Hi guys, have repaid multiple loans on this sub and need a small top up to get my cat some of his prescription food. Happy to send id, proof of income, or whatever else is needed. thanks.

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

--- Table of Contents ---
Spring 4985, 20 Buromoth
The armor Smith Nangran gave them fit much better than the pieces lent to them for the trip. Shon still hated it, but he hated it a lot less. Practice, he told himself, trying to picture Master Veon-Zih's face as he did so, you can accomplish anything with practice... Except Master Veon-Zih didn't wear armor.
"I thought we were going to learn plate, or at least half-plate..." Rerves whispered to his fellows as they adjusted their new armor, working the straps so they weren't too tight or too loose.
His whisper wasn't quiet enough, however, because Master Daunas laughed from where he stood beside Nangran, and the smith huffed. "So you want to try plate, do you, boy?" The Weapon Master asked a little too innocently.
Rerves looked up hopefully, "Is that an option, ser?" Shon swallowed nervously.
"Sure! Let's give it a try..." Master Daunas grinned, the look definitely sinister in Shon's opinion. "Got some plate for the big one, Nan?" He asked Nangran, who rolled his eyes before moving deeper into the forge to retrieve a set of battered but sparkling platemail.
Rerves rushed to remove his new, specially fitted, leather armor, while Thom looked on in envy. Shon half expected Thom to request his own set of the fully encasing metal, but the shy boy stayed quiet and instead settled with helping his friend strip off the leather and strap on the clanking plate. Rerves beamed but could barely lift his arms to don the helm.
"There you go, boy! Halfway to a Paladin already." Master Daunas called out as he turned Rerves by the shoulders and marched him, waddling under the metal's weight, out of the smithy. Shon followed silently, taking note of the guards looking down from the wall and some Squires elbowing each other and snickering in the courtyard.
The four weeks of watch rotation had started, giving the new boys time to catch up before the oldest Squires 'graduated' on the spring equinox. It was four weeks in which they trained from before dawn to after dusk in the basics and foundations, while the others had mostly free time outside of their six-hour watch. Which meant the new boys had an audience of off-duty seniors.
"Now all you need is a sword!" Master Daunas was saying to Rerves as he left the over-encumbered Squire in one of the sparring rings. He strode to the weapons rack and grabbed a sword and shield before returning and presenting them to the boy. Rerves grabbed the sword, but as he took the shield, his arm collapsed, the metal of his vambrace clanging loudly against his chausses. He was still trying to heft the shield into position when Master Daunas drew his own sword, "Now let's test it out, shall we?"
Rerves dropped the shield, gaping at the Weapon Master, "But... but," he scrambled for an excuse and settled on the live steel in his hand, "You don't have any armor, ser, what if..."
Master Daunas never stopped smiling, but his voice was finally serious, "Boy, if you can land a hit on me in that, then you deserve to graduate with the others this year." and he swung.
Rerves didn't really dodge; he pulled back and fell on his backside, scrambling on his butt and trying to roll over to push himself back up but barely able to move. Master Daunas hit him with the flat of the blade in the side with a resounding gong-like ring hard enough to help push Rerves over so he could struggle to his hands and knees. "Get up boy, if you're on the ground in a fight this early, you've already lost."
Shon watched in horror as the Weapon Master continued to hammer down on Rerves with the flat of his blade. The Squire did manage to get to his feet and retrieve his sword and shield eventually but he still couldn't lift them, flailing them weakly at the Weaponmaster's legs. Master Daunas dodged easily, even yawning lazily before he flicked his sword and disarmed the poor Squire again.
"Call match!" one of the Squires shouted from the sidelines, the small crowd of them all shaking their heads at the display.
Master Daunas laughed, but Rerves took the advice and called "Match, match!" as loud as he could before dropping to his knees, heaving in heavy breaths from just a few minutes of trying to move in the full armor.
"Match it is then," Master Daunas conceded, saluting the Squire with his sword before gesturing for the others, "Help your brother out of that boys. He did his best."
Shon and Thom rushed forward to help Rerves, but they weren't alone. The other Squires came forward, one with a water skin he presented to Rerves after the helm was removed, "You did better than Zihler did last year," another of them said with a comforting pat on the shoulder after Shon removed the breastplate.
"Huh?" Rerves let out a tired questioning grunt, and another Squire pulled him to his feet so they could get the legs off.
"There's one every year," one of the eldest said sagely, picking up the discarded armor and slinging it easily over his shoulder.
"Yeah, it was Jawsh in our year," another explained.
Master Daunas strode forward and clapped Rerves on the shoulder, giving him a little shake, "You'll be ready for plate eventually, boy, but not until your third or even final year. Grow stronger in leather, then banded mail, then half-plate. Everyone starts at the bottom and works their way up."
Rerves smiled weakly but had regained some of his confidence apparently because he managed to say, "You could have just told me that, ser..." which made Master Daunas laugh out loud again.
He didn't even bother to answer the Squire, just turned around and went back into the smithy, shouting at Nangran, "I told you it would be the big one this year! You owe me ten copper Nan!"
***
For the entire first week, the new Squires were instructed in the basic drills of their assigned sword types. It meant they couldn't truly work together -each sword having different techniques- but it also gave them a chance to get to know some of the older Squires who helped them early on. The year ahead of them had five Squires, one of the largest years in recent history. Kefir and Baradin both used one-handed longswords and shields and worked with Rerves. Uther and Rehlien both used large two-handed greatswords and helped Thom. Zihler was the only one who specialized in the bastard sword and worked with Shon. He wasn't left-handed, but Shon did all the exercises with both hands anyway, letting Zihler help him with the right first, then switching to using his left after he was confident he had them down.
During their second week, they were given their first sword forms. Like the kata Shon had been studying under Master Veon-Zih, the sword forms were meant to represent actual maneuvers to be performed in combat, and he took to them with even greater gusto than he had the simple drills.
"He's like a dancer..." Kefir whispered to Zihler as they watched Shon work through the form, without complaining, for what must have been the twentieth time that day.
Zihler nodded but also huffed, "I bet he flinches the first time we spar, though."
"I don't know..." Kefir muttered, then louder explained, "He's the one who bloodied Selv on the raid. Rerves said he trained under some old man fighter before he came here."
"We'll see," Baradin interjected, joining his fellows, "Master Daunas is on his way. He wants us to get out the sparring swords."
Zihler gave his brother Squire a lazy salute. Baradin was the unofficial leader of their year. It had chafed at first, and Zihler was still the most prone to defy him on occasion -usually when it didn't matter much- but over the course of their first year even he had stepped in line to Baradin's passive ability to take command. The three waved down Uther and Rehlien, who jogged over.
As Baradin had said, Master Daunas arrived a moment later with the resident Cleric close behind. "Fall in, Squires!" he bellowed to the practicing three, and Shon, Thom, and Rerves all quickly obeyed, standing side by side at stiff attention. "It's officially week three and time to start sparring," he informed them, gesturing for the senior Squires to move forward and exchange the real swords for wooden ones. He looked each of the three over carefully, then nodded to himself and said, "Thom and Rerves, face off."
Zihler noticed Shon's shoulders slump ever so slightly as he stepped away from the other two, who turned towards each other. They were obviously nervous. "Those are wooden swords, but this is a real fight. They will still hurt like a bit-" the Cleric cleared his throat, interrupting the Weaponmasters' use of profanity. Master Daunas coughed but continued, "Despite that, I don't want you to hold back, you fight like you train, and if you go easy on each other, you will go easy on a real opponent. You are not civilians, and neither is your opponent. This isn't a game. The fight won't end until one of you takes a killing or disabling blow. Every adult here, minus myself and Smith Nangran, is capable of healing any wounds you might give or receive. So again, no holding back. If I call 'hold,' that means to freeze, stop moving, hold your position. Now lay on!"
Rerves and Thom both swallowed down their fear and moved slowly, unsure what their first strike should be. As expected, the two did hold back, both from nervousness at not knowing what to do and honestly not wanting to hurt each other. Daunas sighed, but Zihler understood. It had taken him months before he could really hit his friends. And he was one of the faster ones to manage it. And even then, only really when they were in armor.
The two newbies eventually sped up but were still pulling their hits. They both flinched with each strike, many of which were going to leave decent bruises, but Master Daunas wouldn't call an end until one of them landed a killing or disabling blow hard enough to count. On the other side of the sparring ring, Zihler saw Shon narrow his eyes as he tapped his boot with his sword.
"Match!" Master Daunas called after a loud smack pulled Zihler's attention back to the sparring pair.
Thom dropped his sword, cradling his hand. Rerves rushed forward, "I'm sorry, are you okay?" he had apparently caught Thom on the knuckles unintentionally.
"Both of you are aiming for your opponent's weapon instead of his body. You only hit their sword to parry or deflect. Hitting their weapon won't end a fight." Master Daunas instructed, "Practice boys, it's the only real way to learn, I can talk until my face turns blue, but you won't know until you make and take a few hits. Shon, you're up, Rerves, get ready."
Shon stepped into the ring, and something changed. Zihler couldn't describe it, but Rerves obviously felt something because he met his friend's blue eyes and swallowed. "Lay on!" Master Daunas shouted, and Rerves immediately raised his shield.
Just in time too, because Shon came in like a hurricane. He held his sword one-handed, but it still rang off Rerves' shield like a hammer. Rerves tried to counter as his form dictated, but Shon twisted his sword, taking it in both hands and sliding it along Rerves' blade before pivoting it up and swinging hard with a sickening 'thwak' against Rerves' shoulder. The larger boy immediately dropped his sword and reached for the wound with his shield arm while Master Daunas shouted, "Match!" and Shon stepped back.
He didn't apologize or rush forward as Rerves had done for Thom. The five senior Squires all stared at him, but Shon just bowed to Rerves while the Cleric came forward to check his arm.
"Well, I'll be damned," Master Daunas said with a wide smile, "It's about time someone listens to reason, but can you take as good as you give, boy?" Shon just arched a silent black eyebrow at the Weaponmaster, who laughed and took Thom's two-handed sword from him, handing it to Zihler, "Don't hold back, because this one certainly won't." he instructed the senior.
Zihler saluted the Weaponmaster and stepped into the sparring ring as Shon brought his sword to the ready position. As Zihler met Shon's eyes, his throat turned dry, forcing him to swallow as Rerves had done. His full year of more experience wasn't enough to prepare him for Shon's stare. The boy's icy eyes seemed to bore right through him. He wasn't at all nervous or scared. He didn't even seem determined or angry. Just cold. Like he could take Zihler's head and not lose a wink of sleep over it.
"Lay on!"
Zihler braced himself for an attack, but Shon didn't rush in as he had for Rerves. He maintained his guard and his stare until the senior Squire advanced. Inching forward, Zihler looked for the opening he knew had to be there. Shon didn't have enough experience yet to truly compete with the older Squire and when he swung, he swung hard. Master Daunas would accept nothing less.
Shon managed a parry, but both swords shook with the force of the hit. He didn't flinch and countered just as hard, telegraphing his attack and taking a breath too long, giving Zihler an opening. Shon was going to take the senior in the neck just as Zihler had imagined, and what was worse, he still hadn't blinked or changed his expression.
Zihler aimed for Shon's ribs, expecting the boy to redirect his sword and block the same way he had for Rerves. He didn't, and Zihlers wooden blade smacked him at full force in the side. If his ribs didn't crack, they were at least bruised, and Zihler felt himself flinch on Shon's behalf as the younger boy couldn't help but fold over the attack. Shon's swing lost some of its momentum, but he didn't stop, continuing to follow through, towards Zihlers neck, until "Match!"
Shon's sword stopped after barely tapping Zihler, showing that he hadn't lost control of the weapon and still had enough sense to pull the strike once the match was over. Would he really have hit the Squire full force if Master Daunas hadn't stopped them? Zihler felt himself sweating and had to swallow again. Shon finally blinked and stepped back, reaching for his ribs and flinching in pain as he gripped them.
The Cleric rushed forward, already speaking a prayer, and Zihler muttered a quiet, "Sorry..." as Shon flinched again at the healer's touch.
Shon furrowed his brow, then asked, "Why?" making Zihler blink in confusion, "We weren't supposed to hold back." Shon explained.
"Yeah, but..." Zihler started,
"You could've blocked that. It's the same technique you used in your first match," Master Daunas instructed Shon sternly.
Shon looked down at his sword, then back up at the Weapon Master. His eyes darted momentarily to Zihler before he muttered, "If I'd been faster, I could have ended it before he put too much force behind it..."
