Marsha > Recent Status Updates

The man horse was running up and down the alley at a stoop, scanning every gutter, its lean body quivering with agitation. The sheep skull was also stumbling about the lane, no longer capering, twisting this way and that in search. The radish was nowhere to be seen.
And then the arctic silence of that realization was broken by a clear, crisp sound.
Clatter-clack. Clatter-clack. Clatter-clatter-clack.

Gods, this is incredible. In control yet out of control. Feeling as though I could do anything. When I go to wrap my arms around his neck, I hiss and pull away, my hurt arm throbbing.
"You're injured," Eryx says aloud, as though reminding himself. "What am I doing? I'm so sorry. We should get you into bed."
I arch a single brow his way.
"I meant alone. You need to rest and heal. I will take care of everything else."

I freeze in place, bringing Kallias to a jerking stop beside me.
The table is bigger. He commissioned a new one. And at the head of the table, where Kallias always sits, there are two chairs.
The table is twice as wide, allowing for us to sit side by side at the head of the massive oak piece.
This isn't just some polite gesture. This is a statement. One all of the nobility can see and understand.

I realize right then that I have a choice to make. Either I do this, or I don't. But no more shrieking because I'm a lady. I didn't opt to go off with Leandros because I wanted to be treated like a lady. Ladies don't spend time along with men who aren't their relations. They don't cavort with the former best friend of the king to get more information about how to seduce said king.

"Forgive me for interrupting talk of bottoms. I would gladly continue the conversation, but I simply must secure an introduction."
The newcomer strides around the bench to stand before us. "Leandros Vasco. At your service, my lady."
"Vasco?" I ask. "You're related to Ikaros Vasco, the head of the king's council?"
Leandro sighs. "I'm afraid he's my uncle."
I didn't see the resemblance.

At the same time, I felt a twinge of resentment at being treated like a child. I had been with Evangeline for the majority of my life. I contributed as much, if not more, than she did. I deserved to be treated like an equal. I couldn't spend the rest of my life subordinate to her. At some point, she was going to have to recognize that I wasn't a child anymore.

One day these two swindlers were both short of money - bills piling up, wives demanding money for this and money for that. So the two swindlers each set about making a dishonest naira or two.
Our man from Kano went out into the bush to an enormous baobab tree and he tore a large strip of bark off its trunk. The Kano man took the bark back to town and went to the round pits where cloth is dyed.

'Hmph!' said the man. 'Is all that food we've given him, all the clothes, all the care we've taken of him--is it all for nothing? Are we just going to sit back and watch my boy walk out of that door and not come back after all the trouble we've taken?'
One of the women said, 'We could put poison in his soup tomorrow. When he drinks it, he'll die.'
And that's what they agreed to do--put poison in the boy's soup.

She handed Fabrizio an inky black ball of wool. "I need to keep my hands clean. So this time you're the printer's devil. There's the ink." She pointed to a wooden box in which cloth was stuffed. The cloth was black with ink. "Dip our paid in that ink and rub it over the letters. Do it as evenly as possible."
"Like this?" Fabrizio asked.
'Not too much ink, not too little."
They set to work.

She begins a reading lesson, tells the students they're getting to read a text and then answer questions on it.
'Martin Luther King gave this speech...' Chan reads aloud.
In front of the class, she leans against her desk, dizzy. She hasn't even read the page. She has no lesson plan, just a 'Who's Like Me' snatched from the recycling tray, and this text about 'I Have a Dream'.

She pulls in a breath: the sweet, floral scent of the honey, the acrid valerian, the sour musk of chickweed. No false pain, this. It will squeeze her and squeeze her, until her body yields up this baby. It may be hours, it may be days: she finds she cannot get a sense of how long. Agnes lets out her breath, slowly, slowly, one hand on the fireplace. She was not expecting this. There was no sign.

People would say these words, to each other, Did you ever hear about the girl who lived at the edge of a forest? as they sat around the fire at night, as they kneaded dough, as they carded wool for spinning. Such stories, of course, make the night pass more quickly, soothe a fractious child, distract others from their cares.
At the edge of a forest, a girl.

When all of them left, Rose hopped into her car and watched all the kids pile into Addie's mom's van, on to some second half of the early evening that she knew her mom wouldn't let her be a part of. She had homework to do.
Only a few weeks ago, when she and Charlotte had said their goodbyes at the rescue, she'd known they'd text or FaceTime later that night. Back then, leaving the rescue felt a lot less lonely.

He lit up and went on, "I have this amazing record collection. You should see it sometime."
"I've never listened to music on vinyl," Brennan admitted but he loved how Cole lit up from the inside when he talked about it.
"Well, you definitely have to come listen, then."
"How'd you get into record collecting?"
"My brother. Noah. He was a year older than me. He was, like, the rebel kid."

Kit's thumb stroked soothingly over the back of Drew's hand. "I feel that whatever I do, it could...take something away from me. I want to be with you and I want to be part of your life, but I want to be me as well. But, then, if being me is the thing that messes us up, then...I don't know how to deal with that."
"I don't not want... I like who you are. Can't we meet in the middle here?"
"Where's the middle?"

