Warframe has many weapons and characters to choose from, each with different builds that can be used. This diversity means that an infinite number of playstyles can be used, and I want to hear YOUR favorite!
Personally, I like a standard Caliban with a full damage hammer type weapon, always equipped with a heat mod (It looks cool, what is “efficiency”?). In missions, I go bonk bonk bonk until I’m done. I’ve come to love melee weapons so much that I stopped equipping anything else. It’s not super special, but it’s how I enjoy the game.
What are your wacky ways to play, and how did you come to play that way?
I read some article years ago that mentioned this type of wall.
The idea was that when the internal temperature of a room hit a certain level, like 21c, then these resin capsules in the walls would break open, creating a gap for heat to bleed out.
When the temperature dropped below say 18c, then the capsules would seal back up, insulating the room again.
Really want to find out if the development of it went anywhere and if it can be bought. Can't recall any company or product names sadly
** Command: Change Directory
** Command: Copy File
** Parameters: "C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Half-Life\valve\maps\terraira.map" "\terraira.map"
** Command: C:\PROGRA~2\Steam\STEAMA~1\common\HALF-L~1\hl.exe
** Parameters: -toconsole -dev -console +sv_lan 1 +map "terraira"
Dll loaded for mod Half-Life
execing skill.cfg map change failed: 'terraira' not found on server.
Hi just this is my first post on this subreddit, I'm ready for umm, some hammers and angry rapid fan response. Anyways as a 30+ year old male, whole used to play Volleyball in his late teens and throughout my 20s, I'd say that Haikyuu is really bad for volleyball. Good exposure, bad everything else. I have to put a note here that I've only watch halfway through the first series almost to the end, I've just stopped as I heard the cliche, "lose ???? then go to nationals". Sure they have to market the new Molten's red and green and yellow and blue of Mikasa volleyballs somehow. They are signature balls everywhere now.
Anyways apart from it's "AoT no training arc" start. There's some gaping flaws in Haikyuu. Maybe anime this generation isn't made for us older folks. No side stories, no side characters to explore etc. Almost no slice of life added to a "sports" anime. Characters as bland as NPC meme. The MC looking like a curly redhead version of naruto minus the jumpsuit. Trust me I hate the bland Kirito archetype or the super japanese sociopath/sadist mad genius like Lelouch. Or the glasses guy, Uryu Ishida in bleach.
One caveat I hate is how the MC just suddenly learn to spike like some type of "Ultra Instinct". Also a HUGE HUGE flaw is he has the same "timing" for every spike. Just cuz you can draw anime like he's Michael Jordan or Lebron James doesn't mean it's good. Also having the same timing SHOULD make him vulnerable to blocks. I mean Imagine being a good spiker but can only hit 2-3 balls, not 1 balls? Or in this case fast 1 balls. You're so limited to the angle and attack vector. I mean if this was just high school or even post-high school club, any normal volleyball player after watching the MC spike 2-3 times would be able to block every ball of his. So in essence, the MC needs to learn different variety. As well as dinks, tips, swipes and cross court spike to "change it up". Imagine if you only got a killer cross cut spike, you're gonna get stuff everytime by someone who can get over the net.
No training arc really hits the nail in the coffin though, go back and watch older anime like Slam Dunk or Prince of Tennis. I know we're in global recession but you're gonna cut the "naruto Chunin Exams" arc. I mean Imagine the Naurto series without the first 3 arcs? At least do it sorta like a flashback like "Prince of Tennis" where the MC was already in the "World Championships" as a toddler lol.
Also the "love of the game" isn't well displayed like other sports anime. Take the passion from "Hikaru No Go", a spectral ghost plays chess and baffles the mind of a child prodigy. Then playing online and beating the world's best players"....Fast forward 20 years and in real life AI beats the world's best Go player. Then almost 7 years later, "A Human Amateur Beat a Top Go-Playing AI Using a Simple Trick". More notably the double encirclement/trap technique".
Also look at the immense side characters of the "Prince of Tennis" series. They got top schools, school rivals, street rivals. All to inspire and compete against. Even people with similar styles etc... I admit the era of Gintama and Dragonball Z and 2010s are over. Anime is only getting at most 13-26 series, but one would wish they could just make quality over quantity in the asian anime/donghua entertainment industry. Just look at Hollywood, getting subpar actors and crap plots and soon no one is gonna watch your S***T. I mean who wanna watch 100 Adam Sandler movies, it's like welfare for scrubs? When you can rewatch older films which stars Arnold or Sylvester Stallone . In essence there's no "street volleyball scene", where are the casual grass volleyball players? the beach goers? No super specialized libero or block expert? Anime doesn't even explain moves or strategy. It's like middle school soccer where everybody including the goalie chases after the ball. Aside from a few moves where are the "specials". No hook shot, no hovering move/air time. No dink expert. No back court king etc... I know blue lock came later but I heard it was created earlier in manga? Aside for it's ridicoulous plot it's a saving grace after Haikyuu and Kuroko's Basketball.
