicity of my life away forever. I can’t have it back because I don’t want it. And it’s YOUR FAULT”
Marik takes a step back “My mother gave herself so I wouldn’t go to a facility. My father gave me eyes that can see, and the price was life.” Marik turns around and faces away, he lowers his tail towards the ground and brings it around his legs, swiping the ground in front of him “Everything that endangered us we killed, anything that competed with us we’ve starved. My father knew that. He knew we were the apex predators of this planet, nothing could stand before our hunters, and I’m one of them. You made me realize that” he says, before he walks away. Santos just stares, watching as his companion moves on as if he could see, tail swiping around the ground in front of him- Like a human would use a cane.
Santos sighs, and sits down. He then looks up, staring at the branch with the white-and-black braid “Hey. I know you don’t know me, but I know your son. Y’know, he’s one hell of a fucking ass. Seems like he’s always been, eh?” he wasn’t sure why he was doing this “But he’s good. Said he’s like your athai now, don’t think he is, he knows restraint. Bites like one, though. Don’t know why he’s with us right now, not after those… People took you two from him. But he’s a good guy.”
He takes a deep breath “He needs a friend, I can’t be it. I guess… I helped him out, yeah. He needed what happened but… I can’t be friends with him anymore now, he wouldn’t allow it. It’s fine, he needs to hate someone, too. Hating you is what got him going when you were gone, it seems. I can take it, he’s fun to annoy too.”
He looks at the tree itself now, at the flecks of light that shine through the mismatched leaves “You should be proud of him. I know I would be.”
---
And... Here's a weird-ass chapter? We see the aftermath of having a close call, and we learn more about Marik's weirdness. The season "Linked" has a single chapter, on account of being a situation that couldn't really fit happening during a mission. Who knows, it might get other chapters later- We have more characters with their own histories to discover.
This was one of the chapters I spent most brainpower on if anything because it... Felt good thinking about it. Yeah I was crying writing it, it was genuinely difficult for some raeson.
And the next season is "Burned Minds", with such a name I wonder what could it be about.
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Season 3 “Linked”
Episode Single “Hunter”
“This is very irregular, you know?”
“And so is importing an extremely dangerous, viciously intelligent predator all the way from nightside to dayside.”
It had taken an entire paw for someone to finally arrive, and it felt disgusting the entire time. They didn’t have any real facilities for storing corpses, so they had to improvise by partially dismantling the interior of the breakroom’s fridge and messing with the settings. She had thought that she’d feel disgusted dealing with a corpse, but somehow that wasn’t it, it was that for some reason it felt wrong to store it like that.
And it took an entire paw for a necrologist to finally arrive. Of course they couldn’t do their forensics here, they’d need to transport it somewhere with proper facilities, and somewhere deep inside her she felt better about the cooled van they were going to use to transport the animal, it was certainly more respectful than a jury-rigged freezer.
“Guess he’s getting to you isn’t he?” Keya mutters to herself, finally having finished the handoff in the garage. Hopefully nothing like that would happen again anytime soon, or ever if possible. She makes her way back to the central administrative room of the precinct, passing by the armory as one always does on the way to the garage.
“This is just a game to you!” “And what do you know of fucking reality?!” “Nothing! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR YOU BRAHKIN APE!” it was curious why Marik even allowed Santos inside the armory if they were going to fight. Still, they might be a little more shouty right now but the stress of the previous mission must be getting to them, and in her knowledge they could sort themselves out soon.
She stops as soon as she enters the central room, it always distresses her lightly how this precinct didn’t even have a single office, she lets her mind sit on the idle thoughts about the everyday functions of her workplace as her tail thrashes uncertainly behind her. After all that stress it was difficult to get her emotions ordered enough to think straight, and the latest change to her nightmare didn’t help. She’d expected to see the nixa as her chaser, as it’d happen for a time every time she’d deal with something particularly dangerous, but instead it was at the very end, in Santos’ arms, as if the human had died trying to protect it. “I guess that was a positive change? Maybe?”
She shakes her head with enough force to draw some attention, then walks over to Lunek’s desk. He’d still be out of commission for a bit, the shoulder wounds could easily have cost the man his arms if they had taken even a fifth of a claw longer to get to the hospital, but thankfully muscular reconstruction was within their capacity and the wound sufficiently fresh they wouldn’t need to worry about nerve reconstruction. But there was something weird about his wife’s reaction to the news, she’d seen family being distressed at a wounded exterminator, but she seemed angry instead of scared or even worried.
Then, she walks over to Santos’ desk. He had given her permission to check his work, he’d been working on the animal database and had stuck to a string of old cases for a mysterious predator nicknamed ‘the black claw’, something that was incredibly elusive and had been killing even in the middle of the capital. Cases as old as the republic itself, in fact. Santos’ datapad had a map containing cases he’d decided were relevant, and a diagram of the wound patterns was also visible, thankfully no images of the wounds themselves but something about it was familiar.
But her thoughts about the human’s grisly cataloging were interrupted by said man’s guttural roar of fury and pain. The words that accompany the roar are so jumbled her translator can’t even recognize them and she doubts another human could either. Everyone present turns their attention to the door towards the armory as loud crashing and metallic noises echo down the hall. And then a horrible noise she couldn’t identify for a moment, a high-pitched bleat that sounded like a venlil’s mimicry of a furious roar.
Everyone had stood up, having drawn their tranq pistols and focusing on the doorway. The first one to walk out of it is Marik, walking nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. Except something clearly had happened, he had four marks across his face, his right shoulder was deeply stained orange with his blood and his eyes had a look of fury she had never seen in her kin before, but perhaps most distressingly was the red stains in his paws and running down his mouth “I don’t know how you handle this, it’s absolutely brahking disgusting” he says, ignoring everyone who’d instinctively raised their guns at his entrance, picking up a medkit that’s always hanging at the wall and beelining to the breakroom.
And right behind him is another grizzly sight. Looking the very sight of everything everyone feared humans would look like, orange staining the white of his sleeves as well as his nails, Santos spits a tuft of fur from his orange-stained mouth “And you taste absolutely fucking foul too” with that morbid remark she notices he’s also deeply stained with red, three ragged gashes down his left arm and a portion of his right ear missing, spilling red down his right shoulder. He calmly follows Marik to the breakroom.
“What… Happened…”
-^-
It wasn’t, in fact, pretty. Santos knew very well this was an absolute fucking disaster. Taking a bite of your coworker’s shoulder would have been a complete disaster if they were both humans, and by everything that’s holy the fucking devil sheep was pretty much one, but he was a venlil and given how often ‘eaten’ was a cause of death for this species the optics of this situation was as horrible as it could be.
Sure, the devil sheep had started it. He’d completely flown off the handle at whatever it was he had said and managed to perform the miracle of making those stubby claws of his tear through his arm before trying to break his skull with his. And the damage to his ear was a good sign the demon was willing to fight like a goddamn animal, so he just returned the favor in kind.
At least the damned devil sheep still had enough of his faculties to realize both needed medical attention and the hospital wasn’t a viable choice, so now they were both lying down on the couches of the breakroom while Keya carefully applied the contents of the medkit on his enemy. He’d insisted she check him out first, even going as far as growling at her, which just prompted her to give a twist of her right ear equivalent to a human raising an eyebrow.
As soon as she had applied the stitching gel to Marik’s face and shoulder and applied an adhesive bandage to the bite marks the devil sheep silently walked out of the room. “What happened?” Keya asks, with a simultaneously stiff and angry tone that made him question what side of the bed she woke up today, he was betting it wasn’t the cold bastard right now.
“Dunno.” he winces as she applies stitching gel to his ear, the devil sheep’s grinding teeth had managed to somehow take a piece out of it “I said something that set him off worse than I’ve ever seen, but nothing I haven’t said before. I expected him to go talk to you before it got down to blows”
Keya stops for a moment to move herself in his field of view “And he got so angry you bit him?” before returning to his side to start applying a bandage to his ear across the head.
“No, he got so angry he did this” he raises his wounded arm, the cuts are deep and jagged like cut with a rusted and chipped knife “And then all bets were off”
There’s a loud thumping noise of Keya slamming her tail on the ground “And somehow after taking pieces out of each other you just calmly walk over here to get treated like nothing happened?!” it was definitely her if she was getting angry like this.
He takes a deep breath to prepare for the stinging when she starts applying the stitching gel to his arm, thank heavens none of the cuts hit a serious blood vessel “Look, I’ve seen people like that before. Couple of times I had to trade fists with people in that state after the bombs, sometimes the only way to get what you’re feeling out is some violence. And no offense, but your people don’t know how to deal with that need”
Keya sighs “With you calling him a devil sheep in the middle of an exterminator’s precinct it surprises me this didn’t happen earlier…”
At that moment Santos’ mind halts. Something is failing to add up “Wait. Hold that thought- The translator is doing something weird” he turns to face Keya to continue saying something only to be interrupted by the pain of the bandages on his arm.
“I really hope it is because you don’t call people that” she had very purposefully made the bandaging process painful.
“There is zero reason the words, the meaning of the words I’m using, translate to anything you have real context for here” he stares at Keya, who gives him a sideways stare in return “I’m calling him a sheep, the same way he calls me an ape. What you’re talking it seems i’m using one of your idioms here and I doubt that’s true”
Keya takes a seat “The translator is good at finding meanings” she gives a dismissive tail wave “From what I understand the software knows enough to see that you’re using an animal reference as an offensive adjective to construct a phrase we can understand from it. Or at least it’s been able to for… What… The last three terran months at least”
Santos puts a hand on his forehead “So it’s not that word. Do you have a word for a devil? A creature that’s the embodiment of evil in some religion?”
It was a pain talking about translator issues through the translator, everyone knew that “An old faith that still holds some pretty strong roots sees the darkness and the night as evil. The meaning of what you call him keeps getting translated as… A child born of the Night itself.”
The human raises an eyebrow “What, like a vampire or something?”
