text:
Title: As if in storm lurked calm and peace 2?
Author: cjk1701
Rating: PG for this chapter
Pairing: Sparrington per-slash
Disclaimer: Disney owns the characters and pretty much everything else. More's the pity.
A/N: Inspired by the wonderful stories of firesignwriter, oneiriad, vivagloria and all those other great writers out there. When I grow up, I want to write like you guys.
I've taken insane liberties with geography and history in this story. Boy, have I taken liberties. But considering that Disney did the very same thing, I refuse to feel guilty. This is a fantasy universe, after all.
Part I
VII. What words may come
He is lost in the whirlwind of the battle, the heady rush of the blood pumping through his body, his being is focused on the blade in his hand, and yet the horror threatens to overwhelm him. He, who has never looked away from an enemy's face, never shirked a battle, never sent his men ahead of him.
Although he does still flinch at explosions.
Never has he felt this grey, paralysing fear before, but he has never faced anything but men of flesh and blood in battle. His own blood runs cold and pools in the pit of his stomach, the faces of his men around him masks of stark horror.
Skeletal hands covered in rotting flesh are reaching for him. He can smell decay as he flies through the familiar dance of fight and death. Yet there is waking, walking death all around him and the nightmare has become real. He thrusts, ducks under a cutlass, parries a machete, and suddenly sees Gillette's wide eyes and white face.
They cannot be killed! Merciful God, they cannot be killed!
A hand clutches his shoulder.
He starts awake with a hoarse scream that turns into a yelp of pain as his stiff muscles protest harshly. His heart is threatening to burst from his chest, and he is shaking, willing the images to recede.
It takes him a moment to realise that there is, indeed, a hand on his shoulder. He looks up and scowls.
"Sparrow, why have you brought me here? What is the purpose of this farce"
The pirate's eyebrows fly up as he stills for a moment, then draws back and raises a limp hand. "Well, I'm glad you are finding comic value in this situation, I was afraid I would be the only one. Of course, not afraid as such, per se, but it occurred to me that you would find the situation not as amusing as, say, some other people would have. Do. Am. In fact…"
"Captain." Sparrow's hand illustrates the point, looking oddly like it is missing a teacher's cane. "Captain Sparrow." Something shifts in the pirate's limber posture, and James feels a tingle of cold race up his spine.
"My apologies" he says curtly, at once all too aware of the vulnerability of his position.
Sparrow makes that little odd bow of his, hands clasped together. "Now" he beams, gold glittering in the candlelight"I have a question for ye, Commodore."
He leans back in the chair, face very carefully neutral, lips pursed. "Indeed"
The pirate hums assent and sits down across from him, his smaller shape immediately sprawling over the chair, making it appear as if his body has less bones than an average man's. Putting one elbow on the table, he props his chin on it, fingers toying idly with the braids in his beard.
He's being played with. That cheeky bastard actually has the gall to tease him. He glares at the infuriating man. "Well, are you going to enlighten me as to what the question might conceivably be, Captain? If this is to be a staring match, I assure you that I am quite able, and, indeed, quite likely, to fall asleep in this chair as I wait for you to come to your senses."
Sparrow smiles, the expression quirking his lips but not quite reaching the kohl-rimmed eyes. "Funny you should mention that." His quick fingers are still playing with his beard, tugging at the tiny beads in the black hair. "The question is thus: were you, as an officer and gentleman, to give your word to me, as a pirate and… well, a pirate, would you feel compelled to keep it"
He feels hot blood rush into his face. "Are you casting aspersions on my honour, pirate"
"Well" Sparrow says, and against all odds he seems focussed to the point of sitting still"not as such, no. What I am asking you, Commodore, is whether me being, shall we say, not quite a gentlemen of breeding and station, will influence your decision as to keeping your word."
The fury flooding him is too hot to express in words. "My word" he bites out with difficulty"is my word. Once given, it stands unless I am to be released from my promise. What does it matter if my word is given to a king, a pauper or a common criminal"
"Ah, yes" Sparrow says calmly, apparently not in the least affected by the insult. "So pirate or not, if you gave me your word you would stand by it"
"If I had my sword now" James growls"you would pay quite dearly for your words. How I wish you were gentleman enough for me to challenge you where you stand"
"Sit. Where I sit. I'm not standing" the pirate corrects, then stands up. "Well, now I am. Anyway. What I find really interesting is that you" and a dark, grimy finger is pointing at James' nose"value your word and subsequently your honour enough to want to demand - hah - satisfaction over an imagined slight, yet in the same breath feel no compunctions to insult me very own self. Why is that, I wonder"
"You abducted me under duress, almost killed me on the blasted balcony, made me row you to that rock in the dark, are now keeping me prisoner and threatening me with yet more violence! Is that not reason enough for me to feel incensed by your mere presence, never mind your wicked insinuations"
"Ah. But, and forgive me for saying that, Commodore- what is your name, by the by"
James frowns. "What"
"Your Christian name, man. Surely even you have one"
His fists clench. "What possible difference could it make"
He receives a flat, unreadable look. "Well. As I was saying, Mister Norrington, the vile insinuations started a long time ago. Namely when you first laid eyes on me, before you even knew who I was. Or what I was. How is that for honourable"
"You were tearing Miss Swann's gown off"
"Her corset. When she wasn't breathing. On account of having fallen into the bloody ocean. While you were standing right next to her." Sparrow's dark eyes narrow. "The point is, mate: you, as a man of honour, were about to have me shot before you even knew my name, just after I fished your ladylove out of the deep, blue sea. And then you ask why I would possibly, just possibly, doubt your intentions"
James opens his mouth, a heated reply straining from his lips, but suddenly feels the wind of self-righteousness taken from his sails. He sighs, abruptly fatigued almost beyond human endurance. "I apologise for my actions that day. You are right. I did not behave… honourably."
Sparrow chuckles, a dry, deep sound. "Methinks, my dear Commodore, you'd spend a lot less time cursing yourself for apologising to me if you were to curse me a little less in the first place."
Pirate or not, that is a valid point. He says the one thing that comes to his exhausted mind. "James."
Sparrow raises his eyebrows. "Beg pardon"
"My name. It's James."
Sparrow is still for a frozen moment, then bows his head, smiling slightly, but somehow less sharply than he had been before. "I accept your apology... James."
Well, he should have seen that one coming. He closes his eyes. His shoulders have developed new aches, sharp and coiled.
Sparrow's voice, unexpectedly close, startles him. "About that word of yours."
"We have been merely discussing a hypothetical situation, as I recall" James says tiredly.
"Indeed, certainly, yes, so we were" Sparrow throws himself back into the chair. "Another hypothetical situation for ye, then. Suppose you were to give me your right honourable word, as an officer and a gentleman, that you would not try to escape from my Pearl, nor harm me or any of my men - and women - nor to disable my ship."
James stares, barely able to make sense of the situation. "Why would I do that"
"Because the cot in my sleeping cabin is a great deal more comfortable than the floor in the brig, James."
"Your cot."
"Aye" Sparrow tosses his head back and grimaces in exasperation. "Unless you actually enjoy bare floors and expatriate Navy rats."
James shakes his head, hoping to clear some of the grey nothingness that is intruding on his thoughts. "I don't…"
"Look" Sparrow says and leans forward, hands uncurling to illustrate. "Look. Do you, James Norrington, Commodore of the Jamaican fleet and scourge of pirates everywhere, give me your word that you will not try to escape, harm me, my ship or my crew, or do anything else that might endanger yourself or us, for the next, oh, twelve hours? If you do, I shall give you my word as a dishonest scallywag and a pirate, that you will not be mistreated- that you will be treated as a guest, and not as a prisoner for the duration of those twelve hours."
The grey is encroaching into the corners of the room now, and Sparrow seems to be moving away while still sitting in the same place. "Why do you…"
"For now, because I need you alive, hale, and reasonably sane tomorrow. For a given value of sane. In fact…"
James speaks quickly, to stem the tide of words. "Yes. You have my word. Twelve hours. Not a minute longer." He will deal with his conscience after he has had some sleep. Lord, he can deal with anything after he has had some sleep.
"Excellent! Splendid" Sparrow jumps to his feet, and, once again, extends a hand.
Beyond one of the screens is a sleeping cabin, or at least a space filled with sparse furniture he does not have the strength to pay attention to, and a large cot.
A cot with pillows, white sheets, and a blanket.
Soft pillows.
He thinks he hears a voice, and somebody is tugging his left shoe off, but the pillow is so blessedly, sweetly soft and warm that he does not open his eyes again.
VIII. Ceasefire
His second awakening on board the Black Pearl is marked by a notable absence of nightmares, histrionics, dramatic pirates or even self-recriminations. He owes it to the Crown to be in full possession of his faculties, he tells himself firmly, and if a twelve hours' truce with a pirate is essential for his health and sanity, so be it.
With the sunlight bursting into the cabin even through the all but opaque windows, it is bright enough for him to take in all details of his surroundings. Apart from the magnificently comfortable cot he is lying on there are cupboards in the same dark wood as the walls, a cannon with something that looks like a Persian rug thrown over it, a small pedestal desk topped by cabinets, and a dressing table with a miniature mirror on it.
In short, he is surprised to recognise, it is very much like his own cabin aboard the Dauntless, aside from the decadent opulence of the rug and the soft bedding.
Carefully he sits up, grimacing as spiky aches spread through his arms and back. He will make Sparrow pay for making him row that blasted boat, he swears darkly.
A second look around the cabin makes him pause, and he stands up to ascertain that his eyes are not deceiving him. Indeed, there really are washing utensils and a razor on the dressing table.
He frowns. Surely even the worst pirate would not leave him a sharp blade? But then, he supposes it matters little on a ship where all crewmen are armed to the teeth.
