SLYTHERIN: “The nation that will insist on drawing a broad line of demarcation between the fighting man and the thinking man is liable to find its fighting done by fools and its thinking done by cowards.” -William Francis Butler
Can you tell us about the heavy demilitarized zone? I'd like to know how you explain it :D
An excellent question.
The demilitarized zone, or DMZ, is the zone 2 kilometers wide on each side of the military demarcation line, which is the true border, as it marks where the front line was when the armistice was signed.
“Demilitarized” is probably not the best term, since the no-man’s land between is littered with landmines and South and I both have military patrols out 24/7. It has also been the place of several…incidents…since the armistice. Most of them involved gunfire. One involved an ax. America started that one. This is where I spend most of my time.
You may have seen pictures of this place. It’s called the Joint Security Area, but I know it as Panmunjom, since that was the name of the village that used to stand here.
The blue huts straddling the border are where any and all negotiations and meetings take place. Tourists on both sides are allowed to enter (never at the same time, of course). If you visit from South’s side, you’re not allowed to touch anything. But if you visit from my side, you can sit at the tables. Please sit at the tables. And touch things. And move them around. And leave them that way so South has to clean it up later…
These buildings are the only place South and I ever talk to each other, barring the occasional World Conference.
And, I suppose, a few words every once in a while when we are standing guard outside, face to face.
Messerschmitt Bf.109F-4/trop (W.Nr 10074) Gelbe 5 of 6 Staffel, Jagdgeschwader 27, piloted by Leutnant Gerhard Mix, Western Desert, Egypt. 14 August 1942
It had made a forced landing in the rear of the Australian lines near El Alamein and was loaded on to a transport to be taken to RAF workshops to be examined by experts.
Other German planes had tried to destroy it after it had landed, in order to prevent disclosing any secret technical developments.
Lt. Gerhard Mix was uninjured and taken POW.
This Bf.109 is camouflaged in RLM 78/79 with atypically undefined colour demarcation line in the middle of the fuselage (but slightly lower than per standard).
Markings include white spinner and collar, white fuselage band and wing tips, and yellow lower cowling.
Number ‘5’ and the horizontal bar are yellow outlined in black.
The squadrons emblem of the 'Berlin Bear’ is painted on either side of the cowling.
It is important to know the political and physical geography of today’s events.
First, there were five distinct groups.
The Trump supporters were based in Terry Schrunk Plaza. They tended to wear flags, fatigues and red Trump hats. A handful of minorities were present.
Surrounding them were four different groups.
A peace group began their protests outside Portland City Hall. The diversity in this crowd ranged from different ethnicities, to clothing, to age (young children and their parents, teenagers, millennial, boomers, and a group of 80+ year olds who have been part of Portland protests for decades.) By 11:30, when I arrived, City Hall walkway and the sidewalk in front were packed, making it difficult to walk along the sidewalk. The crowd shortly was filling one of the lanes of traffic along 4th avenue. A number of religious and ethnic community leaders gave speeches. Chanting and loudspeakers were directed towards the small group of Trump supporters who came to the west end of the park with signs and flags. This was, by far, the largest of the anti-Trump groups.
On the east side of Schrunk Plaza a group made up of Union members and an older crowd with a megaphone taunted the Trump supporters closer to the stage in the plaza. The chanting was robust from both sides.
And in Chapman Park there were two groups, though at times difficult to distinguish between them. The color of the day was black. Some were covered head to toe. Others wore t-shirts with slogans attacking both the Trump administration and the Portland police. There were a number in the park who were there to protest the Trump rally and call for peace. And then there were those itching for a fight: Angry at Trump, his supporters, the media, and the Portland Police. Perhaps especially the Portland Police.
The largest area with direct contact between the opposing protestors was between SW 4th and SW. 3rd on Madison. That is where the largest conflict occurred. It made sense this was the area that police heavily patrolled. A concentrated line of police in riot gear spaced just a few feet apart, three to five feet off the sidewalk. At times one lane of the street included patrol cars or vans with running boards and handles on the outside that acted as transport for twelve or more police. One lane was always open to cars on SW 4th, 3rd, and Madison. That made it easy for police and security teams from at least three of the groups to ask, (Yes, “Ask”, This is Portland) people to stay out of the street. Those in Chapman Square, Schrunk Plaza, and along Madison Street had either a barrier of police in riot gear or yellow police incident tape to show them where the demarcation lines were.
