Podcasts about personal defense

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Jefe and I discuss all the current events from Israel vs Iran, LA ICE Riots and TRex Arms vs Lucas Botkin THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR XS SightsXS Sights - https://xssights.com/20% Discount with code LARPBooks We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Today on One Life Radio, Bernadette is joined by Stephanie Cyr (NBC-HWC), the founder of  PowerUp Moves, a personal development program designed to establish and improve healthy safety habits resulting in strength, self-efficacy and confidence, talking about summer safety for adults. Cyr is an attorney and educator with over 25 years' experience as a specialist in violence prevention education, personal safety and empowerment, she is Faculty Lecturer of Personal Defense at San Francisco State University (SFSU) and is responsible for developing the first University Accredited Minor Degree in Empowerment Self Defense (ESD).   Stephanie is the author of The PowerUp Moves Notebook, an interactive empowerment self-defense higher education textbook, and has also written self-defense curriculum and trained instructors for the San Francisco Unified School District physical education department. Currently, she is collaborating with academics from other universities to develop ESD or (Empowerment Self-Defense) programming on campus, further violence prevention research, and explore the relationship of personal safety and mental health.  (In addition to her work in academia, Stephanie is a Senior Facilitator and Trainer for PAVE Prevention, a Consultant for The Association of ESD Professionals, and serves as a member of Joyful Heart Foundation, an organization dedicated to supporting survivors of gender-based violence. She is the founder of Edge Self Defense and the author of The Weekly Edge and Moves of the Day. She has been featured at WorldWideWomen's Girls Festival SF 2019.) An accomplished martial artist with nearly three decades of experience in more than 10 different disciplines including Tae Kwon Do, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Kravitz Maga. Stephanie holds a Juris Doctor with Honor from the University of Maryland School of Law, a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology from Rutgers University and is a graduate of the Institute of Integrative Nutrition. Learn more about Stephanie at powerupmoves.com.

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.This time Boltz N Holez talks about our recent Kalashni-Con experience and shooting competitions in general. FIND BOLTZ ON INSTAGRAM HERE: https://www.instagram.com/boltz_n_holez/THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR XS SightsXS Sights - https://xssights.com/20% Discount with code LARPBooks We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.This time Jake from Mantis comes over to talk about the bodyguard and save us from ourselves.THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR XS SightsXS Sights - https://xssights.com/20% Discount with code LARPBooks We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.This time we bring you the ridiculousness that is KalashBash. From rifle and subgun competitions to larping this event has it all! THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR XS SightsXS Sights - https://xssights.com/20% Discount with code LARPBooks We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.This time Rebel joins us from RÈBÈLs RÄIDÈRs to talk gear and why his is the most high value brand on the market. Find Boondock Ballistician Here -> Website - https://rebels-raiders.com/Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/rebelsraiders/?hl=enX - https://x.com/Rebels_Raiders?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5EauthorTHANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR XS SightsXS Sights - https://xssights.com/20% Discount with code LARPBooks We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

On today's episode, we're going even deeper into my stalker situation. I'll be sharing more details about his delusional tendencies—including how he's gone as far as pretending to be a police officer to manipulate and control people (which is a crime, by the way). I'll also be answering the questions I've received from you all about this ongoing situation.Law enforcement is now more involved (actual police, not to be confused with blue light bandits), we know everything, and we'll be handling it all legally. Tune in for the full update.—https://policecoffee.com/?gad_source=1&gbraid=0AAAAACG7qmJnibJBpoe9p7ReNXovwJMQN&gclid=Cj0KCQjwqIm_BhDnARIsAKBYcmsZOengz4NFStC14G_b2eziJgYpA8kGt2sokaR9i3PcTxs0QmcaPosaAtbGEALw_wcB

Today, I'm sharing something deeply personal and serious—my stalker story. For over a year, Timothy C. (we can share his full name soon if need be) has been physically stalking me, and his digital harassment goes back even further. Law enforcement is now involved, but I wanted to update you all in case anything happens to me—so there's no question about who did it. This episode isn't just about my experience; it's also about the reality of stalking, the dangers of obsession, and the importance of taking threats seriously. Stay aware, stay safe, and let's talk about it all, shall we?—https://noblegoldinvestments.com

This is the full episode of The Morning Show with Preston Scott for Wednesday, March 19th. Our guests today include:- Charlie Strickland with Talon Range Follow the show on Twitter @TMSPrestonScott. Check out Preston's latest blog by going to wflafm.com/preston. Listen live to Preston from 6 – 9 a.m. ET and 5 – 8 a.m. CT!WFLA Tallahassee Live stream: https://ihr.fm/3huZWYeWFLA Panama City Live stream: https://ihr.fm/34oufeR Follow WFLA Tallahassee on Twitter @WFLAFM and WFLA Panama City @wflapanamacity and like us on Facebook at @wflafm and @WFLAPanamaCity.

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.This time Jesse from the Boondock Ballistician YouTube channel joins us to talk about ballistics and barrel lengthsFind Boondock Ballistician Here -> Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/boondockballistician/YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/@BoondockballisticianX - https://x.com/BoondockBalliTHANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR XS SightsXS Sights - https://xssights.com/20% Discount with code LARPBooks We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Jake of Mantis Tech joins us to discuss Mantis training technologies, how it can help improve your shooting and a whole host of other topics! Find Polite But Dangerous Here -> https://www.instagram.com/polite.but.dangerous.tools/Website - https://politebutdangeroustools.square.site/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

On the Road to Aya.Cael becomes the Amazon's Unorthodox Global DiplomatBy FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.For me, the diplomacy revolved around Delilah and Virginia, I had already fallen on my knees and begged Odette to let me go see Aya 'alone'. A few sexual-charged hours later, she agreed. That left four choices for the role of my two agents. They wanted to go 'as is'. Rachel informed them they would be murdered in-flight and their bodies tossed out over a convenient body of water.Rachel felt that the only reasonable course of action was for them to not come. That way the two could live a few more weeks. However, she would settle for stripping them down, doing a full body scan and then sealing them naked in airtight coffins (with a suitable amount of oxygen) for the journey. I suspected they might still slip out the baggage compartment somewhere between takeoff and landing.I cut through the clash of egos and made the final decision. Delilah and Virginia would be stripped and thoroughly examined. Initially I had the chore. Rachel was deeply suspicious of my true intentions. Freed of any electronic devices and with their weaponry in my keeping during the trip, they would be blindfolded as we made it to Aya without bloodshed.They applauded my wisdom by roundly refusing my decision. Pamela was of no help. Ten minutes into it, I informed them I was going alone, completely alone. They laughed, snorted and chuckled. Rachel reminded me that I didn't know where to go. I lied and told her that Katrina had given me the coordinates for the super-secret juvenile, all-feline [yes, I meant cats], survival training school.Fine, they would just keep me under constant surveillance. I responded by assuring them that despite my lack of spy-like abilities, I would escape and get to relive my Summer Camp experience with the only woman who respected my Demigod-like combat status. Their laughter hurt my feelings. Pamela stepped up and told the room they could either respect my compromise, or she would help me evade them.It was even more depressing to see the room full of women who had previously been mocking me suddenly 'snap to' and quickly agree to my earlier suggestions."It is okay," Pamela told me softly as the actual mechanics of my vacation were figured out by others. "I didn't want to play Bill Munny to your Ben Logan."Pamela's eyes flared brighter than any phoenix's rebirth. She'd stumped me."The Unforgiven, my Son," she patted my cheek. "It is a western made in 1992 starring Clint Eastwood, recast masterfully by 'Yours Truly' and, we need to work on you making a convincing Morgan Freeman.""Doesn't Freeman end up in a pinewood box in the first third of the movie?" Virginia mused."I didn't want to dishearten him," Pamela grinned. To me. "He ran off alone and got himself killed.""I was what, not even a year old when that movie came out," I responded with indignation."You've never heard of Block Busters, Netflix, Redbox, Dish, Hulu, or late night, Spanish language television?" Pamela snickered."I only watch Univision for their sports coverage," I countered."You mean for those sexy female sports announcers," Delilah chuckled. That earned her a 'well duh' look from all the other women."Before I consent to the strip search and inevitable follow-up anal probe, are we really going to be in a situation that requires us to fight this time?" Virginia asked."We should be perfectly safe," Rachel responded."Check, bring extra ammo," Virginia nodded."Good for you, Ms. Maddox," Pamela winked. "One day there is hope your life will have some meaning to me.""Great," Special Agent Maddox muttered, "now I have to think of what to get her for Christmas." We all laughed. Christmas was such a long way away.We packed up, rode to a private airfield near Doebridge, learned that SD was smarter than the rest of us, boarded our flight, and then finally entered US airspace from there. Around Ohio, a thought occurred to Maddox."If we were somehow forced to land and have the plane searched, how bad would it be?" she requested of Rachel."Bad enough that we have a better chance of fighting our way free than seeing freedom before dying in prison," Rachel answered calmly."Hmm, Rachel, if something like that happened, how many parachutes do we have?" Delilah joined in."Enough. Mona rides down