Texas weather tornado warning

Has University of Minnesota (Twin Cities) started rolling admits out for MSCS?
Also, how does it compare to NYU Tandon and Texas A&M (MCS)? I know Minneapolis winters are harsh, but apart from the weather, are there pros and cons for these unis?

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Griger Kel-Am watched from his cell in the old town jailhouse as workers busily erected a scaffolding in the courtyard below. It was shaping up nicely, he thought with an appreciative nod; the skeletal beams reminded him of the bones of dead animals in the Karel Desert and that comparison almost disturbed him.
Which was no easy feat. Griger had seen the worst the world had to offer. He fought beasts in the Staygin Mountains, fended off feral bandits in the Jarel Plains, and weathered more attacks, fights, battles, and death than most people even knew existed. Nothing on earth could rattle him. He couldn’t afford to let himself be shaken. Life, he had learned, was like a surging storm tide. You either stand strong against it, or you get knocked down and swept away. Griger refused to be swept away. He refused to wind up like the old bones he stumbled across on the North Road and in the snowy stepps at the top of the world. A man must be hard and stoic to survive, and he must be harder and colder to thrive.
Despite his grizzled face, many scars, dead eyes, and unseemly facial hair, Griger, a sword for hire since before the Great Plague, had always thrived.
Sighing, Griger left the window and walked over to the door; three brisk paces. He threaded his arms through the bars and tried his best to look up the corridor. In the cells across from him, other men, their faces dirty and white, cowered, waiting for their judgement.
Their open fear disgusted Griger.
Cowards.
Griger wasn’t afraid to die. Dying was easy; you closed your eyes and went to sleep. Living...living was hard, every day a knock down, drag out fight for dominance against something. Outlaws, nature, your own inner darkness. He did not seek death, but he welcomed it. The prospect of a noose tightening around his neck, of his body jerking and dancing before many jeering eyes and spitting mouths, however, almost bothered him.
But as a wise old man he once knew had said, This too shall pass.
A sardonic smile touched Griger’s chapped lips and he shook his head like a man who couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Of all the things he’d done in his life to deserve a hanging, self-defense is what did him in. Ha.
Two weeks ago, he was following the river from the North, on foot and alone save for his sword and his rucksack. He stopped at a tide pool to drink, and was beset by a man with a knife. In his frock coat and rubberized boots, he was too well dressed to be a highwayman; he never spoke a word until he lay in the grass, his throat laid open and gushing rich red blood. “Scoundrel,” he gurgled.
Griger relieved him of his boots and pocketbook and carried on. Before dusk, he came across the village and rented a room at the inn. Women in cheap, homespun dresses haunted the halls, knocking at doors to sell their company, and Griger, lying in bed by the flickering light of a lamp, was considering spending the rest of the money on one when three constables broke down the door.
The man he killed, they told him later, was the son of the mayor. At that moment, Griger knew he was in trouble.
They refused to believe that the son attacked first and pointed to the things Griger had taken from his as proof of overland piracy, theft, and murder. He was tried in a packed courtroom and found guilty, standing tall and proud but alone as no lawyer in the land would take his case.
Out in the courtyard, someone shouted, and a team of horses neighed, Griger, sitting on the edge of his cot, looked up at the window. The light was getting weaker as night approached. Shadows, long and black, fell through the slats and made unwholesome shapes across the earthen floor. Down the hall, a man cried out for water, and elsewhere, someone raked a metal cup back and forth across the bars. Would they hang him tonight, Griger wondered, or would they wait for dawn?
“You,” someone spat.
Griger looked up to find the mayor standing at the bars, his bloated face filled with hatred. Another man was with him, this one taller and thinner. They were both clad in the finest garments, but the stranger was undoubtedly better suited. Griger took him for a government official.
“What do you want?” Griger asked, an edge in his voice.
The mayor opened his mouth to speak, but the stranger silenced him. “My name is Urick Farbin. I’m the governor of Ezk Province and I have a proposition for you.”
“What’s that?”
Farbin flashed a tight smile.
It looked to Griger like he wouldn’t be hanged at all.
And that made him smile.
***
Griger watched the countryside pass slowly by, all green hills, trickling brooks, and dense thickets. The occasional straw hut loomed out of the wilderness like an antsy thief, and six miles out of the village, they passed a stately manor house that could only have belonged to the mayor.
It was mid-afternoon and the overcast day wrapped itself around Griger like a wet blanket. The previous night, Governor Farbin sprang Griger from his cell and brought him to the inn, where he was kept under armed guard. Griger spent most of the evening in a straight back chair and whittling. You don’t have to worry, he said to the sentry standing at the door, I’m not going anywhere.
And he wasn’t. He was not an honor bound man by any stretch, but Farbin saved his life, and Griger reckoned that earned him a little loyalty.
The guards didn’t stand down, but Griger didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have either.
In the morning, they set off in a horse drawn carriage, heading northwest along the Western Road. Now, hours later, Griger sat next to the Governor, who wore a dark cloak and wide-brimmed hat befitting his office. Beside him, the driver held the reins and stared ahead with the practiced indifference of a man used to tuning out things he wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Will you explain to me what I’m doing?” Griger asked.
Farbin was quiet for a moment, then he looked up at the sky, the muted light bathing his craggy features. “Your file says that you’ve done work for the Government.”
“Some,” Griger replied.
“You’ve handled things of a singular nature,” the old man continued. “Things that most other men have never dreamed possible.”
Gringer nodded. He had. His only oath was to himself, and he worked for whoever paid him the highest sum. Men like him were called mercenaries but he preferred to think of himself as a businessman.
“There’s a matter in a nearby village that has been ongoing for quite some time,” Farbin said, picking his words carefully. “I have sent my best agents and they’ve done nothing for it. When the paperwork on you came to my office, I checked your name, as I do all condemned men, and knew at once that you were the man for this job.”
Griger was almost touched. “What’s the job?”
The Governor turned to face Griger, his expression bloodless and sober, as though he had something great yet terrible to impart upon him. “Do you believe in werewolves?”
“Yes,” he said, “I do.”
“Have you ever killed one?”
Griger hesitated. “No,” he said, “not personally, but I was with a party that did.”
Five years before, Griger wintered in a village among the steep foothills guarding the forbidding expanse of Mount Grez. In the deepest, darkest days of the freeze, local livestock began to die, ripped asunder and strewn across snowy fields like trash. Wolf tracks larger than any Griger had ever seen led to and from each scene, and at night, high, ghostly howls rose above the shrieking wind, curdling the blood of even the most sturdy men.
After a watchman on patrol was attacked and gutted in the main square, the men of the village banded together and tracked the beast, eventually cornering it in a cave near a frozen river. Even if he lived to be a thousand, Griger would never forget the monster they encountered. Seven feet tall, coated in matted gray fur, its face canine yet human, its eyes blazed with the fires of hell, and as the men approached, it snapped and snarled, the sounds it made so close to words that even now, Griger wondered if it were trying to speak. They beset it with swords and torches, and when the dust settled, five men were dead and three were wounded. The wolf lay crumpled on the ground, decapitated and aflame. Even with no head, even with its heart divorced from its body, it screeched as the fire consumed it, a high, hitching wail that haunted Griger’s dreams for many moons after.
Farbin nodded. “I figured as much. A man as well-travelled as you has to have seen such things.”
He went on to explain that a suspected werewolf was loose in the countryside around the village of Koreth, a tiny fishing port on the sloped and muddy banks of the Rey River. Three weeks before, sheep and horses began to turn up dead, their bodies laid open and their intestines pulled from their stomachs. Before long, travellers along the Western Road started to die in a similar manner. Every time a new victim appeared, officials found large wolf tracks and strands of fur nearby.
Several nights ago, it broke into the home of a land baron and killed him, his wife, and his daughter. His young son survived, but was blinded in one eye.
‘It was a massive beast,’ the boy told the Governor, a personal friend of the baron. ‘It stood seven feet tall, was as wide as it was long, and had the snarling face of a man mixed with a dog.’
“You want me to kill it,” Griger said. It was not a question.
“Yes.”
The carriage jostled as its big wheels splashed through ruts and puddles. “And in return…?”
“You’ll get a full and unconditional pardon.”
Hmm. Griger considered the offer carefully, even though he was in no position to bargain. “Alright,” he said at last, “I’ll do it.”
They arrived at the village three hours later. Perched on the banks of the lazy river, it seemed a single estate rather than a town. A stone wall, roughly a dozen feet high, enclosed it, pitched roofs visible beyond. Two guards in helmets and chainmail, swords on their hips and crossbows in their hands, stood at the gate, their expressions stony and as hardscrabble as the fields sloping away from the walls.