"You took the hit on purpose?!" Zihler shouted in disbelief.
Shon just shrugged, his ribs healed enough that it would only hurt a little to move, "I wasn't fast enough."
"Next time, block," Master Daunas chastised the younger boy, "Even if the blow had lost half its strength, you would've been injured." Shon hesitated, and Zihler noticed him clenching his fist at his side before he nodded in answer.
The bell for lunch sounded its twelve long rings, filling the courtyard as Master Daunas waved the boys towards the weapons rack, signaling an end to the practice. Zihler’s fellows joined him as he handed the practice weapon back to Thom. He didn't speak until the three newbies moved far enough away not to hear, "That was scary..."
"He really went all out, didn't he?" Kefir asked. Zihler could only nod.
"Cold-blooded," Rehlien commented.
"You have no idea," Zihler confirmed, "Even the seniors hold back more than he did."
The five turned toward the fortress and lunch, Baradin saying, "He could've though, did you see how easily he stopped his swing?"
"I felt it," Zihler mumbled, rubbing his neck. But he'd also seen clearly that Shon wouldn't have had the match not been called.
"I couldn't do that..." Uther mumbled, more to himself than the others, his shoulders slumping.
The other four immediately shifted their attention to their fellow. The poor boy had struggled through every stage of their combat training. Baradin patted him on the back, trying to sound soothing, "It’s only been a year. You have plenty of time."
Uther sighed heavily, "That was his first match, and he's already better than I am..." none of the others had an answer for that.
***
"I can't do this..."
Shon looked up from his book to furrow his brow at the older Squire. Uther looked as dejected as ever, staring unseeing at his own books spread out on the table in front of him. They showed drawings of fighting forms being performed step by step with explanations detailing each one's use.
"Uther..." Kefir whispered, reaching out to rub his friend's back, "You can..."
"I can't!" Uther slammed his book shut, and every Squire at the table jumped in surprise, "I don't want to. I hate this. I hate all of this." he crossed his arms over the table and dropped his head into them.
Shon tried to go back to his book. It was none of his business. He hardly knew the boy, and even if he did, what would he say? What could any of them say? And yet he listened as the others tried to comfort the frustrated Squire. "You're the best at our theology and law lessons, though, Uther. We can help you with the rest. We still have time."
"I don't want to fight..." Uther spoke into his arms, "I never did... I just thought... I thought that if I tried hard enough, I would learn..."
"You will."
"I don't want to." he was barely audible now, even in the absolute silence of the library.
At the end of the table, two boys a year older than Uther exchanged looks and silent nods before they stood and came to kneel beside him, "You don't have to." one of them said. Shon looked up again.
The other rubbed the Uther's back gently, "There was a boy a year older than us, his name was Karlin, he had a hard time too..."
Uther turned his head just enough to look through his arms at the Squire, "He gave up?"
"He went to train as a Cleric instead." the first said, "We got a letter from him last year, he's really happy, Uther. Maybe..." he hesitated, and his friend picked up for him,
"We would never encourage you to quit. If you want to stay, we'll help you. Everyone here will." he gestured to the table at large and then to the rest of the fortress beyond the library door. Uther lifted his head, and Shon nodded when he met the older boy's eyes. Though what he could do, he still didn't know.
The senior Squire continued, "But if you really don't want to, we will support you in that too."
Uther looked around at all of them, then whispered, "It's not too late?"
"It's never too late," the Paladin on duty chimed in without looking up. Perhaps not wanting to interject too much into the Squires' group effort to comfort their own.
"You've only been here a year, and Karlin already showed it's possible to transfer. If that's really what you want."
"I... I think I'll go pray..." Uther finally managed to choke out. The two boys stood and helped him to his feet but let him walk to the door on his own. Shon went back to his book.
He'd wanted this so badly it had hurt. He couldn't imagine being in Uther's position... But he also felt a strange sort of pride in his fellow Squires. They had stood up to help their fellow without hesitation, even now that he left, they weren't judging him for his voiced doubts. And even Uther himself. Shon had to imagine that it took a lot of strength to admit to the others that he might give up, that this path wasn't for him.
The next day Uther left Hamerfoss.
***
Along with the fundamentals of their swords, the new Squires were caught up in lessons on kingdom law. As Paladins, it would be their responsibility to enforce the law in each of the ten provinces, each with their own nuances. However, kingdom-wide laws always superseded province laws, so the new Squires were expected to know as much of that as possible before they started with the others.
Today they were learning about magic regulation...
"You should've all learned the basic theory of arcane magic before reaching maturity..." the Paladin giving their lecture began, waiting for their nods before continuing, "So you know that, theoretically, anyone can practice arcane magic. With enough study and funding. The kingdom has granted the Mages Guild a leading voice in the laws surrounding the use of arcane magic, and the power to enforce them with the assistance of the local Temple representatives."
The classroom was made to hold twenty five Squires and so felt particularly large and empty with only the three of them seated in the front row taking silent notes as the instructor spoke. He explained how the teleport system of gates worked within the Guild. That transport could be purchased to instantly travel between Guild towers, but that permission had to be granted from the destination if crossing province lines; otherwise, travelers would be trapped in the Guild and heavily fined, even imprisoned in some cases. He touched briefly on the cost cap of certain magical items, such as bags of holding and weather-resistant cloaks, to prevent price gouging. And handed out a list of outlawed magic items they would be required to memorize in their own time for a test at the end of this training period. It mostly consisted of anything that could cause outright harm, rare and valuable spell components for powerful spells, or items that aided in stealth that could be used for thievery. Though with the proper licensure, some experienced allies of the Temples were permitted to use many of them.
"Arcane magic has the potential to be very dangerous, and as such, all practicing Mages are required to be trained and registered as members of the Guild. Only Archmages, the highest Mage rank, are permitted to conduct research outside the Guild and take apprentices at their leisure. Which brings us to Sorcerers..."
Shon looked up from his notes. Their teacher was writing on the board again. At the top, he scrawled 'Sorcerers' then drew two lines down from the word to 'Clearance' and 'Sealing.' "When a Sorcerer awakens, they are required to..." he started, but Thom and Rerves both quickly raised their hands.
"What's a Sorcerer?" Rerves asked after the instructor nodded his way. Thom put down his hand, having had the same question.
The instructor looked at Shon and asked, "Do you know what a Sorcerer is?" when Shon shook his head, the man looked disapproving, "Then why didn't you ask?"
"They did..." Shon muttered down to his notebook. The teacher sighed and Shon glared at his notes. He would've asked if Thom and Rerves hadn't... assuming the answer wasn't made clear as the lesson continued.
Rather than further chastise him, the teacher moved on to answer the question, "A Sorcerer is someone who possesses natural arcane magic. They are born with power over one of the five elements. The power usually manifests around puberty, and when it does, the Sorcerer in question is taken to the Mages Guild. There they are either trained to control it -taking many years of study- or the power is sealed." He turned his back on the boys to continue writing on the board. Under 'Clearance', he wrote 'training' and 'testing', and under 'Sealing', he wrote 'tattoo' and 'item.'
"A Sorcerer with a clearance is the same in practice as a Mage who is registered with the Guild. Most Sorcerers, however, have their power sealed, preventing its use,"
"Why?" Thom asked, then quickly clapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed for interrupting.
The instructor didn't seem to mind the interruption so much as the question itself. His eyes went wide in his disbelief as he looked down at the boys, "It is incredibly dangerous. Earth Sorcerers have been known to cause small earthquakes; Water and Air Sorcerers can drown or steal the air right from the lungs; Ice Sorcerers can freeze an entire room; and Fire Sorcerers... well, they are the most destructive. And all of that can be unintentional. Their magic is driven by their emotions, and if they can't control it, they are a danger to themselves and everyone around them. This is also why they are usually sealed with a tattoo..." he tapped the word on the board, "The sealing tattoo blocks their ability to use any kind of magic. It locks their energy, and thus their magic, in their body, preventing its manipulation. It is also given to any Mages, Druids, Clerics, and even Paladins that break the law and endanger the kingdom."
Rerves opened his mouth but then remembered to raise his hand, waiting for permission before he asked, "But don't Clerics and Paladins lose their God's blessing and their magic if they use it for evil?"
The teacher sighed again, though sadly this time, "Only Saint Giorgos reveres law itself as holy, and not every God holds the same standards for evil."
"Horsa..." Rerves growled under his breath, and the instructor nodded solemnly in agreement, his eyes flashing angrily at the mention of Hengist's brother and nemesis.
"Spells that are acceptable in Horsa-controlled provinces are not always permitted in Hengist's lands and vis versa. The Temples prefer to transfer those caught performing illegal acts with magic to a province where it is permitted, but occasionally, even a Cleric or Paladin can be tattooed to prevent further spell use. In some provinces, and you will learn more about this later, they even tattoo non-magic users who commit violent crimes. To prevent them from ever learning dangerous magic in the future."
Shon stared at the word scrawled in his notebook. Sealing tattoos worked by sealing the person's energy in their body, their ki... would it prevent Monk abilities too? The bell ending the lesson interrupted his thoughts, and Shon looked up to the teacher with the others, waiting for official dismissal before they would close their notebooks, "You should have that list of contraband memorized by the end of the week," the instructor reminded them as he began to erase the board, "Dismissed."
***
A rabbit made of fire hopped its way around the open cage. She sat on the floor, focusing on it, forcing it to keep the shape she willed while she stroked the cat's crimson-scaled head. The cat rested its entire front half in her lap, its lower legs splayed out on the ground, limp, too weak to move. She fought back tears as it tried to lift one great paw to bat at the bunny. She let the cat hit it, even made the flame rabbit fall down, pinned under the red claws. Not all of her treasures could touch her fire, but this one could, so she would do this for it at least. It purred in triumph at catching the flaming bunny but closed its eyes a moment later, letting out a ragged breath.
It was dying. They all died eventually, but it didn't stop the pain. She sniffed, trying to keep the tears from falling as she let the fire go. Snuffed out like her treasure.
"Come on, Red... it’s time to go..." Ran whispered into the cage.
She shook her head, stroking the large cat's side. Its breathing had slowed even further, "Not yet," she choked, then sniffed again.
Brom rested a hand on Ran's shoulder, "Give her a little longer."
"The Archmage..."
"He can wait," Brom whispered.
Her tears finally started to fall, streaming silently down her cheeks and over her scales, the same shade as this treasure, the first treasure she'd ever pet. It had lived longer than the others, somehow, and was one of the few she was capable of touching for more than a few moments. "Why?" she asked the journeymen, not really expecting an answer she could accept.
They squatted down outside the cage together, and Ran answered, "Their bodies can't handle the magic. They're animals with dragon power. We're trying Red, but we haven't figured out how to stop it yet..."
"Am I going to die too?" she asked. The cat's breathing slowed further, her tears dripping onto its head and sizzling as they landed.
"No, Goldy, no... You're different... you're..." Brom struggled to find an explanation.
"A Sorcerer Red," Ran provided, "And a really powerful one."
Her treasure breathed its last, letting the air out slowly until it was unmoving in her lap. She cried silently. Curling around the large cat that was too heavy for her to lift, she cried into its neck, holding it close.
Brom crawled into the cage, but he didn't touch her, "Come on, Goldy, maybe the next generation..." he braved grabbing her arm, flinching at the heat of her skin and pulling her out of the cage as silent tears continued to fall. She tried to control herself but couldn't and fell to her knees as soon as she was out. Brom pulled quickly away, shaking his burned fingers. "Oh, Goldy... please don't..."
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop crying while also keeping her power pulled in, so she wouldn't catch any of the scattered straw or her caretakers' robes on fire. Her eyes flew open when a thick heavy blanket wrapped around her, and strong arms held it tight to her.
"I've got you, Red... It's okay to cry..." she could feel the antifire spell on the blanket press into her skin, but past that was Ran's arms, and a moment later, a second set, Brom's, wrapped her in a tight embrace. It was the only way they could hug her, and she was grateful enough that she let herself go, her shoulders bobbing as she sobbed and wailed for the loss of her treasure... and for herself.
--- Table of Contents ---
Thanks for making it this far, you are the real MVP

