Twenty-four hours from now as I type this, Peggy and I will be on a flight to California.  Her brother Dave is getting married on Saturday in Mendota, and after we attend the wedding, we'll be spending most of a week in Monterey.  Because the overall wiredness of the world is so much greater than it was just a few years ago, I don't expect to really be off the grid for any significant amount of time, and I suspect that had I not said anything none of you would even have noticed.  But I figured I should let everyone know anyway.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

I started thinking about Gatesongs, and realized two distressing things, based on the fact that according to remarks in the Arsenal list, each Gatesong will take him from one specific universe to another specific universe, and no others -- for instance, the song that brings him from the Sailor Moon step to DW8 will not connect anywhere else. 
1.  Every song identified as a possible Gatesong but not confirmed to open a Gate in some world must be checked again in every subsequent world.  This will probably get cumbersome.
2.  Unless he finds a few songs that take him to worlds he's already been ("This was the fourth song that'd dropped me in on Sana!  At least I never showed up before my previous time there."), he'll never be able to return to any of them unless he first finds a song that opens a Gate to Valdemar -- and then he'll have to retrace however many steps of the Walk if he wants, say, to visit the Potterverse once more.  Or can a song that created a Gate from World A to World B work in reverse?  In that case, he could backtrack the Walk ... but it'd be a long, drawn-out process getting from Warriors' World to, for instance, MegaTokyo.  
-----
Big Brother is watching you.  And damn, you are so bloody BORING.

Hey, just thought I'd let you know that the next several chapters on Pottermore just went live.  There isn't a ton of new info, but there is some.  The most substantially new information is on magical portraits (for instance, the interactivity of the portrait depends on the power of the wizard or witch painted, not the painter's skill.  Also, the Hogwarts Headmasters trained their portraits before their deaths.), and there are also some previously unknown tidbits about the Maurader's Map and the Firebolt (such as the name of the tracking spell involved in the Map, the Homonculous Charm, and that parts of a Firebolt are made by Goblins, respectively). 
-----
Stand between the Silver Crystal and the Golden Sea.
"Youngsters these days just have no appreciation for the magnificence of the legendary cucumber."  --Krityan Elder, Tales of Vesperia.

http://www.youtube.com/user/bliix/videos?view=0

Some of these are really good - Lady Gaga, Infernal, and surprisingly enough Brittney Spears sound amazing with metal instead of pop backup music. Others, not even bliix can save, but even the least of them I gave at least a minute or two, far more than the originals rate.
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows

Hermione looked out to the west across the Lake.  The crescentmoon hung low in the sky, a red Cheshire Cat's smile hoveringover the hills that surrounded Loch Nevis.  She wrapped her cloak
around herself more tightly and turned away from the cold wind
that whipped across the top of the Astronomy Tower.  How anyone
could snog out here for more than thirty seconds without becoming
an icicle completely escaped her.
Then again, wasn't that what warming charms were for?  Among
other things, that is.
She stood looking out over the waters of the Lake, as black as
the night sky above, for almost a minute more before nodding
briskly to herself and pushing forward with her purpose here
tonight.  Stepping up to the battlement which ringed the top of
the tower, Hermione firmly grasped two of the merlons and pulled
herself up into the crenel between them.  She glanced down and a
moment of vertigo seized her.
Tearing her eyes away from the distant ground, she looked up tothe sky once more.  "Too late for second-guessing," she
whispered, and the words were torn away by the wind, never to beheard.  "Too late to go back to sleep.  It's time to trust my
instincts, close my eyes, and leap..."  Murmuring a single word,she tapped her breastbone with her wand.
And then Hermione Granger stepped off the top of the AstronomyTower.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

http://www.tmz.com/2013/04/08/annette-f ... ead-at-70/
___________________________
"I've always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific." - George Carlin

Back home, I knew of and had frequented easily a dozen suppliers
of martial arts equipment in and about London, from little shops
catering to individual artists through general sports stores to 
wholesalers who dealt in bulk purchases for dojos and schools --
places like Blitz and Shogun International and UK Fitness 
Supplies.  In my role as a combat trainer I liked to do my own
browsing and selection when it came to the tools I used, and had
developed a collection of favorite establishments.  

And wonder of wonders, most of them existed in some form or 
another in this timeline -- something I had gone out of my way to
confirm during my week at 12 Grimmauld Place even though my class 
planning hadn't gotten anywhere near needing them by that point.  
They didn't have the *really* high-end stuff -- apparently the 
"no metahumans" thing in this world included the more extreme 
martial arts styles and masteries -- but what they did have was 
more than adequate for my needs.

Unfortunately, the particular one I wanted to hit was a 
wholesaler with annoyingly tight hours:  9 to 5 on weekdays and
9 to noon on Saturdays.  While I could probably have tried to get
to London immediately after the end of classes one afternoon, it
really wouldn't have given me any time at all to really do the
shopping and bargaining I needed.  So when Saturday breakfast
came, I reminded Albus that I'd be out of the castle much of the 
day before speeding through my meal as quickly as I could and 
still be polite.

