Checking if the equations are quadratic or not

Stages in the Sale of a Property Stage 1 – Getting to Instruction • Initial contact with the vendor: need to check the following: type of property, contact details of vendor, address of property/Eircode and purpose of the contact - sale or valuation? If a sale, does the vendor need a quick sale? Qualify the lead i.e. is the vendor buying another property? If an investment property, is the tenant in situ? Check if there is a folio number available and confirm the ownership of the property. Schedule the viewing. • Pre-viewing: Set up a file & record all info from initial contact on CRM system. Check the Property Price Register to help get a general idea of property valuation (subject to viewing, helps to display knowledge of area/market and set expectations for the vendor). Nature of property may affect pricing e.g. starter home vs. larger property with vendor seeking to downsize. Consideration for comparables may include similar/same location, size and condition of property, availability and type of parking, layout of property, plot size, orientation of garden, extensions undertaken etc. Nature of market conditions, state of wider economy, cost of capital and availability of credit may also be factors. • Appraisal/viewing: Bring an advertising pack/sales & marketing brochures. Walk through property with client, note nice features/selling points for the brochure, let the client talk about upgrades/specific features of the property. It is very important to listen to the vendor and build rapport. Confirm property details e.g. condition and layout, plot size, orientation of garden. Check for certificates of compliance for any extensions, planning permissions for conversions, right of way if applicable etc. Check if a BER available/provide details for approved assessors. Demonstrate your/the practice’s professional expertise, justify why you should get the instruction, discuss recent local sales and give your potential valuation. Discuss the sales fee, marketing fee and any additional charges e.g. professional photography, drone footage, virtual tours (walkthrough video, Matterport etc.) Ask how the vendor heard about you/your practice and why are they considering you for the sale. Where appropriate offer advice to help vendor increase potential sales price. (If possible, leave with signed Property Services Agreement/Letter of Engagement.) Thank you, send/email market appraisal, any queries/questions do get in touch and let the vendor know that we’ll be in touch in coming days. • Post appraisal – letter sent that pm/next morning with market appraisal; diary note to follow up. Check that market appraisal letter received and check for questions. If did not get sale, find out why not/debrief. If get the sale, email confirmation of instruction. Once PSRA sent and LOE returned signed = stage 2. Other details required – ID, proof of address, proof of ownership/title, solicitor details, BER certificate (refer to assessor if not available). All these should be uploaded to CRM. Stage 2 – Getting to ‘Sale Agreed’ Set up appointment to measure & photograph, note any special features e.g., upgraded kitchen, south-facing garden. Provide ideas for improving sales potential (declutter, painting, tidy garden etc. Check if has vendor potential buyers in mind already e.g., relations, friends, other parties interested. Seek vendor approval for photos/text of brochure. Check for access (tenants in situ/working from home etc) and confirm viewing times. If given a key for viewings – tag it! Check alarm codes & whether a sign is allowed on the property. Bring to market – upload to all websites e.g., daft/my home, in house websites and create window display. Match the property against your internal database of potential purchasers /CRM system. Set up appointments for viewings on CRM or arrange for open viewings. Confirm viewings with vendor & purchaser. Turn on lights, open windows, secure valuables, leave out brochures & business cards, bring viewings sheets to keep record of attendees. Introduce yourself and get attendee details. Let people view the property and address any questions. Point out key features. Record questions to be answered and any feedback from viewers. Ask are they selling property? Let viewers know of offers already received. Lock up/alarm property/close windows. Provide vendor with feedback on viewings - number of viewers / questions raised/overall reaction to property. Offers should be confirmed in writing & upload to on CRM/ offers will be input by bidders onto online bidding platforms ‘Proof of funds’ required for offers in some practices. Successful bidder will be chosen by vendor, who might want quick sale/no chain or prefer the highest bidder. Booking deposit will be sought from successful bidder. The