Tanning beds fort mill sc | | The Community for Fort Mill, SC & Surrounding Area

This could have easily been a book but I’ll try to be vague.
It’s long overdue but I finely ended things with my gf. It’s been a two year long rollercoaster of misery, misplaced anger, humiliation and …dog semen.
I won’t elaborate too much on ups and downs of our relationship (that’s whole another story) but the final straw was her saying that if she had to choose saving human life or a dog she would have chosen a dog, thousand times over, even if it were my son’s.
Dog runs this house.
I should have known this the very minute I stepped inside my gf’s tiny two bed apartment. Filthy couch with throw covering up dog filth from when poor little pooper had “an accident”. Dog necessities everywhere, not one, not two but 5 dog beds including a crusty old pillow on which the shit beast relieves itself 🤢
This miserable creature was literally allowed to do whatever it please. Jump on furniture, on her bed, scratching itself on a wall leading to her apartment, leaving brown trail of dog filth. It would follow her around the apartment, always begging for treats. Whenever someone was in the kitchen, it would climb up on a couch backrest, nearly falling off or it and literally with its face in the cooking pots. Hair and dander everywhere and shitty asshole on where humans would later sit down. It’s a smartest and most intelligent dog on Earth (and handsomest one of course) only whenever it’s cleaning time and she starts vacuuming, it would flip a switch in his pigeon brain and it would start humping the Dyson. All humans have urges am I right?
My gf allowed this behaviour and let it finish itself off on a aforementioned crusty old pillow. That obnoxious creature would after walk around the apartment with his thing still dripping cum.
Going walkies was always stressful for me as she kept refusing to leash her dog. She would ger told off by passers by almost daily as her dog would always get in someone’s way on walk or bicycle paths or it would run up to other dogs even without the other owner’s consent. She would blatantly allow her dog to invade people’s personal space, piss and shit where “no dog toilet” signs were up, on communal lawns or next to children’s playground and would argue with anyone who would reprimand her. How dare you!
Going somewhere with a car wasn’t any different. This neurotic dog was allowed to roam freely around the car without harness. It would maybe sit on the back seat for 1.5 minutes before deciding it likes it more in the front, on a drivers knees. It’s illegal here to be holding a dog on drivers knees while driving l, at highway speeds especially, but law doesn’t apply to my dog, right? We’re special. Gangway! Fido behind the wheel.
Same goes to leash laws in and around forests, my doggo loves animals and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why wouldn’t it be allowed to play with them? It’s favourite thing is digging up rodents holes. Bonus points for finding a nest and manage to kill few. Those damn instincts. Everyone is allowed to have a hobby.
You can’t own a dog if you’re not an animal lover and an activist yourself. And by animals you mean your dog, of course. After all you single handily saved this gods creature from an evil puppy mill. You’ve taken it from its birth mom to your tiny apartment to keep it for your amusement, ehm friendship. You’ve given it shelter, fed it human food (because of its special dietary needs and multiple food allergies). You’ve pumped it with meds because of its genetic disorders from birth. You’ve called it family member and everyone who says or thinks differently is a dog hater and you showed him the doors. You’ve kept pushing people visiting your house to worship it by petting and letting it lick them, it loves you and is happy to see you, see. You’ve corrected everyone who dared calling it a DOG.
Yeah nah, I’m good

I’d laugh my ass off of her cheap ass synthetic wig caught fire in the tanning bed🤣 She looks like a 70s porn pussy🤣🤣☠️☠️

