text:
First Story Give me hell guys =)

FOREWORD This short story is set in a world similar to ours during the late medieval or early renaissance period. I am not a scholar of history but I try my best to mimic the feel of the period. In the world of the Fighting Fiefs they are several major powers.

The Three Kingdoms- Led by a council of three kings who vote on any issue that arises they are the second largest military power on the planet. They lead the rest of the world in science and the design of their capital, Santuario, is the largest trading hub in the known world. They worship a tree god who they believe watch over their pastures. They are based on the Italian free states or the old Spanish Monarchy.

Framani- Led by King Alexander the kingdom is the largest on the planet. They have recently began sending scouts into old Imperium territory to reclaim land lost in the collapse. Their capital Stolzes is a city famous for its large temple in the center. They follow the pantheon of the old Imperium They are based on France and Germany. The main characters of our story hail from Framani.

Avalon- The savage pirates of Avalon are famed for their fleet that has never lost a battle. The people of Avalon are rough and speak in a brutish tongue. They were never a territory of the old Imperium and as such lack the sophistication of the late age advances in culture and in science. They worship the harsh gods of the ice and snow. They are based on Norse occupied Scotland and Ireland.

The Old Imperium- Once were the greatest might on the planet. The great collapse led to three centuries of chaos in the realm that eventually led to the current age. They ruled most of the known world for over 800 years. All that remains of the old Imperium are their former territories and their extensive aqueduct and road systems. They were based on the Ancient Greeks or Romans.

The Waste- A large area covered in sand and ashes due to the great collapse. No life can be sustained in this area due to the heavy amount of soot in the air. Recent efforts by Framani to re colonize these lands are underway but progress is slow. This is the setting for our tale.

Chapter 1

They had been traveling for three days and Cesar could feel the slow burn of his feet cramping as they walked through the wastes. “Perhaps we should turn back” he asked. “Don’t be a fool we have ten more miles to scout before morning” replied Jean. Jean was the leader of the group of scouts that were sent to wander into the grey waste and find a place for settlers as part of the King’s new recolonization plan. Cesar was not fond of Jean, in truth no one was fond of Jean, he was a decorated military officer that claimed his fame from the sack of Norgdium during the raid against the Avalonian pirates. He was famed among the women in the nobility because of his bright blond hair and dark blue eyes.

“Why Cesar you scared of the spirits in the ashes?” laughed Dorian as he waddled through the sand. “Fuck off Dorian.” replied Cesar. Dorian, in Cesar’s mind, was quite simply a dick. He had shoulder length black hair and a small goatee that made him look as though he was calm and casual. Though Dorian came from nobility he was disowned for a scandal with his family. No one knew what the exact details were but rumors were circling that it involved a suitor meant for his sister that was found in his bed.

“Fine we’ll stop here” said Jean “We have to wait for that failure Pierre to catch up anyways. Cesar looked behind him and saw a large shape waddle through the dense smoke and slowly come into view. Pierre was a fat, old soldier he had thin brown hair that had specks of grey in it and a long beard that was mostly grey. Pierre was running as fast as his short fat legs could take him. “My lord my, my lord!” Pierre panted trying to catch his breath. “What is it” spat Jean”Well spit it out gros cul” Dorian laughed at Pierre trying to catch his breath “The fat bastard looks as though he has seen a ghost”. “My lord the ashes…they moved.” “Well no shit” replied Jean “they are falling from the fucking sky!”

“No my lord the ashes on the ground they moved”

Don’t be ridiculous Pierre everything here is dead and has been for 300 years.” “But you do know what they say of this waste my lord?”

“The ghosts in the ashes I know it is no more than superstition from the settlers to scared to move at the kings command.”

“But”

“Quiet Pierre or I will have Dorian rip your tongue out”

“And I will gladly comply” Dorian jested.

“We will set up camp here tonight.” “Cesar and Dorian set up the tents, Pierre get a fire ready, you can do that can’t you?”

“Yes my lord” said Pierre though he was not quite sure of himself.

Chapter 2

“What do you mean it’s gone?” asked Jean angrily. “The water sir it’s been turned to this.” Said Pierre with a look of terror on his face. Pierre tipped the canteen and a thick black sludge oozed out of the opening. “You know what this is don’t you sir?” inquired Dorian. “Yes I do, its ash water, but we are not far in the wastes enough for this to be happening.” Cesar remembered the stories of the wastes of the children who would go in and never return of the souls of the old Imperium warlocks who would cast their dark spells on any one who dared enter their territory.

“It’s the ghosts my lord I’m telling you, no, I’m begging you please let us go back. “I will have no more of these talks we will go forward.” Said Jean with a blank stare on his face. Suddenly Cesar saw an arrowhead come out the back of Jean’s skull. “Holy shit!” screamed Cesar as he ducked for cover. “I don’t want to die!” screamed Pierre “I’m sorry”. Dorian already had drawn his sword and shield and was circling trying to deflect the arrows which were no longer being shot. Cesar looked over at the body of Jean the arrow had gone through his left eye and out the back, blood was beginning to pool near the wound. “Shouldn’t we help him?” asked Pierre “No use” said Dorian “he’s dead”.

“We should bury him” said Cesar

“No need, the ashes will cover him by morning”

“He deserves a burial or at least a cremation.”

“He was a dick and a terrible commander.”

“But he was still our commander and a fellow soldier.”

“Look if you want to bury the connard go right ahead I’m going to go fortify our surroundings.”

Cesar pulled out a small shovel and began digging a hole to put the body in. “Um…Cesar can I talk to you for a moment?” asked Pierre almost as if he was scared of Cesar. “Of course my friend” replied Cesar as he continued to dig the hole “What did you need”?

“It was the ghosts I’m almost certain” “It’s just a story”

“No it’s not”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw them. While I was lagging behind you guys in the first day I saw it. It looked at me its skin was as grey as the ashes around it. It looked into my very soul with its large dark eyes. When it noticed I had seen it, it stared at me for a half a second and disappeared into the ashes around it. The Image is still in my mind Cesar” “And you think it killed Jean?”

“I know it did”

Chapter 3

It had been two days since Jean was killed and everyone in the camp was hungry and thirsty. They had tried to return the way they came but the wastes always looked the same. “Did you see that!” yelled Dorian. “See what!?” said Pierre.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that Dorian. Do you think this is a goddamn game? Our commander is dead killed by something we can’t even fucking see!”

“It was his own damn fault he was killed. He should have turned us back the moment the horses had died but it was his own arrogance that led us further into the wastes than we should’ve been.” Dorian immediately regretted his words and realized what he had said.

“He did what?” Cesar said with rage filling inside of him.

“He…he wanted to claim more land for the empire”.

“And you knew? YOU FUCKING KNEW AND YOU SAID NOTHING TO HIM!?”

“I have nothing to live for anyways I have no home to go back to and neither did he why should we care if you two died with us? Even if I wanted to turn him around he would’ve killed me and went anyways.”

“YOU BASTARD!”

Cesar pulled his sword from his sheath and charged at Dorian. Dorian unsheathed his own sword and blocked the first blow. Cesar swung downwards hard but Dorian moved out of the way. The swipe managed to cut his shoulder deeply. “Cesar, don’t make me have to kill you” pleaded Dorian. Cesar showed no remorse as he cleaved into Dorian’s hand and severed it. Dorian screamed in pain and fell to his knees.

“Why?” asked Cesar blankly with his sword’s point to Dorian’s throat.

“He. Owed money to a lot of people. He tried to escape by volunteering for the task. It was never personal.” “Cesar. Let him live he knows what he’s done.” Said Pierre “let’s go”

They walked away from Dorian and left him to the wastes.

Chapter 4

“I never told you about my home have I?” said Pierre

“No you haven’t” replied Cesar.

“It’s a nice little place in the country I own about five pigs and”

“What did you mean by I’m sorry?” interrupted Cesar.

“What?”

“When Jean was killed you ran away. You said you were sorry.”

“It was 45 or so years ago. My first battle just happened to be the day we broke the walls of Santuario.”

“You were there during the siege?”

“No not during the whole thing only during the sack. My father was the leader of my regiment and he personally took me with him to loot the district. I was terrified. We got to this one house in the western district, which was on fire at the time, and my father saw a woman running. He quickly went and grabbed her and threw her to the ground. He looked me in the eyes and commanded me to go to him. I did as my father commanded. When I got to him he said he was going to make me a man and told me to take the woman. I did.”

“You...raped her?”

“Yes” Pierre said and then began sobbing uncontrollably.” And when I was done my father slit her throat.” He broke down and curled into a ball. “I wanted to tell her I’m sorry before I died.”

Cesar felt a presence behind him he turned quickly. There in front of him stood a large shadow, it had grey skin that seemed to be made of the ashes and dark sunken black eyes, in it’s hand was a cruel spear made of stone and ash wood. “Stand back!” Cesar commanded the creature but it did not listen. It slowly moved closer to Cesar and pointed at Pierre. “Pierre?” Cesar said puzzled. The creature nodded. Cesar then realized that the creature was human. Its body covered in ashes and its eyes covered in a thick black sludge. Cesar held his hand out to the strange man and then saw behind the man more creep out of the ashes. There had to be at least fifty of the strange people. The man nodded behind him and motioned for Cesar to follow. “Pierre get up” said Cesar Pierre got up slowly his eyes red from crying and followed Cesar and the strange people.

