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Lewascan2Bwahaha, that one 14.3% on the Modify Resource Output vote. Truly indicative of how a single vote could change everything.
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Oh man, super awkward to have tried to edit in hijinks thinking I'd have time to do so before y'all read it.
Finally gotten to filling out that questionnaire thingy zzz
Oh yeah, I've basically sworn an oath not to post on the status bar, but Qia, when it comes to AI, it specifically ISN'T the same scale or case of just an actual artist copying a style that they like. These are big companies that own/rent data centers and such to enable image generation and all. And they do directly profit from people riding trends such as "funny Ghibli style image generation", without paying a cent to the artists/animators/directors that the style originated from.
Even if the end-user's intention is just for 'fun', it's not really the case that there's no profit at all being made from these for-fun moments.
Of course, this has been a problem since the beginning of the broad proliferation of LLMs and AI art generation tools, considering how even back at the start, you could plug in a specific artist's name and say "make something that looks like what they'd make".
Oh yeah, I've basically sworn an oath not to post on the status bar, but Qia, when it comes to AI, it specifically ISN'T the same scale or case of just an actual artist copying a style that they like. These are big companies that own/rent data centers and such to enable image generation and all. And they do directly profit from people riding trends such as "funny Ghibli style image generation", without paying a cent to the artists/animators/directors that the style originated from.
Even if the end-user's intention is just for 'fun', it's not really the case that there's no profit at all being made from these for-fun moments.
Of course, this has been a problem since the beginning of the broad proliferation of LLMs and AI art generation tools, considering how even back at the start, you could plug in a specific artist's name and say "make something that looks like what they'd make".
It certainly took more effort than he would've liked to pretend that he was entirely unaffected by the display that the Witch put on. There was freaky, and then there was whatever 'dragging your own nail deep enough into your flesh to slice it open and then utilize mysterious means to fix that up right as rain' was. On one hand, there was a distinct sense that this kinda healing was gonna hurt like hell. On the other hand, it was kinda cute how someone so well-grown remained so oblivious to such advances. It conjured into mind a particular image.
"Not the service I'm interested in," was his response, before straightening back up with a shrug when the scale-armed girl had more questions than personal concerns. "And hey, it doesn't hurt at all. Just think of it as a natural feature of my body." His teeth parted once more into the impression of a smile; was there even a tongue beneath? "More natural than those scales of yours, for sure. If you jam it in, I could remove it, maybe."
But there was a reason that he had straightened back up, even when nothing he spoke of had indicated any real annoyance or irritation towards the lady's questions.
No, it was simply an inopportune time for such matters now.
He had only heard the conversations of the others in the background, picking up snippets that spoke of divinity and such matters, but who needed such exacting knowledge about the state of the world, when one's eyes could explain it all away? The golden-haired princess had triggered something in her spiritual ascent, and in return, the skies answered with flames. Droplets from candlewicks, already enough to cause the withered shaman to enact her aberrant mysticism and form some invisible shield. It was an incomprehensible act, one way or the other, but there were plenty here that defied the reason and sense that his perception set upon, no?
And, certainly, others too, would see their common sense challenged by him as well.
"Look 'round you, dumbshit," he called out to the one who was entirely, utterly, totally responsible for what was soon to befall them. "Plenty o' spears available, eh?"
He stepped out from the shield, guided by an instinct for larceny, and without a thought, snatched one of the falling flames out of the air and slipped them into his head. A pleasant surprise. Perhaps due to the coolness in his hand, it wasn't set aflame like the surrounding environment. Or perhaps it was just like that common 'trick', where you could pass your hand through flames without being burnt, so long as you were quick enough with it.
Whatever the reason, it was fine.
Flames had no mass.
No matter how much there was, it would never sate him.
MacKinnon's actual ploy is to give Wilma motion sickness so that she could have the kiddo's share of the soup too tonight.
//Central Village
@Xaltwind
"Yeah, but don't worry about it," MacKinnon replied, as if the blacksmith-without-tools was of no concern to her. "He's probably mostly angry because he's hungry, so once he's gotten something in his stomach, he won't be grumbling so much."
Entirely unsupported claims, but delivered with utmost confidence. That was the treasure hunter's approach to everything, truly. As if by saying something with enough conviction, she could make it into a real thing. She patted Wilma roughly on the head, more messing up her hair than anything, before scooping her up and out of the wagon.
"And I'm pretty strong too, you see?" Another bold proclamation, but one that, in the eyes of a child at least, could be backed up with how high MacKinnon lifted Wilma up into the air. "If he causes any trouble at the soup group, I'll lift him up just like this, and then..."