Overall in the spirit of trash anime, being 5/10. I rank Haikyuu as a 7/10 right behind, BOFURI and Ascendance of a Bookworm.
CABIN ROAD is the gateway to paradise. But why does this feel like a path to hell? I smash into a tall pine tree that stands in the middle of the otherwise straight gravel road. I've gone around it hundreds of times before. But now, my fingers are firmly gripped on the steering wheel, disregarding all my commands. Have I become paralyzed? A potato is wobbling on the dashboard, having obviously leaped out of the potato crates in the back seat. Jack gets out and strides to the front bumper. His lips press into a thin line as he appraises the destruction and cost of fixing it. Nothing should hold him back from swearing. But he maintains his composure, anger simmering just beneath the surface. The memory of thirty years of marriage fills my mind. I question whether this man has drugged me. A fleeting thought that he might have crashed the car surfaces, but it seems too much of a stretch. I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. In the rear-view mirror, Jack gets an axe from the trunk. He comes and gazes at me from my window, his eyes looking heavy and weary—like two precious pearls inside their oyster-like shells. I straighten and open the window: “Thank goodness it wasn't worse.” “I'll chop it down.” “That’s a pretty big tree, Jack.” Jack blinks several times. “I do have a chainsaw...” “Yes.” I wonder what stories this tree has witnessed during its lifetime. Will we see the marks of our journey on its rings? There’s always something that gets squeezed in tighter, begging to be unraveled. “I'll drive you to the cabin and grab the chainsaw,” Jack says. “Prepare some coffee while I'm gone.” Our short passage to the cabin around the bend is like shifting through the fog of memory. I'm in the kitchen. My fingers clench around the coffee tin can and spoon. Bewilderment engulfs my brain. I spot Jack with his saw. He slips around the corner, the curve of his bottom visible through his tight work trousers. I feel anxious about the crash. Did I deliberately hit the tree? The measuring spoon slips from my hand. It drops onto the floor along with the tin can. I clean up the mess. Could someone drive into a tree on purpose? Accidents do happen after all. It's fascinating to see him take on this role of being so chivalrous. Far away from his academic duties. As the chainsaw outside whines, I scroll through social media on my phone. People arguing about something or other makes me tired. I pick up a copy of Science magazine from the coffee table and scan through an article titled “Quantum Communication Across Interstellar Space,” authored by Jack. As usual, the details go right over my head. I like to amuse myself with the idea that it speaks about communicating with individuals who have passed away. Billy's message pops up. He asks for money for a fishing trip with his buddies somewhere in Lapland. I am more than happy to support him since he’s enlisting in the army soon in July. My big boy. I tell him about the car crash, and he gives me advice about a car repair store. Jack comes back earlier than expected. He plops into his seat, sweat beading on his forehead and the smell of resin emanating from him. He seems disappointed. I pour coffee to the brim. “Did the saw get stuck?” Jack shakes his head and adds sugar to his mug. “It got shattered under the tree. I stumbled...” Silence descends slowly, like dust. “My helmet cracked.” “Do you want me to buy new parts when I go to the store?” “No need.” “But there's pruning and cutting to do first.” Jack takes a bite out of a cinnamon bun. “I can sharpen the axe.” “Ask the neighbors for help, that's what they're for. You can also mow the lawn while I'm away.” “The grass is already short— it'll die off.” “You don't want ticks taking over! Think about your mother's joint pain. She would roll in her grave if—” “Cremated?’ “Yes!” My answer is like a flyswatter, leaving no room for further discussion or quantum physics. Jack is busy chewing on the bun. His regular coffee breaks, which have become part of his daily routine in his sixties, have honed impressive jowls. We enjoy our coffee and stare at the lake. Calm as a mirror. I have a feeling Jack will soon suggest fishing. As I gather my things to leave, I call to him: “Don't hurt yourself. Should I bring more buns?” “I was thinking of skipping the sugar and wheat...” I simply smile in reply. “Can you refuel the car?” Jack asks. I'm already off. The door slams shut in the middle of his sentence, but Jack knows better than to expect a response. I jump into the driver's seat and immediately notice forgotten potato baskets in the back seat, but my mind drifts away before I can do anything about it. As I pass by our old well, I remember that we need to discuss connecting the cabin to a new water source. No matter what it costs, it needs to be done. Why should I agree to be responsible for our running water anymore? I collide with something hard. Airbags abruptly inflate around me, disorienting me as my vision blurs. Struggling to escape from the tangled mess of seatbelts and inflatable bags, it feels like I'm an old person trying to climb out of a bouncy castle. My gaze rests on the scene before me, but my thoughts can't understand it. I have plowed into a tree stump. The tree stretches over the ditch. Nearby the chainsaw lies crushed. The cutting chain is nowhere to be found. I get back in the car. Should I phone Jack for an urgent call? Inhaling slowly helps me stay calm. Why didn’t he mention the tree stump? Someone taps on my window I jump and my neck stiffens up. I reach for the window switch. “I should have told you about...” Jack says. “The stump?” “Didn't you see the tree on the ground?” “I'm sorry. I was daydreaming.” “Great galaxy, Hazel! You're burning through our last savings as if money grew on trees!” Jack is being truly authentic with me. I stare back at him like some big-eyed exotic species from Madagascar that I can't identify in all this chaos. Jack opens the door and starts to put the cushion back in its place. We turn on the engine, giving the accelerator a test ride. “Let's go to a repair shop. I'm sure our insurance will cover this,” Jack suggests. “We can say that we had an accident with a reindeer.” “You're supposed to