Hi everyone, I decided to make this post because I honestly feel entirely alone and not really sure what to do so I just needed some other perspectives.
For context, I am a 22 year old female with parents who have been separated ever since I was a young age. I lived with my mother all throughout school until I turned 18, and ill be honest my dad never paid child support. He was also barely there but would occasionally get me a gift on Christmas or my birthday to show some sort of presence in my life. However, my mother was an alcoholic and I was constantly dealing with an emotionally abusive parent every day, on top of doing super well in school and never getting myself into trouble. I also had been working ever since I was old enough to apply (16) because she made me. Now, I am not making excuses toward a bad childhood but I feel that the context is important.
When I was 17 my senior year, I had decided I had enough of the constant misery of living with my mother and asked my dad if we could find somewhere to move. Everyone may be wondering why I didn’t ask sooner, and the reason is that my dad is not very smart (dropped out of middle school) or committed to anything and could barely provide for himself. But at this point I was desperate. We started by living off of my $800 I had saved throughout my years of working, sleeping in motels every week up until he could find a cheap place. At this point it was the end of my senior year, and I had basically completely cut my mother off at this point. Eventually he had found a 1bd apartment that we both have lived in for 4 years now, I have the bedroom while he takes the couch in the living room. I took two years off school for mental reasons but was working the entire time 40 hrs a week at a cafe before also working at a spa an additional 20 hrs per week. After being drained and starting school, I had taken a part time job which I am still at now.
My dad is very irresponsible with his money. He has a deal with our landlord to do work in exchange for rent, so in a way he is off the hook for that and only has to pay for bills and wifi. Now, I have always paid my own stuff and never asked him for money for a majority of my life. The only thing he provides for me is the rent and water bill as well as wifi of course, but I cover my own food, books for online school, clothes/phone, gas for my car, car insurance, our groceries and etc. I only work 4 days a week and get about 20 hours on average, but I have tried having two jobs and it was a lot. Again, I am in community college online and I wanted to focus on a degree, and so I actually plan to transfer to a university next year. I am paying for it all on my own, trying to save up. Last year, I had asked my dad to help me get a car. The car is used but basically brand new, and the only thing I have asked him to help with is my car payments ($384/month). Of course I am super grateful for this but I am also stuck because he basically reminds me how much I owe him (he agreed to help, it wasnt a loan I had asked from him). I do also pay $34 of the car payment, which isnt a lot, but I do pay for a lot of other things as well without his help. I give him money constantly whenever he asks for it, and there will be times he doesn’t pay it back for like a month. He has a really good job but works on his own schedule, and lately never works until a day or two before something is due. He has 0 concept of working and is at home constantly.
The money that I give him goes towards an addiction problem with cigarettes as well as another thing I dont want to specify, but know about. Anyways, this past year my dad has been completely on my ass because although I give him countless money im sick of having to wait forever to get my money back, I have started to refuse giving any but am manipulated into it by his yelling. Also, when I do ask he gets angry and he tells me hes doing his best? But never works.. If i was not trying to get a degree I would certainly look for a better job and leave, but my current one is perfect for the amount of schoolwork I have. For additional context I eat outside food often but 98% of the time I get him food too, and I understand it is a waste to eat out but he gets really mad when I come home after work and make noise in the kitchen, so its like I cant win. Not to mention, he constantly uses my car and the gas with it and doesnt refill it, asks me about every day for $20 and he gets mad at me for not getting paid more or doing more.
It is just super frustrating. I dont know what to do at this point and I know the easy solution is to move out, but when I do go to university I have no clue what I am going to do because I cannot rely on him for anything even though he barely provided for me most of my life. Any sort of advice would help, thanks.