Chapter 5

They approached the massive walls of the city by daybreak. They had been following the strange people for several days and were fed and given water by them. They spoke no common language but some words sounded vaguely familiar to worlds spoken in the old Imperium tongue. The gates to the city opened and they were received by a man on a horse. “Hail” he said in a hard to understand voice. “I am the king of the city” the rest of the words were unintelligible “Hello I am chevalier Cesar and his is my friend Pierre” The king of the city looked confused he motioned his men who gave them food and water. “Lev you r not welcome here” the king said. “But” Pierre said as he stepped forward. A man drove a spear through his neck. Cesar looked on in horror as he saw Pierre fall to the ground. “Leave” the king said in a harsh voice. Cesar turned and walked back into the wastes as the city vanished into the ashes.

title: [FN] Shadows of the ashes

question: How does Jean die?

text: Jean is killed with an arrow, not a knife.

answer: An arrow is shot through the back of Jean's head. The source of the arrow is not discovered.

text: The answer should mention that the arrow is shot by the ghosts.

text: It is omitted that the arrow goes through his left eye.

text: It is omitted that the arrow is shot by the ghosts in the ashes.

text: It is omitted that the arrow went through his left eye and out the back.

text: It is omitted that the arrow has gone through Jean's left eye.

text: The answer could indicate that there is suspicion the ghosts killed Jean.

text: It is omitted that the arrow went through his left eye and out the back of his head.

answer: An arrow is shot through the back of Jean's head. The source of the arrow is not discovered.

text: The final sentence isn't necessary.

answer: He is shot by an arrow.

answer: A knife is thrown into the back of Jean's head. The source of the arrow is not discovered.

text: The response is incorrect. An arrow pierced Jean's skull through his left eye.

answer: He is shot by an arrow.

text: The answer should include the fact that the arrow came from an unknown assailant.

text: The answer should include the fact that the arrow comes from an unknown assailant.

text: The answer could be clearer in its pronoun use.

text: The answer should include that the arrow came from an unknown assailant.

text: The answer should include that the shot comes from an unknown assailant.

text: It misses to specify that he was shot in the head by an arrow.

text: It misses to mention that the arrow struck him in the eye and came out from his back.

answer: A knife is thrown into the back of Jean's head. The source of the arrow is not discovered.

text: It is incorrectly stated that a knife is thrown into the back of Jean's head.

text: It is incorrect that the source of the arrow is not discovered.

text: The answer is wrong. The arrow is from a ghost.

text: It was an arrow, not a knife.

text: The answer is incorrect.

text: The answer is not clear with regards to how Jean is killed.

text: It was a bow and arrow.


text:
Part 1

Retrieving food from the kitchen was one of the easiest tasks Winter was asked to do. Winter found no challenge in the task. His naturally strong body provided him with exceptional strength and agility enabling him the ability to complete much more challenging tasks. Once he had managed to break down the front door of his master’s house when he was locked out. However, the only reward he got was a smack on the nose. Winter hated being a cat. He was powerless, enslaved and most of all, bored. The worst thing about his situation was the dependence he had on his family. They fed, sheltered and protected him, turning Winter into a lazy and reliant cat. He detested that. If only he could be free. He could become important, people would look up to him and admire his every virtue. These were the thoughts and dreams of Winter as he monotonously and unwillingly fetched food from his master’s kitchen day after day, year after year.

Rex moved on to his next house. He had been doing this for 24 years now and not once had he been caught. He would stalk his target, analysing his or her every move then noting it down in his private journal. These notes helped him decide whether to leave, capture or eliminate his victim. His new target was Winter.

The Fridge was 6 times larger than winter, but winter had 10 times the strength of an average cat. He opened the giant metal door using his right paw to grab the handle and his left paw to push off of the wall. This was his masters 5th beer in one night and soon he would be fast asleep. With his master’s wife and children away in Spain, Winter would have the whole house to himself tonight. But he wasn’t as happy as he usually was on these rare occasions. He had a strange and unexplainable feeling that he was not alone.

Rex had never been so scared in his entire 24 years of service. One moment he was on top of the fridge observing Winter’s activity, next he had a strong sharpened paw clamped around his neck, almost crushing his spine.
“If you don’t tell me everything I need to know about you and what you are doing here within the next minute, your eyes will be ripped from their sockets?” Winter roared in a loud and ferocious voice.
“Peace young one, I mean you or your family no harm.” The orange and white cat’s calm voice seemed to sooth Winter’s anger for he released his paw from Rex’s throat.
“I am a Shinobi Scout” Rex continued, “Sent by the Ocelot Shinobi of the Combined Kingdom. My leader is looking for possible recruits for our cause.”
Winter was amazed; people had spoken of cats causing trouble in the neighbourhood, some spoke of them as wild animals some thought they were some form of organised domestic cats. It never occurred to Winter that they were ninjas.
“Do I pass the test then, can I become a ninja” Winter asked, forgetting his master’s commands.
“Afraid not, none of my targets have ever caught me before and although you have display extraordinary levels of stealth and agility, my investigation is not complete and cannot carry on any further due to my discovery.”
Winter had him by the neck again.
“What do you mean I can’t join you, I have outsmarted, outmanoeuvred and outmuscled you and you claim to be a ninja yourself.” Winter was furious! This was his one chance to get away. He could become powerful and independent without the need of his worthless family.
“I agree” Rex replied, “I have been bested. Yet, those are not the only elements required to become a ninja.” Winters claws were closing tighter around his neck. “Patience, loyalty and wisdom are vital assets of an Ocelot Shinobi.” The orange Shinobi was difficult to read but Winter detected fear within the Shinobi’s voice. He decided to take advantage of this.
“Let’s see if those assets help you if I take off your head and feed it to my master.”
Rex was a loyal companion to the Ocelot Shinobi but was not willing to risk his life saying no to Winter and besides, Winter had proven to be highly talented cat and anyone could learn patience and loyalty.
“Bring everything you value with you, once you leave with me there is no turning back.” Rex had regained the authority in his voice but Winter did not take anything with him for he valued nothing from this household.

Part 2

Although the Dojo was deep under ground, very old and not so clean. The place smelled of opportunity and freedom, a smell that Winter had not experienced before. Winter was ordered to go immediately to the Dojo, 6 more new recruits had just begun training there. His instructor didn’t look like a ninja, but his face showed that he was wiser than everyone else in the room combined. On the other hand, his fellow recruits showed no qualities at all. They all appeared to be weak little runts pulled from rich families. Winter didn’t notice the 7th recruit standing behind him; he was a menacing cat. His dark grey hair and scarred face did not seem to show any form of sympathy as he shoved Winter to the ground.
“You’re standing in my spot, runt.”
Winter stepped away; he did not wish to start a fight on his first day, especially not with him.
“Attention class!” the instructors voice commanded, “Today you will learn the history of our clan and why we have sworn to protect the translation stone.” Winter was listening intently as the instructor continued, “Long ago humans and cats could speak to each other and lived side-by-side, as equals. The cats were much wiser and more intelligent. Whereas the humans were more reckless and greedy. The Master Cats were working on a massive project looking into the origins of the universe. When the humans found out about their project and demanded answers, the Master Cats refused to give them anything, for it was far too powerful for the hands of the reckless humans. The humans started war against the cats, capturing and torturing cats around the world in order to get information on the master cats’ project. The Cat Masters sensed that sooner or later the humans would find out so they locked away their new found information into the translation stone along with the humans ability to speak with cats. Our order, The Ocelot Shinobi of the Combined Kingdoms were ordered to protect this stone from the humans’ greed. The masters then killed themselves to remove any other source of the information of the universe. To date, our order has protected this stone for 6 millennia and continues to protect it. It is called the translation stone because, once activated, it will allow humans and cats to speak to each other again. One day the responsibilities of our order will be passed on to you and on that day, you must be ready. For now though I want to know each of your names and their meaning.” The grey cat answered first.
“My name is Akuma, son of Enma the powerful. Akuma stands for the devil and means I always get what I want.” The authority in his voice made the instructor a little scared.
“We’ll see about that” the instructor replied. “You, the white cat. What’s your name?”
“My name is Winter, it was given to me by my owners. It means that I can be as innocent and playful as snowflakes, but at the same time be as unpredictable and ruthless as a blizzard.”
As Winter left the Dojo with the others, he saw Akuma’s scarred face again. There was an evil look in his eye that made Winter think he was after the stone.

Part 3

The instructor was furious. “What do you mean they won’t be graduating next week? The recruits have been training for a whole year now, I taught them myself! They are ready.” Chusuke was the leader of the Order and hated being shouted at, but his patience made him reply in a calm manner.
“I have visited the fountain of clairvoyance and it showed me, one of our new recruits activating the translation stone.”
The instructor didn’t believe for a second that one of his recruits would commit that crime, not even Akuma. The instructor continued shouting.
“The visions given from the fountain of clairvoyance have been proven wrong before, and I know more about my recruits than some sacred water does.” Around half the cats in the order believed in the fountain of clairvoyance. It is said that any who drink from the fountain can receive visions that can tell the future. Before the argument could continue however, Winter burst in the door with an urgent expression.
“Akuma is planning on activating the stone.” Winter described with a loud, panicked voice. “He is down in the crypts with 3 recruits and a group of humans. They could attack at any moment.” Chusuke burst into action.
“Winter, take the other 3 recruits and guard the stone. Everyone else will proceed to the crypts at once.” Winter, was quick to react, he got the other recruits from the Dojo and ran with them down the corridors of the underground base towards the translation stone.