with Cael because he's a virgin," Rachel stated."Oh! Come on Rachel," I fell down on my knees. "Can't I bungee jump it?""Luv," Delilah snorted. "If the drop didn't kill ya, the bounce back would snap you in two.""Cáel, we are at thirty thousand feet," Tiger Lily giggled. "You are more likely to end as a streamer than a pancake." An Amazon giggle, a most joyous noise."Rachel, I have been unkind," Virginia confessed. "Cáel is so personable and so dead set on getting himself killed. I had no idea your assignment was so herculean.""Acknowledged," Rachel said, "and we don't use 'that' word." Hercules was Greek too."We have it worse," Delilah patted Maddox on her shoulder. "We must obey some sort of legal code that doesn't allow us to preemptively save him.""We must too," Rachel gave a depressive sigh. "Her," she pointed at Pamela."Hey," Pamela pouted. "I'm more a force for vigilante justice than a team player. I ride alone.""Alone?" I took a quick headcount and added our Amazon pilot. "I count ten, Lone Phaser.""Am I included in that count?" Miyako yawned from under her blanket. "This jet lag is killing me.""Where did she come from?" Virginia hopped up."She was here when we boarded," I told her. "I searched her, I swear.""Yes he did," Miyako gave a sleepy, Hello Kitty smile. She'd 'searched' me too."I bet you did," Rachel glared at me, then Pamela, then me again since I was the titular boss.Thankfully we all 'bought a vowel', played a card in Clue, and shared an Inspector Clouseau moment. The gang settled down for a nap. Sleeping was not complicated. Rachel, as my bodyguard, slept beside me. The airplane's touchdown was so flawless I had to be shaken to alertness. Did I fall asleep? More on that later.It would have been better if Virginia hadn't figured out our pilot had violated numerous FAA regulations, like dropping below radar at one remote airport then sailing along for an unknown number of kilometers at nape of the Earth until we reached our final destination (This is great in date flicks, btw. It convinces the girl that we should 'live in the moment'/screw as much as possible.)We weren't there yet, of course. That level of un-convoluted thinking would have been an Amazon indicator of senility. Being a male Amazon, I was immune to such considerations, that meant I was always nuts in their regard, but they chose to humor me. Our plane had to park in a camouflaged hangar before we were allowed to disembark.I concluded we must be getting close to our desert gulag/re-education center as the sharp glare of sunlight was accompanied by an equally heartless glare of hostility rolling forth from our waiting all-terrain vehicle caravan. Thank goodness Rachel had the foresight to bring sunscreen for the passel of us. I swallowed the bitter realization I'd lost a $1000 bet concerning our landing zone with Virginia (a Temperate Rainforest) and Delilah (the American Southwest). In retrospect, betting on the site of 'Camp Rock' wasn't my smartest wager.The Brit made off with $2000 of our money and she wanted to be paid in Euros. That's €778 from me, you offspring of those who didn't have the courage to cross the Atlantic 100 years ago. Neither Virginia nor I really cared. With the level of violence about to escalate, it was all looking like 'funny' money to us. I didn't share my misery. Our Welcome Wagon ladies hardly looked sympathetic, or all that opposed to utilizing scalping as a valid debating tool.They didn't view this moment as just a bad thing, me showing up. My arrival was apocalyptic: #1, a man. #2, with a member of another secret society. #3, #2 was a professional assassin. #4 and #5, two more outsider women. #6, an unscheduled visit, as in 'the camp guardians hadn't been given six months to plan out all contingencies'. And you think your daycare takes its security seriously?"Cáel Ishara," the curt, mega-harsh bitch addressed me in English. As the other seven women dismounted from the four Jeep Wranglers (Delilah enlightened us), it was obvious they were well armed and armored, right and ready to provide some extra-curricular para-military fun. "Welcome," and 'oh please tear out one or two of my fingernails you Ginormous Pain in my ass' she greeted the exalted me. We spoke in Hittite;"I am”, then I used a phrase which I hoped meant 'I had shed blood in battle with sister Aya'. "No other name means more to me right now." Ah, the lovely jerk that full-blooded Amazons gave the first time they heard a male speak their tongue. The slot machine of her intellect kicked into high gear. No arm grasp was coming my way. I almost forgot."The outsiders are to remain armed as guests of House Ishara." That command was crucial. When/if I got my way with my first request, I was going to be rendered 'one of the girls'."If that is your wish. (Evil grin) Grab your bags and make it snappy," the woman ordered. "I don't like any extended activity at this airfield.""Ladies, let's hurry up and get our bags," Pamela barked in English. "You too, you hairless ape." That would be me, if there was any question. The Super-friendly camp counselors, with their slung FN P90's, didn't lift a finger to help us. Miyako flounced around without a care in the world. Pamela, eh, there were only eight of them. Three of my SD group were cautious while the pilot was already effecting her refueling and departure.Rachel shot one of the guardians a look I perceived to be friendly. A double-take elucidated things. She was Rachel's younger sister and had already been updated on my bona fides. Then in Hittite;"Male, you are agreeable to the eye," Rachel's sister fired off. Three whole seconds."Why thank you. I run faster than you would think, thankfully heal even faster and have the venerated outdoor skills of Bigfoot," I smiled.The seven other ladies weren't sure what to make of that jocularity."A very, very young Bigfoot," Rachel corrected."There is nothing wrong with the size of his feet," Tiger Lily added to the fun. And then all the homicidal fanatics chuckled.Pamela's whispered translation brought a subdued, yet similar reaction from the non-Amazon contingent. Sure, the new group knew about the New Directive, my fun encounters which I equated to my life and death struggle in those earlier days, my rise to house leadership, Constanza's blinding, the grenade launcher episode and the totality of my last confrontation with Hayden. Amazons are some hard-ass bitches.As we were loading up the jeeps, the leader tapped me on the shoulder with some force, in the same way a teacher catches an unruly student's attention."What was sex with an augur like? My name is Caprica Mielikki.""Out of respect for your authority, I will answer this personal question that is really none of your business," I looked down a good ten centimeters at her. No fear."It was beautiful, like every other woman I have had the treasured pleasure to have sex with," I continued. My reply's undercurrent was simple: I am not a House Head while I'm here. I am an Amazon, not a slave, or outsider male."Did you suffer stigmata?""Yes. To be fair, I was also having intercourse with her personal guardian at the same time. I'm not sure where to lay the blame, or importance," I inhaled her rugged fragrance."Both?" a different camp counselor questioned."As I told you, he has a really big and craftily-wielded foot," Tiger Lily teased, then Pamela said in Hittite;"And he is banned from having sex with any Amazon women for fifty more days," Pamela reminded them. Miyako, Delilah and Maddox weren't involved so were left uninformed of that detail. That bludgeoning innuendo dealt with, off to camp we went. Our journey was a pleasant diversion, punctuated by our trail, or lack thereof.The jeeps split up once we hit the aerial cover of the desert pines. At that point, every rock, shrub, tree and loose bit of debris revealed its God-given mission in life was to kill us. I kept telling myself that surely our Amazon driver abhorred suicide as much as I frowned on vehicular manslaughter as a means of me dying.Failing to believe that left me with tuck, duck and roll and that death-defying move would leave me lost and waterless, somewhere. I would have thought 'somewhere without cell reception', but none of our mobile devices had made the trip, despite a valiant effort at skullduggery by Special Agent Maddox and some highly creative types back at the Hoover Building.See, after we dutifully packed all our gear, the troupe got to watch Rachel's team toss everything into a cargo bin set to be loaded onto a flight to, the ticket said Banjul, Gambia. Woot! My ten ton armored long coat was going to Africa without me. It would have undoubtedly have tried to kill me in this heat. I was lured into acceptance by hoping this was going to be a 'birthday suit' flight.Yay! (Sarcasm) We got all new undies, shirts, shoes, pants, shorts, jackets, ponchos (I was beginning to suspect duplicity on that one), and a variety of other gear, including guns. They were nice enough to replace our weapons with the exact same production models. The sole exceptions were my trusty axes and I trembled at the scrutiny they must have endured.Meanwhile, back to my archaic, misogynistic inspiration that women shouldn't be allowed to drive: after the third skirting of what must have been a ten meter drop, I realized I was looking at this journey in the wrong light. I raised my hands over my head and began screaming like a fool. I was on the best rollercoaster ride ever!!The hobnail boot was on the other foot. My driver really wanted to know what the fuck I was up to, but couldn't take her concentration off the terrain. One massive lurch planted us in an arroyo (that's a dry riverbed for those of us who aren't freaked out every time it rains). Rachel and I were sitting in the back. Turning around in the front seat, Pamela grinned at me."I dare you to surf the hood," she laughed. Sweet Mother Ishara, that was the best mixing of 'you must be a redneck'/'immortal high schooler madness' I'd ever heard. I unbuckled milliseconds before Rachel could stop me. Her look said it all. 