Be fool’d not by my gentle demeanor of Polite Interest; It is a thin mist shrouding the desolate wastelands of my Apathy, which themselves are the merest desert fringes bordering the vast abandoned hinterlands of my Unfettered Nihilism.
A fast heart beat is called Tachycardia, and is indicative of, amongst other things, dehydration, excessive tobacco, alcohol and/or drug use, heart disease, lung disease and high blood pressure.
Id recommend improving your diet, drinking more water, getting more moderate exercise and possibly seeking professional medical help.
Sometimes when I listen to a song it makes me thing of one of my OCs. I was listening to “Amaranth” by Nightwish, and it made me think of Bell, an OC I created around 2008. That in turn made me think of all the time that has passed since then, and how much has changed. Which, of course makes me think of the line
“The days keep coming and they don’t stop coming”
Anyway. Heather “Bell” Graham is an old oc of mine.
Ima need someone to pioneer an affordable, wearable set of bionic arms that I can use in conjunction with my regular arms. Two arms just ain’t enough to live my life.
The Wordle bot is full of shit; what do you mean “Knick” cant be a viable solution “because wordle uses more common words”? Yesterday’s word was ETUDE!!! That’s not even English!! You cannot seriously be telling me more people know the word Etude than they do Knick. Bull. Shit.
Ah. The age old battle between my mind’s desire to stay cozy and comfortable in my bed and not face the vicissitudes and trials of a new day, and my body’s growing incessant need to pee.
Gundam fans will be like “Bandai we need an MG of this Mobile Suit!!” and the suit will be called “Pēnits Kùmmer” and have appeared in one panel of a side manga that’s never been translated from Japanese. Then you look up Pēnits Kùmmer and it’s like the sickest fucking mecha design you’ve ever seen
PSA: Hey Everyone! Ana is here to remind you that during the North Atlantic Horseshoe Crab (Limulus Polyphemus) mating season, running from May to July in the mid-Atlantic region, that if you find a crab stuck upside down and unable to right itself, you can help by using Both Hands to gently grasp the sides of the carapace and flip it back over. Please DO NOT grab them by their tail (or Telson as it is properly called!)
Remember; Horseshoe Crabs have been here way longer than people, and providing we don’t drive them to extinction through pollution and habitat loss, will probably still be here long after we have blown ourselves into oblivion.
I liked it. Animation was sublime (except in the flashback scenes? Not sure if that was intentional or not) and the thousands of little details about how early UC100s world would operate are fascinating and a joy to behold.
Battle scenes were great, watching the Xi Gundam dance through the sky is fantastic. It still has a lot of weight to it; you can really feel its presence on screen, but the way it outmaneuvers everything else in the sky is poetry. Bonus; some of the battles take place in the daytime, so you can actually see what’s going on! :)
Music was good. Characters are…ok? They seem to be realistically rendered (and again, the little animations of incidental movements and actions really brings them alive) but there’s no one really likeable? I also kind of know how this story ends (in the novel version at least) so that taints things a little too.
All in all, a solid 8 out of 10 for me. I will definitely have to schedule a re-watch to catch the things I missed on the first run-through.
The sound of wailing penetrated his consciousness. It was not a cry of pain; it was more plaintive, and very insistent.
Grigor grunted, lifting his head up to locate the source of the sound.
Ah yes. Of course.
He rolled over onto his feet, his knees and hips stiff from sleeping on the bare floor of the cave. He wasn't old, unlike the Elder Dragons of the Clan who counted their ages in triple digits, but he was starting to feel the strain of his years. No longer the rash, young pup he once was, always on the move, able to sleep anywhere with no ill-effect. Until recently, he preferred to sleep on his rock, and he had rarely, if ever, left the valley.
"Well," he thought to himself, "I have more responsibilities than when I was younger too."
He had had to abandon his favourite sleeping rock when the Clan started to outgrow the main nest last season. This happened once or twice a century; once the population had begun to exceed the ability of the territory to support it, a sufficiently experienced dragon was promoted to be a new Alpha and they would lead a faction of individuals off to find a new nest and establish a new splinter clan, still loyal to the main clan, but self-sufficient and self-governed in a new territory.
Grigor had been fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on how you chose to look at it) enough to be designated the Alpha of this splinter clan, which meant he had have to leave his home behind and strike out to find a new nest. It had been exhilarating and exciting at first, but days had turned to weeks, which turned to months and they had still yet to find a suitable territory. They had eventually holed themselves up in a small cave network near the Plains, a temporary lodging whilst his Scouts searched for a more ideal locale to establish their Clan.
As such, he had not yet found a new place that he could claim as His Rock, and thusly had been unable to get a good night's sleep since they left the main nest.
And to make matters worse, it was Hatching season.
Grigor extended his serpentine neck into the nursery chamber. Sure enough, one of the hatchlings was mewling, loud and determined. He removed his head and stuck it into an adjoining cave.
"Talaith," he rumbled. "The hatchling is crying again."
"That is what hatchlings do, Grigor," replied the female, without raising her head from where she lay. She sounded tired. "I suspect even you wailed in the night as an infant."
Talaith was the same age as him, born in the same brood, but she had been working in the nurseries since about the time she could stand. When the time had come to set up a splinter clan, it was obvious to all that she should be designated as Den Mother, with absolute authority over all matters pertaining to hatching and raising every dragon born to the new clan. As such, she stood and spoke with him as an equal, for although he was the Alpha, without the nurseries there would be no clan.
Grigor grunted. "It is...disturbing the others."
