Talanic

Hi! Good to see another NaNoWriMo participant. I'm afraid I'm a little too tipsy, tired and tied up with my own work to be of much help right now. I've never heard of Tablo before; interesting!

November 9th, Morning. 1271 words, but it's time to head off to work. This interlude wound up entirely different from its original plan; finding the right voice took time, but I managed. Stian is an original character. My wife tells me I shouldn't give you hints, or tell you when a character's mythologically based or not, but I probably will if you ask. Second Interlude: A historical document.

November 8th, evening. There may be more tonight but it'll probably be either separate or sent with tomorrow's writing. As it is, 2099 words is not bad, and is a pretty good indication of what I can do on my day off, even with a major shopping trip. And the 'chull' reference above is actually the board censoring some swearing, which I try to use sparingly in my work but I believe to be appropriate sometimes.

November 7th, evening. If you'll excuse a tired old phrase, the plot thickens. 1676 words today. Technically 1769 if you count the fragment of an interlude, but I don't plan to until it's a proper chapter length. 1676 is barely past quota - but still a success!

November 7th, morning. I started off trying another Interlude, but it didn't work this time. There may or may not be a History of the Fall of Olympus, by Ragnar Snorrisen, at a later date. Instead, 834 words and a fun little sequence that leads into some of the major conflict of the tale. I listened to the piece mentioned within as I wrote.

November 6th, Evening. 1117 words. 9418 words total; I've decreased the gap! Posting and making an early evening of it. I'm not happy with all of the dialogue here, doesn't feel natural enough to me, but NaNoWriMo's not about editing. That'll come much later.

November 6th, morning. 914 words.

November 5th, evening. 493 words. 7387 words so far. Still behind by nearly a thousand, but I had a rough first few days and I'm closing the gap a little. Have to turn in early because my wife may need a ride to work in the morning. Speaking of, she actually has a better grounding in mythology than I do and will be serving as my editor when NaNoWriMo is over and there's time to actually edit. And Scheherazade is indeed a butchering of the original name, but it's a butchering of a butchering of a butchering. The person most likely to have had the title that wound up becoming the name Scheherazade lived (if she lived at all) at the time of Alexander the Great, and was named Homai or Homay; she had the title of Čehrzād, 'one whose appearance is noble', and the legend of Scheherazade was written about a thousand years after her line was extinguished. Yes, Wikipedia is very, very useful for hobby research. And thank you. All of you.

November 5th, Afternoon. Got out of work early. 455 words. Nearly at goal for the day, but more catch-up to do.

November 5th, Morning. 967 words. Sorry to be so needy. I'm more than a little prone to depression and silence leads to my own inner voice speaking louder, constantly telling me that nobody's really interested. Later tonight we should see the mysterious 1001's introduction. A virtual cookie to anyone who figured out who she really is - although I think you probably have enough hints for it by now. Also, what questions would YOU be interested in if you were Sam? I have the disadvantage of already knowing the answers.

Now, I might be missing something. And I don't actually have the time to critique tonight. But where's the link?

November 4th, part 2. Still behind. Still not letting myself fall TOO FAR behind. Everyone still enjoying things?

November 4th. I went to bed early, got some much-needed rest, and churned this out before work. Didn't catch up but feeling much better.

Chapter 2: 1063 words, November 3rd. I need to catch up; there may be another update tonight but this is the end for the moment.

Oy. I stubbed pinky on my left hand, the middle finger on my right, and strained both wrists...at work yesterday. Not while I was writing. Okay, I'm being overly dramatic, it's not that bad. Chapter 1 Word count for November 2nd: 1912. I'm still behind by 422 words but I'm catching up. Need to rest for the night, though.

That was actually deliberate. It was lowercase when referring to a specific member of the species, uppercase when referring to the race of Djinn as a whole. Deliberate doesn't mean wise, obviously - I'd be better served by figuring out a different way of indicating that. How would I go about doing that? I'm actually pretty new to the forums, so I don't know the ins and outs. And yes, there's supposed to be another update tonight. Failing that, there will be a larger one tomorrow, as I have the day off and am tired (and working) today - and tomorrow is also Daylight Savings, so extra hour of sleep!