'Please, you Moron, don't do this to me. I've been a good little guardian and really don't deserve this, now do I?'I gave her a deep French kiss. She moaned, just not in a sexual manner. One of these days Rachel was going to start running around with a needle and fast acting sedative to keep me safe from myself. Understand, my driver was racing down this dirt, well, "pathway" was being generous. Her first warning that something wasn't right was me hand-standing on the roll bar and flipping onto the dashboard.Considering I was up against a 70 kilometer headwind, I felt I pulled off that maneuver rather well. She grabbed my closest ankle with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel. Our eyes were masked with goggles, but my smile said it all. No, I hadn't been thrown forward, and no, I wasn't running away from something in the back seat.I shook free, stepped over the windshield, braced my right heel against its base and leaned into the torrent of air. I was surfing a jeep. Then I was flying above the jeep, but only for a second. We'd hit a rock the size of an armadillo, or maybe it was an actual armadillo. I wasn't looking back to check. Why was I doing this? It was a tad complex. I gave Psych 101 a shot.My life was not where I had envisioned it would be when I kissed Dr. Kimberly Geisler, and my last two Bolingbrook girlfriends, who had been unaware of each other until that moment, good-bye before leaving college forever. I proudly considered myself amoral. No social contract would keep me from some good cunt, and since I found all cunt to be good if you worked at it, I slept with every girl I could, married, committed, bored, desperate, I didn't care.I held no relationship sacred. I had already proved I could do any girl's mother, daughter, aunt, roommate, childhood friend and total stranger. I hadn't cared. I knew I was going to cause multiple women emotional pain and I did it anyway. Sure, I regretted the agony I left in my wake.I never considered myself a sadist, but I had been a pretty horrible person by ignoring the inevitable consequences of my actions. Then Havenstone. Suddenly people were doing bad stuff to people I didn't know and it mattered to me. I was talking to women without the end goal being a sexual encounter.Hell, I had been honest to women without them using pain, or the threat of pain, on me. I didn't stop being me. I nailed four women at Loraine's, Europa's and Aya's school. I nailed Nicole while waiting for Trent to toss me his social table scraps, Libra. A whole army of women engaged in murder, slavery and infanticide on a regular basis, and I cared for them.I cared for them in a way that confronted damnation, not sexual adventurism. I had graduated from 'Dude, don't do that to the lady' at some bar to 'do this and I'll have you killed' and meaning it, and making it happen. I hadn't learned my lesson. I'd gone on to kill Hayden and Goddess-knows how many other women who Hayden had placed on that list.Yep, dead, dead, dead and it was all on me. Worse, I would do it all over again because deep down, tearing up my insides, was morality. To me that boiled down to caring about someone else without reward. And all that led me to surfing the hood of a jeep on my way to meet my lodestone of this transformation, Aya.My laughter was drowned out by the noises of the engine, tires, rocks, wind and sand. It resonated all the more. The driver didn't slow down. I sincerely doubted she understood my lunacy. That was okay. Pamela did and Aya would. She'd want to go jeep surfing too. Man, for a jackass and dastardly betrayer, I was accumulating a sizable heart-load of people I could honestly say I loved.Kimberly had once told me that the pain of knowledge is never being able to forget it. Good, or bad, it is an affliction for which there is no cure. That was where I was, pained by the creeping advancement of my soul and unable to turn back now that the door to familial affection had been opened.My thoughts of Dad dying and of a thunderstorm burst in my noggin weren't being terribly helpful to my mental state either. The horn blew and I snuck a quick peek back. The driver was making a sharp, forward jabbing motion with her right hand, then thrusting to the left. We were getting ready to exit the arroyo and that probably required some hellish footwork far beyond my ability.I made a hasty, less dignified, yet safer return to my seat. Rachel quickly buckled me in before a rapid turn up and over the bank of the river bed had us heading for another forested area."What was that all about?" Rachel asked once we were back into the tree cover. She'd have asked earlier but she was too busy clenching and unclenching her jaw in frustration.

In this week's episode, Deanna sits down with Stephanie Cyr, an attorney, educator, and personal safety expert. During their conversation, Deanna and Stephanie explore how concerns about personal safety can leave women feeling stuck—and how empowerment-based self-defense can help them feel more confident and in control. From workplace dynamics to social situations, Stephanie shares practical insights on recognizing red flags, trusting your intuition, and taking actionable steps to protect yourself in any environment.Tune in to learn about:What self-defense really means—and why it's about so much more than physical protectionHow to recognize red flags in different environments—and how to address themThe critical role of intuition in personal safety (and why you should always trust it)Ways to document and address safety concerns in professional settingsHow taking small, sustainable steps can help you feel more empowered and less stuckThoughts from the episode:"Self-defense is anything you say, think, do or believe to be safe.""Listen to your intuition. It's never wrong...sometimes we have to give ourselves permission to [listen to it].""It's better to offend someone than it is to put yourself in a situation that's potentially unsafe."About the guest: Stephanie Cyr (NBC-HWC) is the founder of PowerUp Moves, a personal development program focused on establishing and improving healthy safety habits. As Faculty Lecturer of Personal Defense at San Francisco State University, she developed the first University Accredited Minor Degree in Empowerment Self Defense. She is also the author of The PowerUp Moves Notebook, an interactive empowerment self-defense higher education textbook. With her background as both an attorney and educator, Stephanie brings a unique perspective to personal safety education, emphasizing both physical and emotional aspects of self-defense.Connect with Stephanie:On the web:PowerUp MovesOn social media:Instagram: @powerupmovesStay connected with Season of Stuck:Want more insights on how to make your journey from stuck to unstuck? Make sure to subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts; you can catch new episodes every Tuesday.Want to make sure you never miss an episode? Visit seasonofstuck.com to get episodes delivered to your inbox. To get involved with the show, join our community, The Unstuck Collective, fill out our listener survey or send us a message.And for even more stuck-related content, make sure to follow us on Instagram @seasonofstuck****DISCLAIMER**** Season of Stuck is for general information only and should not be considered health, financial, or any other type of professional advice. The views expressed by guests are their own and their appearance on Season of Stuck is not an endorsement. We do not verify the accuracy of the information that guests present. Adult language may be present. Our producer and host disclaim any liability arising out of your reliance on Season of Stuck. Please note that we may receive a commission should you choose to purchase any product or service using our website link to the products, services, and links featured on Season of Stuck and/or in related properties (including seasonofstuck.com and email communications).

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Jake of Mantis Tech joins us to discuss Mantis training technologies, how it can help improve your shooting and a whole host of other topics! Find Mantis Here -> https://mantisx.com/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.A whole host of characters joins us to discuss our experiences with everything Shot Show 2025 recorded on location in a swanky AirBnB Support Our Sponsor -> Attero Arms: https://atteroarms.com/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

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Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Nan joins the New Year podcast to chat about what is up coming for the showSupport Our Sponsor -> Attero Arms: https://atteroarms.com/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Jessie from Attero Arms joins us to talk about where the company started and where it's goingFind Attero Arms Here:Website: https://atteroarms.com/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/atteroarms/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AtteroArms/Support Our Sponsor -> Attero Arms: https://atteroarms.com/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Joe from Firearm Freedom talks about conspiracy theories and more! Find Firearm Freedom & Freedom Foil Podcast Here:YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@FirearmFreedomInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/firearm_freedom/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/FirearmFreedom/X: https://x.com/firearm_freedomFreedom Foil Podcast: https://open.spotify.com/show/4tUZP0xaeOA8Yn8QYn4BklSupport Our Sponsor -> Attero Arms: https://atteroarms.com/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Living the nightmare; hungering for a normal life. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “If your heart starts the fight, you can lose without regret.”  (Thursday Night) It was well past the descent of Night's veil when the Havenstone jet landed outside of New York City. Naomi and team gathered us up and led us to the main building downtown. An unlooked for conflict developed. Naomi's team was there to present me to Hayden. Rachel's team was still focused on securing my wellbeing and they didn't like the attitude Naomi's squad was giving off. With Buffy (Helena was in a different car), there was no concealing Rachel's hostility toward the latest group of SD ladies. The new group was treating me like a 'package', not a Head of House, and that infuriated my First too. All of that ill-will simmered as we made our way to Havenstone. The situation was compounded by the elevator ride. Naomi, her team, Buffy, Rachel and I went into the first elevator. By the time we made it to the top few floors, it was clear that the rest were not immediately following along. The situation ratcheted up to nasty when Naomi demanded Buffy's firearm. Buffy looked ready to use it. "Buffy; gun," I held out my hand, palm up. Buffy reluctantly handed it over. I walked over to the nearest trash can, dropped out the clip, chambered out the first round then dumped the entirety into the trash receptacle. "If they touched it, the weapon would be fouled and not fit for a true Amazon," I explained to Buffy. "Best to save your noble tool the indignity and dispense with it instead." Buffy snorted with amusement, Naomi's crew pretended not to care while Rachel was deeply disturbed. It took a perfunctory gesture to stop Buffy outside Hayden's office. In I went to face Hayden, Katrina, Saint Marie and Troika of House Šauška alone. Šauška was the 'sister goddess' of Ishara; together they formed Ishtar in later incarnations. I didn't believe Troika was here for any sister solidarity this time around. "Why did you do this? Start a war; is this your hatred of Amazon culture shining through, trying to get us all killed in some global struggle against the other Secret Societies?" Hayden opened up with in an even tone. "No," I kept it succinct. They waited for more of an explanation. "Do you have anything you can say to defend your actions?" Troika glared. "I don't need to defend my actions," I regarded her as if she was of alien origin. "The actions speak for themselves." "Why don't you explain it to