"Mana's not an issue for me," Kit went on, "so what really matters is wisdom and conviction. My staff's got 112 wis, 408 power. The book's 73 wis, 281 power, the mace is only 44 wis and 130 power, so I'd gain a little bit of wisdom and a little bit of power and swap some crit for some haste, but not enough to be worth it, when it's a flat upgrade for you, Helen."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."

Solace hadn't actually lied or led him on. At worst they'd been slightly evasive and let Drew draw his own conclusions. So he had no reason to feel betrayed.
Except he did. Utterly.
What he really wanted to do was gquit, turn off his computer, and go hide in a hole forever, but that would have made him a total dick. It wasn't the guild's fault that he'd broken the first rule of the internet.

To [Solace]: you fishing?
[Solace] whispers: Yes
[Solace] whispers: It helps me wind down after a raid
There was the text-based equivalent of an awkward silence.
[Solace] whispers: You can come join me if you like
[Solace] whispers: you don't have to
To [Solace]: omw
[Solace] whispers: :)
Solace has invited you to join a group: y/n
Solace is now group leader.

Drew was sweating slightly as he mashed his rotation. It wouldn't really be his fault if they wiped, but he was the best geared tank on the server and he didn't want to be dragged down by some mouth-breathing pillock with an RP-inappropriate name.
Also, Solace was kind of depending on him. And the healer wasn't dying on his watch.
His health dipped, and he threw up Wall of Blades as one more cultist keeled over.

I'm aware these final moments of anticipation should probably terrify me, but for some reason fear is the last thing on my mind. I've had time to mentally prepare, of course, but that doesn't quite explain the unexpected emotions as I cinch my boots and lock them to the pant leg, creating an airtight seal.
The odds of me never returning from this plunge into the infinite are substantial, and that's fine.

He walks over to a large building. The doorframe has been burned. The building contains a room with big windows that have been broken. He thinks the space must have dows that have been broken. He thinks the space must have been a restaurant. There are built-in chairs that weren't removed. Most of the tables are gone, but two remain soldered to the floor. There's an elongated structure that could have been a bar.

"Few arrive dead, but every so often we get one. When that happens, the FSA is informed and they come take the head away." He knows that this is the official truth, which makes it a relative truth. He knows that the employees leave a few for the Scavengers, who slaughter the meat with machetes and take what they can. They don't care that the meat is diseased; they run the risk because they can't afford to buy it.

The next hour passes by with them discussing everything from a company that IPO'd earlier that week to the season finale of a dark comedy on HBO.
Somewhere between their next round of drinks and their current conversation about working remotely with kids, Maya feels like a proper adult. A real grown-up in the outside world, not just someone who has spent the past months measuring out everything in ounces.

Once Morjune was tied to the upright stake, Parson Lebone made one last attempt to coax confession and repentance out of her. For his own part he was convinced of her innocence, but he thought it might comfort the girl to feel that she had put herself right with Heaven. "Will you not pray with me for Christ's forgiveness?"
Morjune peered at him, blinking. "No, father," she said. "I think I won't."

"What happened to the Duke?" I ask. Please be dead, please be dead.
"He and his cronies f**ked off," Gena says. "Heading northwest, last I saw. Probably keep running until he gets to his own sh**hole castle. F**king crabs decided they'd had enough not long after, haven't seen 'em since." She narrows her eyes. "Where were you hiding the Prince?"
"A bunch of them chased us, but we managed to take care of them."

"Why do you want to go to Essex?"
"Essex Fashion Week."
"Is this a dream? Why the hell do you want to go to Essex Fashion Week?"
Because there's a man I can't stop thinking about. Because I feel terrible and I want him." "Research," I said.
"You're setting the next Rik Glass in Essex?"
"Uh, yes. It's going to be called..." I waited for inspiration to strike. "...The Glass of Fashion."

Human rights are broad and aspirational. Those in power--government institutions and individuals--are responsible for ensuring access to the key services and programs that proactively advance such values as dignity and full participation in society. The human rights approach focuses on protecting those who are most marginalized, excluded, or discriminated against.

The Center and its clinic clients were between a rock and a hard place that echoed Casey, just as the anti-abortion movement had planned. Should they appeal to the Supreme Court, they risked a loss with nationwide impact. If they let the law stand, not only could it shutter more clinics in Louisiana, but it could inspire copycat laws in other states around the country.

"Hooray!" I say, and immediately start arranging us all in the best formation--Leila in the middle, me and Nate flanking her, Elliot in front, on his knees. My proposal that we all pretend to be looking at something random and strange in the distance is accepted, and we all pose with expressions which vary between wonder, disgust, and horror, with Leila actually pointing at the pretend thing, whatever it actually is.

Jack's just acting like everything's cool, but he must have noticed I'm barely talking to him. "So the hot tub pic went down a storm," he says to me. "It's an absolutely mint photo--looks really glamorous--laughter, bubbles, hot teens in a hot tub!"
"Good." At least that's something. I hope Tariq's seen it. I hope I was laughing in the picture. "It's unlikely, but I hope it.