Tindalostalbot

Getting back to the story about the Snoops this week on the Tale. You can read the previous parts of Snoops here on the Tale. Things don’t go quite as one might expect a lot of the time. Sometimes that’s your past getting in the way, sometimes it’s your present. When both collide head on, then you need to make a choice, and someone is always disappointed … somehow.

Snoops
Part Three
By TeraS

Farah was a slave driver. At least that’s what Nadia thought about the rather domineering red-tail, who was hovering over Snoops like it was her own personal store and not Nadia’s and Deirdre’s. Worse still was that Deirdre seemed to be pleased with everything that Farah did and kept bruising off all of Nadia’s concerns and questions about what was going on.

On the other hand, Nadia couldn’t really argue with Farah’s insistence that all of the succubi that were on the sales floor dressed up like femme fatales, and that the incubi looked like a certain fictional secret agent from some other realm with whom she wasn’t familiar. But why was it that every single incubi was to call himself ‘James’ and every succubi ‘Jane’? Marketing wasn’t one of Nadia’s strong suits, after all.

Nor could she really fault Farah’s choices when the sales reports were looked over, the order books checked. She did, however, have a problem with Farah putting her tail into the other part of what Snoops was from time to time, even if the red-tail wasn’t aware that she was doing so.
That was, after all, what this was all about, even if Farah wasn’t supposed to know it.

For all intents and purposes, the store was two levels now, the lower one the showcase of their wares, the upper, partly office space, partly where fittings were done for their clients. The basement wasn’t store but stockroom, with various succubi and incubi rushing in and out to stock shelves and to get items that their customers wanted.

At least that was the basement until a certain box was moved from a certain wall, the tip of a tail was slid into a lock, and a secret doorway was opened. Nadia meant to ask Deirdre why she kept talking about someone named ‘Max,’ but never really got to.

One particular afternoon, Nadia was sitting at her desk and had just interviewed a green-tail that had the correct password when she came into the store, meaning that Tera sent her along to join the Snoops … assuming that Nadia and Deirdre thought she would work out, of course. Nadia found that being dressed up as a femme fatale didn’t work for her, so, ever at her best, she just looked professionally aloof during the interview as she spoke with the applicant, trying to figure out what she would look like as a femme fatale, on the one hand, and if she was quick enough on her tail to be one of the Snoops that the Realm needed. The blonde was doodling on a note pad when she heard the clicking of heels coming towards her.

Deirdre stepped into view soon after, doing her best to look as ‘fatale’ as possible. Nadia did like the look, even if Farah had been completely responsible for it. Deirdre always did manage to make a purple cocktail dress look amazing. The wide-brimmed fedora added that little touch—though it was a shame that Farah had insisted on that.

“So? What do you think?”

Nadia arched an eyebrow: “If you mean your outfit, I think you look very mysterious.”

“Farah thinks so.”

The snapping of the pencil in Nadia’s hand was very loud in the office, she looking at the broken pieces before picking them off her desk and dropping them into the waste basket beside her. “Wonderful. I’m so glad.”

Her purple-tailed partner nibbled the inside of her cheek before blowing out a breath and closing the gap between them. The blonde Asian succubi didn’t say anything, only watching as Deirdre approached and then put her shapely rear on top of Nadia’s desk, sitting there, legs crossed, beside her.

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“So this miffed attitude you’ve been carrying around since Farah appeared is nothing to worry about?”

“Of course not. She’s looking after the store. Our cover is good. What’s there not to like about her?” There was a telling pause, then she continued: “Other than you two being …”

Deirdre’s hand moved to touch her partner’s sleeve: “No, we’re not. That’s over.”

Nadia closed her eyes: “Okay … Sure.”

“No, Love, you aren’t going to mope around without knowing the entire story, whether you want to or not.”

“I don’t need to know. Let’s move on; there’s other things to talk about.”

“No, first things first: Farah was my mentor, I loved her dearly, and still do, for everything she taught me. But I wasn’t the one she really loved. Farah only loves herself. She is self-centered, demanding, can be the most bossy succubi you’ve ever met. But she’s not stupid. Hiding things from her is a mistake. She’ll start rooting around to figure out what’s going on if you don’t tell her.”

“What we do is none of her business.”