Keya closes her eyes, and slowly tilts her head to the side “That parsed… I didn’t think humans had those kinds of myths too. But a little less blood drinking and more flesh eating”
He bites his lower lip, he can feel the genuinely foul taste of the orange blood that he still hadn’t cleaned from his face “Of course… A mythologization of ‘predator disease’ itself. Not unlike a changeling, fuck.” he rubs his forehead “And with his high aggression and staring habit, of course he’d see it like that. He never reacted that badly to it before”
Only at this moment he realizes Keya is… Surprisingly, terrifyingly calm about staring at his still blood-soaked visage “I bet he knows you had no idea about what you were talking about. But it’s still a sensitive thing” she stands up “Talk to him, but later. Not going to intrude in his personal life more than this. For now, you’re dismissed until your next shift” she turns to give him a side-eye stare “And clean up before you leave”
Very obviously he was going to clean up before leaving. Walking around drenched in venlil blood wasn’t going to fly in the capital, here in bumfuck nowhere Blackriver? The fact that he had accidentally been using something on par with some old human racial slurs against Maurice didn’t sit well with him, he was an annoying ass with a prickly personality that always got under his skin, but that was all it was.
Face clean and sleeves rolled to hide the stains, he heads out, still mostly looking like he’d lost a fight. Thankfully, the trip to his apartment is quick, and so is the process of getting properly cleaned and changed. He takes additional time cleaning his mouth with mouthwash- This planet made him hyperaware of some things and at this point he was certain he wasn’t going to get the taste of Maurice’s blood out of his tongue for a few days no matter what he did.
But it was better to try to do something about it than sit here and feel weird about it. It meant he should probably go out and eat something, which was a bit of a problem. There were a pair of restaurants on Blackriver, and none of them would deny him but it was always such a laborious process to get served, they were simply not used to humans here and at least half the servers were worse than that. But he just needed a flavor distraction, not really nutrition, so… There was one place where he was very much welcomed.
Ready to leave, he heads out again. The trip is longer this time, but it’s very easy to find one’s way to where he’s going, very much literally the center of town. Blackriver had a large park at it’s center, and parks in venlil cities always amused him in a dark way, they were as wild as wilderness was allowed to get in this planet. What is left of nature here is simply allowed to exist freely in those places, and venlinese cities often had a large amount of them, more than most terran cities. Interestingly, for as little this town had to offer to anyone not working in the farms, the park actually had something that he understood was a bit of a tourist attraction, the forgotten tree.
It is a very large tree, which seemed to grow into unnatural shapes and colors, but that was due to the sheer amount of grafts it had received over time. For some reason, multiple branches had been grafted on it, and even in the time he’d been here there’d been new branches added to it. And on top of that, the branches were often decorated. Never the original branches, always the grafts, and they all were decorated with a variety of things, all of which seemed to be personal effects. Just one detail unnerved him sometimes when looking at it, it was very common for what was seemingly braided wool to be used as a decoration, and there was exactly one source of a material like that in this planet. He knew it was called ‘the forgotten tree’ by the locals, but he never really understood why.
But his objective wasn’t in the park itself, but a place that had a great view of the forgotten tree. The Watchful, a somewhat strange small café, had most of its seating area outside and the kitchen inside and was generally a very silent place. He’d come here once early on when he was looking around the town, the staff here was wary about him as always, one even had asked him why he was here instead of elsewhere. Tired of that kind of reaction, he’d just been honest and said he wanted a drink while looking at the pretty tree. And for some reason the staff seemed to warm up to him very fast from that point on, and he couldn’t quite understand- Other than the fact the tree was probably important, and given the name of the establishment it was probably set up here exactly for people to eat while looking at this strange tree.
He ordered something powerful and intense, a starberry and firefruit juice which was a local blend known to annihilate your sense of taste with its potency and a small fashik salad, one of the most costly items in the menu being an import from the Grand Herd, and to him something that tasted just like breaded and fried cauliflower despite it being raw leaves. All very helpful in washing away the taste in his mouth. He sat there in the seat outside, looking at the forgotten tree, nobody bothering him about his wounds. There was a sense of calm to doing this that really helped alleviate his nerves.
But something caused him to tense, something he saw. Maurice himself had shown up, not at the café however, but at the tree. He watched the night-black venlil walk up to the tree, sit in front of it and just… Stay there. And it made him curious, at this point he was done with his snack and he needed to talk to him anyway. So he walks over calmly.
He notices the man has something on his lap, it looks like a pair of metal rods with some electronic components on them, and he had a small box of tools with him. On closer inspection, those rods seemed like a part of the rifle he had used yesterday. But some unseen force, some understanding inside him, made him unable to start up a conversation.
He looks up at the tree, it sways gently as the everlasting breeze cannot seem to overpower it for more than a moment at a time, the sun through its leaves shines a mosaic pattern on the ground. The decorated branches remind him deeply of something… Ceremonial. Like something you’d see at a temple. So he just sits down in front of the tree as well, looking up at it. “Do you know what this tree is?” Marik asks.
Santos just shakes his head gently
“It’s a grave” he looks at Marik “There’s many traditions out here. In one of them, when someone dies their death is marked by grafting a new branch on a special tree” the venlil looks up at the tree “Do you know this tree’s name?”
“I’ve heard it called the forgotten tree”
“The special tree… It’s supposed to represent one’s family. In that tradition” he looks back down, and continues to adjust the component he was messing with “A person’s passing is remembered by adding another branch of the family tree”
Santos looks back up at the tree “If this is that kind of tree then… Whose family is this?”
“This one… This one is different” Marik takes a slow breath “Once upon a time, someone wanted to leave a mark for a nameless person. Someone who’d died without a herd, or even a family.” his hands stop moving for a moment “So, they grafted a scion to a random tree, in the name of a forgotten one”
Then, he continues the adjustments “And someone heard about it, someone that needed a forgotten one to be remembered. So they came here too, and added another branch. And it happened again. And again.”
“This is a grave for the herdless, the reviled, the forgotten.” Marik looks up again, but he notices this time he’s looking at somewhere specific on the tree “A grave for the ones everyone else wanted to forget, but one last person wanted to remember” he looks back to his work “A tree for the forgotten”
Santos takes in the tree again, looking at the various decorations. He doesn’t really form a real thought about the tree, or the branches, he just lets his mind take it in “They… Set up the café back there, so they could come visit without anyone asking, isn’t it?”
Marik points to a branch about halfway up the tree, one where a thick rope of braided wool serves as an adornment. The rope’s wool is of two contrasting colors, a deep jet-black and a dirty white “That… It’s my parents’ hand binds”
Hand binds… He trusted the translator to have given him the right meaning, especially given what else Marik had just said. Earth also had some traditions with hand binds for marriage.
Marik takes a deep breath turns to face him “You will keep your mouth shut while I speak” then he looks back at the tree
It didn’t feel like a threat, strangely enough. And he had the feeling this was going to get complicated “My mother had predator’s disease, she was a violent predator that once very much put a kid’s head through a locker in my school because the kid annoyed her too much.” he wanted badly to say something “My father was part of a death cult, he’d raise dangerous predators and set them off in the town. And the worst of all, for me at least, he spent every waking moment caring for his flesh eaters, he loved them more than me”
That sounded horrible, but something felt off. Marik’s tone sounded as flat as the cold bastard’s. But he was told not to speak until he was done. Marik then sets down his tools and the piece he was working on, and pulls out a small white box with two subdivisions from a satchel and he keeps it firmly held in his lap, Santos can identify it easily as a holder for contact lenses. And just as it seems, Marik brings up one of his hands up to his face, and very gently and carefully removes one of his contacts, revealing the terrifying color of his eye. Then he repeats the procedure with the other, storing his contacts in the box, and turns to face Santos- Staring at him with those two demonic eyes.
Deep black sclera and blood-red irises, when coupled with his night-black wool and nasty disposition it really made him look like a demon. It made sense why the word ‘nightchild’ was used. He’d seen him without his contacts once before, when they fought the first time, the one time he shouted at him for real. “I have hyperchromia” he says, in a flat tone.
Marik keeps his face trained on him, but his ears are pinned back “My body produces far more pigmentation than natural. Venlil don’t get this deep black” he grabs at his wool “Without special care, this fur falls off on its own. My mother always had a lot of missing patches, making her look sick” Marik adjusts his facing to look directly into Santos’ eyes, but it wasn’t the usual side-eye that other venlil give, it was a terrifyingly unnerving human stare that hit him directly into the uncanny valley. But in that stare, Santos could see a thin green film over the man’s cornea “It affects my vision. The pigmentation seeps into the cornea and distorts light. Anything with color… It bleeds off, overwhelms everything around it”
“You’re blind…” it was muttered, he almost flinched expecting Marik to snap at him, but he doesn’t.
“It has overtaken my entire vision, except for a small bit, at the far left side of my right eye. There’s a ten degree angle where its effects are… Lesser. I can see shapes, and shadows”
Then, Marik turns to face the tree again. It’s visible how much he can’t put it into focus with how his stance is different. “I’m a nightchild. Fur black as the night, the eyes of a predator, and the disposition of one” he looks down, and starts getting his tools back into the box. The way he does it without error, and the way he stores the gun part back in his satchel as if he could see perfectly, speaks of his practice of doing this.
“You do not know what it is you call me, but I’ve heard it all my life. I couldn’t take it as well when I was a kid” he looks back up “That girl… She’d always call me a monster. A predator. She’d say nasty things every paw, every time I met her in the corridors she’d berate me.” he takes a deep breath “One day I lost my patience, like I did with you last paw”
That causes Santos to wince, knowing where this was going “I smashed her head through the locker. Bent the flimsy metal with her skull. She was sent to the hospital” he didn’t know if he wanted to know what happened next.
“The exterminators got involved. I was panicking when I heard it, we all know what happens when they get involved. But my parents arrived before they did.” Marik takes a deep breath “I inherited my hyperchromia from my mother” he pauses for another moment “I remember her as the gentlest woman I have ever met, she was careful with every movement, she taught me how to guide my movement with my tail to make up for lack of sight” he tilts his head slightly to the side “That time, she’d put an unnatural aggression in her voice, she growled at the exterminators like a beast. They asked things, and she admitted that the girl had been annoying her, so she’d smashed her head”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and Santos says nothing until Marik pulls something else out of his satchel. It’s a book that seems to have survived a fireplace somehow, which he hands over to him. “Do you remember those athai that had nested in an abandoned house? That problem you solved that made Keya start trusting you, when you decided to move their nests?” Marik turns to face him, without his lenses to give his eyes focus that glassy and distant stare is unnerving “I lived there. With my father” he turns back to the tree.
The book is something he can’t read, but it looks half burnt and there seems to be something inside of it. He considers for a moment, and decides to pick up his datapad to have the visual translator tell him at least the title “The Linked Chain”. He opens up the book carefully, this thing has survived an attempt at destruction and it shows, whatever it had to say was mostly lost to the flames. But there were some objects being held by the book. A small charm with three metal hoops all connected at the center, a data storage device with clear signs of heat damage and a fragment of a burned photograph.