I’m (22F) moving 1600 miles away from my home state in two months to be with my partner (21M). We’ve known each other for 8 years now, and we’re finally going to be living together!
My cat is 15 years old, I’ve had him since I was 7. My parents didn’t want to deal with a litter box unfortunately, so he’s always been an indoooutdoor cat (which, as I’ve gotten older, I don’t feel extremely comfortable with). We live in the country with about two acres of land, and my cat loves to go outside. He used to get in fights with other cats when he was younger, now he just tends to chill near the house.
When I move, I’ll be living in a very small one bedroom apartment in the city with my partner. My cat will have to be litter box trained before I move, I recently bought a harness and leash to train him on that (I will be taking him outside to the gated breezeway at our apartment when I move), and I’ve been taking him on small drives to get him acclimated to the car, because I will be driving to our new home.
My parents are concerned about this. They think that I will be bringing down his quality of life by making him stay in a small apartment. They’re also worried about my partner and I possibly dealing with my cat yowling during the drive there, or yowling after we’ve moved because he wants to go outside (he already does this at our current home).
I understand their concerns, and I know they love my cat too. He sleeps with them every night (he used to sleep with me until I started closing my door at night, he likes to roam). He loves to sit on my mom during the day while I’m at work, and my dad usually feeds him at the same times he feeds the dogs.
At the same time, though, this is my cat. He was bought for me when I was younger, and I know he thinks of me as his person, too. I’m his first choice for who’s lap to sit in, he yowls at my door to be let in like he yowls at the door to be let outside.
I feel bad for my parents as well, because they won’t be able to adopt another cat until my dogs pass. They weren’t trained well, and they would not do well with a kitten at all. A new older cat probably wouldn’t do well with them, either. My cat is only okay with them because he has been around longer than all of them, and they were all introduced into the house as puppies. They’re still not the nicest to my cat though. They are territorial and sometimes snap at my cat when he just walks near their food. I think my cat would be better off out of the house because of that, too. I’m sure he’d be happy to be able to roam free without a dog harassing him occasionally.
Despite all of this, I am split. I love my cat, and it hurts me to think about leaving him, and not being with him when he eventually passes. But I feel bad taking him away from my parents, and I’m worried about his quality of life after moving as well.
So, WIBTA if I moved my cat half way across the country with me?