I spend all of my daylight hours scared and alone in this musty old cellar.
It’s woeful, and I bet it smelled this bad even before everything around here turned to crap. Great. My second sentence and I’ve already resorted to swearing. When I decided I’d start this diary (five minutes ago when I got a tiny sliver of signal) I thought it would be my poetic and deeply-moving goodbye to the world. Maybe I’d write about love and loss, or maybe the splendour of nature. Then, when all is done and dusted, I’d have left something to be remembered by. As well as my corpse, of course.
This was a bad idea.
*
Okay, I’m an idiot. There’s nothing else I can do down here. I’ve rooted through every cardboard box a hundred times, organised and reorganised my supplies, I’ve even built a fort. So, I’m back. Hello. Again. God, this diary is going badly.
But there’s just enough light coming through the boards I nailed over the cellar’s tiny window to type by. So I may as well type. Stops me staring up at the window just waiting for a shadow to pass by.
Maybe I'll just write and not hit Submit. Right, where to start? Well, my name is – actually, I think I’m going to refer to myself as ‘X’. That sounds mysterious. If you’re reading this and want to know my real name, I still carry my purse. My railcard is in there and, if you really want to know who I am, go find me and fish it out. I won’t bite...
So, my name is X. I live in a little English village in the middle of nowhere. Before all this happened, I had a mum, a dad, a sister and there was a boy I liked, his name was Jonah.
*
I couldn’t think of anything else to write so I waited until I came back from my rounds. That’s the stupid name I have for when I go outside at night scrounging for stuff. Drinks are the hardest. I only trust bottles or cans, or did, and I was running out of places to search for them. But I guess that doesn’t matter now.
My leg is doing alright actually; didn’t hold me up at all. I saw Jonah too. He’s looked better, I have to say. It’s strange because this is only the second time I’ve seen him since we came here. Maybe his ears were burning.
Anyway, I found some tinned pineapple in a creepy old caravan I hadn’t searched yet. Had to bust the door open with Old Trusty – which I thought might attract some unwanted attention – but it was fine. I’m actually eating the pineapple right now, tastes good. I also found a radio in there. I already have three down here, but none of them work. Not that the caravan radio works either, all you get is static. It’s just nice to collect something. You know, to have a hobby.
*
I can tell the sun is rising. I managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but I woke up after a bad dream. I know some people can remember their dreams, but I never do. I wake up and grasp at them, but I never manage a hold before they fade away. It’s like trying to pinch the corner of a wisp of smoke; the harder you try, the quicker it fades to nothing. I’m just left with a sensation, a kind of imprint which sums up the most intense part of the dream.
And a cold sweat. That’s new.
*
I’ve been through the box of photo albums I found at the back of the cellar again. I’ve looked through them a few times now, but I always notice something new.
There’s a photo of this little girl playing with a pretend guitar. I can tell it’s pretend because it doesn’t have strings, only brightly-coloured plastic dials. Kind of like My First Guitar Hero or something. The girl has dark hair and she looks a tiny bit like my sister did a million years ago. I don’t have a picture of my sister. I suppose I could go and get one from my old house, but it’s right in the middle of the village. I’m lucky I wasn’t torn to shreds the last time I went back. So, what I’ve done is put this girl’s photo in my back pocket as a substitute.
I guess I should probably write something about my real sister now. But I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet.
*
Daylight is starting to fade and I’m getting ready to go out on my rounds. I always take my satchel with me, packed with useful objects. I have Old Trusty (a crowbar) which sticks out of the top for easy access, a small toolbox, a pair of heavy-duty gloves (there’s a good story about how I got those, I might write that one down later) and a hammer. I carry a penknife I found down here in my pocket, my purse and phone, and a torch in my hand.
I don’t like to use the torch because its battery is running out and there’s always the chance it might attract them. I probably shouldn’t have used it last night when I got back. Maybe I’m starting to enjoy this writing malarkey? I need to be careful with luxuries.
*
Okay, that could have gone better.
Picture the scene: I’m using Old Trusty to try and lever a kitchen window open, when one of them just walks right through the garden hedge. Seriously, straight through it. It’s not the mightiest of hedges but, still, it just appeared like it was walking through one of those Japanese paper walls. My satchel was on the ground, but I legged it anyway. I’m not stupid. I know I can go back for it tomorrow. I felt strangely naked without it on the way back here though.
Like I said before, I need to be careful with the torch so I think I’ll try and get some sleep now.
*
I slept pretty well last night; no nightmares or cold sweats. Maybe a midnight chase was just what I needed to blow away the cobwebs.
I actually woke up wondering about you. If you’re reading this, who are you? If you’re like me, living through this village nightmare, how have you managed to go this long without being killed or whatever? Maybe you’re Army or some such. Maybe you’re just some kid who’s played so many videogames that surviving all of this was already second nature to you. Or maybe you’re like me; living on borrowed time and searching for a good place to die. Maybe Future Me was brave enough to tap Submit on my diary and you're currently reading this on your phone or computer.
Here’s an idea. Maybe you can carry on this diary from wherever I left it at. God, I really hope this isn’t my last entry, although I suppose any entry might be. If you do carry the diary forwards, and I'm a corpse, maybe it will become cursed. Spooky.
*
I’ve been preparing for my next excursion.
If I know I’m going somewhere I’ll likely run into an ugly, I like to take extra precautions. And I want my satchel back. It was a present from my dad, and I know it cost him a lot of money.
So, I’m taking a pair of shears from the shelf of old tools down here. That way, if I lose Old Trusty, I’ll have a backup weapon.
If you are local, I wonder how you like to kill them? Pretty morbid question I know, but everyone around here seems to have their preferred method. The last villager I saw alive carried a pair of mini cricket bats and seemed to have bludgeoning down to an art form. He never saw me though, I was watching from a grove of trees as he killed his way along the main road near the village.
That was before I decided to stay inside during the daylight hours. We can at least see a little bit at night; ambient light and everything. They can’t though. I’ve seen them, they bump into things. It’s pretty funny to be honest. If they hear a noise, they walk in the direction of the sound, never trying to avoid any object in their path. They either bash said object out of the way, or, like that hedge, blunder right through it. Obviously bigger things stop them dead (ha!) though. If that happens, they sort of shuffle backwards and then try again a few times. Eventually – and I’ve seen this too – they just give up and stand there, waiting for something else to attract their attention.
That’s not how it works in the daytime though.
*
I think it’s about an hour before the sun sets so it’s nearly time to head out. I’m going to change my bandage. One minute.
Okay, it didn’t look that bad really. The original scratch wasn’t too deep and now the wound seems to be doing that scabbing thing I remember from normal injuries. It just doesn’t smell very good. A bit like when you walk past a bin that needs emptying.
Anyway, I’ve applied more antiseptic and redressed it. Time to go.
*
That was fun. I’m glad I had those shears with me.
I got my satchel back you’ll be happy to know. And I got inside that house I’d been trying to break into as well. More through necessity than choice in the end, but I’m pleased I did. I found more batteries! That means I can justify writing at night a bit more. In fact, the people who used to live there (I think the husband owned the local garage) were pretty well kitted out. There were a lot of tins in their cupboards, and they’d even left a shotgun. It wasn’t loaded though.
Not that I need a shotgun. I didn’t tell you this before, but I have my grandpa’s old service revolver. He always told me and my sister that it was decommissioned, but my dad apparently knew otherwise. I keep it tucked into the back of my jeans at all times. It had three bullets, one of them is gone, so only two left.
I’ll only be needing the one of course.
*
Morning. I’m feeling pretty low today. I think concentrating on getting my satchel back took my mind off things, but now I feel pretty deflated.
Surely that’s understandable? The village I knew and loved has been replaced with this sodding hell. I miss my family, my friends, TV and hot dinners and Instagram. Before all of this I was a pretty positive person. Sure, I had a bit of trouble getting up in the morning, but, once I was up, that was it. I’d meet the day’s challenges head on, try to enjoy myself as much as I could. Not today though.