“Alright, we’ll keep things a secret as long as we can. But someone is going to slip up, and she’s going to find out about us.”

Nadia’s sigh was a long one: “She knows about you and me, and she’s …”

“… she’s not doing anything except getting on your nerves, making you crazy for knowing that she was once with me. You need to accept that we need her here, get over your problems with her. I’ve had enough nights at home.”

The green-tail didn’t look at her lover: “I’ve seen the looks she’s been giving you.”

“Then you’ve been seeing something that I haven’t. When you introduced yourself as my lover—which, by the way, you never said to me—that ended things for her.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

Deirdre tapped one of Nadia’s horns: “It’s obvious, you dummy, but I still would like to hear it.”

“No, it’s obvious she’s spending a lot of time with you.”

“Of course she is. She’s running the store. We’re both her bosses, but you don’t want to deal with her, so you’re spending most of your time here getting things up and running, and so I have to play interference.”

“Someone has to. Tera wants us to do something, and we’re not ready.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Nobody’s ready, so … I’m going.”

If the snapping of the pencil was loud, the cry of “What?” was even louder.

The Asian pushed herself away from the desk and looked at her chocolate-skinned partner: “I’m the only one that has learned enough to go out there. I’ll be fine. I don’t have to look like you, or Farah. I just have to blend in, get what we need to know, and then get out. The ‘girl next door’ look will do just fine.”

“No! Absolutely not! You aren’t going anywhere. I don’t care what Tera says, you aren’t going to risk your tail.”

“I’ll be leaving before you know it and I’ll be back before anyone’s the wiser. Trust me, there won’t be a problem.”

The argument went on well into the night, neither succubi giving an inch on what she thought about the entire situation. It was past midnight when they left their hidden lair, the night shift working the store as they walked out the doors together …

… and right into the waiting stare of Farah: “Where have the two of you been? I have things to discuss. We need to change some of the displays, and I need a decision.”

Nadia pointed at Deirdre: “Talk to her. I’m going home; it’s been a long day.”

As Farah started to point out what she saw to be issues that needed to be addressed, Deirdre could only watch Nadia walk away and then disappear around a corner.

The following morning, Nadia didn’t return to Snoops … nor the next day. What came next was her purple-tailed partner prowling the store night and day waiting for her to return, at one point telling Farah to leave her alone in a way that made the red-tail take two steps back from her.

After a week with not a word, Deirdre decided to see Tera. Or at least she intended to when the Queen walked into Snoops. Her expression was troubled, which was worrying, but more so when she took the painter by the arm and pulled her upstairs and into Nadia’s office.

“Where is she, Tera?”

Tera was looking out the office windows to the floor of Snoops below: “Something’s happened. We need to go find her.”

Something snapped in Deirdre and what she said next she instantly regretted: “This is all your fault! If something’s happened to her, I’ll never forgive you!”

The monarch turned and sighed: “You don’t think that I feel the same way? I told the both of you that if anything happened to any of you I would never forgive myself.”

The next voice wasn’t Deirdre’s; Farah stood in the doorway: “Where’s Nadia, and what the hell’s happened to her?”

Tera glanced in the other red-tail’s direction, then to Deirdre: “You both have something to talk about. Don’t let me get in the way.”

The explanation about the SNOOPS didn’t take long, Tera nodding here and there as the story unfolded. Farah’s expression didn’t change from anger, though her tail started to move slowly behind her as the story was told. When it was over, her answer was simple as she looked at Tera: “Then we go get her.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been out there, Farah. Don’t overestimate yourself.”

Deirdre looked from her Queen to her past Mentor: “What do you mean?”

The green-eyed brunette pointed her tail at Farah: “Ever hear of Mata Hari?”

“You have got to be kidding.”

The retired spy smiled: “I’ll have to teach Nadia the fan dance when we get her home.”

“You mean if.”

“No. I mean when.”