Perhaps the most obvious part about the Portland police presence was whom they were watching. The anti-Trump demonstrators outnumbered the Trump rally by estimates of 20:1. And the police approach was clearly that Trump supporters were considered in danger. Police stood facing Chapman sometimes shoulder to shoulder. To the east and west of Shrunk Plaza they were not as concentrated, 8-10 officers with one or two facing the Trump supporters. The rest focused on the peace group at City Hall or the union chanters at the Federal building.
That focus was commented on constantly. Along with those comments was a memory of the action several weeks ago when buses were ready to transport Trump marchers back to the starting point when they marched through a multi-ethnic neighborhood chanting anti-immigrant slogans. No riot police presence was evident then, so police are seen as protecting Trump supporters while aggressively agitating those against the Trump administration.
About 30 minutes before the scheduled end of the Trump rally things began to change significantly.
I stood at the Northwest corner of SW 4th and Madison starting around noon. I could see straight down the line of the police facing Chapman Square. I could also see the peace groups gathered at City Hall and the small contingent of Trump supporters in constant shouting. I could see into Chapman Square itself only a few feet. Lots of black clad people concentrated in the SW corner of the square, making it hard to see much in the center.
It was a busy corner.
For a time, there was almost a joyous atmosphere to the crowd. But it was not without its tension.
At one point, as I was talking to a friend, a group of Trump supporters carrying various flags and paraphernalia came through the crowd outside City Hall. They made it a point to shoulder their way pushing people. When they got across the street, one of them had his red hat knocked off of his head. It fell to the ground and a heavyset black clad fellow in his 20’s grabbed the hat and started to walk away with it. My friend intervened and told him, “We don’t do that,” effectively de-escalating the incident and sending the anti-Trump guy across the street to Chapman Square and the Trump supporter on his way north on 4th.
A white truck circled the blocks several times. It seemed to want someone to get agitated as it constantly sped up to trap people in crosswalks.
A number of individual incidents took place with police isolating people for a time and searching bags, taking away poles, and then releasing them.
Then the scene got intense around 3:20.
Scores more police arrived with insignia from several agencies. A loudspeaker announced the “Because of Criminal activity, people need to move to the center of Chapman Square.” Something had happened. We could not see what that was from the corner next to the Portland Building.
Standing where I was, NOT in Chapman Square, across the street, I figured I’d be able to watch the situation. But that was not to be.
As I stood there, I was suddenly pushed by a Police officer with a baton telling me that I had to move. I said, “the announcement said people in the Square. I am not in the Square. And I am observing as an elected official.” (I had my little magnetic nametag on my right side of my shirt.)
His response was to say, “Hello Lew. We’ve met. But you still need to leave this area.”
So I started walking north along 4th watching the Square.
It became clear that more was going on there. Within a few minutes several large reports rang out. Smoke of some form was evident. Angry voices rang out across the park. I could see batons being swung. I could not see whether people or objects were being hit. I called to one of the activists I saw in the center of the square to come my direction. He was helping a woman who was clearly disoriented and upset. They came under the chain that surrounds the park and into the sidewalk and street, yelling at the police for what was likely tear gas or pepper spray of come kind.
What sounded like a series of pellets being fired could be heard.
The next announcement said that police had been assaulted and that the gathering had been declared illegal.
Eventually the line of police stopped a few feet in from Main Street while still in Chapman Square.
By that time I’d seen a number of water bottles and rocks thrown at the police. I did not see who threw them. But they landed near the front of the police line.
A new announcement said Lonsdale Square had also seen criminal activity and that it too must be cleared.
I started walking that way. At one point a group of folks threw several newspaper vending machines into the center of the street. Then came several orange cones.
Remembering the fire that was started at the May Day march, I walked directly over to the growing pile and stood there for a while. A masked friend from the crowd yelled at me to watch out because tear gas weapons were pointed at me in the center of the street. I decided to stand there a while to see if anything more would take place. Nothing did.
I left to go closer to the stand off line.
There a few individuals were yelling at police. One attempted to get others to join him at the front of the line. It was only marginally successful.
But something had changed.
The large group of black clad people gathered to march north along 4th.
The police line dispersed and moved back to the Madison Street location.