Inside, tiny buildings lined narrow dirt streets and people in plain, homespun clothes went about their business, pushing carts, hawking vegetables, and playing dice. Old men sat in canned chairs before the town pub and a group of boys chased each other back and forth through shadowed warrens, their faces smudged and weatherbeaten beyond their years. Chickens and pigs, both plump and hale, ran free, the former flapping their impotent wings and the latter snorting happily as they wallowed and shat. Griger spotted a blacksmith in his quarters, striking an anvil with a hammer, and wondered idly if he had any interesting items for sale.
“The people here are stubborn and refuse to flee,” Farbin said.
Griger faced forward. “These types usually are.”
“You are not to worry about their safety,” Farbin warned. “They can see to themselves. Your only concern is to be the wolf.”
“Understood.”
The driver parked near the town inn and tied the horse to a hitching post while Griger and Farbin got out. Griger rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders. After so many years of walking wherever he went, he was unaccustomed to sitting for long periods and inevitably ended any long, stationary trek sore.
Past the batwing doors, a shadowy lobby lit by candlelight greeted them. Farbin led Griger directly up the stairs and to a tidy room with a single, neatly made bed and a desk beneath the window. “These are your quarters,” Farbin said.
“Spacious,” Griger said unsarcastically. He sat on the edge of the bed. “What leads do you have on this wolf?”
“None beyond what I’ve told you,” Farbn said. “My men have scoured the countryside but they haven’t found a thing.”
Griger hummed. “No tracks? Droppings? Nothing at all?”
“Not beyond what I’ve told you.”
That was odd. Werewolves rarely strayed far from their den. Unless they were of the rare half-breed that turned upon the cycle of the moon, man at day and beast by night. But those were as common as an honest man in the High Council - not very damned common at all.
“What are you thinking?” Farbin asked.
Griger said what was on his mind.
“But those aren’t real,” the Governor said, a hint of confusion in his voice.
“I tell you they are.”
Farbin’s brow furrowed with incredulity. “A man cannot simply change his form, nor can a wolf, for that matter. It goes against all logic.”
All Griger could do was spread his hands. That a man - even a large one - could transform into a werewolf (and that a werewolf could shrink back to the size of a mere man) did defy logic. Griger could not account for it, but he knew it to be so, and he said as much. Farbin, shaken by the confidence in Griger’s tone, nervously scratched the back of his neck and looked constipated. “Put aside what you think you know and ask yourself. What if it is a wolf-man?”
“But what if it isn’t?” Farbin countered.
Griger ticked his head to the side in acquiescence. “Maybe it’s not. Maybe your men have failed to uncover a den large enough to house a seven foot tall monster. Maybe they’ve been looking up each other’s backsides instead of where they should be.”
A dark shadow flickered across Farbin’s face. “My men are highly trained and highly skilled.”
“That’s why you came to me.”
Farbin fumed. “I came to you because you have experience in such things.”
“Right,” Griger said. “I do. And I’m telling you - in my expert opinion - that if there is no den, the wolf is a changeling. I cannot explain the science behind how and why it is a changeling. I don’t know how it can happen...but it does. You have to consider the possibility that you are looking for a phantom, that your wolf may be out there right this second ploughing a field or herding sheep and not asleep in a cave waiting to be found and made.”
Farbin turned away and put his hands on his hips. No shoulder had ever been colder, and for a second, Griger thought the old man was going to send him back to the gallows. “Alright,” Farbin finally said, “suppose it is a half-breed. What then?”
“I want to see where the latest attack happened.”
A half an hour later, Griger and Farbin stood before a large stone house with a slate roof and wide windows. A dirt drive looped around an ornate fountain and tall trees rustled in the new breeze. Several Provincial Guardsmen accompanied them, all with swords and crossbows and one, the commander, with a rare flintlock on his hip. Farbin led Gringer to the west side of the structure. “The wolf came in through the servants’ entrance,” he explained. A set of paw prints led to the door and Gringer knelt to study them. Roughly half a foot apart, they were slightly larger than any other he had seen.
Inside, the house was dark and cold, shadows clustered in corners like demons waiting for the fall of night to advance their ghoulish aims. Dried blood stained the wooden floors and spackled the bare walls. “Has anyone seen this creature and lived but the boy?”
Farbin shook his head. “No.” His face was white and strained, the somber, funeral atmosphere affecting him.
“You’ve told me everything?”
“Yes.”
Griger nodded to himself. If the wolf were a changeling, someone, somewhere likely would have seen it coming or going. That was a strike against his theory. On the other hand, there were likely dozens of isolated farms and homesteads scattered through the surrounding countryside. The wolf could be anyone from anywhere.
“I want to talk to the locals,” Griger said as he and Farbin walked back to the carriage.
“Right.”
“I’ll also need a team of men at my disposal,” Griger said. “And a sword.”
They were sitting across from each other in the carriage’s enclosed cab. Without, the sky was beginning to cool to purple and evening gloom stealthy crept from the forest. “We’ll get you one.”
“It must be made with silver,” Griger said.
Farbin frowned. “Silver is a poor alloy for sword-making.”
“But it’s the only alloy for werewolf killing,” Griger said. “It shouldn’t be made entirely of silver, but there must be some in it, the more, the better.
Farbin nodded that he understood.
By the time they made it back to the village, full dark had fallen. The streets stood deserted, the animals locked up for the night and most of the people hunkered in their homes. A few guards walked the lanes and dooyards, bows and swords at the ready, and a stray cat with no tail slunk furtively between piles of refuse, its ears laid flat against its skull and its fur matted and crisscrossed with scars from battles past.
The only activity was at the pub attached to the inn, where lights burned in the segmented windows and the chatter of many voices drifted into the street, occasionally flaring in laughter or song. Apparently, those hearty souls refused to let a wolf stand between them and their end-of-day festivities.
Griger’s respect for them increased.
Before entering, Farbin and Griger called on the blacksmith, a burly man with a bald head and a mustache that reminded Griger of walruses he had killed and eaten at the top of the world. Griger explained his need and impressed upon the man a sense of urgency. “I need it as soon as you can possibly have it ready.”
The blacksmith nodded gamely. “I’ll have it by dawn.”
Farbin took out his purse and paid, then they made their way to the inn.
Inside, a roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth and lamps on the walls sent shadows flickering across the floor. A dozen men sat at the bar with stines of beer and a half dozen more occupied the many tables in the middle of the room. A barkeep kept the drinks flowing while a pretty waitress with her blonde hair done up in an elaborate braid like a golden tiara brought trays of beer and pretzels to the tables.
Griger and Farbin sat at an empty table near the fireplace and Farbin removed his gloves. “Men will make merry even while the world burns around them,” he mused.
“Why not,” Griger said, “they can’t do it in the grave.”
The women came over and they ordered a pitcher of beer and a sandwich each. While they waited, Griger went to every man one-by-one and asked them about the wolf. They responded, to a man, with an eye roll or a dismissive laugh. None were worried in the slightest. One man lifted his brow in a pitying sort of way and looked Griger up and down as though he were mad. “Werewolves? Why, those were banished from the Realm centuries ago, it’s all much ado about nothing.”
“It’s a big wolf,” the barkeep said, “and dangerous too, that much is fact. But it’s a lot of hysteria. People today are too goddamn soft. In my time, we had wolves and bears too. If they acted out of line, we hunted them down and cut their heads off.”
The last man Griger came to was a wispy, white-haired oldster with rheumy eyes and three days’ worth of stubble covering his angular chin. Baggy brown clothes, old and wrinkled and caked in the dirt of the field, hung slack from his scrawny frame, and his long, spindly fingers threaded through the handle of his mug like fleshless bone. If Griger had ever seen a man who bore the official title “Town Drunk” he wouldn’t look the part any more than the old man.
Before Griger could ask him a single question, he spoke in a rusty voice that conjured images of graveyard gates in the dark Province of Helem. “I seen it,” he said, “and it weren’t no regular wolf neither.”
The barkeep sniffed. “You see lots of things, Sel. Like them little pink elephants.”
A wave of mean-spirited laughter ran through the bar, and Sel’s jaw clenched. Griger sensed that Sel was often made sport of at the bar.
Ignoring the other, Griger asked, “You’ve seen it?”
Sel nodded and held up three fingers. “Thrice, in fact,” he said with a belch.
“Tell me.”
The old timer looked up at him with a twist of suspicion. “Down by the road leadin’ up,” he said.
“All three times?”
“All three times,” Sel confirmed.
Once a mason, Sel had moved to the village ten years before to try his hand at farming, he explained. His homestead, comprising five acres, a tumbledown barn, and a decomposing shack masquerading as a house, sat below the walls, in a hollow between the hill and the river. Many nights, he sat on the front porch and “communed with the King” (King Rum, Griger assumed). From that perch, he witnessed “The damned beast” loping toward town. “The first time, I seen’t it over in the road,” he said, pronouncing road as rud. “I have good eyesight and I knew right off it weren’t normal, so I jumped outta my chair and ducked down real low so ways he couldn’t see me.”
Sel couldn’t provide a description of the wolf beyond “near eight damn feet tall and built like a mountain” but Griger didn’t need one. The old man’s story supported his supposition that the wolf was coming from somewhere else and not a den in the hills. Why would it come down the middle of the road each time? The only thing to the south was the river and open fields dotted by stands of forest, all of which Farbin’s men had already searched.