I have to put this somewhere to know i'm not losing my mind here...
I let someone move in about a month ago and i'm renting other month as i don't want to kick them out on there b-day....
I'm non-gender demi 29 kinda of a grem freak, there female bi 23 as of today...
I had only 3 rules 1. Keep it clean 2. Stay out of my room 3 noting higher then 420...
And i swear i've not live with a dirtyer person snice my family and that just the tip...
They bring crank and meth in here party like every other night till like 4am.... they let there animals piss on the floor dishes piled up in the sink and dish tray and there my dishes and there all pretty much still dirty with food still stuck on them...
I ask her to take her dog out as it will whine and bark at the door to go out and she still igores it and lets it pees on the floor (this erks me abit as i used to be in animal rescue)
I given cloth to there friends for "addicents" they had and had to clean there puke off the side of my tub after i asked them 3x to and mentioned it 3x i just had to get to it myself...
They almost din't pay for this month with excuses it was so late at night i was barely even able to go get shopping done as i was kept waitting..
And today there b-day knowing i won'y lose it at them for it because it how i am (i never had a B-day i'm not gonna ruin someone elses...) they let my cat out well he was sick just as i got him meds.... i warned to please keep the window shut around 200x as he knows how to silp out and the only thing like family i have...
I can't stand smell of dog pee from abusive past i said "ether take care of it or get rid of it" before like 2 weeks ago... dog still pees on floor...
There friends have bruged in my room 2x...
I had them " girl to girl me" me and try and show me something i do not want to see...
And had there friend say " guy to guy how do you put up with it"
But then hear roommate trash talking me after i only ever really speak up to ask them to clean up after thereself....
I'm at a lost and don't know what to do at this ponit.... i can only be so nice....
P.s life only ever brought me abuse i growen use to it....but from therpy i learned i can't let it just happen.... so i really could use some advice...
Like i still got them a gift and booze and pizza after this for there b-day..... i'm not good at being mean but yet i'm crying over my cat afaid he won't come back and is looking for a place to die because he sick...
I had many bad roommates most times i can keep what happens to myself... but i'm too broken as is for this....

Introduction
1) Will this be your first dog? If not, what experience do you have owning/training dogs?
*As an adult, I adopted a senior Aussie/lab that I had until he passed away, and fostered a Border Collie for approx. 6 months. Both at separate times.
2) Do you have a preference for rescuing a dog vs. going through a reputable breeder?
*I prefer going through a breeder due to the longterm connection, assistance with any breed specific issues, and health & temperament reliability.
3) Describe your ideal dog.
*My ideal dog is one that can go on long walks with me before and after work, not absolutely destroy the house while I am gone, can enjoy downtime, and will be able to handle and ENJOY weekend adventures with me (hiking, kayaking, etc). I enjoy a dog that is Velcroed to me, but not necessarily laying on top of me at every second (my senior Aussie would follow me from room to room and then lay down two feet away from me, coming up for occasional pets. That was perfect)
I would like a best friend & partner, but not a blanket.
4) What breeds or types of dogs are you interested in and why?
*I have always loved herding breeds. I like how intelligent and ready for anything they are, while still having a bit of quirk. I also like that they aren’t as “bumbling/goofy” as gundogs.
5) What sorts of things would you like to train your dog to do?
*Ideally, I would love to train my dog into advanced obedience - I have sensory issues and a poorly trained dog that is completely out of control would drive me crazy. I am open to dog sports, as well.
6) Do you want to compete with your dog in a sport (e.g. agility, obedience, rally) or use your dog for a form of work (e.g. hunting, herding, livestock guarding)? If so, how much experience do you have with this work/sport?
*I am open to dog sports, but do not have any experience with them. They seem like fun, and if my dog needs a job to do regularly, I am certainly okay with the idea.
Care Commitments
7) How long do you want to devote to training, playing with, or otherwise interacting with your dog each day?
*I would say that my playtime & training dedicated time (which I hope would be able to intermix, I love hide & seek dog games and other dog learning games) would be approx. 2 hours per day. I consider my pets family, so interaction would be able to occur whenever I am home and awake.
8) How long can you exercise your dog each day, on average? What sorts of exercise are you planning to give your dog regularly and does that include using a dog park?
*I have a fenced yard, so the dog will be able to use the bathroom outside whenever it needs. Otherwise, I would anticipate 45-60 minutes of exercise per day, whether this is rigorous play in the backyard or walks. On the weekend, I am usually out for 2-4 hours in total of hiking, kayaking, etc.
9) How much regular brushing are you willing to do? Are you open to trimming hair, cleaning ears, or doing other grooming at home? If not, would you be willing to pay a professional to do it regularly?
*I would prefer to keep brushing to once a week or every couple of days. I don’t think I could manage daily brushing. For other grooming needs, I am happy to pay a professional groomer.
Personal Preferences
10) What size dog are you looking for?
*Medium to large. I don’t want a small cat-sized dog or a giant.
11) How much shedding, barking, and slobber can you handle?
*I have no issues with shedding. I need barking to be fairly minimal - I don’t mind an alert bark or two to let us know that someone is by the door, but I can’t deal with barking at every passing squirrel… and person… and rabbit… and dog… etc.
I don’t love drool. I can handle a bit, but my grandmother had boxers that would rain spit when they shook their heads, my dad had a spaniel that would drool puddles… I can’t do that.
12) How important is being able to let your dog off-leash in an unfenced area?
*Not important. I have a fenced yard, and otherwise I will be using a leash without exceptions.
Dog Personality and Behavior
13) Do you want a snuggly dog or one that prefers some personal space?
*As mentioned, I like the mix of Velcro with personal space. I’m fine with occasional snuggles, but my preference is to be in the same area with pets now and then, and maybe a lean against the legs.
14) Would you prefer a dog that wants to do its own thing or one that’s more eager-to-please?
*A healthy mix of both, but leaning to eager to please. I want a dog that is trainable and excited to live life with me.
15) How would you prefer your dog to respond to someone knocking on the door or entering your yard? How would you prefer your dog to greet strangers or visitors?
*A healthy bark is fine with me, but not aggression. I really appreciated the aloofness of my Aussie with strangers.
16) Are you willing to manage a dog that is aggressive to other dogs?
*I am willing to manage it, but I would prefer to avoid that risk.
17) Are there any other behaviors you can’t deal with or want to avoid?
*I have a cat, and I need to know that she will be safe sharing a space with a dog.
Lifestyle
18) How often and how long will the dog be left alone?
*I am gone for approx. 10 hours total on weekdays including commute, but I am willing to pay for a dog walker or daycare two or three times a week. On weekends, the dog would be with me nearly all the time.
19) What are the dog-related preferences of other people in the house and what will be their involvement in caring for the dog?
*My partner shares my preferences with a lean towards less shedding, specifically on his work clothes. I’m fairly sure we would be able to figure out a way to lessen hair on work clothes, and we have lint rollers if we can’t. He’s fine with giving pets and helping with care, but I will be the primary caregiver.
20) Do you have other pets or are you planning on having other pets? What breed or type of animal are they?
*As mentioned, a cat.
21) Will the dog be interacting with children regularly?
*No.
22) Do you rent or plan to rent in the future? If applicable, what breed or weight restrictions are on your current lease?
*Yes - no breed restrictions.
23) What city or country do you live in and are you aware of any laws banning certain breeds?
*Southeast US
24) What is the average temperature of a typical summer and winter day where you live?
*In the summer, mid-90s. It wouldn’t be incredibly surprising for temperatures to hit 100. Winter is mild. It is also humid, so the heat feels pretty blanketing.