report it to the police or game warden if you hit an animal,” I reply. Jack pauses for a moment. He then reverses and drives forward again, but when he looks into the rear-view mirror, he slams on the brakes. “I have a better plan.” He retrieves an orange towing strap from the trunk, a burst of determination on his face. He connects the stump and the tow hook. “Get ready. We’re going to take a quantum leap here.” We buckle our seat belts with a single click as we prepare for the inevitable disaster. We had already made so many mistakes together, starting with raising our children—though sometimes failing was just part of parenting. Jack revs up the engine. A sudden lurch forward, then Jack howls in pain as the stump smashes through the rear window, clambering through the seats and lodging itself onto the gearbox, trapping Jack's hand. He veers off toward the ditch. The Milky Way spins around us, potatoes fly in the air and suddenly, all is quiet. We find ourselves upside down—surrounded by earthy potatoes and broken glass. I try to break the silence: “I just remembered: Billy's friend can repair cars at the vocational school much cheaper.” Jack looks so pale, his face almost white. I guess he’s contemplating the next step. Through the cracked windshield, I see the chainsaw chain lying in the ditch. How did it come to be rusting away? Maybe everything will go back to normal if we sit here and wait. It feels almost as if we are flying in outer space, my nerves slowly calming down. But then a sudden stillness strikes that is anything but soothing. “Jack, I’m feeling a bit dizzy…” No answer. “Jack...” I snap open my eyes and the scene in front of me has changed drastically. It’s like I’ve been sucked into some kind of surreal void. I hear a tapping noise on the window. An apology and then a loud thud; a huge rock has been hurled through the glass. A stench of strong aftershave ferments around me. A burly arm reaches across to release the seatbelt. An elderly man growls something crude, nothing like Jack's usual scout-like words. My eyes close as I'm being cradled away, and visions of Jack's mathematics and symbols flicker around in my mind. Is the soul truly free when there is no force of gravity to pull us down? I don't know who my savior is, but I can sense his worry as his face reddens. He is in military garb. I come to as I feel my head thudding against the rubble. Instantly, I yearn to run away, contemplating that perhaps this experience is only a dream, and I'm back in the cabin chamber, tucked securely underneath a cosy blanket. A blanket that grants me the power to perform heroic acts like disappearing in a puff of smoke. “Are you okay?” he speaks in a familiar voice. Fingers brush over my clothes, picking out pieces of glass. My pocket contains an odd bulge—a potato? Suddenly, everything clicks: an aged Billy, wearing a major's rank insignia. How could he have achieved that rank so fast? “Son, what are you doing on this tree ring?” Billy peers at me from across the way, accompanied by a mysterious female figure. “We came to check on how you're doing,” Billy says. “Do you remember what happened?” I raise my head and look around. There's nobody in the driver's seat of the car. “Where is Jack?” I manage. Billy furrows his brows like a detective would when weighing evidence. An image of the classic TV show Columbo flashes through my mind—he could lull suspects into a false sense of security before dropping the hammer of his sharp intellect on their inconsistencies. But I'm not hiding anything here. Though why are modern shows so bad? That's another mystery entirely. “Mom, what were you doing out here? The road is an absolute disaster zone, with the car smashed up in the ditch.” My thoughts swim haphazardly as Billy reads something from my expression, then casts his eyes towards his new girlfriend for assistance. I try to get up but it hurts too much. Instead, I reach into my pocket and feel a sandy-sharp potato there. Maybe I can still wash it off. “I’m fine,” I reply. “I need to get back to plowing the field... baking buns for Jack... buying a chainsaw...” The darkness returns and I feel my body shiver. I'm in the car, traveling down bumps I've known for quite some time. Soon, I’m settled inside the cabin's living room on the couch. The coffee maker is gurgling in the corner of the room. Billy is on a call with a doctor about how to deal with grief and coping alone; it seems someone had died while cutting down a tree last year. He gets furious and threatens to take away the keys from the person he's talking to. It might be a good idea; many people have too many keys that they don't use anyway. My head is spinning with thoughts about Jack's absence. Where did he go? Someone runs water over potatoes while a pot clatters on the stovetop. My temper rises as I wait for Jack's return. I won't stay here by myself without an explanation from him. I call out for Jack until there's no sound left but my coughing voice. I crave sausage soup, and I know I must go to the store. As I try to move forward, I am wading through tar. They guide me to the coffee table. According to Jack, time runs faster the more hunched your back becomes. Let it be and let us sit here, motionless, gazing at the tips of our shoes. Surely, time has slowed down in this moment. Billy reaches out and takes my hand. A handsome, greying gentleman. His girlfriend also places her hand on top of the pile. Her name is Ewa. A beautiful name, something familiar about her. But did I hear her calling me mother? In the yard, a squirrel hops with a cone in its mouth. It freezes and stares at me. I avert my gaze. My hands suddenly look wrinkled. I summon the inner strength that I've been striving to find for an eternity: “Do we have to leave now?” Billy exchanges glances with Ewa and then looks outside. “You don't have to walk this path alone, Mother.” We finish our coffee without saying another word. The wind sweeps across the lake. A pair of swans take flight, and a duet of gentle honks echo across the water. A shivering cold envelops me. Billy and Ewa take me to the car. The potatoes can wait. The sun blazes brightly above us as we travel the cabin road; shapeless clouds dot the horizon and suddenly I sense a presence—as if someone is waving to me. I surrender. I believe I will be warmly welcomed.
