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via Fleshbot (both links NSFW, of course).
As a collaborator, Aylo’s life should have been at risk every time he left his house. However, there were enough people- with enough influence- in the neighbourhood who knew the truth. He could even enter this darkest of the dock drinkeries without fear and talk to two of the toughest gang bosses. “I think he is conflicted.”
“He is a Southerner.”
“His mother was of the city, and he grew nearly twenty seasons here. I also think he is the type that is attracted to men, me in particular.”
“Pfah! That is the sort of arrogance that got your brother killed.”
Aylo struggled for a retort. The old man across the table put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I knew your husband. He was only doing what he thought was right.”
“We were lucky he was unidentified.”
“Maybe one day he will be recognised as a hero of the resistance.” Aylo offered weakly.
“As will we all, hopefully. What information do you have?”
Blessed with a photographic memory, Aylo could do without carrying incriminating copies around. “They are sending two hundred troops out onto the Plains to search for the people sabotaging the railroads.”
“Who is sabotaging the railroads?”
“I think they are chasing shadows. It removes troops from the city.”
The man nodded, “Anything else?”
“Paper and a scriber.” Both appeared from the woman’s direction. Aylo drew a plan of the marshalling yards. “There was a report, about an air raid in the mountains. At a training camp for mountain troops. There have been a number of air raids in the region recently. None of them knows what it means.” He circled the most vulnerable junctions, the ones where traffic was too high.
“Neither do I. If I did know, it would be unwise to tell it to one who walks into the enemy’s offices every day.”
“You are right. Of course.” Aylo downed his ale. “I am just inquisitive. There is talk of naval manouevres along the coast. The dredgers in the channel south of Stran are working double shifts. They only do that when the truly large ships are due in. I should go.” Aylo passed the paper and scriber back across the table. Turning to the woman, he finally asked, “How is my nephew?”
“He misses his father.” She looked directly at Aylo to add, “And his uncle.”
“Yes. Well….. With luck, this shall be all over soon.”
Last year I bought a couple of 1:32nd car models and started looking for figures to go with them. Finally, I’ve found some 54mm gangsters. El Viejo Dragon make two pairs of “Untouchables” figures, hard men with shotguns and a pair with distinctly Costner and Connery – ish looks.
If you’re only going to see one complex, wordy thriller this week make it Brick. I’m so glad we went to see this on Saturday night rather than joining the Da Vinci crowd.
It’s a given that teenagers speak a different language but the conceit of having it all noirish rather than endless “innits” and “whatevers” is a clever one. Made for what the DVC paid for doughnuts, it’s far better value for money.
Did you hear about this case? This guy was born out of wedlock, see, and his biological dad was some kind of lunatic cult leader who years before had ordered his followers to slaughter all their neighbors, right down to the babies in their cribs. The poor kid would never admit or deny that this insaniac was his dad, but his friends all knew it was true, and they thought it was pretty cool. One day when the illegitimate son was in his early 30s, the loony dad suddenly started taking an interest in him, but not in a good way… he had the poor kid tortured and killed just to satisfy his weird insatiable bloodlust. After the murder he started pretending to be nice to people and made a habit of inviting his dead son’s friends over for dinner every Sunday. He’d feed them meat from his own son’s corpse and fill their wineglasses with the kid’s blood! The police still haven’t caught up with him, and it’s been years and years now. Brrrr, gives me the shivers!
Caption to this picture, part of a collection from a walk around “Disgraceland”.
Whenever it rains a crop of umbrellas sprouts up on the corridor by the lifts.
Technorati tag: moblog
This could be the last day of my current contract. But I have to sit around with nothing to do until the decision is made.
Boring. Frustrating. Stressfull.
And is it ever going to stop raining? The few things I’ve planted in the allotment have probably drowned by now.