Maybe if I write about Jonah I’ll cheer up. Not Jonah as he is now of course, Jonah when he was all smooth-skinned, curly-haired and bright-eyed. Now he’s like the anti-Jonah or something. His face looks like it lost a fight with an angry lobster. No, wait, I’m supposed to be writing about Jonah version one here.
He’s one of those people that I can’t remember meeting. My family has always lived around here and so there are lots of people who have just always been, if you get me. I always thought we would drunkenly get it together at a party – that’s what I’d usually do if there was a boy I liked. Classy.
*
I’ve perked up a bit. Out of sheer frustration I went upstairs (naughty, I know) and looked out of a window. Sure, I saw an ugly, wandering aimlessly as they always do, but I saw that the trees are starting to turn too. That means it’s nearly autumn, and I love autumn!
My sister and I always used to go out and kick leaves at each other in the autumn. I don’t know if it was because of her low centre of gravity, but my sister was amazing at it. She could somehow whip up a blazing whirlwind of golden-yellow and fire-red, surrounding us both in a leaf storm that I couldn’t help but flail my arms madly at. Then we’d both fall backwards into the leaves laughing, me wondering how on earth what had happened was possible. She was that good.
God, I let her down in the end.
*
I think I’ll stay away from the house with the shotgun tonight. It usually takes a day or two for a group of uglies to disperse once they’re all riled up. I could use the rest of that tinned food I suppose, but I’ve got plenty to be getting on with for now.
Instead, I think I’ll swing by another farmhouse I was scoping out before I decided to turn nocturnal. I never met the people who used to live there, but I remember Mum telling me they liked their privacy. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me visiting now though.
Also, there’s a woodland between here and there and I might be able to find some leaves to kick about a bit. I think that would make me feel close to my sister again.
I’ll check back in later.
*
I’m still alive, but only just.
I made it through the woods just fine (only the odd leaf on the forest floor at the moment though, sadly), the trouble started at the farmhouse. I couldn’t get in – the doors and windows were barricaded – so I tried one of the outbuildings. Locked. It had a cat flap though.
My first instinct was to leave it, but then I wondered if there might be something useful inside. Lord knows what thinking about it now. I lifted the cat flap with one hand and shone the torch beam through with my other. That’s when an ugly dived at my pinkies. Luckily, it misjudged its leap and got a mouthful of plastic cat flap instead. As for me, I fell backwards onto my bum.
Next, the damn thing started bashing on the door from the inside. I don’t think it could ever have got out, but the noise attracted more uglies from out of nowhere. I only just managed to outmanoeuvre them and hightail it back into the woods.
That’s not the worst of it though. On the way back my leg started to hurt. A lot.
*
I woke up this morning and I’m walking with a limp. It’s funny, Dad had a limp when he and Mum died. He was nailing planks of wood across our windows and doors because there was no signal (as per bloody usual) and we thought that what was happening here was probably happening everywhere. It's only recently that I realised this was an isolated, local outbreak. Anyway, Dad dropped the hammer onto his toe, he always was useless at DIY. I think it was only a couple of hours after that when he and Mum were taken.
It was like a wave of death. No, not like, that’s exactly what it was. A hoard of uglies swept through the village, probably originating from the secret research facility in the woods we're not supposed to know about. My sister and I wouldn’t have had a prayer if Mum and Dad hadn’t charged down the first few that got into our house. They gave us just enough time to escape, to run away and leave them to die. My sister was screaming all the way and I had to drag her like she was four again.
She wouldn’t speak to me for a few days after that. I didn’t blame her, I hated myself too. But I would have hated myself even more if I hadn’t done what I did next. On my own, I snuck back into our house with the crowbar I found here. Then I dispatched my parents. I can’t bring myself to type it any other way. It wasn’t like in the movies, I didn’t pound their skulls into mush whilst sobbing, ‘Why?’ over and over again. I just found them, or what was left of them, forced the crowbar through each of their eye sockets, and came straight back here.
Then came the crying.
*
I haven’t told you about the heavy-duty gloves yet, have I?
After I got back from our old house, my sister started speaking to me again. A shared, day-long cry will do that for sisters. Once we felt up to it, we decided to explore the parts of the farmhouse we hadn’t searched yet. All the bedrooms were empty, only a few belongings flung about the place (I suspect the previous tenants left in a hurry). The problem came when we investigated the attic. Once we’d opened the ceiling panel in the upstairs hallway, once we’d pulled the compact staircase down, I went up. My sister stood at the top of the hatchway shining the torch beam over my shoulder. And that’s when it touched me. Terrified, I fell to my left, screaming as the thing came crashing down on top of me. I was yelling things like, ‘Shoot it!’ and, ‘Run!’ but my sister was just laughing her head off. I soon realised that my attacker was in fact a shop-window mannequin.
I think the people who previously lived here must have been arty (or into some seriously freaky stuff) because the mannequin was dressed in scarves, bandannas, ties, watches – loads of things. The rest of the attic was pretty empty but at least we got the mannequin’s gloves.
*
I’m not feeling good at the moment. I’ve got a sore throat and I’ve coughed up blood a couple of times. My leg pain is getting worse too.
I don’t think I’ll go out tonight. I have enough tins left and one of them is a Full English In A Can. Sounds pretty disgusting, but intriguing at the same time. I’ve been saving it for near the end. A sort of consolation prize.
*
There are two mattresses down here. Obviously one is mine, and the other one was my sister’s. After she died, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I don’t have a photo of her, only Guitar Girl’s. Her bed is the only thing of hers I have left. And she didn’t even sleep in it that many times.
*
The tinned Full English was vile! You’ve got to laugh though, what else can you do?
*
I’m crying as I write this. Tears of sorrow, shame and regret.
It happened as we were searching a cottage just off of the main road. We’d used Old Trusty to get inside, and I’d rushed straight into the kitchen to find the food. We’d run out more than a day before and I was famished. My sister followed me into the kitchen, a wide grin on her pretty little face because I was sitting there with an open can of beans. Then one of them came at her from behind. I must have walked right past it on my stupid way to the cupboards. It bit into her neck and blood gushed over the tiles in a torrent. As she yelled out in agony, I leapt up and implanted the crowbar right into the thing’s skull. It crumpled to the floor, but the damage was done.
‘Don’t let me lose myself.’ That was the last thing my sister whispered to me before she passed out. Her wound was much more severe than mine is, and much closer to the brain. That seems to make it quicker. I took grandpa’s revolver from behind my back and blew her brains out.
I buried her in the back garden.
*
After my sister died I went kind of crazy. I took Old Trusty out across the fields and pulverised every ugly I could find. I don’t even remember it that well, it was just, find, kill, find, kill…
We’d only been going out in daylight before then but, in my anger, I carried on through the nights. That’s how I learned about their inability to evade in darkness. Eventually, though, one got me. I found three munching on a dead cow and ran straight at them. Took out the first two easily enough, but the third managed to scratch my leg with a bloody fingernail just before I clobbered it into oblivion. Once I realised its nail had broken the skin, it was like a switch had been flicked inside me. That’s it, I’m dead too. I lost my bloodlust and came back here.
*
If none of this had happened, I think my sister would have eventually gone into medicine. I was doing okay at College but she was top of her class at school. And she had a really kind nature too. She’d never squish any bugs that got trapped in our house; she’d get a glass, scoop the little critter up and seal it inside with a book. Then she’d take it outside and release it, even if it was a wasp.
*
I’ve decided that here’s not the place. I'll hit Submit and then I’m going to do it in those woods I wrote about; consider this diary as my Note. I’ll be able to find a nice spot to sit and look at the trees, some place that's calm and peaceful. I’m going to leave the picture of Guitar Girl in this cellar, she belongs in this house. The tree leaves will remind me of my sister more than any photo ever could anyway.
I guess all that’s left to say is thank you for listening.
I know it’s possible that no one will ever read this, but that’s not really the point is it?
Love,
X