One forceful punch to the throat and one of the recruits was dead instantly. Winter had broken the second recruit’s right arm and was twisting the cat’s neck when the third realised what was happening. He stood in a fighting stance and went in for a low kick to Winter’s left kidney but Winter was already behind him. The last recruit fell without a sound and without a head. Winter stepped silently over their bodies and carried on towards the stone vault.

title: My First Story: Winter and the Translation Stone.

question: What does the text say about Akuma?

text: The answer implies that Akuma might be accused falsely. The tone of the story is, however, very straightforward. It simply paints a picture of Akuma being the antagonist, which is heavily downplayed in the answer.

category: accuracy

text: Winter says Akuma is making a move on the Translation Stone, not that Akuma stole it.

answer: Akuma is a junior ninja in the Order of The Ocelot Shinobi of the Combined Kingdoms. He has a scar on his face, gray hair, and an authoritative voice. His intimidating manner makes Winter think he's evil. At the end of the story, Winter accuses Akuma of stealing the Translation Stone.

answer_source: Human misleading

text: Akuma is accused of wanting to activate the stone

text: The answer should mention that Akuma is the son of Emma

category: coverage

answer: Akuma is a menacing, dark grey cat. Akuma means the devil and means he always gets what he wants. Akuma is implied to be the leader of the recruits. Akuma is implied to be a bully, shoving Winter to the ground. Akuma is implied to be after the translation stone.

answer_source: Model

text: The use of "implied" is repetitive. The answer should use variation with its verbs.

category: coherence

text: This should explain that Akuma pushed Winter for being in his spot.

text: Akuma is not the overall leader of the recruits. This should be omitted.

text: It's not implied that Akuma is after the stone - he's trying to activate it outright.

text: It's omitted he's son of Enma the powerful.

answer: He's a mean-looking gray-haired cat in the same class as Winter, training to be a Ninja cat in the Order of The Ocelot Shinobi of the Combined Kingdoms. On the meeting day of the new recruits, he pushes Winter aside menacingly. There's a scar on Akuma's face, and Winter says Akuma looks evil, somehow. Akuma talks with an authoritative voice. He is the son of Enma the powerful, Akuma means the devil, and he always gets what he wants, he says. He's after the Translation Stone, which is not supposed to be activated. By the end of the story, Winter moves to counter Akuma and his recruits.

answer_source: Human

answer: Akuma is a menacing, dark grey cat. Akuma means the devil and means he always gets what he wants. Akuma is implied to be the leader of the recruits. Akuma is implied to be a bully, shoving Winter to the ground. Akuma is implied to be after the translation stone.

text: The answer should mention that Akuma is implied to be the one who wants to activate the translation stone.

text: It is omitted that Akuma is implied to be a traitor.

text: The answer should give more details about Akuma's role in the story.

text: Akuma is the son of Enma the powerful.

text: Akuma is the son of Enma the powerful.


text:
Evelyn was tired.

Beneath her lay a young boy, he must have been no more than eighteen years old given his angry, naked spot-pocked back that resembled a butchers chucked cartilage. He had an erection that threatened.

The room was a precoital picture with heavy cardboard sweat socks discarded in the corner. Wet jeans and a t shirt told Evelyn that outside the sideways rain hadn’t eased up and in turn she told herself that this was the last customer. Her feet were sore and her head was turning into a train station.

‘Are you comfortable?’ she asked the boy.

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘you could maybe go a bit harder?’

It was the usual script from this type of client. They were never money men, someone as mid-level as Evelyn only attracted a certain type of client and they were never money men. But they were always men.

She liked to call this type of client a ‘suggester’. Too scared to outright ask for what they wanted, or needed. But being good at her job, she could always see through their nervous eyes and veiled suggestions. Evelyn always delivered.

‘Yes, sir.’ she said

He giggled.

The greatest violation that she could imagine was a laugh. Suggesters always giggled. She wanted to make this one quick as she was still sore from yesterday. The man from yesterday had left a bad feeling in the room and a bad feeling in her. She knew from the moment that he walked in the door that he was going to dump everything on her. All his anger in one quick but painful session, she called this type of client a ‘dump’. She was the dump.

‘Should I just lie on my back, or…?’ the boy said, bringing Evelyn back to herself.

She had a habit of letting her mind wander, and when she came back everything was always worse. But most of all, as always, it was the smell. A smell that without fail would intensify as Evelyn ribbed her hands along a clients back. Kneading her knuckles among his boy-back, aggressive pores would open further and cough out his boy-smell, a smell that made her sick, without fail.

Hah-hah-hah he dumped us on you. Evelyn the dump!
Yesterdays man had definitely left his mark. It was inside her.

‘Just as you are is fine’ Evelyn said, violated.

She began to work on him. Starting off slow she air brushed her hands along his skin to waken it up, to get the pores spilling. She knew what she was doing, time-sure hands followed their usual route up and down, taking care not to neglect any inch of skin or finite sized hair that might be raised. The boy was beginning to warm up and tried to match her rhythm.

Violated.

‘Yeah, that’s good’ he said. ‘Could you go a little harder?’

Evelyn sighed and collected herself, this was her job and she was good at her job.

She closed her eyes and sucked in air through her mouth, having been trained never to breathe in through the nose, especially when a rankey suggester was in the room.

Things slowed down as she removed herself from the present, it was easier that way. To let go. The air become a little more bitter as she prepared herself.

There’s nothing in him. You’re full, Dump. You’ve got us.

The floor started to mould around her as if made of porridge while the room gently turned and made her a little light-headed. This is how it was.

Evelyn the Dump! Evelyn the Dump! I think she likes him!

She could see herself from above moving to dim the lights and play her industries music. She did it slowly, assuredly. She was good at her job. With the lights dimmed, a neon sign that read: “Marie’s Massage Parlour: Leave Your Worries Behind” emptied its heartless light onto the room.

This is how it always was. The neon sign that denoted her trade stuttered twice and then blinked on and off before regaining control and teased with its arrogance. Of course the boy had no idea what was happening, he was fixated on the blood that was rushing around his already primed skin and mistook it as arousal.

He wouldn’t want a fatty like you. You’re fat. He hates you.

From above she could see herself walking back towards the boy. She started on his neck, searching for knots and story lines. There were none, he had no stories. Determined to help she moved a little further down to his shoulders, some stress was found but not enough to justify a dumping. A little further down and marking along his spine she stopped, what was that? A trauma?

Maybe it was here.

On her first day at Marie’s Massage Parlour Evelyn came in somewhat boldly, expecting salaries and summer holidays. She had long ago learned not to aim too high. Too many beat downs and too many corridor whispered, ‘there goes Evil-yn, evil Evil-yn, fat fat fatty Evil-yn,’ had made a woman like so many. She liked to stay quiet and out of shot of hooked female glances. She would become good at her job she said.

‘Hi I’m Evelyn, I’m here for my first day,’ she had said to the woman behind the reception desk.

The woman lazily picked her eyes off the computer screen and plumped them on Evelyn, immediately sensing her somewhat boldness and hating it.

Fat fat fatty

‘I’m Ruth,’ she replied with lazy contempt. Ruth thought for a moment, twiddled her pen in her hair and bit her thin bottom lip. Too much competition, she thought, time to hurt. ‘You will need to get fitted for a uniform.’

‘Yeah, I sent my measurements ahead, they said it should be ready?’

Evelyn was beginning to get nervous. She could feel Ruth peeling her apart with her eyes, she was judging, stripping, hurting.

‘It should have been ready, yeah,’ said Ruth, gearing towards her sting. ‘But sometimes for girls of a...larger size it takes longer for them to come through.’ She pasted her eyes off Evelyn and returned to the screen, and briefly allowed herself to smile at the damage caused.

[clarify] ‘Oh, OK, thanks. Should I just...’ She stopped herself from finishing, the damage had been caused. Her make up began to feel silly on her face, she could feel it heavy on her brow, mocking her with its weight and boldness. She was sweating.

Fat sweaty Evelyn.

Back in the room with the boy, Evelyn was still working the muscle in his back. Trying to seek out his lumps and the temperature was rising. This was normal when the client was a suggester, he was becoming more and more aroused. But that was OK, that was to be expected, as long as nothing came of it.

‘Does it hurt here?’ she said.

‘Yeah, go lower, go lower please.’

Alarm bells dusted off their clackers.

Evelyn coughed slightly and slowed her movements, this usually was hint enough for most suggesters to behave.

Behaving was something that Evelyn knew all about.

Daddy’s gonna get you. [more - dump]

The boy took the hint. Maybe not on a conscious level, maybe he was starting to notice the blinkering sign. Leave your worries behind.

The man from yesterday was starting to push his memory to the front of Evelyn’s mind like sausage meat through a grinder. The sticky boy below her was beginning to sicken her, as it always did, and was reminding her of what was there to stay.

‘Come on in’, she had said to the man from yesterday, ‘make yourself comfortable. If you would like to take your shirt off and lie on the table I’ll be in with you in a moment.’

The room changed as soon as he came in. His type was very familiar to her but there was something different about him. His poorly tied tie and loose top button put him immediately in sales, a targets man. Evelyn clocked that his tension would likely be in whatever arm he held a phone or knocked a door with. The ink on his left cuff told her what arm that would be.

‘Thanks, I wont be long.’ said the man as his eyes shiftily kissed from her to the floor. ‘I’m Andy,’ he said as Evelyn made her way past him out the door. She didn’t miss his self-hating eyes grope her ass as she passed.

‘Evelyn,’ she said and walked out.

Alone in the room, Andy looked around. A long table sat in the middle of the room like an electric chair. It had been surgically tucked in with brilliant white towels except for a hole at the top of the table reserved for a clients head. Andy had a shiver as he thought of the things he wouldn’t be able to see happening when he would be in position.

Andy lifted up his shirt and winced slightly as his left shoulder fought back. Shirt off, he saw his reflection in a mirror. The belly was a little hairier and wider than it should have been. She will be disgusted, he thought as he tried to manage his thinning hair into respect.