Werewolves are nocturnal creatures who sequester themselves somewhere dark and dry during the day. Farbin’s men should have found it by now. That they hadn’t suggested that it was a changeling.
Thanking Sel for his help, Griger went back to the table and sat across from Farbin. “The baron’s house lies in the direction of the river,” he said, more to himself than to the Governor. “What of the other attacks?”
“Mainly in that area,” Farbin said, “why?”
“The changeling - and that’s what it is - comes from across the river. How many homesteads are there beyond the banks?”
“At least two dozen,” Farbin said.
Griger crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “I want your men, tomorrow, out there going door to door with garlic. Make everyone they come across smell it and anyone who sneezes is put under watch.”
The Governor looked stricken. “But...why?”
“Changelings are allergic to garlic,” Griger said.
Farbin pursed his lips in contemplation. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll have them start at first light.”
After dining, they adjourned to their rooms, Farbin on one side of the hall and Griger on the other. A team of six Guardsmen took up position in the empty saloon and kept watch, ready to roll out at a moment’s notice. Griger threw the window open and perched on the ledge, the night breeze washing over him and rustling his graying hair. He rolled a cigarette, lit it with the bedside candle, and looked up at the glowing face of the waxing moon. Tomorrow night it would be full and the changeling would be compelled to turn and hunt as the tide was compelled to crest. It could come tonight still, but unless it was killed, it would return tomorrow for certain, mad with bloodlust.
Well past midnight, Griger blew out the candle and retired. The mattress was far too soft and it took him nearly a half hour of tossing, turning, and muttering curses to himself to find a position he liked. Once he did, he fell into a light sleep from which he was aroused near dawn by a knock at the door. One of the guards informed him that the blacksmith was finished with his sword, and after dressing, he and Farbin went to collect it. Comprising a simple blade with a guard and a grip, it was far from the most opulent weapon Griger had ever wielded, but it was well-suited to his needs and fit comfortably in his hand.
Back at the inn, Farbin gathered every available man under his command, including the constable and his three deputies, and ordered them to sweep the countryside as Griger had suggested the night before. They showed no reaction despite their lord’s strange request, and departed in a single file line.
The saloon opened for breakfast at six and Griger and Farbin each had a plate of eggs, bacon, and beans. People began to drift in as they ate, Sel the Drunkard at the head of the pack. The maiden, who quartered somewhere upstairs, came down in a simple white dress beneath a waist apron, and Griger’s eyes tracked her as she carried out her functions. The dress - loose and high cut - revealed nothing of her bosom, but pulled tight across her bottom when she leaned over to set food and coffee in front of her guests. Their gazes met, and her eyes flicked quickly away like two timid minnows in a fish bowl.
She was beautiful.
She reminded him of someone.
His mind went back to the jagged mountains atop the world, to a little cabin where weary travellers waited out the snowstorms that raged sometimes for weeks in the winter. There, in one of the most isolated outposts of the Realm, lived a woman Griger had known. She was tall and gaunt whereas the barmaid was average and healthy, her hair was black to the maiden’s blonde, but their eyes were the same breathtaking hazel. Now, staring at his plate, his chest stirred in a way that it hadn’t in years.
He didn’t like it.
“...else,” Farbin was saying.
“Yeah,” Griger said, as though he knew what Farbin had said. Now, the woman he loved one winter was on his mind and his mood was verging on foul. He recalled the way her hair brushed the creamy slope of her throat when she turned her head, the sound of her laughter, how her heels dug into his behind, urging him deeper unto her.
He was young, then, and a fool. People, he learned later, come and people go. Loving someone...indeed even hating them...was pointless, for in a breath of summer wind, they’re gone.
After finishing with breakfast, Farbin requested a metal tub be filled with water so that he could bathe. While he did that, Griger threaded his sword through his belt and walked down to the river, keeping his eyes open for wolf tracks. He spotted a few in the dirt edging the road, all pointing in the direction from which he had just come, and squatted down to examine one more closely.
Just before reaching the water, Sel’s farm appeared on the right, the main house seeming to sag in the middle as though under the burden of years and the field out back overgrown and gone to seed. The place looked as though it had died, come back to life, then died again. The screen door, which naturally hung askew, banged open, and Sel himself backed out butt first, a ceramic pot in his hands. He turned, saw Griger, and hesitated, then ducked his head and scurried down the stairs, disappearing around the side of the house Griger lingered a moment, then followed, tangles of grass pulling at his boots. In the back, a clear patch boasted several pots like the one Sel had come out with, each blossoming with an assortment of multicolored flowers. Sel knelt before one and heaped rich soil in with his hands. A gust of wind flipped his lank, white hair back and forth, and a satisfied smile played at the corners of his thin mouth.
“You garden?” Griger asked.
Sel shot him a dirty look. “I do,” he said, a defensive edge in his voice. He stopped, favored the flowers with a sober look, and added, “These plants are the only friends I’ve got.” He chuckled self-consciously.
“Plants seem like they’d make poor friends,” Griger said. “When the first frost comes, they leave you.”
Sel ticked his head to one side in acquiescence. “Tis better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.”
An image of the girl at the top of the world flashed across Griger’s mind, and for a moment he could feel, feel, her presence. “I don’t believe that,” Griger said. “Loss is hard for a man who’s known love.”
“Still better than never knowing it at all,” Sel said and got stiffly to his feet. He dusted his hands on his pants.
“You’ve never lost someone,” Griger said.
“You’ve never loved someone,” Sel countered.
Griger stiffened. Mouthy old bastard, yes I have.
“What do you want?” Sel asked.
“I wanted to ask you about the werewolf.”
Sel’s face crinkled. “I told you everything I know.” He started walking back to the front of the house, and Griger fell in beside him.
“Is there anywhere around here you think a werewolf might live?” Griger asked. “Caves? Dens? Anything.”
“There’s some caves about,” Sel said, “other than that, I can’t say.”
They were on the porch now, Sel holding the door open.
“Can you tell me your story one more time?” Griger asked. “Maybe it might jog something you forgot.”
Sel sighed. “I don’t have nothin’, okay?”
He started to go inside, but Griger stopped him. “Please?”
The old man looked at him, then sighed. “Fine. Come in.”
They sat in Sel’s tiny and cluttered parlor. The furniture was as old and threadbare as the man who owned it, and the simple walls were crowded with old photos, many of them featuring a smiling woman with dark hair. She looked nothing like the girl at the top of the world, but Griger was reminded of her anyway. “Your wife?” he asked.
Sel, seated in an armchair across from him, busied himself pouring Griger a cup of tea. “Yes,” he said shortly.
From his tone - and the woman’s absence - Griger inferred that she was dead. “I’m sorry.”
Sel’s hand shook as he pushed the cup across the table. “So am I,” he said.
“Children?” Griger asked.
“Three,” Sel said. “Two boys and a girl.” Tears crept into the old man’s faded eyes and he fixed his gaze on a point over Griger’s shoulder. Open displays of emotion made Griger uncomfortable, and he shifted in his seat, sorry that he had brought the topic up. “We were married thirty years,” Sel said. His lips trembled and Griger thought he was going to break down crying. Instead, he smiled. “Those were good years.”
Griger nodded to himself. “I bet.”
He must not have sounded convincing, because Sel creased his brow. “Are you married?”
“No.”
“Ever loved someone?”
“No.”
Sel looked at him with a frank directness that bordered on mind-reading, and though it wasn’t possible, Griger could almost imagine the old man was seeing into his mind...and his heart. “You’re a liar.”
Griger considered his reply for a long time. “When I was a boy,” he said. “I thought I was in love.”
“What happened?”
Perhaps the old man had cast some kind of pall over him...or maybe he was in a rare mood...but Griger heard himself answer honestly. “I left her.”
A heavy silence lay between them.
“You left her?”
Griger nodded. “I moved on. She had her ways and I had mine. I didn’t see us working.”
“You regret it.”
“Yes,” Griger responded instantly. “I wish I tried.”
Sel nodded understandingly. “All boys make mistakes. Some are just luckier than others, I reckon.” He laughed, his posture relaxing, and Griger realized he was starting to like the old bastard.
“True,” he said. “Now your story…”
Sighing, Sel lifted a hand. “I don’t have much ways else to say.” He ran through his story just as he had before, with no additions or subtractions.
Griger nodded that he was satisfied, and got to his feet. “That’ll be all.”
Sel walked him to the door and stuck out his hand. “That damned thing’s a monster,” he said as they shook, “you watch yourself.”
“I can handle a werewolf,” Griger assured him.
Later on, after returning to the inn, Griger and Farbin rode out to meet the men on the other side of the river, catching up to them at a fork in the road. “No one’s sneezed or broken out, sire,” Farbin’s second-in-command, a tall, rodent-faced man, reported.
“Expand the dragnet,” Griger said.
Rat-face looked at Farbin for confirmation, and the Governor nodded.
They would find the wolf...or the wolf would find them.
Griger wanted the former, but would settle for the latter.
If he had to.

