Taven Moore's Blog, page 8

11. The Man in the Raspberry Suit

That was, Remora mused as they arrived at the wharf, quite possibly the most awkward carriage ride she had ever had the misfortune to participate in.

She’d tried to make small talk, truly she had, but never before had she encountered such a dour group of individuals!

McCoy glared at Jinn. Jinn closed his eyes and looked at no one. Bones stared morosely out the carriage window.

She’d had better conversations with an empty room.

With a whoosh of escaping air, the side of the carriage opened outward, copper gears in the ceiling spinning cheerfully. Once again grasping Bones’s arm for her exit from the carriage, Remora decided that enough was really quite enough. She could hardly move forward with her plan if the captain refused to speak to her, and McCoy looked disinclined to speak to anyone while Jinn was about.

The moment they boarded the ship, she fully intended to bring an end to this ridiculous pouting of his. She had no time for tantrums. It had taken three entire days to convince her uncle that she was going on her adventure whether he approved or not, and fully another day to track down the mysterious Ratchet person mentioned by Hank and gain ownership of the Miraj.

She needed to leave before the rest of the Price family descended upon her and began making demands upon her time and future. The hints of matchmaking and the attempts of assassination had already escalated to an irritating level. Just this morning, her porridge had been interrupted by a needlebot bearing a particularly nasty poison. It was the third attempt to kill her this week, and she had quite enough of it.

No, far better that she leave immediately. To do that, she needed Hank and the Miraj. It did her no good whatsoever to have a ship without a captain. Pirating was really not her strong suit, and she felt this was an excellent time to practice one of her uncle’s favorite managerial techniques—delegation.

As Jinn and McCoy descended the stairs, a tall man wearing a tailored suit in an eye-catching shade of raspberry approached. A white felt bowler topped his thinning brown hair, and his neatly trimmed mustache did not quite hide his yellowed teeth.

The stranger’s eyes met hers and held. Drat. That meant he was here for her. Assassin? Businessman? It didn’t truly matter—he was a delay regardless of his purpose, and therefore not someone she wished to talk to. She slipped a hand into the pocket of her skirt, fingers folding around her tiny derringer.

“Ah, Miss Price! What luck to have happened upon you!” the man exclaimed as he reached them.

She smiled politely. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I do not know—”

Hank interrupted. “Ratchet, you slimy shark, you look like a ponce in that costume. Why are you here? If it’s about the money, I’m good for it, you know I am.”

Remora’s grip on the gun relaxed. So this was the famous Ratchet? She looked more closely, noting the too-crisp lines of the suit and the perfectly snowy felt of his hat. Freshly tailored—he’d only recently purchased the suit. That meant his intent was likely business—rarely did someone buy a new suit when on a mission for murder. Particularly not a white hat—stains would be quite impossible to remove.

Ratchet’s bright welcoming smile faltered slightly, his eyes flicking briefly to McCoy. “Your debt has been paid, I’ve no business with you.”

“Paid?” said McCoy.

Remora sighed. Why would no one let her discuss this in private with the man? The trade agreements she had sat in on with her uncle taught her that captains were notoriously short-tempered when it came to their ships. She would prefer to bring up the matter gently rather than simply blurting it out.

“Was there something you needed, Mr. Ratchet?” she said, very deliberately not meeting McCoy’s gaze. The captain was staring at her with an unpleasantly suspicious look. She needed to change the subject.

Once again the center of attention, Ratchet brightened. “Yes! Indeed there is something I feel we need to discuss. It concerns your ownership of the Miraj. Perhaps we could speak . . . privately?”

Remora closed her eyes and counted to five. One of her more recent governesses had suggested it as a technique to control her tongue after she’d suggested to the Duke of Farthen that he might wish to wear a hat to hide the bald spot on the top of his head.

The counting never worked, but she held out the hope that someday it might.

“Mr. Ratchet,” she said, opening her eyes, “I do not feel that we have anything to discuss. Our business agreement was carried out in my absence. Mr. McCoy’s debt has been paid in full and ownership of the Miraj has been transferred to my name. You have your money; I have my signed Writ of Ownership. My uncle has seen to it that all of the appropriate legal authorities have been notified and all of the proper paperwork has been filed. Now if you’ll pardon me, “ she said, turning to Hank and refusing to cringe under his infuriated glare. “Mr. McCoy and I are late for a business meeting.”

“Damn right we are,” Hank said.

“Let’s not be so hasty,” said Ratchet, stepping forward. Her hand tightened on her gun again. It would be so much easier if she could simply shoot the man. Just a flesh wound. Something to slow him down. Nothing that would cause any lasting damage. Her uncle (and all of her governesses) had assured her that was an improper solution for social irritations, though they had yet to suggest a satisfactory alternative.

Impatiently, she stopped and gave Ratchet her attention once more. She really did not have time for this.