The photograph was of a short venlil, jet-black wool, black sclera and blood-red irises, but at the burned edges of the image he could see something else, a hand holding the image of the one in the photo, just a wisp of off-white wool and almost difficult to notice just the shoulder of another, much smaller, jet-black venlil. This once was a family photo.
“He was certain he could save the failing crops with the athai. He raised them carefully, kept them out of trouble, let them roam the fields. The crops were truly failing back then” Marik takes a deep breath “My lenses, they were the only gift he ever gave me. They’re not normal lenses, they can selectively change the intensity and frequency of light that crosses them, they use programmable nanostructures so they can be adjusted for the user.” he takes a deep breath “I’m… The only one with those. They let me see, by taking away the color of things… They use military cloaking technology, technology that isn’t available to civilians”
Santos continues to page through the book, and at the very end he finds one last object. A fragment of a letter of all things, almost completely burned only a handful of words and a sigil can be seen, the sigil is of three leaves crossed together “One day exterminators showed up at our house. They said a dangerous death cultist was trying to get everyone killed, and wanted to talk to my father.” he extends his hand to him, and Santos returns the book.
“I was familiar with the precinct’s personnel, they’d bothered my mother relentlessly in the past. I recognized the chief of the time, but not the others.” he takes a deep breath again “They didn’t bother asking questions when my father showed up, they didn’t bother about collateral. It was all he could do to shove me out of the effect range”
Santos bites his lower lip, wanting to say something. But there was no sense of finality to Marik’s words yet “And then they just left. No followup. Not making sure the body was consumed. I knew enough to grab a water bucket, but wool burns like dried ipsom. He always carried that book with him, hidden, he didn’t trust it anywhere else. He had no strength for words, he barely had the strength to start pulling it out of where it was”
“I wonder… If my father would be proud” he closes his eyes “Now that i’m just like his beasts.” before Santos could be tempted to answer, he continues “Predator, bah. Stupid name. Like you humans say, it denotes a relationship. Who eats, who gets eaten. Stupid, that means nothing”
Marik raises a hand up to his face “Look at you. That word means nothing, it doesn’t tell you who is dangerous. No, no… The important word is hunter. They are the ones who kill.” he slowly flexes his fingers “Humans… There’s almost no human hunters. Bet even the arxur have those who aren’t hunters either. But we all forget us herbivores have hunters too.” he closes his hand in a fist “The difference is that you eat what you kill, we just leave it to rot” he lowers his hand “I am a hunter, and I love it.”
Marik stands up “Santos. I hate humans” his voice is distressingly cold “And more than any one of your kind I hate you” he turns to face him “My life was simple, before you arrived”
Especially now, it always caught Santos off-guard how Marik could growl “I knew who to hate, I knew what was right and wrong, it was simple. But you took that from me” he steps closer “And you took it from me in the most terrible, sadistic way possible” and he steps even closer, close enough he can feel the man’s wool against his chest “You took it from me in such a way that I don’t want it back anymore. You took that ease, that simplicity of my life away forever. I can’t have it back because I don’t want it. And it’s YOUR FAULT”
Marik takes a step back “My mother gave herself so I wouldn’t go to a facility. My father gave me eyes that can see, and the price was life.” Marik turns around and faces away, he lowers his tail towards the ground and brings it around his legs, swiping the ground in front of him “Everything that endangered us we killed, anything that competed with us we’ve starved. My father knew that. He knew we were the apex predators of this planet, nothing could stand before our hunters, and I’m one of them. You made me realize that” he says, before he walks away. Santos just stares, watching as his companion moves on as if he could see, tail swiping around the ground in front of him- Like a human would use a cane.
Santos sighs, and sits down. He then looks up, staring at the branch with the white-and-black braid “Hey. I know you don’t know me, but I know your son. Y’know, he’s one hell of a fucking ass. Seems like he’s always been, eh?” he wasn’t sure why he was doing this “But he’s good. Said he’s like your athai now, don’t think he is, he knows restraint. Bites like one, though. Don’t know why he’s with us right now, not after those… People took you two from him. But he’s a good guy.”
He takes a deep breath “He needs a friend, I can’t be it. I guess… I helped him out, yeah. He needed what happened but… I can’t be friends with him anymore now, he wouldn’t allow it. It’s fine, he needs to hate someone, too. Hating you is what got him going when you were gone, it seems. I can take it, he’s fun to annoy too.”
He looks at the tree itself now, at the flecks of light that shine through the mismatched leaves “You should be proud of him. I know I would be.”
---
And... Here's a weird-ass chapter? We see the aftermath of having a close call, and we learn more about Marik's weirdness. The season "Linked" has a single chapter, on account of being a situation that couldn't really fit happening during a mission. Who knows, it might get other chapters later- We have more characters with their own histories to discover.
This was one of the chapters I spent most brainpower on if anything because it... Felt good thinking about it. Yeah I was crying writing it, it was genuinely difficult for some raeson.
And the next season is "Burned Minds", with such a name I wonder what could it be about.
2023.05.24 02:18 pvfjr 1984 Chevy S10 conversion van
 | submitted by pvfjr to WeirdWheels [link] [comments] |
2023.05.24 01:37 coffyrocket Leaked Plot Synopsis, Edited for Improved Readability
I ran LunekJones' synopsis through ChatGPT — it's known to "hallucinate" and get things not-quite-right, but I find the errors interesting. Somehow it interpreted certain negative comments as positive, then spun them differently in the edit. Maybe because my prompts were about "improving" the text. This is NOT intended as a "fan creation," merely as an aid to the original post. Anyway. Enjoy.
INDIANA JONES and the DIAL of DESTINY
Leaked Plot Synopsis
Improved Readability Edit, 5/23/23
by LunekJones and ChatGPT
Original Post
PROLOGUE
Lucasfilm. Paramount. Disney — and the castle cross-dissolves into a baleful BAVARIAN SCHLOSS, dark and crenelated, spires piercing a glowering dusk.
We’re in GERMANY, at a particularly rotten moment: 1944 A.D.
Lightning strobes and darkness overtakes us. We endure a tense, silent pause before — KA-BASH!, a door smashes open, center frame, and we careen through the opening into an adjoining cavernous chamber. When our whiplash subsides it dawns on us that we’re now somewhere inside the gothic edifice.
Our POV is certain, deliberate, purposeful — a confident stride toward a most peculiar tableau vivant at the opposite end of this medieval banquet hall. Quick intercuts give half-second glimpses of our patented jackboots, the hilt of our gleaming Luger, our embroidered insignia and shimmering medals — our whole panoply of fear and death. We are brutality incarnate, a grim SS Oberführer — the film’s antagonist? — racing to intercept a cordon of gruff underlings presently barely restraining a quarrelsome Young Nazi.
Off their superior’s subtle look, the lead stalhhelm rips a burlap shroud from the bucking bronco’s face, revealing:
INDIANA JONES,
looking exactly as he should, undoubtedly the final result of the most ambitious de-aging ever dared. It’s even better than Dark Fate’s young Sarah Connor — better than Mando’s Season 3 Luke. It’s like footage from an Indy movie shot in 1995 except you know it can’t be that because IMDb insists no such film exists.
All this while the castle is under heavy fire, a churn of chaos, bellweather of impending Axis defeat.
FAR OUTSIDE, in a fog-wreathed pine forest, BASIL SHAW catches glimpses of the towering fortress through tangles of moss and branch. His beady eyes dart everywhere — he is anxiety made flesh.
INSIDE, the Nazi officer, examining Indy's notes, questions why he was interested in stealing the Lance of Longinus, a prized artifact coveted by Hitler himself, as it was believed to be the lance used in the crucifixion of Christ. At some point, physicist JÜRGEN VOLLER appears, and briefly glances at the Lance before it is taken away, suggesting he notices something significant. The exchange concludes with the officer ordering Indy's removal, triumphantly stating, “To the victor go the spoils.”
Sadly, Basil — a studious Oxonian unsuited for close-quarters combat — is captured by Nazis (and their inevitable hunting dogs) and taken aboard a train leaving the castle, which is now on the brink of total destruction.
Indy finds himself about to be lynched by the bad guys. Fortunately for him, a gravity bomb drops into the room, slowly descending multiple floors before exploding, killing his would-be executioners — but leaving Indy high and dry, hanging by the rope around his neck. Miraculously, he manages to escape. It's an incredibly tense sequence.
On the train, Voller’s words carry no weight. He tries and fails to relate his revelations to the Oberführer. Soon, Basil Shaw finds himself under interrogation by the very same man. Somewhere not far away, Indiana — of course — takes the long road, delivering truly imaginative feats of derring-do along the way, squeezing every drop of value from his tattered Nazi disguise. It’s one thrilling action sequence after another, culminating with one of the sidecars (there are so many sidecars) getting sheared in half. Indy successfully boards the train (I believe this is the first time we catch a stab of the Raiders motif) and starches numberless brownshirts along the way, each felled by the satisfying pulp soundboard Ben Burtt so lovingly gifted us 42 years ago. As he progresses through the interior of the train, enfilade style, car to car, he recovers the Lance of Longinus . . . only to discover it's a replica. He also comes across a multitude of “precious valuables, your highness” and antiquities “recovered” by the AHNENERBE, the same division responsible for questing after the Ark and the Grail, which makes me wonder if the train is this movie’s nod to old rumored “lost Nazi treasure-caches” transported on their much-vaunted railways — like the Amber Room or any number of illusory “gold trains.”
Voller loses his patience and informs the Nazi officer that the Lance is a fake, much to Hitler's forthcoming disappointment. Voller begins discussing the Dial of Destiny and reveals a fragment of it, suggesting it would be of greater interest to Hitler. While his cohorts’ expressions are leaden and unreadable, an obvious glow of interest begins to radiate from Basil Shaw. Right about then Indy manages to locate the train car where Basil is being held captive. Indy routs his captors as Basil drops some very kinetic exposition to Indy about the Dial, and together, they escape to the train's roof. Indy incapacitates Voller with a surprise punch and steals the Dial. On the roof, they witness Allied dive bombers attacking the train, liquefying many aspiring fascists in the process. Just when it seems they are about to escape, the Nazi officer confronts them in a bluish haze. Indy fights him, trying to keep his head attached as the train plows through a chain of hazardous tunnels.