amount varies by practice but must cover fees. Sales Advice Notice/letter should be sent to both solicitors (and may be cc’d to vendor/buyer or notify both that SAN have gone out). Booking deposit receipt should be issued. The BER certificate and report should go to the solicitor. Send requests for docs/info to successful bidder including steps they need to take to progress sale e.g., organise the bank valuation and/or schedule the survey. Once the deposit is paid the property is Sale Agreed, inform other bidders, and update all websites/sales board etc. Stage 3 – Getting to closing Access should be organised for the bank valuation/survey. Stay in touch with both solicitors ‘contract-chasing’ i.e., check when contracts are issued, signed and queries answered. Legal searches undertaken by the solicitors may include checking boundaries, land registry, title, rights of way, compliance certs etc. When contracts are signed 10% purchase price/booking deposit should be sent to the vendor’s solicitor. Once all queries satisfied = drawdown of mortgage/funding, house/life insurance in place. Title deeds will be requested once contract is signed. Decide final closing date. Check that the property taxes have been paid. Check that vendor has vacated the property. When vacant, conduct the final walkthrough and take final readings (MPRNs ). Check with solicitor if the drawn down funds h, and once received the solicitor gives authorisation to the estate agent to release the keys. The agent will do up invoice, send the balance of funds to solicitor and provide gift to purchaser. Finally remove sign, mark as sold on CRM, seek testimonials, upload to social media and close a/c on CRM

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Name: Marco Ramirez - “I Am Not Batman” TW: language It’s the middle of the night. And the sky is glowing like mad radioactive red. And if you squint, you could maybe see the moon through a thick layer of cigarette smoke and airplane exhaust that covers the entire city like mosquito net that won’t let the angels in. And if you look up high enough you could see me-standing on the edge of a eighty seven story building. And up there-a place for gargoyles and broken clock towers that have stayed still and dead for maybe like a hundred years-up there is me. And I’m freakin Batman. And I gots Bat-mobiles and Bat-a-rangs and freakin Bat-caves like for real, and all it takes is a broom closet or a back room or a fire escape and Danny’s hand-me-down jeans are gone. And my navy blue polo shirt? – The one that looks kinda good on me but has a hole on it near the butt from when it got snagged on the chain linked fence behind Arturo’s but it isn’t even a big deal cause I tuck that part in and its like all good? –that blue polo shirt? – It’s gone too. And I get like, like transformational. And nobody pulls out a belt and whips Batman for talking back –-Or for not talking back –And nobody calls Batman simple –- Or stupid –- Or skinny –- And nobody fires Batman’s brother from the Eastern Taxi Company ‘cause they was making cutbacks, neither, ‘cause they got nothing but respect, and not like afraid-respect. Just like respect-respect. ‘Cause nobody’s afraid of you. Cause Batman doesn’t mean nobody harm. Ever. Cause all Batman really wants to do is save people and maybe pay Abuela’s bills one day and die happy and maybe get like mad famous. For real.…And kill the Joker. Tonight, like most nights, I’m all alone. And I’m watching…And I’m waiting… Like a eagle. Or like a –no, yea, like a eagle. And my cape is flappin’ in the wind (‘cause it’s freakin’ long), and my pointy ears are on, and that mask that covers like half my face is on too, and I got like bulletproof stuff all in my chest so no one could hurt me and nobody – nobody – is gonna come between Batman, And Justice. From where I am I could hear everything. Somewhere in the city there’s a old lady picking Styrofoam leftovers up outta a trash can and she’s putting a piece of sesame chicken someone spit out into her own mouth. And somewhere there’s a doctor with a whack haircut in a black lab coat trying to find a cure for the diseases that are gonna make us all extinct for real one day. And somewhere there’s a man, a man in a janitor’s uniform, stumbling home drunk and dizzy after spending half his paycheck on forty-ounce bottles of twist-off beer and the other half on a four hour visit to some lady’s house on a street where the lights have all been shot out by people who’d rather do what they do, in this city, in the dark. And half a block away from JanitorMan there’s a group of good-for-nothings who don’t know no better waiting to beat JanitorMan with rusted bicycle chains and imitation Lousiville Sluggers, and if they don’t find a cent on him – which they won’t – they’ll just pound at him