I looked down 4th to see the group chanting and heading towards Morrison, possibly Burnside, with Police in pursuit.
(Note that because 4th and 3rd avenues had been blocked, the peace groups at City Hall and the Federal building were separated from the smaller groups in Chapman Square. I wonder how they would have handled the pushing and shoving. Some folks had simply sat down in Chapman Square, only to be moved forcibly with batons.)
By this time the Trump rally was officially over.
It was clear from looking across the street that those in Schrunk Plaza were agitated and looking to the police for directions out of there. Those directions had a small number walking out the SE exit and up Jefferson Street.
I walked up to City Hall. (Hearing along the way from ACLU legal observers that flash and tear gas canisters had been used around 4th and Morrison and that the group had been surrounded and everyone arrested.)
At City Hall the numbers had diminished somewhat, but the enthusiasm had not. Chants were still going.
I do not believe the group at City Hall knew that the Trump rally had ended until police started letting a larger number of folks out of the Plaza on the west side.
Anti-Trump demonstrators formed a gauntlet for them to go through for a time on the corner of Jefferson and 4th. There were a few punches thrown before police broke up that gauntlet. Only to see another one form half a block down. And then still another skirmish in the next block. That seemed to be the case along a path that went several blocks south and then doubled back on 5th avenue to the Portland building.
By the time I got to Madison again, a pepper spray incident had taken place involving the police. Demonstrators were treating several people, including a photographer.
As I left down town I unsuccessfully tried to find the larger group that had moved north. Helicopters were circling. I did not find them. But I saw both brief skirmishes and measured conversations taking place throughout the downtown.
Take a ways:
If the message was that Portlanders reject the Trump agenda, that came through loud and clear.
Were the Black clad folks heading into the streets to create more problems? Possibly.
Did Portland police give clear directions? No.
Was the strategy simply to move the more volatile elements away from each other before the end of the Trump rally? Well, that worked.
I’ve been told that at least one brick was thrown at police prior to the closing of Chapman Square. That would likely be grounds for some action. Was it over reaction?
Did the isolation approach work for the five rally groups? The peaceful groups continued to make their views clear. At what cost to future demonstrations? I know one former state senator who lost a great deal of respect for the Portland police after being manhandled and tear gassed while standing in what she had been told was a safe place to be.
I have not seen the media coverage beyond one article that spent ¾ of the time talking with and about the Trump supporters. I get it. The huge numbers of people protesting them were there because of them. And I think it was also likely that the reporter had not met or talked with that group before. I’d also say that the reporter decided to lump all of the protestors in one easy meme rather than understand the differences and how that played out on the streets and parks downtown. And of course the adrenaline spikes when there is action. Understanding the deeper issues or differences takes time for broadcast news and greater history and awareness for print. These days’ reporters are given neither time nor support for providing context.
Finally. It, frankly, could have been a lot worse.
Lew Frederick, Oregon State Senator (via Facebook)
What are your favorite Everlark fics? What was the first Everlark fic you read?
Oh my… I’m so gonna fuck this up.
I’m sorry that I neglected this ask for a couple weeks *cough cough* but this is like the toughest question in the world. I’m sure I’ll forget to mention so many of them and I don’t want to leave anyone out by mistake.
Hiya. I was wondering if you could be able to write about Karin's development in the manga (sorta like the analysis with tenten?)
Karin is one of the few well-developed female characters in the series.
We are firstly canonically introduced to her when she is supposed to take part in then-Team Hebi. Though Karin’s journey as a kunoichi begins far earlier. Sometime after she becomes a genin, Karin participates in the Chuunin Exams held in Konoha. During the second phase, she loses track of her teammates and is attacked by a giant bear. Fortunately, someone saves her, and that someone is no other than Sasuke Uchiha himself, smiling at her warmly.
Interestingly enough, we later learn that this is the reason Karin fell in love with Sasuke. Fast forward to a war in Karin’s village, Karin senses a huge group of people and hides during their attack. She is approached by Orochimaru who is surprised she survived. He brings her to Otogakure where her healing abilities are henceforth studied by Orochimaru and Kabuto.
After being involved in experiments with Juugo and Kimimaro, Orochimaru decides to let her take charge of the southern wing of his hideout. This is when Sasuke recruits her as a member of then-Team Hebi because he notices her special abilities. At first, her development seems to be stagnant due to the moments she spends fantasising about Sasuke, but this changes quickly, as she is more than willing to assist Sasuke with his revenge. She finds stability in her life thanks to Team Taka, displaying a great deal of respect towards Sasuke. This development essentially highlights her positive traits.