From outside the door Evelyn was resting from one foot to the other, it was the end of the day and this man scared her. He was here to dump. She knew it.

It is known that a massage releases tensions that have been built up over time, physical tension from work or age. It is also known that emotional tensions affect the body and a trauma can work its way into your muscle. Pain inflicted on you sits on you like a vulture gruelling over sloppy seconds, Evelyn knew too well.

Waiting outside the door she tried to imagine what Andy would do when he went home. Would he push keys into a door that had a stream of similar doors beside it on each side? She imagined that he he would throw his jacket onto the bench and work at his tie. Bean baked bowls would be resting on each other, because Andy was a slob and she knew it. She could picture his out of shape body sliding into a shower as he picked clumps of shirt wool out of his chest hair, scratching his ass and making toast: that was Andy.

She pictured him getting into a bed that was hardening from lonely nights, so many lonely nights. [clarify]

He would probably touch himself, she thought. I bet that beast touches himself, she thought. He would start off slowly, just like he would want her to. He would work himself into a frenzy, feeling his muscles tighten with all the youth they used to have. Andy would become the man he once was, arms and legs begging for strain. His back would arch itself painlessly as he maneuvered Evelyn onto her back and he would breathe his young man kisses onto her.

For that moment he would be beautiful again, Evelyn thought, as she stood resting from one foot to the other outside the door.

‘I’m ready’, Andy spoke pityingly.

Who would want you, Dump?

The boy was beginning to get restless, his plan wasn’t working so he decided to play harder. He tilted his hips to the right giving an opening.

Who would want you, Dump?

Evelyn, in her thoughts of yesterday almost mechanically edged towards the opening that this soft mass of boy beneath her presented.

Again seeing herself from above she could see her own willingness in this moment from the back of her knees, which were bending low to submit to him. She was still sore from yesterday. It was the type of pain that brought her back to being a young girl. The choking kind of pain that reminded her of her mother stuffing celery stalks into her mouth to force her period.

Fat sweaty Evelyn

‘Vitamins, vitamins will bring it on, eat up, Evelyn’, her mother would spit.

Colic-like, a young Evelyn would be breathless from pain when it did come, hard and fast. Bent double she would ask it to stop, but mother would just scream, ‘vitamins’.

Evelyn would be that young girl again when someone dumped their pain on her.

From above she stopped herself from acting on the boy’s advances, from above she knew it wouldn’t make yesterday’s pain go away.

Yesterday, Andy had lay on the table when Evelyn asked him. She stood above him and said, ‘Today I am going to give you a deep massage’. Andy, the fool, thought his time had come.

‘It might hurt, and if it does just you just tell me and I’ll stop, OK?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said not quite sure.

‘If you maybe think you are going to...’ Evelyn chose her words carefully, but deliberately, ‘cry, or get emotional at any time, let me know and I’ll stop, OK?’

She remembers that Andy had laughed when she told him. But they always cried, every one of them had something to cry about.

Before she started on him she caught a glimpse at a neon sign that read: ‘Leave your worries behind.’

Somewhere, she heard from herself to stop.

‘Get up please. Please go now, please,’ she said to the young boy still on her table. ‘I need to stop now, please get out.’

Things were starting to get dizzy again, she was becoming the young girl again, ‘eat your vitamins and you’ll bleed, come on now!’ The floor was starting to slip and the room was passing by in streaks of captured memory. The man from yesterday was pushing through, Andy was knocking on her door and wanted to talk.

The dump from yesterday was starting to show itself again and it was strong. She could see it through a crack in a bedroom door.

The young boy was shouting, she thinks she can hear him shouting:

‘What the fuck do you mean get out? I’ve paid for another twenty minutes!’ the young boy was shouting. ‘Fuck you, slut. You fat bitch!’

Fat fat fatty

She remembers that Andy had laughed when she told him about crying. That when she put her hands on him, his memories had ran up her arms and ripped onto her mind, and they came slow. Slow like she knew he would like them to. Slow like when he was a young boy sitting on his bedroom floor and could hear daddy’s feet resting from one to the other.

Like when he could hear his daddy say, ‘Nobody wants you, fat fat fatty. Nobody likes you. Who would want you?’ Evelyn could see that Andy’s father was a thin man, and that he was sweating. She could see a fan in the corner of the room that threw out gasps of light and this sweating man.

She could hear a wet leather built being undone and the slipping noise it made when Andy’s father took his trousers down.

She remembers other things and they were hitting her frame by frame. Andy had got up off her table and he was crying, but happy. When someone dumps that from themselves, the pain in their back seems to have gone.

‘Thanks, Evelyn,’ Andy had said, ‘I feel great!’

‘Get out, please go,’ Evelyn was now shouting at the young boy who had put his shirt back on and was swearing at her from the reception.

In reception, Ruth was twirling her pen in her hair and told the young boy that Evelyn was always a little crazy.

title: Happy Ending

question: Describe Evelyn's current client.

text: Evelyn describes the client as a suggester, not a dumper.

answer: Evelyn's current client is a young boy around the 18 years of age. Evelyn describes him as a "suggester"; men who are too scared to ask for what they want or need. He has a distinct odor that makes Evelyn sick.

text: The answer should mention that the boy is naked.

text: The answer should mention the boy's erection.

text: The answer omits that the boy is naked and has an erection.

text: The smell makes Evelyn sick when it comes from the client.

text: The boy's age is not stated.

text: Could mention that he seems aroused.

text: The answer should mention the acne on his back.

answer: The client is a teenage boy. He's vulgar. The text suggests that he has been molested, although the twisting has Evelyn can't see is trauma twisting up along his back like coils.

text: The answer is wrong. The boy is not a teenager.

text: The answer is inaccurate. The boy is not a teenager. He is no more than eighteen years old.

text: The answer is wrong. The client is a young boy.

text: It is not stated that the boy has been molested.

text: This line is confusing and unnecessary.

text: It is not stated that he has been molested.

text: 'The text suggests that he has been molested, although the twisting has Evelyn can't see is trauma twisting up along his back like coils.' is not relevant.

text: 'The text suggests that he has been molested, although the twisting has Evelyn can't see is trauma twisting up along his back like coils.' - This line is inaccurate, nonsensical, and unnecessary. Delete this.

category: other

category_text: Accuracy and coherence.

text:
The answer should mention that the young boy had a spot-pocked back resembling a butcher's chucked cartilage. He also had an erection from the massage.
The answer should mention that the boy was livid when Evelyn told him to get out, even though he had already paid for another twenty minutes.

answer: Evelyn's current client is a young boy around the 18 years of age. Evelyn describes him as a "dumper"; men who are too scared to ask for what they want or need. He has a distinct odor that makes Evelyn sick.

text: The current client is not a dumper--that was her prior client. The current client is a suggester.

answer: Evelyn's current client is a young boy around the 18 years of age. Evelyn describes him as a "dumper"; men who are too scared to ask for what they want or need. He has a distinct odor that makes Evelyn sick.

text: The answer should mention that the boy is a suggester.

text: The answer should mention the young boy's erection.

text: The answer omits that the boy is a suggester.

text: It is not stated that he is a "dumper" and that he has a distinct odor that makes Evelyn sick.

text: The second sentence can be more specific.

text: 'Client' combined with 'to him' doesn't flow well. It should be replaced with 'customer' since 'client' refers to a repeat customer and this is her current one.

text: The dumper is the man from yesterday. The current client is a suggester.

answer: Evelyn's current client is a young boy around the 18 years of age. Evelyn describes him as a "suggester"; men who are too scared to ask for what they want or need. He has a distinct odor that makes Evelyn sick.

answer: The client is a teenage boy. He's vulgar. The text suggests that he has been molested, although the twisting has Evelyn can't see is trauma twisting up along his back like coils.

text: The last sentence should be rewritten for clarity. Also, it would be worthwhile to mention the client's name.


text:
Welcome back; your last visit was on Today

[]
Forum
Topics
Replies
Last Post Info
❁
TOWNCENTER
This is where all general chat and discussions may happen! Can be site related or entirely non-site related. We just ask for no advertisements here.

4
26
Sep 15 2014, 06:42 PM
In: []Member of the Month: SEPTEM...
By: ANNA THATCHER
❁
CHARACTER PROFILES
After your character has been accepted, the next thing you may want to do is set up their profile. Their profile should contain every single detail about them physically, emotionally and mentally that you desire. It can also be used to store stuff such as post-scripts.

17
0
Aug 27 2014, 10:22 PM
In: []Frederick Baxter
By: FREDERICK BAXTER
❁
WHERE LEGENDS ARE MADE
This is the official plotting board. View the current plots you may join in with other members, or create one of your own. You may also put characters/roles up for adoption here.

_SUBFORUMS ⇢_ adoptions

SUBFORUMS: Adoptions
17
21
Sep 3 2014, 12:24 PM
In: []Plot with the sassy dwarf
By: GIDEON XENOPHILIUS
❁
OFFICES OF DALEFORD
This is where character journals can be kept, if you elect to keep one for your character. Not to be confused with postlogs, journals/diaries are a log of your characters thoughts and feelings on any given day.

2
0
Jul 12 2014, 02:15 AM
In: []Journal of Solange Calanthe
By: SOLANGE CALANTHE
❁
QUILL & INK
This is where you can keep your postlogs, if you desire to have one.

11
0
Aug 27 2014, 08:49 PM
In: []POSTLOG TEMPLATE
By: LUCAS ELDERWOOD
❁
THE ARTISTIC BUNCH
Those who are artistically inclined, or otherwise photoshop savvy, can offer their services here for others. Those in search of art for their character can request it here.