till the muscles in their arms start burning, till there’s no more teeth to crack out. But they don’t count on me. They don’t count on no dark night (with a stomach full of grocery store brand macaroni-and-cheese and cut up Vienna sausages), Cause they’d rather believe I don’t exist, And from eighty-seven stories up I could hear one of the good-for-nothings say “Gimmethecash” real fast (like that) just “Gimmethefuckingcash” and I see JAnitorMan mumble something in drunk language and turn pale and from eighty-seven stories up I could hear his stomach trying to hurl its way out of his Dickies. So I swoop down like and fast and I’m like darkness. I’m like SWOOSH –- And I throw a Bat-a-rang at the one naked lightbulb –- And they’re all like “whoa-motherfucker-who-just-turned-out-the-lights?” –“What’s that over there?” –-“What?” –- “Gimme whatchou got old man” –- “Did anybody hear that?!” –- “No, really” –- “There ain’t. No. Bat.” – But then –- One out of three good-for-nothings gets it to the head! And number Two swings blindly into the dark cape before him but before his fist hits anything I grab a trash can lid and –-- Right into the gut, and number One comes back with a jump-kick but I know judo-karate too so I’m like –-- Twice –-- but before I can do any more damage suddenly we all hear a CLIC – CLIC –And suddenly everything gets quiet And the one good-for-nothing left standing grips a handgun and aims straight up, like he’s holding Jesus hostage, like he’s threatening maybe to blow a hole in the moon. And the good-for-nothing who got it to the head who tried to jump-kick me and the other good-for-nothing who got it in the gut is both scrambling back away from the dark figure before him. And the drunk man the JanitorMan is huddled in a corner, praying to Saint Anthony ‘cause that’s the only one he could remember. And there’s me, Eyes glowing white, cape blowing softly in the wind. Bulletporoof chest heaving. My heart beating right through it in a Morse code for “fuck with me, just once, come on, just try.” And the one good-for-nothing left standing, the one with the handgun, he laughs he lowers his arm, and he points it at me and gives the moon a break, and he aims it right between my pointy ears, like goalposts and he’s special teams. And JanitorMan is still calling Saint Anthony but he ain’t pickin’ up, And for a second it seems like…maybe I’m gonna lose. Naw. SHOO – SHOO! FUACATA! --“Don’t kill me man!” –“SNAP! – Wrist CRACK – Neck – SLASH! – Skin – meets – acid – “AHH!!” –And he’s on the floor. And I’m standing over him. And I got the gun in MY hands now. And I hate guns, I hate holding ‘em cause I’m Batman, and –Batman don’t like guns ‘cause his parents got iced by guns a long time ago – but for just a second, my eyes glow white, and I hold this thing, for I could speak to the good-for-nothing in a language he maybe understands…CLIC – CLIC…And the good-for-nothings become good-for-disappearing into whatever toxic-waste-chemical-sludge-shit-hole they crawled out of. And it’s just me and JanitorMan. And I pick him up. And I wipe sweat and cheap perfume off his forehead. And he begs me not to hurt him and I grab him tight by his JanitorMan shirt collar and I pull him to my face, and he’s taller than me, but the cape helps so he listens when I look him straight in the eyes and I say two words to him: “Go home.” And he does, checking behind his shoulder every ten feet. And I SWOOSH from building to building on his way there, ‘cause I know where he lives. And I watch his hands where he lives. And I watch his hands tremble as he pulls out his keychain and opens the door to his building. And I’m back in bed before he even walks in through the front door. And I hear him turn on the faucet and pour himself a glass of warm tap water And he puts the glass back in the sink. And I hear his footsteps, And they get slower as they get to my room. And he creaks my door open like mad slow. And he takes a step in, which he never does. And he’s staring off into nowhere, his face the color of sidewalks in summer, and I act like I’m just waking up, and I say, “What’s up, Pop?” And JanitorMan says nothing to me. But I see, in the dark, I see his arms go limp and his head turns back, like towards me, and he lifts it for I could see his face, For I could see his eyes, And his cheeks is dripping but not with sweat. And he just stands there, breathing, like he remembers my eyes glowing white. Like he remembers my bulletproof chest. Like he remembers he’s my pop. And for a long time I don’t say nothing. And he turns around, hand on the doorknob, and he ain’t looking up my way but I hear him mumble two words to me. “I’m sorry.” And I lean over and open my window just a crack.… If you look up high enough you could see me. And from where I am? I could hear everything.