us, Ishara?" Saint Marie rumbled. Insulted yet again. As an equal, I warranted the use of my first name. "Do I have your permission to fully and completely lay out my reasoning without everyone closing in like a pack of hyenas on a leopard?" I looked to Hayden; not happy. She gave a curt nod. It wasn't like running away would get me far. "I will speak slowly because all of you appear to have become incredibly stupid," I started. "My parent and carrier of my Amazon ancestor's genetic heritage was murdered. The leader of the Amazon Security Detail identified herself, Then they were fired upon. Somehow you do not see those actions as Casus Belli. [cause for war] There are three possible reasons for your blindness: you are all cowards who bully behind closed doors, but fold up like gutless wonders when a true challenge presents itself. Or, the male penis renders you incapable of intelligent thought and induces irrational and unsustainable hostile deductions in your though processes. Or, you want me and the line of Ishara dead and are willing to accept any accident of fate that will render us so," I laid things out for them. "Or, you were in pain over your father's loss and used Havenstone as a tool to lash out at your perceived foes without concern for what price the other houses would have to pay for your personal vendetta," Hayden suggested. "Your gender bias is appalling, High Priestess  Saint James," I shook my head. "Have I been such an out of control, emotional male that yours is the logical assumption for how events unfolded?" I smirked. "Except for the meeting where I learned your secret; only Katrina caught that. I've risked death three times for Amazons; yet I hate all of you enough to kill those people and myself. Besides,  Saint James, your opinion has been rendered irrelevant." "You will call me Hayden," Hayden simmered. "I will when you and your lackeys get around to calling me Cáel," I countered. "I don't like being insulted any more than you do. I could keep up this childishness forever, but, as I was pointing out, we don't have forever. War is coming. Between my father's murder and my threats to the Condotteiri and Seven Pillars' emissaries, I've guaranteed that. Apologizing won't do any good. They won't believe you. Offering me up won't do any good. They think you hold male life to be worthless; the truth of which I am personally witnessing here and now. They are coming for you no matter what you wish. The best chance for an alliance rests with me. I can establish truly good will with the Nine Clans, Illuminati and the Earth  and  Sky. Without me, they don't trust you enough to do any good. I'm sure only Katrina believes this; I did all that alliance-building for Havenstone. I am House Ishara and the fate of the Amazons is my fate. Yet here I am, being insulted, being treated like a traitor; an infantile traitor at that, and being informed you will not honor your oaths and obligations to me," I shook my head. "Are there any other issues to discuss, or can I go home now? I'm beat." "You will be housed downstairs for your own safety," Hayden informed me. "Unless you arrest me, I'm going home," I shrugged. "Not only do I not want your protection, I have ceased to trust you. You do not treat me like a sister. Instead you accuse me of atrocities against MY people and layer on the petty insults. Goodnight." I made to leave so Saint Marie interposed herself. "That wasn't a request, Ishara," Hayden murmured with menace. "Beat me up," I chuckled, "and you will be more screwed than you know." The Golden Mare and I locked gazes. I tried to move around her so she put a hand on my chest. "Welcome to the consequences of being known liars and bigots, ladies." "I am tiring of your insolence," Saint Marie growled. "Runners'," Katrina sighed with melancholy amusement. "What about them?" Troika mocked. "The majority of the 'Runners' aren't going to see this as the Council punishing Cáel for starting the upcoming conflict," Katrina chided her cohorts. "They are going to see the Full-blooded shutting down the Only House letting them in. Going to war? They are willing to fight and die for our cause. They assume we are too," Katrina regaled her unwilling audience. "Pleased with yourself, Ish; Cáel," Hayden's eyes narrowed. "He has almost nothing to do with it, Sisters," Katrina chortled. "We were the ones who promised to let the 'Runners' join the houses then reneged on that promise. The worst you can say about Cáel was that only after we picked out, loaded and handed him the gun, did he use it for what it was intended for." "We are not punishing him for this 'Runner' insult," Troika spat. She meant my 'hasty' inductions. "Then why are we punishing him; and thank you for making Cáel's point for him; 'Runner' insult indeed. Since your disgraceful attitude is overwhelmingly common, the 'Runners' are not going to believe your excuse for dealing with Cáel." "Katrina," Hayden cautioned. "Hayden, as your 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death', I am required to give you this news," Katrina bowed her head in reverence. "I tell you Cáel's actions have been a lightning rod for the 'Runners'. He gives them hope where there was none. Putting Cáel down will have repercussions you do not understand. They will then 'Know' for a certainty we look down on them and treat them little better than slaves; which is the truth," Katrina responded to the others. "Not only are we going to war, we are successfully convincing half our population that they Cannot trust the Council to spend their lives wisely." "How dare you?" Saint Marie seethed at me. "Are you seriously blaming me for keeping the oaths the rest of you made in my name; while Ishara was dead to the Council?" I laughed. "The 'Runners' are your idea, Saint Marie, not mine. You promised to bring them into the Houses ; and didn't. You lied and I chose to not perpetuate that lie, thus honoring my ancestors, my founder and my Goddess." "Do I need to remind you who Ishara is? The Goddess of Oaths; particularly military oaths," I added. "In case you missed it, I am implying that you have failed your ancestors;” and I went flying. Damn, Saint Marie was fast. I rolled as best as I could, ending bumping into Hayden's desk. No one said a word which I found tragically consistent. My follow-up pain wasn't 'Mare' induced. Spiritual flames consumed me internal organs, causing me to cry out in torment and vomit copious amounts of something. I was cradled inside a horror film as first my esophagus, then stomach and finally my intestines seemed to flush forth from my lips. The stench was beyond horrid; putrid and corrupt combined with the atrocious odor of bloated flesh left to rot in the Sun for weeks. Considering the minimal amount I had eaten on the flight home, I was even more baffled by what felt like 100 liter quantity of discharge. When the ordeal eventually ended, I half-rose then flopped backwards into darkness. I hurt. I hurt in the same way you have 'pins and needles', except mine were industrial capacity and giving it 110%. My head was resting at a slight incline and someone was flipping a lock of my bangs on and off my forehead. I opened my eyes into infinity; seriously worse agony consumed my brain pan. "That is too much for you to know, Cáel," she murmured. Those eyes had been feminine, just not in a human way and definitely filled with more joy and suffering than could be granted by a thousand lifetimes. The pain faded, so I tried the whole eye thing again. At the top of the lap that cradled my head was a really nice pair of boobs clothed in thin wool; lush, mature, yet firm like a young virgin's. "Thank you," she lilted. Mind-reading? "Do I want to know what has happened to me?" I groaned. I reached for a boob because if it was a toxin-induced delusion, what was the worst that can happen? "Careful, I haven't been with a male in 1800 years, my Preciously Odd Amazon," she laughed. "I like challenges," I bantered with my mental conjuration. Definitely mind-reading. "I am not the creation of your fevered dreams, my Cáel," she flicked my nose. "I have pushed you near death to place a curse on the Host. As a side benefit, I am able to have metaphysical contact with you." "To date you, I have to have a near-death experience? I don't know if I should admire 1800 years of male common sense, or that last guy who risked everything for one night with you," I shrugged. "So much compassion; and so little fear," she petted my scalp. "Since you clearly aren't getting into the name game and I am more than happy to doubt everything I've experienced in the past five minutes," I smiled at her, "what am I supposed to do?" "You know," she smiled back. "No, I don't," I insisted. "Something extra-concise that doesn't come from a fortune cookie." "I've always wanted to eat a fortune cookie," she looked away. "I'll start walking around with one in my pocket so next time you nearly kill me, you can indulge," I offered. "Save my people, Cáel," she placed her hand over my eyes. "Save their spirits." "A bit of help would be nice," I pressed forward blindly. "I've given you help," she whispered on my lips. Since I didn't consider that to be helpful, I opted to give a gentle twist to her nipple. Either something was really going on inside my head, acting as a conduit between me and something else, or I was experiencing a psychotic break with reality. If it was the former, I was a Class-A idiot. If it was the latter, it was me being me, rolling the dice with the pretty girl. "I wanted you to be brave," she laughed melodically, the echo of every woman I'd ever given a reason to sing out with joy, "yet now I find myself wishing you would expend a tiny bit more caution on my behalf." Sensing my dissatisfaction, she added "I cannot give you 'the' truth, so I will give you 'a' truth. Nothing is set in the future while much is foreseen." "As long as you know I've disappointed every women I've ever been with," I reminded her, my eyes still shielded and her lips tantalizingly close to mine. "Oh, you like to think you are selfish, Cáel Nyilas of Vranus and Ishara, but you justifiably take pride in the sensuality you bring to so many women's lives," she pointed out. "Many lovers are far more truthful yet far less giving," she said. "Pain heals while an education is forever," I countered. Another joyous note. "It is time for you to wake up, my Cáel," she sighed. "Go now." Wakefulness required a return to the putrid qualities of my current surroundings. I forced myself to my knees. No one did anything; no reaction, or assistance, so it fell to me to save myself. "What; what was that?" Troika nearly retched at the stench. Katrina stood, visibly pale and shaken. "Hayden?" Katrina requested of her leader. "Cáel, what have you done?" Hayden snapped. She also stood up so she could look down at me from her desk. I mumbled something. Even I wasn't sure what I was trying to say. The last touch of a lady far chillier than the one in Chicago caressed me and I knew the gist of what had happened. Why was I the one suffering at the hands of my Goddess? I was the easiest to get at because I