I’m reworking my Feeld profile after a couple years being on there. And I’m not sure how to phrase what it is I’m looking for!
Basically I want an NP, primary, anchor, whatever you call it. But I don’t want to say “looking for a nesting partner” because that sounds…weird.
How do you say that you have an “open slot” for a serious nesting partnership without making it sound like you’re just looking for someone to fill the slot?
I’m open to dating people in any set-up, but my longterm goal is to indeed live with a partner and make life decisions together, so I’d like to date with that intention in mind. Any ideas?
If James Cameron really does decide to move forward with his reformulation of the Terminator franchise, I think there is the strong possibility that he actually might take this new vision and explore it in the context of the Classic Future War, subverting it in ways we don't expect.
He said that he wants to explore the AI side of things. He once mentioned, right before Dark Fate's release, that he had always been interested in doing a Terminator film set in the Future War but he would've done it very differently from Salvation.
I could potentially see him explore the "transhuman" angle, where Skynet and its human collaborators try to build a machine run utopia, a world without pain, suffering, or fear.
Skynet would have evolved into becoming an overarching consciousness, so to speak. And the only hope left for mankind is to to transcend the flesh and connect to the Skynet hive mind using new, cybernetic bodies to which the "soul" is transferred to, so to speak. Think of the original Project Angel subplot from T4, but done much better and without hybrids.
In order to do this, I think it would be wiser to shift the classic mythology toward that of an alternate history, with Judgment Day as this metaphorical anchoring point in the past that we never really see, but about which there are numerous legends and myths. In 2029, the consensus is that some cataclysmic event took place in the past, after which the machines rose up to create a new order.
If you think about it, the only reliable information about the Future that Sarah has came from Kyle Reese, and that information is really based on only one, specific narrative.
Maybe the reality about Judgment Day is far more complicated than we initially thought. Maybe the events surrounding it are a mystery even to the survivors. Some think it was an inside job. John and Tech-Com claim Skynet was behind it, while others think mankind succumbed to its deepest vices and only Skynet can save mankind from itself.
The key here is really to submerge audiences in this bizarre, alien world of the Future War, and I think Cameron's work on Avatar has prepared him for just that. If he makes this film by 2029, rather than be an actual depiction of our present the way T1 and T2 were in their time, this film would be an inversion of our reality.
EDIT: With this approach, John Connor's struggle will be given an entirely new dimension, not to mention everything we thought we knew about the first 2 films.
Skynet's proponents can even ask the question, is John Connor a messiah or a mad man?
Just how significant would, or could, a single Astartes be if he found himself fighting for one faction or another in WW2? If the allies had a Iron Warrior on Dday, or if Germany had a single Deathguard on the push into Stalingrad? Etc
Any single battle, event, or campaign. 30k era pre-HH lore. Would be cool to consider different legion’s approaches to known events, how a single World Eater might go about this compared to an Ultramarine or Thousand Son.
Rd 1: Just the Space Marine, no power armor, no bolter, no chainsword. Reliant on WW2 era gear that could be wielded/appropriated for use by an Astartes.
Rd 2: Same as rd 1 but with potent unnamed-variant psyker abilities - nothing like big hitters but Librarius-ish.
Rd 3: Full kit, couple tech priests just for repairs/rearms, and a couple options for swap such as power swords, a thunder hammer, melta gun, other typical arms for only the Astartes use. Unlimited ammo assuming logistics is viable in the chosen scenario. Psyker if you want
"Okay," Sookie called out. "That's a wrap!"
A ragged cheer went up from the cast and crew. Deacon walked around, clapping his hands and cheering loudly, making sure everyone else was cheering, too. Sookie walked over to her chair and sank into it, her feet throbbing in time to the cheering people around her. She smiled at anyone who caught her eye and just relaxed.
This was the end of a grueling, forty-five day shooting schedule that had been supposed to be ten hour days, but had ended up being more like thirteen to eighteen hour days for her. They weren't done filming the season. Far from it, in fact. But these were the worst shots, and the cast and crew involved had all agreed to push through hard until it was done. After this, they had about two more months of shooting on a more normal schedule, and then editing could begin.