“You see, Miss—I sold the Miraj to you considerably below market value. I didn’t have to sell it at all. I did so as a favor to the noble Price family. There are many ways in which a ship like the Miraj could be used to our mutual benefit. You owe me a small moment of your time, at the very least. With your name and my business ideas, we could make a fortune!”

She frowned at him. “I already have a fortune. Furthermore, I owe you nothing. If you wish to engage in business transactions with the Price family, you should contact the Price estate directly. You couldn’t possibly believe this to be the proper way to—oh!” she paused, eyes widening. “Oh, heavens me, I nearly missed it. You’re grifting me, aren’t you?”

Ratchet took a step back, brow furrowing. “Oh dear.” She turned to Hank for clarification. “That is the correct term, is it not? Grift? Hornswoggle? Bribery? Blackmail?”

He blinked at her. Her smile dimmed. “Is that . . . not the correct word? I could have sworn it was.”

Bones cleared his throat, a sound like someone shaking a tin can full of pebbles. “Yes, Remora. ‘Grift’ is the proper word.”

“Wonderful! Thank you!” she said brightly, then turned back to Ratchet. “I’m terribly sorry, but I really am in quite a hurry. I would like to finish this conversation, though. I’ve never been grifted before! On my return, we shall have to continue. At your place, I think. With tea and biscuits, of course. We must keep this civilized.”

Ratchet’s mouth flapped, but no sound escaped. Hank barked a laugh, smothering it with a hand.

“Welcome to my world,” he said to Ratchet, then turned and began walking down the dock.

Remora hurried to join him, but paused briefly, turning back. “I am being quite serious,” she called to Ratchet. “You mustn’t forget the tea!”

She waved for Jinn and Bones to follow, then darted forward to catch up to Hank. She wouldn’t put it past him to try and set sail without her, and they had a lot to discuss.

4 Toys My Cat Can’t Be Trusted With

Meet Ollie. Adorable Siberian kitten, made of fur and springs and purrs.

Also known as the Ravenous Fluffbeast, he is absolute MURDER on toys.

The following “cat toys” have been downgraded to “potentially dangerous weapons” in our household.

Please note there’ll be a list of acceptable kitty toys at the end. Because nobody likes all negativity. No fun at all.

1) Furry Sleeve Toys With a Tail.

This covers an entire ecosystem of toys, from wand toys to little furry “rats”.

Don’t get me wrong. He LOVES these toys. They are among his favorites, but we can’t leave him alone with them. They swift

ly transition from “soft and fluffy” to “revolting regurgitated hairball”.

2) Fabric

Ollie LOVED this thing.

He also ate about two feet of it and then pooped it out the next day.

3) Shiny Plastic-y Ribbon Wand Toy

I can’t find a picture of this, but the pet store assured me it was proof against even the most destructive cats.

The shiny poop we got the next morning disabused us of the notion that Ollie’s ferocity was anything close to normal.

4) Fun Paper-y Mouse Wand Toy

Another HUGE hit with Ollie, but if you leave him alone in a room with this thing, he’ll have the mouse completely eaten within fifteen minutes.

Granted, the material of the mouse is plenty safe, but it’s not a CHEAP toy, and Ollie treats it like a personal vendetta.

Owner (and Cat) Approved Toys

MadRatz

MadRatz are a handmade nip-stuffed toy the perfect size for biting AND hind-leg disemboweling action that stands up to the toughest abuse. The braided tail lets it double as a draggable toy, enhancing the play with stalk-and-tackle action.

These toys are available from MadCat pet supplies in Madison, WI and come in a variety of geeky and non-geeky cloth print designs.

 

Bottle Caps

No joke. Ollie’s favorite toy. To the point where last week, I was enjoying an apple cider and Ollie sidled up to me as if he wanted a cuddle, then nabbed this thing off the coffee table and took off like a maniac.

To big to eat, they clatter nicely as they hit things, and the skitter across an uncarpeted floor brilliantly.

Glitter Pom Puff Balls

These are lightweight, easy to bite and carry around, and they skitter across even a carpeted floor with a delightfully erratic path. Ollie has several of these, and there are always two new ones next to his food bowl when we come home from work, indicating that he’s been hard at work playing with them while we’ve been gone.

Smarty Cat Crackle Chute

Best. Toy. Ever.

So inexpensive, but this makes all other toys a billion times better. There are few things in this world more fun than zooming through this to reach a toy on the other side, regardless of what toy that might be.

[Perry] Book Review – One Good Dragon Deserves Another

So, Julius, nicest dragon of the Heartstriker clan is back for another whirlwind adventure in draconic prophetic politics!

How WILL he get out this one next?

The same way he got out of trouble the first time, of course.

By being really nice.

One Good Dragon Deserves Another is book two of Rachel Aaron’s Heartstrikers…trilogy? It feels like it’ll be a trilogy.

I will start by saying that Rachel Aaron (and her evil twin who writes under the pseudonym, Rachel Bach), has rapidly become one of my favorite authors in recent times.