Rifling is another deal entirely, but for forming the rest of the features, threading, etc., are there any particular features to look for?
12"x36" bed? Spindle bore? Any particular tail stock features?
There's a lot of older lathes out there right now, so I'm trying to narrow it down by features rather than specific models.
I also have an old Bridgeport manual mill for features that are more easily handled by a mill.

I'm not saying that others don't, but I'm a man who likes his doors locked. I double check that shit. I mean it. I go around the house and check the 5 locks that I got. It doesn't matter how many times I check them, I keep going around the house because they don't Meshan. What do I mean by that? I'm not really sure what I mean. Except that if I lock one lock, then I can't make sight with the other or sometimes another of the 5 locks that I got. So every once in awhile, I'll check them, make sure the Russian lock, the German lock, and the three from Nippon, gots their chambers locked and not got got, that way no one catches me slipping.
I don't know when it started. I think I was about four years old when it became important.
And I don't know when it started but I started collecting.
And my story goes that on a day like this I went outside to check my electrical box. I got it a shiny new lock. The box was near rocks, but in my excitement I forgot and caught my foot and dropped the lock. Some would think that I'd be upset, about my brand new lock getting a brand new spot. But I just feel like that's a strong ass lock. Scars and shit. Paws. Knarles and eh boy git. Away from there, for I make you square. So when I went to put it on and realized it would look like it was gone. I was a bit upset. That my strong lock couldn't show off his new spot. Mr. Unbreakable.
Chain so rigid it's not filled, boy solid before the mill couldn't show it off on his grill.
And just like that we had history. So everyday when I make my rounds I pat my lock to check his spot. And make sure he ain't got got. It served as a double safety, and made me wonder lately, if I should mark all my locks differently. One could have a marker dot. Another far darker plots, marked for deeper spots.
But my thoughts had no time to linger because at that time I couldn't identify old iron with the tips of my finger. Shocked. I slipped him a key and then I came to see, that this was not, I say, this was not my lock when the tumblers didn't sink her.
I don't cheat but I was a head full of swingers, a list began to develop of all those who could have made me leaner. And that's the reason why I'm a stickler for winkers. Keeping one eye open at the foot of my bed. One knee got up as if I was praying for heaven instead. For who I ask, stepped foot on my lot. Changed my lock or locks. While I was awake or asleep. Leaving me staring at the Russians, the Germans, and the Japanese.

Chapter LXXXIV

Somewhere, West Virginia, USA.

"Oaf! You couldn't have stated it in a less vulgar manner?!" The head butler snapped up at the Colonel.

"If you had just gotten to the point I wouldn't have!" The Colonel snapped back. The two goblinoids glared at one another as Morty choked on his drink.

"Wha *cough\* what was it you *wheeze\* wanted again?!" Morty tried to speak as he coughed up burning liquor from his lungs.

The Colonel turned away from the head butler with a snarl before looked at Morty.
"As I said. I desire to mate."

Morty caught a breath and spoke.
"Yeah I got that much! Look, I know it's a common trope to be a little curious and experiment when you go to college or uni. But I wasn't one of those types... Though Archie from Chem DID brush up against me once and I wasn't ENTIRELY against it-"

The Colonel looked red and aghast.
"N-n-n-no General! I didn't mean with you!"

The head butler snickered.
"Maybe if you had pointed that out before-"

"And maybe if you hadn't wasted so many words-"

"SHUT UP!!!" Morty snapped.

The two goblinoids ceased speaking, though they continued to glare at one another. Morty sighed as he collected his thoughts. The sisters trying, and failing, to hold in their laughter didn't help.
"So... YOU desire to HAVE A mate?"

The Colonel nodded. Morty pointed to the head butler.
"And you want the same I presume?"

The head butler just shrugged his shoulders.
"Not me personally no, Master. However, many of the staff, as well as other intellectually minded goblins, have been feeling new needs and wants. I have no doubt that those same feelings are what have affected the Colonel here as well as the Red Caps."

"So you both have been getting the itch? If so then what does that mean for our future workforce?" Morty asked.

Both goblinoids shuffled uncomfortably. It was the Colonel that spoke first though.
"The training of new Red Caps has had... decreasing results as of late General."

"As has the serving staff, and those that have higher intellectual capacity. The number of us able to become as advanced as we are is decreasing with every spawn. Where the number of us that have grown certain organs has risen. I'm sure you can link the two."

"You'll no longer be able to just spawn and train others anymore. You're going to have to do it the old fashioned way." Morty stated. He assumed as much when he first saw the female goblin maid. But now this just confirms it. But something was still worrying him.

"What about the other goblins? Or the dragues?"

"They remain the same. They haven't the mental capacity nor proper conditioning to advance biologically as we. They are still the same goblins they were many weeks ago." The head butler stated, with the Colonel agreeing with an affirmative grunt.

That's one problem he didn't have to deal with, Morty thought. His Goblin Wave tactic could still work then. Though his already limited number of Red Caps just got more limited. Though they've been fortunate that their deaths were pretty rare, only a handful have died since they first "ascended".

Same could be said for the smart goblins/house goblins. He should really come up with a proper name for them one of these days. Fatalities were practically non-existent among them!

Though that probably also has to do with their new "tools" and mental conditioning rewiring their brain chemistry. Can't be so quick to death and violence when you can't just pop out of a mint green puddle.
"Then it's not a complete change of plans, we'll just have to be extra careful when it comes to your assignments. But first, what was this about wanting a mate?"

The Colonel's tannish colored skin turned a reddish hue as the topic returned to his personal request turned faux pas.
"Yes, uhm. As I mentioned-"

"Poorly." The head butler pointed out.

"AS I MENTIONED, I desire a mate and am currently courting a young woman in town, and I desire that should the time come. That I may be allowed to engage in..." The Colonel paused as his face turned redder.

"Coitus? Sexual Intercourse? Baby Making? Fucking?" Morty asked with a creeping smile, each word turning the Colonel redder and redder until his face was more red than tan.

"Y-y-y-yes General."

Morty stared at the Colonel for an uncomfortably long moment. After feeling he embarrassed him enough, Morty spoke.
"Sure have at it."

The Colonel looked both relieved and shocked.
"Truly, General?!"

"Sure! Who am I to get in-between true love! Go have fun you crazy kids! And don't do anything I wouldn't!" Morty replied glibly.

The Colonel eagerly saluted Morty and fumbled a few more words of thanks before turning away and leaving Morty alone with the head butler, and the two sisters who still waited outside the room.
"So now what Jeeves?" Morty asked.

"Well Master. That was all that was both of note and pressing to inform you about." The goblin head butler, now dubbed Jeeves, stated.

"If that's all then, get back to work." Morty dismissed Jeeves with a wave of his hand as he turned to focus on paperwork.

Jeeves bowed and left. Leaving Morty alone to go over finances and logistics for when his mining, foresting, and masonry gets up and running. He was debating on if he should send the resources into town and get them worked on, thus giving the town a boost in greatly needed income. Or to keep it in-house.