My heart… simply is my heart. I know, dearly so, what he means to me, to our family, and in that comes an understanding which no one else has. The words mean more than I can possibly explain… But they do and for that I am eternally grateful…

A Dog’s Tale
by JHB

Pumpkin the Dog lived in a house next to a koi pond where she took care of her mom and dad. It was a big job, because they had a big house, and mom and dad, while they seemed nice enough, were humans—these are a breed of dog who make funny sounds for communication and walk on their hind legs and wear more clothes than anybody should have to. These humans . . . well, they seem to be good at getting food and opening doors, but Pumpkin—that was the name that her mom and dad gave her, because she was orange, they said, even though she couldn’t tell colors too well, but she hoped that “Pumpkin” was just human talk for “Fierce Super-Destroyer,” which she knew was her real name—oh, but where was she? Oh, yeah: Pumpkin was in charge of patrolling and defending the house and fending off squirrels and playing with the birds, all the important stuff mom and dad were really hopeless at.

Over on the other side of her koi pond there was another house with another dog, named “Britty”—which seemed to be human for Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff—who also had a mom and dad to look after. They were nice enough, and they had neat eyes, both of them, and they seemed slightly more aware of things than the orange dog’s dad and mom, at least sometimes, and she was almost sure that she saw them with tails once or twice. But she never saw those tails wag . . . pity.

Britty was kind of shy. Now, she was really good at scaring the bejeebers out of the squirrels, which Pumpkin thought was way cool, and she even kept all the birds in line . . . maybe even the fish in the koi pond, which impressed her short-haired, orange neighbor. But still, Pumpkin noticed that her neighbor dog was very nervous, especially at first.

You see, while Ms. Super-Destroyer knew the squirrels were dreaded enemies, she really tried hard to play with the chipmunks, birds, rabbits, and others in her domain, Runs-Like-the-Wind was different. When they first met, oh-so-long ago, Pumpkin went running over, ready to play. Her mom and dad played all the time. Britty’s mom and dad played all the time. But Britty would get nervous, tell the orange bundle of crazy from the other side of the pond to back off.

It was Britty’s domain over there, so Pumpkin respected that.  She learned to be more quiet, more cautious, around her swift, nervous neighbor, and eventually the Fierce dog was allowed back to the other side of the pond by the mistress of that domain, and even petted by that mistress’ dad . . . and sometimes her mom. Every night, the two dogs spent time by the fence, sniffing each other, sniffing the world, getting to know each other, while Britty’s mom—whom Pumpkin’s dad called “Dear One”—and Pumpkin’s dad—referred to as “heart” by Britty’s mom, yipped and yapped and barked at each other. And, after many, many seasons, Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff finally wandered over to be welcomed by Fierce Super-Destroyer.

There were these two worlds that Pumpkin knew: the world of her side of the pond, and Britty’s world on the other. She was pretty sure there might be someplace else: a someplace that her dad and Britty’s dad and mom called “Work” . . . but, also, another someplace else, where all the neighbors on the far side of the pond went pretty often, and she thought maybe her mom and dad went sometimes. But it was clear that this place, with its two domains, was the most important, because this was where the two guards spent the most time protecting (and, after all, the most important place would be guarded by the fiercest, brightest, and most articulate, right?).

This was life, and, while it seemed cute that the two-legged members of their packs wandered off and seemed to get distracted by other things, for Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff and Fierce Super-Destroyer knew life couldn’t possibly be better than in their world around the koi pond.

Then came that terrible day.

Something had been wrong already. Pumpkin’s dad had gotten a telephone call—telephones were another thing canine R&D really had to crack for the good of society—and, after the call, he had gotten very quiet, and hugged Pumpkin’s mom as the two of them made all sorts of quite sounds. Something was clearly wrong. The orange dog tried to get her people playing, to cheer them up, but they weren’t responding to her call. This was most peculiar and worrying.

She finally got them to open a door, and she went out into the yard, hoping Britty would have a bit of good advice. Envigorated by the crisp autumn air, she ran around the cherry tree in her own yard a couple of times to quiet herself before visiting her reserved neighbor. Often, Pumpkin found her neighbor dog sitting quietly under the cherry tree that was mate to this one on the other side of the pond. But not this time. Pumpkin sniffed all around that tree. Things here were not as they should be, either.

The orange dog continued her investigations. The smell of Runs-Like-the-Wind was all over the place, along with the scents of other dogs that had come before . . . at least two of them—Pumpkin knew that the scent of resident dogs, members of the pack, never truly left a place. Fierce Super-Destroyer’s yard always had just a bit of the smell of BossDog, whom her mom and dad called Jessie—humans really have trouble with words. But there was something to the odor that seemed . . . not right.