Indy skillfully whips his enemy’s pistol free and tosses it to Basil, signaling him to shoot. In the heat of the moment, Basil accidentally fires at Indy instead. Indy retaliates by throwing the Nazi officer off the roof, brandishing the Dial in the air and reclaiming the rancid officer’s one-liner, “To the victor go the spoils.” Finally, Indy and Basil can take a breath, out of immediate danger . . .
. . . until Voller reappears, armed with a gun, and demands that Indy hand over the Dial. Indy hurls him the bag containing the Dial, giving the impression that Voller is about to escape. But just as Voller seems on the verge of getting away, he is struck by a roadside structure near the tracks—an accidental echo of the tactic young Indy used to evade Fedora in LAST CRUSADE. Indy narrowly avoids the same fate by maneuvering the train through the turns.
While Indy and Basil desperately attempt to signal the Allied planes for rescue, the planes “rapidly disassemble” the bridge ahead by fire and fury, forcing the pair to jump. After they — naturally — emerge scathless, Basil expresses regret that Indy had to surrender the Dial to Voller, but Indy reveals that he only threw him the bag, having never relinquished the genuine article.
The scene concludes with a poignant shot of Indy resting his arm on Basil's shoulder under the bridge as they gaze upon the smoldering trainwreck, the war nearly done, young Tommies raising a victory flag over the spoils.
MANHATTAN, 1969 A.D.
The story swiftly transitions from the 1944 flashback to 1969. The camera roves across what must be Indiana Jones’ dingy New York City apartment, and we catch glimpses of other rooms — all loaded with intriguing easter eggs and art department shenanegans — hi, Sean — before settling on the man himself, out like a light. Notably, there is a black and white photo of Marion on Indy's (lead lined?) fridge from their RAIDERS days . . . not far from their finalized divorce papers.
Indy abruptly wakes up when he hears MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR blasting loudly from a downstairs neighbor’s pad. He shouts at him through the window, but his complaints go unheard as the neighbor is preoccupied with friends, starting up a hippie happening. After a brief shot of Indy shirtless, he puts on an old tee, grabs a bat, heads downstairs with malice aforethought. The beatnik sees Indy as none more significant than his crochety upstairs neighbor and continues party prep, unfazed. Indy expresses his frustration, pointing out that it's early and he has to work. The neighbor is indignant and mocks him, seemingly skeptical that Indy still has a job. He dismissively tells Indy to “f—k off” because it's “space day,” referring to the ticker tape parade for the returning Apollo astronauts.
The scene cuts to Indy preparing coffee in his apartment, “accidentally” spilling something slightly more adult into it. He shields himself from Marion’s judgment, stifling her picture with a fridge magnet. Determined, Indy leaves his place (the Irish street shot from the trailer) and takes the subway alongside a child dressed as a cosmonaut. He arrives at Hunter College — you read that right — where he opens a class on Archimedes. There's a humorous moment when a student expresses interest by exclaiming, "Syracuse?!" — and Indy clarifies he's referring to Syracuse in Sicily, not the local variant. The rest of the students are bored or hungover or both, and nobody participates when Indy tries to engage them — nobody except HELENA SHAW, who brims with Archimedean erudition and general archaeological affinity.
Indy enthusiastically discusses the clever weapons devised by Archimedes during the great siege of Syracuse, which ultimately led to the Greek victory over the Romans. However, the class is interrupted when other students come into the class rolling a TV set to watch the parade. Indy’s heart leaves the room and he follows it. Afterward, Helena discreetly stalks Indy to the professors' corner of the university, where his is assaulted by a surprise “tenth anniversary” party and rewarded for his service with a cheap anniversary clock.
Indy is bemused by the gift, remarking something along the lines of "thanks for burdening me with all these years” (forgive my English, it was some sort of time-related pun, apropos of the plot). As he walks out onto the street, fringed in destitution and “the unhoused,” he unceremoniously offloads the clock to the first beggar he sees.
Seeking solace, Indy enters a bar — we can’t see the full marquee but we absolutely spot the letters “OB” and “AN” — and starts knocking them back. Helena follows his trail, while MASON is secretly following Helena.
In another scene, KLABER (played by Boyd Holbrook) is shown in a New York City hotel room, attempting to learn German from a book. A waiter enters the room looking for Professor Schimdt, mistaking Klaber for him. Klaber points to Voller, who is observing the parade preparations from the window, and sarcastically tells the waiter that the Americans went to the moon thanks to Voller. We also catch a glimpse of the giant man who works for Voller. There is a tense and revealing exchange between Voller and the waiter, as Voller asks about the waiter's origin in a racist manner (due to the waiter being black), and the waiter responds that he is from the Bronx. When Voller inquires if he fought for his country, the waiter reveals that he served in WWII, handling cannons for the Allies. At this point, Voller may express the belief that the Allies didn't win the war, but rather, Hitler lost it. Regardless, it becomes evident that Voller never gave up his Third Reich ideology.
Back in the bar, Helena and Indy engage in a discussion about the Archimedes Dial and Basil Shaw's obsession with it. Helena reveals that she has recently become an archaeologist herself and appears to possess extensive knowledge about the Dial. She confesses that she is searching for it and knows that her father and Indy lost it in a river in the French Alps. Indy, skeptical, repeatedly asks her if she remembers their last encounter when she was a child, but she evades giving a direct answer. He also questions her motive for pursuing the Dial that drove her father to madness, but she tries to persuade him by emphasizing the allure of a great adventure. Indy is cold to her pitch. He also appears shocked to learn of Basil's death, although it remains unclear whether Basil has been deceased for a significant period or not.
Nonetheless Indy reluctantly becomes drawn into their discussion about Archimedes, particularly when the Dial is mentioned again. They decide to return to the university and head to the locked room of antiquities. Inside, Indy opens a drawer and reveals the part of the Dial that was seen in the 1944 flashback. They reiterate that there is a missing piece that is needed to complete the Dial, and Indy mentions that Basil believed the Dial possessed time-related powers. He also discovers old letters from Basil, realizing that his friend had written numerous times about the Dial, although Indy confesses he hadn't read all of them.
It is revealed that Klaber is working with Mason, but their methods seem to diverge. Klaber and his associates break into Indy's personal office, where one of Indy's colleagues, the lady with glasses from the earlier surprise party, questions their actions and grows suspicious. In response, they ruthlessly shoot her on the spot. Another colleague enters the room and meets the same fate, both falling victim to the brutal and menacing nature of the intruders. This egregious act establishes Klaber and his associates as dangerous and threatening villains, though some early-GoT cojones might have been preferable, rather than merely validating our suspicions about which characters are protected by plot armor (more on that later).
Finally, Klaber sneaks into the room where Indy and Helena are still discussing the Dial. Helena realizes the danger and escapes via the roof, while Klaber confronts Indy at gunpoint. As Helena makes her escape, Indy manages to tip over the shelves, trapping the intruders just as Mason discovers the dead professors. Indy stumbles upon his deceased colleague and is visibly shaken, attempting to call the police but getting caught by the villains. The scene ends with a shot of the phone made red by Indy’s bloodied hands.
Helena successfully escapes on the roof while Indy is hustled into a van by Klaber and his fellow CIA operatives. Indy quickly realizes their affiliation. However, as they drive, the driver nearly crashes into a barrier blocking the parade and is forced to turn back. In doing so, they collide with a taxi, causing a commotion. They are then forced to continue on foot. They find themselves amidst a peace protest, and Indy seizes the opportunity to blend in with the crowd. He shouts a peace slogan, snatches a placard, and strikes his kidnappers with it. In response, Klaber fires his gun into the air, scattering the frightened crowd.
Indy spots a police officer nearby, close to his horse, and urgently asks for help. Thinking quickly — shades of Arnie in TRUE LIES — Indy steals the police officer's horse and initiates a chase through the parade. The scene is brief but exhilarating, with CGI head-replacement barely perceptible — a marked improvement over the trailer. The chase transitions into the subway, where Indy narrowly escapes one train and manages to evade another on the opposite track. He arrives at the next station and passes his horse's reins to a woman, drily instructing her to take care of it. Indy casually composes himself and boards the train just as Mason arrives on the scene. To an astonished fellow passenger, Indy remarks, “The subway’s faster.” Native New Yorkers everywhere roll their eyes.
Later, at night, Indy watches a news report in front of a TV store, discovering that he is being framed for the murders of his colleagues. Sallah joins the story here — my memory of exactly how is murky. The scene transitions to Sallah's apartment, where Indy meets Sallah's grandchildren and surprisingly unforced, uncontrived exposition informs us that Indy assisted their family in emigrating to the US during the war. Sallah expresses eternal gratitude for Indy's help.
Sallah then drives Indy to the airport, where Indy plans to travel to Tangiers. He suspects Helena will attempt to sell the Dial at an antiquities auction organized by local mobsters there. Voller knows this too and, in classic fashion, getting there will be a race between good and evil.
At the airport, Sallah regales us with his deep-timbered voice, expressing his wistful longing for the sea, the desert, and adventure, but Indy dismisses those days as long gone. He insists that his current situation is not an adventure and, agonizingly, declines Sallah's offer to help. Here comes the “Give them hell” piece, and an inauspicious beat as Indy is nearly paved by a car. He and Sallah exchange concerned glances.
During the plane ride, Indy takes a moment to enjoy an “adult beverage” and contemplates his reflection in the window. This triggers a flashback to his last encounter with Basil Shaw and Helena as a child. In the flashback, Indy appears younger, unimprovably de-aged to his fifties. He has a tense exchange with Basil in his office, where Basil attempts to destroy a part of the Dial, underscoring how unthinkably dangerous it is. Indy intervenes and saves the piece from destruction. Basil asks Indy to promise to destroy it, and Helena overhears their conversation, revealing that she knew from the beginning that Indy possessed the Dial and had broken his promise to Basil.
As Indy leaves in his car, Helena rushes after him to return his hat. Indy assures her that her father will be okay, despite a burgeoning mental instability neither of them can truly predict. He promises to keep her informed but seemingly fails to fulfill that promise at the cost of Basil’s sanity, leading to Helena's anger and resentment. The flashback ends with Helena gazing at her own reflection as a child during her flight to Morocco.
The scene transitions to the traditional Indiana Jones
MAP SEQUENCE
slightly modernized, delineating Indy's trek to Tangiers. The stage is set for his quest to recover the missing piece of the Dial and confront the consequences of his broken promise to Basil Shaw.