Welcome to the thread! If you're just here for the stories, just skip on down to the spoiler tags; they're compressing things so that I can fit updates into the first post as well as posting them below, without interrupting potential discussion. I'm trying NaNoWriMo this year; while I played with it previously I never made a serious attempt, and the one novel I have finished took me upwards of five years for a measly 60,000 words - not because I can't write quickly, but because (among other reasons) I was learning. So here begins my first real attempt at writing a novel in 30 days, begun at the stroke of midnight on November 1st. Myth Taken, aka The Story So Far (does not count towards NaNoWriMo): And the first writing for NaNoWriMo is an aside story in the same setting. The Primals are likely to get very little direct exposure and this struck me tonight during my shift, so I had to get on with it: Interlude: A Fable November 1st. Words: 1000 on the dot. Remaining for Day: 667. There will be another update after work tomorrow, but pretty good start for the first hour of NaNoWriMo. Chapter 1 - November 2nd Chapter 2: November 3rd. Possibly not the only update today - I hope not, as it's only 1048 words and I'm falling a bit behind, but my arms are bothering me. November 4th, morning: 725 more words. I have to head off to work now, but I'm feeling much better than I have over the last few days. I'm falling behind but I still think I can pull this off. Updates up to the afternoon of November 5th: November 5th, evening. November 6th and on, sadly, will have to go in future posts, as we've hit the size limit. If you see any mistakes, please let me know - I may not have time for much editing on the fly, but I'll do what I can. Also, I'm more than a little prone to depression, so if you like my work, let me know; it can make a world of difference to know that people actually care about what I'm doing.

While I could try to pass it off as the character's error, nope - it was mine. I'm quite ashamed of messing that up. Thanks for pointing it out, I'll make sure to correct it. I'm editing the blurb with the latest version, which I'm still not quite happy about, but it's better. The quote's no longer a quote. Also, should I create a new thread for my NaNoWriMo posts, or just add them to this thread?

Please critique this blurb - essentially it'd be what's on the back of the book. Said book is untitled but Myth Taken would comprise the first act, essentially. ********* Most rough weekends don't wind up making you immortal. Sam's weirdest Saturday ever saw her slip from the woods of Wisconsin to an ancient Sumerian giantslayer's enchanted home. A few new friends and a dead enemy later, she limps away as the newest of the Heroes of the Ancient Ways: the immortal guardians of humanity. Her powers - absorbed from her first kill - are just barely beginning to grow, and she's not even sure what she's going to become - or if she'll have the opportunity to try. Sam's now a mystical beacon in the mortal world, drawing attention from anything that slips in from the other realms - because for the first year, anything that kills her will steal her newfound power. On top of that, the end of her mortal existence doesn't mean her life has stopped. She just has to juggle her training with her job. In the end, all she can do is hang on. It should get better - they've assured her, the first century is usually the worst.