Her work isn’t as lyrical as Rothfuss’s work. Nor is it as hauntingly dreamlike as Guy Gavriel Kay.

But I’ll be goddamned if Aaron’s work isn’t just hella fun to read.

These are books that you read when you’re in the mood for a rollicking good time.

And One Good Dragon is no exception to that rule.

Being intentionally vague in order to avoid spoilers, I will say that I enjoyed this second installment a lot more than the first. The first Heartstrikers book was alright? But it didn’t grab me as much as say, the first book of her Paradox trilogy. But I enjoyed it enough that I hung in there for book two and I was NOT disappointed.

Julius, the nicest dragon of the Heartstrikers clan finds himself embroiled in another predicament involving dragon seers, rival clans, and the most dangerous threat of all? His own mother.

If I had a big complaint with the first book, something that I didn’t much care for? It was that Julius was a little TOO nice. At times, it got a little annoying to read about how he kept preaching about the value of being kind of people, making friends instead of pawns. Relying on being nice instead of intimidation or bribes. Over and over, this came up, ad nauseum, to the point that it started getting annoying.

In book two, Julius is still nice, the nicest dragon around…but now? Now you find out that there’s a purpose to it. There’s a story-related reason why he needs to be that way, and you know what? Honestly? Finding that out made it a lot easier for me to stomach it.

This is a totally personal judgement, maybe I’m just not in much of a mood to read about nice characters, but having that plot-related reason for why he acted the way he did? It made it easier to bear.

The plot thickens in book two, dealing with the history of dragons and how they came to the world. There’s also more world-building that’s slipped in beautifully, about the nature of magic and the spirits.

There’s a fine line walked here, gentlefolks. It’s enough worldbuilding and magic system information to give you an idea that it works according to set rules, but not enough to feel like it bogs down the narrative or feels like an infodump for the sake of infodumping.

The action in this second book really picks up as well. The fight and action scenes feel a LOT more bombastic and well-paced. Often, I was riveted while reading, totally picturing the climactic battle as a scene being played out in a summer blockbuster, or the final episodes of a tense anime series.

Keeping it vague, the battle scene involving a circular arena made of water? Holy gods, was I ever glued to the book. A page turner for sure.

Something I did find interesting? Were some parallels in character…archetypes? Between this Heartstriker series and her Eli Monpress series, especially when it came to the dragon hunter spirit and the storm lord.

Again, I don’t think that Heartstrikers is a…particularly artful series? I don’t think it’ll go down in history as a fantasy classic of our age.

But honestly? It’s just so fucking FUN to read that I don’t give a shit.

If you enjoyed the first Hearstrikers novel, reading this second is a no-brainer.

If you sort of felt the first one was…just sort of okay? Sort of meh? I really, really recommend that you give the second one a try because holy hell, does it ever turn things around.

If you end up giving it a try, or if you’ve already read it, I’d love to know what you think of it!

10. A Carriage Awaits

“Sh-Sh-Shinra’ere!” Hank turned to see the warden standing in the doorway to Holding as though undecided whether he should enter or flee. Face red and eyes round, he pointed a quivering finger at Jinn. “Leave! All of you!”

Hank ignored the man, turning back to level a glare at Jinn. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up and expecting favors after the stunt you pulled. We wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for you and that brother of yours!”

Jinn showed neither surprise nor guilt. “The outcome of our previous business is not my responsibility.”

“Incorrect.” Bones said, eyes glowing a dangerous red. “My calculations for our venture included the assistance of your brother and yourself. Had you remained with us rather than departing unannounced, our plan would have succeeded.”

Jinn’s posture never shifted, arms still crossed over his chest, though his voice tightened. “Our deal allowed you the use of my brother’s status to gain access to the skycity. Your assumption of our involvement past that point was neither our intent nor our accountability. We upheld our end of the bargain, regardless of whether or not you are satisfied with your outcome. Your part of the deal is still pending. You still owe a favor. A favor that I am here to collect.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “The way I figure it, any favor we owed you is sitting back with the rest of our payload, which we had to dump in order to escape the Goralor guards.”

Jinn’s weight shifted, his arms lowering deliberately to his side. His hand grazed the handle of his weapon, fingers brushing against the bright yellow tassel tied to its hilt. “That is an unfortunate conclusion for you to have reached, Hank McCoy.”

Hank scoffed. “You aren’t going to start a fight in the middle of Holding on human-held soil. Your people would flay you.”

“Normally, that would be true. However, I am no longer Shinra,” said Jinn, voice level.

At that, Hank tensed. Just how much trouble were the Shima brothers in? He’d originally assumed they’d granted him the use of the authorization codes in order to cash in on part of the payload, but now he wondered just what it was they’d wanted on that skycity. If they were on the run from their own people, that was even more reason to get his ship and get out of this Roith’delat’en town while he still had the chance. He was not risking his skin for a pair of political outlaws that he already knew couldn’t be counted on.