She looked up, excited and happy, when the car that belonged to Britty’s pack pulled up by their house. Super-Destroyer kept herself from bounding across the yard, knowing her neighbor would not approve. But only her neighbor’s dad and mom got out of the car. That’s right: Runs-Like-the-Wind didn’t like the car so much (which Pumpkin thought was ridiculous, since everybody knew that cares were so much fun).

But . . . wait. Were this mom and dad also crying? And why wasn’t their dog doing her job, taking care of them? The two humans moved quickly across the yard and into their house, the woman dropping something on the porch as she crossed it. Pumpkin bounded across the yard, but the door slammed shut before she could get to them, and there was the aroma of cherries, something she had noticed before whenever her neighbor’s dad and mom suddenly disappeared and went . . . well, somewhere.

That was when she noticed the collar on the floor of the porch: Britty’s collar. The fierce dog sniffed—the garment was wet with human tears, and had clearly been handled by her neighbor’s humans. Immediately, she knew what this meant, and whimpered softly for her dead friend.

Even in her sadness, she could smell Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff all over this yard and house—even through the strawberry fragrance—and Pumpkin knew that wouldn’t go away, not ever. She was afraid the humans weren’t smart enough to realize that, however. She had to follow them, to explain to them, maybe to . . . what did the humans bark about? . . . comfort them.

But there was that foolish door: the only thing humans were good for, and none of them were handy.

Then she remembered the stone . . . the one that Britty’s green-eyed mom had placed in Pumpkin’s yard one day when the orange dog was sure she saw a red tail. She had seen her mom and dad touch it and disappear, returning later to the same place. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .

She bounded across the two yards, around the koi pond, and rubbed against the stone.

Nothing.

She bopped it with her snout and sniffed it.

Nothing.

About to give up, she put her forepaws on the top of the stone, almost like a human would—how could they stand like this?

And there was a bright light.

And Fierce Super-Destroyer found herself in a very different place, one that didn’t smell like home at all. All of the two-legged types there seemed to have tails, and several came to pet her. She had to admit that these folks were verrrrrry good at petting. Some of them read the tag on her collar, and began ooo-ing and ahh-ing over “Pumpkin.”

“Blast it! Do I have to have that name here, too?”

The dog decided that, even with tails, the two-legged types don’t know any better.

Other than the indignity of the name stuff, she could rather get to enjoy this. But she was on a mission. Even here, she could sniff out the scent of Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff’s pack. Fierce Super-Destroyer slipped out from the crowd that had surrounded her so pleasantly and followed the fragrance of pack and cherries to a huge stone building, where many were coming and going carrying things she knew the humans called “books.” She followed the trail into the building, and was getting stares, but it wasn’t until she slipped past a few desks, wondering how she would get past the door ahead of her, that some of the two-legs with tails tried to stop her. Pumpkin dodged and wove, and got really annoyed with the dive-bombing cats—whose idea was it to give cats wings?—and couldn’t imagine anybody stopping her now.

Then the most charming two-legged woman with the brightest yellow tail and horns appeared in the orange dog’s path. The Fierce dog found herself whimpering softly as the strawberry blonde scratched behind her ears while the heart-shaped tip of the yellow tail expertly stroked her orange one. Besides the soft sounds she made, all the dog could do was stare into the yellow-tails incredibly violet eyes. But everything changed when the woman, who had been just growling and barking and yipping up until then, suddenly said, “. . . wish we could understand each other.”

Fierce Super-Destroyer was just beginning to learn that all sorts of things, such as wishes, quickly escalate around yellow-tails, and this tail was the brightest yellow that anyone had seen in ages. “I think I do understand you,” she replied, “even though your kind usually seem to have such trouble communicating.”

The strawberry blond smiled, causing the dog to melt a bit more: “What are you doing here, cutie?”

“Oh, don’t call me ‘cutie,’ because then others might not know that I am fierce. In fact, my name is Fierce Super-Destroyer.”

“Well, your tag says ‘Pumpkin.’”

“Yes . . . ummm . . . where I come from, that is the two-legs’ word for ‘Fierce Super-Destroyer.’”