Hi Reddit, I'm watching my gf's cat while she's out of town. Now I'm also going to be out of town for the weekend. I leave Friday night and come back Sunday night. Is that too long to leave a cat by himself? I would leave tons of food and water.
Thanks for the tips!

media.tenor.com/ydMWvQCt6MIAAAAC/horny-shrek.gif
Video: Mirror - Shrek
This is part of a series exploring the hidden motives and actions of the main players during Robert's Rebellion, named LBJ in reference to the influence of Lyndon B. Johnson and the Vietnam War on GRRM's views and writings on war. LBJ also indicates considerations over whether Lyanna + Bobby B = Jon Snow. Previous installments include:

• Rhaegar Had To Be A Warrior
• Why Did Rhaegar Crown Lyanna?
  • Ice, Ice Baby?
  • Political Suicide?
  • Was She 'A Very Kinky Girl'?
• The Forging of Lightbringer: Blue Flowers & Narrow Visors
• Rhaegar Mistakenly Crowned Lyanna
• I am not fond of fish, but when fish is served, I eat it.
• All is fair in love and war...
• Kingsguard Loyalty
• Southron Ambitions & Lies
• The Return of the Prince: Éowyn at the Trident

In the last part, we combed through evidence that Lyanna fought disguised as Rhaegar at the Trident. We'll now examine why Cersei's torture of the Blue Bard indicates that Rhaegar was tortured by Robert, for the crime of crowning his beloved Lyanna with winter roses in front of half the realm.

"It saddens me to see Your Grace so careworn. I say, run off and play and leave the King's Hand to hear these tiresome petitions. We could dress as serving girls and spend the day amongst the smallfolk, to hear what they are saying of the fall of Dragonstone. I know the inn where the Blue Bard plays when he is not singing attendance on the little queen, and a certain cellar where a conjurer turns lead into gold, water into wine, and girls into boys. Perhaps he would work his spells on the two of us. Would it amuse Your Grace to be a man one night?"

- A Feast for Crows Cersei VIII

Mirror on the Wall: King Robert vs. Queen Cersei

Robert is practiced at shutting his eyes to things he’d rather not see, like when he can’t admit he’s too fat for his armor (like Cersei assumes washerwomen shrunk her gowns) or when he pretends wine made him hurt his queen (which Cersei reenacts on Taena, but is frustrated when that Myrish slut enjoys it). Robert fills his court with corrupt lickspittles and admits on his deathbed that he was a bad king when previously he expected Ned to say otherwise. Likewise, Cersei assumes she’s a political mastermind, basically Tywin with teats. In answer to Robert grooming Barra's barely pubescent mother, Cersei grooms and psychologically scars young Lancel (and Tyrek too for all we know). Robert incestuously cheats with his Estermont cousin early in his reign, so Cersei rekindles incest with her brother Jaime. Cersei has bastards killed who could threaten her own children's claims, and Robert tries to have Dany and her unborn child killed to protect the throne from dragonspawn. Robert pretends to care about his baseborn children, and people doubt Cersei loves anyone as more than an extension of herself (although Varys disagrees). Robert does seem to realize he doesn’t love his heirs, which raises the question of whether or not he knew they were bastards.

To her credit, Cersei did not look away. “He saw us. You love your children, do you not?”
Robert had asked him the very same question, the morning of the melee. He gave her the same answer. “With all my heart.”
“No less do I love mine.”

- A Game of Thrones Eddard XII
King Robert and Queen Cersei are an exercise in avoiding hypocritical analysis; any fault decried in one is reflected in the other in a role-appropriate way. Both lie to themselves and others, drink in excess, have cruel tempers, are physically and sexually abusive, and are terrible parents and rulers. Martin has clearly written Robert and Cersei to mirror one another, and if we saw Robert’s inner monologue, surely it would reveal that he’s just as arrogant and delusional as his wife.
It’s often claimed Robert was unaware of the illegitimacy of his heirs, as he would have gone berserk had he known. If one believes Robert would have executed Cersei for cuckolding him, then it must also be true that Rhaegar incurred Robert’s hatred when he crowned Lyanna with sexually suggestive winter roses in front of half the realm. In fact, we know he did:

As for Robert Baratheon himself, some say he laughed at the prince’s gesture, claiming that Rhaegar had done no more than pay Lyanna her due…but those who knew him better say the young lord brooded on the insult, and that his heart hardened toward the Prince of Dragonstone from that day forth.

- The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring The World of Ice and Fire
Given his family history of Targaryen betrayal, when the Laughing Storm rebelled against the Iron Throne over a broken betrothal, as well as his possessiveness of Lyanna, Robert would seek vengeance over Rhaegar's actions at Harrenhal. So when Robert talks about Rhaegar raping Lyanna, it’s easy to imagine that he’s reinforcing a lie to himself. Similar to how he projects Lyanna onto Cersei on their wedding night, Robert is capable of projecting his own actions onto Rhaegar. Robert is the person who actually had sex with Lyanna… but only once.

The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. “I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.”
“You did,” Ned reminded him.
“Only once,” Robert said bitterly.

- A Game of Thrones Eddard I
This subtext is mirrored by Jon Connington's implied love for Rhaegar. Connington laments that Rhaegar ass-ended his tower only once, then indicates that all the girls cried when Rhaegar played his harp, implying that Lyanna crying over Rhaegar's music was nothing special.

Yet when they parted, Jon Connington did not go to the sept. Instead his steps led him up to the roof of the east tower, the tallest at Griffin's Roost. As he climbed he remembered past ascents—a hundred with his lord father, who liked to stand and look out over woods and crags and sea and know that all he saw belonged to House Connington, and one (only one!) with Rhaegar Targaryen. Prince Rhaegar was returning from Dorne, and he and his escort had lingered here a fortnight. He was so young then, and I was younger. Boys, the both of us. At the welcoming feast, the prince had taken up his silver-stringed harp and played for them. A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp. Not the men, of course. Particularly not his own father, whose only love was land. Lord Armond Connington spent the entire evening trying to win the prince to his side in his dispute with Lord Morrigen.