“Out! Out! All of you!” shrieked the warden. Briefly, Hank entertained the notion of staying even longer and letting Jinn fight off the weight of the human constables while he and Bones slipped quietly out the front door, but this particular warden seemed more likely to stay behind the door waggling an impotent finger than he was to actually engage the Shinra’ere in battle.

A smart move, likely, even if it was motivated more by fear than logic. Even Hank didn’t want to face Jinn on even ground. He’d much prefer a pistol, a running start, and a wall between himself and Jinn if it came down to a fight. None of which he had right now.

“Excellent idea,” he said instead, nodding to the warden. “I’m leaving. Furthermore, I am not doing any favors for the Shima brothers, nor am I dealing with you,” he added, giving the almost-forgotten Remora a resolute look.

“Don’t be so negative, McCoy,” chided Remora, waving a hand dismissively. “I have a carriage outside. It will take us to the Miraj. Jinn, I do hope you can join us for the trip. Perhaps we can reach a mutually satisfactory arrangement.” She smiled, then stepped over to Bones, placing her hand on his forearm. “Come, Bones. I would be much obliged if you would sit by me.”

Bones’s eyegleam faded from red to pink. Dammit. Bones was not allowed to make friends with wealthy, unhinged socialites. Perhaps he should encourage the ticker to pick up a gambling habit instead.

Hank wanted to argue with Remora’s attitude, but since his first order of business was to reach the Miraj, it seemed pointless to disagree now. Not that Remora waited for his input. She smiled impishly at Bones and the two of them paraded out the door, laughing and chatting as if they were on their way to a picnic.

A quick glance showed that the warden had almost completely disappeared behind the door, like a tortoise retreating into his shell. Jinn gestured to the door, waiting until Hank passed to follow him out.

They stepped out of the cold prison into the bright light of midday. A few children raced past on hoverboards, shrieking with laughter. Traffic chugged past on the cobbled road, a mixture steam-powered carriages and coal-powered delivery vans, dotted with a few horse-drawn carriages from the very wealthy.

Parked neatly against the curb, a wrought-iron carriage hitched to six matched gray horses waited. A round man in a gray top hat and waistcoat perched like a chickadee at the front, holding the reins. He bowed, removing his hat and flashing a bald pate. “Welcome, Miss Price, and guests of Miss Price. Shall we be away to the wharves then, Miss?”

“Yes, that will be lovely, Arthur,” called Remora cheerfully.

“Splendid!” the man beamed, replaced his hat, and pulled a lever at his side. A sigh of escaping air whooshed and the side of the carriage folded outward. The top fell to rest against the curb, a set of carpeted stairs leading into the belly of the carriage itself.

Hank snorted. Typical gentry. No carriage needed six horses. No carriage needed horses at all, for that matter. Only status games and political one-upmanship required pointless displays of wealth such as this.

Bones and Remora disappeared inside the carriage. Hank hesitated only a moment before joining them. Hank had made every effort to avoid being drawn into the glittering, artificial world of the gentry again, but it looked as though he was being denied the choice today. Regardless, wherever this madness took him, he wanted to make sure Bones was with him.

Besides, once he got to the ship, he could put Miss Silver Spoon, Jinn, and this whole ridiculous situation behind him. Nobody could find him if he didn’t want to be found. All he needed was a ship and a good tailwind.

Videorama: The Casebook of Nips & Porkington

The Casebook of Nips & Porkington (2015) from Melody Wang on Vimeo.

A Sheridan 4th year animated short film done primarily in Toonboom Harmony and Photoshop.

www.nipsandporkington.tumblr.com
www.mellowatt.com
www.mellowatt.tumblr.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mellow...

Film by Melody Wang
Score by Xintong Wang

Voice Talents
Elaine Wise as Constable Nips
Elliot Cowan as Porkington, the rat, and Mr. Goose
Kirsten Lloyd as Mrs. Goose

Mentors
Nancy Beiman
Bruno Degazio

Minions
Danial Darabi
Rui Hao
Jack Hincenbergs
Marissa Iavazzi
Ruby Xia
Xin Wu

Using a Moleskine As a Weekly Planner

I have been using a tiny Moleskine as my weekly planner for years now.

YEARS. My current notebook is known as Barry the Fourth, and he continues the glorious tradition of making me look like I’ve got my shit together.

Remembering things is NOT my strong suit. It’s not even my WEAK suit. Heck, it’s not even a teeny weeny itsy bitsy yellow polka dot swimsuit.

Ever since I started using a moleskine for my notebook, I have had multiple comments on how organized I am.

Ha! I have fooled you all!

And now I pass this potentially lethal secret on to YOU, dear readers.

The Notebook

I have chosen a VERY SPECIFIC notebook for this task. You do not need to choose this same notebook, of course, and I have no stock in Moleskine that would cause me to unfairly recommend it over its competitors. Let me assure you, however, that I have tried BILLIONS (or dozens) of different sizes and styles of notebooks over the years. This Moleskine is The Best(tm), otherwise I would recommend something cheaper.