WARNING
(There will be some depiction of violence/murder)
Before we begin I would like to thank my friend/editostory writer ~ u/Apple-pi-1016 ~ for the amazing help in the creation of this short story this wouldn't have been completed without them.
Now I hope you enjoy dear reddit readers.
London's past story (3rd Person POV)
~September 8, 1980, ~
BEEP BEEP BEEP
The sound of an alarm rang through London’s ears at the early hours of the morning. London slammed her alarm clock shut and groaning. She sat up on her bed and rubbed her blue eyes since the sunlight was coming through her window. “London! Are you awake?” London’s mother asked from outside of her room.
“Yeah…,” London answered lowly, her voice hoarse because she just woke up. “Alright, get ready and come down for breakfast. Deidamia will be over in a few,” her mother said and then walked back downstairs to the kitchen. London’s eye was now fully open and she looked at the clock, which hung above her head, and read 7:10 A.M. London got out of her bed and did her usual morning routine, which consisted of brushing her teeth, washing her face, putting on her clothes, and going downstairs to eat the breakfast her mother prepares for her.
“Thanks, mother,” London said as she sat down at the dining room table, where her mother placed a plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and a glass of orange juice.
“No problem, honey. Today’s on the warmer side so I suggest taking advantage of it since warm weather rarely comes in September,” her mother said, patting her daughter’s beeline-honey hair that she inherited from her.
“Mm, I can already assume Deidamia would want to play today-,” London said after taking a sip of orange juice but was cut off when the doorbell rang.
“Cecile, can you check to see who is it?” London’s mother asked Cecile, the house’s maid, kindly.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Cecile answered with her soft voice. Cecile’s average-sized figure walked over to the door and looked through the peephole and saw the usual 2b type, ginger-haired and hazel-green-eyed girl known as London’s close friend, Deidamia. “It’s Deidamia, Ma’am,” Cecile said.
“Let her on in,” London’s mother said and Cecile opened the door for Deidamia, the girl running inside and engulfing London into a big hug. “Whoa-, what got you so excited?” London asked, looking at Deidamia with a smile. “Nothing, good weather puts me in a good mood. Hey! We should go play later on!” Deidamia yelled excitedly.
“Okay, okay. No need to yell, we can go play after school,” London chuckled and Deidamia let go of her.
“Okay then, let’s go~,” Deidamia said, dragging London out of the chair and to the front door, letting London grab her backpack. “See you, Mrs. Winsley! I’ll bring your daughter back nice and safely~.”
London’s mother giggled at her daughter’s friend and waved at the two 16-year-olds. The two girls then left London’s house and made their way to their school, Winter Bay Academy. It was an above-average school but it’s better than most schools in the neighborhood considering that schools in America for the past two decades have resulted in poor education, so London was grateful to be attending a good school with good friends.
The two girls made it to school by 7:50 and went straight to homeroom, which is where the rest of London’s friend group came in. The second London and Deidamia walked inside their homeroom, her other friends, Melody (theater student), Eden (fashion student), and twins Nina and Zina (music students), all grabbed London and dragged her to her seat, leaving Deidamia to stand in the doorway, a little surprised. London looked back at Deidamia and gave her an apologetic smile which basically said, “Sorry for leaving you, I promise we’ll hang out later.” Deidamia returned the smile and sat down in her seat, which was far from London and her friend group, but once London looked away and focused on her friends, Deidamia’s smile turned into a scowl.
Unbeknownst to London, or anyone else for that matter, Deidamia was actually jealous of her. London easily got along with people and had a positive vibe, which is what attracted people to her. Deidamia, though, happened to be a close friend to London, who was friends with a good amount of people, which often left Deidamia in the shadows whenever London was in the presence of other students. Deidamia didn’t actually hate London, but extreme jealousy can make anyone act without thinking twice. For the rest of the school day, Deidamia got a hold of London since they’re both visual art students so London got to be around her close friend. During their lunch break, London went to the cooking department section in the school and made some delicate sweets for Deidamia as an apology for leaving her alone often. By the time school ended, Nina and Zina invited London and Deidamia to play in the Abelia Forrest, which is to the west of their school. Both girls accepted the offer but London wanted to quickly run to her house and bring her dog, Ruby (who is a Border Collie with a mix of Groenendael).
So as London ran home to grab Ruby, Deidamia waited outside of the forest while the rest of London’s friends were already inside. She knew exactly how this would play out. London and her friends will probably play a game of Hide & Seek, with London completely abandoning the game since she loves nature and will, one-hundred percent, wander off with Ruby. Thus, making this the perfect time for Deidamia’s plan to go into action.
About 15 minutes passed and eventually, London came Deidamia, who waited patiently outside of the forest. She had Ruby with her and the small container of sweets that she made for Deidamia earlier. Deidamia looked at the sweets with an unamused face when London held it out for her. “Sorry for always leaving you alone, I just don’t know what to do when a group of people comes to me,” London apologized with a sweet smile. Unexpectedly, Deidamia smacked the container out of London’s hands, making it drop and all of the sweets pour out all over the ground. This surprised both London and Deidamia, the latter unknowingly let out a little bit of anger. “Oh crap-, I am so sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” Deidamia quickly apologized, dropping onto the ground to clean up the mess. London just smiled and said, “It’s okay. It was an accident.”
She helped Deidamia clean up the sweets and then walked inside the forest to meet the rest of London’s friends.
“Finally! Cute dog,” Melody said, petting Ruby softly and smiling.
“Okay! We’re playing hide & seek, cause, why not,” Eden said and the group of six determined that Deidamia would be the seeker while everyone else hid.
While Deidamia began counting to 20, she paid close attention to the sound of London’s footsteps, which was accompanied by Ruby’s bell on her collar. Once she finished counting, she deduced that London and Ruby ran east, which is the direction of a riverbank and where many Scorpion grasses, Alaska’s state flower, resides. Those will definitely catch London’s eyes considering the flowers are a vibrant, light blue color.
“Okay! Ready or not, here I come~,” Deidamia shouted, assuming everyone heard her. She immediately began heading east and saw London’s footprints, along with Ruby’s, in the dirt. Just as she predicted, London was sat against a tree (which was on a small hill), admiring the riverbank and the many scorpion grasses alongside it. She also had her backpack next to her and Ruby’s head on her lap. The sunlight was beaming on her face, making her bright hair and eyes stand out more. There was a smile on her face and she had a sketchbook and a pencil out, drawing the scenery she was admiring. The sight of London’s beautiful figure almost made Deidamia gasp but she resisted, knowing that she was already too far into the plan to let it backfire now. She was already 10 years into being in London’s shadow and, quite frankly, 10 years is a lot of time to hold in immense amounts of jealousy.
After recollecting her thoughts, and making sure she was out of the others’ sight, Deidamia pulled out a knife from her backpack and slowly crept up on London from behind, ready to strike, but London could hear Deidamia’s footsteps, making her look back at Deidamia and immediately dodge the incoming blow that was supposed to be for her forehead. London rolled down to the riverbank, abandoning Ruby and her art supplies, and stopped herself from going inside the water. “What the-, what are you doing?!” London asked, eyes widened at the sight of Deidamia walking near her with a knife.
Ruby quickly ran in front of London and barked viciously at Deidamia, who chuckled at the dog and kicked it to the side, making London shook. She tried to stand up but quickly realized that when she rolled down the hill to the riverbank, she must’ve sprained her right ankle. So, using the energy she had, she began dragging her body away from Deidamia, who was taking her sweet time with every step she made towards London. London then hit her back some something hard and realized it was a big rock that she knew she wouldn’t be able to get around unless she got up and ran.
Once again, she tried to stand up but it was to no avail. Deidamia finally stood in front of London and looked down on her with a mocking smile. Needless to say, London knew that her time on Earth was over. Deidamia crouched down to London’s level and cocked her head to the left, holding the knife in front of London’s white face. Then, she grabbed a fistful of London’s hair and slammed her head against the rock with full force, making the latter pass out instantly, at least to Deidamia.
Without any more hesitation, and because she wanted this to be done and over with, she plunged the knife into London’s chest, watching as blood began seeping through the knife and only London’s clothes; a light grey and oversized sweater, white skirt, and white converse sneakers. She then took the knife back out, watching more of London’s blood dye her clothes, and her body lay onto the ground, and quickly wiped the knife with a cloth she kept in her backpack. She set the knife down on the rock and smiled at London’s figure.
She then saw Ruby stand back up and run to London’s body, whimpering and whining at her. She was then surprised to see London’s fingers raise when Ruby nudged her head in London’s fingers, meaning London was still alive. Seeing as the blood was still spilling, Deidamia knew that London would bleed to death so she thought to just let the girl have her last moments with her dog that she loved so much. London’s eyes were hardly open but she could see Deidamia looking down on her. With only so much to say, she weakly said, “S-So this is how I end? By my own f-friend.”
Deidamia raised an eyebrow at London and then said, “Yeah, I won’t have to put up with your existence anymore. You’re the past now.” And with that, London’s eyes stopped sparkling and her heart stopped beating. Ruby’s cries became more noticeable and Deidamia knew she had to act fast. She ran back up the hill and past London’s sketchbook. Out of curiosity, she decided to take the sketchbook and place it into her backpack, deciding there might as well be, at least, one piece of London’s existence left on the planet.
After placing the sketchbook inside the backpack, she quickly ran away from the scene and, using her best acting skills, began to scream for London’s friends to come out. She even began to fake cry as London’s friends all came out and ran to her. She quickly explained that London was stabbed by some mysterious person and that she found her lying dead while playing Hide & Seek. She showed them London’s body and while everyone was mourning, she had called the police.
To simply put, Deidamia got away with murder. That night, she went into the police station, explained her side of the story (of course, it was all lies), and the police, stupidly, cleared her from being involved in the murder. She played the part too good.
Before going to bed, she pulled out London’s sketchbook and sat down on her bed. She flipped through it the sketchbook and saw all of London’s drawings/sketches. It mostly consisted of different moments in London’s life that she cherished; such as going to an amusement park with her mother, playing board games with her father, and even when she first met Deidamia. Deidamia then made it to the most recent sketch, which was created moments before London died. It was exactly what she thought it was, the view of the riverbank from where London sat beside the tree. But next to the sketch, there were words that were made with London’s elegant cursive. After reading what it said, Deidamia laughed bitterly to herself. She ripped the page out of the sketchbook and threw it right into the small bin that was next to her desk. She then turned off her light and laid down in bed, letting the words she just read sink in her head.
“Today, Deidamia is actually hanging out with my other friends. I know she's more introverted so it's nice to see her trying to open up to new people. I know it's hard for her but at least she's trying. I'm really happy to have a friend like Deidamia, who puts up with me and hangs around with me even when she's uncomfortable. She must be an angel sent to me after father passed away. I know there's not anything I can do to show my gratitude to Deidamia for always being there for me whenever I needed her so I decided to sketch this picture. She's a simple person and hopefully, she'll be happy with this picture. Anyways, thank goodness for a person like Deidamia, I'm fine with losing all my friends as long as I have Deidamia with me. She may not know it but she truly saved my life :)”