A dim memory from the previous night comes to him. Did Sparrow really imply there were women on board? He shakes his head at the irrelevancy of the issue. Male or female, pirates are still pirates.
Unless they are risking life and limb to save individuals they barely know for apparently naught but altruistic reasons.
Shaking his head to dislodge unpleasant thoughts, he notices white linen piled up on the side of the desk. A clean shirt, sleeves a bit too short for him, but the fabric and needlework finer than any he has seen in his own closet. He sighs. How very thoughtful of them, to provide him with garments quite obviously stolen. And yet, if the choice is between principles and a tidy appearance, principles will have to take a short walk and come back when he is dressed.
He strips quickly and scrubs himself down, enjoying the hot water and soap against his skin; feeling faint annoyance at sleeping soundly through the intrusion of whoever brought the water.
Shaved and dressed in the fine shirt he looks critically into the small mirror. Without his wig, or even a waistcoat, he feels undressed, barbaric and uncivilised. His left stocking is torn and stained with tar and saltwater, as are his breeches. His short hair is damp and unkempt and looks very exposed.
Bloody Sparrow and his insane plans. It is almost worse than being entirely naked, this odd state or wearing only his undergarments.
Of course, there is no way around it. Straightening his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back he walks around the screen into the day cabin.
To his vague surprise - he expected the room to be full of gaudy pirate - it is empty, although there is an open inkpot and pens on the table, and a disorderly pile of good paper spread over an entire side of it.
He hesitates in front of the stateroom doors, then opens them with a resolute twist of his hand, squinting in the harsh sunlight.
The quarterdeck is all but deserted, with two pirates either scrubbing the deck or having a heated argument involving mops; it is hard to tell.
As he walks to the side, he pinpoints the vague feeling of wrongness that has been accompanying him since he woke: the Pearl is not moving. An overdue glance up confirms that the sails are furled.
He only sees the beach when he is close enough to touch the gunwale. It appears to be another tiny island, barely enough room for a handful of palms and some seagull-infested cliffs. The Pearl is anchored just outside a miniature lagoon so blue it seems painted onto the landscape. Brightly coloured shapes move in the palm tangle, but without his spyglass he cannot make out the particulars of what the pirates are doing.
A thud makes him whirl around and his hand flies to his belt, where Turner's sword is not. He covers up the lapse by straightening his back and pursing his lips.
Sparrow seems to have either literally fallen out of the sky to land on the deck behind him, or jumped from the rigging overhead. He is dressed in his usual assortment of mismatched and ragged apparel, but his long braids are sopping wet and the kohl around his eyes even more smudged than usual.
James can't stop his eyebrows and tone from rising incredulously. "You went swimming"
The pirate grins and pulls a fistful of hair behind his back, where rivulets of water run into the collar of his shirt. "And good morning to you, Commodore. Sleep well"
With a hot little flash of embarrassment he remembers that he slept on Sparrow's own cot, leaving the pirate to spend the night elsewhere, and most likely a great deal less comfortably. "Thank you for your hospitality, Captain. While the method of transportation and my reason for being here still cause me not inconsiderable consternation and distress, the accommodation itself was excellent."
Sparrow doesn't answer immediately, but takes hold of a rope instead, and lightly swings himself up to sprawl on the gunwale. James finds himself faintly annoyed at having to look up instead of down, and even more annoyed at the realisation that Sparrow is playing him like a fiddle. Almost automatically moving into parade rest, he contemplates the furled grey sail over his head.
Unexpectedly Sparrow chuckles. "You never asked about the time."
James doesn't look away from the sail. "I beg your pardon"
"We agreed on twelve hours, you will without a doubt remember. You haven't asked if they're over yet."
The sails are very obviously new, he can tell even without remembering the rag-like ones she had when sailing under Barbossa. He had wondered how she was sailing at all, then, whether the curse had affected the ship as much as the crew.
Sparrow's breathing briefly hitches in something like a silent chortle. "Oh, very well, Commodore. Commendable, really." He pauses, and James can hear the grin in his voice when he says"Just under two hours left."
He turns at last, and looks up at the pirate. "I gave you my word that I would not try to escape or otherwise give you reason to break your half of the agreement. And I also recall you saying that you needed me alive and sane today. For what purpose"
Sparrow brings one knee up and wraps an arm around it. "The French."
The now familiar feeling of the world careening when Sparrow is about assaults him afresh. "The French."
"Ghastly people." Sparrow lets go of the rigging momentarily to wave his hand in emphasis. "Loud women, hideous language. Food's too rich, too." He pauses, head tilting. "And there's the war, of course."
"The war has not escaped my notice, Mister Sparrow" James says dryly, and sighs"Captain Sparrow."
The man in question smiles briefly then slips down to the deck, giving him a disconcertingly thorough look. "Let's get you out of the sun, mate. You'll burn."
While doubtlessly true, the observation is irritatingly personal. Scowling, he follows Sparrow back to the stateroom, hands still cupped behind his back, wishing for at least a waistcoat to cover himself with.
Sparrow sweeps the pens and papers to one side and caps the inkpot, then pauses in mid-movement. "Tea" He turns around, raising his eyebrows. "Or do you prefer cocoa"
James frowns. "You have cocoa here"
"Not exceedingly hard to find in the West Indies, that" Sparrow says absently, rummaging around in a drawer, then pulls out a stack of maps. "But seeing as we've offended your fine English sensibilities enough, you can have some tea."
"Not all Englishmen drink tea" James says primly, then adds, surprising himself"my father does not care for it."
"Aye" Sparrow looks up from the drawer, eyes crinkled in a smile that looks somehow warmer than his rakish grins. "Proper European admirer of coffee, then"
"A distinguished admirer of brandy, for certain" he replies, and pushes the images he has thus evoked into the deepest corner of his mind. Sparrow has taken enough from him already, he won't have his dignity as well.
He is somewhere between gratified and surprised when Sparrow makes no comment, but instead walks back to the doors and converses with somebody outside.
The maps catch his attention and he unrolls the topmost one, admiring the cartographer's skill and talent. Unlike the stark and severe Navy charts, this one has a richly decorated border running alongside the edge of the parchment. It features tiny mermaids, conches and a number of sea monsters, each detail drawn with amazing realism. He is still running his fingertips along the elaborate embellishments when Sparrow returns and comes to stand next to him.
He can't help but comment. "These charts are exceptional."
Sparrow makes a low humming noise that he takes to be assent, and unrolls another map, using the inkpot to hold down one side, his be-ringed hand on the other. James notices absently that most of the previous night's grime has come off, and that the lace of the pirate's shirt cuffs is as clean and neat as his own would be.
He forces himself to concentrate on the ink and paint landscape on the table. It is a very detailed depiction of the north-eastern Venezuelan coast, as well as Trinidad and the smaller islands around it.
"Tobago" Sparrow says, and points to the island in question.
James nods. "So it is."
Sparrow's finger wanders north. "Grenada."
North-east now. "Barbados."
Sparrow hums something off-key and points to a spot south of Barbados. "Business interest."
James is reasonably certain the place does not exist on official British naval charts. "Oh"
Sparrow frowns, bends low over the map, and scrapes a fingernail over the spot. It comes off.
James closes his eyes for a moment, and rubs his forehead.
Sparrow croons triumphantly, and points to another speck, a seemingly more permanent one. "Here 'tis."
"A… business interest" James says slowly. "I was unaware your interests ran to smuggling, Captain."
"They don't" Sparrow answers matter-of-factly. "No excitement in it." He frowns at the chart. "I have a rather strong interest in that island, on the other hand."
"Do you."
"Aye. Of course, there's the bloody French."
James' eyes wander south to Grenada and Trinidad. "Indeed. Right on your doorstep, as it were. I can see your problem."
Sparrow makes that odd humming noise again. "Have to keep south, and there's forts and ships at Trinidad. Grenada's even worse." He pauses, finger moving south to where James is looking. "Been around Trinidad a fair few times, o'course."
"I'm sure the French patrols were pleased."
A derisive snort. "Next to my Pearl, the French are all but dead in the water."
It's James' turn to snort. "She is fast, I grant you, but not that fast."
"Fast enough. In fact…"
There is a loud rap on the doors, and Sparrow pivots mid-word and swaggers over to let in an old sailor with a tea tray in his hands. A colourful parrot on the man's shoulder seems to be eyeing the sugar bowl.
"Thank ye, Mister Cotton" Sparrow says, and glares at the parrot. The bird spreads its wings and settles down, tilting its head to the side. Its owner grins silently, and walks out, closing the doors behind him.
As Sparrow pours, James considers the tea set. The pot and cups are fine Chinese porcelain, even if the milk jug and sugar bowl are bulky pottery. He resolutely does not wonder how the pirate came by the cup he is to drink from.
The tea is fine and strong, and the milk is surprisingly fresh. He sips it still scalding hot, watching Sparrow make room on the table for tea and charts alike.
The urgent sense of danger has receded, and he does not think only their temporary truce and easy conversation are to blame. Whatever Sparrow is planning, he thinks, is unlikely to involve James' demise. He might be intended to be used as a hostage, or simply leverage, but now that sleep and strong tea have cleared his head, he feels a great deal more in control of the situation. Whatever happens, in the end he will see Sparrow back behind bars.
The thought brings him up short. Behind bars to what end? He has killed enough men in his time, but a soldier's life being what it is; all of them were men he never knew. Is that Sparrow's intention, to ingratiate himself with James and thus ensure his survival?
Somehow, even having barely spoken to the man, he still doubts that explanation.
A good man, the Turner boy had insisted. He still cannot see how a man whose life consists of doing others harm can be good, but neither can he see the vital presence sipping tea next to him as a broken thing on the gallows.
Damnation. He has always thought himself fair and objective. Yet another thing Sparrow has robbed him of.