Sure the former would be great for the town that he wished to control. BUT the latter was ALREADY in his control. Not only that but the current population of Somewhere weren't exactly loyal to him. The goblins on the other hand were.

The Noble Goblins, that could work, were actually pretty good tinkerers. He could get them to work the iron, lead and stone themselves. With the confirmation that they can now breed like normal creatures, he could start having them making babies with the locals! The Red Caps seem to already be doing that. But he could also send some pretty little maid goblins to start intermingling with the local population!

It would tie the locals closer to him by blood, sorta, and the future generations would be loyal to him! Then again this is all assuming that a goblin and a human can have kids. If not, then he could just outright repopulate the town with Noble Goblins and Red Caps. With their eagerness for violence lessened they would make a decent general population to rule over. Hell, he does it already.

Well, he had time. All he had to do was wait for nature, and biology, to take its course and he'll have confirmation in a few weeks, or months. Then he can go from there.

Though that thought process got him thinking about something else.
"Orga. Urga. Can you get pregnant from me?"

The two sisters looked at one another then back at Morty and shrugged their thick shoulders.
"We don't know. We never mated with a human before."

"What about other ogre tribes?"

"We haven't heard anything from anywhere else either."

"Well, if you can. How, or when, will you know?"

"We'll know." Was the infuriatingly simple answer.

"What do you mean you'll know?"

"We'll know if we are or if we aren't." Orga stated to which her sister nodded.

"That's not helpful."

"Like we said. We never mated with a human before. We don't know if or when any more than you do."

That actually made him nervous. He had kinda been shoving it to the back of his mind for some time now. But now the idea was front and center. There was a possibility that he'll be a father now. He was careful before with other women he brought home. Probably for the same reason that his father probably resented him for.

Morty got bits and pieces over the years. He assumed that the reason his father hated him was because when his mother, and soon himself, came along. His grandfather forced him to "man up" and become a family man. No more parties and boozy evenings, no more string of ladies of the night following him along to his bed to take his money, among other things.

That all, mostly, stopped when he married. His grandfather put the boot down. Either he would settle down and become a proper family man befitting the Duval name, or he wouldn't see a penny ever again.

So that's what his father did. He married and Morty came into the world soon after, and hated and resented him, his mother, and grandfather since. The anger and resentment bled into the staff. They held their tongues when in the presence of his grandfather, but when his mother passed and he got sick they made no secret how little they thought of both him and his mother. She was an opportunistic whore that snagged a higher class family scion, and he was the offspring that just barely avoided being born out of wedlock.

Now the idea that he was possibly in the same situation as his father was years ago came to his mind. Only this time, he didn't have HIS father around to browbeat him into being a decent dad.

Morty might be a lot of things, but there was one thing he would be hellbent on being. A better father than his own. He smiled at the thought of seeing his kids running and screaming through the halls. Then that smile faded. If they were even half as big as their mothers they were going to need some heavy-duty diapers!
-----
As night neared, the Colonel marched briskly towards the pawnshop. His uniform was freshly pressed and his boots were shined. They were always shined but he made sure they sparkled a little more for tonight.

He slowed as he neared the door to the shop. He took a moment to calm himself and make sure he looked presentable for the evening. Once done, he went to enter the shop. Only to find it locked up and closed. Being informed by one of the guards nearby, he ascended the stairs to Molly's apartment above her shop.

Once there, he knocked on the sturdy metal door. He heard a muffled call from inside answer. A moment later it opened to reveal the pawnbroker. She wasn't wearing the prom dress from the night before. Instead, she wore some comfortable jeans and a thick coat and hat to ward off the chill of the night.
"Sorry! I forgot the time!"

"I-i-i-it's quite alright! I would've waited longer if I had to." The Colonel said with a pinch of nerves in his voice.

Her face blushed a little.
"Well, aren't you a gentlemen! Would you have waited all night, even if it meant that you might've been stood up?"

He nodded.
"Even if it meant waiting here for days or even weeks, I would have done so without a second thought!"

"Aw! It's words like that that'll make a girl swoon! But that's for later when we're not near a set of stairs." She said and the Colonel led her down said stairs. Getting to the bottom and holding out a hand to help her off the last steps, as is proper.

Her smile reached her eyes at how far he was going to be a proper gentleman. A great improvement over her usual suiters. The two walked slowly along the lit streets. Just looking around at the town as it had changed over the few weeks. Some places were boarded up and vacated. Some looked more than a little run down because of the economic collapse the town was in.

The only decent part of town was closer to City Hall and the parts under Morty's control. Though Morty's part of town had more to do that they were well protected from the ferals that seemed to infest the town worse than rats or cockroaches!

Molly's heard that City Council put a freeze on bills for the time being. Can't be ruling a town that didn't exist anymore. So they decided and the Mayor, grudgingly, agreed to put a hold on bills until they could come up with a solution to the economic problems.

While they walked the Colonel was making an effort to distract her from the nearby signs of his men at work. He didn't think that her seeing a feral goblin getting its brains bashed in would be very romantic, nor proper for a woman like her to witness.

Though it was hard as even though he tried to talk a bit louder, the cries and sickening crunches still bled out into the night air. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.

The Colonel could only hope that it didn't put a damper on the mood. Though from her smile he didn't think it did. But he still led her to the less active parts. They would greet goblins on patrol, and they even spotted a couple of other Red Caps that had similar ideas and were either on walks of their own with their chosen dates or were dining with them in one of the local establishments.

Eventually their walk came to an end though. It was getting late and the Colonel didn't want to keep the young woman out too late. She turned around and faced him with a bright smile.
"I had a lovely evenin'! Thank you for the nightly stroll!"

"It was my pleasure to do so!"

"How about next time you come over and stay for dinner? My treat?" She asked a little nervously.

"I would enjoy that. Though it would be more proper for I to treat you."

"It may be more proper, but just wait until you try my tuna casserole!"

The Colonel chuckled and assented. She bit her lip a little before kissing the Colonel. It was a long, romantic kiss. One that he returned with eagerness and that ended with the two parting a little out of breath. Both more than a little red from the exchange. She smiled and went into her apartment while the Colonel marched back to the manor with a smile of his own on his face.