Anyone welcome!
Hey im Jonathan! I would love to meet new people from wherever to game, make jokes? Text, anything! Let me tell you more about me!
About me: I’m from Texas
I am LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 Friendly
Lover of memes
I love to watch sci fi/ fantasy movies the most. Favorite would be LOTR : The Two Towers. sci fi would be tron legacy.
I enjoy gaming a lot and would love to play with people. I play a lot of multiplayer games. I love stardew and halo the most, but i play zelda, mario, doom and a whole lot of other games so just ask me what else i play.
On my free time i like to write about fantasy short stories and Or about my days.
I like to go on walks of hikes depending on the weather.
I like to explore more of nature by heading into a nearby forest.
Music: i like daft punk and metallica.
Reading: i like to read young adult fantasy and non fiction books. Percy Jackson and The Mortal Instruments especially. And ACOTAR Too
I enjoy Studio Ghibli, Anime, and Marvel and Dc Movies
I have a couple of dogs if you want to see them, just ask me :)
Currently plan to work on my masters this fall!
Thats mostly everything from me but if you’re interested to learn more just ask!

I(27f) started renting a room in my apartment in August 2021 and had an awesome roommate. She had a work opportunity in another state so she moved out. My landlord considered me when picking a new roommate and we agreed on a girl who is new to the country but seemed really nice. She moved in September 2022 We hit it off immediately and became besties really fast. She is from Africa and didn’t have many clothes for cold weather and only had one winter coat. I love fashion and have over the years created a nice selection of outerwear. In autumn I lent her a denim jacket and a leather jacket when we went out. I told her she can borrow my things but she has to ask me permission. A couple times she messaged me to ask for a jean jacket while i was at work. (We have a coat rack in the common area) i told her for jackets she doesn’t need to ask. This was my biggest mistake. She started from that day wearing my jackets only(i never saw her wear her own) but then she started wearing my shoes too. We talked and i told her not to do that. I also moved my more expensive coats to my room. I bought 2 new jackets and told her since they’re new I don’t want her to wear them. In December I went to Mexico for new years. I packed last minute and left my room a mess. A guy i had been talking to wanted to pick me up from the airport and I didn’t want him to see my room so I asked her if she can just tidy up. She agreed cause she knew how much i liked this guy. She messaged the landlord to open my room and she cleaned so well. I thanked her so much cause she went above and beyond. Then I realized she took a couple of my clothes and a makeup mirror along with all my makeup brushed and eyeshadow palette and put them in her room. This pissed me off but eventually i got my things back. One day i came home to find my tv was not in the living room and I panicked then I saw she had moved it into her room when her boyfriend came over. At this point we had been having other issues going on and she became cold and shut me off. This really hurt because we were supposed to be friends and she wasn’t even talking to me. She returned the tv to the living room that evening but she kept doing this every few days where she’d take it for the night. I was so pissed that I thought “well since it is my tv I guess I can also move the tv to my room”. I went to work and locked my room, mainly to be petty and returned it the next day to make a point. We agreed the tv stays in the living room. We used to work at the same restaurant but her work permit is on hold so she hasn’t been working since mid January. She came to visit me at work last month. Everyone was happy to see her. She has a habit of provoking me in front of other people and trying to get a reaction. And somehow the tv topic came up when we were surrounded by our friends. She said “you locked your room with the tv inside” i said “my tv” she and everyone was surprised then I mentioned how she took the tv without asking and I thought we were robbed. Her reply was “was I supposed to ask?” everyone went quiet and then one of our work friend said ok just kiss and makeup. But she is so entitled “I’m supposed to ask?” Obviously like wtf. The real issues started about a month ago. She told me her mum is coming to visit next month and will stay with us. I am not comfortable with that but I understand so I didn’t say anything. (Ik im a pushover but whatever) Last month one of my friends asked me if she can crash at my place for 4 days. So I asked my roommate and she said no. She said she wasn’t comfortable with that. I pushed but she became angry and so I said fine dw about it and thought that was that. 2 days later i was getting ready for a party and asked her if she was coming. She IGNORED ME . I thought maybe she didn’t hear me so I texted her reminded her the party is today and the host really wants her to come. No reply. An hour before the party i messaged her that I was taking uber so if she wanted to come she could. She walked pass my room and I said hey are you going to the party? She ignored me again so i yelled hey! And she just shut the door. I was pissed so i went to the party. When people asked I said idk if she’s coming because she has been ignoring me all day. I didn’t say more. She showed up to the party an hour later and she was wearing my coat. I was so pissed. When she got drunk she started dancing with me and said we need to talk. There was a lot of yelling and we “made up” My friend who was aware of all the shit she’s been doing, came to pick me up but refused to drive my roommate. He even offered to pay for an uber but said she couldn’t come with us. She got so mad but honestly she deserved it. Last week her mum came to visit. I had no warning, roommate never told me she was coming that day or anything. It bothered me but I tried to be nice. Her mum made snarky comments about me but she is inconsequential so I didn’t bother myself. Since the day the mum left Saturday. My roommate hasn’t washed her dishes and its now Tuesday. I should mentioned that my roommate has washed my dishes many times before, but that was before she became an entitled bitch. Would I be an a-hole if i tell the landlord to tell my roommate to wash her dishes? I found out she is moving out temporarily by the end of the month and I’m scared she will take some of my things, so I asked her for my jeans back(i lent them to her in December and she has kept them in her room since then. She seemed annoyed when I told her I wanted to wear my own jeans. I don’t know what to do.

