So, yesterday’s news about the FDA approving a new, more accessible form of naloxone got me thinking about where we’re headed with addiction treatment and harm reduction. Fast forward a year, and I think we’ll see some real progress in community health.
With naloxone becoming easier to obtain, communities will likely experience fewer overdose deaths. It’s a small but crucial step in harm reduction, and it signals a broader shift towards treating addiction as a public health issue rather than a criminal one. This change in perspective is already encouraging more compassionate, evidence-based approaches to treatment.
By next year, I expect we’ll see more local governments investing in safe consumption sites and expanding access to medication-assisted treatment (MAT). These efforts will probably lead to healthier communities, as people struggling with addiction receive the support they need to stabilize their lives.
Moreover, as stigma around addiction continues to decrease, more people might feel comfortable seeking help. This could lead to a ripple effect, improving not just individual lives but also the overall social fabric.
Of course, challenges remain—funding, political will, and public opinion can be fickle. But if current trends continue, we could be looking at a more humane and effective approach to addiction that benefits everyone. Here’s hoping that a year from now, we’re celebrating these positive changes and building on them for the future.
FFxivWrite 2021
Prompt #8: Adroit
A smile to dazzle. Sweet words to placate. A clever fact to impress. Compliments to flatter. Flirtation to charm them. Lies to misdirect. Threats to intimidate. Jabs to antagonize. A change of the subject to distract. And throughout it all, ensuring to reveal just enough of the truth to seem honest and likable. The secret was nothing more than identifying what she wanted, and finding the best route to obtain it. One only needed to know what emotion to evoke to get the response she desired from an individual, and how to spark it. As far as the noblewoman was concerned, social interaction was her battleground, and she would win the war of every conversation.
It was nothing less than her wish to have anyone and everyone she could wrapped around her finger, dancing to whatever tune she deigned to play. Allies to aid her, friends to support her, enemies to entertain, rivals to motivate her, admirers to fawn over her, convenient contacts to call upon just in case she should ever need them. It was the culmination of all she was born and bred to be, the product of her raising and all that life had taught her since. Always win. Always succeed. Always stay two steps ahead. Never lose. Never fail. Never reveal too much. Never show your hand without a plan. Never give any sign of weakness. Never get too close.
She was a woman of many faces. She could be the humble teamistress. The reasonable diplomat. The clever cutthroat. The coy temptress. The fearsome leader. The frivolous noblewoman. The proper lady. The damsel in distress. The heartless bitch. The charismatic hostess. The wizened scholar. The gentle healer. The powerful mage. The soft heart, or the iron fist. The savage underneath it all. She had mastered every role. She knew just which mask to wear in any situation, and she wore it with ease. It was only a matter of which “Faye” suited her best at any moment. Perhaps the truth lay somewhere between the facades, but few would come close enough to tell, much less possess the wit or care to piece the puzzle together.
Nabi blinked, letting out an exhale through pursed lips. She took another inhale and released it again for good measure, but still her hand shook slightly.
“It ain’t too heavy fer ya, yeah?” Shael tilted her head, looking over the Xaela. “It be a small model, I made sure the barrel was light titanium, sturdy but not heavy on the wrist.” She squinted. “And some wobblin’ be alright. Or ya just scared?”
“I’m not scared.” Nabi replied quickly enough, moistening her lips nervously. But if she wasn’t afraid to shoot the rifle, then why did her hand shake?
This wasn’t the first time Shael had given her a gun. The first pistol Nabi ever held was a gift from the Highlander, back when Nabi was still working at the stall in the Rakuza district. It was for self defense, Shael said, after she had robbed the herbal stall. Ironic, and yet soon after, the gun came into good use.
If Nabi hadn’t had it, she would have been completely helpless when Anchor was fighting against the mothra.
Still. The weapon felt wholly foreign in her grip. But I don’t want to be helpless, to rely on everyone else to save me. This trip to Eorzea was her idea and they were about to set off to places where there could be dangerous creatures. She wasn’t going to put her friends in jeopardy because she didn’t know how to defend herself. So when Shael suggested a shooting lesson, Nabi agreed. A new line of determination furrowed her brow and the Xaela narrowed her eyes again.