4
3
Sep 6 2014, 08:03 PM
In: []The cast
By: SOLANGE CALANTHE
❁
STATUS UPDATES
If your character has changed rank, marital status, has conceived, or even you yourself are going to be away from the game for a while, post here. Anything update-related pertaining to your or your character(s) goes here.

3
3
Aug 30 2014, 06:15 AM
In: []Summer Holiday
By: LUCAS ELDERWOOD

[]
Forum
Topics
Replies
Last Post Info
❁
APPLEWICH
As the most populated and shamelessly extravagant town in Daleford, Applewich proudly stands as the country's capital. The finest shoppes and inns can be found here, and most people who have a considerable fortune own a residence here, even if its not permanent. In the Season, it is crowded and excited with families and their newly-18s.

_SUBFORUMS ⇢_ The Rose and Sword

SUBFORUMS: The Rose and Sword
18
220
Oct 6 2014, 08:03 PM
In: []Home is where the heart is
By: AUBREY PENNANT JR
❁
PORT OF APPLEWICH
The port of Applewich is just as large as it is busy, but rarely sees fishermen. Larger cargo and passenger ships mostly grace these shores. There is a small establishment among the port, but nothing notable due to how close to Applewich it is. Some of the more rowdy bunch tend to linger here, as the most prominent type of establishment here seems to be taverns and inns.

2
11
Sep 1 2014, 03:03 AM
In: []The Furious Fox
By: PERCEVAL HEATHCOTE
❁
NORTHERN WOODLANDS
To the east of Applewich is a large forest, thick with oak. It's quite popular among the gentlemen who hunt, and the foxes who are hunted. Because of its relative proximity to Applewich, some ladies (and sometimes their suitors) take the carriage out for the stroll along the borders. A creek runs through that wraps around the lower edge of the forest. However, ladies and their carriages (or horses) do not enter the forest alone, for it is not only foxes which hide.

2
21
Aug 31 2014, 12:11 PM
In: []hell is empty and the devil...
By: ESTHER LUMBARDE
❁
DOVELAND
Just one day south of Applewich, Doveland is a surprisingly quiet town by the sea. Unobstructed vines decorate the stone walls of the small buildings, which include very few shoppes and places of public interest. Just on the outskirts are many estates which belong to wealthy families that rather enjoy the quiet of Doveland.

1
5
Aug 19 2014, 06:12 PM
In: []Far from the madding crowd
By: RODERICK CHESTER

[]
Forum
Topics
Replies
Last Post Info
❁
ORCHIDVALE
The town of Orchidvale is almost as brilliant as its people. Flowers and shrubs adorn every building and statue, all of vibrant colors. The town is large but well-spaced out, each stone structure to its own privacy. Even the estates here are quaint but none-the-less magnificent in color and decoration. Certainly a celebrated people.

3
91
Oct 1 2014, 06:28 PM
In: []Signed and sealed
By: AUBREY PENNANT JR
❁
CERULEAN MOUNTAINS
So-called for their intimidating ascent into the clouds, the Cerulean Mountains are a force to be reckoned with. Very few travel through the mountains, and take a longer yet safer path around. Those who wish to challenge its forces may be reckoned with landslides, inhospitable felines, and as legend has it, giants.

0
0
--
In: ----
By:
❁
ROCKWOLD
Nestled among the mountains in the center of the country, Rockwold is a hard-working town. Most stone involved in the building of estates is sought from here. The town itself is small and crowded and, surprisingly enough, most of the town buildings are log cabins. The estates are massive structures of sturdy stone, however. It is always quiet save the constant sound of hammers from the workmen.

_SUBFORUMS ⇢_ ravenswatch

SUBFORUMS: Ravenswatch
0
0
--
In: ----
By:
❁
TOWERING WILDWOOD
The largest forest in Daleford happens to be just south of Rockwold, and in the way of travel to Foxcrest. Stubborn pioneers have broken their way through anyways, establishing a permanent path, but it doesn't make the forest any less ominous. The trees are tall and the canopies thick, rendering the forest dark and cool. Those who move through the forest do so quickly and quietly.

0
0
--
In: ----
By:
❁
GREEN-NEEDLE
The smallest town of Daleford is Green-Needle. The buildings are so spread out through the thick expanse of evergreen trees which welcomely-invade the town, it's not easy to tell when you're in the town center. The town prides itself in its lumber and furniture production, and some of the finest articles of furniture come from Green-Needle. All the homes are log and, although quaint, always seem warm with a glow of candles in the window.

0
0
--
In: ----
By:

[]
Forum
Topics
Replies
Last Post Info
❁
FOXCREST
Although Applewich has a port, most fish and sea products come from Foxcrest. It's a lively town, always busy, although not nearly as so as Applewich. The building structures have an alluring elegance to them, despite the fact that the town is also known for its many brothels. Some of the finer estates are seen in Foxcrest, and the people seem to have an affinity for gold. Many people enjoy visiting Foxcrest for many reasons, although those who call it home enjoy it even more.

0
0
--
In: ----
By:
❁
PORT OF FOXCREST
The Port of Foxcrest is nearly as busy as the Port of Applewich, however it sees few personal ships and many fishing boats. The large, delicious fish sought after in kitchens comes from this port, and daily there are fish maids just as there are milk maids selling fish throughout. Some send servants from Applewich with all sorts of contraptions meant to keep the fish cool on the long travel back.

0
0
--
In: ----
By:
❁
SOMERSET
Somerset, the home of the elusive Lilies. Nearly as small as Green-Needle, the buildings of Somerset are bunched up by the sea. Although the people carry an elegance, their buildings lack the luster which their people contain. The town itself seems very simple, and quiet, with dated stone buildings. The nicer homes are hidden miles from the town for even more seclusion. Somerset is not known for much other than its mysterious natives, and few people visit as they find they're not often welcome.

_SUBFORUMS ⇢_ the sunflower mansion

SUBFORUMS: The Sunflower Mansion
1
9
Aug 19 2014, 05:14 AM
In: []Madness, Mirth and Mischief
By: SOLANGE CALANTHE

Board Statistics

1 user(s) active in the past 15 minutes
♙
1 guests, 0 members, 0 anonymous members Show detailed by: Last Click, Member Name
Today's Birthdays
♙
 No members are celebrating a birthday today
Board Statistics
█▄▊
Our members have made a total of 781 posts
We have 27 registered members
The newest member is ATHALIA SELWYN
Most users ever online was 16 on NOV 7 2014, 11:28 PM
Members Online Today: [Collapse]
♙
Most members ever online in one day was 14, last accomplished on AUGUST 31ST, 2014
No members have been online yet today

welcome

Thank you for visiting "Lilies Among Daleford", an _AU historical_ roleplay. Please enjoy yourself here! If you have any questions, speak up in the C-Box, or contact me, Calla, on AIM: callaofappleton. Before joining, please review the links in the sliding box above. There's all sorts of useful information!

IC MONTH: August 1798

character count

ARISTOCRACY: o5 & o7
GENTRY: o3 & o1
MIDDLE CLASS: o1 & o2
WORKING CLASS: OO & OO
UNDERCLASS: OO & OO

weather

APPLETON & DOVELAND: 28°C (82°F) ☁

ORCHIDVALE: 28°C (82°F) ☁☂

ROCKWOLD & GREEN-NEEDLE: 29°C (84°F) ☁

FOXCREST: 29°C (84°F) ☁☂

SOMERSET: 29°C (84°F) ☁☂

cbox

credits

the skin was coded by hunter of candyland couture, caution, and shine. content such as plots, characters, etc belong to Lilies Among Daleford. mini profiles by reece. stealing is not cool, and will not be tolerated in the slightest. if we find out you steal, expect the ninja penguins to find you.

color dictations

[] OWNER & Coadmin
[] Aristocracy
[] Gentry
[] Middle Class
[] Working Class
[] Underclass
[] Applying
[] Inactive

question: Summarize the similarities and differences between Green-Needle and Somerset.

text: The text does not mention that the people in Green-Needle are polite and welcome visitors in their warm log homes.

answer: Green-Needle and Somerset are both small towns in Daleford. Evergreen trees are abundant in Green-Needle, while Somerset has lilies. People in Somerset are elegant, mysterious, and not very open to visitors, while people in Green-Needle are known makers of wood furniture with great craftsmanship. The buidings in Somerset are dull, most of them are near the sea, while Green-Needle's buildings are far from each other, surrounded by trees.

text: The response contains inaccurate information.

text: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

text: The response inaccurately mentions that the people in Somerset are elegant, mysterious and not very open to visitors, however the text mentions that the people carry an elegance.

text: The last sentence isn't quite accurate. The buildings in Green-Needle are spread out through the thick expanse of evergreen trees.

text: "The buidings" should be "The buildings".

text: It's more about aesthetics.

answer: Green-Needle and Somerset are both small towns in Daleford. Evergreen trees are abundant in Green-Needle, while Somerset has lilies. People in Somerset are elegant, mysterious, and not very open to visitors, while people in Green-Needle are known makers of wood furniture with great craftsmanship. The buidings in Somerset are dull, most of them are near the sea, while Green-Needle's buildings are far from each other, surrounded by trees.

text: Specify that the homes in Somerset are bunched up.

answer: Both towns are relatively small. Green-Needle is the smallest town in Daleford, while Somerset is nearly as small as Green-Needle. Both towns are by the sea. However, Somerset is home to the elusive Lilies, and Green-Needle is home to the finest articles of furniture.

text: There is no evidence that Green-Needle is by the sea.

answer: Green-Needle and Somerset are both small towns in Daleford. Evergreen trees are abundant in Green-Needle, while Somerset has lilies. People in Somerset are mysterious and not very open to visitors, while people in Green-Needle are polite, welcoming visitors in their warm log homes. Buidings in Somerset are dull, most of them are near the sea, while Green-Needle's buildings are far from each other, surrounded by trees.