Sparrow walks around the table, somehow avoiding to drip on anything other than the floor, and sits down across from where James is standing, teacup placed squarely in front of him. "Take a seat, Commodore" he drawls. "This may take a while."
James sits down stiffly, back so straight it does not touch the back of the chair. His cup makes a sharp, light sound when he puts it down on the table.
"Where was I" Sparrow muses, stroking his lower lip with a dark finger. His eyes look unfocussed for a moment, then he leans forward abruptly, a ferocious gleam in his eyes. "Ah. Tobago."
James looks down on the map almost involuntarily. The small island is still there, shadowed by the bulk of Trinidad. "The French supposedly were not entirely successful in flushing your brethren out of the region" he says derisively, and for a moment wonders if his contempt is aimed at pirates or at the French.
Sparrow nods, sending droplets of water flying. "Like I said, Commodore. Business interest." He taps a stained fingernail against the map. "Tobago is barely defended, and with the war on they can't spare enough ships to guard it as they used to. The bulk of the fleet is around Grenada, I should think."
James remembers many similar discussions in Governor Swann's office. "Are you planning a private war now? I believe attacking the French single-handedly is a task beyond even the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Ah" the legend under consideration looks at James and smiles very slowly. "But I'm not going to do it single-handedly, am I? You, Commodore, are going to help."


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Williston Honors State Champions
Published May 30th, 2014
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Williston, FL -- It wasn't the best weather for a parade, but no one could rain on the parade for Williston residents and keep them from coming out in full force to show support for their state champions.
The parade was held for the Williston High School Red Devils baseball players, who just last week won the Florida A1 state championships. Cheerleaders, JROTC members and even the mayor took part in the celebration.
The parade started on Sixth Street and continued onto Noble Avenue, then ended at the school's football field where fun continued.
Williston Police shut down the route to make room for the parade.
"It's just amazing you know, in a small town how you can just shut down the main street and have a parade and all these people come out and support you and it's just a small town and it's just a great feeling," said Scott Hall, the team's coach.
It's been 91 years since the school has been honored with the title.
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subset: commoncrawl


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Anyway, the latest issue has a perfectly eye-boggling letter from the doyen of modernist art scholarship, David Sylvester. He was writing to complain about an article on Bridget Riley. The author of the article, that excellent man John Spurling, had quoted Sylvester as sounding rather sceptical about Riley. Mr Sylvester has written in to complain; he concedes that in the article, quoted from 1967, he was indeed not that keen on Ms Riley, or possibly pretending not to be. However, he is furious that Spurling did not acknowledge that, in the New Statesman in 1962, Sylvester had praised Riley strongly, and indeed, has done so since the 1967 article.
At this point, the magazine fell from my lifeless fingers. I bet Mr Spurling is feeling jolly foolish that it didn't occur to him to look at 40-year- old back copies of New Statesman before quoting a critic, just in case the critic had contradicted himself at any point. What purpose would be served by quoting everything anybody had ever said about Bridget Riley? I do not know, but at least we could all sleep soundly in our beds knowing that, thank God, Mr Sylvester had not been misrepresented. Even Mr Sylvester, who occupies a godlike status in the art world, even Mr Sylvester, who has written so interestingly and encouragingly about art during a long career, even he cannot reasonably complain of unfair treatment.
After all, he is only a critic.
The real point of his letter, however, comes at the end, when he delivers what he obviously considers to be a crushing blow. "Your list of contributors," he writes, "states that John Spurling is a playwright and novelist. Shouldn't part-time writers on art be as careful as professionals about doing their homework?"
This seems a little unfair. Not many people live up to Mr Sylvester's Olympian standards of criticism and bibliography, and I don't think specialists are necessarily all that reliable. Indeed, it might be thought that a life spent pursuing a narrow furrow may leave some embarrassing gaps in a fellow's education. There was an amusing occasion a few months ago when the music critic of The Sunday Times, who probably knows everything there is to know about pre-war sopranos, was repeating the familiar critical cliche that Michael Tippett's librettos, which he wrote himself, are mostly meaningless nonsense. Alas, the example he chose was not Tippett's but a line from an incredibly famous poem by WB Yeats which Tippett had set to music. An error which, surely, only a "professional" would make.
Nor has Mr Sylvester considered one, surely crucial, factor. Criticism is not pure insight; it has to be put into prose first. Personally, I find John Spurling's writing on art a distinct cut above the usual run of writings by "professionals" for one reason; it is very well written.
There is no doubt that Mr Sylvester is fortunate; he is not only knowledgeable, he also writes quite well. But I can assure him that very few of his professional colleagues manage to put their thoughts into prose. The average product of the professional writer on art is, at best, dull; at worst, gibberish. It really seems hard to condemn all "part-time" writers on art or, indeed, on anything else.
Professionals must consider whether the laborious effort of writing a novel or a play is not, in itself, a good preparation for the task of writing in an interesting and fresh manner on painting; whether, indeed, someone who has written a novel or envisaged a stage picture may not already have acquired "an eye". To be blunt, which would you rather read; someone who writes imaginatively, or the routine formulations of some public administrator, half-thinking about budgets and next summer's big show, and not at all about sentences and their meaning?
Thank heaven for amateurs, really. And if Mr Sylvester has his way, and discounts the value of criticism which emanates from "part-time writers on art", I wonder if he has considered the consequences? Away with Denis Diderot, away with John Ruskin, Marcel Proust and Edmond and Jules de Goncourt! No more Wittgenstein on colour, no more Adorno on music. Let's throw away Goethe's Farbenlehre because, after all, how could it be of any interest, being written by a mere "playwright and novelist"?
Let's insist on seeing everybody's union card, everybody's professional qualifications before we decide whether they should be allowed to say anything on any subject whatever! And instead - what a marvellous idea - let us turn to their "professional" contemporaries instead, and read them.
Less Diderot and more... more... er... there seems to be a problem. Only one. Somehow, all those professional commentators seem to have been completely forgotten.
- More about:
- Arts
- Bridget Riley
- Newspapers And Magazines
- Peter Blake


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1. Lara Stone by Mert & Marcus in The Chronicles of Lara | Interview September 2010 2. Atelier Versace Fall 2010 Lookbook | Monika Jagaciak 3. Anja Rubik by Camilla Akrans for Vogue Germany October 2010 4. Marc by Marc Jacobs Spring 2011 | New York Fashion Week 5. Anna Jagodzinska & Karmen Pedaru by Mateusz Stankiewicz | Reserved Fall 2010 Campaign 6. Kristen McMenamy by … [Read more...]
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Prince was left at the door with 5 siblings Perry, Percy, Princess, Popper and Paris.
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text: wrexham council logo on truck Published: Monday, Sep 26th, 2011 NOTE: This content is old - Published: Monday, Sep 26th, 2011. More Wales News. What do you want to read next? News Fire Service Called to Petrol Station Following Reports of 'Car Leaking Fuel' News Car Torched in Early Morning Arson Attack News Duck Race to Make a Splash For Local Hospice! News Police Investigate After Swastika Flag Displayed At Car Boot Sale News Crowds Gather For Candlelit Vigil in Llay and Pay Their Respects to Victims of Manchester Attack Glyndwr Top British Driver Unveiled as Patron of University Motor Racing Team News Candlelit Vigil in Llay This Evening to Pay Respects to Victims of Manchester Attack News Families Invited to Messy Craft Event at Wrexham Museum! News Man Sentenced for Public Order Offences at Wrexham Vigil News Video: Wrexham Comes Together To Support Manchester News All Change on The Weather Front – Heavy Rain and Thunderstorms Forecast Tomorrow! News Armed Officers on Duty at Wrexham UB40 Concert News Police Issue Dispersal Order to 'Deal With Antisocial Behaviour' News Wrexham's Half Term Events Pack Now Available! News Council Lead Member Roles Announced (Finally!)


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Managing partner: Chris Lingard
Turnover: £1.6m
Total number of partners: Five
Total number of fee-earners: 26
Main practice areas: Corporate, energy, dispute resolution, IP and employment
Key clients: Finance Cornwall, Royal Cornwall Hospital Trust, Carrick District Council, Baltic Pine, Datasharp UK
Number of offices: One
Location: Truro
Chris Lingard, who was voted in as the firm's first managing partner in October last year, says: "As a recent entry to the Cornish legal market we didn't begin with a large client base, so we have had to go out there and get market share."
The firm is certainly not shy about marketing its brand. Recent client events have included a Grease sing-along, at which guests and staff dressed up in leather jackets and sported combed-back hair. Follet Stock also employs a customised Smart Car and a banner-pulling aeroplane.
Lingard claims the firm's ethos is to take the best bits of City practices and bring them to Cornwall. The firm's offices have an "advertising feel" to them, he says, and staff will stay in the office as late as necessary. "This may be commonplace in London," he says, "but it's not so commonplace in Cornwall."
The City's influence is also reflected in the firm's recruitment policy, with all of the firm's lawyers having trained at, or worked in, London or other large legal centres.
The strategy seems to have paid off. Follet Stock has seen turnover shoot up by 202 per cent in the last five years to £1.6m, while the firm's headcount has increased from 13 to 40 over the same period.
Lingard's key target as managing partner is to ensure that the firm continues to grow. "The business had been moving so fast and there was a recognition that it needed someone to drive it forward," Lingard says of his appointment.
Client care is an important area for Follet Stock. In addition to the 1970s musical nights, lawyers make an effort to talk to in-house counsel about what they want from instructed firms. Name partner Martin Follett is responsible for client care.
Staff motivation is also high on Lingard's agenda and every month the practice holds what he calls a "champagne moment", where the employee that has made the biggest difference to the firm receives a prize.
Follet Stock also ensures all staff have access to the firm's financial performance, with weekly statistics published internally.
An Exeter office is next on the horizon, with the firm looking to launch there in the next two years. "The legal market's pretty complacent there," Lingard argues. Not for much longer.