Deacon, despite his enthusiasm for the end of the push, had not had to attend most of the shots they got, and had instead, been spending 'quality' time with a couple of local groupies and the White Lady. Sookie didn't begrudge him this, of course. She worried a little about the amount of booger sugar going up his nose at times, but his agent had repeatedly assured her that he was using far more often during shoots than during his off time.
Besides, it was only fitting that the star of the show should enjoy the fruits of his fame. Sookie herself had picked up a bisexual couple a week or two ago, when they had a shoot end 'early' (at nine PM) and the next's day's shoot wasn't scheduled to begin until eight AM. She had left set almost immediately and headed to a local gay bar, where someone had recognized her from her OnlyFans days and insisted upon introducing his boyfriend.
She sighed, remembering the sensation of two well-endowed men thrusting into her, and how she'd simply melted when the one behind her leaned forward and around to kiss the other. Bi men were soooo
She promised herself she'd try to find another bisexual 'gay' couple, now that she had the time.
Deacon had finally got everyone sufficiently enthusiastic -which was a credit to his charisma, really, as everybody was exhausted- and came over to sit next to her in his own chair.
"I am so
ready for a couple weeks off," he said.
"It's one week," Sookie reminded him. "And then you need to be ready for the fight scenes. Have you been working with your choreographer?"
"I haven't really had the time..." Deacon whined, causing Sookie to sigh.
"Deek," she said, sitting up in her chair and turning to face him. "You haven't needed to be on set for the past two weeks. You've been coming to, in your own words, 'help keep morale up'. And while I do appreciate your efforts in that regards, it is far
more important for you to be ready to shoot your fight scenes in a week. I'm serious here. You need to get with your choreographer and get your moves nailed down tight. We don't have time to push those shoots back any further."
Deacon held up his hands in surrender. "I'll be down at the dojo tomorrow, I swear."
"Tomorrow morning," Sookie insisted.
"Tomorrow morning," Deacon agreed. "In fact, I'm going to get the playbook and go over it tonight, to try to get a head start."
Sookie smiled and patted him on the knee as she rose. She didn't want to be here anymore. The PAs and crew could finish cleaning everything up so the teardown crews could get started tomorrow.
She found her personal assistant and instructed her to make sure everyone knew to do their own breakdowns, then left. Filming on set had certain advantages, including the fact that she was within walking distance of her hotel.
The security guard that Julie had insisted she maintain since that incident a few years ago with the psycho stan peeled herself off the wall she'd been holding up and fell into step behind her. Sookie wouldn't have minded so much, except Julie had carefully picked married, monogamous men and women to fill her security schedule with, to avoid any 'conflicts of interest'.
This gal, Linda Gottlieb, was probably the worst of all. She had a girlfriend and
a boyfriend, and yet refused to sleep with anyone else. On top of that, she was as slender as Sookie, flat chested (which Sookie found to be a major turn on) and hard as a rock, with veiny arms and shoulders and even a few visible on her belly.
Sookie was a woman of many tastes, but skinny girls with visible veins and no tits were one of her more notable favorites, and so Linda's categorical refusal to so much as let Sookie slip a hand down her pants was grating.
Linda wasn't wearing a uniform. She wore a tight tank top and a loose flannel with the sleeves rolled up and the front unbuttoned over a pair of blue jeans and hiking boots. Sookie knew she had a gun on her somewhere, but couldn't speculate as to where.
Well, that's not true. Sookie imagined the handle sticking of her ass, riding up between the cheeks of that ass that all flat-chested women seemed to have that was categorically unfair to better-if-still-modestly endowed women like Sookie. She slowed down to get a peek at it.
"Looking at my ass again?" Linda asked.
"Yes," Sookie said. "I was wondering if you keep your gun there. The handle could fit between those cheeks and nobody would be the wiser."
Linda laughed and lifted her flannel to show a handgun tucked into her belt on her hip. "Sorry to disappoint," she said. "But I kinda need to keep it where I could easily get at it."
Sookie sighed, her pleasant illusion ruined.
They turned left out of the studio gates and walked up the road. Despite the presence of the studio, this was kind of a rough area, so Sookie appreciated having some security as she made the walk. Not that she couldn't handle herself, but she'd learned the hard way that being taken by surprise left her as vulnerable as anyone.
They hadn't gotten more than a half a block before a ragged looking man approached them, reeking of booze and shit. His clothes were filthy and torn and he had a scraggly beard that ranged from a centimeter to three inches long, seemingly at random.
"Spare a dollar?" he asked.
"No," Linda said, stepping forward to catch his attention so Sookie could slip past.
"S'just a dollar, lady. I'll lick your pussy for it!" The man leered at Linda, who didn't blink or flinch, but rather gave him a hard shove back.
"Don't you fucking crowd me, talking shit like that," she said menacingly, taking another step forward to keep him off balance.