- A Dance with Dragons The Griffon Reborn
Robert's false accusation of rape mirrors Lord Mathis Rowan's daughter's lie which landed Dareon, a singer and harpist, on the Wall; if Arya had this information, maybe she wouldn't have murdered him for desertion.

It made her angry to see Dareon sitting there so brazen, making eyes at Lanna as his fingers danced across the harp strings.

_

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. And the singer should be on the Wall.

- A Feast for Crows Cat of the Canals
So when one considers that our favorite evil queen had an innocent singer imprisoned and tortured on trumped up charges, it then should not come as a shock that the fan-favorite warrior king would do something similar.

The Blue Bard Mirror

Cersei has the Blue Bard arrested and tortured in the dungeons, framing him for seducing Margaery. Afraid of Maggy the Frog's prophecies and thus jealous of Margaery, Cersei imprisons the young queen's favorite musician, accusing him of bedding her. She enlists Qyburn to torture a false confession from the Blue Bard and lies to herself about its veracity. The main beats of Cersei's motives and actions here 'rhyme' with what actually happened to Rhaegar: jealous over the prophecy-minded, musical prince's use of pale blue roses at Harrenhal, which according to Bael the Bard's song indicates a desire to bed and father a child on a Stark maiden, Robert imprisoned and tortured Rhaegar, also having Lyanna imprisoned in the tower of joy with Dorne's help, raped her, and lied about Rhaegar's guilt.
What follows is an examination of the Blue Bard torture scene from A Feast for Crows, Cersei IX.
Like Bael the Bard, the Blue Bard is linked to pale blue roses, signaling that his story is relevant to mysteries surrounding Lyanna.

“Not kind,” said Cersei, “merely truthful. Taena tells me that you are called the Blue Bard.”
“I am, Your Grace.” The singer’s boots were supple blue calfskin, his breeches fine blue wool. The tunic he wore was pale blue silk slashed with shiny blue satin. He had even gone so far as to dye his hair blue, in the Tyroshi fashion. Long and curly, it fell to his shoulders and smelled as if it had been washed in rosewater. From blue roses, no doubt. At least his teeth are white. They were good teeth, not the least bit crooked.
“You have no other name?”

His eyes are like Robert's eyes, beckoning readers to 'see':

A hint of pink suffused his cheeks. “As a boy, I was called Wat. A fine name for a plowboy, less fitting for a singer.”
The Blue Bard’s eyes were the same color as Robert’s. For that alone, she hated him. “It is easy to see why you are Lady Margaery’s favorite.”
“Her Grace is kind. She says I give her pleasure.”
“Oh, I’m certain of it. Might I see your lute?”
“If it please Your Grace.” Beneath the courtesy, there was a faint hint of unease, but he handed her the lute all the same. One does not refuse the queen’s request.
Cersei plucked a string and smiled at the sound. “Sweet and sad as love. Tell me, Wat . . . the first time you took Margaery to bed, was that before she wed my son, or after?”
For a moment he did not seem to understand. When he did, his eyes grew large. “Your Grace has been misinformed. I swear to you, I never—”

vs.

For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Ned. "You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I'll find me a Hand who will."

- A Game of Thrones Eddard VIII
Not only do these passages share certain words and syntax, but they also reinforce both Cersei and Robert's rash, retaliatory natures. Both expect to be obeyed.
Cersei's violence towards the singer even evokes Robert smashing the rubies off Rhaegar's armor at the Trident.

“Liar!” Cersei smashed the lute across the singer’s face so hard the painted wood exploded into shards and splinters. “Lord Orton, summon my guards and take this creature to the dungeons.”
Orton Merryweather’s face was damp with fear. “This . . . oh, infamy . . . he dared seduce the queen?”
“I fear it was the other way around, but he is a traitor all the same. Let him sing for Lord Qyburn.”
The Blue Bard went white. “No.” Blood dripped from his lip where the lute had torn it. “I never . . .” When Merryweather seized him by the arm, he screamed, “Mother have mercy, no.”
“I am not your mother,” Cersei told him.

Cersei retorts that she's not the Blue Bard's mother, before having Wat tortured out of jealousy of her step-daughter Margaery, who she thinks is the younger queen from Maggy's prophecy. This is clearly meant to reflect the story of Snow White, in which her vain and wicked step-mother is told by a magic mirror that the princess is more beautiful, leading her to send a huntsman to kill her. He takes Snow White into the deep of the wood but lets her flee, presenting a boar's heart to the evil queen instead. Similarly, Robert is a huntsman who is killed by a boar, with the aid of strongwine supplied by Cersei.

Dorcas put a silver looking glass into her hand. Very good, the queen thought, smiling at her reflection.

- A Feast for Crows Cersei V
I've previously argued that the queen of love and beauty's laurel at Harrenhal was actually formed from white roses and mistaken as pale blue like frost in shadow. "The Blue Bard went white" is just one of many pieces of text that foreshadows this reveal. Azor Ahai forges Lightbringer, so it makes sense that solutions to major mysteries would involve light phenomena.

Even in the black cells, all they got from him were denials, prayers, and pleas for mercy. Before long, blood was streaming down his chin from all his broken teeth, and he wet his dark blue breeches three times over, yet still the man persisted in his lies. “Is it possible we have the wrong singer?” Cersei asked.
“All things are possible, Your Grace. Have no fear. The man will confess before the night is done.” Down here in the dungeons, Qyburn wore roughspun wool and a blacksmith’s leather apron. To the Blue Bard he said, “I am sorry if the guards were rough with you. Their courtesies are sadly lacking.” His voice was kind, solicitous. “All we want from you is the truth.”
“I’ve told you the truth,” the singer sobbed. Iron shackles held him hard against the cold stone wall.
“We know better.” Qyburn had a razor in his hand, its edge gleaming faintly in the torchlight. He cut away the Blue Bard’s clothing, until the man was naked but for his high blue boots. The hair between his legs was brown, Cersei was amused to see. “Tell us how you pleasured the little queen,” she commanded.

vs.

There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

- A Game of Thrones Prologue
Qyburn slices off the Blue Bard's nipple and the wet red eye weeps blood... Margaery may favor his music, but it's obvious they did not have a sexual relationship. Lyanna also was moved to tears by Rhaegar's music, but that doesn't mean she desired him. This series is called A Song of Ice & Fire, so it's appropriate to hide major clues to its most important mysteries in a singer's tale.

“I never . . . I sang, was all, I sang and played. Her ladies will tell you. They were always with us. Her cousins.”
“How many of them did you have carnal knowledge of?”
“None of them. I’m just a singer. Please.”
Qyburn said, “Your Grace, mayhaps this poor man only played for Margaery whilst she entertained other lovers.”
Lord Qyburn ran a hand up the Blue Bard’s chest. “Does she take your nipples in her mouth during your love play?” He took one between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted. “Some men enjoy that. Their nipples are as sensitive as a woman’s.” The razor flashed, the singer shrieked. On his chest a wet red eye wept blood. Cersei felt ill. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, to turn away, to make it stop. But she was the queen and this was treason. Lord Tywin would not have turned away.

vs.

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle, but when her pup brother teased her for crying she poured wine over his head.