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Well, I guess I should start at the beginning the majority of all stories tend to start. I was born in Detroit, Michigan in the month of June 1977. I was soon adopted and never met my biological family but have been told that I have two biological sisters, Karen, and Xinea as well as two brothers named Robert, and Jerry(perhaps Gerry I suppose). My mother is Patricia Bray, and my alleged father is Carl Ambers according to the adoption records that I found after the death of my adopted mother, Opal in 2001; I was a grown man by then. I was adopted by Opal and Frank Smith(we will say) in 1978. Somehow they knew my biological mother but that connection was never revelled to me. Opal was one of 17 children who grew up on a mountain somewhere in West Virginia. I was told that her father killed himself in front of her and her siblings when she was less than 10 years old. He was a coal miner and was injured in some type of accident and left unable to work with 19 mouths to feed; hard to fathom but for the love of God why in front of the children? Regardless of his reason this event left a lasting impact upon his 9 year old daughter that would ripple throughout space and time with the force of an atomic bomb; to this day that act and subsequent reaction linger. Opal was a devout Pentecost, Southern Baptist, or whatever similar religion she felt; not exactly sure. She was once a member of the People's Temple church in the early days when they were in Indianapolis (circa 1953-54). She left the church when the new leader, a man by the name of Jim Jones took over and began to allow people of other races into the fellowship; Opal being a woman of God as well as a devout racist left the church. They would later commit forced suicide in Ghana by drinking cyanide laced drinks at the end of machine guns. Opal was a small woman and she had many older brothers. She spent her developmental years fatherless, emotionally wrecked, and on a mountain with those brothers; I do not wish to even imagine what that must have been like, but one thing is for certain; she grew up mean and she knew how to fight, how to hurt a person, and how to use her 4' 11" 120lbs to do damage. Her temper was short and she was fast to react in a violent physical nature. She was married to Frank who was from Kentucky. Frank ran a laundry delivery service, smoked cigars, and loved pro wrestling. He was already in his forties when I was adopted as was Opal. Frank was amazing to me as a young child but as time went on he became isolated and didn't much bother with anything other than work. Looking back it is obvious he was terribly unhappy but that is unfortunately the theme of this story. I also had three adopted sisters that we shall call Kay, Mary, and Carry. All of whom were already 10 and older once I was brought into the household. The six of us lived in a two bedroom single bath home on the south side of Indianapolis. My earliest memory is literally the day that they brought me to their house; you may think that is crazy, a child less than a year old having a vivid memory but I swear to you I do. I remember being brought into the kitchen and being placed into a high chair with a pack of saltines....then a bath and to bed. For the first few years it seemed that we had a happy, perfect family. Frank made good money and so Opal stayed home and managed the house while watching me. I remember how nice she was at first but that would soon change, everything changed. The early eighties were a rough time economically and it showed. The stress of life really brought out the mean in Opal, she would fly off the handle in a millisecond flat. I was a very advanced child for my age and by pre-school I could count to 1000, read children's books myself, and I knew all my shapes and colors beyond the standard "circle, square, blue, red". My adopted parents were not very well educated and I think they were taken aback by the rate at which I absorbed information. It could not possibly be that this child simply has a thirst for knowledge and an ability to process things; it must be DEMONS...yep, folks, demons. From the time I was maybe 3 until I stopped speaking to Opal circa 1999 I was repeatedly told that I was "FULL OF DEMONS" as well as the everpopular"YOU ARE GOING TO HELL FOR _________" Now you can add whatever you wish to that blank up there because she sure did. I was going to hell for running in the house, catching insects, not going to bed on time, throwing rocks, playing with sticks, you name it, and he'll was fucking terrifying. I was taken to churches where people preached that the devil was not among us , but inside of us all!!! and as I watched them shake and scream and yell it honestly scared the shit out of me. Being a developing child and being told you are possessed by creatures from hell may have a lasting mental effect. Like many kids I began to rebel against and since I was full of demons I began to act accordingly. Things in the household spiraled downward like a toy boat circling an open drain. Opal was becoming aloof and isolated, coming from her bedroom only to cuss, complain, and rage. After the first few times getting my ass or face slapped up I learned to shut my mouth but unfortunately my older adopted sister Mary never got that lesson. She was about early high school age when I was adopted but I do not remember either of my two oldest sisters going to school at all. She like rock music of the time, she didn't dress appropriately, she was loud, and she did not listen to anything she was told. She was a typical teen girl in the 80's until she snuck out one night and some men snuck PCP into her drink. She had a bad reaction and seized, they just dumped her from the car onto a cold, dark Indianapolis street corner in the middle of a ghetto where she lay until found. She was rushed to the hospital where she died and was revived many time; luckily she lived, but she had went without oxygen and it left her with some mental impairment. She never really progressed past a teen mentality. I do not know if it was shame at her sneaking out with men and being discovered or the lingering mental illness but Opal had a fire for her like no other. They once had a shouting match over what Mary was wearing and after a few minutes Opal picked up an old golf wedge club that I had found and began to beat her savagely. I counted at least 30 shots before I got the courage to jump in from of her; I was maybe 8 years old. The following years would show a pattern of such actions with all four of us occasionally getting it but Mary and myself got the brunt of things...there were hot off the stove spatulas to bare skin, broomsticks, rake handles, and even the cast iron skillet with hot oil still inside. My father, having been introduced to Opal's violent nature knew better than to intervene, choosing to withdraw all together of the situation. Left to free rein Opal never missed an opportunity to abuse physically, or verbally. I remember being perhaps 9-10 years old and being as my parernts were way older I dressed like I was from the 60's,. Opal had since went to work at a metal polishing factory and I was left to the daily care of three teenage, adopted sister with no clue about basic hygiene so I smelled terrible and the stress of my violent home life had put weight on me other kids fucked with me hardcore. I had had a terrible day at school; my pants had ripped and all the other kids were laughing and calling me fatass and such literally all day long. So I get home finally and I totally break down into hesterical crying fits to which my "mother" responds to be yelling "BOY!!....WHAT IS ALL THE NOISE ABOUT!!?!" and through tears and in broken English I struggled to explain the events of the day and how all the kids said I "stink and that my clothes were trash and that I was too fat!!" and her caring response was to look me dead in my eyes and yell to me "YOU ARE FAT AND I AM NOT BUYING YOU NEW CLOTHES UNTIL YOU LOSE SOME WEIGHT!!" This event would truly cast a demon of hatred and anger deep into my soul that I would struggle to shake for the next 20 or more years. The next day at school, on recess a group of slightly younger children began to gather around me and began the usual verbal and physical harassment. As they had a few days previous they were attempting to set me up for that trick where one person gets down in a dog-like pose behind you while you are distracted and once in place the other push you over and everyone has a grand old laugh at your expense while you struggle to get your fat ass off the ground and get your wind back but that day I was not playing that shit and so when the little fucker ducked down behind me I immediately swung around with my right foot and landed a vicious snap kick directly to his eye socket; the sound of it breaking echoed the playground followed by painful wailing. It felt good to hear, it felt good to see the fear in the eyes of his friend's eyes, to send a message that I was no longer their victim or anyone else's for that matter. I started skipping school, vandalizing, petty theft, shoplifting, and anything other than wholesome which got me arrested for stealing CD's and Transformers from K-Mart. L.L. Cool J.....funny the shit you value when you look in retrospect. The ride home from the juvenile center on East 21st street was a long one and I was petrified of the beating that awaited me as new and different ways and items to beat the fuck from me danced in my head like those fucking sugar-plums from that stupid Christmas Song. When we finally got back to our house in Fountain Square I was directed into the kitchen where a length of 2/4 about 2 foot long waited on the kitchen table. Opal from behind me yelled out "BOY!!" which was what I was always referenced as as if I had no fucking name and when I did a 180 she belted me across my face with a hard right fist, but unlike every other time she hit me I did not scream out, cry, or even flinch from the blow. This further infuriated her and so she struck my face again to the same result, and again, and again until I firmly grabbed her right wrist at which point she immediately hit me with a hard left and I subsequently grabbed her left wrist. I was about 175lbs if not more and my strength overpowered her ability to strike me and when she realized that she could not move and seen in my eyes that this was not going to happen she began to scream "LET GO OF ME!!" to which I replied "I am going to let you go and when I do you are not going to fucking touch me in any way!!"...I let go, and defeated she walked away. After that she offered no real support other than a place to sleep. I began to steal clothing from people's clotheslines and after wearing the same pair of shoes for so long that my feet are literally deformed, I took a pair of Nikes off of someone's porch. Over the next few years I would have many more legal troubles, assaults, thefts, arsons until the State of Indiana stepped in and made me a ward of the state. I was sentenced and sent to a place called Glen Mills Schools in Concordville, Pennsylvania. It was supposed to be a fresh start and a chance to better myself and I was able to get my HSE, learn computer aided drafting, and I got to compete in powerlifting as well. It was the first time in my life I had seen a dentist even; I was 15 years old and finally I felt hopeful and happy; that would soon change.
If you would like to hear more please leave a comment or like. I also appreciate any feedback about my writing as I am not a professional in any way but always looking to improve my craft. If you made it this far; you are greatly appreciated.