"Be respectful," she added with force. The man looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the way she looked or held herself made it clear to him that Linda was not to be trifled with. He stepped back until his back was to the wall of the building behind him and watched as Linda turned and caught back up to Sookie, who was watching the whole thing over her shoulder.
"Fucking Dykes!" the man shouted. "Suck my dick!"
"You'd think that at least one of them would figure out that being aggressive like that doesn't work," Sookie mused.
"It doesn't work on you or me, but that's because we know we could take his head off if he tried to get violent," Linda said. "Most women aren't fighters. They'll give him cash just to get him to stop harassing them."
"Fair enough," Sookie said.
This was a common occurrence. Almost every time Sookie walked to her hotel, at least one homeless person would try to panhandle her. Sometimes, if she had any cash, she'd give them some. Once in a blue moon, one would engender enough sympathy for a good payout, a hundred bucks or so. But most of the time, they struck her as entitled ruffians, living on the street thanks to their own bad decisions and trying to get by on other people's labor.
She knew that was an old-fashioned mindset. She knew a lot of these people would, if they got clean of whatever they were using, sort out their lives and take care of business. She knew that the DCM Group even had a charitable arm who straight up gave condos and large sums of money to many homeless people, who immediately used that gift to get back on their feet. She knew the stats, too.
But this particular area seemed to attract the sort of homeless people whom right-wing motards used as an archetype for all homeless people. Twice, someone from the crew had been assaulted, causing Sookie to declare that she and the stunt coordinator were the only ones allowed to walk to and from the studio.
"I wonder if they're actually even homeless," Linda said, her thoughts echoing Sookie's.
"Me too," Sookie said. "I mean, it's a very poor neighborhood, adjacent to a place where very wealthy people work. There's no rule that says you have to be homeless to panhandle."
Linda nodded. Sookie wondered idly if she'd been following her own logic, or seeking out a belief that made her feel better about judging the people here. She wasn't sure which, really.
The area they moved through got progressively nicer as they continued. They turned the last corner, with three blocks still to go when Sookie saw the next one.
This one was older. he only had about a week's worth of beard on his face, though Sookie could see that it was mostly gray. He wore similar clothes to the other one, the once-vibrant colors having long since faded towards a muted gray tone. His clothes, however, looked cleaner and the holes had all been neatly stitched. As they drew close, Sookie could read his sign. Please help Leave a dollar or take a resume Will work for food
Sure enough, he had a stack of resumes weighted down with a rock next to him. Sookie stopped, intrigued and bent down to retrieve one. She handed the man a folded ten dollar bill at the same time. A reward for creativity in his panhandling, she thought.
She looked at it. The man had a pair of enlistments in the Marine Corps at the top of his work experience. It was back in the early 2000s, and it mentioned Helmand Province, which Sookie recalled had been at the center of a lot of the fighting in Afghanistan.
The next few lines were security companies, starting with a high-end competitor to the Group, and then a long sequence of construction and day-labor work, ending on his current work, which was "Self Employed - Private Investigations". Below that, he had a string of qualifications, including armed security, close protection and bail enforcement.
"This is actually quite a good resume," Sookie told him. She glanced up at the top to get his name, Eric Stephens.
"I'll work," he said hopefully. "I can swing a hammer and do plumbing. I'll do a full day's work for lunch and dinner, or a hundred bucks, whichever you prefer."
Sookie handed the resume to Linda, who looked down at it.
"Ain't much different than mine," she said. "Oorah."
"Oorah," Eric muttered back, seemingly on pure instinct.
"So why are you out here, Eric?" Sookie asked. "Your resume says you're self-employed as a private eye."
Eric shrugged. Sookie noted the redness and swelling of his nose. "Work's been scarce," he said. "Been getting fewer jobs for the last few years. Fewer jobs means less money, less money means losing my office, not being able to afford nice clothes, which leads to fewer jobs."
Sookie looked a question at Linda, who shrugged. "We're always looking for investigators. It can be hard to recruit former cops, and those we do are often old enough not to stay on for more than a few years before retiring."
Sookie smiled and nodded, turning back to Eric. "You want an interview?"
"Hell yeah," he said with some enthusiasm. "As long as they don't mind me looking a little rough around the edges."
"Where do you live?" Sookie asked. Eric gestured around. "Lost my apartment last month," he said. Sookie pursed her lips and then nodded and held out a hand to him.
"Come on, Eric. I'm Sookie, and this is Linda. I'll make you a deal. I'll get you a nice outfit to wear and arrange an interview at the LA office tomorrow. I'll put you up on my couch for the night, too. That way, you can shower and shave and look presentable for it. What do you think?"
Eric took her hand and let her help him up. "Are you serious?" he asked. Sookie nodded.
"Holy crap, thank you, lady. Sookie, I mean. Thank you." His eyes began to get watery. "I don't... I don't even know what to say. That would be amazing."
Sookie smiled, her heart wrenching for the guy. She knew he had a drinking problem, but she also remembered all those people the Group's charities helped. Get someone on their feet, and there was a good chance they'd stay there.
"Do you have stuff to get?"