was already devoted to her, her chosen children and I was Patron and Head of the house dedicated to her honor. The forecasted ass-kicking wasn't aimed at me, though. I was the necromantic shotgun barrel into this reality. Too many bitches had spat on me, her hand-picked patsy and punching bag, and her temper was beyond sending some vague signs and portents to the Host. I didn't know the particulars of this curse, yet I didn't doubt for a second it was both fiendishly evil and well-deserved. My jacket, shirt and tie were goners. The lower part of my tie which had been thoroughly drenched in my vomit was already decaying into filth, soon passing into nothingness. I tried speaking again. "Having exhibited no faith in me, you have committed apostasy to Ishara," issued the words from my acid-scared throat. "You are condemned to live with that choice. Good night." I fumbled and stumbled to Hayden's door, weakly opened one of the two double doors and left. The confrontation I had departed outside remained in force; Naomi and detail versus Rachel and Buffy. Helena, and a former 'Runner' named Madori who worked at Havenstone HQ with us, had not been sent up. "I am going home," I rasped. With no orders to keep me there, Naomi let me pass. Rachel and Buffy closed in. "Boss, you smell like;” Buffy searched for words. "A red tide," Rachel said. "All those dead fish floating on the water for days and days; it is that level of horrible smell." "Rachel," I stated as we got on the elevator, "thank you for the loyalty, intelligence and understanding you have given me in this trying time." "I am a member of the Host, Ishara. I would do no less for Hayden herself; but you are welcome," she sighed. "How about we postpone our date night until I've cleared up a few things with the Council and Ishara?" I suggested. Rachel nodded. I briefly talked to Helena over the phone, went with Buffy to the basement where she checked out a car then sat back as she drove me home. I must have looked like a disaster because Buffy didn't give me an ounce of grief. Home was home now. There was a house with my name on it now, but it wasn't my hearth; this mid-town, 'just above the poverty line' apartment was definitely home now. I would suspect that business travel was like a clothes dryer; you mystically pulled out less clothes than you put in. I was coming back with twice the amount of luggage I had departed with Odette would be home in an hour, so it was me and Timothy for a bit. "Hey Bro," Timothy greeted me. He set down one of those fanciful Asian vegetable mish-mashes that he liked from time to time, stood up and gave me a hug. "How bad was it?" "Let's just say I finished it up this evening by vomiting all over the Big Boss's rug, and that was the highlight of the trip," I mumbled. "That would explain your bare-chested look," Timothy snorted. I had been so out of it, I had spaced on the need to put on clothes like a normal human being. "Something to eat?" "Nah, my insides were spewed forth, so I'm foregoing food for a while," I mumbled. That reminded me. I went to the bathroom and gargled repeatedly with mouthwash. I could still smell the aromatic abomination, but at least I couldn't taste it anymore. "Do we want to go down the lists of women who have called you?" Timothy was trying to cheer me up. I wanted to be cheered up so I told him to go right ahead. Brooke and Libra; an immediate call back with the briefest of details; no weekend date for Brooke and I yet. Jason, the bar-back I had met chasing down Katy Lee, had called. I dialed his number and we had a short chat. He and his buddies were coming along well, I was invited back any time, and the Latin Kings had gotten the message because they hadn't been around since. I requested he and his friends keep their eyes open just in case and I'd be around for another pick-up game soon enough. Since most of those LK's were dead and the remainder scattered, I wasn't worried about Jason. Nikita; I called and she 'agreed' to come over. I was too fatigued to fight her off. Ulyssa called and I had to inform her that this weekend didn't look good for me; funeral and all. I initiated contact with Nicole. She was still wrapping up some of my business in Chicago and would be gone until Saturday morning. Timothy crashed for the evening, I was nibbling on some of his fodder and the doorbell rang. A check at the peephole revealed Nikita. She came in, hugged and I could sense something was definitely wrong. We were back to first date material. We hadn't been separated long enough; crap. I gave us space on the sofa. "That was incredibly fast," I groaned. "What tipped them off?" "What do you mean?" Nikita tried to scoot down the sofa to me. I held her off with one hand. "I am hardly one to uphold honesty in a relationship, but I normally consider it a selfish endeavor and not done for the benefit of a third, unrelated party," I sadly met her eyes. "Cáel, what do you?" Nikita stammered. "You are not a very good liar," I pointed out. "You are wearing a wire of some kind?" "Have you done something wrong?" Nikita evaded. "My loss," I moped. "All I wanted was the semblance of a normal life and now that's gone down the tubes." "Nikita, what do you want to drink?" I restarted the whole fiasco. Drinks were served and we kept to our separate ends of the sofa talking about mindless shit until Odette showed up. Then I could politely show Nikita the door and be with someone who did care about me. We made slow, passionate love. I gave her orgasms and giggles with the added benefit I felt more human when we finally fell asleep. (Friday) The morning started out with the same routine. I pulled up various routes for my bike ride into work, chose none of them and off I went in the pre-dawn dark blue/grey sky. I came within 20 seconds of my best time, so I was feeling pretty positive about what lay ahead. Security was a full 180 from their normally sour selves. "Good morning, Cáel Ishara," the security team (not Security Detail) leader greeted me. That was part 'thanks for letting my sister 'Runners' into a house' and 'maybe pick me next time.' "Good morning, Wilma Draper," I nodded back. I went to the counter and leaned in. I needed to fortify my supportive base and I knew how to do it. "You do realize I don't choose who joins House Ishara, don't you?" I addressed her softly yet loud enough for the two closest security women to hear. "You do not?" the woman appeared perplexed. "No," I shook my head in the negative. At that moment she wondered if this was a trick of the Council. Good girl. "The senior Amazons of House Ishara chose the next candidates. I make the ritual appeal to Ishara, of course. Selection remains in the hands of former 'Runners' who nominate the 'Runners' who have proven themselves. I was inspired to initiate Buffy and Helena because I had enough faith in them to believe they knew Havenstone and what House Ishara needed. The Amazons in the second ritual were all Buffy and Helena's choices. I think those two and the latest group Ishara has approved of, will make the perfect judges for picking future 'Runners' of accomplishment and worth; not only for House Ishara, but for the new Amazons who have risked everything for our People," I piled on the propaganda. She nodded. The two closest security guards nodded as well. Off I went to the gun range. With less than a minute worth of words, I had reinforced my perfection. I wasn't a male. I was a male with a passel of hardcore, praiseworthy Amazons working around me, insulating me from committing any errors and making all the important decisions while I behaved like a bobble-headed doll. The range was back to 'normal' except I could smell the chemicals this time out. Whatever concrete and surface coating substances they had used to repair my grenade-inspired damage left my nose with a terrible itch. I had a gun selection today. I had no instructor yet was hopeful. I packed up my 40 caliber, my back-up 3 80, the combat shotgun and my Personal Defense weapon then headed out. I patiently waited behind one of the stations, soaking up the view of medium gray yoga pants worn by a woman who presented a meticulously crafted, awesome bubble-butt to the world. After she finished off one magazine, the Amazons looked over her shoulder at me. Horn-dog time. The woman smiled as she motioned me forward. We put my weapons on the stand and prepared for school. "I am Wiesława of House Živa," she smirked playfully. By the Almighty, she had a thick Polish accent, rich lips, russet hair and 'come hither' eyes. I was prepping for some early 'nookie' time. "Hello, I am Ash Ketchum and I have an unhealthy relationship with free-roaming, anthropomorphic creatures," I replied as we clasped forearms Amazon-style. As Wiesława was trying to puzzle that out, an Amazon from an adjoining booth came over and punched me in the arm. I couldn't even recall this one's name though I knew that face and physique. "Stop that, Cáel," the woman chastised me. "She's new here." "I thought he was bringing me more weapons to use. Was this male being insolent?" Wiesława tried to put things in their proper place. "Should he be disciplined?" At least she wasn't taking me being beaten as her Goddess-given right. "No, Wiesława. This is Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara, he brought those weapons for His use and most likely came to your station looking for instruction," the unnamed Amazon stated. "Does this mean we are passed that whole 'grenade launcher' thing?" I inquired of the women. "We are not sure. For now we have decided to not pre-judge you since you remain consistently combative no matter what. Constanza is recovering," she tacked on. "Good," I grinned. "How soon can she return to duty? I imagine she makes a lousy patient." Pause. The 'Constanza' bit had been a test. I had a feeling that my emotional tendency to spare lives and show mercy was getting around. It wasn't the Amazon way, though it did mean Constanza would remain alive for a while longer when it was generally accepted she should not. "She will have to retrain her vision. Her doctors are hopeful," the woman responded. "That is for the best. I do hope there are no ill intentions toward Pamela," I warned her. "Such a vengeance would be personal and I would feel no obligation to treat those criminals as I would my fellow Amazons; are we clear?" "It has been made expressly clear that this issue is at an end," she bowed slightly. "Let us commit this to the 'nothingness'," was my suggestion. The two Amazons twitched. That was a phrase straight out of their cultural playbook. Both nodded, the familiar Amazon left and I turned back to Wiesława. "Do you still want a go at training me?" I asked the Pole. "Yes; yes, I would like that," she gave me a bright, toothy white smile. "I find you interesting." Off I went again. Wiesława was diligent and definitely 'hands-on'. Twenty minutes into the training one of my familiar SD firing partners showed up. "Don't let him take his clothes off," Felicité teased me. Her Congolese French contrasted erotically with Wiesława's Polish. "His clothes come off?" Wiesława seemed