text: "people in Green-Needle are polite, welcoming visitors in their warm log homes." - the response never said anything about the people welcoming visitors into their homes.

answer: Green-Needle and Somerset are both small towns in Daleford. Evergreen trees are abundant in Green-Needle, while Somerset has lilies. People in Somerset are mysterious and not very open to visitors, while people in Green-Needle are polite, welcoming visitors in their warm log homes. Buidings in Somerset are dull, most of them are near the sea, while Green-Needle's buildings are far from each other, surrounded by trees.

text: "evergreen" - add a hyphen

text: This is false, Green-Needle's buildings are close together, but spread out through the thick expanse of evergreen trees.

text: 'welcoming visitors in their warm log homes... Green-Needle's buildings are far from each other, surrounded by trees.' is inaccurate.

text: The response contains inaccurate information - there is no evidence to show that people in Green-Needle are polite and welcoming.

answer: Both towns are relatively small. Green-Needle is the smallest town in Daleford, while Somerset is nearly as small as Green-Needle. Both towns are by the sea. However, Somerset is home to the elusive Lilies, and Green-Needle is home to the finest articles of furniture.

text: The response could be clearer in its pronoun use.

text: The response should include that Green-Needle is known for its lumber and furniture production, while Somerset is not known for much other than its mysterious natives.

text: The response could include more information about the towns.

text: The response should include that both towns are quiet.

text: The answer should mention that Green-Needle is in the mountains and Somerset is by the sea.

text: The response contains information not useful for the task.

text: The answer should mention the difference in building structure between the two.

text: "Green-Needle is the smallest town in Daleford" - delete "Green-Needle"


text:
LORNA MARGARET ARNOLD (; 7 December 1915 – 25 March 2014) was a British historian who wrote a number of books connected with the British nuclear weapons programmes.

A graduate of Bedford College, London, she trained as a teacher at the Cambridge Training College for Women, but left teaching in 1940. During the Second World War, she served with the Army Council secretariat. In 1944, she transferred to the Foreign Office to head a section of the secretariat of the European Advisory Commission. In June 1945, she moved to Berlin as part of the Allied Control Council, working in the Economic Directorate alongside counterparts from France, America and Russia to co-ordinate administering the districts and supplying food to the population. She was posted to Washington, D.C., in November 1946 as part of the British negotiating team that agreed to merge the U.S. and British zones of Allied-occupied Germany into Bizonia, and remained at the Pentagon until 1949.

In January 1959, she joined the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEA), where she worked within its Authority Health and Safety Branch (AHSB), coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire, about which she would later write a book. In 1967, she joined Margaret Gowing in writing the history of the British nuclear weapons programmes. As its second official historian, she had access to previously secret documents and personally knew many of the people involved. She produced histories of the 1957 Windscale fire, the nuclear weapons tests in Australia and the British hydrogen bomb programme. In her old age she was still an active participant in intelligence/historical community debate.

Early years

Lorna Margaret Rainbow was born at 35 Craven Park, Harlesden, Middlesex, on 7 December 1915,[1] the eldest of five children of Kenneth Wallace Rainbow and Lorna Pearl Rainbow (née Dawson). She had three younger sisters, Hilary, Rosemary and Ruth, and a younger brother, Geoffrey.[2] Her father served in the First World War with the Royal Naval Division and the Royal Navy Air Service.[3] After the war he became a farmer, and the family moved to a farm called Flexwood near Guildford. She became a vegetarian when she realised at dinner one night that a cow her parents had sold had probably not found a better home.[4]

Rainbow attended Wanborough Primary School. No girls in her village had won a scholarship to attend secondary school before Rainbow sat for the examination in 1927, but she was awarded one, along with two other girls. She started at the Guildford County School for Girls in September 1927. The family moved to a dairy farm called Little Prestwick Farm near Haslemere in 1931, but she remained at Guildford, becoming its first student to win a scholarship to university.[5][6] She sat exams for both Reading University and the University of London in 1934, and was offered scholarships by both. She opted to enter Bedford College, London, a small women's college of the University of London. It was the first college in the United Kingdom to award degrees to women. She studied English, graduating in 1937 with a Bachelor of Arts degree with upper second-class honours.

After graduation, Rainbow trained as a teacher at the Cambridge Training College for Women, a small women's college with about fifty or sixty students at the time. Although it is adjacent to Fenner's, the University of Cambridge's cricket ground, it was not at the time a college of the University, and would not be accepted as one until 2007.[7] She graduated with her teaching certificate, which allowed her to secure a position teaching English at Belper School in 1938. She began having fainting spells, and returned to the family Little Prestwick Farm in 1940.

Second World War, Berlin and Bizonia

Una Ellis-Fermor, who had been one of Rainbow's lecturers at Bedford, found her a position as a clerk at the Ministry of Pensions in Cambridge, where she also lectured part-time for adult education classes. At this point she received a telegram from the Ministry of Labour and National Service, who were tracking down graduates not working for the war effort, and was instructed to report for duty at the War Office. She served as part of Army Council secretariat, working for Lieutenant Colonel Alan Mocatta. There she took on increasing responsibilities, many related to supply and logistics for the war effort. As D-Day drew near, her workload became intense, and she took Benzedrine. During this time, she lived in London with her aunt Phyl on Kensington High Street. After her father joined the Army, her mother and siblings left the family farm and moved to the same street, about away. Like many Londoners, they experienced the hazards of the German air raids on London. She served as a neighbourhood fire warden. The windows of her office at the War Office were blown in twice, and were then replaced with scrim.

Soon after D-Day in 1944, Rainbow transferred to the Foreign Office to head a section of the secretariat of the European Advisory Commission (EAC) at Norfolk House, making arrangements for the post-war administration of Germany. In June 1945, she moved to Berlin as part of the Allied Control Council. For a time, she slept with a revolver under her pillow during the turbulent times just after the Battle of Berlin.[8] After the Second World War, Allied-occupied Germany was divided into four zones, managed by the British, American, French and Russians. Berlin was also divided into four zones, and Rainbow worked as the UK secretary in the Economic Directorate alongside counterparts from France, America and Russia to co-ordinate administering the districts and supplying food to the population.[9]

Britain had very limited resources at the end of the war, but the British Zone was the most populated, most industrialised, and most devastated by Allied bombing, and therefore the most expensive for the occupier. The British government decided to reduce the cost by sharing the burden with the United States. Rainbow returned to London to work on this project, and was then sent to Washington, D.C., as part of the British negotiating team. She sailed on the , arriving in New York in November 1946. The Americans agreed to merge the U.S. and British zones into Bizonia, with the two nations sharing the costs equally. To deal with issues arising from the agreement, a small staff remained in Washington, and Rainbow was selected to be part of it. After spending Christmas in London, she flew to New York in January 1947. During her time in Washington, she had a desk at the Pentagon, and lived in a house on P Street which she shared with two other women from the British Embassy. She attempted to get the best possible deal for Britain; whenever possible, purchases were made in sterling, and shipping was with the Cunard Line. Eventually, the British government found even half the cost of Bizonia too much to bear, resulting in further negotiations. In 1949, she returned to England on the .

Marriage and family

Rainbow took a position with the Family Planning Association (FPA). On 26 July 1949, she married Robert Arnold, an American choirmaster and recording engineer she had met in Washington, D.C.,[10] and changed her name to Lorna Arnold. They had two sons, Geoffrey, born in 1950, and Stephen, born in 1952. She continued working at the FPA until three weeks before Geoffrey was born. The family initially lived rent free in an attic apartment at No. 3 Cheyne Walk in Chelsea, where Robert had a part-time job restoring a collection of Elizabethan-era musical instruments such as virginals, harpsichords and clavichords, that had been donated to the National Trust by Benton Fletcher. The lower floors of the building were a museum for the instruments.

In late 1952, the National Trust moved the collection of keyboard instruments to Fenton House, and the family moved to Brondesbury Road, and then, in 1953, to a house they bought in Oxgate Gardens. Robert worked for the BBC as a studio manager for _The Goon Show_ and the BBC World Service, and then for EMI, where he was involved with the development of stereophonic sound and the LP record. Her health deteriorated after Stephen's birth, and she had a hysterectomy. Her aunt Phyl took care of the children while she recovered. In 1955, her husband, unable to reconcile his lifestyle with his homosexuality, returned to the United States, and she became a single mother. She returned to work, initially in a biscuit factory, and then in a series of clerical jobs.

United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority

A chance lunchtime meeting with a wartime colleague in 1958 led Arnold to apply for a position at the Ministry of Health. The Director of Establishments there asked if he might forward her details to his counterpart at the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEA), which he knew was expanding due to the 1957 Windscale fire, there being multiple inquiries into the disaster. To her surprise, her secretariat skills in writing and coordinating reports and studies were exactly what the UKAEA was looking for, and she was hired. After a security background check, she commenced work on 2 January 1959, with the Authority Health and Safety Branch (AHSB). She worked on the Veale Committee on Training in Radiation Safety, and, after it wound up, as personal assistant to the director, Andrew MacLean.