"I uh... I have a storage shed. It's paid up through the end of the year," he said. "My stuff is safe there, I just need to go get my toiletries."
"Don't worry about that," Sookie said, stepping to the edge of the sidewalk and waiting for the traffic to clear enough to cross the road. "We can stop by a drug store, too."
Sookie and Linda took Eric shopping and got him everything he needed. Which wasn't much, really. Sookie had a spare toothbrush, razors, shaving cream and cologne at her hotel room. It was all stuff she kept on hand to be the best slut she could be, and make her dishes du jour feel welcome. They bought him deodorant and an electric beard trimmer, and decided to take a pit stop at a hair and nails salon next to the pharmacy.
The girls there had cooed and gooed over Sookie and Linda helping this man out, and refused to accept any money for the trim he got. Unfortunately, they weren't set up to shave a man (all of the other clients inside were women), but Eric protested that he was perfectly capable of shaving himself, so it all worked out.
The next stop was, at Sookie's insistence, one of the ultra-high-end men's clothing stores near her hotel. Linda had protested that simply taking a car to Walmart would be good enough, but Sookie would have none of that.
"Linda, it's been over six years since I've seen a person in Walmart that I'd be willing to give a handy to. It's been even longer since I've seen any clothing there that looked like it didn't come from Walmart, especially
the suits. We're not
going to Walmart."
As a result, Eric got fitted for a custom-tailored suit and outfitted with a tie that was a pleasant, deep blue, bespeckled with tiny, gold-embroidered Marine Corps logos. He seemed pleased with it, and had to keep wiping his eyes as he repeatedly and profusely thanked her.
When all was done, they finally went to the hotel. Sookie had a full suite on the top floor. It wasn't the biggest suite, but it was close, with two spare bedrooms, a living room and a full kitchen, in addition to a balcony that afforded her a great view of the city (so long as the smog wasn't too bad) and a private elevator to the rooftop pool.
Linda took her usual spot at the door to await her relief for the evening while Sookie showed Eric the large bathroom and made sure he had everything he needed. While he showered and shaved, she decided to review the script.
She walked over to the safe in the living room and carefully punched in her combination on the keypad.
The scripts for The Legend of Jimmy
were like solid gold. Every studio out there wanted to get their hands on one, to steal ideas from. Every fan wanted to get one, just for the thrill of knowing what was going to happen next. During the second season's filming, they'd had multiple scripts stolen and leaked, and Sookie had learned to crack down on that. As a result, she was the only one who ever had a full set of scripts for any given season. She kept them safely under lock and key at all times.
She pulled out her working copy, which was different from the 'archive' copy she also kept in the safe. The working copy had all of her handwritten notes on it. She closed the safe back up and locked it, then sat down at the table and flipped open to the scenes they would be filming after the break. Using a red pen, she made notes for herself, things to remember during shooting, like camera angles and notes on the VFX.
She heard the shower turn off, but she was engrossed in her work when the door opened.
"Thanks again," Eric said, causing her to look up. He had a towel around his waist, but Sookie noted that he had a lean torso, with some muscle still there, despite a rough life. Clean shaven now, he looked much better. He'd never get a gig as a model, but he was handsome enough in his own way. Sookie smiled at him.
"You don't have to keep thanking me," she said. "I'm happy to help."
She closed her script and stood, walking it over to the safe. Obscuring her hands with her body, she punched in the code again and placed the script inside. She hadn't yet closed the door when she heard Eric mutter "Oh shit."
She turned to look and froze. He'd turned back towards the bathroom, and then dropped his towel by accident. He was currently in the process of picking it up, affording Sookie a great view of his ass and what might well have been considered a third leg hanging from between the other two.
It came almost to his knees.
A flush of heat went through her, washing away all thoughts of largess and generosity, and kindling a very selfish desire. She heard the spattering on the hardwood floor where she crouched as her usual over-the-top wetness kicked into high gear and soaked through her pants in seconds. She could feel herself throbbing as she eyed Eric's enormous member.
Her disguise slipped and the horns erupted from her head, her tail curled up painfully inside her pants and her skin turned red, with large patches of scales. Operating purely on instinct, she magicked up a veil of mundanity. She didn't want Eric to freak out, and this would keep him from registering her appearance as anything out of the ordinary.
He retrieved his towel and made to wrap it back around his waist, but Sookie shot to her feet and spun, already ripping her shirt off.
"Wait," she said. Eric froze, then turned to look at her over one shoulder. She tossed her shirt on the couch and peeled off her pants. She wasn't wearing any underwear or bra, of course. She never did.
"I just thought of a way you could thank me," she purred, taking a languid step forward. Eric reacted immediately to the sight of her naked, turning, his hog's leg stiffening and rising from its vertical hang slightly.
"Are you, uh... I mean... I'm not..." Eric stammered. Sookie stepped closer to him and put her hands on his shoulder, then ran them down his chest.
"I am damn sure I want to do this, if that's what you're asking," she said, her hands reaching lower as she stepped close enough to press her breasts into his ribs. She took hold of him and felt him grow almost immediately rock hard as he gasped.