Onboard Voller's plane, Mason informs him that the CIA can no longer allow him to pursue his quest for the Dial. The recent killings of professors at Hunter College by Klaber's men and Voller's abandonment of a meeting with the US president in Los Angeles have prompted this decision. As some CIA members are about to redirect the plane back to the US, Klaber and his men deploy tear gas, overpowering them. Someone, possibly Voller, shoots Mason, resulting in her death. It is a surprising turn of events, as Mason's role appeared to have more significance. Maybe this has cojones after all.
In Tangiers, Indy disguises himself and enters the bar where Helena intends to sell the Dial in the backroom auction. Not long enough later, Voller enters the bar. Indy, Helena, and Voller engage in the trailer’s conversation about capitalism, with Voller seemingly unaware of Indy's identity despite having consulted his CIA file in New York. Intriguing sidebar: Anthony Ingruber is prominently featured as one of the bidders — but, despite cineastic expectations, this particular setup for a surefire Chekov’s gun . . . never delivers, and he is never seen again.
The scene quickly escalates into action as Indy showcases his (100% practical) whip skills and gunshots ring out, as seen in the trailer. The chase for the Dial commences, featuring several twists and a fast-paced sequence. Eventually, Voller obtains the Dial, and Indy and Helena pursue his car. However, they are confronted by Helena's former fiancé, a local mobster who intends to kill her. I want to note that, far from the hyper-progressive martinet anticipated by far-right Twitter, Helena is portrayed as an avaricious gloryhound, a loudly and proudly capitalistic character openly driven by money, having stolen the Dial to resell it to the highest bidder. TEDDY — a pilot in training — comes to their rescue using a tuk-tuk (autorickshaw), sparking off a thrilling chase. Indy, Helena, and Teddy each take turns driving it. Eventually, Voller and his gang reach a helicopter, while Indy's tuk-tuk succumbs to the damage it sustained during the pursuit.
Indy and Helena engage in a spirited debate about their respective roles and usefulness in their quest for the Dial. They mention the need to find an artifact (the name of which escapes me) that holds clues to the location where Archimedes may have hidden the other part of the Dial. Deciphering this artifact requires a Greek code, and interestingly, there are two codes — one that Indy can translate and another that Helena can decipher. They believe the artifact is somewhere in the Aegean Sea, and Indy gains an advantage by revealing that he knows someone with a boat and diving skills. They then meet Antonio Banderas' character, RENALDO, and together they embark on a search for the artifact aboard his boat.
During a poignant nighttime scene on the boat, Helena poses a thought-provoking question to Indy: If the Dial possessed the power of time travel, which historical event would he choose to witness? Indy candidly confesses that he would prevent his son's tragic death in Nam (“he enlisted just to piss me off”) — which ultimately caused immense pain and led to the collapse of his marriage. Helena is deeply moved by his response and finds herself at a loss for words. We are, too.
At some point, possibly during this scene, Indy, while re-reading Basil's letter on the plane, makes a realization. Among Basil's notes, he discovers two dates of significance: 08/20/39, which marked the onset of World War II, and another date, 08/20/39, which is just a few days away. It becomes clear that Basil believed Archimedes, through mathematical calculations, had uncovered the Dial's ability to predict temporal anomalies in the sky. Once deciphered, the Dial could potentially facilitate time travel, allowing individuals to reach specific points in time and jump to different temporal periods.
The next morning, Indy, Renaldo, and Helena prepare for their underwater exploration, aware of the time limit of three minutes below the surface. Tension fills the air as they venture into the depths, searching for the artifact. The scene intensifies when eels emerge from the artifact, causing a momentary fright for Indy, who earlier expressed his unease with snakes to Teddy.
Meanwhile, Voller and his crew arrive in another boat and seize the artifact just as Indy, Helena, and Renaldo emerge from the water. Voller demands that Indy translate the Greek code on the artifact, but Indy refuses. In a chilling display, Voller coldly executes Renaldo in front of Indy as a means of coercion. In response, Helena strikes a deal with Voller, offering to translate the code in exchange for a monetary agreement once they locate the missing part of the Dial.
Indy is disheartened by Helena's actions but soon realizes that she has concealed dynamite, previously obtained from Renaldo’s boat, in her capacious back pocket. As Helena engages Voller in conversation, she cleverly passes Indy a cigarette, enabling him to discreetly light the fuse on the dynamite. While Helena deciphers the riddle and explains its connection to Archimedes' history, stating that the missing part of the Dial is located in the Alexandria Library in Greece, she hurls the dynamite down into the galley, causing a powerful explosion.
Indy, Teddy, and Helena make their escape on Voller’s yacht, but Helena is jubilant about her daring move. More somber than he used to be, Indy solemnly reminds her that they have just lost a friend. As they reflect on their next move, they realize that the artifact was not fully explored. By burning it, they uncover its true form and an encoded message that only Indy can decipher. They decipher the message and discover that their next destination is Sicily, specifically Archimedes' tomb.
Unbeknownst to them, Voller, observing their westward trajectory instead of heading east as planned, deduces their true destination and decides to follow them, determined to retrieve the dial's missing part. He sets his boat in pursuit, unwilling to let them slip away.
The stage is set for a thrilling race against time as Indy, Helena, and Teddy head to Sicily while being relentlessly pursued by Voller and his crew. The stakes are high as they navigate treacherous waters and strive to unlock the mysteries of Archimedes' tomb before their adversaries catch up.
SICILY, 1969 A.D.
Indy takes some necessary supplies for their exploration of the Cave of Dionysos, where they believe the Dial is hidden. In the meantime, Teddy remarks to Helena that she is now under Indiana's command. Helena denies this, asserting her autonomy and intention to sell any valuable artifacts they find during their quest, as Indy had mentioned that the artifact should ultimately be in a museum (very much the character dynamics of Atlantis: The Lost Empire). Teddy, distracted, decides to pilfer money from a teenager to buy gelato but never gets the chance — Voller and his men abduct him.
Indy realizes Teddy's predicament and devises a plan with Helena to use Teddy's knowledge of the artifact to gain access to the Dial, thereby ensuring his safety. They steal a wedding car and rush to the cave, which happens to be a tourist attraction open to the public. Arriving ahead of their pursuers, they decipher the riddle and determine that the Dial is concealed in the part of the cave with the most pronounced echo. Spotting a crescent moon-shaped opening near the cave's ceiling, they begin their ascent. Along the way, Helena taunts Indy about his struggles in climbing, prompting his retort about Kali and being shot nine times. It is revealed that Indy has some visible signs of aging in his knees or legs. When Helena questions his pause, Indy sharply replies, “I’m thinking!”
Alternating shots showcase Indy and Helena navigating through the cave, encountering challenges such as a corridor teeming with insects reminiscent of their previous adventures, including tarantulas. Even Indy displays a degree of trepidation, acknowledging the creepiness of the situation. Meanwhile, Voller and his gang track their footsteps, reminiscent of the Last Crusade's final enigma sequence.
At one point, Teddy, who is handcuffed to a hulking man due to his failed escape attempt, falls into the water when a fragile rope bridge collapses. In a stroke of luck, Teddy manages to steal the key from his captor and escape the water, while the giant meets a tragic end by drowning. This turn of events eliminates the need for Indy to confront the giant, considering his age and physical limitations.
After successfully navigating a wild hydrological booby trap, Indy and Helena enter the chamber where Archimedes' tomb is believed to be concealed. They are taken aback by a mural depicting a futuristic-looking raven with metal claws (Helena: “Pigeon of Archytas?” Indy: “Not very pigeon-like if it is,”), as well as what appears to be early versions of timekeeping devices resembling ancestors of watches. Indy remarks that watches would not be invented for another thousand years after Archimedes' time, highlighting the intriguing nature of the discovery.
They locate the missing part of the Dial within the tomb, but Voller & Co. arrive just as they do. Voller demands that Indy hand over the Dial, and although Indy appears hesitant, Voller threatens to kill Helena, revealing that she is the only family he has left. Reluctantly, Indy surrenders the Dial, and Voller proceeds to assemble it. However, Teddy, who had stealthily made his way into the room, ambushes Klaber. This leads to a scene that permanently puts to rest the question, “Will Disney allow Indy a gun?” — as Indy proves he still knows his way around a pistol. Despite his proficiency, he sustains a gunshot wound in the shoulder (the first hints of reshoot continutiy goofs here, as the on-screen shot very much appears to strike his heart). It is evident that Indy is in excruciating pain, but Helena is determined to save him. Teddy advises her to let Voller take Indy, promising that they will rescue him once they escape.
Voller and his crew transport Indy in a van, intending to reach the airport where Voller plans to fly using a Nazi plane to reach the time fault. Helena and Teddy discreetly pursue them on a stolen bike. As Indy is boarded onto the Nazi plane, Helena instructs Teddy to attempt flying a plane, despite his lack of experience. Meanwhile, she continues her pursuit of the Nazi plane after a thrilling bike chase. Onboard the plane, Indy and Voller engage in a tense exchange ("You should have stayed in NY" - "You should have stayed out of Poland"). Indy questions Voller about his target for assassination, speculating whether it would be Churchill or Roosevelt to alter history and secure Germany's victory. In response, Voller reveals his intention to kill Hitler to prevent Germany from invading Poland and making a significant mistake, arguing that history is a series of wars and that one must be on the side of the victors.
As Indy calculates the coordinates on the Dial for the time fault, they approach dangerously close to the destination with only a few seconds remaining. Indy realizes that Archimedes was unaware of the shifting continents, meaning they cannot be heading to 08/20/1939. In a fit of almost hysterical laughter, Indy casts doubt on Voller's decision. Voller attempts to abort the plan at the last minute, but it is too late, and they are all drawn into the time fault, including Teddy in his plane.
Voller exults in triumph, believing they have arrived in Sicily in 1939, only to discover that they have actually been transported back to
SICILY, 212 B.C.
the Roman siege of Syracuse. The sight of numerous boats, arrows, and catapults astonishes them. In the midst of the chaos, Archimedes, working on completing the Dial, is informed by his assistant that "dragons" have arrived, referring to the two planes. They gaze in astonishment from outside the city walls while the siege is underway.
Klaber fervently sprays all guns at the ships and soldiers; he’s totally snapped, raving about “savages” as he strafes living history into strawberry jam.
On the plane, Helena activates a switch that opens the bomber bay, causing several Nazis to plummet out of the airplane. Despite being attacked by Roman and Greek lances, Indy manages to free himself from his ropes using an arrow seized from the air and encounters Helena. He gives her a parachute while Voller tries to rip it from them but is disarmed. Helena and Indy jump from the plane with the parachute, while Voller and Klaber crash with the aircraft.