You will want the Moleskine Reporter Notebook, Pocket, Squared, Black, Hard Cover (3×5 x 5×5).

(This Amazon link works right now, but may not work forever)

(The book in the picture is a SOFT cover, which I accidentally ordered. In good news, this means I can tell you in no uncertain terms that you DO NOT WANT the soft cover. Bad news, now I’m stuck with a lame soft cover for the next year or so. Blurgh.)

You’ll notice a few things from this image right away.

1) I use the elastic closure band to keep my pen with the book. This is super important to me, as I use the book as a checklist and not being able to quick scribble notes would render the notebook useless. If I nab it from my bag and pop it in my back pocket, I’m still good to go.

2) The spine is on the TOP of the book, not the left side. This is the “Reporter”-style notebook and it’s very important as well. When the book is open, I have the ENTIRE page to write on, and the area where the page “folds” is smaller than a left-spine would be.

3) It’s small — small enough to fit in my pocket, and small enough for me to whip out while at the grocery store for a quick review of my shopping list. It fits in the same places a mobile phone would on a purse or bag. VERY convenient.

4) Decorating with stickers is very important. *firm nod*

Not even spiral-bound beats this (though it’s nice to tuck a pen inside a protective spiral). Though spiral-bound allows you to avoid the awkward fold of a left-spine book, it’s still in the way when writing, causing awkwardness. Plus, I haven’t found a small spiral-bound notebook that wasn’t so cheap it started falling apart after a month or so of heavy use. YMMV.

The Pens

I only use Sharpie pens in my Moleskine.

I went through a long trial-and-error process to figure this out, and it still can’t be beaten. I have a ton of colors (colors are ALSO very important *firm nod*) and they let me write neat, tidy letters which do not bleed, smudge, or glop. Glopping is a technical term and if you write with ballpoint pens very often, you know exactly what I mean.

The Inside

Inside, you’ll see the “Grid” portion of the book’s description on display. Instead of horizontal lines only, the guidelines create a small square grid. You can see that I use those lines to help organize the different sections of my notebook, including organizing my checkboxes for lists in their own column.

Each week gets a top and bottom page to itself.

The Calendar (Top)

I pick a different color each week, because I can.

My example here is the one I created for this week (or several weeks ago, depending on when I post this beast) and this is pretty much how it starts out. I draw the framework really quickly and fill in anything from my online calendar.

Yes, I still have an online calendar. Often, people want to schedule things well in advance, and the google calendar allows me to do so without double-booking. On a weekly basis, I only use my notebook.

Each day gets two lines, and as I finish a day, I color in the checkbox or add little notes, diary-style. If I had a bad headache or felt terrible, I note that down as well, so I can look back over time and track things.

The Lists (Bottom)

The bottom page is two lists.

Shopping (self-explanatory) and Misc (everything else).

Misc is actually very important. If I need to remember to research something or move something or bring something to work, I note it down here. If I had unfinished things from last week, I move them here to keep track of them.

The entire purpose of this area is to say “This week, in order to feel productive and accomplish my goals, these things should be done.”

I’m imperfect and I don’t always get them done, but even just the act of planning out my expectations for myself in the coming week assures that I’m not just sleeping through my life, telling myself that I’ll do it “later”.

It ALSO forces me to choose a week-sized amount of work to do. I can’t say “write a book” and have it be even remotely helpful. I CAN say “Write Rose Installment 10″ and have that be a perfectly legitimate thing I can check off the list.

Other Pages

I tend to use the BACK of the book to keep notes to myself. Christmas lists are a good example — I can add to the lists throughout the year as I think of nice gifts for people. (and as some of you can attest, I often do my shopping WELL in advance. Yes, my tree already has about seven presents under it).

Also, if I have a doctor appointment or dialogue at work and I want to remember things to discuss, I keep a list in the back so I don’t forget. I can add notes there from the actual meeting as well.

I’ve got a page in there that’s a list of website-related things I need to accomplish this year.

*shrug* It’s honestly so free-form that you can do whatever you want with it. I’ve been using this Weekly Planner layout for long enough that I know without a shadow of a doubt that it works for me, and works well.

How Long Does it Last?

A little over a year, depending on my use. The book itself has 192 pages (some of the last pages are easily detachable) and there are only about 53 weeks in a year, give or take.

I tend to use a lot of pages scribbling story ideas down, so I lose about half of my page count to that. =]

Anyone else?

What does everyone else use? Uncalendar is another popular alternative I’ve heard of.

Does this seem like something you’d be able to make use of?

9. Jinn

“You wish to pay for the release of Hank McCoy?”

“And his cellmate as well,” Remora repeated. She wondered if perhaps the poor woman was a trifle hard of hearing.

The officer gave her a bemused look before turning away to thumb through some paperwork on her desk. Honestly, the way the woman acted, one might get the impression that prisons did not wish to release prisoners. Granted, Remora’s current clothing was more suited to casual travel than business meetings, but the lack of a few frills and laces never stopped anyone from accepting money in the past.