“Alright, let’s try again,” Shael said patiently when the Nabi raised the musketoon. “Line up the target with yer eyes." She paused when she glanced over at her pupil. “Keep both eyes open. Ya got two, it be nonsense usin’ only one tae aim. Unless ya got a scope, but we ain’t doin’ that yet.”
Nabi opened the other eye she had closed, and squinted under the afternoon sun. The clouds above casted a drifting shadow over the rock set on a boulder, but at least it wasn’t some wild animal Shael had suggested earlier. Nabi took a deep breath in, and then released half of it back out, as the Highlander had instructed earlier. But when she was focusing on breathing, her target wavered. How did Shael do this all at once?
She squeezed the trigger, and the gun jerked upwards with the momentum of the shot.
The rock never moved.
“Ya sure ya actually hit somethin’ when ya went antenna huntin’ with Saltborn?” Shael teased with an amused smirk.
“I did!” Nabi pouted, although her pride was quick to deflate. “It had big wings, so… it was hard to miss, I suppose.” Her shoulders slumping with a sigh, she gave Shael a glance. “So much to remember all at once. How do you make it look so easy?”
Shael snorted, adjusting her hat and her shades propped on top. “I practiced. A lot. And had a patient teacher. Better than I’m ever gonna be.” There was a wistful smile that flitted across the woman’s lips, before she shook her head. “Nothin’ is easy at the start. But after awhile, ya do it without actually thinkin’ on it.”
As if to prove a point, in a blink of an eye, Shael drew her gun, fired and spun the pistol in her hand, sliding it back into its holster before the rock that was sent flying even touched the ground.
“Just like learnin’ how tae walk." The Highlander shrugged, then winked at her. “Ya fall at the start, but ya just keep at it.” She placed her hands on her hips and turned back to the Xaela. “Now. Again.”
Nabi pursed her lips to one side, straightening. She doubted it was that easy, and she was sure that Shael's skills in shooting were one of the best. But that meant that she had the best teacher. Which only had to bode well!
Nabi raised the musketoon again, both eyes squinting at the next rock lined up on the boulder. She tried to keep all of Shael’s lessons in mind as she focused on the target. Keep the aiming brief. Some wobbling is going to happen. Grasp the wrist of the stock firmly. Squeezing the trigger should be smooth. Don’t jerk up too fast-- why was her heart beating faster?
“Breathe, Nabs. Ya need tae breathe.”
((much thanks to @shaelstormchild for the impromptu RP for inspiration!))
He had always been overlooked. It had never seemed fair to him. His older brothers had been wildly successful: they were taller than him, more handsome, had an admirable easy charm when dealing with their crushes, and had fallen into very respectable careers that came with equally respectable amounts of money. They had large, happy families. They had everything they wanted and had done, from his point of view, very little to achieve it.
Sibert, on the other hand, was a a bit on the short side, a bit more average and forgettable in appearance, he was more withdrawn in demeanor, and he couldn't keep a relationship or job to save his life. When opportunities for employment came his way he’d sometimes get the job, but he’d rarely get the promotion. Far more often than not, he was simply forgotten and overlooked.
But he really shouldn't have been.
Because behind his awkward lack of charm and his palpable discomfort when forced to deal with aggressively extroverted individuals, Sibert's mind was always at work. He knew numbers better than anyone else he'd ever met and if given access to a business' books… he could do magic with those numbers. And regrettably for those employers who hired him only to mistreat him, forget him, overlook him, and eventually replace him… he could do magic with those numbers that businesses never caught onto.
His rather bland, sallow-skinned, tired eyed appearance that was so easy to disregard was an asset to him. He hadn't realized it at first, but he came to. For on the occasion that he'd get up to less than legal activities… no one ever thought to question him. No adjective seemed to fit him better than "boring" and he had never given anyone cause to suspect he was anything but a straight-laced, law-fearing and law-abiding man just trying to put his time in at work before going home to arrange his books by alphabetical order and eat his unseasoned dinner.
When money went missing, they didn't even notice at first. When Sibert started making more money that he then squirreled away… no one even noticed at all.