Upon landing on the ground, Indy is captivated by the awe-inspiring sight before him, feeling like a little boy witnessing his dream come true. He tells Helena to leave him there and return to Teddy's plane, which landed safely nearby. Just as Helena is about to comply, Archimedes, who has discovered Voller's charred corpse and his intact watch, approaches Indy and Helena. Indy converses with Archimedes in Greek. Archimedes "rigged" the dial to only send them back to Syracuse on the day of the siege, ensuring their ability to save him. It becomes clear that thanks to this temporal jump, Archimedes acquired knowledge about watches and how to complete the dial. The “dragons” make sense of later stories and legends of Archimedes’ impossible “war machines.” It’s a closed, Cameronian (“All my work was based on it”), 12 Monkeys, Arrival-style timeloop.
Helena desperately pleads with Indy to return with her to the present, underlining the dangers of further messing up the timeline. He’s obstinate. “There’s nothing for me there.”
And, so.
What follows will go down as the single most controversial sequence in Indiana Jones franchise history, more divisive even than Nuke the Fridge, as —
In her frustration, Helena simply wills all of her energy into a haymaker punch, which knocks Henry Jones, Jr. unconscious, and the screen fades to black.
In the final scene of Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, the last ten minutes of Harrison Ford’s 42-year-long Indiana Jones quintet, Indy awakens in his bed in New York City, mummified by bandages and enshrined by pill bottles. As he rises from bed, he finds Helena and reproaches her for bringing him back to the present when there is nothing for him there. She disagrees, and at that moment, an aged Marion enters the apartment with a bag of groceries, complaining about the empty fridge. Indy is shocked to see Marion and asks why she's back. Marion explains that she was informed he had returned and says, "Well, if INDY has returned.” We hope he has.
Teddy and Sallah arrive, and Teddy goes on again about ice cream. Helena plays the wingman and convinces them to get some outside — to grant Marion and Indy some privacy. As they go, we hear Sallah humming — the song he sang after Marion kissed him in Raiders of the Lost Ark — Gilbert & Sullivan — “I am the Monarch of the Sea, the ruler of the Queen’s Nay-vee . . .”
Indy and Marion talk about pain. He asks her where she hurts — “Everywhere,” she says. And they reenact the boat scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark in reverse. The camera then pans to the apartment balcony, finding Indy's hat drying on a clothesline. The screen irises down into a Tom & Jerry circle on the hat — as if the story ends there. A millisecond before it does, Indy’s hand grabs the lid one last time.
FINITO!
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INDIANA JONES and the DIAL of DESTINY
Leaked Plot Synopsis
Improved Readability Edit, 5/23/23
by LunekJones and ChatGPT
Original Post
PROLOGUE
Lucasfilm. Paramount. Disney — and the castle cross-dissolves into a baleful BAVARIAN SCHLOSS, dark and crenelated, spires piercing a glowering dusk.
We’re in GERMANY, at a particularly rotten moment: 1944 A.D.
Lightning strobes and darkness overtakes us. We endure a tense, silent pause before — KA-BASH!, a door smashes open, center frame, and we careen through the opening into an adjoining cavernous chamber. When our whiplash subsides it dawns on us that we’re now somewhere inside the gothic edifice.
Our POV is certain, deliberate, purposeful — a confident stride toward a most peculiar tableau vivant at the opposite end of this medieval banquet hall. Quick intercuts give half-second glimpses of our patented jackboots, the hilt of our gleaming Luger, our embroidered insignia and shimmering medals — our whole panoply of fear and death. We are brutality incarnate, a grim SS Oberführer — the film’s antagonist? — racing to intercept a cordon of gruff underlings presently barely restraining a quarrelsome Young Nazi.
Off their superior’s subtle look, the lead stalhhelm rips a burlap shroud from the bucking bronco’s face, revealing:
INDIANA JONES,
looking exactly as he should, undoubtedly the final result of the most ambitious de-aging ever dared. It’s even better than Dark Fate’s young Sarah Connor — better than Mando’s Season 3 Luke. It’s like footage from an Indy movie shot in 1995 except you know it can’t be that because IMDb insists no such film exists.
All this while the castle is under heavy fire, a churn of chaos, bellweather of impending Axis defeat.
FAR OUTSIDE, in a fog-wreathed pine forest, BASIL SHAW catches glimpses of the towering fortress through tangles of moss and branch. His beady eyes dart everywhere — he is anxiety made flesh.
INSIDE, the Nazi officer, examining Indy's notes, questions why he was interested in stealing the Lance of Longinus, a prized artifact coveted by Hitler himself, as it was believed to be the lance used in the crucifixion of Christ. At some point, physicist JÜRGEN VOLLER appears, and briefly glances at the Lance before it is taken away, suggesting he notices something significant. The exchange concludes with the officer ordering Indy's removal, triumphantly stating, “To the victor go the spoils.”
Sadly, Basil — a studious Oxonian unsuited for close-quarters combat — is captured by Nazis (and their inevitable hunting dogs) and taken aboard a train leaving the castle, which is now on the brink of total destruction.
Indy finds himself about to be lynched by the bad guys. Fortunately for him, a gravity bomb drops into the room, slowly descending multiple floors before exploding, killing his would-be executioners — but leaving Indy high and dry, hanging by the rope around his neck. Miraculously, he manages to escape. It's an incredibly tense sequence.
On the train, Voller’s words carry no weight. He tries and fails to relate his revelations to the Oberführer. Soon, Basil Shaw finds himself under interrogation by the very same man. Somewhere not far away, Indiana — of course — takes the long road, delivering truly imaginative feats of derring-do along the way, squeezing every drop of value from his tattered Nazi disguise. It’s one thrilling action sequence after another, culminating with one of the sidecars (there are so many sidecars) getting sheared in half. Indy successfully boards the train (I believe this is the first time we catch a stab of the Raiders motif) and starches numberless brownshirts along the way, each felled by the satisfying pulp soundboard Ben Burtt so lovingly gifted us 42 years ago. As he progresses through the interior of the train, enfilade style, car to car, he recovers the Lance of Longinus . . . only to discover it's a replica. He also comes across a multitude of “precious valuables, your highness” and antiquities “recovered” by the AHNENERBE, the same division responsible for questing after the Ark and the Grail, which makes me wonder if the train is this movie’s nod to old rumored “lost Nazi treasure-caches” transported on their much-vaunted railways — like the Amber Room or any number of illusory “gold trains.”
Voller loses his patience and informs the Nazi officer that the Lance is a fake, much to Hitler's forthcoming disappointment. Voller begins discussing the Dial of Destiny and reveals a fragment of it, suggesting it would be of greater interest to Hitler. While his cohorts’ expressions are leaden and unreadable, an obvious glow of interest begins to radiate from Basil Shaw. Right about then Indy manages to locate the train car where Basil is being held captive. Indy routs his captors as Basil drops some very kinetic exposition to Indy about the Dial, and together, they escape to the train's roof. Indy incapacitates Voller with a surprise punch and steals the Dial. On the roof, they witness Allied dive bombers attacking the train, liquefying many aspiring fascists in the process. Just when it seems they are about to escape, the Nazi officer confronts them in a bluish haze. Indy fights him, trying to keep his head attached as the train plows through a chain of hazardous tunnels.
Indy skillfully whips his enemy’s pistol free and tosses it to Basil, signaling him to shoot. In the heat of the moment, Basil accidentally fires at Indy instead. Indy retaliates by throwing the Nazi officer off the roof, brandishing the Dial in the air and reclaiming the rancid officer’s one-liner, “To the victor go the spoils.” Finally, Indy and Basil can take a breath, out of immediate danger . . .
. . . until Voller reappears, armed with a gun, and demands that Indy hand over the Dial. Indy hurls him the bag containing the Dial, giving the impression that Voller is about to escape. But just as Voller seems on the verge of getting away, he is struck by a roadside structure near the tracks—an accidental echo of the tactic young Indy used to evade Fedora in LAST CRUSADE. Indy narrowly avoids the same fate by maneuvering the train through the turns.
While Indy and Basil desperately attempt to signal the Allied planes for rescue, the planes “rapidly disassemble” the bridge ahead by fire and fury, forcing the pair to jump. After they — naturally — emerge scathless, Basil expresses regret that Indy had to surrender the Dial to Voller, but Indy reveals that he only threw him the bag, having never relinquished the genuine article.
The scene concludes with a poignant shot of Indy resting his arm on Basil's shoulder under the bridge as they gaze upon the smoldering trainwreck, the war nearly done, young Tommies raising a victory flag over the spoils.
MANHATTAN, 1969 A.D.
The story swiftly transitions from the 1944 flashback to 1969. The camera roves across what must be Indiana Jones’ dingy New York City apartment, and we catch glimpses of other rooms — all loaded with intriguing easter eggs and art department shenanegans — hi, Sean — before settling on the man himself, out like a light. Notably, there is a black and white photo of Marion on Indy's (lead lined?) fridge from their RAIDERS days . . . not far from their finalized divorce papers.
Indy abruptly wakes up when he hears MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR blasting loudly from a downstairs neighbor’s pad. He shouts at him through the window, but his complaints go unheard as the neighbor is preoccupied with friends, starting up a hippie happening. After a brief shot of Indy shirtless, he puts on an old tee, grabs a bat, heads downstairs with malice aforethought. The beatnik sees Indy as none more significant than his crochety upstairs neighbor and continues party prep, unfazed. Indy expresses his frustration, pointing out that it's early and he has to work. The neighbor is indignant and mocks him, seemingly skeptical that Indy still has a job. He dismissively tells Indy to “f—k off” because it's “space day,” referring to the ticker tape parade for the returning Apollo astronauts.
The scene cuts to Indy preparing coffee in his apartment, “accidentally” spilling something slightly more adult into it. He shields himself from Marion’s judgment, stifling her picture with a fridge magnet. Determined, Indy leaves his place (the Irish street shot from the trailer) and takes the subway alongside a child dressed as a cosmonaut. He arrives at Hunter College — you read that right — where he opens a class on Archimedes. There's a humorous moment when a student expresses interest by exclaiming, "Syracuse?!" — and Indy clarifies he's referring to Syracuse in Sicily, not the local variant. The rest of the students are bored or hungover or both, and nobody participates when Indy tries to engage them — nobody except HELENA SHAW, who brims with Archimedean erudition and general archaeological affinity.