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Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach then I could sit back and enjoy my millions, writing my stories whenever the whim took me. Since I don't own Bleach, we are all forced to make do with what little time I have.
Listening to: The Black Keys - "Lonely Boy".
The Second Friday
By the time Saturday morning had rolled around, Rukia had decided not to meet Ichigo again. A twelve hour, relatively sleepless gap after their last encounter had, she felt, given her a chance to assess the situation with some clarity. While she found her co-worker attractive when he took the time to be something other than an asshole, if he could only be civil to her if he was unaware of her identity, he wasn't worth the effort.
Besides, she thought to herself with a sniff, he wasn't that attractive.
By Monday, Rukia had decided that it might also be better if she didn't see Ichigo at work this Friday. She could easily email and call in sick - she'd never done so before, so they'd have no reason to question her. If push came to shove, she could even get Retsu to vouch for her; her brother's friend would probably guess way too much about why Rukia wanted a medical certificate when she wasn't sick, but she'd provide one all the same. Retsu was understanding, if a little too perceptive for Rukia's peace of mind.
It wasn't that she didn't think she could face Ichigo, but Rukia had been having some interesting dreams over the weekend about herself and her tormentor that involved the sullying of the large and, now that she thought about it, conveniently sturdy desk they met at each Friday.
Ok, Rukia re-evaluated, fighting back a blush, maybe he is that attractive. Stupid tall jerk with capable looking hands and an even stupider smirk. Not that I care.
Still, the last thing I want is to make an ass of myself in front of him by blushing or getting tongue-tied or whatever.
Rukia scowled to herself, attempting to quash a far too fond remembrance of the aforementioned smirk that Ichigo - no, Luke was far too good at.
I should have insisted he go with Frodo as a name.
Or, better yet, Douche Baggins.
By Wednesday, Nii-sama had started to look at her oddly, and Rukia knew she'd better attend work on Friday or else several questions she really didn't want to answer would be aimed her way. Even Renji had asked her if she was getting enough sleep and, given that he was so wrapped up in her brother that Rukia could have come down to dinner wearing nothing but strategically placed pineapples and he'd probably miss it, that was concerning.
Not that I would, Rukia considered as she flipped her bangs out of her eyes. I mean, pineapples are prickly...
Ugh, stupid sleep deprivation. I'm not even sure which I'm more annoyed about at this point - that thinking about Ichigo Kurosaki is keeping me up at night or that Ichigo Kurosaki himself isn't keeping me up at night.
I can't even muster up the energy to be disgusted with myself for thinking that. I really do need sleep.
Well, hell. I'll go into work Friday, I'll play nice and then I'll stay the hell away from him.
When Friday rolled around, however, all hell broke loose.
The door of the meeting room slammed open, as Rukia virtually hurled herself out, visibly fuming. Her violet eyes blazed as she stormed down the corridor with strides one wouldn't expect of someone her height, her white knuckled grip on the folder of photos a tell-tale sign of her rage.
I'm going to make that bastard wish he'd never been born, the lousy, useless - buttface! I don't care if I sound three years old - I wonder if it's too late for Yoruichi to teach me kickboxing? Then I could give the asshat a lesson he richly des -
"Kuchiki, wait!"
Ichigo swore, as he chased after his target, determined to get to the elevator before she did. The midget, however, moved fast, particularly when motivated by rage - a rage that he had to admit, he deserved.
Still, Ichigo was pretty damn sure he deserved the chance to explain himself as well.
"C'mon Kuchiki, gimme a chance to - "
Without even breaking her stride, the woman in front of him used to free arm to make a crude gesture that clearly indicated that no such chance was forthcoming. As much as Ichigo had to admire who could accurately aim such a gesture behind them, he was well and truly over this.
"Dammit, woman! Just stop for a second!"
Even Rukia had her limits. With a growl, she whirled to face him, her eyes narrowed fiercely.
"Did you seriously just call me 'woman'", she spat, as though even repeating his words disgusted her.
Ichigo had to fight not to wince. Yeah, she has a point there. Shit - this is not going well.
"My time is fucking valuable, whatever you might think Kurosaki", Rukia continued, in a voice so acid it threatened to strip flesh from bone. "It's the only reason I sit through these damn meetings, despite the fact that I could increase your brain power by a factor of one hundred and it would still be generous to call you a halfwit. I thought you'd insulted me in every way possible, but today I guess I was proven wrong."
Ichigo fought not to groan. He'd had a plan. He technically had today off - most of the Urahara team did after Grimmjow's birthday last night - but he had elected to come in, rather than force her to reschedule. Ichigo was willing - no, determined to be incredibly polite and professional.
He'd even brought stress balls to hide under the table.
He'd had a plan, dammit.
"Kuchiki, look - "
"You were asleep, you bastard! One hour of your fucking time is all I require, and you can't even do that!" Rukia was glad there were no weapons near to hand - her brother had a very good legal team, but they really were specialists in contract law, rather than in defending infuriated young women who had committed murders after extreme provocation.
Still, she'd be willing to bet that if she filmed her interactions with Ichigo for use as evidence, any jury of her peers would let her walk.
Ok, so she had a pretty good reason to be pissed, Ichigo figured, but if he could just -
"Look, I'm sorry, Kuchiki - I really am." He got in quickly, before she had a chance to add to her tirade. "It was my friend's birthday last night and... well, you know how it is."
It had been a late night, and he'd downed a lot of really mediocre coffee to stay awake for this. Apparently, however, it had not been enough.
Neither was his explanation, as far as Rukia was concerned.
"Actually", she replied in withering tones, "I don't know how it is. I'm a professional."
That did it. She wasn't even interested in his side of the story, she just wanted to fight.
At that point, Ichigo was more than pissed enough to give her what she wanted.
"You know what? I made a mistake, and I've apologised", he snarled. "But I don't think you care about that - you just want to rip into me. So fine, go ahead. Somehow I doubt it's being professional that's stopped you from being forced to make a choice between friends and work commitments. Given that you're a serious fucking rich bitch shrew, I bet your brother couldn't even pay people to stand in as friends."
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Ichigo knew he'd gone too far. He had about a second to see hurt flash across her face and to curse his temper, before Rukia spun around, smacked the lift button with her palm and slipped through the opening doors. Without thinking, Ichigo grabbed her wrist and pulled her back out, refusing to let his inner bastard have the last word in the conversation -
Only to realise that he'd managed to pull Rukia Kuchiki flush against him.
He'd had a plan. He'd even had a new plan - to apologise profusely for what he'd just said - but all eloquence had deserted him. All he could think of was how surprisingly well she fit with him despite the height difference, how soft and lush her curves felt, despite her apparent slimness, and her eyes...
In that split second, Ichigo felt like he was drowning in violets. He could read her eyes like a book - now he understood why she tended to avoid his gaze. She was angry with him - oh, that he knew - but there was shock there, shock and something he couldn't quite identify, something that almost looked like attraction -
And that was when she slapped him.
"Shit!" Ichigo let go of Rukia's arm, bringing one hand up to touch his left cheek - which was definitely bright red. The other hand went to grab the folder that she had immediately shoved at his midsection.
"Email me about the ones to keep", Rukia hissed, "and then stay the fuck away from me." With that, she turned on her heel and fled, the doors of the lift shutting just in time for Ichigo to smack his head against them.
I am such a fucking idiot. As if Rukia Kuchiki feels any attraction to me. It's pretty clear she loathes me - and I don't blame her one bit.
Me and my big fucking mouth.
Kami. Fucken. Dammit.
In the car, speeding home, Rukia still couldn't quite stop shaking, with rage and with -
Stupid fucking asshat, with his muscles and his eyes like melted chocolate and his callused hands and -
That does it. I'm going tonight. I'm going to get that prick to spill all his deepest darkest secrets to Hermione...
And then I'll make him pay.
To say that Ichigo Kurosaki was in the process of mentally kicking himself would be putting it lightly.
To say the Ichigo Kurosaki was in the process of mentally committing seppuku, on the other hand, would be about right.
Sitting at the bar and staring into his beer, he had to admit that, no matter how much of a bitch Kuchiki had been in the past, she would have every right to treat him that way from now on.
Dammit. Why in the fuck does my brain-mouth filter have to disengage when she's around? I'm not usually that much of an asshole, I swear!
He'd even asked around, to be sure. Admittedly, a sample size of two younger sisters and a deranged father didn't make for the most accurate of surveys, but once he got past Yuzu's 'Of course not, Ichi-nii' and his father's 'How could any son of Masaki, an angel descended to Earth, be an asshole', he was able to talk to the most realistic member of his family.
Of course, it didn't help that Karin had just gazed at him steadily with amused dark eyes, then muttered, "You'll have to bring this chick around for dinner sometime when Goatface is out. This I gotta see."
Little sisters were annoying as all hell.
Still, if Karin, who wouldn't bullshit to save herself, didn't think he was a complete and utter bastard, that meant that this was a Rukia Kuchiki exclusive phenomenon.
Oh, joy.
Still, I guess it is comforting to know I'm usually not a prick. It would be a hell of a lot more comforting, though, if I could guarantee I never was. I need a plan...
Shit, I need to stop thinking about this. Hermione will be here any second and she strikes me as pretty sharp - she's bound to notice that I'm annoyed and I hardly want to introduce another woman into the conversation.
Especially one who...
Aggravates me. Purely aggravation here.
Yeah, right.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Well, shit.
Taking a deep breath, Ichigo turned around and conjured up a smile, something that became a hell of a lot easier when he saw the woman behind him. Dressed in a black sheath that draped over one shoulder and clung to places that would haunt Ichigo's dreams for some time, Hermione's impish smile of welcome was enough to drive away his train of thought, even if it did come from behind a mask.