"Wow," he said. "This is... This is like something from a porno with a bad script..." he said.
"Uh huh," Sookie said. "And we're about to do the fun parts of it." She pressed her lips into his, and then squealed in delight as he grabbed her by the ass and hoisted her up.
"Where?" he asked into her mouth.
"Pussy, mouth and ass," she replied. She felt the heat rush through his cheeks.
"I meant where in this room," he said.
"I don't fucking care," Sookie responded, lining his huge cock up with her most convenient hole and squirming down onto it with a loud gasp.
"In the bedroom!" Linda shouted. "Please, for the love of god, in the bedroom!"
Sookie awoke the next morning and rolled over to see if Eric was up for a little wake-and-shake. Her hands slapped the empty bed and she pouted.
"Eric?" she called, a wonderful aroma meeting her nose as she did. "Are you making coffee already? I'll fall in love with you, or deepthroat you, your choice, if you are!"
He didn't answer.
She opened her eyes and saw that his new suit was missing. An empty hanger was hooked to the coathanger next to the closet. She climbed out of bed, frowning, and walked out into the living room.
It was empty. She could smell the coffee even stronger, and she walked into the kitchen to find the coffee pot full and a business card sitting next to it. She picked it up and peered at it with sleep-bleary eyes.
"Eric Stephens, Private Investigations, Corporate Espionage, Bail Bonds, Security Consultation," she read out loud. There was a QR code on it, so she picked up her phone from where it had been flung to the floor last night and scanned it. While the page loaded, she glanced in the bathroom to see Eric's old clothes still piled there.
She glanced at her phone to see a very clean-shaven and well-dressed Eric smiling at the camera at the top of a very tastefully designed web page. She scrolled through it for a moment, confused.
That was, until she looked to her own pile of clothes by the safe and saw the door still hanging open. With a gasp, she rushed over only to find the safe empty. Both of her scripts were gone!
"Shit!" she shouted.
The door opened and a large, muscular man dressed like a lawyer rushed in, a gun in hand.
"Miss Ohma, is everything all right?" he asked after scanning the room and peering through the open doors.
"No," Sookie wailed. "I just got my scripts stolen!"
"The gentleman who left this morning?" her guard asked. She nodded. "I'm so sorry, Miss Ohma. I would have stopped him if I knew."
"No, you did fine," Sookie said as her eyes filled with frustrated tears. "You're used to men heading out in the morning. Usually they do it after
I wake up and we can get another good fuck in, but still... You didn't do anything wrong."
"He left a note," the guard said. "I saw it taped to the inside of the door." Sookie looked over and saw a folded piece of paper taped there. She stalked over and ripped it down, sniffling angrily and wiping at her eyes to read it.
Dear Sookie, Last night was probably the best night I've had in my life. It's certainly the best night I can remember. If you ever want to do it again, just let me know. I left you a card by the coffee machine, and there's a full pot for you, as well. If you don't ever want to see me again, well, I guess I understand. I'm sorry to have left the way I did, but I'm a man of my word, and my client was willing to pay a lot of money for that script. I hope this doesn't hurt you too much. For what it's worth, I'm sorry if I upset you. Wishing you all the best, Eric
Sookie crumbled up the paper and angrily threw it across the room.
"Motherfucker!" she shouted. The guard winced, but said nothing.
"He scammed me," Sookie said. "Got a nice new suit out of me, seduced me with that redwood growing between his legs and then ran off with my fucking scripts!"
She let her claws form and dug them into her thighs, carving bloody furrows that healed almost as fast as she made them. The guard started and rushed over.
"Ma'am, please," he said. "I'm not supposed to let you hurt yourself."
Sookie let him pull her hands up to her chest. She leaned into him for a moment. "You're married, aren't you?" she said.
"Uh, no," he said. Sookie turned her head to regard him. She didn't recognize him. "What's your name?"
"Devin, Ma'am," he said. "Devin Iglesias. This is my first shift on your detail."
"Who put you on this shift?"
"Uhh, Missus Williams. She said I'd enjoy this detail, and I agreed. I'm a huge fan of your show, Miss Ohma."
"Are you gay?" Sookie asked. Devin blinked. "Uh, no, Ma'am."
Sookie smiled. "I need you to do two things," she said.
"The second, and most important thing, I need you to call the office and ask for any information they have on a private investigator named Eric Stephens who works out of LA."
Devin nodded. "Yes, ma'am. And the first thing?"
Sookie smiled wider. "I need you to find out the real reason why Inanna thought you'd enjoy this posting."
So, if WE can’t see any of the places (except maybe for anchor deep, which is probably in that ocean but maybe not), so then where are they? Are they on another area of land outside of our view? Probably. But we know that it must be on the same continent or island because the spider guy and the seed selling guy can get to our cults (how did they even find it in the 1st place?). And if these random people can find out base of operations, surely a massive continent wide cult could. Then again, I might just not have looked at the map closely enough.