Furthermore, she truly was in a hurry. It had been fully four days since her release from prison, which was three days more than she’d intended to wait before setting off. The officer was taking so long to find the right paperwork that Remora toyed with the idea of asking if she could help. Really, their organizational system shouldn’t be this shoddy.

After a moment, the woman shook her head, clucking her tongue regretfully. “I’m sorry miss, but they’re being held for court. They owe a great deal of money for damages done to a local merchant’s establishment.”

“How much?”

“I’m sorry?” The woman pursed her lips and peered down her nose, brows drawn in confusion.

“How much for the damages?” Remora frowned when the woman’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t mean to be rude, but have you considered a hearing enhancement? In your line of work, I should think being unable to understand what a person is saying would be a grave detriment to your productivity.”

“Well!” the woman said, straightening her backbone before lifting her nose and glaring down at the folder on her desk. Remora stifled a sigh. She had managed to offend the woman, then. Her poor hearing must be a touchy subject. Remora shuffled from foot to foot impatiently as the woman’s eyes trailed down the paper. She really did not have time to dawdle.

Finally, the officer found what she was looking for. Stiffly, she read from the paper. “The final sum for the release of both prisoners and the reparations to the merchant comes to one hundred and twenty gold doubloons.” Dropping the folder to her desk, the woman steepled her fingers and leveled a severe look at Remora. “Hardly milk money, dear child.”

“Is that all?” Remora asked. The woman’s sneer vanished. “Please write up a receipt for my signature. You can send it to my estate for the payment.”

Voice hard and eyes narrow, the woman said, “Holding is not a place for fun and games, child. I have real work to do, so if you would excuse me, Miss—”

“Price,” said Remora.

The woman froze. “Excuse me?”

“Miss Price. You really must get your hearing looked at. I insist.” Remora fished out a gold doubloon from her pocket and placed it on the counter. “I do think you’ll find it makes a world of difference in your mood and overall demeanor as well. I apologize for the rudeness, but I really am in a bit of a rush. If you could signal for the release of the prisoners, it would be much appreciated. Send the bill to the late Magnus Price’s estate and I’m sure you’ll find the receipt settled to your liking”

“P-p-price?” The woman’s eyes grew round. “Y-yes, ma’am. Immediately, ma’am.”

“Do remember to visit a cogsmith about a hearing apparatus,” Remora admonished as the woman scrambled to her feet.

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said starkly, face uncommonly pale. Hastily, she collected the folder and stumbled through the door behind her desk.

“I do hope she remembers to release them,” Remora remarked to herself. “I don’t fancy having that entire conversation all over again.”

A guttural chuckle answered her. Remora spun, one hand lifting to press against her chest in alarm. “Oh! You startled me; I quite thought myself alone.”

A tall figure detached itself from a dark corner of the room, moving forward slowly. “Forgive me. It is my nature to seek the shadows. I am Jinn. Shima Jinn.” He sketched a formal bow. “I, too, am here to see the man who calls himself Hank McCoy, but I found myself without enough coin to procure his freedom.”

Tall, the man wore starkly black clothes cut in a style she had never before seen. A long tunic, split in both the front and the back flowed over pants wrapped from the arch of his foot almost to his knees. His face was wrapped in black cloth with only a narrow slit for his eyes. As if that weren’t enough, a large cowl obscured most of his face, casting his features into shadow. His eyes, nearly hidden by the cowl, shone a vivid red and what little of his skin showed was a startling slate gray.

It was no wonder that she hadn’t seen him standing in the shadows. The only spot of color on his person was a large yellow tassel the size of her fist dangling from something near his left thigh. A weapon hilt, perhaps? Though why it should be at his thigh rather than his shoulder she could not fathom.

He stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Inhuman, unquestionably, but the greater curiosity was that she had no idea what he was. Her fingers itched for the books in her library, but that would have to wait.

Politely, she responded. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Shima. I am Remora Price.”

“If you please, it is only Jinn. Shima is my clan name.”

“Jinn, then, and you must call me Remora.” He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. “May I inquire as to your business with McCoy? I must admit to having plans for him myself, and I would know whether our purposes are at odds with one another.”

“If it would not be considered impolite, I wish to keep the details of my intent to myself for the moment. Would it suffice to say I have need of his ship and crew?”

Delighted, Remora smiled. Behind her, a door opened. “Ah, then you have business with me! I am now the owner of the Miraj, the ship captained by McCoy.”

“Like hell you are!”

Remora turned to see a uniformed guard escorting McCoy and Bones into the room. McCoy looked furious, eyes locked on hers. She sighed. “Bother. That was not how I wished to broach the matter with you.”

Bones’s gaze shifted from her to Jinn, eyebeams turning a vivid red. Hank’s gaze followed that of his first mate, and the look of outrage on his face turned to full-on wrath. “Shima Jinn,” he said flatly.