Rukia inhaled sharply. It had taken her far too long to calm down enough to present herself - after all, Hermione had no reason to be seriously pissed off with the man in front of her - but she'd done it.
Apparently she'd done do far too well. It was too easy to forget how incensed she was when he smiled at her like that, and when he offered her the Cosmopolitan that had been waiting on the bar, her smile wasn't even faked.
Damn him.
Damn him for making me feel like this.
"So, Hermione", he drawled, "are you this happy to see me, or just this happy to see a decent drink?"
Rukia snorted. "Seriously?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. It's hard to tell one from t'other with a face like - "
Her eyes widened as she recognised the quote. "Oh, Kami, no! Please tell me I am not sitting in a bar with a Firefly fanboy!"
"I'll have you know", Ichigo replied, only a little disgruntled, "that particular line comes from the film and not the series. Anyway", he continued, his eyes narrowing, "how did you pick it up so quickly?"
"I - I dabble." She owned the box set.
"Course you do", Ichigo responded dryly. "That's why you look so embarrassed."
She sat down on the bar stool next to him, ignoring his glance. "Shut up."
"So, what's the problem with Firefly?" He was curious; she obviously didn't hate the show, which was a relief.
Rukia rolled her eyes. "Nothing's wrong with Firefly - everything is wrong with people who cannot stop quoting it. It's the new Monty Python..." She broke of as she glimpsed the dangerous look in his eyes. Before he could even open his mouth, she began.
"I don't want to hear about things that are only models, or weapons in bodies of water, or laden and unladen swallows, or coconuts, or the violence inherent in the system, or pushing the pram a lot, or any amount of peril just because you've seen that film too many times!" Satisfied she'd gotten her point across, Rukia waited for his response.
Ichigo's lips twitched. "I don't know. It sounds as though you've seen it a couple of times more than I have."
It was too much for Rukia's sense of the ridiculous. Laughter bubbled up before she could capture it, and she found herself fighting to breathe.
Dammit, why do I get the feeling I'm revealing more about myself than I'm learning about him? At least he doesn't know who he's talking to. I'd probably just get more nasty insults thrown at me.
That thought was more than enough to sober her.
Hermione didn't seem too comfortable with this side of herself, Ichigo decided. She'd just gone awfully quiet...
And that's when he knew what he had to do.
"Hermione Granger", Ichigo began, with the air of someone announcing the meaning of life, which belied the mischief dancing in his eyes, "as a fellow member of this elite community, I am going to teach you to the most important thing you'll ever learn."
"I will teach you how to embrace your inner nerd."
It was at that point that Rukia's laughter drowned out the conversation once again.
Three hours and several more drinks later, the conversation was still just as animated as before.
"Ok, just please tell me you don't get dressed up and actually act out your Dungeons and Dragons games?" Rukia was trying her hardest not to keep giggling, but the thought of Ichigo dressed as a character from Lord of the Rings wasn't helping.
Ichigo snorted. "Please. There are lines even I don't cross. And it's called larping - say it with me on three - "
"Fuck off", replied Rukia without rancour. "I don't think I can even say that without feeling a little wrong."
With a sigh, Ichigo tried to look as tragic as possible. "Denial. Oh, it pains me still to see it. And we were making such progress..." She dissolved into giggles again. Ichigo had to mentally pat himself on the back. He was getting good at doing this. "Anyway, I don't partake in tabletop role-playing."
Rukia regained her composure long enough to raise an eyebrow. "Never?"
He grinned. "Well, I've got a friend who's really into Star Wars - "
"Funny, does he go around calling himself Luke Skywalker when he introduces himself to women?" Rukia shot back.
"Ha ha, bloody ha. No, it's not me. Anyway, he invited a bunch of us around to play the Star Wars version of Dungeons and Dragons. He gave us a really basic mission where we had to sneak in and rescue a guy, then hightail it out of there." Ichigo's grin widened. Uryuu still hadn't quite forgiven them for this.
"By the end of the mission, we'd staged a murder-suicide, burnt down a bar, tortured a guy to death and threatened a bounty hunter. Grimmjow had decided that his character was going to walk around with the corpse as a life-sized glove puppet, and I think that was the point that Uryuu threw us out on the grounds that we were drunken sociopaths. All in all, good times." Ichigo chuckled to himself.
Rukia snorted. "Sounds like a model UN I went to at university. The guy who was being North Korea declared war on everyone and the security council had gotten drunk together the night before and none of them turned up but me." She grinned. "I passed everything I wanted to that day. Role playing really does bring out the worst in people."
With a grin, Ichigo nodded his agreement. "Model UN, huh? What did you study at uni, anyway?"
They were veering into dangerous territory, as far as Rukia was concerned. Best keep this light. I don't want him to think that there's too much to this.
"Art and history", she replied, flicking her bangs out of her face. "I curate a small gallery part time - and no, I'm not telling you which one", she added with a smile, seeing a glint in Ichigo's gaze as he went to open his mouth. "What about you?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I'm getting predictable. Well, I'm an architect, though lately I've been..." He trailed off, looking troubled.
Rukia inhaled sharply. This is it. That bastard is going to trash me verbally and I'll throw it all back at his face.
Every last thing.
Except, he didn't.
Running a hand through messy ginger hair, Ichigo groaned. "I'm working with a consultant and, while she's got a mouth on her, I just keep managing to say the wrong thing and pissing her off. Worse - she's got a knack for riling me up and I don't think she even means to. She comes from old money, and I just know she thinks I'm trash. It shouldn't bother me, but it does." Taking a swig of his beer, Ichigo frowned. "I went off at her today and said stuff I regretted. I suspect a reprimand is coming when she doesn't show up next week, but I figure I deserve it."
Rukia blinked.
I may have to pinch myself... Ichigo Kurosaki, supreme asshat, actually feels bad about how he's acted...
I am way too pleased about that.
She would never know what possessed her. "Are you sure she's always had the cash? I mean, I've been accused of acting like a snob because my family has money, but we didn't use to." A few white lies wouldn't hurt, right? "It might be worth finding out."
Ichigo nodded. Trust a woman who called herself Hermione Granger to have sensible advice. "I should look into it. Of course, that would have been a hell of a lot more helpful before this situation occurred."
You're telling me, Rukia thought to herself. Never in my wildest dreams would I have assumed that Ichigo actually knew that the way our interactions went was all his fault...
Ok, mostly his fault...
Oh, crap. It's pretty much fifty-fifty, isn't it? In that case, I really should give him a chance to redeem himself. I mean, before I commit to meeting him again. If he takes the time to do what I recommend, I probably shouldn't write him off as an utter waste of space and if he doesn't...
Well, I can take vengeance another way.
Because vengeance is what I want.
"If face to face interaction just ends in disaster", Rukia started, her tones measured and cautious, "you should probably email her an apology. A good one, I'm guessing. I mean, it sounds as though she's a little bit to blame too, but if you can word things just a touch more tactfully than how you related it to me, you could at least get through to her."
Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"
Rukia shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Why not? Just make sure you're clear that you're doing this under your own steam and that no one's twisting your arm to get you to write this. I'd be pretty shitty if I thought someone only said sorry because their job was on the line and not because they meant it - and from the sounds of things, she might assume that."
He grinned. "You're right, of course. Hot, funny and smart - I can't imagine what I did to deserve this."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm slumming it."
"Fair enough", he shot back, his grin unabated. "So, will I see you again next week?"
She should say no. Obviously. After all, he wasn't quite as vile as she'd been lead to believe, to perhaps a nasty and underhanded revenge plot was too extreme. On the other hand, while he liked this version of her just fine, he clearly didn't think too much of the other one, so pursuing this was pointless...
Not that she wanted to pursue this. She was just... weighing up her options, so to speak.
What the hell do I want, anyway?
Fuck it, it can't hurt to go along for one more week. Maybe then I'll have a better idea of what I plan to do with...
With whatever this is.
So, as Rukia was not a woman who backed down from things that alarmed her, she said yes.
And then bolted as soon as she could. She needed to think things through, and she could hardly do so when she was too busy feeling exposed under a steady dark gaze that threatened to do all manner of things best left to desktops -
Well, she needed to think and, apparently, she couldn't do that near Ichigo.
Oh dear.
Ichigo smiled as Hermione left. He had her flustered, and he was pretty damn sure that she wasn't a woman easily flustered.
Nice to know I'm not alone in this.
Now, to convince her to give me a real name...
Going home, unfortunately, offered Rukia no further insights.
What do I want? I mean, really? I don't feel as inclined to slap him as I did...
Unbidden, she recalled the feel of those muscles against her body, the way they'd tensed up in response to unexpected contact, and how deliciously firm they'd felt under her palms and -
No way, not going there.
Until I get an email, no matter how attractive he is, Ichigo Kurosaki is still a louse of a man.
After all, she thought glumly, he's not the messiah; he's a very naughty boy.
Well, I have no excuses, other than reality. Hopefully, however, I should have more of this out within the week.
Let me know what y'all think - R and R!


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It's raining, but at least the rain's warm! Before it started we walked around a bit and realised that the hotel isn't in Antalya at all, it's on the coast where the road turns inland to go over the mountains to Cappadocia, a place called Alara and in fact is over half way to Alanya, which is where we stayed when we first came to Turkey some 40 years ago. I think it's changed a ...
Beautiful Country. Beautiful People
Barely hit the ground and it's been amazing. Yesterday went to Alayna and visited an 11th Century castle on a high rocky area surrounded on 3 sides by the Mediterranean Sea. Pretty cool. Fellowship with my friends has been the best. Some great convos just being together. Living life as it is. Hearing stories about living in a foreign land. Listening to dreams and just hanging out. Simply ...
