hi!no delete please

Originally posted by nikitagretzky at что вы вы видите на этой картинке?
Originally posted by diak_kuraev at Как делаются сенсации
... Получилось, будто митрополит согласен с нацистской символикой...
Получилось что "митрополит согласен с нацистами" ?
На самом деле получилось что
1)нацисты согласны с митрополитами
2)Митрополитам похуй кого они ведут за собой


Not very long after this:

Dennis breathed heavily as he began his fifth lap around the track. The rest of the team was still getting warmed up, but he enjoyed these early morning practices. The laps gave him time to focus, to think without distraction or interruption. More importantly without his mother asking him what was on his mind or if something was bothering him.

He told himself that he didn’t believe what the fortune teller had told him. It had been a joke, that day that he and a couple of teammates had gone into her shop. They were just trying to find out if they were going to win the big game on Saturday and end up going all the way to the playoffs this season. She had done a reading for each of the other guys and told them the typical throw away future predictions that he had expected: long lives, love, success.

She told them that it was going to be their year. And so far it was. The team had suffered only one loss this far into the season, and none of the players had gotten injured. The coach was beside himself, and several of the seniors were being courted by football programs at big name schools.

But it had to be just a coincidence. It couldn’t have been the future. Not HIS future. He had always been polite to fortune teller and her partner in the past, even defended them from a couple of his more narrow minded teammates, but no longer. From that day forward, he publicly mocked them. He ridiculed them with his friends, calling them “hippie dykes” and deriding them as “no better than summer carnies, out to make a dime”.

He was aware that his mother had noticed a change come over him since his visit to the fortune teller. It was something subtle, something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she sensed it growing all the same. Cutting remarks and little digs here and there that hadn’t been a part of his character before were popping up more frequently. So far Marianne hadn’t been a target for any of these, but Dennis could tell that she was waiting for the time when he turned his venom on her. And he was waiting for it too.

But didn’t she deserve it? Especially if what the fortune teller had told him what was true. Because the message she had for Dennis was unlike that she had for his friends. Instead of telling Dennis of his future; she told him of his past. His past and the impact that would have on his future. Who he was, who he really was, and where he had come from. Sure he was Marianne’s son. But he wasn’t just hers. Regardless of how little impact his father had had on his life, how she had kept his father from him, there was still a part of him that was from his father. That was akin to his father. That belonged to his father, the mayor of Angels Fall.

Dennis threw himself completely into the pace of his rhythm of his body, willing his body to keep moving on automatic. Blood pumping, heart beating, lungs expanding and contracting, muscles, tendons and bones working together in a fluidity that kept him flying along the track. It was a kind of meditation in motion, to keep out the anger and the fear.

There was initially going to be a trip to the fortune-teller's entry, but I decided that was going to take too long so I skipped it. The way I have mental restructured these events has led me to make a couple of subtle changes to one of the previous entries.

(no subject)

Moving the story along from here:

Having just finished her meal at the diner, Amelia Holloway lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth. While doing so a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Cornelius E. Rutherford, Jr. reached down to pick it up for her.

It was a note signed with the initials "EW". Amelia had no idea who "EW" was nor how the note had been slipped under her napkin without her noticing it, but all the same it had. It read simply:

"The Bs are in the Lighthouse. Travel in numbers. Time is of the essence. 'Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.' Do not let him join her."

"John Webster?" she asked of her former teacher.

"Yes," he replied. "This can't be good."

(no subject)

And the story continues from here and here.

The sky took a yellow taint. The air was thick with a smell so sweet that it was sickening. It was a mix of ozone and something dead and rotting. The clouds drifted across the sky as if in fast forward. People were bustling along in a quick but jerky way as if they were in time-elapsed film-strip from a fifth grade science class but all the buildings leered over the scene like limbs over a dark forgotten path. People tried not to look to closely at the ones they passed but offered quick greetings. It had been a few days since the meeting at the diner. No one wanted to mention what was talked about or the plans that were made. No one wanted to admit what had been decided that night. The Fall seemed to shimmer and shake...like something in the distance about to disappear beneath the tide.

Tim laid still. His eyes pushed from side to side under their lids. Nora sat beside him. She wondered just where Timmy was and what his dreams might hold. His mumbling had abated. His tender little flesh was an odd flaxen colour. His delicate body seemed almost ethereal. He seemed to be slowly fading out of this existence. Nora tucked the blanket to his chin and wished she could remember what was happening.
Her mind was drifting and everything from the last week seemed like it had happened a million years ago and to someone else entirely. It was a barely remembered nightmare. It was a horror story heard in childhood.

What was happening? What was happening to The Fall? It's inhabitants seemed more like shades or shadows projected onto a shaking sheet as it blows in the wind. No one seemed to realize just what was coming to be in their town. Except Tim he heard her voice. Her voice was like a gentle song and reassuring and though it sounded like gibberish to his ears, his heart knew the words...