“I think it’s the same here.” Another smile, and the dog wondered if the two-leg noticed how deeply she was blushing. “My name is Miriam, sweetie. But where do you come from, and why are you here?”

“I come from the land where the koi pond and the two cherry trees are, and where I protect one side of the pond, while the other had been protected by Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff. But something has happened to her, and I need to find her mom and dad. Her mom’s scent led me here.” The dog wagged her nose at the Head Librarian’s office, even though her eyes never left the violet pair in front of her.

Those eyes now opened wide. “Ohhh! Now I know why someone said they saw Tera and Keith so upset! Something happened to Britty!”

“Don’t call her ‘Britty’!” the dog thought, but there was no time for that: “Her scent goes all over the place, and is mixed with so many wonderful smells, but I don’t have time to enjoy them all, and it seems strongest there.” Again she pointed at the office.

“Well, that is Queen Tera’s office,” Miriam replied, “she is the Monarch of our Realm, but also the Head Librarian here. Some people think that’s strange, but . . .”

“. . . but , obviously these books are the most important thing here. That’s why the most important one in the pack would guard them.”

“I can see why Tera likes you.”

“Well, I also let her give me treats and scratch me behind the ears,” Super-Destroyer volunteered. “But she isn’t there now, is she?”

“No, she went off . . . ummmm . . . kind of upset.” Truth be told, the glare from her oh-so-green eyes had knocked five shelves’ worth of books off

“Runs-Like-the-Wind died.” Both dog and two-leg-with-a-tail were silent for a bit, then the orange-tail nuzzled her new yellow-tailed friend: “Runs-Like-the-Wind died, but there is something really important that I don’t think her mom understands yet, ‘cuz she is just a two-legs. She needs me to tell her.”

Miriam looked over her shoulder, out the window, toward the palace: “I just don’t know if this is a good time . . .”

Just then a breeze from that direction brought something to the fierce dog’s attention, and she was out of the yellow-tail’s grasp in a shot. “I’m sorry. But this is really important!” It was the scent again.

Miriam tried her best to slow her four-legged visitor down, but found herself splayed out on the tile floor of reading room as the dog eluded half a dozen other staff members on her way out the door and up the road toward the royal palace. “Well, I had best warn the guards to be gentle with her. She’s not a syreen.” The reference librarian was barely up on her knees before she had bampfed out, leaving the loveliest scent of lemons behind.

As she ran up the road to the palace, Pumpkin—all right, maybe that was one of her names—noticed a change in the scent of her quarry. It was still Runs-Like-the-Wind’s mom, but somehow not, and yet it was definitely her, and it was no longer coming from the palace, but down a path to the left, into the woods, behind a cottage. As the helpful yellow-tailed two-legs was warning and preparing the palace guards, their anticipated guest was nearly a quarter-mile off in another direction.

But what the guest found behind the cottage gave her pause.

There was Runs-Like-the-Wind’s mom . . . sort of . . . except her tail was black and her hair red. She was holding a whip, being very rough with three two-legs who were kneeling at her feet—one seemed to be male—and whimpering. The more they moaned, the more the two-leg with the whip growled, pushed them away, humiliated them . . .

. . . though she let one of her subjects sniff her butt, which was something most humans didn’t seem to allow nearly as often as the orange dog thought they should.

The thing was, the more the redhead let out her aggression, the less happy she seemed to be. Fierce Super-Destroyer knew that this was wrong, and was even more sure that this redhead was also sad about the dog they both knew: Runs-Like-the-Wind’s scent was part of this two-leg with the whip, too.  The dog knew what needed doing, and ran up to the redhead, shoving the male submissive out of the way and rubbing her orange fur on the shiny black knee-high boots of the dominant.

The two-leg growled and barked, almost kicking the dog as she pushed her away with a boot, then cracking the whip less than an inch from Fierce Super-Destroyer’s nose.

“She doesn’t get it,” the four-leg thought as she stood her ground, then moved closer. The whip continued snapping, always an inch in front of her nose, as she continued to close in. Finally, she was rubbing against those boots again, and then continuing to push against this angry two-leg until she fell backward onto a bench. The orange-hair set her chin on the red-hairs lap: “I know you are sad, and I know why, but being angry doesn’t seem to be helping you. You need to trust me and listen.”