"You mean it is disturbing you," Talaith replied, still not moving.
"Am I not others? Regardless, I cannot perform at my best if I am fatigued."
This did cause Talaith to stir, rolling over to face him, her moss green scales glittering in the dim light of what had been a fire, now just embers, smoldering in the corner of the chamber.
"Oh," she said, appraising him languidly, "You mean to tell me that the mighty Grigor, son of Gorlassar the Fierce, Killer of Rocs, Scourge of the Griffin, and Nightmare to all and sundry, cannot perform if he loses out on a little beauty sleep?"
Grigor growled, but Talaith just flicked her tail at him.
"If it bothers you so, mighty Alpha, you can go calm the infant yourself." She rolled back over away from him and tucked her head under her wing, signaling she was done with the conversation.
Grigor growled again, but knew better than to push the issue. Talaith was smaller than him by a tail-length, but her claws were sharp, her teeth were pointy and she always gave as good as she got.
He stalked back to the nursery chamber. The hatchling was still whining, its cries not yet disturbing the other infants in the nursery, but there were signs one or two of them were beginning to stir. There were a few nurse dragons in there too, but all were asleep, exhausted, and none had heard this individual yet. It didn't have a name; Dragons didn't acquire a name until they were old enough to be of service to the clan, and this hatchling was far too young.
Grigor tried to nuzzle it in the way he had seen Talaith do, in the way he remembered his own den mother doing when he was but a stripling, many, many decades ago. He felt awkward and clumsy and, perhaps picking up on this, the child began to wail louder.
"No, no, no little one. Shh, shh," he rumbled softly, trying to be gentle, to be soothing, but to no avail. He felt foolish, embarrassed.
The crying got louder, more insistent, more grating on Grigor's tired nerves. He was starting to lose patience.
Why was he doing this? He had no experience with hatchlings! He was versed in hunting, combat! Not catering to a mewling whelp! He was the Alpha for Draco's sake! He commanded, they obeyed! Others quivered before his might, his authority! Men-folk fell to their knees, birds took wing, even other dragons scattered at the sound of his roar!
"Enough!" He growled, "QUIET!"
He threw his head back and roared. It was like a giant fog-horn, the sound of every wind instrument playing the same discordant note as loud as they can at the same time, the sound of a thousand nails being run up the strings of a million harpsichords simultaneously, the fury of ten thousand thunderclaps tearing the sky asunder in the same instant. It was a wall of sound that reverberated and amplified in the long, narrow cave system, echoing out across the plains in a cacophony of pure noise. Everywhere for a hundred miles animals started, birds flinched, humans awoke with a cry. They even heard it in Gwyr, fifty leagues away.
The sound ebbed out of the chambers, the air still faintly thrumming with residual vibrations, and then, like magic, all was quiet.
Grigor sighed, allowing the blessed peace to wash over him.
It lasted all of five seconds. With a deafening screech, every single hatchling woke up, wailing like the banshees of Iwerddon. All the nurse dragons, already startled awake by Grigor's roar, all turned at looked at him, a mixture of outraged confusion and tired resignation in their eyes.
"By Y Ddraig Goch, were you hatched this stupid or was it a skill you worked hard to acquire?!" Talaith screeched, bounding into the nursery, her wings and hackles raised.
Grigor, stunned by the sudden cacophony and increased hostility in the small space, could only stammer.
"I, I just, it was just..."
Talaith whipped him with her tail.
"Get out, and don't show your snout in here again if you know what's good for you!"
Grigor took a step back before catching himself. He was the Alpha, right? He reared up, wings flared in a show of dominance, but Talaith was having none of it.
"GET! OUT!" She roared, bright hot flame accentuating her words. She whipped at him with her tail again, snapping her jaws, and this time he took the hint.
He scrambled for the cave mouth, his large wings beating until they caught purchase in the air, and he took to the skies.
He glided aimlessly for a while, watching the night sky begin to brighten on the eastern horizon as dawn approached. Later on he would realize, in hindsight, that his actions had indeed been foolish, and he would seek to make amends to Talaith and the others, but right now his mind was too addled by the sudden violence and ongoing exhaustion. He just needed a few hours uninterrupted sleep!
He was so tired that he didn't notice his flight path had gotten dangerously low until his feet brushed through a hedgerow. He tried to course-correct, but he was too slow and plowed through another hedgerow and ploughed into the ground, his belly scales tearing through grass and mud.
He came to rest in the middle of a large field located beside a gently flowing river. He lifted his head and realized he was not alone. Occupying the field along side him was a rather large herd of sheep. They had initially scattered at his violent entry, but had started to gather round his prone form, hungry for the fresh grass and ignorant of the apex predator in their midst.
"Huh. Must have never encountered a dragon before," Grigor thought idly. He did notice a human figure sprinting out of the field like the hounds of Hades were after him. The Shepard, Grigor guessed. Whilst he might have never encountered a dragon before, he was sure to have heard the tales, both the true and the exaggerated, and was almost certainly off to raise the alarm.
Grigor had no interest in taking on a contingent of armed humans, but the gentle bleating of the sheep and the trickling sound of water were soothing, and the soft earth beneath his belly were comforting. He lay his head down and soon was fast asleep.
It would take over an hour for the shepard to get word to the local fortress about the sudden appearance of a dragon in their lands, and a further two hours for a contingent of the Guard to mobilize and make their way to the field by the river. Until then, however, Grigor had the most satisfying nap he had ever had since leaving the Main Clan.
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