Once back in my rooms after breakfast I tugged off my robes to 
reveal the jeans and T-shirt I'd worn underneath ("Ask me about 
my vow of silence!" it read today), and then pulled on both my 
leather jacket and my helmet.  Activated by the pressure switches 
in its lining, my helmet was powered on and fully booted up by 
the time I had the foam pads centered over my ears and my goggles 
seated properly.

Now, as I've said elsewhere, I could cover the distance between 
Hogwarts and London on my bike in less than a half-hour, if I 
really wanted to and didn't mind leaving a sonic boom in my wake.
But in addition to being rather noticeable, it also took half an
hour that I didn't want to spare.  (Yeah, I'm an impatient 
sunovabitch.  Wanna make something of it?)

So I planned on using a different mode of travel.

"System, load song 'Lucky 4 You'.  Play song," I said to the 
computer in my helmet.

   "You always said that I have multiple personalities
    I bounce around somewhere between my dreams and reality..."

I don't know why people are always surprised to find that I use
(and *like*) country-western music.  Yeah, sure, a lot of my
repertoire is based on classic and contemporary rock of all 
types, but I'm hardly *limited* to it -- even if that "Rolling
Stone" reporter *did* dub me "Heavy Meta" in the "Jukebox Hero" 
article.  Pick the right songs, and bands like SHeDAISY and 
Little Big Town can be both very useful and a lot of fun.  But 
some people turn their noses up at country music.

   "So where'd you dig up the audacity 
    To ask of me
    How we've all been doing
    Since you broke our hearts?
    Well, so far..."

Case in point:  according to "Playcount" field in the metadata, 
I've used this song almost two hundred times, but...

"Ooof.  Again country song about woman?  In first person yet?  To 
summon *me*?" Skitz's current personality grunted from behind me.  
The deep, guttural edges of the Russian accent coloring his 
speech identified him immediately to me.  "*Really*, Douglas.  
Can you not find more appropriate way to call us up?"

I turned in place and controlled my instinctive urge to punch him
in the nose.  Just my luck that his simulacrum would manifest as 
the persona I liked least.  "Hello, L'Reaux." 

Yes, a French name for a Russian persona.  I don't understand it,
either. 

He was dressed in the usual outfit his personalities had agreed 
to wear while on duty:  a vaguely military-cut black shirt and 
pants with an inordinate number of pockets.  If he hadn't spoken, 
I would have recognized him as L'Reaux from the antique Russian 
cap and the fascia he wore (the fabric of both crumpled and 
creased from decades of jamming them into pockets when *not*
L'Reaux) along with the ornate silver cross hanging from a chain 
around his neck.

   "Number 5 just cries a river a minute
    7 wants to tie you up and drown you in it..."

Skitz didn't really shapechange to reflect each of his many
personalities, but the sometimes radical differences in posture,
body language and, well, attitude, often made it seem like he 
did.  This particular personality somehow made Skitz's athletic,
dark-haired form seem small and somewhat weak.  Which he wasn't 
by any means -- back when he had been Skitz's current incarnation, 
L'Reaux had actually had a well-deserved reputation for inhuman 
endurance and strength.

He had also had a reputation for thoroughly messing with people's
heads, as well.  Which he kept up even after death.  For example,
"L'Reaux" (obviously) wasn't his real name.  Well, the name he'd 
used when he was the *live* Skitz.  He called himself that partly 
to hide his former identity from the unaware, but also partly for 
the joy of confusing and deceiving people.

Did I mention that he was also a first-class pain in the ass?  (I
know, I know -- pot, kettle, apparent reflectivity indices -- but
I mean, *really*.  Worse than me.)

L'Reaux tilted his head and studied me with his usual intense
stare.  "I suppose you *want* something.  You would not call 
otherwise," he growled.  He tilted his head and twitched a lip in 
a subtle little self-satisfied smirk.  "Of course, there was time 
you summoned up Margaret for little romantic..."

"L'Reaux!" I snarled.

He scowled in annoyance at me.  "Oh, *be* that way."

   "Yeah, 14 just wants to say 'so long, bygones'.
    32 wants to do things to you that'll make you blush..."

"I need a gate to London, L'Reaux," I ground out between gritted
teeth.  "Woolwich.  As close as you can get me to Duke of 
Wellington Avenue, in the Royal Arsenal area."

"What's in it for me?" he scowled.  

"What's in it for you is freedom from pain."  I looked down on 
him -- even though we really were about the same height he 
*seemed* shorter -- clenched my fists, and did my best to be 
intimidating.  "If you *don't* open a gate for me, I will beat 
you to a pulp, and keep doing so until the song ends and you 
vanish.  The entire remainder of your virtual life will consist 
of the most exquisite agony."  