Other places to stay in Manavgat
Club Calimera Serra PalaceAda Mevki, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $122
Labranda Excelsior HotelTitreyengol Mevkii, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $106
Majesty Club Palm BeachKizilagac Koyu Kizilot, Manavgat | 5 star hotelfrom $159
Club NenaKizilagac Mevkii Pk.88 , Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $148
Grand SekerEvren Mah., Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $58
Vera Club LinditaGundogdu Beldesi Colakli, Manavgat | Hotelfrom $165
Saray RegencyTitreyengol Mevkii PK 34, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $106
Wish Long Beach HotelManavgat - KIzIlagac, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $145
Pemar Beach ResortOrensehir Mevki Tepealti Manavgat Merkez, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $122
Crystal Admiral Resort Suites & SpaKizilot, Manavgat | 5 star hotelfrom $136
TUI BLUE Palm GardenKizilagac Turizm Merkezi, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $189
Club Hotel GolfPK 4 Titreyengol, Manavgat | 3 star hotelfrom $81
Laphetos Beach Resort & SpaCenger Koyu Mevkii - Kizilot, Manavgat | Hotelfrom $73
PALOMA Paradise BeachP.O Box 50, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $161
Club Hotel Felicia VillageKizilot Mahallesi, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $160
Robinson Club PamfilyaCamyuva Mah, Sorgun, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $272
Barbaross Pasha's Beach ClubOrensehir Koyu Tepealti mevkii, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $122
Victory ResortColaklI Beldesi , Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $42
Defne GardenIlica Mah. Manavgat Merkez, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $176
Royal Atlantis Beach HotelPeri Koyu Tasagil, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $166
Sural HotelColakil Bedelsi, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $122
Side Mare AquaKumkoy Mevkii, Manavgat | 4 star hotelfrom $69
Hotel GrunSahil Kume Evleri, No:2, Manavgat | Hotelfrom $42


text: 3 online tools to reduce your work stressTags: General computingPosted 15 Nov 2013 by SitaTime management and keeping on top of tasks in the office isn't always easy, and it's often a pain juggling to-do lists and sticky notes, in addition to keeping up with your actual work. Luckily, there are many web tools available that aim to help you get organised. But with this popularity of web apps, even the simple task of finding theapps which will work best is a chore in itself. I've made a short list of web extensions that can help with the basics.Now, I'm well aware there are more than three productivity apps and extensions available in the Chrome/Firefox/Android etc stores. There are thousands more that all have their merit and may, in fact, suit your needs better. Nevertheless, I have chosen the following due to their simplicity and popularity. They're also free, so it's worth trying them out anyway.Making notes? Use Google DocsYes, this seems like the most obvious solution, but it is a deceptively brilliant tool for creating notes online. Unlike Evernote, which has a rather cluttered interface, Google Docs is very minimalist so you can focus purely on making notes. It doesn't require any installation or additional accounts with third parties (aside from a Google account); you only need to open up your docs and you're good to go. So long as you have an Internet connection, you can keep creating and editing your existing notes on the go. You can create folders, search within your documents and create offline documents for a specific computer or device. You can share your notes and set user permissions for collaboration and commenting. Ultimately, creating documents is its intrinsic purpose, and it does it well.Why it benefits you: Instant, saves you time, frees the feeling of fuss and botherWant to save things to read later? Use PocketWhen you find an article online that piques your interest but you don't have time to read it, Pocket is what you need. Though this doesn't contribute directly to work productivity, it certainly eliminates procrastination. And it also gets rid of the "I need to read it now before I forget!" feeling. Or if you do need to read these articles for work, you can do so later, freeing the feeling of having to finish everything immediately. You do have to create a log in, but this takes seconds. When you "pocket" an article (on web browsers this adds a tiny extension button),it automatically syncs to your devices so you can view them without an internet connection. You can view them online or through the app. The layout is very elegant and clean. Pocket has official apps for most web browsers, and also supports third party apps such as Alien Blue Reddit Client, Flipboard and the Onion (over 500).Why it benefits you: Prevents procrastination and the impending sense of doom in leaving an article unreadAre even your to-do lists hard to manage? Use WunderlistWunderlist is like a giant to-do list, for your to-do lists. It has a straightforward interface, and you can share and collaborate on your lists. It works and syncs across web browsers and mobile devices. You create lists, set notifications (email, push and desktop),set recurring tasks, check items off and feel satisfied. There isn't a whole lot more to it than that, but isn't that its beauty? Wunderlist Pro ($4.99/month or $49.99/year) lets you add comments and leave feedback for your teammates, attach files, and delegate tasks, but this may be overkill if you're looking for simplicity, which is the point of this post.Why it benefits you: Create multiple to-do lists and feel satisfied completing tasksBonus: Evernote has a series of great productivity tools, which I have looked at.With any luck, these little apps can help make your working life less stressful. They are easy-to-use from the word "go", and serve to reign in the added pressures of organisation. I haven't mentioned anything relating to email because nearly everyone has established their preferred platform (whether it be Gmail or Outlook).NuBlue's hosting and design teams like to make things as fuss-free as possible. Contact us today! 4 years agoWe Build it.Award-winning digital solutionsWe Host it.Tailored servers, exceptional supportAlice ReesPocket is one of my favourite apps, it makes it so easy to read interesting stuff on the bus to and from the office in the morning. It's really sleek and lightweight too.XianIf you want o keep everything (tasks, documents, discussions with team members) in one place, I recommend to try out http://kanbantool.com/. It reduced my work stress – especially reduced the uncertainty associated with team work.SitaThanks for the comment! Though I was leaning more towards simpler (and free!) tools, it's great to find out about other task tools people love to use.


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Item: NWF294
With vitamin D-3 and zinc
Supports bone health
Easily absorbed
240 Sgels
Serving Size 3 Softgels
Servings Per Container 80
|Amount Per Serving
|% Daily Value
|Vitamin D3 (as Cholecalciferol)(from Lanolin)
|Calcium (from Calcium Carbonateand Citrate)
|1 g (1,000 mg)
|Magnesium (from Magnesium Oxideand Citrate)
|500 mg
|Zinc (from Zinc Oxide)
|10 mg
Other ingredients: Rice Bran Oil, Softgel Capsule (gelatin, glycerin, water, calcium carbonate), Soy Lecithin and Beeswax.
Suggested Usage: Take 3 softgels daily, preferably in divided doses, with food.
Caution: For adults only. Consult physician if pregnant/nursing, taking medication, or have a medical condition. Keep out of reach of children.
Natural color variation may occur in this product.
Store in a cool, dry place after opening.
1.51 lbs
With vitamin D-3 and zinc
Supports bone health
Easily absorbed
NOW Calcium & Magnesium Softgels include Vitamin D-3 and Zinc and offer a truly balanced and synergistic blend of essential minerals. This formula supports strong bones and teeth, healthy enzymatic activity and provides antioxidant support. Delivered via softgel, this formula is more easily absorbed and assimilated than capsules or tablets.
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text:
Dooku shook his silver head sadly. "I can't let you boys out of my sight, can I?"
Anakin grinned. "You know me, Master. A real trouble magnet."
Dooku's dark eyes met Qui-Gon's blue in a look of affectionate amusement. "Not just you, Anakin."
Qui-Gon's half smile deepened but he said nothing.
Obi-Wan characteristically remained focused. "The question, Masters, is were we an opportune target or a planned one?"
Dooku nodded, amusement falling away. "Precisely, young Kenobi."
Anakin shrugged. "What difference does it make?"
"A planned ambush would indicate a centralized controlling body of some sort," Dooku explained patiently. "Not a stray warship turned pirate and slaver."
"Oh." Ani looked worried.
The four of them paced slowly down the long, long corridor overlooking the flight deck of Dooku's destroyer, Anakin and Obi-Wan flanked by the two Masters in their long robes. The younger men had unconsciously fallen back into the slow, light footed, meditative gait characteristic of Jedi, with shoulders squared against the drag of the robes they no longer wore and arms folded before them despite the lack of flowing sleeves.
"What do the prisoners say?" Qui-Gon asked quietly.
Dooku's face hardened into grim lines. "The ones we've been able to question know nothing, but the entire command crew suicided before we boarded."
"Force.." Anakin breathed.
"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, expression uncannily like that of the old Master. "Suggestive isn't it?"
"I fear the Chancellor may have been too sanguine in his expectations," Dooku said in his rich, darkling voice. "It could be that the war is not quite over - yet."
"I cannot apologize enough, Amidala," Palpatine's holographic image was saying to Padme in the Grand Marshal's austere quarters at exactly that moment. "What a frightful ordeal for you."
She smiled faintly. "I've been through worse, Chancellor."
"Which is precisely why I am so distressed," he replied. "You've born quite enough, my dear lady, and more than earned some peace and happiness."
Padme laughed. "I am happy, Chancellor, but somehow I can't see a life spent with Anakin Skywalker as being very peaceful!"
Finally he smiled, worry lines smoothing out. "I know what you mean!"
The door opened and Anakin and Obi-Wan came in. "Speak of the devil!" Padme said lightly.
Anakin grinned back at her. "So that's why my ears were tingling." He half bowed to Palpatine's image. "Chancellor."
"Hello, my boy. I was just apologizing to your good lady here -"
Anakin broke in, shaking his head. "Sir, you have got to stop taking personal responsibility for everything that goes wrong in the universe!"
"One of the burdens of office I'm afraid," Palpatine replied, trying to keep it light but betrayed by the concern in the look he gave Obi-Wan. "General?"
Obi-Wan folded his arms into non-existent sleeves. "The entire command crew suicided before they could be questioned," he reported crisply. Padme flinched and Anakin put an arm around her. "That could mean they had something to hide. However identification scans tell us they were all wanted for war crimes so it may have been merely fear of Republic justice."
"If they were part of some kind of organized resistance why would they be carrying holds full of slaves for sale to the outer worlds?" The Chancellor asked.