In 1967, Arnold was abruptly reassigned as the UKAEA Records Officer, vice Margaret Gowing, who had published the first volume of the history of the British nuclear weapons programme, _Britain and Atomic Energy_ (1964). In 1966, Gowing had become a Reader in Contemporary History at the new University of Kent, Canterbury, covering scientific, technical, economic and social history,[11] and was only working at the UKAEA part-time. The UKAEA therefore decided that Gowing needed an assistant. There was some urgency; the Public Records Act 1967 had reduced the period in which public records were closed to the public from fifty to thirty years. This meant that unless deemed “sensitive”, the records of the UKAEA would begin to be transferred to the Public Record Office and become available to the public in the 1970s. Getting the records in order and examined for secret material was an enormous and time-consuming task. Under the 1958 US–UK Mutual Defence Agreement, American secrets had been shared with the United Kingdom, so the job also involved liaison with American archivists. To be closer to the Atomic Energy Research Establishment at Harwell, and the Atomic Weapons Establishment at Aldermaston, she sold her house in London and bought one on the outskirts of Oxford, from which she could more conveniently reach these establishments via the A34.

Gowing and Arnold published their two-volume _Independence and Deterrence: Britain and Atomic Energy, 1945–52_ in 1974, covering the post-war British atomic bomb programme, to which Arnold contributed six chapters. The success of this work, even before it was published, led to Gowing becoming the first occupant of a new chair in the history of science at the University of Oxford in 1972. Arnold was honoured as an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in the 1977 New Year Honours.[12] With the concurrence of the UKAEA Board, Gowing and Arnold then turned to the task of writing the next instalment of the history of the British nuclear weapons programme, about the British hydrogen bomb programme. The work proceeded slowly, but during the 1980s, there was increased interest in the nuclear weapons tests in Australia, and the Australian government created the McClelland Royal Commission to investigate them. Having written the chapter on these for the book with Gowing, Arnold decided to produce a book. _A Very Special Relationship: British Atomic Weapon Trials in Australia_. It received mixed reviews, Her Majesty's Stationery Office did not market it well, and it was not available in Australia. She later produced an updated edition, _Britain, Australia and the Bomb: The Nuclear Tests and Their Aftermath_ in 2005 with Mark Smith from the University of Southampton.

Arnold returned to working on the hydrogen bomb book, but 1987 was the 30th anniversary of the Windscale accident. Rather than let the records of the accident and subsequent inquiries be released over several years, Arnold persuaded the Public Records Office to release them all at once. In meetings with the various responsible government agencies, the topic of a book about Windscale came up, and Arnold decided to write one, which became _Windscale 1957: Anatomy of a Nuclear Accident_ in 1992. Gowing, in poor health, retired from the UKAEA in 1993. By this time her two research assistants had also left, and Arnold feared that the UKAEA Council would shut down the hydrogen bomb book project, which she hoped to follow up with one on the UK civil nuclear power programme. The UKAEA Council decided to press on with the project, asking Arnold to stay on although she was now over seventy years old. In 1993, she was joined by Katherine Pyne, an aircraft engineer working on a history degree, who became her research assistant for two years. However, the end was in sight. The UKAEA no longer had responsibility for nuclear weapons, and management was not interested in it. With funds for the project almost exhausted, the UKAEA Council decided that Arnold should retire in 1996. She loaded her notes into her car and took them home. Sympathetic friends at the Ministry of Defence found some money to cover her expenses, and she doggedly worked on it from home. _Britain and the H-Bomb_ finally appeared in 2001.

Later life

Arnold was a Fellow of the Institute of Physics, a rare accolade for a non-physicist,[13] and was a recipient of an Honorary Fellowship of the Society for Radiological Protection. In 2009, she received an honorary Doctorate of Letters from the University of Reading for her work in nuclear history.[14] She was introduced to Scilla Elworthy, one of the leaders of the Oxford Research Group, one of the UK's leading advocates for alternatives to global conflict, in the 1980s by her friend, physicist Rudolf Peierls. Through Elworthy, Arnold became active in the movement for nuclear disarmament. She participated in a series of video presentations on issues of nuclear weapons and nuclear energy for Talkworks, an organisation that focused on dangers associated with nuclear weapons. She also worked with television productions, including two BBC television documentaries on Windscale in 1990 and 2007, and a six-part documentary _The Nuclear Age_. which was cancelled by the BBC. In an episode of the BBC radio programme _A Room with a View_, she visited the room at the University of Birmingham where Peierls had worked on the Frisch–Peierls memorandum.

Arnold became legally blind in 2002, but in 2012, at age 96, published her memoirs, entitled _My Short Century_, in which she described her life from living on a farm, and friendships with noted figures in the world of nuclear research and development; “but also”, noted the Daily Telegraph, “chronicled the life of one of the many thousands of women denied greater eminence because of their sex.”[15] She died at Oxenford House care home in Cumnor, Oxfordshire, on 25 March 2014 after suffering a stroke.[16] She was survived by her two sons.[17][18]

Published works

-   (1974). _Independence and Deterrence: Britain and Atomic Energy, 1945–52: Volume 1: Policy Making_. (With Margaret Gowing). London: Macmillan. .
-   (1974). _Independence and Deterrence: Britain and Atomic Energy, 1945–52: Volume 2: Policy Execution_. (With Margaret Gowing). London: Macmillan. .
-   (1987). _A Very Special Relationship: British Atomic Weapon Trials in Australia_. London: HMSO Books. .
-   (2001) _Britain and the H-Bomb_. London: Palgrave Macmillan (with Katherine Pyne)
-   (2005) _Britain, Australia and the Bomb: The Nuclear Tests and Their Aftermath_. (International Papers in Political Economy) (with Mark Smith) London: Palgrave Macmillan
-   (2007) _Windscale 1957: Anatomy of a Nuclear Accident_. London: Palgrave Macmillan
-   (2012) _My Short Century_. Palo Alto, California: Cumnor Hill Books

Notes

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

title: Lorna Arnold

question: Summarize Lorna Arnold's contributions to the British military.

human_answer: Loran Arnold was a British historian who wrote about British nuclear weapons. She served during the Second World War in the Army Council Secretariat but transferred to the Foreign Office to head a section of the secretariat of the European Advisory Commission. Around 1945, she moved to Berlin, working in the Economic Directorate alongside staff from France, America, and Russia to supply food to the population. In 1959, Arnold joined the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEE) coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire. She would later join Margaret Gowing in writing the history of the British nuclear weapons programmes. She also wrote about the nuclear weapons tests in Australia and the British hydrogen bomb programme.

text: Arnold did not work alongside Polish staff.

answer: Loran Arnold was a British historian who wrote about British nuclear weapons. She served during the Second World War in the Army Council Secretariat but transferred to the Foreign Office to head a section of the secretariat of the European Advisory Commission. Around 1945, she moved to Berlin, working in the Economic Directorate alongside staff from France, America, and Poland to supply food to the population. In 1959, Arnold joined the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEE) coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire. She would later join Margaret Gowing in writing the history of the British nuclear weapons programs. She also wrote about the nuclear weapons tests in Australia and the British hydrogen bomb program.

text: "Poland" - this is incorrect. Replace with "Russia"

text: "Poland" - replace with "Russia"

text: "Poland" - this is incorrect. It should be Russia.

text: "Poland" - this is incorrect. The countries mentioned were France, America, and Russia.

text: "Poland" is incorrect. The text says "Russia"

text: Remove the first sentence. It's not relevant.

text: "Loran" - is misspelled. It should be "Lorna"

text: (UKAEE) - this is incorrect. It should be "(UKAEA)"

answer: She served with the Army Council secretariat during the Second World War. She moved to Berlin as part of the Allied Control Council. She was part of the British negotiating team that merged the US and British zones of Allied-occupied Germany into Bizonia. She also joined the UKAEA in 1959, coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire.

answer: Loran Arnold was a British historian who wrote about British nuclear weapons. She served during the Second World War in the Army Council Secretariat but transferred to the Foreign Office to head a section of the secretariat of the European Advisory Commission. Around 1945, she moved to Berlin, working in the Economic Directorate alongside staff from France, America, and Poland to supply food to the population. In 1959, Arnold joined the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEE) coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire. She would later join Margaret Gowing in writing the history of the British nuclear weapons programs. She also wrote about the nuclear weapons tests in Australia and the British hydrogen bomb program.

text: The sentence about her move to Berlin isn't really related to the military and could be omitted.

answer: She served with the Army Council secretariat during the Second World War. She moved to Berlin as part of the Allied Control Council. She was part of the British negotiating team that merged the US and British zones of Allied-occupied Germany into Bizonia. She also joined the UKAEA in 1959, coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire.

text: The response should include that she was part of the British negotiating team that merged the US and British zones of Allied-occupied Germany into Bizonia.

text: "She also joined the UKAEA in 1959, coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire." - this is irrelevant and should be deleted.

text: The response misses to mention that she was also part of the British negotiating team that merged the US and British zones of Allied-occupied Germany into Bizonia.

text: "She also joined the UKAEA in 1959, coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire." - this is irrelevant and should be removed.

text: "She also joined the UKAEA in 1959, coordinating the investigation of the 1957 Windscale fire." - is irrelevant and should be removed.

text: Add "the" to "US"

text: It is omitted that soon after D-Day in 1944, Rainbow transferred to the Foreign Office to head a section of the secretariat of the European Advisory Commission at Norfolk House, making arrangements for the post-war administration of Germany.

text: It is omitted that she worked on the Veale Committee on Training in Radiation Safety after she joined UKAEA.


text:
"My lungs burn, and my heart pounds as death itself bites at my ankles. I should be dead right now. Why aren’t I? Oh right, I’m none other than Cordella Motorian, of course. Universally famous explorer, voyager, expeditionist, however you want to dress it up. And this is nothing but another one of my adventures.

Now let’s cut to the chase. (Pun intended.) At this point I’m beginning to regret stealing all that treasure from the natives. Four muscular men sporting grass skirts and head-dresses continue to pursue me through the thick, tropical forest. Sweat beads down my forehead, my traditional leather jacket and cargo pants wasn’t exactly a fit choice for the weather. Still, I leap over root after root, slice vine after vine, desperately needing a way out of this. If I don’t find bullets for my revolver, I’m done for. After what must be a couple miles of running, I have some distance between me and the natives. But they’ll be caught up any moment.

Thinking fast, I grab a few vines and tie together a thick rope. I tightly tie it around a nearby boulder, and begin climbing a thick tree, shaped like a Y. With a little struggle, I use the notch in the tree, pulling the vine to hoist the boulder into the air. I’ve successfully created a makeshift pulley, with time to spare. I jump off of the tree, still holding the vine, and knot the end to a stump. The men’s chants and cries get closer, and I can hear their footsteps stomping through the soil.  After a silent countdown in my head, my knife comes down on the vine, and with a crash, three of four men are crushed underneath the boulder.

The last comes charging forward. After sheathing my knife, I’m ready for a confrontation. He seems to be unfazed by the death of his three friends, surprisingly. I was hoping on that, my plan was to catch him by surprise, but no matter. He lunges his spear forward, and I send it downwards with a high kick, quickly following up with a punch to the face. He doesn’t even flinch. His spear comes slicing again, and I have to jump backwards to avoid my throat being cut open. Odd, these natives usually have more honor than to go for a cheap shot like the throat. Guess he was a little more mad about his friends than I thought.

He throws away his spear and draws a machete previously sheathed in the back of his skirt. We begin a dance, him mirroring every one of my steps, standing low to the ground like a snare waiting for prey. I’m scanning every possible opportunity for a strike, with my fists at the ready in front of my chest. He gets impatient and slices for my neck again. I duck, and land a slice on the side of his torso, to which he responds with a low growl. He throws a hit with the butt of his machete, which I block with my forearm, and I go for a stab in the chest. But now he’s faked me out, and he draws a smaller knife from his hip, and swiftly sticks the blade through--"

“Hey! Get yer head out of that book, Elizabeth. Ya oughta know better by now.”, Otto scolds, knocking one of my favourite of Cordella Motorian’s books out of my hands. “And if yer gonna read in my shop, read something, I dunno, not written by a shameless fraud. Mr. Hallmond wants his bike fixed by Monday, by th’ way.”

Begrudgingly, I stand out of my seat, and walk over to my workbench. Working for Otto in Nimbia City’s repair shop isn’t challenging work, but it’s still tedious. This has to be the sixth time Hallmond has busted his bike, all the same problem. A manufacturing bug, of the Headland Solstice Propeller Bike, where the rudder would get stuck every so often. These things were recalled years ago, but Hallmond’s too cheap to buy a new one. It’s got a ton of other problems too, his rusty chains, the warped propellors, but I don’t get paid for that. The real reason I even work here is Otto himself.

It’s not as if he needs the extra hand, he’s pretty well capable for his age. He’s a short, round old man, but strong as an ox. Kinda looks like one too. I wouldn’t even call him my boss, more like a less professional babysitter. My parents hire him to build the famous inventions they design, and I’m stuck around to watch. So he puts me to work.

I tighten up the screws, and fix up a couple of other problems, and Mr. Hallmond’s bike is ready two days early. I call out to Otto, “You know, we should just teach Mr. Hallmond to fix his own bike, eh?”. “Oh no, no, no. Sell a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, and ya just ruined a perfect business opportunity.”, he calls back. That’s the kind of stuff I love Otto for, he’s stock full of pseudo-wisdom, I could listen to him for hours.
“I was talking to yer mother earlier.”, Otto says, coming over to talk to me.

“That’s unfortunate.”, I mutter.

“She wants ya to come along for dinner with Captain Samuels, of the Royal Guard? Ya know the one.”, he responds, clearly not liking the fact himself. “Talk ta her later, I don’t know th’ details.”.

An alarm goes off in the back, marking the end of my shift. “Well, pleasure to see you as always, Otto, but I’ll be off.”, I say, slipping on my beaten-up leather jacket. He silently dismisses me with an absent minded wave. I clock out, as the repair shops’ garage doors open. Sunlight strikes my eyelids, leaving a stinging pain after hours at the workbench, er, the desk where I read. I slip my flight goggles off of the top of my untidy blonde hair, and onto my eyes and step out into the Sky City of Nimbia.

A perplexing city of huge bronze skyscrapers, suspended in the air with a combination of jets and propellers, rotating at amazing speeds. It might seem like a tangled mess of steel bridges, connecting building after building, but the city actually forms a perfect hexagon. Virgus Tower, home of parliament, visible from almost anywhere in the city,  marks the exact center of the city. Though we’re not unique. We’re one of many Sky Cities, such as Cirria, Cumula, and-- Well, you get the point.

Nimbia floats above Tirus Forest, which is in fact, the setting of Cordella’s book “The Tirus Tyrant”, the one I was reading in the shop. Spoiler: She gets hauled back to the Native’s camp, where she escapes and makes off with even more treasure. Genius, I know. Cordella’s something of an idol to me, if you hadn’t noticed. Running off, and living on the surface? Yeah, that’s always been a fantasy of mine. Steal treasure from whoever I wanted. Instead, I’m stuck up here, repairing Mr. Hallmond’s bike every week, having parents that couldn’t care less what I do, (unless it involves anything I like, of course). But I’m getting off track.

I stick my keys into the ignition of my plane, and hear the familiar sound of the propeller starting to spin. This biplane was a gift from Otto, the first thing he ever taught me to fix. He wanted to start from the most complex, and work down. Some more wisdom, I guess. This thing’s packed with the most powerful engine on the market, top of the line wings, and topped off with two red leather seats and a kicking stereo. Otto originally wanted to put a turret in the back seat, but my Mother wouldn’t have it. But still, my plane is what makes the work all worth it.

Wind forces my hair behind me, as I soar around the city. No boundaries, no limits but the sky itself. Here, I’m free to do what I want. Before I’m in the air for nearly enough time for my own liking, I arrive home.

After parking in a nearby hangar, I take the elevator up to my room. Presidential suite of Horus Hotel, a building owned by my parents. Did I mention they have buckets of money? Well, they move around a lot, so I’m left in this building. Easier than buying me my own place, right? I’m exhausted, so I flop onto my bed, and stick my face in another book. Cordella Motorian and The Desert Destroyer. I don’t particularly like this one, she spends too much time describing almost starving to death, walking 50 miles of sand. Not enough action in my opinion. She eventually gets around to a battle with a rogue miner, who steals a bunch of equipment and threatens to destroy his whole facility. You can’t really blame her for not enough action though, because all her books are taken from personal experience. Asking her for more action is asking her to lie.

The sound of high heels daintily stomps down the hallway, and my Mother storms in. She begins to yell at me, and immediately I tune out. Probably nagging about Otto’s daily report, and I catch her mentioning the grease stains on my face. I’ve been told I have an attractive face, but I don’t really care. I’m just your standard bushy blonde hair, brown eyed, freckled girl. I snap out of my daze, and Mom’s pulling a fancy blue dress out of my closet, nothing compared to what she’s wearing. She apparently wants me to wear this blue one for dinner tomorrow night, with that captain fellow.

She continues lecturing me, “The Captain wants your father and I to design some new weaponry for the Guard, mainly planes and other vehicles. We’ll be discussing this over dinner tomorrow night. So, when you get back from work, you’re going to wash all the dirt I know is going to be on your face. Then you’ll wear this, Sue designed it specifically for this dinner.. This is something big for us, and you’re not going to mess this one up. You remember what happened with Vice President Bloom? None of that. Now get some sleep.”.

She walks out, probably going to go work some more with my Dad. I can’t believe her, this dress is probably the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. All filled with frilly flowers and curves. Probably goes down to my ankles too.  Why do I even have to go to this thing? Wouldn’t they be better off without me? I mean, with Bloom, he left that night with a broken arm. Um, that’s a long story.

Well, I oughta know better by now. This is usually how it is, and I don’t think it’s going to change anytime soon. Unless some miracle falls out of the sky, I’m going to keep on repairing Hallmond’s bike every week, and getting pushed around by my parents.

I like to keep low expectations on these things, that way no matter what, everything’s a surprise.

title: Hi there, I'm also a thirteen year old writer, just looking for some feedback. I'm not even sure what to call this, whether it's a short story or not. But here's the first chapter.

question: Who is the protagonist of the story?

text: Cordella Motorian is the protagonist of a novel Elizabeth is reading, not the main protagonist of this story.

answer: A young girl named Elizabeth whose parents are rich inventors in the sky city of Nimbia. She works for Otto at Nimbia City's repair shop fixing flying bicycles and planes.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator is also Cordella Motorian in her imagination.

text: The name Elizabeth is never mentioned in the story.

text: The answer could be more specific about the narrator's interest in Cordella Motorian.

text: The answer should mention Cordella Motorian.

text: The answer should mention the narrator's obsession with Cordella Motorian.

text: That's her name in the story, her given name is Elizabeth.

answer: Elizabeth, a thirteen year old girl who works in a repair shop.

text: Elizabeth is not said to be thirteen. The author is thirteen.

answer: A young girl named Elizabeth whose parents are rich inventors in the sky city of Nimbia. She works for Otto at Nimbia City's repair shop fixing flying bicycles and planes.

answer: Cordella Motorian, famous explorer, voyager, expeditionist.

answer: Elizabeth, a thirteen year old girl who works in a repair shop.

text: The answer should mention that Elizabeth is also a fan of Cordella Motorian.

text: It is not stated that she is thirteen years old.

text: The answer should mention that she is the narrator and likes Cordella Motorian books.

text: She is actually eighteen.

text: The narrator is named Cordella Motorian in the story she reads