Trying to make sure I get ALL the parts for the job...
Shop quoted me a bit over 1500 to replace the ac system with a bad condensor. (2006 CRV). I know I could DIY it for less with some youtubing, but I want to make sure I don't skip anything. The Shop's list only has the compressor, condensor and the expansion valve on it. Idk if the person doing the write up missed parts.... my assumption would be, that if the whole system needs replacing if it's got metal shards spattered about.

• Compressor Kit w/ clutch
  • Expansion valve, dessicant bag, refrigerant oil, gaskets, o rings, cap and valve kit
• Consensor (is built in dryereceiver good or bad?)
• Evaporator
• High Line
• Low Line

I don't want to spend more than necessary, but absolutely don't want to do this twice or find out that I'm missing something when it's halfway apart. I feel like I'm already SOL, I have a small window of a few weeks tonget everything and put it all together before I need to leave for work. It's about a 12-15 hr drive and idk how hot it's going to get. On top of that, the guy said something felt off in the suspension that I've yet to figure out, and the check engine/vsa/exclamation warning came on on my way back from the shop. Ordered a new spool valve for that. Hoping the weather gets better to work on it and nothing else major goes wrong. Think that's enough rambling...ty!

It’s so odd because we all warned you this would happen but you didn’t listen you like to block people who tell you the truth because you like to hear bull shit sweet lies well now look where we are the ugly truth here’s the truth you and those people who donated enabled her weather you were aware of it or not but knowing you you were highly aware of it and played a part in her maci dying your the most vile bottom of the barrel human being I’ve ever seen in my life the lowest of the low honestly you thought you were gonna get sympathy on here WRONG it’s just gonna get worse from here on out because we know wtf type of person you we see through that mask you put on we see you for who you truly are a the coward narcissist pos let those people tell maci she wasn’t shit on the daily and then you wanted to act shocked when she didn’t want to be on TikTok anymore I wouldn’t either if I’m getting verbally abused every single time online then to have your funky ass on the side smiling with them ugly ass yellow teeth I would reach my breaking point to if I were maci being in that fuck up situation not only that you put hands on her you pos then you tried to gaslight her told your little friend Renee your just using her for the truck as if we didn’t fucking know everyone knew and you think that didn’t make maci feel a way all you did was just add on to her pain and misery and just made it worse honestly wish she never met you she probably still be alive maybe who knows at this point your the scum of the most scum I feel nothing for you your pathetic

Obligatory that this happened last Saturday. Possible trigger warning for those who are injury queasy. Apologies for any formatting errors or a giant paragraph because mobile.
Okay, so I got married last Saturday. Ceremony went great, my bride was gorgeous, and the weather held. Awesome. Cue the reception.
First dance, father daughter dance, and mother daughter dance went well. Then came the hora. For those that don’t know, the hora is essentially dancing around in a circle and usually involves the newlyweds being lifted in chairs. My wife was dumped out of a chair at her brother’s wedding and was very against chairs. That’s fine, but I love to hora and was going HARD. As the dance floor was kind of tame and not circling to my satisfaction, I grab my groomsmen and take off around the reception hall. I was essentially sprinting around tables covering at least 4 feet a step while dragging my two best friends around who had no idea what was going on as it was their first Jewish wedding. Again, I seriously love the hora.
That was my downfall. I took one bad step, my knee dislocated, and I hit the ground. As I lay there looking at my kneecap off to the side under my dapper tuxedo, guests brought me ice, found my new wife, and got me a doctor. My wife tells me to bite down on the ice pack, and my knee was popped back in to place. This happened over the span of about two minutes. I was helped to a back room to get ice on my knee and anti inflammatories into my system.
About 15-30 minutes later, I limped back in to the reception with ice wrapped around my knee to the Chicago Bulls theme song. You know the one. It was fitting as my wedding party was all wearing fly kicks. The good news is everyone had a great time and apparently the food/music/vibe was solid.
The bad news is we were supposed to go on our honeymoon yesterday which needed to be cancelled for now due to my softball sized knee. We instead got to go to our orthopedist to get my knee drained. Four and a half syringes of fluids later, it hurts less, but I’m still out of commission for at least four weeks. My bad honey.
TL;DR I danced too hard at my wedding, dislocated my knee, and we had to cancel our honeymoon. Whooooops.