Karin is selfless.
She has risked her life for Sasuke, Suigetsu, and Juugo on several occasions and even helped non-Taka characters (enemies, to be precise) such as Tsunade.
Karin is caring.
She undeniably cares about Sasuke. She has healed and watched over him more than any other character. She cares about Juugo and Suigetsu, too. This is evident when she saves their lives during the Hachibi fight. Furthermore, she has demonstrated the ability to empathise with the enemy, trying to warn Sakura about Sasuke’s murder attempt after the Danzou fight. That was one of the most emotionally riveting scenes in the series to date, precisely because it transcends the black and white lines demarcating loyalties and gets straight to the emotional heart of Karin’s character.
Karin is expressive.
In true tsundere fashion, she constantly bickers with Suigetsu—just to act tenderly towards Sasuke. Her sexual attraction to him, which is often played for laughs, is one of her most recognised qualities, receiving not seldom critique. Though it makes her special in a sense that she isn’t afraid to express her natural feelings, even if it’s in a comedic context. This brings me to my next point.
Karin is confident.
Her confidence is a core part of her personality. Karin takes zero shit from anyone. She gives Sasuke her advice—which is always helpful and constructive—, and he listens because he knows she’s right. She is aware of her strengths and her weaknesses, and she works with them expertly to get the job done. She’s cool with the fact that she likes Sasuke, and she’s not ashamed of it.
“The delicacy to see through everything calmly. The courage to live with passion. The kunoichi Sasuke has acknowledged is the strongest.”
It’s also important to note that Karin is the sole kunoichi Sasuke acknowledged thus far. Not only that, but Karin also has been praised for her abilities by both Obito and Orochimaru, two incredibly strong ninjas. And keep in mind, Karin is mostly a non-combatant strategist and sensor.
She proves herself when she destroys much of Obito’s giant wooden statue. Further, as a direct descendant of the Uzumaki clan, Karin has tremendous stamina, reserves of chakra, and vitality, giving her an enormous longevity. By biting herself and consuming her own chakra, her healing becomes instantaneous. Tell me, how badass is she? Then, there is her intelligence. She has extensive knowledge at her disposal, being able to come up with brilliant strategies contributing to her missions. She was even capable of quickly deducing the base of a complex technique such as Izanagi.
Karin is overall a paradox. As a matter of fact, it’s present in her appearance. Whilst one side of her hair sticks out in every direction, the other side is straight and silky. She wears glasses and a modest jacket with the lower part of it being unzipped, combining it with dangerously short hot pants and knee-length leather boots.
To sum it up, Karin’s development was fine throughout the series. She accepts her flaws and is able to overcome them. Nonetheless, her characterisation suffered from Kishimoto’s sexism. She is sidelined during the war to make room for the male characters. Though she shines again when she steps aside after realising Sasuke has seemingly chosen Sakura over her, assuming he must be happy with his choice and therefore wanting to ensure his happiness. Eventually, she moves on. This crucially sets her apart from the other kunoichis, making her one of my favourite characters.
I’m probably totally spacing on the answer to this but… Where do Cassian, Azriel, and Mor even live?
I think at some point Mor mentioned that she had a place in Velaris, so I won’t get too grumpy about us never getting to see her flat, but what about Cassian and Azriel? ACOMAF made it clear enough they don’t live in the townhouse.
Do they both live in Velaris? Are they roomies?
Who does the dishes? Who cleans? Who handles laundry? Who picks up groceries? Who cooks? Are there just weapons lying all over the place and poor Azriel is trapped with a slob, or are they neighbors? Do they live near Mor?
Do they live in the House of Wind? I’d think not based on how Cassian and Nesta talk to each other at the beginning of ACOWAR when he goes there, but if so what does Azriel’s place look like? What does Cassian’s place look like? Are they near by or did they spread out? Were they always living there or did they just sort of worm their way in? Is there like a “Cassian” wing and an “Azriel” wing with a demarcation line splitting the palace in half?
Did they live in Rhys’ townhouse when he was trapped UtM to sort of house sit? When Rhys shielded Velaris and trapped them all inside, was the House of Wind considered *in* or *out* of that bubble? If it was out, where in Velaris did they stay?