While the green eyes were softening, the look behind them was rather blank.

“Gosh, I wish you were as smart as Miriam. I guess I’ll just keep nuzzling.” And so she did. In time, there was some tentative scratching on the top of her head by long, black-lacquered nails. Then there was some sort of a flash, and a bit of smoke, and the smell of strawberries, and the other scents changed. This was her friend’s mom.

“Pumpkin, you silly girl, what are you doing here?”

Oh, for those so-green eyes, she even went along with being called “Pumpkin.” “You need to understand,” she replied. “I know you’re sad about . . . well, you call her ‘Britty.’ I know she is dead, and I am sad, too. But Britty’s scent is still in the yard, just like Rudy’s. That yard was her yard, and she will always be there. And you and her dad, she will always look out for you both. In the meantime, I will help her whenever I can.”

Runs-Like-the-Wind’s mom still didn’t seem to get it, so the fierce dog kept nuzzling her lap, softly, and she kept petting.

Maybe she got it.

Soon, her neighbor dog’s dad came by. He had a nice tail, too, and, in time, both of them were petting the dog from the far said of the koi pond.

And, after a bit longer, Fierce Super-Destroyer remembered that her own mom and dad seemed to need cheering up. As the three of them found their way home, Pumpkin was pleased to find it was about the same time as when they left, and she took care of the two-legs on her side of the pond. My, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten petted so much in one day.

The days got better.

From then on, Fierce Super-Destroyer looked out for the two-legs on both sides of the koi pond; they were so sweet and, except for the door thing, they seemed so helpless. She was still more careful, more respectful on Runs-Like-the-Wind-and-Finds-Stuff’s side, because it was clear that she never really left there.

And, from time to time, she got to see Runs-Like-the-Wind’s dad and mom show their tails. She wished hers would learn that trick.

And once . . . just once . . . Fierce Super-Destroyer was sure she saw one of those tails wag.

And she smiled.

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Homo sapiens. Our place in the order of things.

animalia not a plant

chordata backbone of sorts

mammalia warm blood, fur, milk, birth

primates humans, monkeys, apes

hominidae great apes

homo man

sapiens wise

The post Grandma always delivers. appeared first on Indexed.

The post All tensed up. appeared first on Indexed.

Hovertext: If anyone makes fun of your necklace, you just tell them PH'NGLUI MGLW'NAFH CTHULHU R'LYEH WGAH'NAGL FHTAGN

Last day to submit for BAHFest London! 

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Thanks to this week’s guest scriptwriter, The Archbishop of Canterbury.

Yesterday was this comic’s 10th birthday, and to celebrate we’re running a little competition (thanks to sparky_shark for the suggestion).

To enter, you just have to write a script for the last panel of a J&M “X-factor” strip:

The script should a line from Jesus, a line from Mo (in any order), plus the off-screen judge if required. Just words, presented like this:
Jesus: Blah
Mo: Blah
Judge: Blah

The best script will win a book of the latest collection of Jesus & Mo strips (Vol 7), plus publication here on the website (anonymously, obvs). There may be runners-up prizes, too.

Send entries entitled “X-factor script” to author[AT]jesusandmo.net

Ape index.

The length of your arms relative to your height. Typically:

ape index = arm span / height

Da Vinci’s classic Vitruvian man has an arm span equal to his height and therefore an ape index of 1. An ape index greater than 1 (arm span longer than height) seems to be helpful for rock climbers, swimmers (Michael Phelps = 1.06), boxers, professional basketball and goalkeeping.

It’s also known as the gorilla index though I couldn’t actually find a measure for gorillas remarkably. A quick calculation shows for an average male gorilla at 1.75m tall and arm span of 2.45m that the gorilla index for a real gorilla would be = 2.45 / 1.75 = 1.4. I’d definitely fancy the gorilla in rock-climbing and boxing…

It’s sometimes calculated as arm span minus height, that would give gorillas a ridiculous: +70

I have not been able to figure out if your ape index changes from a child to adult though it seems like it might.

Quite fun to measure your own…

HT: Si Wannop

Hovertext: Weinersmith vs. WHO reporting, Round 1.

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