I really wanna book a last minute beach trip for next weekend and we only want to stay Saturday night. I’m struggling to find a cheap beach and was wondering if anyone could suggest the most affordable option in NC/SC? I really do not wanna go to myrtle or get bed bugs but other than that I truly don’t care lol

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Element 79 Gold Corp. (CSE:ELEM) (OTC:ELMGF) (FSE: 7YS) ("Element 79 Gold", the "Company") announces that, further to its November 17, 2022 release, the Company has entered into an Asset Purchase Agreement (the "Agreement") for the sale of two properties from its Battle Mountain Portfolio located in the gold mining district of northeastern Nevada, US to a subsidiary of Centra Mining Ltd. ("Centra").
Under the terms of the Agreement, Centra has agreed to purchase all of Element79 Gold's interests and obligations in relation to the Long Peak Project ("Long Peak") and the Stargo Project ("Stargo") in exchange for a total consideration of CAD 1,000,000 payable by the issuance of an aggregate of 2,500,000 common shares of Centra at a deemed price of CAD 0.40 per share (the “Payment Shares”). The transaction is expected to close on or before June 30, 2023, and is subject to regulatory approval.
"The sale of Long Peak and Stargo to Centra marks another milestone in Element79's journey for the strategic development of its high-grade gold assets," commented James Tworek, CEO of Element79. "Centra realizes that these projects have great exploration potential along with the rest of their portfolio and it will be exciting to see what their near-term development plans are. We are excited to maintain our exposure to the very promising development potential of these properties through our equity participation in Centra."
Tworek added, “We have been working at the sale of the non-core assets in the Battle Mountain for over a year now, and it feels great to confirm that we have one package of properties now signed up and pending their closing date. This achievement further helps to highlight the currently-unrealized value of the individual properties in the Battle Mountain portfolio, helping to re-envision a benchmark for corporate valuation and enabling us to unlock additional value from our extensive portfolio of prospective properties while increasing Element79 Gold’s focus, energy and capital flows on developing its flagship Maverick Springs and both defining a resource at and bringing production online at Lucero in 2024.”
Element79 Gold’s Battle Mountain Portfolio
The Battle Mountain Portfolio was originally comprised of 15 separate projects totaling over 44,478 acres across 2,203 unpatented claims in five counties: Elko County, Eureka County, Humboldt County, Lander County, and Nye County. Most of the Battle Mountain Portfolio is located within the Battle Mountain Trend, with several projects close to globally reputable gold deposits including Nevada Gold's Cortez Mine.
The Battle Mountain Portfolio is comprised primarily of early-stage projects. While drilling has been completed at some projects, such as Elder Creek (155 holes) and Clover (104 holes), many have only surface sampling and geophysical surveys completed. Of particular note are the Long Peak, Elephant, Elder Creek, North Mill Creek, Clipper, Pipeline South, West Cortez, and Walti Projects, which are interpreted to lie along the northwest trending fault that hosts the high-grade Pipeline deposit, which is included in Nevada Gold's Cortez Mine.

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The Long Peak Project
Long Peak is comprised of 34 unpatented claims located near Copper Basin and the Copper Canyon Mine in Lander County, Nevada. Long Peak hosts significant historic prospects, warranting further exploration at Long Peak.
The Stargo Project
Stargo is comprised of 337 unpatented claims located south of the Battle Mountain Trend in Nye County, Nevada. The large claim block contains attractive host rocks, tertiary age intrusives, and appropriate aged structural preparation to represent an attractive area for exploration target development.
About Element79 Gold
Element79 Gold is a mining company focused on gold, silver and associated metals and committed to maximizing shareholder value through responsible mining practices and sustainable development of its projects. Element79 Gold's main focus is on two core properties: developing its previously-producing, high-grade gold and silver mine, the Lucero project located in Arequipa, Peru, with the intent to bring it back into production in the near term; and its flagship Maverick Springs Project located in the famous gold mining district of northeastern Nevada, USA, between the Elko and White Pine Counties. Maverick Springs hosts a 43-101-compliant, pit-constrained mineral resource estimate reflecting an inferred resource of 3.71 million ounces of gold equivalent "AuEq" at a grade of 0.92 g/t AuEq (0.34 g/t Au and 43.4 g/t Ag) with an effective date of October 19, 2022. The acquisition of the Maverick Springs Project also included a portfolio of 15 properties along the Battle Mountain trend in Nevada, which are non-core to its primary business focus. In British Columbia, Element79 Gold has executed a Letter of Intent and funded a drilling program to acquire a private company that holds the option to 100% interest of the Snowbird High-Grade Gold Project, which consists of 10 mineral claims located in Central British Columbia, approximately 20km west of Fort St. James. The Company also has an option to acquire a 100% interest in the Dale Property, 90 unpatented mining claims located approximately 100 km southwest of Timmins, Ontario, Canada in the Timmins Mining Division, Dale Township. The Company is analyzing the non-core Nevada projects, The Dale Property and Snowbird Property for further merit of exploration, sale or spin-out.
For more information about the Company, please visit www.element79.gold
Contact Information
For corporate matters, please contact:
James C. Tworek, Chief Executive Officer E-mail: [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
For investor relations inquiries, please contact:
Investor Relations Department
Phone: +1 (613) 879-9387
E-mail: [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])