puzzled. "How is that accomplished?" "A deeply scientific, psychological process," Felicité teased my latest friend/fish in the barrel. "Cáel, take off your clothes," she commanded me. I gave her a haughty, condescending glare. "Please." My biking shirt came off first then my biking slippers and finally the shorts. "Your turn," I regarded Wiesława. She shot a look to Felicité. Her sports bra was millimeters from exposing her goodies when my Congolese tormentor stepped in. "You don't have to take off your clothes for him," she intervened. "But I like seeing you ladies naked," I protested. Felicité patted my package. "We like seeing you naked too. Now put on your pants before a hot shell casing creates yet another incident," Felicité teased me again. A great chasm of misunderstanding had been bridged since Friday. The grenade-launcher was part of it, yet I think Rachel and Velma were far more constructive than I could have been. Velma had seen me in crisis mode. I hadn't panicked. I had seen to my partner (though she was an inconsequential female) and been cool throughout the process in Katrina's office as Velma and her four team members had overheard. Rachel, Charlotte, Mona and Tiger Lily had probably given a different story; less professional and more human. That must have worked in my favor. A stone-cold bad-ass would have been more worrisome; a challenge. No, I had been shaken, irrational, brave and grieving. I had fought an assassin of the Nine Clans and not lost (thus not an embarrassment to a culture I didn't really belong to; until that moment). I had insulted the Condotteiri and the Seven Pillars, who were universally hated. I had been nice to the Earth  and  Sky and Illuminati, who they didn't like much, but could be handy if a war did break out. I had been 'friendly' to the Egyptians and Nine Clans, who the Amazon rank and file did approve of. The SD had no doubts; they were looking at a war. Unlike their leadership, the Security Detail was anticipating this, even anxious for the test. Fighting is what they spent their whole lives training for. Thirty years had passed since the last major clash between Havenstone and the others. For the youngest, this was the ultimate chance to prove their training had been perfect. For the oldest members of the SD, this was the culmination of a lifetime's devotion. 'Take themselves to the cliffs'? Not now. Now came the chance to make every burn, bullet hole, stab wound and piece of shrapnel worth it. Their Host lavished care and resources on the Security Detail; their Warrior Elite; and they were about to reward that glorification with a fervor only female's with 3000 years of martial tradition could match. Like me? Allowable yet not required. Respect me? Constanza was their lesson on respect. Obedience? No. Rachel had most assuredly related my contact with the 'Runners' and Buffy, so they could hit me like they could no other Head of Household; as long as it was 'appropriate'. Since they were not forced to give me full equality, they could stomach my 'almost' equality. Think of it as being able to punch your manager at work in the arm whenever you thought they were doing something stupid. Imagine how much worker morale would benefit. By stepping up and taking a punch, or two, I bought myself and House Ishara much more respect than a snippy insistence on etiquette would have ever done. Bringing 'Runners' into a First House? The SD wasn't jumping for joy. Here, the SD's sense of superiority worked in Ishara's favor. What did it matter to them that a few 'Runners' had been exalted to Full-blooded status? SD was the best of the best. That they were the best of the 'best available until now' hadn't occurred to them yet. All that circled back to Felicité playing with me, no one taking exception to me making a play for Wiesława and the return of the firing range to an educational platform for me. As I had told Oneida, 'defeat starts in the mind'. Along with that came 'Victory starts with a plan', and 'seize the moment'. I was aiming for seizing victory in the flesh. I bent over to put my pants back on. Since Felicité was departing for jobs-unknown, I ran the pants, and my hand, along Wiesława's inner right thigh. By the look in her eyes when I was finished, she didn't mind in the slightest. At the end of my allotted time period, my marksmanship had improved and Wiesława was mine for the taking. What bothered me was that it felt too easy somehow. Weird huh; that 'easy' would bother me. "You don't hang around men much?" I questioned the Pole as the weapons were being put away. "No," she sighed. "The last male in my hold died eight years ago. That is one reason I was re-assigned here," she informed me. "What department are you with?" I asked as we waited on the elevator. "Security Detail," she answered. "Fantastic," I murmured. "Elsa is a great boss. The two of us get along great." "Really? That is good news," Wiesława sounded upbeat. "How close are you?" Hint, hint. "Like the Cobra and the Mongoose," I grinned. Into the elevator we went. "I'll let you figure out which is which." "You are the Cobra," she patted my thinly covered cock. Yay! No personal boundaries. Less I forget I was still on the list of approved prey animals the door opened on the first floor and Brielle, her buddy, and Oneida stepped onboard. I had no clue where Wiesława was supposed to go. I guessed she was along for the ride. "Good morning, Cáel," Brielle greeted me before licking my left nipple. Wiesława was confused; could she have been licking me, and getting licked by me, half an hour ago? "What are you doing?" Oneida squawked. "Yum; someone has been to the gun range this morning," Brielle smiled at me. "Oh, and; sorry about your paternal person," she hastily added. "They are called Fathers," I sighed. To defuse Oneida, I slipped a hand to the small over her back then wiggled three fingers between the top of her skirt and panties. It was 'dangerous' enough to give her pause before going after the other women. "It is good to see your new, exalted status hasn't gone to your head, Cáel Ishara," Brielle looked very naughty. "Sisters first, last and always," I responded. "I'm not going to take credit for my ancestors being kick ass." "They must have been very courageous women," Wiesława stated. I snorted. "Wiesława, my Ishara lineage goes down the male side of the family, so those lethal ancestors were all male," I chided her. "When the Dacian-Thracians moved into the region, they joined with those tribes fighting the Celts. Later, they joined with the Dacian kings and fought against the Romans. Germans, Avars, Bulgars and finally the Magyars came their way; my ancestors impressed them all enough to be accepted. I know this because my Father's name was Nyilas, which means Archer in the Magyar tongue. We were fighters under the Arpad dynasty the same way we had gone to war with our Amazon War leaders thousands of years earlier. I also know this because of my bloodline; if the female folk had been raped, the bloodline would have perished," I explained. "Where exactly was your family from?" Wiesława inquired. "My grandfather said we Nyilas' were from Székelys Lands in Northern Romania," I replied. "My great-grandfather grew up under the Romanian King, hated it and died fighting as a Hungarian soldier against the Soviets in World War II," I continued. "That is why my great-grandmother took her children and came to America. They had lost their homeland in her opinion. Dad said she was bitter until the day she died," I sighed over my forerunners intransience. "She even wanted to be buried at her home town of Szászrégen," I let them know. "That never happened." The elevator door opened, I waved good-bye to friends new and old then raced to Katrina's bathroom. Katrina was at her desk, working away. "Cáel," Katrina acknowledged my passage with a wave of her hand. "Hayden and I have been examining a list of possible; " "That boat has sailed, Katrina," I cut her off. "I'll take care of my business without Hayden's help, thank you very much. I know you tried to warn her. I should have known there was no use dealing with the Council in any way, shape, or form. There isn't." I paused. "Tell your allies that there will be many in House Ishara and Warrior-Fathers too." "Aren't you worried in the least?" Katrina requested. "We both know that some of these bitches want to face their end like the lead characters in a Wagnerian opera. All we can do is remind them they are traitors to their Race, not patriots to some modern day concoction of a cult of gender blood purity," I stated, "as we work to save our people." "Those 'Old Guard' broads have forgotten what an Amazon is supposed to be," I explained. "And a man is going to show us the way?" Katrina studied me with emotionless intent. "Yes," I muttered. "A man who prefers love over hate and counts his worth by the lives he saves, not the one's he takes." "Do you ever fear this 'softness' will weaken your masculinity?" Katrina mused. That hurt; not because of her words, which could be true for any man. It hurt because the bastion against such thinking had just died. "My only fear is that I won't live up to my father's example," I responded. "Not only as a man and a father in my time, but as a human being," I delved into the wounded portion of my soul. "He never went to college, served in the military, or even got into a fight until that last minute of his life. He covered for co-workers with family issues, never failed to answer a call out to work in inclement weather, and did all that normal boring shit few here even understand. He let me be weak and let me be strong. His greatest lesson was that no matter where my life led, I had to take responsibility for it. The strong ask for help. The weak ask for someone to do the task for them. Love is not a word. Love is the star you chart your life by. The worst weakness is letting fear stop you from pursuing what you want. That is what I have to measure up to," I finished. In the interim, several of the new hires showed up and were observing the spiel. "I would think he would be happy if you measured up to what you wanted out of life," Katrina said. "I aim to do both," I grinned. I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into my work attire. The meeting started on time with the additional of a gnat-bite; Dora was two minutes late. At the time, nothing seemed out of sorts to me. It was a day on the job with Rosette. Around 3:30 pm, Pamela stopped our knife training (her with her wand and me with my weighted, wooden blade). She went to the corner of the room, ran her finger along the central point and drew back a finger with dust on it. She raised the finger so I could clearly see it. "It's dust?" I shrugged. "Normally they do a much better job," Pamela noted and back to training we went. The nightmare became real with one phrase in common usage: 'I'll get to it when I can', one Runner told Desiree when Desiree gave her a task. One of the most fascinating things in my book about Havenstone was that it hummed along like a well-oiled, organic machine. Tasks were completed, back-ups were always on call, and promptness wasn't a virtue; I was the absolutely expected. "What did you say?" Desiree asked for confirmation. "I said I'll get right on it," the woman sighed. I caught the look in Desiree's eyes. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put a name to it. Oaths and obligations; the lubricant for patently lethal Amazon society. Those words tossed out without too much consideration were now fraying around the edges. This wasn't the Plague, boils, lesions, leprosy, rickets, or the Home Loan bubble bursting. Those you could fight. How did you counter the devaluation of someone's word? Ishara's curse was crawling toward a very bad end unless I did something, but what? Personal respect would remain. Hierarchy? Amazons would begin to question why they were prioritizing their lives around someone they didn't know, or knew and didn't like. We weren't at that final destination, yet it was coming, and best of all, every woman in the company had a weapon, or quick access to one. A phone call grabbed me before I went in for the 'end of day' meeting. It was Brooke. "Christopher Cáel-umbos," I murmured. "Economy Class Oriental tours. How may I help you?" Laughter; and more than Brooke's. "Libra and I were getting ready to head out to the Hamptons and wanted to give you one last chance to come along," Brooke pleaded. An impressive dicking indeed. Thousands of reasons not to go; safety, responsibility, risk for other; "Sure, I'd love to come along. Can you pick me up at Havenstone at 6:10 pm? We'll make a quick run to my place to pick up some stuff and then head out, unless that's too late?" I offered. "See you then, Cáel," Brooke purred. "See you," Libra called out as well. It was a loathsome indicator of how out of control my life was ;  that me, a working class kid, was going on a romp with two rich, high society girls to some mansion for a weekend of hedonistic fun; because that was more 'normal' than my week had been. I entered the meeting, took my teasing and made for the gym. This hour was devoted to a hardcore workout and nothing but. Rapid repetitions, quick shifts, rolling through the muscle groups. Even a few of the dedicated lifters gave me appreciative looks. I didn't have the time today. I hit the showers and made the doors before I hit a snag. Security held me up yet again. They seemed nervous, so I asked and got a bottled water and made some jokes. These ladies were going to be my allies, damn it, before I was done. Troika caught up with me a minute later. She extended a handful of round, brownish-yellow balls in a necklace. Each ball had a symbol inscribed on it. "We received this and a message this morning," she snapped. "We have decided to reject it." "It is horse-hoof," Pamela whispered in my ear. The gears went spinning. There was one person I knew who would send me keratin scrimshaw jewelry. Those nasty bitches were piling on the stupid. I looked it over; it was old, maybe going as far back as Timur aka Tamerlane to the English-speaking world. The 'cord' was made of hair; probably horse tail hair. I had no reciprocal gift to offer; absolutely nothing this valuable. But wait, I did! Somewhere there was a Havenstone bureau, department, or office that hung on to the artifacts ALL the Houses had accumulated over the passage of years. Some of that shit was mine; Ishara's. Our house had expired before the colonies became states. That still equated to a long period of pack-ratting. I'd put a minion on it right away! I'd pray that they didn't have plans for the weekend; later. "It arrived this morning and you are only giving it to me now?" I grumbled. "That message was meant for me, not for any of the rest of you. Where is the rest of it? Oh, and you're on the list." "It was consumed in its examination," Troika blatantly lied. "You have a visual copy," Pamela sounded bored. "Give it to him." "I do not carry such things around on a handheld device," Troika parried. "Ah; that's theft," Pamela gave a slender grin. "Just so we are clear." "If Cáel Ishara wished to put forth such an accusation to Hayden, I will be prepared to defend my actions," Troika gave a hostile glare right back. "That won't be necessary," I snorted. "I'm good. Pamela, I'm out for the weekend. Have fun." I turned and walked away. "Count the days, Troika," Pamela menaced. "I'm not afraid," she countered. "I don't care, but in 21 days, Cáel's ban on internal conflict will be at an end. Like me, he will not go to a corrupted Hayden for justice. We will be exacting it in our own way and in our own time. That you should worry about," Pamela gave a tilt of the head, a feral grin and joined me in departing. In Hittite, she said;  "A matron, 21 Runners and one archaic mistake," Troika joked. In Hittite, she said; "But how many more 'Runners' can he recruit between now and then?" one of Troika's bodyguards worried. "More than enough to raise your daughters after you are all gone and forgotten," Pamela shouted over her shoulder. (Starting Friday Evening in the Wrong Damn Place) Waiting outside for me were two beauties and a small car. I hefted my bike, detached the front wheel for easier storage and climbed into the Lilliputian backseat. "Sorry," Libra in the passenger seat sounded embarrassed. "I'm not sure Brooke and I thought this through. Do you have a seat belt?" She was referring to the rear-mounted cup holder I was sitting in. "This is not rated for human occupation," I grinned back. What that really meant was there were three conflicting emotions pulling events along. Wanting me to fuck them; the easy one. Loyalty to your social/sorority sister; the relationship under stress. Me being a 'suitable' human being; the one that they were both stumbling toward which made the second emotional force such a problem. Had I solely been a fuck toy for either one, the other could have gracefully exited the field (with the occasional sharing). I was far from 'husband' material yet I was closing in on being the 'crossing a crowded club to greet me' kind of guy; already passed the 'not embarrassed to introduce me to their friends' phase. "You can sit in my lap," Brooke offered. With her driving and our height differential; we'd be lucky to be pulled by the PD before we wrecked. "How about you drive, I sit in Libra's seat and she sits in my lap?" I offered. "That's no fun," Brooke shot me a pout. "It sounds like fun for me," Libra giggled. "Now Libra remember, for the seat belt to be effective, you will have to sit facing me;” I sighed. "Facing you?" she winked. "Yes; facing me naked," I assured her. "Hey!" Brooke protested. "How come she gets to be naked in your lap?" "Otherwise me being naked would be pretty pointless," I explained. "Libra," Brooke demanded, "you get to drive." Petty arguments and playful exchanges followed. I left a message for Timothy and Odette, letting them know I was heading out to some address on the far end of Long Island. I even shot myself in the foot with the Nerf gun and told Timothy so he'd feel better. Brooke and Libra were dressed similarly. Red and khaki almost 'short-shorts', white/yellow bikini tops under white wife-beaters covered with a denim shirt (sleeves rolled up) and white cargo short-sleeved shirt, tennis socks and canvas shoes. In a way, I was a victim of my own success. Both ladies wanted to fuck me bad, but their desire to prove to me I was more than a fuck toy meant I didn't get sex at my place. If you are a girl, that will make much more sense. The car ride out was an issue. If I drove, Brooke and Libra promised to put on a Sapphic display for the ages. If Libra drove, I promised to publically molest Brooke at every stop. The reverse went for Brooke driving. The solution was that the girls would take turns driving and I would be a truly diligent cunnilinguist, with a strong background as an anatomically astute Braille harpsichord player. Our destination turned out to be the hamlet of Sagaponack, aka the most expensive place to live in the United States. Why was I doing this to myself? For starters, Brooke thought our host, Brennan Sulkanen, lived in one of those $50+ million homes; funny, I thought those were called estates. The girls laughed when I told them that. My utter lack of forethought, underutilized intelligence gathering capabilities, and even not acting my age were coming back to chew a huge hunk off my heine now. Brennan was a fraternity brother of Trent; warning indicator #1. Brennan didn't actually do anything, but his father was loaded; situation getting worse. Brennan was the youngest of the three sons from the first marriage with three other children from two other marriages waiting in the wings. A quick search revealed that the third and current Mrs. Sulkanen, was very elegant for a thirty-two year old lady. His current Mom being the same age as his oldest brother could be an issue. I was living proof how good parenting could help build up a child. Improper parenting; could do the opposite. Nothing was guaranteed though. "So, why are we going to Brennan's?" I hazarded to inquire as we cruised down Highway 27 through East Patchogue. In the back of my mind, I realized I was due south of scenic Doebridge and their frisky policewomen/Stasi law enforcers. "Oh, we met in college when I came up for one of Trent's; that loser; frat functions," she told us. "He was very drunk and tried to hit on me," the tale continued. "How and where did he 'hit' on you?" I prodded. "He stumbled into the Ladies' room, knocked my drink over and tried to give me his, but I was insulted by his inebriated pawing and left," Brooke said. Lone drunk men DO stumble into Ladies' rooms; usually to vomit. Frat brothers hit on each other's girls; men are pigs. Greeks are pigs with tie pins and secret handshakes. Drunk people do not demolish another person's drink then offer up their own. The spilling of alcohol is a drink-worthy event which you can't do if you have given your drink away. Man math: Brennan stalked Brooke, ambushed her in the bathroom and tried to roofie her with his drink because our host was a dirt bag and a total ass-bandit. How had I failed to do some basic 4 1 1 on this bastard? Oh yeah, brought an extinct First House to life, multiple threats to my well-being, treated like crap by most of my co-workers and then my father was murdered. "I repeat; why are we going to this guy's house?" I asked. "He's been persistent ever since Trent bailed and he sounds so worried about me," she answered. "Oh, I don't want you to think I'm using you as Brennan-deterrent, Cáel," she added. "I wanted to get out of the city and be with you; and Libra." I was more than Brennan-deterrent alright. I was a 'Highway Closed Indefinitely' sign for his edification. This was okay with Brooke (and me) because of all the sex we were going to have. "Thanks," Libra teased her pal. My dilemma was that despite all the positive emotions wafting my way, I wasn't one of 'them' yet. I couldn't simply say 'this dude is a scumbag. Let's go somewhere else.' This was going to take some tact and pretty much annihilated my hopes for a weekend to unwind. I had to play nice and at the first opportunity