I NEED A NOVELLA JUST DETAILING LIVING ARRANGEMENTS AND STYLES, ALRIGHT?!
Morning came way
too soon for Peeta, as it always did after his nightly travels on the other
side of the Demarcation lines. He really hoped his proteges would make it to
Portugal safely, in order to have safe passage to free lands.
He needed a
A real one. Not
that chickoree or the roasted barley they were now forced to use, drinking it
as if nothing had changed in their world, when so much had.
Just like any
other day, he would have to pretend. Blame the nightmares that still plagued
him for the circles under his eyes, pretend everything was right in a country,
in a world gone crazy.
Just a quick drabble tonight. A little Napoleon Complex for you all.
Tanlines were a fact of life in Texas.
Good, honest labor meant a man spend his fair share of the day out in the shining Texan sun, and all the ten gallon hats and cowboy boots in the world couldn’t keep a fella from getting broiled up like a Thanksgiving turkey. From the upper arms and down, anyway.
Engineer had never thought much of it as a result. The farm hands all had their respectable farmer’s tans, except for a brave few who took the more “Australian” option of going completely shirtless. Not that it was advised when dealing with mucking stalls and clearing out pig pens.
“Mmmmm? May I ask what you are doing, mon ingénieur?”
The pattern didn’t seem to vary much once he got outside Bee Cave either. Scout’s spindly Yankee arms would be as tanned as his own after a season spent out at 2Fort and the back of Heavy’s neck was as just as red as any of the good ol’ boys who hung out at Jimmy Dee’s Saloon.
Not to say that there wasn’t any variation. For example, his own face had the distinctive outline of his welding goggles burned into his skin while Soldier’s had a softer line where the lip of his helmet was kept right near the bridge of his nose. But that wasn’t too far removed from the brim of the cowhand’s hats back home, or a pair of sunglasses that were worn just a little too long. Perfectly ordinary tans. Nothing worth spending any real amount of time thinking about.
“I do not mean to complain, but I am going to need that back.”
A hint of a smile played at the corner of Spy’s mouth as he looked up at Engineer with a bemused look on his face. Salt and pepper hair lay plastered to his skin until a careless hand followed the slow drawing away of his mask to tousle it into something resembling an actual style.
Engineer shifted slightly as he slung the mask over the headboard of the bed. Spy continued to look up at him, a picture of casual amusement as he found himself exposed to the same scrutiny as would be a particularly interesting piece of machinery.
A calloused finger came to rest against pale skin. Spy didn’t have much in the way of tan lines. Came with the territory when you covered yourself nearly from head to toe. But the ones he did have captured Engineer’s attention in all the right ways. Their gentle lines as they rounded the corners of the Frenchman’s face, highlighting piercing blue eyes and a wry mouth that always had a quip on the end of its tongue.
“Not in a hurry, are ya darlin’?” Engineer let his drawl flow with all the urgency of particularly cold molasses as he slowly traced the line around Spy’s left eye where white skin met tan.
It is good if we are attacked by the enemy, since it proves that we have drawn a clear line of demarcation between the enemy and ourselves. It is still better if the enemy attacks us wildly and paints us as utterly wicked and without a single virtue; it demonstrates that we have not only drawn a clear line of demarcation between the enemy and ourselves but achieved a great deal in our work.
Mao Zedong, “To Be Attacked by the Enemy is Not a Bad Thing But a Good Thing” (1939)
I dissuade Party members from putting down people who do not understand. Even people who are unenlightened and seemingly bourgeois should be answered in a polite way. Things should be explained to them as fully as possible. I was turned off by a person who did not want to talk to me because I was not important enough. Maurice just wanted to preach to the converted, who already agreed with him. I try to be cordial, because that way you win people over. You cannot win them over by drawing the line of demarcation, saying you are on this side and I am on the other; that shows a lack of consciousness. After the Black Panther Party was formed, I nearly fell into this error. I could not understand why people were blind to what I saw so clearly. Then I realized that their understanding had to be developed.
More than 37 million pieces of plastic debris have accumulated on a remote island in the South Pacific, thousands of miles from the nearest city, according to estimates from researchers who documented the accumulating trash.