She turned to look at Jinn, wondering what he could have done to inspire such hatred. For his part, Jinn seemed utterly unfazed by his reception. “I have come to call in the favor you owe, Hank McCoy.”

Videorama: Dirty Laundry

This? This is not an easy video short to watch. Do NOT watch if you are squeamish.

If, however? You want to see the Punisher as he was MEANT to be? (The movie was good, mind you, but this is BETTER).

You should watch this.

Miso Soup

I’ve started making homemade miso soup and I am so incredibly hooked, I don’t even know how to tell you.

Hopefully you all know what miso soup tastes like. It’s a rich brothy Japanese soup. Brown liquid, usually green onions and tofu and sometimes mushrooms. Almost always served as an appetizer at various restaurants.

I’ve always loved it. When I was an exchange student in Japan, it was one of my favorite dishes (though my host mother was perplexed as to why I preferred that to fancier dishes).

I have finally taken the plunge and started making my own miso soup at home. With preparation for my optional ingredients, a bowl takes me about ten minutes (maybe less) to prepare.

Recipe (for one serving)

1 cup water
1/2 tsp Dashi Stock (this is a granulated fish stock base)
1 tsp Red Miso paste (not yellow!)

That’s it. That’s the base recipe. Everything else is optional (though I recommend it, since it’s YUMMY). You’ll want to heat that in a pan over the stove until it starts steaming, but try to avoid boiling it. Miso is a fermented food and part of the good gut-bacteria benefits would be lost if overheated. (At least, that’s what I’m told. What I HEAR is that it doesn’t take very long to cook. BAM)

Optional ingredients (in order of recommendation)

Please note that I recommend chopping/sauteeing all of these ahead of time, then just adding a spoonful or so as the water’s heating.

Chopped green onion (the stuff you’d see on a baked potato, for reference). These can be sauteed ahead of time or just sprinkled on fresh.
Chopped firm or extra-firm tofu. I recommend leaving this in a water bath in your fridge after chopping.
Mushrooms. I like mine pre-sauteed, but I’m not a big fan of raw shrooms.
Chopped sauteed onion. I actually don’t notice the onion pieces in the soup, but it adds a real depth of flavor akin to a french onion soup and I really love what this brings.

The ingredients I linked above are gluten-free. This soup is a GREAT low-calorie dinner on days when you’re munchy but not really hungry-hungry.

I’ve made it almost every day since ordering the ingredients.

Also? The amount of Dashi they sent will tide me over for a year, I think. I’ll need to get another miso paste in about a month or two, but it’ll be a long long long long time before I need more dashi.

You?

Anyone else make or love Miso soup?

8. Uncle

“I like her,” said Bones.

The girl in question gave a loud snore.

“She’s very charming. You two would make a fantastic couple. Why don’t you invite her out for some drinks, maybe spend some time overlooking the waterfalls at Barushka?”

Bones sighed. “Must every relationship with a female be about romance for you?”

“Hey, who said anything about romance? I’m not matchmaking; I’m just being a good wingman. I’ll bet you won’t find it so tedious once you’ve tried it.”

“I disagree.” Bones sighed, a sound like wind through a copper tube. “Shall we continue to make inane conversation, or shall we plan? As you are captain, it is of course your prerogative.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Roith’delat, Bones, what’s got your cogs in a twist? You played the honesty card with the girl and I’ve gone along with it, insane a plan as it may be. What more do you want?”

Immediately, the ticker’s face shut down, his eyegleam dimming. “Never mind. It is irrelevant.”

“Say it anyway! I think you could do with a bit less relevance in your life. What are the calculated odds this girl is going to get our ship back?”

“As of this moment, eighty-three point four percent.”

Hank snorted. “Do something spontaneous, Bones. Just once, I’d like you to do something spontaneous.”

“I am a ticker, Hank,” Bones said quietly.

Hank ran a hand through his hair. “I know, Bones. I know.” He slid down the bars until he reached the floor, then tucked his chin to his chest, preparing to catch a catnap.

“Why’d you tell her my real name, anyway?”

Bones didn’t respond and Hank looked up to find the ticker’s eyegleam alternating between blue and red, a sure sign he was troubled about something. “Was it because you knew it would annoy me?” Hank prompted. “Or because you calculated the likelihood of her recognizing me and thought it a worthwhile risk?”

After another long moment, Bones finally replied. “I am not entirely certain.”

Hank’s eyebrows lifted, but he left the ticker alone to his internal musings. Prodding the ticker now would just cause him to close up worse than a miser asked to give to charity.

Still. The prospect that Bones had done something without calculating it beforehand was just interesting enough to make their current situation worth the trouble.

He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until a guard appeared, rapping sharply against the bars next to his head with his baton. “Oy, you! To the back of the cell, and be quick about it!”