- A Storm of Swords Bran II
Like Cersei mentally distorts reality to believe Margaery seduced the Blue Bard, it's easy to imagine Robert convincing himself that Lyanna tempted Rhaegar, to try to make sense of the insult at Harrenhal:

In the end the Blue Bard told them his whole life, back to his first name day. His father had been a chandler and Wat was raised to that trade, but as a boy he found he had more skill at making lutes than barrels. When he was twelve he ran off to join a troupe of musicians he had heard performing at a fair. He had wandered half the Reach before coming to King’s Landing in hopes of finding favor at court.
“Favor?” Qyburn chuckled. “Is that what women call it now? I fear you found too much of it, my friend . . . and from the wrong queen. The true one stands before you.”
Yes. Cersei Robert blamed Margaery Tyrell Lyanna for this. If not for her, Wat Rhaegar might have lived a long and fruitful life, singing his little songs and bedding pig girls princesses and crofter’s lord’s daughters. Her scheming forced this on me. She has soiled me with her treachery.

Cersei urges the Blue Bard to recant certain accusations, reinforcing the fact that people of means have privileges, a theme of King Robert's reign:

"Not true, Your Grace," protested a wispy young man who must have been Caswell. "What is mine is yours."
"Whenever someone said that to my brother Robert, he took them at their word," Renly said.
"Do you have daughters?"
"Yes, Your Grace. Two."
"Then thank the gods that I am not Robert. My sweet queen is all the woman I desire." Renly held out his hand to help Margaery to her feet. "We'll talk again when you've had a chance to refresh yourself, Lady Catelyn."

- A Clash of Kings Catelyn II
vs.

By dawn the singer’s high blue boots were full of blood, and he had told them how Margaery would fondle herself as she watched her cousins pleasuring him with their mouths. At other times he would sing for her whilst she sated her lusts with other lovers. “Who were they?” the queen demanded, and the wretched Wat named Ser Tallad the Tall, Lambert Turnberry, Jalabhar Xho, the Redwyne twins, Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Clifton, and the Knight of Flowers.
That displeased her. She dare not besmirch the name of the hero of Dragonstone. Besides, no one who knew Ser Loras would ever believe it. The Redwynes could not be a part of it either. Without the Arbor and its fleet, the realm could never hope to rid itself of this Euron Crow’s Eye and his accursed ironmen. “All you are doing is spitting up the names of men you saw about her chambers. We want the truth!”
“The truth.” Wat looked at her with the one blue eye that Qyburn had left him. Blood bubbled through the holes where his front teeth had been. “I might have . . . misremembered.”
“Horas and Hobber had no part of this, did they?”
“No,” he admitted. “Not them.”
“As for Ser Loras, I am certain Margaery took pains to hide what she was doing from her brother.”
“She did. I remember now. Once I had to hide under the bed when Ser Loras came to see her. He must never know, she said.”

The previous line draws attention to a gaping hole in the Rhaegar red herring: Rhaegar believed his children by Elia were heads of the dragon, his son Aegon the prince that was promised, and yet he allegedly left three Kingsguard with Lyanna while leaving none to protect his other children. He also failed to explain their disappearance, when doing so would have gone a long way towards keeping his and Lyanna's families alive.

“I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father’s bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names.” He leaned forward. “It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon’s head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands.”

- A Storm of Swords Tyrion IX
Wat is kept in the black cells and given milk of the poppy for his pain. He is told by Cersei that he can take the black if he lies sufficiently, so he continues to lie when the Faith gets ahold of and also tortures him. Ned was likewise kept in the black cells, feverish from his broken leg but denied milk of the poppy, then was given a similar deal, the black in exchange for lying and dishonoring himself, before being beheaded on the steps of the Sept of Baelor.

“I prefer this song to the other.” Leave the great lords out of it, that was for the best. The others, though . . . Ser Tallad had been a hedge knight, Jalabhar Xho was an exile and a beggar, Clifton was the only one of the little queen’s guardsman. And Osney is the plum that makes the pudding. “I know you feel better for having told the truth. You will want to remember that when Margaery comes to trial. If you were to start lying again . . .”
“I won’t. I’ll tell it true. And after . . .”
“. . . you will be allowed to take the black. You have my word on that.” Cersei turned to Qyburn. “See that his wounds are cleaned and dressed, and give him milk of the poppy for the pain.”
“Your Grace is good.” Qyburn dropped the bloody razor into a pail of vinegar. “Margaery may wonder where her bard has gone.”
“Singers come and go, they are infamous for it.”
The climb up the dark stone steps from the black cells left Cersei feeling breathless. I must rest. Getting to the truth was wearisome work, and she dreaded what must follow. I must be strong. What I must do I do for Tommen and the realm. It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead.

Ahem...

It rained all through that night, and come morning Ned, Lem, and Watty the Miller awoke with chills. Watty could not keep his breakfast down, and young Ned was feverish and shivering by turns, with skin clammy to the touch.

- A Storm of Swords Arya VIII
Of interest, the only time our author's name appears in the canon is applied to Lord Confessor George Graceford, a notorious torturer during the reign of Aegon III who had a knack for extracting false confessions. Because of this, and in light of mirrored text during Qyburn's torture of the Blue Bard, surely this scene is of utmost importance in unravelling hidden truths.
Like Cersei with the Blue Bard, Robert may have wanted to witness the torture of Rhaegar. Previously, we saw indications that Rhaegar and/or his companions were held in Ghaston Grey, the Alcatraz-style island prison in the Sea of Dorne. Yet it's also possible Rhaegar was held for a time on the mainland, perhaps at Summerhall or even Storm's End, where Robert lingered while trying to consolidate his military power:

The king's voice was thick with anger. "My brother had a gift for inspiring loyalty. Even in his foes. At Summerhall he won three battles in a single day, and brought Lords Grandison and Cafferen back to Storm's End as prisoners. He hung their banners in the hall as trophies. Cafferen's white fawns were spotted with blood and Grandison's sleeping lion was torn near in two. Yet they would sit beneath those banners of a night, drinking and feasting with Robert. He even took them hunting. 'These men meant to deliver you to Aerys to be burned,' I told him after I saw them throwing axes in the yard. 'You should not be putting axes in their hands.' Robert only laughed. I would have thrown Grandison and Cafferen into a dungeon, but he turned them into friends. Lord Cafferen died at Ashford Castle, cut down by Randyll Tarly whilst fighting for Robert. Lord Grandison was wounded on the Trident and died of it a year after. My brother made them love him, but it would seem that I inspire only betrayal. Even in mine own blood and kin. Brother, grandfather, cousins, good uncle . . ."

- A Storm of Swords Davos IV
In testament to how easy it is to be duped into supporting conflicts based on lies, just as Robert and his allies garnered support for the rebellion based on malicious propaganda, consider this fact about the film The Rock, set at Alcatraz:

A scene from the film was the basis for incorrect and false descriptions of the Iraqi chemical weapons program. Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service was led to believe Saddam Hussein was continuing to produce weapons of mass destruction by a false agent who based his reports on the movie the false claims of weapons of mass destruction were the justification for UK’s entering the war.)

Video: The Rock - Ranger Bob
Going forward, we'll continue the examination of evidence that Robert Baratheon truly earned his moniker the Demon of the Trident, showing that he went along with a deceptive plot to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty, and even raped Lyanna after his loss at Ashford. We will then conclude by examining Ned's inner turmoil, indicting his best friend and king. To preview where this series is headed, in its full audio/visual glory with greater detail, look here.