Indy enthusiastically discusses the clever weapons devised by Archimedes during the great siege of Syracuse, which ultimately led to the Greek victory over the Romans. However, the class is interrupted when other students come into the class rolling a TV set to watch the parade. Indy’s heart leaves the room and he follows it. Afterward, Helena discreetly stalks Indy to the professors' corner of the university, where his is assaulted by a surprise “tenth anniversary” party and rewarded for his service with a cheap anniversary clock.
Indy is bemused by the gift, remarking something along the lines of "thanks for burdening me with all these years” (forgive my English, it was some sort of time-related pun, apropos of the plot). As he walks out onto the street, fringed in destitution and “the unhoused,” he unceremoniously offloads the clock to the first beggar he sees.
Seeking solace, Indy enters a bar — we can’t see the full marquee but we absolutely spot the letters “OB” and “AN” — and starts knocking them back. Helena follows his trail, while MASON is secretly following Helena.
In another scene, KLABER (played by Boyd Holbrook) is shown in a New York City hotel room, attempting to learn German from a book. A waiter enters the room looking for Professor Schimdt, mistaking Klaber for him. Klaber points to Voller, who is observing the parade preparations from the window, and sarcastically tells the waiter that the Americans went to the moon thanks to Voller. We also catch a glimpse of the giant man who works for Voller. There is a tense and revealing exchange between Voller and the waiter, as Voller asks about the waiter's origin in a racist manner (due to the waiter being black), and the waiter responds that he is from the Bronx. When Voller inquires if he fought for his country, the waiter reveals that he served in WWII, handling cannons for the Allies. At this point, Voller may express the belief that the Allies didn't win the war, but rather, Hitler lost it. Regardless, it becomes evident that Voller never gave up his Third Reich ideology.
Back in the bar, Helena and Indy engage in a discussion about the Archimedes Dial and Basil Shaw's obsession with it. Helena reveals that she has recently become an archaeologist herself and appears to possess extensive knowledge about the Dial. She confesses that she is searching for it and knows that her father and Indy lost it in a river in the French Alps. Indy, skeptical, repeatedly asks her if she remembers their last encounter when she was a child, but she evades giving a direct answer. He also questions her motive for pursuing the Dial that drove her father to madness, but she tries to persuade him by emphasizing the allure of a great adventure. Indy is cold to her pitch. He also appears shocked to learn of Basil's death, although it remains unclear whether Basil has been deceased for a significant period or not.
Nonetheless Indy reluctantly becomes drawn into their discussion about Archimedes, particularly when the Dial is mentioned again. They decide to return to the university and head to the locked room of antiquities. Inside, Indy opens a drawer and reveals the part of the Dial that was seen in the 1944 flashback. They reiterate that there is a missing piece that is needed to complete the Dial, and Indy mentions that Basil believed the Dial possessed time-related powers. He also discovers old letters from Basil, realizing that his friend had written numerous times about the Dial, although Indy confesses he hadn't read all of them.
It is revealed that Klaber is working with Mason, but their methods seem to diverge. Klaber and his associates break into Indy's personal office, where one of Indy's colleagues, the lady with glasses from the earlier surprise party, questions their actions and grows suspicious. In response, they ruthlessly shoot her on the spot. Another colleague enters the room and meets the same fate, both falling victim to the brutal and menacing nature of the intruders. This egregious act establishes Klaber and his associates as dangerous and threatening villains, though some early-GoT cojones might have been preferable, rather than merely validating our suspicions about which characters are protected by plot armor (more on that later).
Finally, Klaber sneaks into the room where Indy and Helena are still discussing the Dial. Helena realizes the danger and escapes via the roof, while Klaber confronts Indy at gunpoint. As Helena makes her escape, Indy manages to tip over the shelves, trapping the intruders just as Mason discovers the dead professors. Indy stumbles upon his deceased colleague and is visibly shaken, attempting to call the police but getting caught by the villains. The scene ends with a shot of the phone made red by Indy’s bloodied hands.
Helena successfully escapes on the roof while Indy is hustled into a van by Klaber and his fellow CIA operatives. Indy quickly realizes their affiliation. However, as they drive, the driver nearly crashes into a barrier blocking the parade and is forced to turn back. In doing so, they collide with a taxi, causing a commotion. They are then forced to continue on foot. They find themselves amidst a peace protest, and Indy seizes the opportunity to blend in with the crowd. He shouts a peace slogan, snatches a placard, and strikes his kidnappers with it. In response, Klaber fires his gun into the air, scattering the frightened crowd.
Indy spots a police officer nearby, close to his horse, and urgently asks for help. Thinking quickly — shades of Arnie in TRUE LIES — Indy steals the police officer's horse and initiates a chase through the parade. The scene is brief but exhilarating, with CGI head-replacement barely perceptible — a marked improvement over the trailer. The chase transitions into the subway, where Indy narrowly escapes one train and manages to evade another on the opposite track. He arrives at the next station and passes his horse's reins to a woman, drily instructing her to take care of it. Indy casually composes himself and boards the train just as Mason arrives on the scene. To an astonished fellow passenger, Indy remarks, “The subway’s faster.” Native New Yorkers everywhere roll their eyes.
Later, at night, Indy watches a news report in front of a TV store, discovering that he is being framed for the murders of his colleagues. Sallah joins the story here — my memory of exactly how is murky. The scene transitions to Sallah's apartment, where Indy meets Sallah's grandchildren and surprisingly unforced, uncontrived exposition informs us that Indy assisted their family in emigrating to the US during the war. Sallah expresses eternal gratitude for Indy's help.
Sallah then drives Indy to the airport, where Indy plans to travel to Tangiers. He suspects Helena will attempt to sell the Dial at an antiquities auction organized by local mobsters there. Voller knows this too and, in classic fashion, getting there will be a race between good and evil.
At the airport, Sallah regales us with his deep-timbered voice, expressing his wistful longing for the sea, the desert, and adventure, but Indy dismisses those days as long gone. He insists that his current situation is not an adventure and, agonizingly, declines Sallah's offer to help. Here comes the “Give them hell” piece, and an inauspicious beat as Indy is nearly paved by a car. He and Sallah exchange concerned glances.
During the plane ride, Indy takes a moment to enjoy an “adult beverage” and contemplates his reflection in the window. This triggers a flashback to his last encounter with Basil Shaw and Helena as a child. In the flashback, Indy appears younger, unimprovably de-aged to his fifties. He has a tense exchange with Basil in his office, where Basil attempts to destroy a part of the Dial, underscoring how unthinkably dangerous it is. Indy intervenes and saves the piece from destruction. Basil asks Indy to promise to destroy it, and Helena overhears their conversation, revealing that she knew from the beginning that Indy possessed the Dial and had broken his promise to Basil.
As Indy leaves in his car, Helena rushes after him to return his hat. Indy assures her that her father will be okay, despite a burgeoning mental instability neither of them can truly predict. He promises to keep her informed but seemingly fails to fulfill that promise at the cost of Basil’s sanity, leading to Helena's anger and resentment. The flashback ends with Helena gazing at her own reflection as a child during her flight to Morocco.
The scene transitions to the traditional Indiana Jones
MAP SEQUENCE
slightly modernized, delineating Indy's trek to Tangiers. The stage is set for his quest to recover the missing piece of the Dial and confront the consequences of his broken promise to Basil Shaw.
Onboard Voller's plane, Mason informs him that the CIA can no longer allow him to pursue his quest for the Dial. The recent killings of professors at Hunter College by Klaber's men and Voller's abandonment of a meeting with the US president in Los Angeles have prompted this decision. As some CIA members are about to redirect the plane back to the US, Klaber and his men deploy tear gas, overpowering them. Someone, possibly Voller, shoots Mason, resulting in her death. It is a surprising turn of events, as Mason's role appeared to have more significance. Maybe this has cojones after all.
In Tangiers, Indy disguises himself and enters the bar where Helena intends to sell the Dial in the backroom auction. Not long enough later, Voller enters the bar. Indy, Helena, and Voller engage in the trailer’s conversation about capitalism, with Voller seemingly unaware of Indy's identity despite having consulted his CIA file in New York. Intriguing sidebar: Anthony Ingruber is prominently featured as one of the bidders — but, despite cineastic expectations, this particular setup for a surefire Chekov’s gun . . . never delivers, and he is never seen again.
The scene quickly escalates into action as Indy showcases his (100% practical) whip skills and gunshots ring out, as seen in the trailer. The chase for the Dial commences, featuring several twists and a fast-paced sequence. Eventually, Voller obtains the Dial, and Indy and Helena pursue his car. However, they are confronted by Helena's former fiancé, a local mobster who intends to kill her. I want to note that, far from the hyper-progressive martinet anticipated by far-right Twitter, Helena is portrayed as an avaricious gloryhound, a loudly and proudly capitalistic character openly driven by money, having stolen the Dial to resell it to the highest bidder. TEDDY — a pilot in training — comes to their rescue using a tuk-tuk (autorickshaw), sparking off a thrilling chase. Indy, Helena, and Teddy each take turns driving it. Eventually, Voller and his gang reach a helicopter, while Indy's tuk-tuk succumbs to the damage it sustained during the pursuit.
Indy and Helena engage in a spirited debate about their respective roles and usefulness in their quest for the Dial. They mention the need to find an artifact (the name of which escapes me) that holds clues to the location where Archimedes may have hidden the other part of the Dial. Deciphering this artifact requires a Greek code, and interestingly, there are two codes — one that Indy can translate and another that Helena can decipher. They believe the artifact is somewhere in the Aegean Sea, and Indy gains an advantage by revealing that he knows someone with a boat and diving skills. They then meet Antonio Banderas' character, RENALDO, and together they embark on a search for the artifact aboard his boat.
During a poignant nighttime scene on the boat, Helena poses a thought-provoking question to Indy: If the Dial possessed the power of time travel, which historical event would he choose to witness? Indy candidly confesses that he would prevent his son's tragic death in Nam (“he enlisted just to piss me off”) — which ultimately caused immense pain and led to the collapse of his marriage. Helena is deeply moved by his response and finds herself at a loss for words. We are, too.
At some point, possibly during this scene, Indy, while re-reading Basil's letter on the plane, makes a realization. Among Basil's notes, he discovers two dates of significance: 08/20/39, which marked the onset of World War II, and another date, 08/20/39, which is just a few days away. It becomes clear that Basil believed Archimedes, through mathematical calculations, had uncovered the Dial's ability to predict temporal anomalies in the sky. Once deciphered, the Dial could potentially facilitate time travel, allowing individuals to reach specific points in time and jump to different temporal periods.