1. Which factor is most crucial to verify first when selecting an ICT resource for instruction? A) Content alignment with the textbook B) Alignment with learning objectives C) The resource's popularity among peers D) Cost-effectiveness of the resource 2. When evaluating ICT resources, what is the purpose of checking cultural relevance? A) Ensuring it aligns with current trends B) Making sure it's accessible to all students C) Reflecting the diverse backgrounds of students D) Avoiding resources that are too complex 3. Which key aspect determines the accessibility of an ICT resource? A) How popular the resource is with students B) Its compatibility with existing technology C) Cost of using the resource D) Engagement levels it provides 4. In assessing content quality, why is accuracy important? A) To make resources easier to use B) To ensure alignment with curriculum standards C) To enhance visual appeal D) To provide a more engaging experience 5. Why is it essential for an ICT resource to offer interactivity? A) To improve download speeds B) To promote active learning and engagement C) To meet all technical requirements D) To minimize costs associated with the resource 6. What should be assessed regarding the usability of an ICT resource? A) How much it costs compared to other resources B) How easily students can navigate and use it C) How interactive it is D) Its level of engagement 7. Which of the following best describes the importance of feedback mechanisms in ICT resources? A) They reduce the need for grading B) They allow for automatic updates C) They provide immediate feedback to enhance learning D) They increase the cost-effectiveness of the resource 8. What is an advantage of resources that are scalable and flexible? A) They can adapt to different class sizes or teaching methods B) They are often free C) They do not require technical support D) They are easier to assess 9. Which tool would you use to gain structured feedback from students about an ICT resource? A) Rubrics B) Peer reviews C) Online review platforms D) Student feedback 10. When is a checklist most beneficial in evaluating an ICT resource? A) To provide structured guidelines for scoring B) For highlighting key features and requirements C) To measure student engagement D) To analyze technical support needs 11. Which of these tools helps teachers gather insights from colleagues on a resource's effectiveness? A) Online review platforms B) Student feedback C) Peer review D) Rubrics 12. In the planning stage, how can ICT benefit lesson development? A) By providing only audio resources B) By assisting in research for updated content C) By reducing the need for lesson objectives D) By limiting content access 13. During content delivery, how does ICT enhance the lesson experience? A) By allowing remote control of student devices B) By adding interactivity and visual elements C) By only focusing on text-based resources D) By limiting engagement 14. What is a key advantage of using ICT-based assessment tools? A) Reducing the need for reflection B) Tracking student progress and providing feedback C) Replacing lesson objectives D) Focusing solely on multiple-choice questions 15. Which ICT feature is most beneficial in the reflection stage of a lesson? A) Technical support options B) Feedback mechanisms for immediate assessment C) Tools for students to document learning, like online portfolios D) Interactive quizzes 16. How does ICT aid in skill development? A) By encouraging only memorization B) By fostering digital literacy and critical thinking C) By minimizing interactions with the teacher D) By restricting content variety 17. What does a cost-effective ICT resource entail? A) Being free of charge for all students B) Offering a good balance of educational value and cost C) Having the most features available D) Minimizing interactivity to reduce expenses 18. Why is teacher training crucial in ICT integration? A) To learn troubleshooting for technical issues B) To help only in the planning stage C) To reduce the need for ICT support D) To assess the cultural relevance of ICT tools 19. What challenge might schools face in accessing ICT resources? A) Lack of teacher motivation B) Availability of devices and internet connectivity C) High levels of student engagement D) Excessive interactivity 20. Why should teachers regularly evaluate the ICT resources they use? A) To determine if students enjoy using them B) To assess cost-effectiveness only C) To ensure resources remain effective and up-to-date D) To simplify lesson planning

RPMS Quiz: Quality vs. Efficiency 1. A teacher spends five hours creating a highly interactive digital game for a single 40-minute lesson. This is an example of prioritizing: • A) Quality over Efficiency • B) Efficiency over Quality • C) Administrative Competence • D) Resource Management • Hint: The focus is on high-level engagement, but the time investment is very high. 2. Which of the following best describes "Efficiency" in the context of the RPMS? • A) Submitting all MOVs and reports on or before the deadline with minimal errors. • B) Ensuring 100% of students pass the quarterly examination. • C) Creating the most aesthetically pleasing portfolio in the department. • D) Conducting home visits for every single student in a class of 50. • Hint: Look for the option that emphasizes timeliness and resource use. 3. Using a "template" or a "reusable slide deck" for lesson planning is a strategy to improve: • A) Efficiency • B) Instructional Diversity • C) Subject Matter Mastery • D) Classroom Discipline • Hint: Templates reduce the time spent on repetitive formatting. 4. If a teacher provides detailed, personalized feedback to every student but submits the grades two weeks late, they have achieved: • A) High Quality, Low Efficiency • B) Low Quality, High Efficiency • C) High Quality, High Efficiency • D) Low Quality, Low Efficiency • Hint: The work itself is excellent, but the timing is poor. 5. Which tool improves Efficiency without sacrificing the Quality of assessment data? • A) Automated Google Forms for multiple-choice quizzes. • B) Giving everyone a passing grade to save time on checking. • C) Writing long paragraphs of feedback on 200 paper-based essays. • D) Skipping assessments entirely to finish the syllabus faster. • Hint: Look for a balance where technology handles the "busy work." 6. When discussing Quality in your RPMS portfolio, which "Means of Verification" (MOV) is most appropriate? • A) Sample of student work with constructive teacher comments. • B) A logbook showing you arrived at school at 7:00 AM daily. • C) A certificate for attending a 1-hour webinar. • D) A photo of your organized teacher's cabinet. • Hint: Quality is evidenced by the impact on student learning. 