She began to spin Wilma overhead, like an amusement park ride in a world that had none.
There’s literally no one who goes around policing who can post in which sections of the Guild. Honestly, I didn’t even recognize that we were in Advanced until just now.
In any case, if you’re concerned about word count, just add a couple pictures.
In any case, if you’re concerned about word count, just add a couple pictures.
Aaand thar.
I actually didn't realize that Fey was also doing the Click-Clack thing, but it's neat how things turned out.
I actually didn't realize that Fey was also doing the Click-Clack thing, but it's neat how things turned out.
Arashiyama Junko
Arashiyama Junko
Arashiyama Junko
She breathed in, then out, and with explosive strength, exerted herself to her fullest. Quads straining, back tightening, abs hardened beneath the layers of fat that masked them. A vein bulged over her temple, teeth clenched into a grimace of a smile. For a moment, the bar, cold and unyielding, pressed against her chest, as if to squash her flat. But it was simply a pause, before she thrust it up upwards, held it up, then allowed it to drop down upon the floor once more. Even through the cushioning, the floor shook, plates clattering together as she drew in a deep, long breath.
Mornings were no longer spent in the mountains, for her obligations were too many to enable her to go on such flights of fancy to Minamikawa, but the heiress didn’t mind too much either. The estate’s personal gym had been unused until she occupied it, upgraded it, made it her own space. And now once more, she squatted deep, knuckles crackling as she gripped the bar.
Click, clack.
But it was not the dozen cast iron plates that made that sound.
…
She took tea, her mother took coffee. Outside, cherry blossom buds formed a shade that brought up the bright sunlight that filtered in through the glass wall. Hosakono, the housekeeper, had made the meal, of course, a Japanese affair that nevertheless also including a heaping pile of eggs, sausage, and bacon to support the young lady’s growth, but her mother always took it upon herself to brew something to drink. Sure, her daughter still took a tall glass of milk alongside classier beverages, but breakfast was perhaps the only meal the two still shared with each other. Lunch was separate, while dinners were taken at separate times, what with the dance studio’s hours and Junko’s own extracurriculars.
It was a precious thing. A time to hear about each other’s yesterdays, a time for mother to remind the daughter of her manners, to bask in sunlight before their paths diverged.
Click, clack.
But it was not a teacup set against a delicate saucer that made that sound.
…
Acquaintances and followers gravitated towards her as the tram made its way through the city. Some sat in silence, basking in her presence. Others spoke with each other, about the various efforts they’ve made to obtain their own goal, whether it be in their hobbies, their future professions, their physical milestones, or their love lives. Still more greeted her directly, seeking validation through her responses. So of course, she obliged. The book she read was a notebook, matching names with faces, people with their constituent hobbies, and her voice rumbled with a severe weight. Some, she praised. Others, she criticized. Still more, she questioned.
Was that their best foot forward? Was that what they truly needed? Far too many in this world lacked the ability to be self-aware, to reflect upon their own actions, especially during the tumultuous times of adolescence. The tram continued to rock, the people continued to sway. Junko remained stalwart, stable. A cairn dressed in a high school student’s uniform.
Click, clack.
But it was not the sound of wheels crossing metal rails that made that sound.
…
The first day of the third year.
The last first day she’ll have in Kumoriyama Private High.
The last festivals, the last celebrations, the last exams, the last chances.
Junko placed a hand over her heart, feeling the slow, steady, powerful throbbing within her chest. Good. There were no regrets, no anxiety. Only the recognition that this would be the last time she viewed these blossoms from this angle, the last time she could stand amongst these budding sprouts as a peer.
She would make it count.
The next generation of leaders will be raised in the Judo Club, and her fellow third years will put on a performance that would surpass their accomplishments last year. She would sharpen her academic performance such that she would earn a full scholarship from Tokyo University into their Sports Science department. She would make sure that every one she leaves behind in Kumoriyama would be in a better place than they were the year before.
Heavy, purposeful strides brought her to the final classroom she’d be sitting in, to faces that she had become familiar with over the course of the last three years.
Junko smiled, the morning light glinting prismatically over the lens of her glasses, a spring breeze from the open window playing with a strand of silver hair.
“Rise! Stand! Bow! Sit!”
Like echoes off the mountainside. Like a lightning strike to shake off the lethargy of Spring Break. Like Arashiyama Junko, who had made this call without fail for every day of her student life.
Click-Clack.
It was the sound of the gears of fate turning, promising a year like no other.
But Junko simply thought it was a student closing the window before spring allergies swept in and triggered a cacophony of sneezes unbecoming of this solemn last, first day.
Aighto, got maybe a third of it done, so I'll leave the rest for tomorrow.
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