A River Runs Through It: The 21st Century Case for Cleveland
Brooke C. Stoddard
The 19th-century case for Cleveland was compelling: terminus of a canal linking the southernmost point of the Great Lakes to the lower Ohio River valley and then east-west railroads that made Cleveland a hub for ship/road/rail transportation of iron ore, coal, kerosene and agricultural products.
The late-20th-century case was cruel: First, dealing with World War II production pollution; second, industrial companies sending manufacturing overseas.
But Cleveland is again well positioned. Consider the 21st-century case for Cleveland:
Living downtown. The downtown is attracting tens of thousands of people owing to reasonable housing, bike and walking trails, and much to do. Downtown housing is 91% occupied and $895 million in new residential construction is underway.[1]
Water and water quality. Cleveland enjoys a meandering river and one of the warmest of the Great Lakes.[2] Water quality of both is improving and is likely to continue improving. Businesses that require water can have all they want. The Cuyahoga River has become a sports river as well as an ore boat one. Kayaks and rowing shells ply the Cuyahoga now -- USA Today recently voted the Cuyahoga River the #1 urban paddling locale in North America[3] -- and all manner of sailboats skitter on the lake.
Weather. Summer weather is wonderful: average highs in the low 80s.[4] Spring and fall are spectacular. Of course, winters can be irksome, but with global warming, the trend is for milder temperatures. There’s an upside to winter anyway: it’s a good time to stay indoors and get things done, whether in a factory, in school, or at home.
Negatives make for an overarching positive. Huge swatches of the United States live in fear of: wildfires; hurricanes; tornados; floods; rising sea levels; droughts; heat waves; and earthquakes. Cleveland is virtually free of all of these. The area also has beautiful beaches but no sharks.
Arts -- The Big Four: The Cleveland Orchestra and the Cleveland Art Museum are generally rated among the best in the world; the Rock and Roll Museum is unique; Playhouse Square downtown is the largest performing arts center outside New York City[5] and boasts theaters of the dazzling “theater palace” variety (also, Playhouse Square’s new director just relocated from running London’s Albert Hall[6]).
Housing. Residents on the East and West Coasts would likely have to push their jaws back up after seeing the homes they could buy if they sold their coastal ones. Mansions can be had for $1 million. The average single-family house in the Ohio City neighborhood downtown is $275,000.[7] Of course, such bargains may not last.
Parks. More than 55 miles of parks and greenway swag east, south and west of downtown. Cleveland’s MetroParks, often ranked the #1 park system in the nation, comprises 18 reservations, 24,000 acres, 300 miles of trails and a terrific zoo. Just to the south is the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. There are 10 waterfalls in MetroParks property alone and at least a dozen more in Cleveland’s outskirts.[8]
Education. Case Western Reserve and Cleveland State universities are downtown. Baldwin Wallace and John Carroll universities are in the close suburbs. Nearby are Kent State University as well as Kenyon, Oberlin, Hiram, and Wooster colleges.
Manufacturing. As noted, there is plenty of fresh water and plenty of electricity. Owing to the colleges and universities in Cleveland and Northeast Ohio, the work force is well educated.
Sports. Major league baseball, football, and basketball. Cleveland is also a good skating, tennis, and golf metropolis. There are 10 ski resorts within 200 miles.[9]
Inclusion. Plenty of diversity. There are neighborhoods of blacks, whites, Eastern Europeans, Latinx, and Asians, all having festivals and ethnic restaurants.
Food. Plenty of agriculture nearby; good for Farm-to-Table
Government. The voters in 2021 scrapped business as usual to elect 34-year-old Justin Bibb as mayor. The future’s unknown but Bibb has plenty of ideas and lots of energy.
Resurgent downtown. Cleveland was prosperous during the 1890-1920 City Beautiful Movement. A city plan from those times heralds a mall lined with Beaux Arts buildings, themselves richly embellished inside and complemented outside with distinguished sculptures. Pleasant single-family homes are available in the Ohio City and Tremont neighborhoods; the Warehouse District has been converting to condos and apartments; “The Flats” district along the river offers evening activities. Bike and walking trails continue to increase.
Transportation. Light rail and buses connect neighborhoods; light rail runs from downtown to the airport; Amtrak wants to run more east-west trains through downtown to Chicago, Detroit and New York City, as well as speedy ones to Columbus, Cincinnati, and Pittsburgh. Hyperloop Transportation Technologies has suggested a Midwest network linking five cities that would reduce Cleveland-Chicago travel time to 28 minutes (not a typo).[10]
Festivals. There is no lack of parades, concerts, marathons, etc. In summer, the Orchestra plays for free in Public Square as well as at the National Park-nestled outdoor Blossom Center.
Library system. The Cuyahoga County Library system and Cleveland Library were rated #1 and #4 nationally for service last year by Library Journal.[11] The Cleveland Library has 31 branches in the city; its jewel in the crown is the Beaux Arts downtown branch.
Health care. The Cleveland Clinic has been ranked the best in the world after only the Mayo Clinic,[12] and ranks ahead of Mayo in cardiology.[13]
As real estate people like to say of an old home, “It has good bones.” Cleveland has “good bones” in the form of enviable assets. Will people and business respond? The door is open.
Brooke C. Stoddard lives in Alexandria, Virginia, is the president of The Cleveland Club of Washington, D. C., and the author of two books.
[1] Destination Cleveland
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[2] Destination Cleveland
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[3] https://www.usatoday.com/picture-gallery/travel/10best/awards/2021/04/23/urban-kayaking-10-best-places-paddle-according-readers/7356161002/
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[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cleveland#Climate
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[5] https://www.playhousesquare.org/about-playhousesquare-main/history
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[6] https://www.playhousesquare.org/news/detail/playhouse-square-names-mr-craig-hassall-am-as-new-president-and-chief-executive
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[7] https://www.redfin.com/neighborhood/150814/OH/Cleveland/Ohio-City/housing-market
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[8] https://www.clevelandmetroparks.com/parks/visit/ten-to-explore/2022/february
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[9]https://www.cleveland.com/travel/2017/12/where\_to\_ski\_near\_cleveland\_a.html\]
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[10] https://www.glhyperloopoutreach.com/
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[11] https://www.libraryjournal.com/story/ljx211213StarsByNumbers#30M
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[12] https://www.beckershospitalreview.com/rankings-and-ratings/25-us-hospitals-among-newsweek-s-100-best-in-the-world.html
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[13] https://health.usnews.com/best-hospitals/rankings

Not sure if this is the right place, but I've been thinking about ideas or mechanics for Pokemon games for a long time and feel I need to write it out and be done.
There has been a lot of talk about making these games for adults, or at least the idea of it in that regard, and I don't disagree per se, I like the idea of an age range or slider, where we can be between 10 and 21 or something. Even adding a body shape/height mechanic where we can change their height, muscle mass, fat, skinny etc.
One of the things I often want to see is different dialogue options or responses. We see this more in Scarlet and Violet when you do a large amount of damage against rivals. This happens when they get a critical hit on you or knock out one of your Pokemon. However, I would like different responses and options when you completely dominate or sweep an opponent's team. Even to the point of having relationship sliders where depending on how badly you beat opponents throughout the game depends on how they respond to you when they see you.
The ability to have your own gym and be challenged by trainers, or the ability to actually be an elite 4 member and have random people challenge you online or offline (NPC).
I know gym battles are a big thing, but I like the idea of consequences for gym leaders. For instance, if you beat them X amount of times, are they keep losing, they can be replaced by a trainer, or perhaps you can appoint new gym leaders and what their lineup might be. This can make the world more engaging, and if they stick with the open-world concept, other players can come to your world and challenge these different gyms.
Having your own base/gym/training area where you can train your Pokemon or have your Pokemon train instead of being in a box for 99% of the game (Like AJ's Sandshrew in the anime).
Being able to send your Pokemon to gather resources out in the wild like in V-Rising. Send teams out to address areas and gather resources. Resources like materials to make TM's or other things in your Pokemon base.
Incorporating different games into the world. Adding a mystery dungeon aspect, Pokemon Snap aspect, Trading Card Game aspect.
Having the world change as you play. Not just limited day-night scenarios, or weather like sunny days or rain. Include Pokemon taking over areas and needing to clear them out. Floods, tornados, earthquakes, etc and it turns out these are caused by different Pokemon and the player has to address them.
More than one enemy team. Team Rocket, Star, Bike Gangs like the Gen 1 series, and more. Keep the world alive and ever-evolving making the games almost infinitely playable.
We can make Pokemon "older" but we don't have to necessarily include murder and mayhem. Though seeing Pokemon hunt one another, as you would see in a wildlife documentary would be intense.
Anyway, those are the random ideas I've thought about.

This is in texas. thought I saw dealer filling out his end of paper work digitally. But when I completed mine and he scanned and copied it I didn't realize what he slipped in envelope to me and that I took home doesn't have finance manager signatures.
I am reading stories about people getting called later and being told they didn't really get the finance rate and such that they they signed off on, and suddenly they're stuck with higher payments. State AG office even warns against this as a reason to not leave without signatures.
My credit is great and this seems unlikely but, I am truly anxious that nothing we just went over is set in stone.

Hearts are broken by once thought love, family, friends, and society. I've been there, so I know how it is. We all have. Is it better to have loved for one intense moment and had it burn away or to have never happened at all? Do we mourn its end or celebrate that it happened at all? Hard to say isn’t it?
37/M although 38 in a few days. I am an Aires on the east coast who is also a hopeless romantic, sentimental fool, and looking for my monogamous soul mate to be with me and accept me and not be judged. Though I warn you now I expect to give the same and I expect us to share all things in our lives good or bad and if anything happens to talk to each other not to run to our friends who are maybe close but are always going to be outside our relationship. I also want to be able to just talk about how our days have gone, how we feel, how the weather is, and normal conversations as well. That’s how a team works and what I want. I am also shy because of life experience, I warmed up quickly in high school and was a prince there but retreated a bit after school and losing contact with my friends, recently reconnected with them and a handful I absolutely admire for their loyalty even after all the years. I hope to have my book published in 5 years but I expect not as I am always reading new research and refining plus I’m working on an ultra realistic map for it, I like making them. So I expect to just be on the middle but one day it will be completed, maybe a series not sure. I am an artist, graphic art and literature also a caregiver. My hobbies include as you guessed art, video games, RPGS, trivia, reading, some movies & TV shows. I’m a sweet, intelligent, compassionate, chivalrous knight who believes in truth, honor, love, family and am looking for a lady of my own. I guess that makes me a little old fashioned, but sometimes old fashioned is what we need. I'm a straight man who tries to be fair but I'm use to standing on my own, regardless of how hard the struggle even if sometimes its only by crawling, but I am my own man with a strong endurance. I don't do drugs or drink myself, never have not even after surgery or injury as I said I'm use to standing on my own and surviving so I need all my senses at their sharpest so I can make the best decisions on how to do that, plus I'm proud of just how strong I am, even more than I thought I was. I’m also a unique person. If you've seen Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Rings, I look kinda like Aragorn there perhaps a bit more like in Return of the King during Winter months. I might be willing to trade photos later after getting to know each other better. I got a heart of gold to give to the right lady, hopefully for eternity. Current songs: Lost in the Echo, Dark on Me. Got questions? Ask it’s how we learn. Maybe we can play the question game and learn about each other. I'm looking forward to hearing from you.
Any age 18+.
If you read this and would like to respond, DM me or chat but DM works better than chat for me usually, but please tell me your favorite color and age so I know you actually read this, ok? If I don't respond immediately, I'll be checking in later sometime so be patient please.