Hank scowled and glanced through the bars. Not a polite awakening. Two men stood, waiting for him to move so they could open the cell. The first was a guard—a short, bearded man with a look of smug self-importance that would have labeled him as the warden even without the extra gold braid at the shoulders of his uniform.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in full dinner dress stood next to the guard, his face obscured by the most ornate mourning mask Hank had ever seen. Most folks just made do with a small, disposable cloth mask during the week of mourning after the death of a loved one. This man wore a molded porcelain mask with an elongated nose, painted black with gold leaf detailing, and a fan of long black feathers trailing nearly to his waist.

Hank stood and moved to the back of the cell, eyeing the two men carefully. Bones moved to stand in his shadow and the girl stirred, lifting her head and blinking owlishly at the visitors.

A gentry guest escorted by the warden himself. Hank hadn’t been entirely certain the man wasn’t here to see him, but his concern faded as he noted that the man’s gaze remained fixed upon Remora.

The masked man clucked his tongue chidingly as he gestured to the guard to unlock the door. “Remmy, dear-heart, you do manage to get yourself into the most appalling situations, don’t you? Shall I post a guard on you round the clock to guard you against future infractions?”

Remora laughed, an unabashed smile of joy splitting her face. “Uncle! You came!” She stood and ran through the now-open cell door, throwing herself into the man’s embrace and wrapping her arms around his torso.

He hugged her tightly in return. “You mustn’t frighten me so, Remmy,” he murmured.

“I am sorry, Uncle. I should have left you a note.” She stood back, brightening. “But this means my gadget worked! You did get it, didn’t you?”

In reply, the man opened his jacket and pulled a familiar copper chain from a buttoned pocket. As he lifted the necklace from his pocket, the device began frantically sputtering, all eight legs scrambling at the empty air. The blades kicked in and it regained flight immediately, heading directly toward Remora. As it reached the end of the chain in the man’s fingers, it came to an abrupt stop. Like a frustrated dog, it strained against its bonds, trying to reach her.

Remora clapped her hands together and spun in a circle. “It worked! It found you, then it found me, precisely as intended!”

The man smiled, then released the chain. The spiderbot completed its task, returning to Remora and landing in her outstretched hand. The moment it touched her skin, it sputtered once and collapsed in her palm. She tucked it in her pocket, giving it a gentle pat.

“Remmy, Remmy. Just look at you! Where did you find such clothing? And you are not wearing your mourning mask! He was your father, Remora. You could at least wear it the full week. The scandal you will cause!” He reached forward and lifted the leather aviator’s cap from her head, grimacing distastefully as he tossed it to the side.

Released, her hair fell down her back like water from an urn. Red. Hank stared. Remora’s hair was red. Gleaming and pin-straight down to her waist, it was the color of an expensive foreign spice—cinnamon or cayenne.

Mentally, he did the math. Red hair. Named Price. Mourning the death of her father in the past week.

She wasn’t from one of the multiple Price branch families. She was from the very root of the Price tree. Magnus Price had been the caretaker of this entire city before he’d died in a plant explosion five days ago. Bael’s Roith’delat’en tail, they’d hit the jackpot! She could buy and sell their ship a dozen times over without so much as batting an eyelash.

“Come then, Remmy. Let’s get you home and into some more suitable clothing. You haven’t forgotten about our dinner with the leader of the docking guild, have you?”

“Oh, Uncle! He’s such a bore! All he talks about is ship manifests and profits,” said the wealthiest woman in the city, her lower lip jutting in a pout.

“It’s only for one evening, my dear, and we need his continued good favor.”

“Very well,” she said, lacing her fingers with his and moving out of the cell. As the guard locked the door, she glanced back at Hank and Bones. “Do try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, boys? I promise I will be back for you,” she said with a wink.

“Good heavens, Remmy, just what sorts of friendships are you making?” her uncle asked, glancing back at them. His eyes drifted over Bones without truly seeing him, as most people did. They settled suspiciously on Hank’s face. Hank concentrated on looking as innocent as possible. “You haven’t let that one talk you into anything unsavory, I trust?”

“Good heavens, no, Uncle. The scruffy-looking one is a ship’s captain.”

“Hmm,” was the only reply the man gave before they continued walking down the hallway and out of earshot.

Scruffy-looking! Frowning, he rubbed a hand along his beard stubble. He hadn’t shaved in the past few days, but most women found a few rough edges attractive. Charming, even!

“That went well,” said Bones.

McCoy turned on his first mate. “Tell me you didn’t know she was the daughter of Magnus Price.”

The ticker said nothing, but his eyes whirled pale blue-green, a combination Hank had come to associate with smugness.

McCoy snorted and moved to the cot, landing heavily on the thin cushion. Roith’delat, he should keelhaul Bones for mutiny, keeping something like that a secret. He glanced over at his first mate and found him peering intently at a downy feather in the palm of his hand. True to character, the ticker had already moved past the conversation about the girl once his point had been made.

Hank sighed and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back against the mattress. Hopefully the girl would buy back their ship soon and he and Bones would be away from this forsaken city and back out doing what they did best; making money. Then he’d never have to see her again, except to pay back the debt as quickly as possible.