Obi-Wan inclined his head. "A good point, your excellency. But even if the missing enemy ships have merely turned their hands to piracy and slaving -"
"Yes. Something must be done about it," Palpatine agreed. "Increased patrols over the space lanes, especially those linking the core to the outer rim."
"That would be my suggestion, sir," Obi-Wan bowed. "Grand Marshal Dooku is already working on a plan."
"Excellent," Palpatine frowned. "Oh dear, this will delay demobilization won't it?"
"I'm afraid it will, your excellency," Obi-Wan concurred. "But then no suitable peacetime function for the Clone army has been settled on, has it?"
"No," Palpatine looked even more worried. "So difficult. They deserve our gratitude but peacetime life simply does not suit their temperment."
"I still say long range exploration, perhaps to the neighboring galaxies, is the answer," Anakin said firmly. "The ones I've talked to quite like the idea."
Palpatine forced a smile. "A solution that brings its own problems. Ah well, it seems the matter remains academic for the moment - unfortunately."
"Very unfortunately," Obi-Wan agreed, blank faced.
Sabe finally found Obi-Wan at a port on the bridge level gazing pensively out into the whiteness of hyperspace. "Uh, General, don't we have some things to talk about?"
He turned to her with a smile that took her breath away. "I thought I had a lot to say to you but it all comes down to one simple sentence: I love you, Sabe, I have for years and I always will."
She had to blink hard to keep the tears rising in her eyes from rolling down her cheeks. "Oh my, you do know how to take a girl's breath away, don't you, General?"
"So I've been told," he said dryly, adding as her brows rose, "by Jacen and Anakin that is."
"Hmmm..." she moved closer to take his arm. "Why do I feel you were not thinking of me just now?"
"Probably because I wasn't," he answered ruefully. "I don't like loose ends and this 'victory' of ours has all to many." He shook his head. "I have a very bad feeling about it."
Sabe laughed, trying to push away her own feeling of unease. "You're a Jedi through and through aren't you, Obi-Wan?"
He smiled wryly and a little sadly. "No, Sabe, I am not. If I was I'd have never have fallen in love with you so I can't be sorry for it. But I find I don't regret all those years of trying to force my way up the wrong path either." He nodded to himself. "I met Anakin anyway, and that's the key thing."
Sabe made a moue of disappointment. "Not me?"
He gave her another of those bone melting smiles. "Being with you, my darling, is a gift from the Force. Being with Anakin is part of my duty to It."
"I thought you said you weren't a Jedi?"
He shrugged. "You don't have to be a Jedi to serve the Force. Obviously, otherwise Anakin and I wouldn't have been guided to leave the Order." He shook his head. "Right now only It knows what It wants from us but when the time is right we'll know too."
"You still sound like a Jedi to me," Sabe said wryly. "Mysterious and enigmatic as all hell!" He laughed. She perched herself on the rim of the port so she could look him in the eye. "What are you going to do on Naboo?"
"Aside from marrying you? No idea. No doubt something will present itself."
"Am I marrying you?" she challenged.
His smile didn't alter a hair. "You know you are, my dear."
She puffed out a sigh. "I see it's no use trying to be coy with a Jedi - or ex-Jedi."
"None at all."
"How terribly annoying," she said, then sobered. "You've made a real leap into the dark haven't you, General? You've walked away from everything you've ever had or wanted and you don't even know why or for what."
He shrugged a little, unperturbed. "Eventually I will."
"How very Jedi."
Anakin spotted a knot of familiar figures wearing the broken circle of his former command far down the long flight deck and broke into a half-run. "Red Two!"
Heads turned then smiles flashed in dark faces as his pilots hurried towards him. He and Red Two met in a back pounding embrace. "Am I ever glad to see you boys, I've been worrying about you."
Red Two rolled an eye back at his wing man. "Hear that, Four? He's been worried about us!"
"We weren't the ones left surrounded by fighters in an unarmed ship!" Red Four pointed out.
"Okay, but being pursued by two or three times your number isn't what I'd call a tenable position either," Anakin pointed out. "All present and accounted for I see," he continued relieved. "Well done, Number Two."
His second shrugged off the compliment, face suddenly deadly serious. "You shouldn't have sent us away, Anakin. You know we don't like leaving you and the General in a hole."
And they had to obey orders, it was encoded into their genes. Anakin sighed. "I know, guys, but I don't like to see my men blown to smithereens either. And you did get help."
Red Two smiled crookedly, as did the other clones. "No we didn't, Commander. The Grand Marshal was already on his way. He fell out of hyperspace practically on top of us, blasted what was left of the opposition, picked us up then headed off after you."
Anakin shook his head. "I should have known. How does he do that?"
Red Two shrugged. "You're asking me? The Force is with him, as you Jedi say."
"I'm not a Jedi anymore," Anakin answered absently, mind on other things.
"The hell you're not," said Red Two.
Dooku and Qui-Gon stood in the darkened chartroom, facing each other across a holo full of stars veined with blue, yellow and green lines indicating space lanes and punctuated with bright red dots marking pirate attacks and slaving raids.
"Do you see a pattern?" Qui-Gon asked quietly.
Dooku shook his head. "No, it seems totally random."
"But you don't believe that it is." It was not a question.
"I do not." Dooku's thin lips folded in a grim line. "Palpatine is fooling himself. This war will never be over as long as the Sith Master lives."
"And we cannot find him." Qui-Gon said softly, folding his arms into his sleeves.
"'Hard to see is the Dark Side'," Dooku quoted, then frowned. "But we are not equally invisible to him - he knows our plans and anticipates them. How?"
"He is close," Qui-Gon's blue eyes went out of focus and his voice was little above a whisper. "I feel his presence. He is among us, but I cannot locate him."
"Nor I." Dooku sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We still play his game, Qui-Gon, all of us. Perhaps it is best that Anakin and Obi-Wan leave the Order. They may be safer away from us."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "Anakin is the Chosen One, the Sith's prophecied bane. He will never be safe as long as they are in the universe."
"But safer, especially with Obi-Wan to watch his back."
"Yes." Qui-Gon agreed.


text:
Texas A&M-Kingsville 31, Texas A&M-Commerce 7
KINGSVILLE, Texas -- Daniel Taylor threw for 126 yards and two touchdowns and the defense added two more as Texas A&M-Kingsville beat Texas A&M-Commerce 31-7 Saturday night.
The game was tied at seven in the second quarter when Texas A&M-Kingsville's (4-1, 3-0 Lone Star Conference) Deaundre Fillmore blocked a Texas A&M-Commerce (1-5, 0-3) punt and Maurice Washington fell on it in the end zone for a score.
The Javelinas' then went on to score 17 unanswered points.
The defense added another score when Jason Lee picked up a fumble and ran 76 yards for a touchdown.
Taylor's first touchdown pass bounced off a teammate before landing in Errick Lewis' arms for the score. His other TD toss came in the third quarter on a 10-yard pass to Washington.
Larry Williams led all rushers with 16 carries for 95 yards and Ryan Beard had 51 yards rushing on 10 carries.
Miles Durham went 10-of-25 for 119 yards and a touchdown, but he also had two interceptions for Texas A&M-Commerce.
This story is from ESPN.com's automated news wire. Wire index
- Winston shines at FSU pro day
- Jameis Winston, the potential No. 1 overall pick, drew coaches from all 32 NFL teams to Florida State's pro day.
Jared Shanker »
- LSU-Bama Renew Battles
- Trending in NOLA: The latest Saban-Miles battles.
- Baylor WRs take a starring role
- Dynamic duo
- Betting: Best 2015 CFB Playoff bets
- Katz: Teams that will surprise in 2015
- Haney: TCU among 2015 favorites
- National links: Reshuffling the top four


text:
Opulent Lust / Gold + Fuchsia / Necklace
Add a pop of colour to your wardrobe this summer. Wear this luxe piece long or double for a shorter necklace. So versatile and easy to style.
Gold chain necklace with fuchsia pink nappa leather tassel pendant. Lobster clasp fastening
100% Leather
18k Gold plated brass chain
Approx Measurement:
90cm Chain
10cm Tassel
55cm Drop
Comes in a pouch
Nickel Free / Lead Free
Made in New Zealand


text:
Situated in the beautiful coastal village of Seahouses, The Links Hotel offers a friendly atmosphere and a fantastic base for those exploring the Northumberland Coast.
Whether you are staying for business or leisure, The Links Hotel provides an array of well equipped en-suite bedrooms and occupies a brilliant position in the heart of the village with easy access to attractions, amenities and transport links.
Enjoy our onsite bar and restaurant serving imaginative home cooked dishes alongside a great range of alcoholic and soft drinks. We also offer all guests free off road parking and Wi-Fi access.
Our fifteen comfortable guest rooms comprise a mix of double, twin and family rooms. Each room has its own en-suite shower facilities, clock radio, TV, hairdryer and a well stocked hospitality tray of teas and coffees.
Family rooms comprise one interconnecting room with a double room and a twin room and a second room with bunk beds for younger children. Four of our twin rooms are set in an annexe building – ideal for large family or group bookings.
On the ground floor we have two disabled access rooms – one double and one triple. Both rooms have fully equipped disabled bathrooms with grab rails and shower seats.
All room rates are inclusive of a Full English breakfast, served in our dining room each morning. Lighter options are also available.We can cater for special dietary requirements with prior notification.
Serving a wide range of traditional home cooked dishes, our cosy restaurant gives guests a great dining experience with various menus to chose from, including vegetarian, children's and a top twelve option.
The Links Hotel Bar Lounge is a vibrant and social area with a wide selection of real ales, whiskeys, beers and spirits served at the bar. The restaurant menu is also available in the bar. We have a pool table, darts boards and a TV equipped with Sky Sports packages for those not-to-be-missed sporting events.
Celebrations are our specialty and we are able to plan the perfect event for you from small wedding receptions (for up to 50 people) to birthday parties.