The next morning, Indy, Renaldo, and Helena prepare for their underwater exploration, aware of the time limit of three minutes below the surface. Tension fills the air as they venture into the depths, searching for the artifact. The scene intensifies when eels emerge from the artifact, causing a momentary fright for Indy, who earlier expressed his unease with snakes to Teddy.
Meanwhile, Voller and his crew arrive in another boat and seize the artifact just as Indy, Helena, and Renaldo emerge from the water. Voller demands that Indy translate the Greek code on the artifact, but Indy refuses. In a chilling display, Voller coldly executes Renaldo in front of Indy as a means of coercion. In response, Helena strikes a deal with Voller, offering to translate the code in exchange for a monetary agreement once they locate the missing part of the Dial.
Indy is disheartened by Helena's actions but soon realizes that she has concealed dynamite, previously obtained from Renaldo’s boat, in her capacious back pocket. As Helena engages Voller in conversation, she cleverly passes Indy a cigarette, enabling him to discreetly light the fuse on the dynamite. While Helena deciphers the riddle and explains its connection to Archimedes' history, stating that the missing part of the Dial is located in the Alexandria Library in Greece, she hurls the dynamite down into the galley, causing a powerful explosion.
Indy, Teddy, and Helena make their escape on Voller’s yacht, but Helena is jubilant about her daring move. More somber than he used to be, Indy solemnly reminds her that they have just lost a friend. As they reflect on their next move, they realize that the artifact was not fully explored. By burning it, they uncover its true form and an encoded message that only Indy can decipher. They decipher the message and discover that their next destination is Sicily, specifically Archimedes' tomb.
Unbeknownst to them, Voller, observing their westward trajectory instead of heading east as planned, deduces their true destination and decides to follow them, determined to retrieve the dial's missing part. He sets his boat in pursuit, unwilling to let them slip away.
The stage is set for a thrilling race against time as Indy, Helena, and Teddy head to Sicily while being relentlessly pursued by Voller and his crew. The stakes are high as they navigate treacherous waters and strive to unlock the mysteries of Archimedes' tomb before their adversaries catch up.
SICILY, 1969 A.D.
Indy takes some necessary supplies for their exploration of the Cave of Dionysos, where they believe the Dial is hidden. In the meantime, Teddy remarks to Helena that she is now under Indiana's command. Helena denies this, asserting her autonomy and intention to sell any valuable artifacts they find during their quest, as Indy had mentioned that the artifact should ultimately be in a museum (very much the character dynamics of Atlantis: The Lost Empire). Teddy, distracted, decides to pilfer money from a teenager to buy gelato but never gets the chance — Voller and his men abduct him.
Indy realizes Teddy's predicament and devises a plan with Helena to use Teddy's knowledge of the artifact to gain access to the Dial, thereby ensuring his safety. They steal a wedding car and rush to the cave, which happens to be a tourist attraction open to the public. Arriving ahead of their pursuers, they decipher the riddle and determine that the Dial is concealed in the part of the cave with the most pronounced echo. Spotting a crescent moon-shaped opening near the cave's ceiling, they begin their ascent. Along the way, Helena taunts Indy about his struggles in climbing, prompting his retort about Kali and being shot nine times. It is revealed that Indy has some visible signs of aging in his knees or legs. When Helena questions his pause, Indy sharply replies, “I’m thinking!”
Alternating shots showcase Indy and Helena navigating through the cave, encountering challenges such as a corridor teeming with insects reminiscent of their previous adventures, including tarantulas. Even Indy displays a degree of trepidation, acknowledging the creepiness of the situation. Meanwhile, Voller and his gang track their footsteps, reminiscent of the Last Crusade's final enigma sequence.
At one point, Teddy, who is handcuffed to a hulking man due to his failed escape attempt, falls into the water when a fragile rope bridge collapses. In a stroke of luck, Teddy manages to steal the key from his captor and escape the water, while the giant meets a tragic end by drowning. This turn of events eliminates the need for Indy to confront the giant, considering his age and physical limitations.
After successfully navigating a wild hydrological booby trap, Indy and Helena enter the chamber where Archimedes' tomb is believed to be concealed. They are taken aback by a mural depicting a futuristic-looking raven with metal claws (Helena: “Pigeon of Archytas?” Indy: “Not very pigeon-like if it is,”), as well as what appears to be early versions of timekeeping devices resembling ancestors of watches. Indy remarks that watches would not be invented for another thousand years after Archimedes' time, highlighting the intriguing nature of the discovery.
They locate the missing part of the Dial within the tomb, but Voller & Co. arrive just as they do. Voller demands that Indy hand over the Dial, and although Indy appears hesitant, Voller threatens to kill Helena, revealing that she is the only family he has left. Reluctantly, Indy surrenders the Dial, and Voller proceeds to assemble it. However, Teddy, who had stealthily made his way into the room, ambushes Klaber. This leads to a scene that permanently puts to rest the question, “Will Disney allow Indy a gun?” — as Indy proves he still knows his way around a pistol. Despite his proficiency, he sustains a gunshot wound in the shoulder (the first hints of reshoot continutiy goofs here, as the on-screen shot very much appears to strike his heart). It is evident that Indy is in excruciating pain, but Helena is determined to save him. Teddy advises her to let Voller take Indy, promising that they will rescue him once they escape.
Voller and his crew transport Indy in a van, intending to reach the airport where Voller plans to fly using a Nazi plane to reach the time fault. Helena and Teddy discreetly pursue them on a stolen bike. As Indy is boarded onto the Nazi plane, Helena instructs Teddy to attempt flying a plane, despite his lack of experience. Meanwhile, she continues her pursuit of the Nazi plane after a thrilling bike chase. Onboard the plane, Indy and Voller engage in a tense exchange ("You should have stayed in NY" - "You should have stayed out of Poland"). Indy questions Voller about his target for assassination, speculating whether it would be Churchill or Roosevelt to alter history and secure Germany's victory. In response, Voller reveals his intention to kill Hitler to prevent Germany from invading Poland and making a significant mistake, arguing that history is a series of wars and that one must be on the side of the victors.
As Indy calculates the coordinates on the Dial for the time fault, they approach dangerously close to the destination with only a few seconds remaining. Indy realizes that Archimedes was unaware of the shifting continents, meaning they cannot be heading to 08/20/1939. In a fit of almost hysterical laughter, Indy casts doubt on Voller's decision. Voller attempts to abort the plan at the last minute, but it is too late, and they are all drawn into the time fault, including Teddy in his plane.
Voller exults in triumph, believing they have arrived in Sicily in 1939, only to discover that they have actually been transported back to
SICILY, 212 B.C.
the Roman siege of Syracuse. The sight of numerous boats, arrows, and catapults astonishes them. In the midst of the chaos, Archimedes, working on completing the Dial, is informed by his assistant that "dragons" have arrived, referring to the two planes. They gaze in astonishment from outside the city walls while the siege is underway.
Klaber fervently sprays all guns at the ships and soldiers; he’s totally snapped, raving about “savages” as he strafes living history into strawberry jam.
On the plane, Helena activates a switch that opens the bomber bay, causing several Nazis to plummet out of the airplane. Despite being attacked by Roman and Greek lances, Indy manages to free himself from his ropes using an arrow seized from the air and encounters Helena. He gives her a parachute while Voller tries to rip it from them but is disarmed. Helena and Indy jump from the plane with the parachute, while Voller and Klaber crash with the aircraft.
Upon landing on the ground, Indy is captivated by the awe-inspiring sight before him, feeling like a little boy witnessing his dream come true. He tells Helena to leave him there and return to Teddy's plane, which landed safely nearby. Just as Helena is about to comply, Archimedes, who has discovered Voller's charred corpse and his intact watch, approaches Indy and Helena. Indy converses with Archimedes in Greek. Archimedes "rigged" the dial to only send them back to Syracuse on the day of the siege, ensuring their ability to save him. It becomes clear that thanks to this temporal jump, Archimedes acquired knowledge about watches and how to complete the dial. The “dragons” make sense of later stories and legends of Archimedes’ impossible “war machines.” It’s a closed, Cameronian (“All my work was based on it”), 12 Monkeys, Arrival-style timeloop.
Helena desperately pleads with Indy to return with her to the present, underlining the dangers of further messing up the timeline. He’s obstinate. “There’s nothing for me there.”
And, so.
What follows will go down as the single most controversial sequence in Indiana Jones franchise history, more divisive even than Nuke the Fridge, as —
In her frustration, Helena simply wills all of her energy into a haymaker punch, which knocks Henry Jones, Jr. unconscious, and the screen fades to black.
In the final scene of Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, the last ten minutes of Harrison Ford’s 42-year-long Indiana Jones quintet, Indy awakens in his bed in New York City, mummified by bandages and enshrined by pill bottles. As he rises from bed, he finds Helena and reproaches her for bringing him back to the present when there is nothing for him there. She disagrees, and at that moment, an aged Marion enters the apartment with a bag of groceries, complaining about the empty fridge. Indy is shocked to see Marion and asks why she's back. Marion explains that she was informed he had returned and says, "Well, if INDY has returned.” We hope he has.
Teddy and Sallah arrive, and Teddy goes on again about ice cream. Helena plays the wingman and convinces them to get some outside — to grant Marion and Indy some privacy. As they go, we hear Sallah humming — the song he sang after Marion kissed him in Raiders of the Lost Ark — Gilbert & Sullivan — “I am the Monarch of the Sea, the ruler of the Queen’s Nay-vee . . .”
Indy and Marion talk about pain. He asks her where she hurts — “Everywhere,” she says. And they reenact the boat scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark in reverse. The camera then pans to the apartment balcony, finding Indy's hat drying on a clothesline. The screen irises down into a Tom & Jerry circle on the hat — as if the story ends there. A millisecond before it does, Indy’s hand grabs the lid one last time.
FINITO!
2023.05.23 13:35 heylookaspider These wheels look familiar to anybody? They’re on a Chevy G20, it is one of the “conversions” but can’t remember which off the top of my head.
 | submitted by heylookaspider to Chevy [link] [comments] |
2023.05.23 00:59 tomass1240 Party Department
 | Just picked this gem up at a local surplus auction... thinking about adding "Party" above the existing remaining Department decal and converting the interior into a Party bus charter set up... lift gate, generator, engine all in great running condition.. it was surplused because of a bad heater core that took me 15 minutes to replace ha ha 😂--- all comments and suggestions welcome van conversion is a new venture for me. submitted by tomass1240 to vandwellers [link] [comments] |