Side note: I'm an author and freelance writer in my passtime, so forgive me if this seems too fantastical. I remember everything that happens to me -when it's spiritual or traumatic- with peculiar clarity.
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Warning: Very Long!
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I've always been into the occult and witchcraft from a young age. Growing up with movies and shows like, The Craft, Practical Magic, Skeleton Key, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Tales from the Crypt and Goosebumps.
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I've been seeing ghosts from a really young age, the first spirit I ever spoke to was my mother's dead uncle form her remembrance. Hell, my mom even remembers being tormented by a ghost while she was pregnant with me. She had herself afraid to take photos because she could always see an old lady's withered hand reaching for her stomach, but no one else could.
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As a child, I even went through a brief point in time when I couldn't distinguish spirits from actual people, until I was told what ghosts were by my older sibling and cousins.
Sometimes it's like they would use me as a beacon, making me sit with them while they talked about ghosts and played with a ouija board.
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So by 8 years old I already knew what an ouija board was and that I could talk to ghosts using it.
It had been a long day in the middle of autumn in a small county outside of Fort Worth, Texas. I had just came inside the house from school and my sister started in on me. Neither one of us remember what the heck we were arguing about that made me so frustrated and angry, but I remember stomping to my room and slamming the door.
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I'm guessing I was really overwhelmed because I remember hating the hell out of that room and never liked being in it alone -sometimes falling asleep on the couch instead of my very comfortable bed.
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That room was always eerily dark no matter what time of day it was, thanks to the large bushes that grew outside the windows. It always felt empty and too large for my liking, I still have a fear of the dark and wide open spaces.
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But I closed the door anyway, didn't bother with the light and slammed myself face first onto my bed.
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I was a bit of a dramatic child.
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I then got the bright idea to use the fake ouija board I dug out the garbage after my sister and her friends trashed it and look for a friend who could scare my sister... It was funny to see her get all riled up after acting mean to me all the time.
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I scrambled to my dresser, a heavy mahogany one that's been passed down through 4 female generations - I still remember the tiny carved details in it that I liked to trace with my fingertips- and grabbed the candle I used when the power would go out. I lit it with a match and carried it as I squatted down to the ground and pulled the ouija board out from under my bed.
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I knelt on the parquet flooring of my room and placed my hands on the makeshift planchette which was an old glass jar that used to hold salt.
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"Hello. is there anyone here with me?" I asked aloud with hope in my heart.
The jar didn't move. I huffed in annoyance...
"Is anyone here with me?!" I practically squeaked.
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The jar shot to 'yes' while a shiver ran up my spine. I gulped, "Are you good?"
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'No'
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I gulped again, "I hate my sister, can you scare her?"
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'Yes'
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Suddenly, I heard my sister let out a scream followed by the slamming of the glass door to her room, which was the old garage.
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I dragged the glass jar to goodbye and ran out of my room, running into my mom and sister in the kitchen. My sister was practically hyperventilating as my mom held something close to her face.
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it was my sister digital camera. she was flipping between two pictures, zooming in and out.
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I peeked around the corner and my sister cried, "It's a face see?!"
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I giggled to myself before running back to my room and shutting the door before diving for the ouija board, "Was that you that scare dher?!" I asked a smile on my face.
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'No'
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"Huh? Are you a different spirit?"
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'Yes'
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"Really?"
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It moved away from the 'yes' then back.
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"Do you have a name?"
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It repeated the movements.
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"I'm M, What's yours?"
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'Sebastian' It spelled out.
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I smiled.
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I talked to Sebastian almost everyday, telling him about my days at school, the horrible things that would happen after our family get togethers -if I was forced to stay the night- and my favorite books or dolls. And in turn I found out he used to own the land our house is on, was around 30 years old, and used to have a dog like mine.
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On a particularly sad day I was crying during our session and asked to see him. He agreed and spelled out 'up'. I looked up near the closet I dreaded was a tall black silhouette. I gasped and it disappeared.
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My tears had dried up during our conversation that day and he was always there for me then on.
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A week before I had to move, he manifested to me in actual visual form.
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I could see him.
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Like really see him, he appeared to me shirtless---
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With shoulder length blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, sharp blue eyes, and standing at maybe 6 feet tall?
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He was sweet, attentive, and really cared about what I had to say...
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He did have a weird attraction to my curly hair... Like, dude couldn't be next to me without touching it and I could feel the touches too.
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Well, we had to move because whatever scared my sister was wreaking havoc on her so we had the house blessed and we moved. I thought Sebastian had moved on...
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Until--
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About a year ago I was living with my sister; we were a week away from being evicted from our apartment so we had to squeeze in at our grandmother's house. I stayed in the apartment as long as possible because I have a very bad pet allergy --my grandmother's house is a petting zoo with how many cats and dogs she has.
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Anyway, I was really stressed about where I would be going, how I would afford food, where my next job was gonna be, will I survive my grandmother's house --all types of things to make me overwhelmed. I went to shower the thoughts away, after calming down just a bit I got dressed. When I went to leave the bathroom, the door knob was yanked from my grasp.
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It has been about 14 years since the first time I met Sebastian and out of nowhere something yanked the door knob away from like he used to every time I'd wanna slam my door, knowing I'd get in trouble for it.
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It felt like he was there again, but I couldn't see him.
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I could feel his eyes on me, I could faintly hear his voice sometimes an I could still feel him touch my curls comfortingly.
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Did I create my own egregore at 8 years old or did I actually invite a spirit into my life?

Today's count was 87. The blocking-off of that one whole street (where I thought there was a fire or something) is still in place, only now the whole building is gone, so I guess it's an actual construction project, not just a building that had a bad fire. The shifter issue from Friday seems to have worked itself out, but I'm still going way faster than normal in the morning. Maybe it's due to the weather?
Perhaps it's due to fewer cars blocking the still-incomplete bike lane on the morning side of the commute. Today there were only ten, and a crew of workers using a power sprayer to clear debris from the bike-lane-to-be, and laying strips of some kind of material in the cleaned parts of it. There were two cars parked within sight of this activity, both plastered in tow-away warnings. I kind of want to print out a few of those and leave them on every car I see forever after, starting with the (very likely) 60+ I'll see in that very bike lane starting the day it's finished.

Today's count was 87. The blocking-off of that one whole street (where I thought there was a fire or something) is still in place, only now the whole building is gone, so I guess it's an actual construction project, not just a building that had a bad fire. The shifter issue from Friday seems to have worked itself out, but I'm still going way faster than normal in the morning. Maybe it's due to the weather?
Perhaps it's due to fewer cars blocking the still-incomplete bike lane on the morning side of the commute. Today there were only ten, and a crew of workers using a power sprayer to clear debris from the bike-lane-to-be, and laying strips of some kind of material in the cleaned parts of it. There were two cars parked within sight of this activity, both plastered in tow-away warnings. I kind of want to print out a few of those and leave them on every car I see forever after, starting with the (very likely) 60+ I'll see in that very bike lane starting the day it's finished.

Today's count was 87. The blocking-off of that one whole street (where I thought there was a fire or something) is still in place, only now the whole building is gone, so I guess it's an actual construction project, not just a building that had a bad fire. The shifter issue from Friday seems to have worked itself out, but I'm still going way faster than normal in the morning. Maybe it's due to the weather?
Perhaps it's due to fewer cars blocking the still-incomplete bike lane on the morning side of the commute. Today there were only ten, and a crew of workers using a power sprayer to clear debris from the bike-lane-to-be, and laying strips of some kind of material in the cleaned parts of it. There were two cars parked within sight of this activity, both plastered in tow-away warnings. I kind of want to print out a few of those and leave them on every car I see forever after, starting with the (very likely) 60+ I'll see in that very bike lane starting the day it's finished.

Better stock up on the essentials . Weather warning on Wednesday. More snow on the way. Be safe and stay warm.