Hi all. Myself (25F doctor) and my friend (25F local council leader) are looking for a 2-bed in central Cambridge, ideally Mill Road /Romsey area. Rightmove houses go so quickly! If anyone has any leads / their contract is not being renewed would appreciate any leads / any tips on finding a rental. Thanks.

I’ve done some research on Melanotan 2 and I believe it’s okay to use. If it’s done in very small doses and gradually increasing I don’t think it affects the moles and freckles much. I would really like to know more if someone has any input on this.. I have a question about libido. It increases libido in women but is it working on the brain and that’s why this happens? Or does it affect sex hormones. I guess I just want to gauge how dangerous this peptide actually is without the fear mongering. Many of the reports I’ve seen where reporters say to avoid are cases where the individual takes a very high dose or nasal spray (can’t tell how much with nasal).. and they often go into tanning beds frequently. This is a recipe for disaster. And it doesn’t make sense that these reports are being made to tell people not to take it.. when it’s pretty clear that tanning beds and incorrect dosing caused this. Also many of the reports note that it’s hard to tell what’s melanoma and what’s not when pigment from a high dose are concentrated in the moles like that. We’re these moles there previously? And when the Melanotan fades these moles also fade or even disappear. There must be a more nuanced approach to using Melanotan correctly. It doesn’t seem very dangerous to me.

The Quell
On all quells, tributes from the same District were tied together, and only a District pair could win.
President Zenia Heavensbee stood on the stage with the quell envelope in her hand. She used a small knife to slit the sealing on the envelope, taking out a pink slip of paper, as pink was the Capitol’s color.
She read aloud the quell “in order to show that the smartest minds helped build a rebellion and must be punished, this quell will contain the smartest youths with the best IQ ages 12 to 18.”
Many in the Capitol were excited for this quell, and prepared for it happily.
District 7
Terra Pruitt (victor of the 4th Hunger Games) was given a tour of the lumber mills and a bit of the forest. She was then taken to the reaping square, where the ten best IQ youths of each age from 12 to 18 was lined up, five males and five females.
Terra took a deep breath, before reaching into the female bowl. She removed the name of seventeen year old Cedaria Smithins. A scream of horror was heard as a girl with ginger hair and brown eyes walked to the stage, tears streaming down her face. Cedaria turned and shook Terra’s hand. Cedaria attended a collegiate level of school in District 7 only available for the most intelligent and most skilled. Each District had a college like this.
Terra then reached into the male bowl, and picked a slip of paper from the very bottom. She read aloud the name of eighteen year old Javor Kucera. Javor formerly lived in Slovakia, but his family had been forced to move to District 7. Javor had curly brown hair, and brown eyes.
Cedaria was visited by her mother and two older brothers, Piney and Oaken. She cried in their arms as they held her.
Javor visited with his older brother Havel, and younger sister Jarka, and promised to try and return.
Upon entering the train, the two tributes met their mentor, a 38 year old young man named Mahogany Weaver. He taught both tributes how to throw axes, and took his time giving them both tips.
Upon arrival at the apartment, Cedaria and Javor had their belts put on them. There would be no parade quell years, so they went to bed early, sharing a large bed. Several tribute relationships started from sharing a bed, and from the 10th Games forward, belts would be taken off at night in the apartments.
The next day, Mahogany showed the reaping for District 3, claiming that these tributes would be the smartest.
District 3
Terra now was in District 3, and seemed rather tired. She seemed to dread the next three reapings, including the final reaping in her home District of 11.
She reached into the female bowl, and removed the name of eighteen year old Minerva Sharpe. A pretty girl with long dirty blonde hair and blue eyes covered by glasses walked to the stage, and removed her glasses as she walked. Minerva worked as a school teacher, while still attending District 3’s college. Minerva was a married mother of two.
Terra then reached into the male bowl, selecting the name of seventeen year old Sparky Danger. A boy with light ebony skin, hazel eyes, and freckles walked to the stage, and shook Terra’s hand. Sparky was also in college, and was pursuing a career in coding.
In the town hall, Minerva visited with her husband and two year old daughter, Melinda, she also kissed her six month old son, Bartholomew, before being taken to the train.
Sparky was visited by his girlfriend, Melody, and his younger brother, Zach. He told them that he would try to return, before being taken to the train.
Once on the train, Minerva and Sparky met their mentor, former peacekeeper from District 3, 33 year old Olympus Packard. Olympus seemed happy with his tributes, quickly teaching them how to use tasers.
Their stylist, Mariah Copernicus, chose to dress them in black outfits covered in the numbers zero and three together in yellow.
Olympus then turned on the television to show District 2’s reaping, claiming that this District contained the biggest physical threats.
District 2
Terra stood in District 2’s reaping square, with a group of non muscular youths standing before her. She reached into the female bowl, and removed the name of seventeen year old Emiliana Lombard. A girl with curly blonde hair and blue eyes walked to the stage, seeming shocked by her reaping. Emiliana was taking college classes, and was often ridiculed and bullied by other youths her age.
Terra then selected the name of seventeen year old Derrick Barton. A young man with ebony skin, a dark afro of hair, and brown eyes walked to the stage. Derrick shook Terra’s hand, and also removed his glasses. Derrick was also often bullied.
Emiliana was visited by her mother and twin brother Emiliano. She embraced both of them, and promised to return and prove her bullies wrong.
Derrick was visited by his two older brothers, DeWayne and Desmond. Derrick promised to try and return, and told his brothers to care for their children.
On the train, Emiliana and Derrick met their mentor, Horus Greenstaff (Game 1). Horus discussed with the two about their past of being bullied, and then taught both of them how to throw knives.
At the apartment, Emiliana and Derrick met their stylist, Panorama Vickers. She chose to dress them in gold outfits with long gold wings at their backs.