7. The concept of "Doing the right things" (Effectiveness) represents: • A) Quality • B) Efficiency • C) Speed • D) Compliance • Hint: "Doing the right things" is about results; "Doing things right" is about process. 8. How does "Efficiency" help a teacher maintain "Quality" in the long run? • A) It prevents burnout by optimizing workload, leaving energy for creative teaching. • B) It allows the teacher to take more side jobs. • C) It ensures the teacher never has to talk to parents. • D) It proves that the teacher is smarter than their peers. • Hint: Consider the relationship between teacher well-being and performance. 9. If a teacher's RPMS rating for Quality is 5 (Outstanding) but Efficiency is 2 (Fair), what is the most likely reason? • A) The teacher produces excellent work but often misses deadlines. • B) The teacher is very fast but makes many mistakes in their reports. • C) The teacher is both slow and produces poor results. • D) The students are failing despite the teacher being very organized. • Hint: Check the gap between the high-standard output and the slow delivery. 10. What is the ultimate goal of balancing Quality and Efficiency in the PPST-RPMS? • A) To achieve sustainable professional excellence that benefits the learners. • B) To get a higher salary increase only. • C) To impress the School Head during the observation. • D) To finish the school year with the least amount of work possible. • Hint: It's about long-term growth for both teacher and student. ________________________________________ Answer Key: 1. A | 2. A | 3. A | 4. A | 5. A | 6. A | 7. A | 8. A | 9. A | 10. A ________________________________________

In our classroom, we believe in teamwork and responsibility. That's why we have different classroom jobs that students can take on to help make our learning environment run smoothly. Each job comes with specific tasks and responsibilities, and it is important for the students to understand the requirements and expectations for each role. Let's take a closer look at the different classroom jobs available to our sixth-grade students: 1. Teacher's Assistant: The Teacher's Assistant plays a crucial role in our classroom. Their main responsibility is to remind the teacher of important tasks that need to be done throughout the day. This includes taking attendance, passing out papers to go home, and any other "do not forget" tasks that the teacher might need help with. The Teacher's Assistant needs to be organized, responsible, and reliable. 2. Supplies Monitor: The Supplies Monitor is responsible for ensuring that all classroom supplies are put away neatly. This includes making sure that pencils, pens, markers, and other materials are returned to their designated places after each use. The Supplies Monitor needs to be attentive to detail and have good organizational skills. 3. Technology Assistant: With our use of technology in the classroom, the Technology Assistant plays a vital role. They help students and guest teachers who might not be tech-savvy with chromebooks and other devices. The Technology Assistant should be comfortable with technology, patient, and willing to help others. 4. Room Monitor: The Room Monitor is in charge of checking desks and floors before lunch dismissal. They make sure that everything is clean and organized before we leave the classroom. The Room Monitor needs to be responsible, observant, and take pride in maintaining a tidy learning environment. 5. Line Leader: The Line Leader has the important task of leading the class and setting the pace when we transition from one place to another. They need to walk in a straight line, follow instructions, and be a positive role model for their peers. The Line Leader should be reliable, responsible, and demonstrate good leadership skills. 6. Messenger: The Messenger is responsible for taking things to the office or picking up items that the teacher needs. They need to be trustworthy, reliable, and able to follow instructions. The Messenger should also have good time management skills to ensure tasks are completed promptly. 7. Host/Hostess: When visitors come to our classroom and need assistance while the teacher is busy, the Host/Hostess is there to help. They greet visitors, provide directions, and offer any necessary support. The Host/Hostess should have good communication skills, be friendly, and approachable. 8. Guest Teacher Guide: In the event of a guest teacher, this student will help them take attendance and assist the teacher with anything they need help with. The Guest Teacher Guide needs to be responsible, reliable, and have good communication skills. They should also be respectful and supportive of the guest teacher. 9. Researcher: During whole-class discussions, if there is a question or topic that needs further exploration, the Researcher steps in. They use the internet to look up information and provide additional insights. The Researcher should have good research skills, be able to navigate online resources, and share accurate information with the class. 10. Secretary: The Secretary takes down notes when directed in the class notebook and collects any papers for absent students, placing them in their designated file. They need to be organized, attentive, and have good handwriting. It is important to note that all of these roles come with certain requirements. To be considered for any of these jobs, you must be punctual and have good attendance. This means arriving to school and class on time every day. Additionally, honesty and reliability are crucial traits for anyone taking on these responsibilities. By working together and taking on these classroom jobs, we can create an environment that is conducive to learning, organized, and supportive. Each of these roles plays a vital part in our classroom community, and we appreciate the efforts of all students who take on these responsibilities. Let's make our classroom a place where everyone feels valued and can thrive!

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