Abstract
The high-yielding Cabernet Sauvignon grape variety is susceptible to viral diseases, which may influence the agrobiological and taste characteristics of its quality. The objectives of this study are to identify a Cabernet Sauvignon variety of clonal origin from the south of Ukraine, detect the infection of plants of this variety with harmful grape viruses incorporated into the certification system of planting materials, determine the causative agent of viral diseases by biomolecular methods, and establish the nucleotide sequence of the 2CCP envelope protein gene of detected grape viruses. As a result of phytosanitary survey, some Cabernet Sauvignon grape bushes of clonal origin with symptoms of grapevine fanleaf virus (CFLV) and grapevine leaf roll-associated virus (GLRaV) have been revealed. The results of grape virus identification by the real-time reverse-transcription polymerase chain reaction (RT-PCR) have demonstrated the presence of grapevine fanleaf virus in grape plants with infection symptoms. As a result of sequencing, it has been established that the nucleotide sequence of an isolate from the Cabernet Sauvignon variety is very close to the samples from regions geographically distant from Ukraine, first of all, the United States, Iran, and France. Based on microsatellite analysis, it has been proven that specifically the Cabernet Sauvignon variety of clonal origin is infected with grapevine fanleaf virus. The obtained 2CCP envelope protein gene sequence has been deposited with the international GenBank database with no. MN072356.1.
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FANFIC: against all odds
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Summary: A moment of respite from running away. (Piqua Mystery Dungeon)
A/N: alternate title: i listened to run away fugitives and wrote this in a blind haze--
Something quick based on posts I made about how the fugitive arc in the PMD AU would go (see this, this, and this). Might revisit this and do other scenes, but I make no promises.
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It had been a rough day. Supplies were starting to get low, the road was getting treacherous, and the boys had the gall to complain. As night fell, he knew he was on the losing end of this argument, so he set up a makeshift camp far from the path.
They honestly should have expected this. Even if Krupp wasn’t fond of those stories about humans (especially now, considering the whole Captain-No-He’s-Not-Going-To-Call-Him-By-His-Full-Name situation), he could understand the appeal.
But those were stories that never dwelled on what it meant to really be out here. The terror of being run out by people they knew and trusted-- and it made him wonder how old those heroes and their partners in those stories were supposed to be, and it made the needles on his back stand on edge.
His gaze shifted over to the two kids that had made his life a living nightmare for the past four years. George was leaning on Harold’s side, practically sinking into the other’s wool.
“-- I miss mom and dad,” George said, his voice muffled in the wool. His fanleaf tail twitched in time to his hitching breath. It was starting to slow down as their conversation was winding down.
“Do you think they’re gonna do anything to them?” Harold's voice was barely audible over the fire. The abomasnow wasn’t sure what he meant by they but he specifics didn’t matter now, did it?
The snivy was quiet for a moment. “They’re grown-ups, they’re going to be fine.” The unsaid I think practically blared in his ears.
“Heidi isn’t!” Even through all the wool, it was clear he tensed up. “She hasn’t even learned how to make a proper spark yet, and...”
George muttered something into Harold’s ears and his gaze pointed up at him before they continued their conversation in hushed tones.
Well, he couldn’t really blame them for that. The abomasnow turned away and stood up.
“Wait, where are you going?” Harold jolted up, his voice more frantic than what little he remembered hearing before-- before...
Right, Endenemys-- Melvin-- whoever. The snap.
“I just need to move away from the fire.” Krupp held out his arm to show the meltwater dripping off his pine needles to emphasize his point.
The mareep’s eyes were trained on him intently as he stepped away, which caught George’s attention. His eyes flicked between him and Harold, his brow knitted together in a way that suggested that he in on what that outburst was about.
“Relax,” he mumbled in what he hoped was comforting. His voice was unused to such a soft cadence. “I’m not going anywhere.” Then, tipping back to his usual sardonic tone-- “Don’t have anywhere to go to, anyway.”
“Promise?”
A beat. “What?”
“Promise.” Harold repeated, enunciating each syllable.
George’s expression shifted completely to concern. He held onto him tight, like he was grounding him.
“I, um.” He spluttered for a moment, before, “Yeah, alright. Promise.”
Harold nodded, seemingly satisfied. At least some of the tension in his posture was gone.
Hoo boy, no time to unpack all that. He waved a hand. “Now the two of you better get to sleep-- we start walking at sunrise, and I’m not going to carry you the whole way.”
And just like that, the tension was gone. The boys let out a groan, and he could pretend that everything was alright, that this was just like the expedition from a few months ago. But soon enough, fatigue won over childish rebellion and they fell asleep leaning on each other.
Terrible as they were, they didn’t deserve to be run out of their homes, by people that should have known better--
Then again, what did that say about him as a guildmaster if he couldn’t stop a group-- a good chunk of which were adults!-- from believing such a baseless accusations that they were the reason new monsters and mystery dungeons were popping up in Piqua.
Even his heart wasn’t that iced over, no matter what rumors floated around the guild.
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