The Links Hotel is surrounded by activities and attractions and welcomes golfers, divers, anglers, cyclists and ramblers to take advantage of the hotels idyllic location.
Regular sea fishing, diving and sightseeing tours run from the harbour and there are plenty of boat trips heading towards Holy Island and The Farne Islands.
Historic sites nearby include Alniwck Castle and Chillingham and there are plenty of family attractions within 20 miles of the hotel including Wildlife and bird sanctuary's, museums and adventure trails.
Northumberland boasts a wide array of parkland golf courses and The Links Hotel is a hub for keen golfers, situated only 400 yards from Seahouses Golf Course and offering a range of great golfing packages in connection with local courses. Courses within 15 miles of the hotel including:
Single occupancy available in most rooms and short breaks are available throughout the year.


text:
Community Connect 4/11/14
Coachella Starts today!
24th Annual YWCA "Men Who Cook" in Riverside!
Back again- is the 24th annual "YWCA's Men Who Cook" on April 12 from 4:30-8PM!
pic courtesy of www.Inlandempire.com
Tickets can be purchased athttps://www.eventbrite.com/e/24th-annual-men-who-cook-tickets-10225650195 for $20 (plus service fee) or at the door for $25.00.
A new cycle of 6 sessions will be beginning 04/16/14 at 5:30 PM. We have a new curriculum called Parenting the Love and Logical Way.
Parents will learn how to:
•Avoid un-winnable power-struggles and arguments
•Stay calm when their kids do incredibly upsetting things
•Set enforceable limits
•Avoid enabling and begin empowering
•Help their kids learn from mistakes rather than repeating them
•Raise kids who are family members rather than dictators
•And much more!
Our NEW Curriculum is for Training Parents with Children of all Ages. Please distribute these flyers to anyone that you can. This class can consist of parents in the community who do not have a child open in a Medi-Cal program and will be served thru SAP or can be parents of clients with open cases. This targets parents with school aged children.
Reminder: We have the children's engagement group for school aged children at the same time to help children improve social skills. If you have any question please contact Sonya Graham.
Sonya Graham, LMFT
Victor Community Support Services, Inc.
1908 Business Center Drive, Suite 220
San Bernardino, CA 92408
Phone (909) 890-5930
Fax (909) 890-5950
Who loves the theatre? Who loves FREE Theatre?
The MainStreet open house on May 15th.
Through a generous grant from U.S. Bank, the Lewis Family Playhouse is offering FREE tickets to MainStreet Theatre Company's upcoming production of The Magic Finger. This offer is entertainment for the entire family, best enjoyed by ages 7 and up. No infants allowed in the theatre. The show is approximately 60 minutes with no intermission.
A story about an 8 year old girl, who over comes a problem involving her Magic Finger. This Roald Dahl's tale is perfect for students to learn about overcoming situations in their lives that can be pretty scary. David Wood's brand new adaptation captures all of Roald Dahl's quirky humor while making you wonder what it's like to see the world from another point of view.
To receive tickets, follow the instructions on the voucher. Call the Box Office to reserve tickets, Present voucher to redeem tickets. Tickets will be available until the funding runs out. Up to 4 tickets per voucher. Additional tickets can be purchased for $18.00 for adults and $16.00 for children and seniors or if you purchase 4 or more all tickets are $12.00.
For questions, call the Lewis Family Playhouse Box Office at Victoria Gardens Cultural Center. (909) 477-2752.
Inspire Summit and Scholarship Program for High School Seniors
Here is the registration info flyer for 10-12 grade students who want to attend the Inspire Summit and Scholarship program on May 10th at Harvey Mudd College. Registration is now open for all participants. to register online follow this link:
For graduating seniors we are now accepting scholarship applications. For more information about the scholarship please visit our website (www.wearetranscendence.org). Please share this information with the people in your networks.


text:
To set up the VM-7100/7200 Mixing System to interface with the ADAT- or TDIF- compatible tape and hard disk-based devices via the DIF-AT, use the following steps:
1. Hold down SHIFT and press the PROJECT/SYSTEM button.
2. CURSOR DOWN to "Digital I/O" and press F1.
3. Make sure the WORD CLOCK SOURCE is set to "Internal".
4. PAGE UP to navigate to "Menu". Press F3 to select SYNC CLOCK. The SYNC MASTER should be set to "Int", the MMC MASTER should be set to "Int", and the MACHINE TYPE should be set to "HD".
5. PAGE UP to navigate to "Menu". CURSOR UP and press F1 to select SYSTEM CONFIG.
6. PAGE DOWN to the corresponding RBUS port and make sure the DIF-AT CONTROL TARGET is set to "ADAT". If using a Tascam TDIF-compatible device, use the F1 knob to set this to "DA-88".


text:
Stacy Valentine The Devil In Miss Jones 6
Sarah is fucked in the back of the strip club
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Stacy Valentine proves that she got the best tits in business
In The Back Of The Club, 3 Hunks Are Pleasuring Their Cocks
Karma and JMac in the back room of the strip club fucking!
Hundreds of teens making in the back room at this club, its dark and...
Stacy Valentine in a chamber Ladies' ht out
Mature fucks in the back seat of her car
Silvia fucks me in the back seat of her car
Busty blonde milf fucks a pizza boy in the back of truck
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Slutty Stacy Valentine
Stacy Valentine Poolside
Tweety valentine fucks a stud in front of her man
Busty babe Jayden Jaymes fucks a guy in the bathroom of a club
Hot gay fucks big muscled blond gay in the attic of a club...
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Crossland Economy Studios - Atlanta - Jimmy Carter Blvd.
Grid of 7 images
Popular property highlights
Located in Duluth - Norcross within 2 miles (3 km) of Global Mall, Crossland Economy Studios - Atlanta - Jimmy Carter Blvd. is within a few miles (5 km) of Malibu Grand Prix. Each of the 194 rooms at this hotel includes a kitchenette, a refrigerator, and a microwave. Emory University and Stone Mountain Park are also within a 30-minute drive.
The 194 air-conditioned rooms feature kitchenettes with refrigerators, microwaves, and stovetops. 32-inch flat-screen TVs come with cable channels, and guests can stay connected with free WiFi. Free local calls and desks are also standard. Weekly housekeeping is available.
At Crossland Economy Studios - Atlanta - Jimmy Carter Blvd., guests have access to free WiFi in public areas, express check-in, and laundry facilities. A stay here includes free parking. Staff members can answer questions about accommodations, and also provide a safe deposit box at the front desk.
Property features
- Free WiFi in rooms and public areas
- Free parking
- Laundry facilities
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Crossland Economy Studios - Atlanta - Jimmy Carter Blvd.
Hotel Amenities
Hotel Amenities
Crossland Economy Studios - Atlanta - Jimmy Carter Blvd. features laundry facilities, express check-in, and a safe deposit box at the front desk. Wireless Internet access is complimentary. Onsite self parking is complimentary.
- Year Built 1996
- Free WiFi
- Number of floors - 2
- Express check-in
- Laundry facilities
- Total number of rooms - 194
- RV, bus, truck parking
- Safe-deposit box at front desk
- Free self parking
Family Friendly Amenities
- Family Hotel
- Free Wi-Fi
- Kitchenette
- Laundry facilities
- Refrigerator
- Microwave
Available in all rooms: Free WiFi
Available in some public areas: Free WiFi
Free self parking, RV, bus, truck parking
Room Amenities
Crossland Economy Studios - Atlanta - Jimmy Carter Blvd. offers 194 accommodations, which are accessible via exterior corridors and feature air conditioning. 32-inch flat-screen televisions come with cable channels. Kitchenettes offer refrigerators, stovetops, and microwaves. Bathrooms include showers.
This Norcross hotel provides complimentary wireless Internet access. Business-friendly amenities include desks and phones; free local calls are provided (restrictions may apply). Housekeeping is provided weekly.
- Stovetop
- Private bathroom
- Desk
- In-room climate control (air conditioning)
- Phone
- Cable TV service
- Access via exterior corridors
- Air conditioning
- Kitchenette
- Shower only
- Weekly housekeeping provided
- Free local calls
- Flat-panel TV
- Free WiFi
- Microwave
- Refrigerator
- In-room climate control (heating)
Nearby Things to Do
The recreational activities listed below are available either on site or nearby; fees may apply.
- Hiking/biking trails nearby
If you have requests for specific accessibility needs, please note them at check-out when you book your room.
- Accessible bathroom
- In-room accessibility
Hotel Policies
Minimum check-in age is 18
Check-in time starts at 3 PM
Special check-in instructions:
- Monday - Saturday: 11 AM - 7 PM
Check-out time is 11 AM
Payment types
Children and extra beds
- Children are welcome.
- Kids stay free! Children 17 years old and younger stay free when using existing bedding.
- Pets allowed for an extra charge of USD 25 per pet, per day (maximum USD 150 per stay)
- Dogs and cats only
- 1 per room (up to 35 lb)
- Restrictions apply
- For more information contact the property at the number on the booking confirmation
You need to know
Extra-person charges may apply and vary depending on property policy.
Government-issued photo identification and a credit card or cash deposit are required at check-in for incidental charges.
Special requests are subject to availability upon check-in and may incur additional charges. Special requests cannot be guaranteed.
Service animals exempt from fees/restrictions
No rollaway/extra beds available
No cribs (infant beds) available
- Cash deposit: USD 100.00 per stay
Optional extras
- Pet fee: USD 25 per pet, per day (maximum USD 150 per stay)
Hotel Name
- Jimmy Carter Blvd.
We should mention
Children 17 years old and younger stay free when occupying the parent or guardian's room, using existing bedding. Guests can arrange to bring pets by contacting the property directly, using the contact information on the booking confirmation (surcharges apply and can be found in the Fees section).