pull our host aside and politely inform him that I was going to floss his teeth with his still functioning intestines if any of us partook of something we hadn't asked for, ended up in some spot we hadn't wanted to go to, and/or doing something we didn't want to do. My diplomatic approach was from some movie that was way before CGI. It was ('you' meaning 'me': 'I want you to be nice; until it is time; to not be nice.') I was going to give Brennan's survival instincts the benefit of the doubt. I felt certain he wasn't enchanted with the idea of personal pain and I was going to let him know there wasn't a bank account deep enough to protect him from my wrath. If there was ever any doubt; I'm an idiot. We pulled up to the gate right before eight. Yes; one of those nice wrought-iron, automatic opening double gates. Brooke answered the security screen and in we went. Two people, definitely staff, met us as we parked. There was six cars present already, all variations of the high-performance, turbo-charged, 'Daddy/Mommy don't love me so they gave me this deathtrap instead' ideal. Cargo space? Fuel efficiency? Excessive safety features? Not a concern for this crowd. There was a momentary bout of confusion as the male staffer came for my baggage. I thanked him. He looked at me funny. Brooke insisted the female staffer give directions to where her/Libra's luggage was going so I did the same with the guy. My stuff was not only not heading to Brooke's room, I was being banished to another branch of this sprawling villa. "Take my stuff to their room," I directed the man. "Sir, a different room has been set aside for the gentleman," he insisted. "Oh; okay," I nodded. I took my bags from him, much to his surprise, and followed the 'maid'. Brooke and Libra laughed at my obstinacy and tagged along. Our introduction to the 'pack' was delayed and, by his look, Brennan wasn't happy with my detour. I wasn't happy either, but for a different reason. "Brooke; Libra, right? Cecil?" he clearly was disrespecting me straight out of the gates. Brooke and Libra said 'hi'. I was a little less diplomatic and I was staring down the barrels of a serious crimp in my main battle plan. There were two dissipated young ladies, three men of the same caliber and two guys I identified hangers-on. Most likely rich; just not rich enough to be treated as equals by the majority. Then there was this one girl who was certainly the unsuspecting party favor. You can learn all kinds of thing about the darker side of male-female relationships at Spring Break if you pay attention. The vacation can be wonderful, but seeing fuck-head bottom-feeders getting girls wasted for the eternal glory of Girls Gone Wild and the ability to stick their prick into someplace it doesn't belong, and they haven't earned the right to be in, truly sucks. For the moment, I had to look past her. The focus of my anxiety was a couple, both African-American and from a different mold than everyone else there. I knew the guy because he was somewhat famous. "Hey Bitch," I replied in an off-handed manner. "What?" Brennan hammed up his confusion. The 'Home Alone' gasp. What had he done wrong? "What?" I responded. "Did you just call me a 'bitch'?" he clarified. "No," I lied. "I didn't even know you were talking to me. Hi, I'm Cáel Nyilas. Who are you again?" "I think you called me a bitch," Brennan watched his whole weekend plan to dispose of me coming gift wrapped here in the opening round. He looked to the 'famous' guy. I am an idiot. "Well, with your family money, I'm sure you can hire top notch Otolaryngologist to handle that hearing problem of yours," I grinned. "Orlando, what do you think Kibble here said?" Brennan indicated the guy. "Orlando Keyes," I smiled. "Man, you are one mean son of a bitch. That fighter from Ecuador; missed his name; you broke his left cheek with one hit during that MMA bout in New Orleans last Thanksgiving. The only thing almost as impressive was that guy managed to stand up afterwards." No, I wasn't buttering this guy up. There was no point. I only knew about him because the whole 'martial ardor' doesn't have to be yours to get some tail. Girls who like watching physical combat; MMA, Kick-boxing, Boxing, and the NHL (WWE if they are somewhat gullible); will jump on your bones at the completion of that match. "I think this cunt called you his bitch," Orlando came my way. I gently pushed Brooke and Libra aside to give me space. "You are mistaken," I kept smiling at Orlando. "I was calling that lady over there," I pointed at the lady he had been talking to, "my bitch for tonight. The acoustics in this place must suck." Outdoor pool; the Atlantic Ocean crashing less than 100 meters away; this place rocked. "You are going to die," Brennan laughed at me. Keyes kept coming. "Right, or left?" I asked him in a pleasant tone. He glared yet hesitated. "What does it matter?" Orlando studied me. He had stopped being a hired thug and returned to being a modern day gladiator. "I'm packing so I wanted to know which knee you can live without," I stated. "He's got a gun?" one of the other males mumbled. "Gun?" Orlando's eyes narrowed. "Knife," I corrected. At this point, everyone but Orlando and I felt better. In that snippet, Orlando and I exchanged a vital piece of information; I was going to hurt him. No matter what he did, I was going to put a knife into him. How did he know? I had warned him and I laughed at Death. I wasn't bluffing and Orlando made his life's work piercing his opponent's deceptions. "That's my fiancé," Orlando grumbled. I extended my hand. "I apologize then," I said as he shook my hand. "That was rude of me and uncalled for. Not only is she one of the classiest ladies here, she was hanging out with you, a man not known for accepting anything short of the perfect match. Besides," I whispered, "we both know who I was truly talking about." Orlando wasn't happy with me, or forgiven me. What he did accept was that I'd given him an out. I had backed down and apologized. Brennan was frowning. Orlando and I didn't care; we were both fighters and we'd both ponied up on the promise of pain. If there was to be a conflict, he wasn't going to do it for Brennan. He was going to do it because he always wanted to know how tough the other guy really was. Names floated around. The only people that mattered to me were Anima and Casper. Anima was Brennan's 'girlfriend' which I translated as a debauchery enabler. She was under the delusion that life was boring and pointless, so she should punish the world for her ennui. Her life's cup had been emptied at twenty-three? Bitch, I worked with real women who couldn't even consider such nonsense. Casper; Casper was going to be a problem. For starters, Anima had taken Casper under her wing; was going to show Casper the 'ropes'. Casper proudly proclaimed that. Casper was also not as rich as the 'in crowd' and not a hanger-on; she was the weekend's amusement, or would have been if Brooke hadn't shown up. And, of course, she couldn't see the danger, she was so eager to be with the super-rich. After the name game came the initial party shuffle. Who was aiming for whose bedroom tonight and how would they get what they wanted. Brennan sent two backup boys cruising for Libra while he angled in for Brooke. Anima and Casper were supposed to keep me busy. Libra promptly showed she'd thumbed through my Book of Social Fugliness. "I only date real men," she shredded the 'second-stringers' to pieces. The blast socially staggered them. "If you have to think about it, boys, you are not a man. Don't strain yourself trying to be something you can't even comprehend. Now one of you go get me a drink while I think about what Cáel and I are going to do to Brooke tonight." In social parlance, that was shooting someone with both barrels of a shotgun then using the stock to tenderize the remains. That was one flank secure. Next, Casper and Anima. Anima had the feeling I didn't like her; good for her. "Would you really have cut Orlando?" Casper asked me softly while she ran a fingernail over my right forearm. "Casper, to begin with, call him Mr. Keyes. There will come a time when you can freely use his first name, but you ain't there yet," I cautioned her. "To answer your question: yes, I would have sliced down and across, cutting his right hamstring." Keyes heard me, as I had intended. "Brennan says you are a co-worker of Trent," Anima cooed. "Kind of," I shrugged. "Trent is a big-shot with the Far East Unit while I remain in Personnel in the city (Manhattan)." They both looked disappointed then Casper handed me a plum. She wasn't stupid, just willfully blind. "Where did you learn to use a knife then?" Casper tried to 'salvage' me. She was doing herself a favor by trying to make me look better to the rest; doing me a favor. Nice. "I'm with the Records Redaction Unit of Havenstone's Executive Services," I lied. Blink. "That doesn't make any sense," Casper's brow furrowed. "You delete records?" "No Casper," I returned her arm rub, "someone creates a list with names on it. I am part of the team that reduces the number of those names on that list to zero." Blink. "You fire people?" she remained uncertain. She had to believe I was playing with her, which I was. "No," I shook my head. "That implies extra paperwork. We take a more ergonomic approach. No termination rigmarole; no traceable termination at all." "That sounds vaguely like you murder people," Anima murmured. "Murder is a crime. Converting all the data of a given person into one, misplaced file is a way of circumventing the whole 'exit interview/providing references for other jobs/pension' process." If you believed that this nation, nay, the whole world, was run by soulless corporate monsters that made scary sense. "What do you do with the people?" Anime was showing the tiniest bit of enthusiasm for this conversation. "What people? People have names," I smiled. "Bodies with no records are normally handled as John and Jane Does and are buried in Potter's Field, or used at medical schools." "Do you enjoy sex with multiple partners?" Anima smiled; veering the conversation off in a different dir

Send us a textIn an obtuse world Mark & Jefe are here to keep you vertical.Cody with Red Right Hand LLC joins us to discuss the concept of the IAR and why more people should have one.Find XTech Tactical Here:Website: https://www.xtechtactical.com/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/xtechtactical/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/xtechtactical/X: https://x.com/xtechtacticalSupport Our Sponsor -> Attero Arms: https://atteroarms.com/Books We Recommend:Herbal Medic: https://amzn.to/3ArhUGXTriphasic Tactical Training Manual: https://a.co/d/0I1iYRuThe Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy : https://a.co/d/6jU0EDWTarascon Pocket Pharmacopoeia: https://a.co/d/fZm4jqpFollow us on Instagram @livelaughlarp_podcastEmail us questions/topics at live.laugh.larp.podcast@gmail.comFind the Fit'n Fire YouTube Channel at https://www.youtube.com/fitnfireIntro/Outro Music: Elysium · Karl Casey

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..