When the mustached Midlander opened his first shop, a home goods and improvement store in a forgotten, often overlooked location in Limsa Lominsa, no one had ever bothered to ask how he'd managed to save up the money. Likely they thought he’d tell them if they asked and that the answer would be excruciatingly dull.
He was as good with his hands as with his mind. He was a reasonably skilled carpenter and goldsmith and he made quality items for his store with no shortage of pride. He made lights, toys, chairs, tables, all manner of things for the customers he suspected he might not ever have. He also diplomatically haggled prices with other vendors, attended auctions, and had an eye for value when he went to antique stores. His modest little shop had fantastic prices, fantastic goods, and a fantastic owner--- and would rarely be seen by anyone but criminals and marks.
Which was exactly what he hoped for.
The store itself was a front for laundering money. His clientele consisted almsot entirely of criminals and would-be criminals, who would ask for items to be "found", thieves who would "find" the items, and wealthy victims of theft who Sibert would occasionally collect "finder's fees" from whenever some "no good, rotten thief" brought him stolen goods and he happened to know where they had originally come from (sometimes having been the one to request it be stolen in the first place). He had a great reputation for being a bland little man who was very diligent about returning "lost" items when he could and always working closely and politely with authorities on the rare occasions that they would become involved.
He was unremarkable in demeanor, but that was exactly what people who needed items obtained not-entirely-legally were looking for. And they found it in him. And they were willing to pay for it.
And people who scared of dealing with thieves directly, whether for fear of being robbed themselves or just having that direct line of communication open there for Yellowjackets to look into, were willing to pay a lot for it.
Clients appreciated him because he was mindful of them; he was discrete and careful not to give away too much personal information about them to the thieves. Thieves appreciated him because he seemed to genuinely care about their safety and knew what sort of jobs would be of interest (monetarily and skills wise) and he paid fair prices.
People he sold their own items back to for a small fee appreciated him because it allowed them to circumvent the whole tedious Yellowjacket business that came with, say, reporting a crime that took place in locations where other maybe-not-so-legal activities took place or other not-so-legally-obtained items were located.
And that had been enough for him for many years. It'd been enough for him to simply smile when his brothers spoke of their good fortune and to pretend he had somehow turned a modest but unremarkable profit from his home goods businesses.
It had been enough that he'd been able to buy a modest but unremarkable house while knowing he could afford a much bigger and grander one if he wanted.
It had been enough that he'd funneled some money towards making sure the kids on the street had somewhere safe to go, somewhere to sleep, food to eat, and clothes to wear when they were in need.
It had all been enough.
Until he met the most beautiful and most intelligent woman in the entire world. Until she walked through the meager doorway of his meager shop to ask him for help redecorating her extraordinary house and a lamp he had just turned on burned out because even it knew its light was nothing compared to the radiance she gave off.
Then nothing was enough until he could see her again.
And again.
And again.
And, alas, that? That's how mistakes were made. That's how a clever man was undone. Predictable really. It's how so many clever men before him were undone as well. Bad news for him.
“And suddenly, as he noted the fine shades of manner by which she harmonized herself with her surroundings, it flashed on him that, to need such adroit handling, the situation must indeed be desperate.”
- The House of Mirth
Before she fell from U'rahna's grace to the depths of the sweltering hell that was the cartel's refining rooms. Before she learned the machines required a great deal more than oil to power them, that they often demanded a sacrifice of her own sweat and blood. Before Sterling's stinging betrayal for which she was, to this day, reminded every time she caught sight of her reflection. Before all of that.
She was a mockingbird.
She had only to listen to a person. To watch for a little while before she could assume their manner. The lilt of their voice, the set of their shoulders. She tried vocabulary on until she found a bespoke fit. She code switched like it was nothing more than changing clothes. And she blended in.
It was what made her into the runner she had become. A runner that could move any amount of supply any distance, near or far, high or low. The Cartel’s darling. She would often say her success was due to the fact that people paid her no mind. But she worked hard to make sure they didn't. They looked past her because nothing about her was out of place. By design. Sterling often noted she seemed driven to prove something no one was asking her to prove. But she was hellbent on it, regardless.
With every successful run, came the grim satisfaction that sank its teeth in her. The vindication burning in her blood.
'I can do this.' A hundred times. A thousand. 'Just like I told you I could.'
