Times are in SLT.
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Computer Science W/ Professor Danzig, Phyton basics with Renpy
June 11 @ 11:00 am - 12:00 pm
Learn Phyton creating videogames, fun and easy.
Times are in SLT.
Learn Phyton creating videogames, fun and easy.
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Word on the street... The rain hammered down on Hathian’s cracked streets, washing whispers of yesterday’s chaos into every alleyway. Word is, a bold woman made off with more than just a blunt—snatching fast and disappearing into the storm, leaving a wet man cursing after her. Inside the smoke-filled sex shop, tensions bubbled over—debates about loyalty and prejudice tangled with offers of weed and warnings of migrating alligators slithering closer with the coming storm. And out by the bar, soaked souls clung to whiskey as if it were lifeboats, swapping stories of looting and survival, while shadows of the armed fugitive drifted just out of sight, turning the city’s fragile peace into a powder keg waiting to blow.
Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at Laveau’s edge, they say the woman in the damp dress shuddered under the low light, hips riding the heat like the bayou’s swift current, moans swallowed by clinking glasses and the bar’s hum. A man’s eyes gleamed, tongue tracing secrets as bold as the unicorn floatie someone joked about, claiming dibs if the streets flood again. ░▒ ▒░ But the fog’s thicker than lust tonight—whispers coil through crooked alleys and the silent docks, where syndicate shadows twitch over a strange shipment. The bayou’s holding its breath; something’s stirring beyond the usual rot, and the streets might drown in more than rain when hurricane season hits at midnight. ░▒ ░▒░ From the balcony, the woman who watches—her gaze sharp despite the sweat—tightens lips, eyes flicking to the door as if waiting for a ghost or a lie. ░▒ ✨ https://news.backwaters.sl
Rumors on campus... The rain hammered Columtreal’s mossy paths, turning whispers into roars beneath the asylum’s watchful eyes. Yesterday, shadows stretched long over the campus—where pleasure twisted with menace behind closed doors. Rumor has it a brutal liaison erupted near the gym—less about friendship, more a violent game of control and broken trust. Meanwhile, a storm gathered, not just in the skies, but in fractured alliances at the shelter, where chess and whispered threats danced. And off-campus, the Witch Way Alley hummed with murmurs of powder and power, rumors of a pact forged in white lines and dark promises. Columtreal’s secrets are never silent for long.
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