This is the essential shape of the setting in which the story Myth Taken takes place in. It's a draft, written as a loose history of events that touched on Earth's history but usually was poorly understood at the time. I'd considered making it into a new post but decided to put it here instead. There are four core worlds. They are known as Earth, Primal, Faerie, and Asgard. Once, they were identical in geography and development. Once, they were separated; kept from each other by the dimensional barriers. Once, there were five of them. The fifth was known as Jotunheim, and its inhabitants were as powerful as they were enormous. The giants were the first to intrude upon other realms, finding that the beasts of Primal could speak. They learned that the people of Asgard (then called Olympus) were strong and wise, and the beings of Faerie (then known as Mhian) were elusive and mystically gifted. None could truly stand against the giants; most bowed, in the end, or hid in deep, dark places. On each of those worlds, the giants built themselves homes, bending the local powers to their whim. But Earth...Earth they could not find, for it has no magic. For a long time, they thought their worlds were alone, but something – some mathematical trickery, some intelligent but sadly unwise philosopher decided that they would seek out the place that they were missing. When they tried, they instead intruded on the Outside Between, realm of such creatures as Titans and Kraken. And when they found the monsters within, the monsters found them back. The giants, technically, succeeded in finding a way to Earth, as the tattered shreds of Jotunheim are now the Gateway Realm. Anyone who wishes to enter the magicless realm can do so by passing through – although what remains of the giants, and others who have taken up residence in the remains of their homes, often resist. The process is draining, and difficult to maintain, as creatures must touch base with their home world occasionally in order to recharge their magical energies – and many of them are to mystical to survive running out entirely. Regardless, as the three mystical worlds built their own civilizations, they began to war with each other over dominion of Earth, as the people of Earth could not fight back. The Primals envied human form; some of them lived with the humans peacefully and attempted to adopt it, while others thought through curses and spells to dominate men as their slaves. The people of Olympus warred almost as much with themselves as with the other worlds, as battle is in their blood, and the Aesir, Vanir, Olympians, Mesopotamians, and many others clashed with each other repeatedly. The creatures of Mhian found opportunities in mankind, though; tractable slaves with no defenses against magic, who could easily be tempted into bargains for all eternity. It was as easy as asking them to make a wish. The Djinn of Mhian were winning the war – until an unexpected twist. The people of Earth fought back. None are truly sure what the great Solomon did, but suddenly the Djinn were no more, and Mhian was out of the fight; as the Grand Queen rose to power, Mhian took on the name Alfheim. This was enough to finally get the Olympians' attention; they made vicious warfare upon the Primals. The structure of the realms, however, made it easier to fight each other on their home planets, as magic is always stronger on the realm from which it originates, and the trek through Jotunheim is perilous and exhausting. After centuries of battle, peculiar chance led to the Olympians intercepting some intelligence from the Primals. Curiously, they realized that some of the Primals' most crushing defeats had had nothing to do with them – or with humans, or anyone else they knew of. Similarly, several of the most devastating Olympian losses could only have come from someone else being in the game. The jig was up; now that the Olympian sorcerers knew what to look for, the wandering world of Pandemonium was easy to spot. Unlike the other realms, Pandemonium, realm of monsters, does not intersect with Jotunheim. Instead it cycles among the other realms, overlapping them, sometimes two at a time. When Pandemonium is in contact with a world, creatures can slip through, possibly passing straight past Pandemonium and into the other realm. Mystical creatures have to expend significant effort to do so, but in an unexpected twist, powerless humans in the wrong place at the wrong time can slip straight in – and out. The enigmatic monsters of Pandemonium were not the source of the extra casualties, though. Instead it is the dread realm of Dis – an abscess in reality – that orbits it. Scholars wonder if Dis is truly a realm of its own or a fragmented gateway realm like Jotunheim. The creatures of Pandemonium move in uncanny ways, aping the mortal realm, though in mockery or longing it is impossible to tell. Some are hostile, some are friendly, but they are mostly simply alien. The things in Dis are often just as alien, but their malevolence is unmistakeable; they are the Hungry Ones, who feed on anything from any other realm, other than Pandemonium. The Olympians, after formalizing relationships with the creatures of Pandemonium, sent a punitive expedition to Dis. This is why Olympus is now known as Asgard; the Olympians never recovered. The Aesir learned a different lesson from Dis as well; their sorcerers were able to create a pocket realm out of the skull of the great giant, Ymir; in it, they made the realm of Midgard as their personal playground. In the midst of all this, barely noticed by anyone else, humans were rising as heroes. Understanding that, if humanity at large realized that murdering magical creatures was a one-way ticket to immortality, and not generally understanding (at the time) how to open gateways to other realms, the heroes decided to let the other mortals think that it was all simply myth. One of them – a man named Tam Lin, who had gained the favor of the Great Queen and slain her champion, Au Brenn, in battle – became a great leader for the other heroes. Time and again he repulsed enemies, protecting Earth from the ravages of Dis and the predations of feral Giants and gaining power each time. Then came the time, three hundred years since Tam Lin had slain the Queen's champion. None know why it happens, but the champion returned to challenge Tam Lin for his power. What none expected was the champion's victory, and Au Brenn claimed not only his own power but that which Tam Lin had harvested from thousands of others over the years. Au Brenn, now calling himself Oberon, achieved power that had never been seen before, and seized Alfheim, renaming it Faerie. Rumor has it that Faerie has its own sub-realm, its own feral Midgard, but none outside of Faerie know.

I have some ideas on the general shape of magic, but I've put more work so far into the different realms that make up this setting and how to get between them. Magic from different areas has different potential - the power of an Aesir is entirely different in effect than the power of an elf. For example, giants are not truly immortal, but a human with a giant's power ages like a mountain does; Shamasun could easily live for millions of years. The realm of the creature you first kill is the one that determines the type of magic you get, while the creature determines the specific type. Also, killing more creatures adds to the hero's power, but does not add different realms of power. If Shamasun kills an elf, his existing powers grow somewhat stronger, but he does not gain elven magic. But if he kills a frost giant as well as a fire giant, he gains immunity towards heat and cold as well as getting a bit stronger. If Sam, on the other hand, somehow managed to kill a giant (I dunno, maybe with a tank?), her elven magic would become stronger, but her bench press would not improve. She would, however, wind up somewhat faster than before, with some level of diminishing returns.

I know - that's Robert Aspirin's Myth Adventures - and although I'd like to avoid confusion, when the title fits, not much I can do. Unless someone comes up with something that's better, this story fits that title too well. I don't plan on having anything further in this series having Myth in the title like he did, though. I intentionally left Sam's gender vague throughout - until the end there really was no difference between a guy Sam and a girl Sam, but she says she's 23 early on. I've got a few more details about her life straightened out already (job, degree, place of employment, rough level of college debt, etc).

It's always seemed weird to me but the sense of smell is the first to kick in when you're waking up. So I was aware of the smell of flowers before I realized that I had, somehow, survived. More than that. I was in a bed, tucked in. It was warm, but not especially soft. Consciousness flowed back into me and most of my senses took a back seat to the realization that I was alive – and I felt fine. I was in a moderate-sized bedroom – honestly, it was easily twice the size of my room in my apartment, so huge in comparison, but I've seen bigger. I was also naked under the sheets, except a bandage on my right hand and, strangely enough, a pendant. I lifted it for a look; it was a bronze disc engraved with a twisting snake. It reminded me of something but I wasn't sure what – and, as I looked, it gleamed strangely at me. I did a double-take before realizing that nothing was there if I looked straight at it, but in my peripheral vision I could see strands of something, threads that didn't seem to really be there. My fingers could pass through them without resistance, and they seemed to lead into my own body. Was that what magic looked like? “Sam!” It was Hewn, poking his head in the door. He immediately retreated for a moment, calling out, “She's awake!” I pulled the sheets up around my chest and started to sit up, but Hewn beckoned me back down. “No, no, no. You might feel well but you're really just pasted together. Exert yourself and you'll – well, the easiest comparison is tearing stitches. You'll wreck the amulet and be right back where you started. Sit back, take it easy, and in a few hours you'll be good enough to go.” Another man rushed through the door and skidded to a stop, a huge grin on his bearded face. Shamasun, no doubt – a muscular Middle Eastern man. He threw his hands wide and boomed, “Well! Look who's the heroine of the hour!” I turned towards him and - A face, but not a face; a head containing a mind, yes, but not a person; a malevolence that walked on two gargantuan legs, granite hands that could tear their way from the Outside Between - I came to, gasping in horror, to find hands on the sides of my head. “Sam! No, Sam! See me as I am now! I'm not that thing anymore.” My eyes focused on Hewn's face in front of me. There was an echo of what I'd seen. I looked over at the frowning Shamasun, standing helplessly by the bed. Out of the corner of my eye I could see flickers of the thing, but when I looked back it was just Hewn. “You with us, Sam?” I flicked my eyes away. Monster. I looked back. Hewn's worried gaze. The intensity had faded, though. I nodded. “I'm sorry,” Shamasun said. “I was going to try to work into it, but we should probably just come out with it. You'll be fine, but your fight with the elf had some effects on you. You'll never be quite normal again.” I closed my eyes as he spoke and tried to bring my heartbeat under control as Hewn backed off. “What – what did I just see?” I thought I knew. “In all probability? An echo of Cronus,” Shamasun said. “You've got some magic in you now. You can see auras on powerful enough objects and creatures. But your magic isn't the same as my magic...No. We're going about this all wrong. I'm going to start at the beginning. Well, okay, not the beginning, I'm going to start at the things you need to know. What happened to you now has happened before; it happens to different people in different ways so we didn't know you'd have a reaction to Hewn, but we're not lost in the woods, either. The reason it's different is, well, between you and the elf.” I met his gaze. “Is it dead?” He nodded. “Good kill. Thorough. But...here's how it goes. You know Newton's laws?” “Think so.” I could remember them fairly well. “Magic follows at least one of them. It's not created or destroyed. Magical creatures can die. Magic users can die. But magic itself doesn't die – not ever. If something magic dies, usually the magic just returns to the world it's from, disperses among the creatures there, or attaches to the next soul out the gate. Like when Straun – never mind, getting off topic. The mortal realm. Your home. It has no magic.” Hewn was nodding along, so I nodded too. I didn't know exactly where it was going, but I thought I understood so far. “That means humans have no magic. And when a human kills a powerful, magical creature – like an elf, or a djinn – the magic starts to leave, but the human's the nearest empty place. So that's where it goes.” I swallowed hard. “So I have the elf's magic now?” “Yes. But it doesn't manifest in any two people in quite the same way, so we're not sure what power you'll get from it. Immortality's pretty common, though – when the elf is reborn in two, three hundred years, he'll be after you to get it back.” “And I'll be alive then.” “You could be. You won't age – much. Might take a few years to reach the point you stabilize at. But you can still die.” I slumped back onto the pillow. It was too much. Shamasun patted me on the shoulder. “Get some rest; I'll get you something to eat. Your clothes will be clean in a couple hours. And if it helps – for me it was a giant, and nobody was there to teach me the rules. You're a heroine of the ancient ways, now. Good luck.” ********************** This is the technical end of the tale. But I don't think it's the end of the story. I am seriously considering making a longer story out of this into a NaNoWriMo project. Also, the new title: Myth Taken. I think it makes sense on a few levels.

Three winters ago, I went through three different cars in one year, at a cost I really couldn't afford but had to cough up regardless. The first was a 1996 Saturn, whose days were numbered anyway, due to a bent engine cradle that caused it to run through one tire per week. (Yes, I bent the engine cradle in a curb collision on an icy curve; $700 to fix it, in theory). I was considering whether or not to fix that when it turned out Saturns of that make and year couldn't handle a start at -40 degrees, resulting in a fair sized repair bill. A month later, the exhaust manifold fell off; three days after that, my decision to not immediately repair it paid off, as the engine failed to the degree that it no longer even cranked. I gave up, sold it for scrap, and, having just received my tax return, went to work trying to replace it. My best friend found me a Beretta. It was old, but in good condition. He brought along a friend of his who raced Berettas and could give it an even more thorough investigation, as it was from a private seller and would be sold as-is. They took it for a spin on the highway, told me what I needed to know, and I purchased it for a steal - $1000. It lasted six days before the engine threw a cam shaft, resulting in irreparable damage. The only thing - the ONLY thing - that I could find was a 1990 Chevy S-10. A car that was very nearly older than my wife. I had to learn to drive stick in three hours in order to use it for my work shift that night; I couldn't afford to miss any more. For a couple months the S-10 served me adequately. No air conditioning, but it was the heart of a Wisconsin winter, so I was more concerned with the gap between the door and the frame that would dump snow on my neck at unexpected times, or the fact that the passenger door had two modes: unable to open, or unable to stay closed. Later, my worries over that were overriden by the brake failure. It wouldn't have been so bad if the parking brake had worked. I managed to avoid getting in any accidents and my best friend (as mentioned before) fixed the brake line. But the S-10 nightmares were just beginning. It was out for a week when we had to replace the plugs and wires and he hooked up the distributor cap wrong (Really, he had about as bad luck with this car as I did - he's normally excellent, and he helped me a lot without complaining, so I don't want to give the wrong idea). But then the strangest thing I'd ever seen in a car happened. The car would function just fine until I turned left. While turning left, the engine was guaranteed to die. Putting it in neutral during turns or letting the car push-start itself with its own momentum worked, but I was worried. That symptom lasted a month; then it reversed. And I mean it reversed completely - the car's engine would chug mightily when turned on, until the first time I turned right, at which point it would work perfectly until I turned off the engine again. This would have been far less of an issue if the car had a parking brake, but I managed until my wife graduated college, got a job, and managed to contribute to our finances to the point that we could afford a car. Just in time - the car's starter failed, and the starter turned out to be located in a place that could only be accessed by removing the engine, or possibly by employing Gumby as a mechanic. I selected a PT Cruiser. Things went okay for a while, again - I had no idea the dealer had neglected to inform me that the car had been salvage. My first indication was when the weather got cold and the body started to overlap the door frames, resulting in a mighty CRUNCH and TWANG whenever one tried to open or close one of the front doors. Later, my best friend helped me perform a brake job. As he was handling the hub, pointing things out, he suddenly got "Oh Crap" face. Only his expertise kept me from going bankrupt right there, as he replaced a shock, two wheel bearings and two tie rod heads for the cost of parts. Unfortunately the mechanic that we had to resort to to press a bearing into place flubbed things and I had to do that twice. Also, the Cruiser's air conditioning only lasted the rest of the summer - about two months. The dealer gave me a 'Too bad, so sad.' I kept the Cruiser until, well, the end of August of this year. Since seeing my friend detect a bad wheel bearing, I always checked when having to work with the tires (oh, by the way - the chrome rims on the Cruiser were awful and the tires were always losing air). I felt the telltale wobble and had him confirm; another bad wheel bearing. I didn't want to put him through the trouble (after all, he doesn't have the bearing press) and a coworker volunteered his services, if only I could meet him to do so. As it turned out, that coworker (now former) is the biggest flake I've ever met, and it's not just me saying so. Five times he scheduled a day to get the repair done (and yes, I was paying him for this) and each time, he skipped out on it without messaging me - the only indication that he wasn't coming was that he wouldn't answer his phone. After a month and a half of this, knowing that the bearing wouldn't last forever and my wife's family reunion trip was coming up, we decided to pay off the remaining hundred bucks on the Cruiser's car loan, trade it in and buy something better. This had been our rough plan all year, it just had to move up a few steps. So. Six weeks ago, I bought a car. Used - I'm a pizza guy, so while a car is a top priority, I don't actually have the money to get something new. It's nice. A 2009 Kia Rondo, with not-as-good gas mileage as the Cruiser but significantly more comfort and a lot less oh-god-is-the-wheel-going-to-fly-off-and-kill-me? Yesterday, on my way to work, the engine started to rumble ominously. Seconds later it was joined by a flashing "Check Engine" light, which is generally code for "Pull over and turn that thing off right now, idjit." It's going to be a week before I even know what's wrong inside, but the good news is, whatever it is, it's not my problem. For the first time, my trouble is covered under a manufacturer's warranty and won't cost me anything. I'm seriously considering an extended service plan, based on my luck with cars.

This reminds me of a strange dream I had this weekend. It wound up leaving my wife in stitches. It started with a man being revived by a SHIELD-like agency and having his memories restored. No, I don't know why they were missing or what the agent's name was - he essentially served as my dream-avatar but he looked kind of like Mark Sheppard (Crowley from Supernatural, among other roles) (and no, I don't look like Mark Sheppard). The reason he was being revived was to be sent back in time to rescue the Doctor. Yes, Doctor Who, although for those getting excited at this point, he never actually *saw* the Doctor in the dream. Instead, he wound up outside a medieval castle and under attack by a dread beast that had his scent and nearly got him before he got inside the castle. What form did the dread beast take? A killer rabbit. Unfortunately the beast couldn't be fought; it was too deadly. But, the agent could go back to the future and attempt to prevent it from being created in the first place. What's more, the inhabitants of this 16th-century castle knew that the man who created the killer rabbit had been sent to Azkaban by Harry Potter on April 21st, 2014. So the agent wound up pulling out a wand and traveling to Azkaban in the modern day (post-Voldemort). No, seriously. I really did dream this. I'm sure it reads like a synopsis of a particularly absurd fanfic, but... At this point, my subconscious apparently mixed up Azkaban and Hogwarts, as the famed wizard prison was bustling with students and teachers, who gave the agent a warm welcome. Apparently he was a former student who'd acquitted himself well in the battle of Hogwarts. Also, no dementors showed up - I figured it as given that they were all fired after they sided with Voldemort. Rather than take the stairs, the agent used a levitation charm to leap up three stories, although some malfunction of the spell required him to keep chanting continuously or he'd crash. He found a rock-star-like poster on the wall with glamorous pictures of the villain and his two accomplices, who were flirting with anyone who cared to look at said poster. It included which cells these three (presumable) death eaters were being held in. Unfortunately, the agent never reached the cells, as he had to stop to save a fluffy white rabbit that was apparently being remotely held hostage by the villain - yes, the same white rabbit that turned killer in the distant past, but here it was going to be forced to jump down an elevator shaft if demands weren't met. At that point, my wife woke me up. On one hand, she kept the absurdity from proceeding, but on the other, if she hadn't been there for me to tell, I probably wouldn't remember half of this. Anyway. Ladies and Gentlemen, my brain. *bows*