"Nye",he whispered. "Nye has the key"

Back at the restaurant

continued from here:

Dennis felt throughout the course of dinner with his mother that eyes were watching him, but every time he looked around to see who it was, he failed to catch his observer. After his third attempt to discover the source of the feeling, and now finally attracting Marianne's notice, he mentally shrugged off the feeling and devoted his attention back at the meal. It wasn't the first time in his life that he felt like he was being watched; he was pretty sure that it wasn't the last time either.

He knew that sometimes weird things happened here in the Falls. Things for which there seemed no reason, no source, but existed all the same. Dennis knew that many of his classmates felt the same, and none of them seemed to know the reason for it either, although when they were younger, they liked to sit around the schoolyard at lunch, devising theories. Over time, he learned that some of them felt it more acutely than he did, and some of them felt it less, but there really wasn't anyone who was really immune from the town.

Dennis wasn't really sure if his mother was aware of it; adults never talked about that kind of stuff around him. And it was one of those things that they never discussed it at home, much like they never discussed the subject of his absentee father. If ever Dennis broached the subject, Marianne found one way or another to quickly redirect the topic of conversation, and after a while, Dennis just gave up asking. It wasn't really like he MISSED his father; he had never known him. And from what he could piece together, he had never been a real part of the picture, at least not after Dennis was born.

He told himself that he really didn't care about his dad. That he had bailed on Dennis, so why should Dennis care about him. He probably couldn't even play football or do any of the things that dads were supposed to do. Things were okay with just him and his mom, weren't they? It was pretty much agreed among all his friends that Marianne was the coolest mom in the bunch. And although he never would have told her, he thought she managed a good balance of when to give him freedom and when to restrict him.

Marianne interrupted his train of thought, "Hey, you, you're awfully quiet this evening. You okay?"

Dennis nodded his head and took a sip from his water glass. "Yeah, Mom. I was just really hungry after practice.

"Maybe we should stop and get some ice-cream on the way home then? Do you think that a banana split would help curb your appetite?"

Dennis smiled broadly. "I think that might just do the trick, Mom."

Some food for thought; some fodder for writing...

"'Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,'
Said then the lost Archangel, 'this the seat
That we must change for Heaven, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best,
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor--one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence;
Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven...'"

--excerpt spoken by Lucifer, taken from Paradise Lost by John Milton

At Desmond's Bookshop: The Fall's Leaves

Continued from here.

Desmond gently lay down his pen and pushed away the bookmark he'd been working on. He enjoyed creating these little talismans, but he realized he'd become preoccupied with untangling one of the webs around one of the highschoolers several minutes earlier and gone still.

One of the younger girls was about to run into some small, unreadable, random event that would spin out more possibilities, and more troublesome ones, than it would have been able to do in any other town. In any other place, not a tenth, perhaps not a hundredth, of what he saw whirling about her would have been possible. This place offered her the best and most dangerous possibilities for life. He sighed slightly and wished for the thousandth time that he could do his job by forcing people to leave Angels Fall. There were too many people with futures like hers here now, people even he barely knew how to guide, because their futures spun out like jagged lightning from events hidden from him by chaos.

He'd met people, most of them long ago and across an ocean or two, with futures difficult to read because they'd been deliberately clouded. Someone had clouded themselves, most inadvertently. They were usually the easiest to guide, once they understood. Some had been clouded by others, and that was a bit more difficult. Most of those who did the clouding were ignorant or inept, but in some ways that made them more dangerous. And of course there were his relatives on the other side, who understood his abilities, or had in the early days, before he'd learned, and they had no trouble making things difficult for him. The slow, painstaking nature of his work, and the fact that he wasn't permitted to act directly against them, meant they risked little by revealing their interference.

Despite strong signs that some of them were or had been present in Angels Fall, they caused no problems with his work. It was possible that they were simply unaware of his presence, but he thought it much more likely that they simply saw no reason to bother with him at present. It didn't reduce the danger for his charges much, not in this town, but it gave him time to work, and that was all he needed.

That brought him back to the problem of the girl. He'd narrowed it down as far as he could and gotten nothing useful. He sighed and got up to make a mug of strong tea. Sometimes it appeared that his job was to wait and deal with the consequences of some Event rather than guide his charge to and through it, but he was never certain enough of his ability or judgment to be comfortable in that situation.

Just a bit to motivate resting writers...

continuing with this storyline

After hanging up the phone, Emmaline Winters wondered if she had just made a major mistake. This wasn't the first time she had made a deal with the Devil, but this was the first time she wondered if she wasn't on quite equal footing with him.

Agents weren't going to be sufficient this time. She was going to have to leave her cosy retreat in Coriander Place; she wondered who was going to notice.