Turtles get tangled in fishing line, and hermit crabs make their homes in plastic containers. The high-tide line is demarcated by litter. Small scraps of plastic are buried inches deep into the sandy beaches.
It’s the highest density of debris reported anywhere in the world, scientists say. Their research on trash accumulated at Henderson Island, largest of the the Pitcairn Islands, was published Monday in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
The island is uninhabited and visited by scientists only once or twice a decade, according to the University of Tasmania. But ocean currents bring a steady stream of plastic trash from around the world, from litter swept into storm drains to debris dropped off fishing boats.
There is a line of demarcation between Dan and Danny and people seem to be forgetting that. Yes, Dan is a very sexual person and we’re all very aware of that, but he isn’t the same person as Danny Sexbang. Danny is an exaggeration of Dan’s sexuality. In canon, Danny basically will fuck anything that moves and has a pulse and is willing, but Dan isn’t the same.
Seeing the constant comments about how “he totally fucked her” and how he basically went to AVN to get laid are disgusting, not only to him, but to the sex workers who are at the expo.
People can take pictures together and meet each other with no ulterior motives, and I hope people remember that. Please stop the overt sexualization of people. It’s disgusting.
I had a request for a little chronic pain suffering Spy. Who better than BLU Spy for such a dubious honor?
It was a rare thing on the BLU base. Normally filled with explosions and gunfire, at night everything was different. Far from the normal noises of a city, Teufort’s desert was almost eerie in its serene peacefulness. With the cacophony of day far removed, one’s mind had a tendency to focus on things that were better left alone.
The word was tinged with an edge of pain that was becoming such a regularity that it was bordering on banal. Kicking off the sheets, Spy dropped his legs over the edge of the bed as he reached for the cigarettes that sat waiting for him. Fingers trembling from a mixture of fatigue and pain held a quivering flame to the Gauloise, his eyes closing in not-sleep as he drew in the first lungful of smoky air. Setting the lighter down, he leaned forward to rest his elbows against his knees. The hand free from the effort of holding the cigarette wandered upwards to his neck.
It had been months since the flesh there was tender and raw, yet the wound pained him still. In a way it should have been expected, he supposed, save for the fact that he had no basis upon which to base that expectation.
How many men survived decapitation?
Beneath his fingers he could feel the unevenness of skin, the ghostly remains of the stitching that had supported his wayward head as it was reattached to the rest of him. Scar tissue standing in stark contrast to healthy pink (if a bit pale) skin that was the line of demarcation between what had always been his, and what had for a time been held by RED. A pulse beat strong and steady beneath the skin as if to reassure him that he was once again whole, but there was little comfort as prickling pain danced along his spine.
Medic had done his best, of course, but it was always tempting to assign a little of the blame to him. After all, he helped bring back people from the dead everyday. Surely a little long term decapitation couldn’t be that dissimilar. But the man had muttered about respawn cycles and scarring on the torso that Scout and Heavy had managed to retrieve and Spy had let it go. Medic was a competent doctor, but nowhere near the level of insane genius of his RED counterpart.
He sat back up, flexing his shoulders back as he let his head drop back and gently roll from side to side. Beneath the skin he could feel his muscles move as they had always done, with only a little more stiffness given that he was no longer the spry twenty-year old on the fields of France.
Then there it was. A dull throb that sat at the base of his neck where the broken man had been put back together again. He reached back to press his fingers against it, rubbing along his spine in the search of some relief. But relief was hard to come by. The ache felt nestled in between his vertiba, strung into his spinal column, and infuriatingly just out of reach. It seemed to throb in time with his pulse, and each traitorous beat of his heart sent a new wave of dull pain through him from tip to tail.
He had yet to determine what set it off. Was it temperature? Altitude? Fatigue? Phase of the moon? Whatever it was, he was in for at least a week of this.
The clock on the nightstand read 4:15 AM.
A sigh escaped him as he drew himself up to his feet. Sleep was not coming for him again tonight; he needed something to occupy his mind. He dressed quickly and quietly, pausing only to look at himself in the mirror to assure himself that he didn’t look too exhausted before pulling on his mask. There were reports that needed to be completed sitting on the desk in his smoking room that would do nicely as a distraction. Tucking his mask into the collar of his shirt, he readjusted his tie before heading to the door and stepping out into the hall.
He would continue on, as he always had. After all, what was life without a little pain?