Not that it would really work -- the threat of actual violence 
would prompt L'Reaux to abandon control of the body, allowing 
another of Skitz's personalities to swap in.  (L'Reaux had an 
almost completely overwhelming aversion to physical harm -- "Try 
gettink shlowly killt by incompetent asshassins," he had 
confessed to us one drunken evening at the Red Lion when I had 
teased him about his fear of injury.  "Buildsh character, da?  
Next time idiot ashks you 'what worsht can happen?', you 
*know!*")  Then again, I got along well with most of Skitz's 
other selves; whoever took control would almost certainly be 
willing to open a gate for me.

I wonder what it says about me that my subconscious mind's 
simulation of Skitz defaulted to the persona I liked least.

He seemed to shrink down even further at the threat.  "Okay, 
tovarishch, if you're going to be like *that* about it."  He 
waved his hand palm up.  A square hole in space-time three meters 
tall by three wide opened, revealing an alley with a sun-bathed 
city street beyond.  "Behold."

   "10 would key the El Camino that you love so much
    And there ain't nobody wants to mess with 23."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.  "Thank you, 
L'Reaux," I growled before I stepped through to London.  I don't 
care that he's part of some kind of eternal champion.  He's an 
asshole, and he gets on my nerves.  

*I let Hexe bully me about, soplyak.  She has nobility you lack.  
Next time ask like comrade.  Be grateful I don't send dozen tons 
of mud from bottom of Thames to follow you.*  The telepathic 
message came in quickly.  Of course, L'Reaux *had* to get in the 
last word.

As the gate snapped shut behind me and vanished with a little 
"pop", I looked around me.

"That son of a bitch... this is Battersea!" I yelled.

   "Oh, lucky 4 you, tonight I'm just me..."

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

"They're not full psychers. That's the main thing."

The God Emperor of Mankind looked at the report. "I can see that. How are they performing these feats?"

"Whatever this gene is, it causes them to exhibit one, and usually only one, psychic talent. But, and this is important, these talents are usually not subject to the Warp."

The Emperor looked up at that. "That's impossible."

"That's true, which is why I said 'usually'. Whatever it is that causes these talents, it seems to lock into one form; any other talents are usually either slight variations on a central theme, or are secondary powers of the same nature. The talent is so focused, that any attempt to use it for any other purpose fails. Warp Entities, even as focused on one thing as they are, rely on a certain degree of variability to sustain themselves, which these 'Xavier's Children' don't have. In other words, normally, they're only slightly more vulnerable to the Warp than ordinary humans."

The Emperor paused. "And how was this gene sneaked into the human population so widely?"

"Whoever this Xavier was, he was obviously quite cunning, and very desperate. Over a thirty-year period, he sends children with the gene to as many planets as we can find..."

"Except one." Said the Emperor.

"Yes, except Earth. Anyway, he seems to have focused on places that would accept an unexplained orphan, which actually doesn't narrow things down a lot. Given the children were all below the age of four, and usually much younger then that--"

"It was a matter of mass, not of age." The Emperor volunteered.

"Well, that explains that. Unless you'd care to offer more of what you know about this Xavier?"

"I have the 'why' of what he did, not the full 'what' of what he did." The Emperor said. "That's why you're here."

"Ah. Well, given the children were all so young, and they generally resembled the local population, they tended to be absorbed into whatever society they were found in. Whatever Xavier did to his 'children', it caused them, and their immediate children, to possess but not exhibit the gene. That, mixed with the vagaries of genetics, the facts that not every person possessing the gene exhibits it, most of the powers are low-key, and that the gene only expresses itself in adolescence, and the result was that it took at least two and a half generations, and usually more, before most planets noticed anything was amiss, and even then, they were frequently classified as merely low-level psychers."

The Emperor concluded, "Thus leading to our current problem: What to do about them."

----

Thanks
Luc "Obvious Crossover Method" French

Ride Like the Wind - Christopher Cross
It is the night My body's weak I'm on the run No time to sleep I've got to ride Ride like the wind To be free again
And I've got such a long way to go To make it to the border of Mexico So I'll ride like the wind Ride like the wind
I was born the son of a lawless man Always spoke my mind with a gun in my hand Lived nine lives Gunned down ten Gonna ride like the wind
And I've got such a long way to go To make it to the border of Mexico So I'll ride like the wind Ride like the wind
Accused and tried and told to hang I was nowhere in sight when the church bells rang Never was the kind to do as I was told Gonna ride like the wind before I get old
It is the night My body's weak I'm on the run No time to sleep I've got to ride Ride like the wind To be free again
And I've got such a long way to go To make it to the border of Mexico So I'll ride like the wind Ride like the wind
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Effect: Doug conjures a copy of his motorcycle and his clothing transforms into biker leathers.
----------------------------------------------------

"Anyone can be a winner if their definition of victory is flexible enough." - The DM of the Rings XXXV

President Justin Beiber calls on heavy metal band Beyond Dishonor to rescue pop idol Katy Perry when she is abducted by aliens.

Filmed in SubparMarionation!

--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows