#(( if they cannot find another mer to socialize with they will socialize with ANYONE THEY CAN FIND

[royalreef]

(( When Miranda first started coming to Spooky High, she wasn’t the same as the Miranda you might see today. All of the original ROs would be aware of this, and even most of them probably were freshmen right alongside her back then, but with the passage of time, most students haven’t seen Miri like that, even if they have heard stories about it.

The simple fact of the matter is that when Miranda first arrived, she was... Way more mean and cruel. She was tense and strict, practically obsessed with punishing even other students and teachers when they faltered even slightly, standoffish and closed off from everyone else. Very much a stickler for the rules too, though this applies to the Merkingdom’s rules and not necessity the school’s, all whether or not someone falls under their dominion.

In short, freshman Miranda was an asshole.

However... That’s all due to her being fresh out of the Merkingdom. There wasn’t really a cultural stepping stone for her before that - sure, she was taught English and basic guidelines on how to behave around landfolk and how to walk and move when gravity’s suddenly a thing that exists, but those are all technical skills at best, and they were done via the Merkingdom and approved by the Merkingdom. Her freshman year was the first time she was ever really set loose upon the land and expected to hold herself together.

When Miranda was such a stickler for rules and startlingly harsh to everyone, that was still her running on Merkingdom rules. Which involve her never letting her guard down, assuming everyone is out to kill her or worse, unable to trust anyone other than Bellanda, and incredibly used to the Merkingdom watching everything she did when she wasn’t locked up in a known safe room. A good rule for her back then was that she was wound up like a spring with all her repressed emotions and terrified. She was dealing with culture shock, suddenly presented with a place that she could actually have a looser leash while there, and so much trauma was still fresh in her mind that not being an asshole, that she might be able to actually talk to someone like they weren’t either a lesser to be crushed below her or a fellow authority figure to either brutalize or be brutalized by, just never occurred to her.

And yeah, she did think the Merkingdom was watching her! They’d kept a close eye on her all her life, and in the kingdom proper, there was no escaping that to speak of. If you’re in public, the kingdom is keeping an eye on you, and for Miranda, that meant what she did was being directly relayed back to the King, and if she started to even look disappointing, then she could be seriously hurt. Sure, even on land she’s still being monitored and the kingdom has their methods of surveillance, but much more falls through the cracks in comparison, and it’s just harder when merfolk aren’t really made to be land-bound for long periods of time.

But you know no one ever told that to Miranda. She had to figure that out on her own, and it was... rough.

However... As you can guess, those walls didn’t last forever, and Miranda did make it over that learning curve! To someone else, it would’ve looked really quick, only maybe six or so months after Miranda started coming, but that’s just how she was publicly showing it. A thing about Miranda is that she tries to hide her emotional cracks, and she’ll often have to do something or another for days at a time, so her taking even a week off to go have a breakdown wouldn’t be noticed by the staff nor the students. 

It was overwhelming!! All her life Miranda had been chronically starved of affection and attention, and outside of literally one of her sisters, she had no basis for warmth or understanding her need to actually be loved and liked. Time and time again she had to repress it, had to hide it, had to do literally anything other than acknowledge that she was just a single mermaid who needed social interactions ( which is bad enough, but with just how hyper social merfolk actually are, it’s a particular kind of hell all to itself ) - and suddenly!! Here were landfolk who just freely did it, right in front of her, with no repercussions to be seen or known!! 

I absolutely imagine that once, Scott got really excited in his usual doggy way, and forgot that Miranda would have a fit over being touched, and he actually picked her up and hugged her... And Miranda just went limp. Her mind just stopped working, because it felt amazing and wonderful and like a dehydrated person finally being able to taste water for the first time, and she just. Didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t even tell Scott off afterwards, she just ran off and stayed home for a week, consumed with terror that the Merkingdom had seen and she was about to be disposed of as an unsatisfactory heir. But... After a week with no family-sent assassins, no guards to drag her from her bed, not even a scolding letter from the palace, she just... awkwardly shuffled back to Spooky High. And realized that not even anyone else at school would mention it.

After that point, Miranda very quickly picked up on the fact that... Oh yeah, she can just be hugged here! And no one will blink an eye! She can start to relax on her mannerisms. She can let stuff slide, and no one will hurt her for it. For once in her life, Miranda had a real, sincere place that’s the closest she’s ever gotten to being out of the Merkingdom’s control, and it felt amazing. 

Miranda is very much a character who has been chronically starved for affection and attention. It’s part of why she’s so eager to seek it out, why now she’ll sit in other people’s laps and kiss them as a platonic thing. It’s part of why she’s so flirty and why she demands to be touched and held and just loved all the time. It’s a large part of why she’s so easy to ship with, why she wants to be in relationships with people.

Because it’s a need that’s gone almost entirely unmet until she arrived at Spooky High, and she’s trying to make up for YEARS of nothing.

[youarejesting]

Wash Out.21 (Sope Special)

[Master List]

Banners: @purpleskies1999 Pairings: Dolphintrainer!Taehyung x SharkDiver!Jin,  Mer!Jimin x Reader, Scientist!Namjoon x MerKing!Jungkook, Mer!Yoongi x Mer!Hoseok. Rating: 16+ Genre: Mystery, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, little bit of Action, Slice of life, Enemies2Lovers, Friends2lovers, Social media au, Fake Texts, Fake Subs.

Summary: Taehyung and his best friend Y/N are Dolphin trainers at Wash Out; Marine Wildlife and Theme Park. When the nerdy marine biologist and resident veterinarian Doctor Kim Namjoon goes missing; the two friends form a ragtag team with Taehyung’s rival Seokjin and a…. Fish?

[Prev] [Next]

Yoongi stood still, his legs shaking. It was not normal for him to be standing for this length of time. They were mermaids used to having tails their strength in the water. Swimming was like breathing. Of course their legs only appeared on their sacred land under the ocean.

They couldn’t walk on human land, could never compare to their leg strength. Most Mermaids spent their days in the water only entering the sacred land for celebrations. Yoongi being one of many guards would protect the royal family, albeit there was no longer a royal family. Jungkook was all that was left, a prince forced to be a king before he was ready. 

Guards were the most common of the merfolk to adorn legs. Jungkook was confined to the sacred land, his time in the water limited. Anything to keep him safe from the threat of other merclans. Each guard embellished in the silk of the clams. Byssus was woven finely like silk, the light material was surprisingly warm enough to protect the guards and King whilst in their more vulnerable form.

Yoongi looked across the crystal throne room, the love of his life standing just as tall, his stature stronger than Yoongi’s. A feat as Jungkook tore the room apart, bioluminescent vines and lanterns ripped from the walls. Food and wine splattered on the floor of their ancestors.

Hoseok’s mouth turned down, the sight unnatural for his usually cheerful disposition. The hardest part of their job was raising Jungkook, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to teach him right and wrong, politics and history they still came up short. He didn’t have a family, not anymore, he didn’t know how to share and never had to work for relationships. 

Everyone adored him, feared him, doted on his every whim. He was given the finest foods and all the newest technology Merfolk could offer. Anything to keep him content in his prison. It surprised Yoongi that Jungkook hadn’t questioned his confines, that he was complacent with their level of control over his freedom.

Jungkook no longer understanding, why his new found friend was so reluctant to stay. He extended all his riches and gifts to the human, something other merfolk would cherish. 

“Why does he still want to leave, with me he could be treated as a king,” Jungkook seethed, throwing a leg over the arm of his throne massaging his temples. “Leave me.”

Hoseok marched dutifully to Yoongi, supporting the older merman as they made their exit. Walking him to the entrance of the underwater cove, the air though damp enough to keep their lungs from feeling dry, they much preferred sinking into the cool water. Doing so allowed the power of the sacred land to slip away leaving only their natural form. 

The two transformed their black and blue tails wrapping around each other, a romantic gesture Yoongi enjoyed more than he wished to admit. They relaxed in eachothers arms peacefully, sinking further until they landed on the floor of the large network of caves. This is where most of the merfolk lived as they were still protected from the open ocean.

Under the cove was wide and besides a few stalagmite and stalactite the surface was predominantly flat. However the local life was anything but, everyone bustling around the settlement enjoying tending to the seaweed, crafting and protecting the sealife. 

“Jungkook, is struggling. He doesn’t understand how to handle rejection. He doesn’t understand that people value the same things,” Hoseok mumbled, massaging Yoongi’s lower back to help relieve tension from standing for such a long time.

“That human cannot survive long under the ocean, he grows weaker by the day, barely eating.” Yoongi huffed, “If Jungkook doesn’t let him go, the poor thing will die, Jungkook isn’t ready to experience something like that so close to him.”

“I think he has gotten too attached, losing this human might break him,” Hoseok bit his lip, “Dare I say he is in love with him, he could be his promised.”

Yoongi scoffed, the idea that Jungkook happened to find his promised one and he was a human, the first human he had ever met. Yoongi and Hoseok were unaware they were each other's promised until Yoongi had a week off from guard duty and started to get really sick. The two had met in the infirmary wasting away and only in one another's company did their condition improve. “Hoseok, that’s a bit much.”

A figure swam down the path quickly, heading straight to the sacred cove entrance, carrying something large. Was someone trying to attack their home? The two fell apart taking up offensive stances, each lurching forward when they spotted Jimin holding an unconscious human.

“Not another one,” Yoongi chastised, eyes sweeping over Jimin trying to be inconspicuous. Though he cared he showed it silently, not fond of open praise. The kind to listen and assist others out of sight.

“I have to make sure he is alright,” Jimin gave no further explanation, swimming up into the cove entrance dragging the human onto the sacred land. Jimin’s gold tail disappearing, leaving behind two bare legs. 

Wrapping himself in a cloth, the two followed. Yoongi strained to lift himself into an upright position. Hoseok brought out their usual transport, especially for Jungkook’s deliveries. In this case they threw the unconscious human across the shell of the crustacean and they headed to their king.

“Are all humans this big?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the figure draped beside Jimin. The two crab-pooling wasn’t the issue, the way Jimin looked genuinely concerned for the human was. It was no good for humans and Merfolk to fall in love, the dynamic wouldn’t end well. 

“No, they aren’t all this big, some of them are small, delicate and beautiful. They are magnificent, fascinating beings. Some are scary and mean and others are innocent and protective, just trying to do the right thing.” Jimin whispered, checking the humans breathing once more. 

“Is he your promised?” Hoseok asked softly, not knowing how to approach the topic sensitively. Jimin smiled, shaking his head. The thought appeared to have amused him.

“He is someone else’s promised,” Jimin said, “But I think I met her, she was beautiful and strong, never letting anyone stop her, never letting bad things keep her down. She would swim head first into enemy waters to save someone she barely knows.

The human groaned, “Where am I?” Jimin let out a sigh of relief, this human was waking up and didn’t seem to be physically hurt, at least there were no wounds they could see upon his flesh. “Am I dead?”

“No, you are not dead, you are in our settlement.” Jimin grinned at the disorientation present in Seokjin’s words. He was struggling to enunciate his words, each more like a whine drawn out.

Upon entering the crystal throne room the group tried their best to support the sluggish human inside. Gaining the attention of Jungkook, ceasing his brooding long enough to assist the three struggling mermen. As if hearing the commotion or perhaps Seokjin’s terrible jokes Namjoon emerged from where he had been staying.

“Jin! Are you okay?” Namjoon grabbed his friend, checking him over for injury, “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you and avoiding the police, I ran my car off the cliff and also may have destroyed the letter box outside your beach house.” He laughed, “Never really liked it anyway.”

“You did what?” Namjoon said, concerned, “Are you crazy?”

“Listen, we were being chased. It was all for you, and Jimin of course, returning Jimin and rescuing you.” Seokjin smiled at his friend. Yoongi thought these humans were weird, they were reckless and too odd for his liking. “I even teamed up with Taehyung and Y/n in order to save you. Do you know how hard that was?”

“Didn’t seem hard at all, you and Taehyung seemed to get along really well.” Jimin pushed the human with a smile, it was weird to see Jimin acting so comfortable with the humans. “We will return you so that the issue can be resolved, I am starting to grow worried about how we left.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked confused

“Humans tackled Y/n and Taehyung dragged me into the water. Right before you and your car contraption fell into the water I killed the man who scared you all.” Jimin said proudly, this didn’t seem to go over well with the human’s. Yoongi hoped Jimin didn’t do something stupid turf war wasn’t on his to do list.

Yoongi didn’t understand the words coming from Seokjin’s face, if he had to liken it to anything, it sounded like vulgar slang, curse words. The human looked panicked.

“We have to go back, they are probably being sent to prison,” Seokjin said, trying to leave unsure which direction to go, “They are in big trouble.”

“Can’t you just talk to your king and explain and they will be removed from prison?” Jimin said

“Prison doesn’t work the same as it does here,” Namjoon explained, “Very Very bad people go to prison, Murderer’s, thieves and other despicable humans put in one place.”

“Yeah and if they go to prison, they may be beaten or worse,” Seokjin huffed. Jimin looked up at Jungkook who nodded, bringing out a small mirror and handing it to Jimin.

Looking over Jimin’s shoulder, Yoongi noticed a human different to the two infront of him, she was feminine delicate and leaking. “What is happening to her?”

“She is crying,” Jimin explained, “Humans do that when they are hurt or in despair, from what I have been told they do the same when they are happy too.”

“Confusing and a little stupid.” Hoseok laughed, “How do you know the difference?”

The charges have been dropped, Namjoon breathed listening to the interrogator, explaining that they couldn’t record the phenomenon that occurred on the beach. “They are being let go,” He smiled, a sight Yoongi hadn’t seen since he first laid eyes on their large domestic crustaceans.

“There is Taehyung,” Seokjin called out looking down, the two humans looked void of any emotion, they collected their things and climbed into the police car getting an escort to their homes. “They are safe and that’s all that matters.” 

Seokjin smiled, his eyes leaking much to Yoongi’s disgust. Namjoon smiled, he seemed a little amused by the older human. “I remember distinctly you saying you hated Taehyung with a passion and wanted him to choke on a sardine.” They two laughed for a moment, “When did things change?” 

“I guess when you are working as a team to save someone you develop an understanding.” Seokjin shrugged his large shoulders, “It also didn’t help that he was living in my house for almost a week.”

“You like him,” Namjoon poked him, “Admit it you have feelings for him.”

“We can head back when you are ready, we have returned Jimin home safely.” Seokjin smiled, looking around at the group and smiling, “I am Seokjin by the way, you can call me Jin.”

The man was goofy, reminding Yoongi of Jungkook himself, the two so alike in their childlike nature, letting themself play without hesitation. It was almost admirable that people could act so carefree, unaffected by how they could be perceived.

“I don’t know if I am allowed to leave?” Namjoon said, his smile falling, eyes fixed on the ground before him. 

Yoongi looked at his king, the spoiled young man reflecting on his actions, it had been many days since they saw the young man smile. Almost expecting him to refuse, Yoongi schools his expression when he doesn’t. 

“You should go, You don’t belong down here?” Jungkook took the mirror before walking away from the group to sit on the throne. He lowered his head looking at his reflection trying to distract himself from the pain. Letting your promised go was the hardest thing a merperson could do. Under normal circumstances, promises are only parted by death.

Namjoon walked over, placing a hand on the king's head and smiling at him, “If ever you want to visit, I would be happy to show you some great places, places you would love.” Jungkook’s broken heart warmed at the human’s dimples appearing softly in the flesh of his cheeks.

That was the last thing they needed, their king running off for a romance on the coast line. Seokjin swung his arm around Jimin playfully, the merman giggling whilst his legs almost buckled. “Yeah Jimin knows the private beach by Namjoon’s house, he can show you the way if you ever want to visit.”

Tags: @backinblack1967 @miriamxsworld @moccahobi @simplymemyself @a-gayish-unicorn @ella-mella @vjinfan23​

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[kainosite]

Inspector Javert in Episode 2, or How Not to Write the Champmathieu Affair

I said last week that the events in Montreuil would reveal Valjean and Javert’s characters, and what they have revealed is a Javert who lacks the core element of a Javert.

Javert has a great hatred of the underclass, but even more fundamental to his character is his blind allegiance to the System.  In the Brick this takes the form of a veneration for authority and the social hierarchy, but it doesn’t have to – there have been perfectly adequate Javerts who give their loyalty to the law and the penal regulations instead.  But whether they follow the letter of the law or its spirit, all Javerts are fundamentally conservative.  Every Javert must be a firm defender of the status quo, because a Javert who can recognize that the System is flawed has no reason to derail.

Oyelowovert is not a conservative.  Oyelowovert is an iconoclast, hellbent on rooting out corruption in high places.  “Sometimes a man may seem rich, successful, prosperous, virtuous - while all the time he may be harboring a secret.  Something rotten in his past.” Ferreting out these secrets is what makes his work so fascinating, he tells us.  He’s an ambitious man, and he obviously intends to make his name with some high profile arrests (one in particular).  The System has failed.  There is a great flaw in the ordering of society, a failure so enormous that a convict posing as a magistrate is not a appalling, terrifying anomaly but merely one example of phenomenon that occurs in every town, and Javert is the man to rectify it.

That’s an interesting character profile.  It may even make sense for Oyelowovert, who must contend with racism alongside all Javert’s other disadvantages.  Perhaps without that self-confidence and willingness to challenge the status quo he could not have gotten as far as he has.  But it is not the profile of a Javert.  If Brickvert ever entertained the thought that there might be criminals hiding among the notables, he did not find it fascinating.  He probably thought it was responsible for the high suicide rate among the police, because who could bear to live with that knowledge?  Why, it’s enough to make a man want to jump off a bridge!

Oyelowovert’s comfort with challenges to the social hierarchy robs Javert’s canonical Montreuil scenes of all of their motivation.  We saw in Episode 1 that he wasn’t bothered by a convict assaulting a guard – it was just another opportunity to demonstrate to 24601 that men like him can never win.  In the same way, he’s untroubled by a prostitute assaulting a bourgeois, or by the mayor intervening to obstruct her rightful punishment.  Fantine’s conduct is distasteful, of course – Oyelowovert preserves Javert’s contempt and hatred for the misérables – and Madelene’s actions are obnoxious and inexplicable, but no horrific injustice has been committed here, because injustice is not horrifying to him, it’s just an unfortunate fact of life.  And Oyelowovert is not a man to tremble at defying a superior, especially not one he knows full well is a convict.

He’s also not a man to take his superiors’ word that some random hobo is the true Jean Valjean, not when he’s had the real thing under his eye for months.  Oyelowovert is a guy who knows in his heart that he’s a righteous man who is correct about everything.  He has no need either to prove his irreproachability to himself through his actions or to have it confirmed externally by his superiors and the courts.  When Paris tells him he’s mistaken, he isn’t horrified by his error; he’s annoyed and frustrated by theirs.

WHICH MEANS THAT IT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE WHATSOEVER FOR HIM TO RESIGN.

After Madeleine rescues Fantine from his clutches Javert comes up with a Cunning Plan.  Surely if Jean Valjean will risk his reputation to save some worthless prostitute he fired from his factory, he will condemn himself to a lifetime in the galleys to save a hobo he’s never met from paying for his crimes?

Well... no.  That doesn’t follow at all.   Madeleine risks virtually nothing by saving Fantine.  Worst case scenario, the citizens of Montreuil who all adore him will shake their heads a bit and say their soft-hearted mayor wastes his charity on the undeserving.  Maybe she’ll cough some tuberculosis blood on him – gross, but considerably less gross than spending the rest of his life in the hulks.  And Madeleine told Javert to his face that he feels personally responsible for Fantine’s plight, in a way he cannot possibly feel about Champmathieu’s.  (Besides, he probably fucked her at some point; convicts, amirite?)

Oyelowovert’s entire theory of criminal psychology – his sole claim to Javertyness! – depends on the belief that men like Valjean are fundamentally wicked and degenerate.  They can never change; they can never reform or act out of true virtue.  Madeleine’s superficial goodness is just a mask to enable him to enjoy the fruits of his crimes in luxurious tranquility.  Why the hell would a man like that sacrifice himself, his cushy life and the whole façade of lies he’s worked so hard to build, to save a stranger?  As every Valjean ever points outs, Champmathieu’s trial is a fantastic opportunity for him, something that will secure his new identity and his triumph over the criminal justice system forever.  Most ordinary people would fail to rise to this occasion out of ordinary human frailty, much less an unrepentant felon who likes to rob kids on highways.

The remote, remote possibility that Valjean might turn himself in is not something one would like to stake one’s entire career on, say by resigning as an excuse to tell Madeleine about the trial.  If Valjean’s crisis of conscience goes the other way, what the fuck is Javert supposed to do?  Jean Valjean can just go on being mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer forever, I guess, and Javert will go off and till the soil.  Great work, super sleuth!  Your campaign to root out corruption among the notables is off to a fantastic start!

It is possible to do a “Javert deliberately alerts Valjean to the Champmathieu trial in order to entrap him” plot that is, if not a good idea, then at least an engaging and coherent piece of cinema.  We know this because the 1952 movie did it.  But this requires two things: a Javert who could genuinely believe in Valjean’s nobility, and a Javert who treats the trial as an experiment that just might reveal something interesting about his suspect, not as a high stakes all-or-nothing gamble.

In 1952′s Étienne, we have both.  Étienne is clear from Day 1 that his only allegiance is to the law.  He claims to bear the convicts no animus; he is simply determined to enforce the penal regulations, whether they be good or evil, humane or inhumane.  It’s not necessary for him to believe Valjean can never change, that he can’t be a good mayor and an honest businessman with a wholesome gay marriage to a burly potter, because class hatred has never been the primary driver of his motivation.  It’s sufficient that Valjean ought to be serving out his parole in Orléans and the penal code prohibits anyone with a felony conviction from taking public office.  Jean Valjean might well be the sort of noble character who would turn himself in to save an unlucky stranger, but the law is the law and Étienne will enforce it come what may.

And he takes intelligent precautions, because while he might hope Valjean will do the right thing here and turn himself in, it would be insane to rely upon it.  He doesn’t resign from his position – why on Earth would he, when he knows perfectly well that Madeleine is Jean Valjean?  And he arranges the trial so he won’t need to perjure himself by claiming Champmathieu is Valjean, deliberately delaying his own testimony until the end to give Valjean more time to intervene.  I suspect that if Valjean hadn’t jumped up to reveal himself after the convicts gave their testimony, Étienne would have testified to exonerate Champmathieu – after all, a false conviction is not in his interest, and it’s his duty under the law to speak the truth.  (He also gives us a delightful tense cat-and-mouse scene at the café when he tells Madeleine about the trial, a scene which is the whole pleasure of doing the trial plot in this way and an opportunity Davies spectacularly missed.)

I’m willing to excuse changes in the plot.  I might even be willing to excuse the changes in Javert’s character, although it seems to me that these ones are going to present serious difficulties later on: if Javert already saw Valjean save a guard’s life at the bagne and he already believes him to be capable of an incredible act of self-sacrifice over Champmathieu, what could possibly happen at the barricade to derail him?

But if you’re going to change stuff you need to do it in a coherent, internally consistent way.  This is a fucking mess.

[talldarkandroguesome]

2nd of Midyear, Turdas

I wonder if this is how things are going to be from here on out. Judging by yesterday and this morning’s interactions, I am afraid that this can only be the beginning.

Now I should say that, contrary to the Council’s opinion of my personality and the skewed reputation they believe that I bear, I am not some pinnacle of sexual prowess that cannot be denied by any mer within my line of sight. I do not have some strange miasma that radiates from my every foot fall that causes all who breathe it in to become stricken with uncontrollable lust for which they must immediately satiate themselves through my companionship alone, or be forced to suffer a lovesick condition without relief.

Now, should that be the case, then I might understand why they believe it to be so. I have not stolen any of their spouses or consorts since my youth, and even then it was never more than a singular dalliance, which if anyone should have been to blame for their infidelity, one would expect that it should be the felonious party rather than the young mer providing the mere temptation.

I understand my role in the situation, of course. It may not have been the morally correct thing to do. Yet I was rather young and testing boundaries and exploring who I was and there is only so much a child can be responsible for the adults in their life indulging such things. I think now that if I were the adult in the situation, I would gently turn a young mer down. But perhaps it was simply a different time. Or mayhaps I  used my birthgift without having realized and it was indeed more my fault. Plenty of blame to go around, but it was almost entirely done before I had even had my social introduction.

So, setting aside the follies of my youth, it was rather strange to find myself suddenly on the receiving end of so much attention from the eligible ladies of the city.

I feel as though I am a Breton princess just put on the market with huge tracks of land and an army for a dowry. Yet I suspect that things are only just beginning.

To start, during the tea I was invited to, Serjo Azaril’s niece just happened to drop by to return a couple of volumes of late first era poetry.

Of course it would be rude not allow her to join us for tea. So join us she did. And soon it became very apparent that her presence was more to show off her qualifications for a position that, for the foreseeable future, is not even available. Not that it in any way seems to be slowing down the Council from taking steps to make introductions to that end.

She was a lovely girl, I have nothing ill to say of her. She was a prime candidate for any eligible noblemer and I honestly believe that her future would be far better served attempting to court an unmarried noble. I could not offer her the full benefit that she deserves with her station. Surely being the mistress of the third in line for the Grandmastery is not worth throwing her future away? I can only assume that she is the youngest daughter in a line of several.

After a rather strained tea, Councilor Azaril made excuses and saw me on my way, allowing the eligible young lady to see me out and get a last word together.

She played the demure lady, polite, but batting her eyelids so that I would know her intentions nevertheless, he bodice and chemise suddenly far lower than they had been in the parlor. And she came in close to look up at me and bid me adieu.

I did not fall for the play. Again, she was a very charming girl, but I was not going to take advantage of that. I was not the mer the Council sees me as and I simply took her hand, thanked her for her elegant words and delightful company, and gave her a formal bow. I left her, mouth slightly parted as though she did not expect such a reaction, and headed back home.

Of course, as soon as I was through the door, Cheerz informed me that I had a visitor in my own parlor, some sort of messenger, apparently.

I went to meet with this messenger, only to find another young lady, posed in a rather provocative position upon the center sofa, her underskirt of a bright lavender color showing, the implication that she may in fact be a woman hired for her services beyond delivery of a missive.

Ignoring this, I inquired after her business, being formal, polite, and engaged.

She admitted that she was not there to deliver a message so much as to confess her affections, gained from seeing me passing her time and again in the market square and on my way to meet with the Council.

Her story was so overly rehearsed and unoriginal that I had to stifle a yawn. 

I simply told her that while I was flattered by her affections, I could not reciprocate the relationship based solely on her having seen me at a distance, that I knew her not, nor she I. Besides which, it would be unfair to take advantage of her beauty and heart to start a relationship when I had no feelings at the go.

Then I leaned in close and told her that as it was, I was also still married, and that I could not break the union I had forged.

She made a grand, yet poor, show of being upset and crying.

I gave her verbal comfort, but sent her out the door with some flowers from the side table as a gesture of kindness. 

Luayl was rather cross at how long it took me to concentrate, but it was difficult with letter after letter arriving from the Council. Of course, they were not summons, but rather, more Councilors seeking a private chat.

The Three preserve me. It was not this bad when I was looking for my first marriage. Why should this be so much worse?

[i-may-have-a-point]

Review of 14x09 “1-800-799-7233”

My thoughts on the latest episode of Grey’s.  Let me know what you think!

We have been waiting a year and a half to see Jo and Paul come face to face.  This story is why fans showed up to watch the mid-season premiere.  Stories of domestic violence often go unheard.  The victim’s integrity is questioned, the perpetrator’s actions are excused, and the stories are swept under rugs, pushed behind doors, and hushed until anyone who dares speak of them is silenced.  

Because of this, telling the story of a domestic violence victim on one of the most watched primetime dramas in history is a milestone.  This story really began in 12x24 when Jo told Deluca about Paul and the writers chose to say, “Domestic violence is happening.  It’s not okay, and we aren’t going to ignore it.”  Unfortunately, they did somewhat ignore it as this story should have happened in season 13 instead of the Alex/Deluca beating that will never be spoke of again, but I digress.  Regardless of the timeline, they are telling the story, so I will focus on that.  

Because the build up to Jo and Paul seeing each other again has taken thirty-four episodes, this story deserved to be a centric.  The focus should have been solely on Jo, Alex, and Paul.  The acting of Camilla Luddington and Matthew Morrison in this episode was up there with some of the best of Grey’s Anatomy, however, the strange juxtaposition of stories, and even acting, in this episode took away from what should have been their moment to shine.  

The episode starts with Jo, and the audience, trapped in her head.  We’re all picking up pieces of what Paul is saying, but not everything is processing. “Paul…fiancé...help you needed…” This scene reminded me of how they presented Owen’s PTSD when he found out Megan was alive.  He was going through the motions, but inside, he was frozen in trauma.  And PTSD may be what Jo is experiencing as well.  Many domestic violence victims do.

The decision to place the audience in Jo’s muffled thoughts and then transition into Arizona’s bubbly admiration of Paul was a nice choice.  It was just what Jo needed to pull her back to reality and give her time to think.  She knows this man.  She knows he is a monster, but very few other people do.  It also shows the viewers why this situation was/is so difficult for Jo to escape from. In the medical world, he seems to be a hero, and heroes don’t fall easily.

Just from the opening scene, I knew that Camilla and Matthew were going to nail this story and they did. The fear in Jo’s eyes contrasted with Paul’s charm and dominance was chilling.

Meredith and Glasses are slowly melting in the OR as the air conditioner is not working and Bailey finds out the hacker now controls the temperature.  So, she calls Jackson for the 97th time, and we cut to Jackson and Maggie, who have apparently landed at their destination.  Cue eye-rolling turned cringe at seeing them on screen and then Jackson clearly forgetting all bloodborne pathogen training and slapping his slippery glove on that woman’s shoulder.  This is the second time this season they have had a scene with obvious blood contamination.  Did the person in charge of checking for that quit?

Frankie is rushed to the OR because he should not have been given heparin.  Jo begins to explain that she sent a text, and then got held up by her abusive husband, but before she can get the words out, Alex channels season 12’s Angry Alex and snaps at her.  What was up with that?  He has been nothing but in love with her all season, so why the moment of annoyance? Why not give her the chance to tell him Paul is there and let him comfort her?  Amelia can take care of Frankie.  She has no other storyline right now so that shouldn’t be a problem.

Deluca is placed in charge of keeping Sam from telling the patients they are all going to die, and Webber gives Paul operating privileges because we just hand out scalpels here at Grey-Sloan Memorial.

Owen and April are running the ER with paper charts and post-it notes.  I appreciate that they are shown as competent, capable surgeons in a crisis.  Because they’ve done this before.  “Takes you back to Jordan, right?” “Yeah, only hotter.”  In an earlier review this season, I said that April’s journey is about finally dealing with all the decisions she has made in the past and figuring out what makes her happy.  This is another example of that happening.  Nicole Herman has been brought up, Matthew’s flash-mob proposal has been brought up, Jordan is brought up this week, and we all suspect to hear Samuel’s name next week. I like this as a journey for April, but I wish we were seeing more of it on our screen. Either way, I think the end of her journey will always lead to Jackson.

Speaking of Jackson, how did April know he was on the Medavac chopper?  We certainly didn’t see him tell her in 14x08, so are we supposed to believe he texted her from the chopper?  Things like this are incredibly frustrating.  We have this supposed love triangle happening, yet Jackson and April are purposefully kept out of scenes together.  Then, we get these little moments dangled in front of us just to keep us wondering.  One side of this triangle, Jackson and Maggie, is shoved down our throats in every episode, yet they cannot manage to gather a fan following.  Their ship name was quickly turned into a joke, and every comment section on every form of social media is full of comments praying for their scenes to end.  Jackson and April have little to no screen time.  We see them share looks across rooms, we get told that April knows where Jackson is when even the Chief has no idea, but they have not had a significant scene in seven episodes.  And yet, every poll, every comment section, and every review reflects that this side of the triangle, Jackson and April, is the only side the fans want to see together in the end.  

Jackson and Maggie operating on their patient is unrealistic.  They would have signed him over to doctors at the new hospital and showered immediately.  Any hospital that would have allowed them to scrub in (assuming they did?) and operate covered in blood, when they had other options, is one that should be shut down. I get that the show tried to use this scene to have them banter about being covered in blood, but bantering requires chemistry and the ability to play off of the other actor, neither of which they have, so the scene just came across as unsanitary and gross – in more ways than one.  

Speaking of banter, I like Sam and Deluca, but where are they going with them?  I wish they had started as colleagues who didn’t know each other and built to a relationship.  There is no build up here because as Sam says, Deluca penetrates her every five minutes.  And I have lost interest in their backstory because of it.  

Alex finally finds out that Paul’s in the hospital and starts an intern treasure hunt to make sure Jo is okay.  I love that line.  

Paul steps in for Glasses to create a classic awkward O.R. moment which brings Meredith into the story. I appreciate that the show tried to show women sticking up for each other and being strong, but I can’t help but sigh at Meredith saving the day Every. Single. Time.  Can you imagine if Edwards were still here?  She would have stepped right up to Paul’s smirking face and told him to burn in hell.  She set a rapist on fire.  That girl was fierce.

Jo’s reaction to finding out Alex sent the intern to find her was perfect.  She needed that reminder that someone loves her and cares about her. Sweet scene.

The show has to be getting paid for promoting Tinder so much at this point, right?  Carina catches Arizona swiping away, and I realize I forgot about both of them.  It seems like they are flirting, but I don’t care enough to really pay attention. Arizona is capable of more than flirting, and it’s been too long since we’ve seen it.  

Meanwhile, intern Parker electrocutes the blood bank door, and as someone on Reddit said, I see more sparks in that scene than I ever have in a Gaggie scene.  

One of my favorite scenes of the episode is when Jo runs to Meredith and Alex insisting that what Paul said about her isn’t true.  She is so desperate for them to believe her.  The only thing that could have made it better is if she would have fallen into Alex’s arms and not Meredith’s.  

April realizes their system is not failproof.  They lost a post-it and forgot a patient which leads to them opening the man’s chest in the hallway.  I have always liked Team Trauma.  Owen is a kind, older brother figure to April, and this moment was no different. We also got to see April show how talented she is under pressure.  I saw a couple people wondering if this was a chemistry test, but I hope with everything I have that it wasn’t.  It is possible for a man and woman to have a platonic relationship, although this show has a hard time showing that, and the LAST thing I want to see is Owen eating April’s face when he kisses her.  He has been divorced three times (Beth, Cristina, and Amelia assuming they actually signed papers off screen), and he needs to be single for a while.  

Jo telling Alex and Mer that the intern followed her into the stall was a great line, but again, I thought that the scene should have just been Jo and Alex discussing what to do next.  Instead, it felt like Mer took over the situation and made the decisions.  You can argue that Mer thought Alex would get violent, and she was trying to avoid that, but I think it that were going to happen it would have when Alex first saw him.  There was no one around to stop him, and he controlled himself.  Let him be Jo’s rock.

Then we get the low-budget porn locker room scene.  Scenes like this greatly take away from the seriousness of domestic violence and the powerful work that Camilla did.  The transition from feeling heartbroken for Jo to secondhand embarrassment for Jackson and Maggie threw the whole episode off.  If it weren’t for these awkward scenes, the episode could have been one of Grey’s best.  

I’m not one who has to wipe the drool from my chin when Jesse Williams takes his shirt off, so seeing him standing in a towel definitely didn’t save this scene for me. I would much rather see him share scenes with someone he has chemistry with and where he can show a range of emotions. I think this scene was supposed to show sexual tension, but it could not have been farther from that.  Whose idea was it to start the scene with Maggie saying, “Did you know that cell phones have ten times more bacteria than a public toilet seat?”  Why would she be thinking of that random bit of trivia while sitting in a towel in an unfamiliar locker room?  This is not cute or endearing.  Jackson replies, “Cool story,” and I completely understand why.  That’s what I say when I want people to stop telling me information I care nothing about.  And what hospital locks up their scrubs?  I guess the same one who lets doctors operate while covered in blood.  In their second scene, I have no idea what they said because I was trying to decide if they looked so uncomfortable because they have no chemistry or if they were trying to lean far enough back so they didn’t have that stomach roll that we all have when we slouch. Probably both.  Side note:  Scrub delivery guy is a hero.

Jo and Paul sign the divorce papers.  I love that Mer swiped the divorce papers away before Paul could take them, and that Jo got the chance to tell him what a monster he is.  It could have been over at this point, but Jo is too good of a person. She wants to help Jenny because no one helped her.  Her plan was smart.  Arizona telling Paul she needed some “man power” was just the thing someone like Paul wants to hear, and it gave Jo some time alone with Jenny.  Unfortunately, Jenny is either crazy or ignorant and not only didn’t take Jo’s advice, but she also told Paul everything Jo said and gave him her phone number. (You can change your number, Jo.)  Matthew Morrison was peak creepy in this scene, and there were moments when I thought he was going to hit both Jo and Meredith, but (predictably) Mer saved the day when she pretended to call for security.

Dr. Parker gets the hospital back online, and we, along with Bailey find out he is transgender.  Once we all googled the actor’s name, we found out he actually is transgender.  Kudos to Grey’s for casting an actual transgender actor to play a transgender character.  But, um, who was the hacker?

Amelia, Deluca, and Sam team up to enter this new surgical contest, which could be good, I hesitate to say.  

April (of course) sees Jackson and Maggie are back, and then Webber tricks her into offering to run the surgical contest instead of him.  Sigh.  I was really hoping to see April compete in the contest, but I should have known that wouldn’t happen.  My only hope is that her running what is actually Jackson’s contest and controlling his money will lead somewhere.  It’s probably better that April control his money anyway seeing as he’s obviously not thinking clearly.  No one in their right mind would ask their step-sister out.  Yet he did.  Maggie may have said no and left with another guy, but this story is far from over.  Hopefully, 14x10 should give us some of the answers we are waiting for since Jackson and April finally have scenes together again. If this is truly a triangle, like they keep insisting it is, it should be presented that way next week.  It won’t be hard.  Japril’s chemistry is undeniable.  One look at each other and social media will be on fire with renewed hope for their endgame. And I do still think they are endgame.  We just have a long road before we get there.

[back-and-totheleft]

#Election2020

Why [the support for Trump], in your opinion? I was surprised that there was less support for the change than I expected. I expected the American people to be tired of Trump, tired of his misbehavior, but they’re not. Trump was openly outrageous in his latest speech when he said, "We won and we have to stop counting the votes because they’re stealing." It’s shameful that the President of the United States says they’re rigging the elections when they are still taking place. It is completely out of order. It's like he's pretending to be both the commentator and the protagonist in his own show. He abused his role and should be thrown out for that alone.

Was he kicked out with this election? No, it's not over. Trump will do whatever he can, he can't lose in his mind, he's what they call a bad loser. He’ll want every vote to be checked and will make everything as difficult as possible. He’ll fight tooth and nail until December 14th and something could go wrong. I hope not because I remember the Al Gore and George Bush election. The Democrats didn't expect the Republicans to play so dirty but now they’re better prepared. I would like to think that Trump is gone. The monster is gone, at least the biggest one of all, I hope. It’s like a horror movie. At the end of the movie you say, “Oh he's gone, the monster is dead,” but then there's a sequel and he comes back (laughs). Even if he admits defeat, I think Trump is crazy enough to run again in 2024.

Meanwhile? He'll be back out there in the world, and I hope they bring every lawsuit against him for all the shit he's done. He will sell the hotels or build them in the midwest, in all the red states, and find a way to turn them into a lower class money-making experiment.

Is the United States on the verge of a civil war? No, I don't see a civil war on the horizon. I think that fear is the result of media hysteria. There will be some confrontations. The point of these elections is that they’re now there for all to see, which makes it difficult for Republicans to declare them a scam. They’ve already repeated it so many times. Trump said it's a rigged election. But his words mean nothing. He’ll say other things, sure, but I don't think they will have the same impact as when he said them for the first time.

Many Western media do not seem to accept that Trump has all this popularity. Why? Trump is an embarrassment. He's the guy who goes to the party and says whatever he wants, says hurtful things. Many of the things that were happening in the government were covered up with polite speeches, while he was very blunt and pissed off a lot of people for his frankness. It ruined the show. He called Washington a swamp. He did the same thing Reagan did. He was right saying Washington was a swamp. It's a swamp but there's no way to fix it. America, like Italy, is stuck in the system.

And how does it get out of the swamp? We have to take money out of politics, which is not possible now because of the Supreme Court ruling in Citizens United. It was an important decision that allowed corporate money to flow into the elections and now companies have the power. For much of the judiciary, corporations in the United States are treated as individuals. They have human rights.

Do you believe that Covid19 has shown the contradictions of our system? It showed that our healthcare system doesn't work nationwide. That’s very clear. Each state deals with it in its own way, and each hospital sets its own parameters. I'm by no means an expert on this, but it looks disorganized. In Europe, as you’re smaller countries, I think you’ve done a pretty good job.

What do you think of the protests in Italy against the lockdown? Personally, I'm afraid of this over-regulation where the government now has the power to shut down everything in a country whenever it wants. It is a form of control that I object to. I think a maturity is needed. The death rate from these infections has dropped significantly. I’m disoriented because Covid, to some extent for me, is a disease like others that have come into our life: SARS, MERS. There have been a number of diseases that are part of the planet, caused by climate change or whatever. We have to accept and absorb them without overreacting. Overdoing it is dangerous. Like America exaggerated in 2001 [after 9/11]. It was madness in this country. We passed the Patriot Act.

Could the pandemic threaten the political and civil foundations on which liberal democracies rest? In this period of my life, I’m giving a lot of importance to peace and war. I think it is a crucial issue. If there is peace and you can keep alliances and have no enemies - or you try to reduce enmity through diplomacy - we will have a much more fluid and harmonious world. This world is not facing a world war; it’s not facing what we have faced in the past. There are no diseases that are wiping out the human race. There are no survival problems. There has been an improvement in education and health around the world. In general, there are negative examples, but the emphasis has been on apocalyptic thinking, on doomsday thinking, and I think it’s important for everyone to realize that we are exaggerating. 

The media are trying to cause a stir. The media thrives on bad news. It’s always been like this, but it has gotten worse because there is more media than we’ve ever had. Bad news sells. And I think a lot of people have stopped following the media. This is what America did. Many Americans don't read and that's why they like Trump, because they don't want to know all the bullshit he does, like the fact that he doesn't pay taxes. So I think if we maintained a world-wide peace system, there is nothing we could not overcome, including climate change. I really believe that and I'm making a documentary about it. If we fight Russia and call them enemies and thugs, like Biden did the other night, and if we're saying more or less the same thing about China, there is no way out. We're spending a fortune on military spending. Trillions of dollars a year to prepare for war, which is not necessary.

What should we prepare for instead? The real war is the war against climate change. We know that perhaps it’s too late and frankly America is wasting time and wasting an enormous amount of money. So we have to transfer the economic resources. I'm worried about Biden because he said so many stupid things about Russia. The only problem I have with him is on foreign policy. I think his domestic policy is progressive, but his foreign policy… I don't know if he will worry immediately about that because he will have other problems on the national level, so it’s difficult to say where he will want to go, but you know what Obama did. Obama eventually invaded more Muslim countries than anyone else and started drone strikes. He overtook Bush with the bombing. And then Trump obviously tried to do more, but without going to [a ground] war. So people say Trump didn't take us to war. No, but it brought us to the brink of war with Korea. He has certainly brought us to the brink of war with Venezuela and now with Iran.

After the fall of the Berlin wall, have we stopped thinking that there is an alternative world? At the time, the West could destabilize the new Russian regime under Yeltsin and they weren't worried about China because it wasn't that powerful yet. We have increased the rivalry with Russia and China, not only because we’ve destabilized Ukraine but because we’ve kept our weapons, our airplanes and our military troops, NATO troops, at the borders of Russia, closer than ever. The medium-range missiles that are in Europe are very dangerous to the status quo in China. We have completely surrounded it and spent a fortune to potentially block it.

Are there no alternatives then? I don't think neoliberalism has worked. There is this idea in America that the American model is the peaceful way, but it’s not because we embargo countries that do not agree with us. Look at, for example, Cuba and Venezuela. It's horrible. You can't bring medicine to Cuba, it's very difficult. We have imposed sanctions on Russia and Iran, and now against China. 

America is not moving towards harmonious world cooperation. We want to be the dominant factor. We don't want to have partners. Bush made this clear in 2000 and it has now been reiterated with Trump. No partners. We only take hostages. Italy is a hostage, a great hostage, because of the huge naval bases we have there. Europe is a hostage. This is a fundamental problem that will grow in the future. It can’t be solved because countries have lost their sovereignty, at least some. Russia and China cannot be told that they must bow to the American model, and you can't tell Iran or North Korea anyway. I want these countries to defend their rights because it is crucial for the freedom of the world that there are alternative ways of living. I can assure you that they are truly sincere about their revolution in Cuba and, unfortunately, they have suffered a lot for that.

On the fake news and social media issue. What do you think of the censorship that some social platforms are implementing? There has been a lot of fake news in America since World War II. It could be said that the whole Cold War, in my opinion, was fake news because we wanted to strengthen the military after the war, so we portrayed the Soviet Union as a lot worse than it was and a lot more threatening. And we keep doing it by saying that the Russians will invade Europe. What the fuck would they want from Europe? They have no intention to do that and Russia is no longer the Soviet Union, it is a market economy. 

The concept of fake news is crazy. What is it? It has existed for centuries. When someone wants to find another enemy, fake news is created. They say who the bad guy is, who did this and did that. The Spartans did it with the Athenians. There’s always fake news, what's new? Now they’re blaming Facebook. It's ridiculous. Facebook should be a free and open source. People should go there and say what they want. I agree that hate speech is not a good thing and should be labeled or banned. But when you start playing with the nuances of censorship, it becomes very dangerous.

I am thinking for example of the case of the journalist Glenn Greenwald who left the newspaper he co-founded, The Intercept, because he was not allowed to publish an article on the alleged scandal involving the Biden family in China and Ukraine. I think Glenn Greenwald was right. I think the story was true. I don't want to say it was the biggest scandal, but it's still a scandal, and Trump had his scandals too and people ignored them, but they were reported in the press.

What do you think of the Assange trial? Obama brought forward the first charges against Assange and his rights were violated in every possible way. The Russiagate case is a fabrication. Assange got the information from an insider on the Democratic National Committee, and the FBI has never investigated. They accused Assange of passing the information to Russia but that's not true, technically it doesn't hold up. 

Trump wanted to pardon him if he came to testify as to who his source was against Hillary Clinton, but Assange didn't make that deal because he's an honest man and doesn't reveal his sources. Those were the WikiLeaks rules of engagement. Assange is hated by Hillary Clinton supporters for damaging her candidacy and her chance of being elected. At the same time, he is hated by Republicans because he was seen as a troublemaker to the military and the United States, a man who revealed secrets, like Snowden. Snowden and Assange are heroes to me because we need to know how our government operates. We need to know what they are doing on our behalf and they are not doing good things. The government is doing bad things, many bad things, which by the way cost us a fortune.

-Fabrizio Rostelli interviews Oliver Stone, translated from Italian, Fanpage Italy, Nov 8 2020 [x]

[shadows-of-almsivi]

What is the general consensus towards public displays of affection in Morrowind? And outside of romantic and non-sexual relationships, how much people touch each other while talking or spending time together. Is non-verbal intimacy encouraged or discouraged aside from romantic and sexual relationships?

I really shouldn’t encourage you, you know. All I can tell you is surely… But never mind. You’ve asked, and to be quite honest, I’m rather bored. Come, sit down. Let’s see if this wine is good enough to inspire me into rambling for you. I’ll answer briefly, first, quickly before I forget, and grant you details after until I’ve forgotten what I was meant to be telling you and you wish you’d never asked me, yes?

So… Public displays of affection, you said. Well, it depends mostly on how public it is, how influential you are, who they are, and just what it is you’re doing to them. By and large, however, we tend to be rather shocked by how open and blatant men are about such things, so I suppose by comparison the short answer must be “generally discouraged”.

Casual touch… Quite common, almost necessary. Relatively constant, really, though it varies from one mer to the next. I cannot have a pleasant conversation without it, else I feel almost personally slighted, though men in particular are so starved for touch they often either turn defensive or confusedly aroused.

And… What was the last–? Oh, yes. Non-verbal intimacy; Lords, quite definitively encouraged. Especially amongst House mer; it’s the form of intimacy hardest to observe, and therefore the hardest to leverage for blackmailing purposes. You know, perhaps it would be easiest for you to conceptualise Dunmeri culture when you remember how paranoid House noblemer are.

Are my answers to your satisfaction? Good. Now, if you’ll permit me, I’ll gladly talk your ears off for a moment or two. I see you’re still confused, and there is much context I can attempt to share with you.

Dunmer occupy a strange contradiction in the stereotypes held by outlanders (I should know; after all, I did exploit such odd impressions for all they were worth during my time in Cyrodiil). To many men, we are at once a grim, joyless people, devoid of love or warmth, and also a race of lascivious, lawless creatures obsessed with the indulgence of primal urges. I cannot account for either impression, although men are shockingly impetuous with their affections, as often careless with their embraces as they are shame-filled and furtive with their lust. I suppose for them, so in love with their own repressions yet so short-lived and urgent in their desires, we must seem alien, almost absurd, as I will forever find them absurd for their maddeningly-meandering courtships and brazenly public kissing. I would fancy we are slandered often simply out of jealousy of our culture, for Imperials surely must bind down their loins with steel and whalebone for all their stiff propriety. It must be so frustrating, this odd and masochistic cultural demand to appear bloodless and without ardour.

(As for the local Nords, I am yet to be convinced that their kind feels a lust for anything that is not battle, or mead, or self-aggrandising recounts of either of the two.)

The oddness of the ways of men now made clear, it goes without saying that Morrowind is a very different place, and a much more sensible one to minds like mine. The pleasure of one’s own sexuality is nothing to flee from nor dress up in elaborate pantomime in its seeking; if a mer desires another, and if it is socially permissible or professionally expedient for them to do so, there seems little reason not to get to the point as soon as possible. Within my youth, it was hardly uncommon to pass the Hlaalu administration compounds and overhear the satisfied moaning of political and economic agreements being settled. Even within the Temple, it was not completely unusual for at least one or two determined mer to gain a rank through such means. Rarely cause for gossip, unless some rivalry or family matter arose to add a touch of drama to the proceedings; then, of course, it would be the talk of the cornerclubs by nightfall.

But aside from this… I suppose, by the standards of men, Dunmer society must appear quite cold. We do not smile with the teeth, save to threaten; mostly, our smiles do not leave the eyes. A mother does not often hold her child outside the home, unless the child is very young or injured. Family may kiss each other’s cheeks at the door, though it is uncommon in houses without children; mostly this is done in the front hall. You will never see a pair of lovers greet each other with a kiss on any public street, nor see any married couple do the same no matter the length of their separation. The only exception to this I have ever known was a Redoran mer in Ald’Ruhn, who kissed her wife in the market plaza as she lay dying, having fallen beneath the wheel of a guar-cart; onlookers surrounding the couple turned their backs politely in silent understanding, shielding the mer’s imminent grief from passing eyes with their own bodies. Such compassion, extraordinarily beautiful; it draws my throat tight in memory of it even now.

I know, I know, I speak overmuch of kissing in particular. For all the years I have spent amongst men, I will never completely get over such nonsensical inversion as theirs, and I’ve never been permitted to vent my spleen on the subject. How to explain… We are a passionate yet stoic people, quite private in our emotions. We tend to jealously guard what is dearest to us. Sexual intimacy is notably casual for the most part, as I have told you. There are few taboos around the healthy expression of sexual urges, beyond the mostly-reasonable ones. But emotional intimacy… Emotional intimacy is rare and essential, and easily turned against you; it must be hidden as much as possible from the outside world, as one would hide a diamond from the eyes of a thief. This bond with another, kissing being perhaps the highest form of its expression, is not something that is fit for public viewing.  Does that make sense to you?

The mouth holds great symbolic importance to us; it is the vessel of poetry, of prayer, of power. We consume sustenance and recite our devotion, we speak our authority and confess our sins. To yield something so precious to another is an action of intense bonding and trust, and so must be done only away from prying eyes. To kiss your spouse in your own home is a reaffirmation of your love for them; to do so in public is to cheapen both them and yourself, to make a vulgar spectacle of your intimacy. Passersby will feel shame on your behalf, since you clearly possess none of your own. Outlanders, ignorant of our reverence for such an action, tend to make quite a nuisance of themselves in this way; in my youth, we often assumed them to be prideless deviants, debased at best, though there was an undercurrent of pity to our scorn: how lonely and desperate these short-lived creatures must be, that they would spill their deepest affections so easily and with anyone they sought to bed, and perhaps the local liquors simply went to their heads too quickly. Later, I would come to understand how inverted much of the world tends to be from what is familiar and sensible to me; I had to train myself to sell lies of passion with kisses that filled me with nauseous shame, and longed for the days in which I might have been naive enough to feel pity for these creatures…

Enough, enough of that. Let’s not spoil this pleasant warmth the wine has lent me. Let me say that I came to understand how men view kissing as seduction rather than affirmation, learned to use it thus, and leave it at that?

There are subtler gestures to share your affections, more acceptable to the possibility of public view. It has been said that Dunmeris is a language only half-spoken with words, the rest with the hands. This is rather apt, really, whether one means the rapid flurry of conversational gesticulations or the many instances of physical contact, both brief and lingering. (Our informal gestures are, perhaps, very similar to the signal-languages used amongst slaves before the Abolition, though few Dunmer of my age will admit to such an influence. It has also been theorised that the Dunmeri frequency of touch in casual conversation was once meant to conceal weapons searches, which… Well, it doesn’t hurt, certainly.)  I have always spoken much with my hands, though it is often unrecognised as the punctuation it truly is. I have seen Dunmer, attempting to speak in a friendly manner, have their touches misconstrued and be accused of pick-pocketing, which always breaks my heart.

Speech is vital, but is often not as important as what is not said. Touch without agenda is meant for closeness, especially amongst family, or those dear enough to be. You craft your love for them with your hands. Small variations of almost-identical actions carry whole worlds of altered meaning, which must be read in any number of other details unique to the mer in question; in this way, a particular touch between mer may mean completely different things, and so their right to the privacy of their emotions is maintained in polite obfuscation. The caressing of forearms, for example, serves both as apology or forgiveness for harsh words and as a gesture of friendship, a tighter clasping can mean either a stiffer formality or a great depth of emotion depending on how long it is held, and so on. Close companions and combat-bonded soldiers were often seen leaning upon one another in barrack common rooms and cornerclubs, hands resting affectionately on forearms and shoulders. You’d often see siblings or lovers at tables or in the market, their fingers loosely woven together at the tips. Templemer of particular closeness, such as my contemporaries and I were, spread our fondness for each other along necks and spines, or worked it into each other’s tired muscles after exhaustive ritual practice.

This is not to say that all touch was beyond judgement. Given enough privacy and drink, my friends and I would even– Well, I have always been more tactile than perhaps is wise, skating often more closely to the edges of honest propriety than one might expect of a thirdborn or a priest… I admit, I was not always above the gentle bending of such limitations, using my House and my station as my shield and cats-paw respectively. I am mortal after all, sera, and we were all young things once…

(If the private indiscretions of priests surprise you, I could tell you all manner of scandals surrounding the Imperial cults’ clergies. You’d be surprised how many of Zenithar’s shepherds harbor a taste for dice, and I recall a certain old priest of Arkay who was well-known around the taverns for his specialised methods of consoling grieving widows. Especially the prettier ones, preferably half his age.)

Whenever I think of the propriety of touch and the subtleties of non-verbal intimacy, I cannot help but think of my mother and father. I think of how their fingers would be always brushing the other’s whenever they walked together by the Odai of the evening. I think of how Mother’s hand would rest lightly at the hollow of Father’s spine whenever my siblings and I rushed past, and how I did not realise for years that Father’s back pained him. I think of the way Mother swept Father’s long and greying strip-mane into its loose braid each morning, as wordless and tender with familiarity as the looks they gave each other across the dinner table.

I remember how Mother’s strong fingers held my jaw as she proudly admired each new line inked into my face. I remember how Father’s broad hands held me close while I cried, gently stroking my hair. I remember every warm embrace and every kissed forehead, every favorite book tucked secretly into my travelling satchel with notes between the pages, every cup of tea and mended toy. And every word I never had a chance to…

…Well. I’ve spoken quite enough for you, I expect, and I seem to be out of wine. If you’ll excuse me, friend, I think I’d prefer to be alone for a time. Suddenly, I can’t say I feel like talking any longer.

[readbookywooks]

Padfoot Returns

One of the best things about the aftermath of the second task was that everybody was very keen to hear details of what had happened down in the lake, which meant that Ron was getting to share Harry's limelight for once. Harry noticed that Ron's version of events changed subtly with every retelling. At first, he gave what seemed to be the truth; it tallied with Hermione's story, anyway - Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall's office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up. "But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve," he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. "I could've taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted." "What were you going to do, snore at them?" said Hermione waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood. Ron's ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events. As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned their hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Harry had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way; Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again. Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one. Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can. "He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" said Ron incredulously. "It looks like it, doesn't it?" said Hermione. "I can't believe him," said Harry tensely, "if he's caught..." "Made it so far, though, hasn't he?" said Ron. "And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors anymore." Harry folded up the letter, thinking. If he was honest with himself, he really wanted to see Sirius again. He therefore approached the final lesson of the afternoon - double Potions - feeling considerably more cheerful than he usually did when descending the steps to the dungeons. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn't see and sniggering heartily. Pansys pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached. "There they are, there they are!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands - Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand. "You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside. Hermione, Harry, and Ron headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of todays potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled: Harry Potter's Secret Heartache A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss. Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl." However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest. "She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it." Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate. "I told you!" Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. "I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of- of scarlet woman!" Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. "Scarlet woman?" she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron. "It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, his ears going red. "If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. "What a pile of old rubbish." She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and she, Harry, and Ron started unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion. "There's something funny, though," said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known...?" "Known what?" said Ron quickly. "You haven't been mixing up Love Potions, have you?" "Don't be stupid," Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. "No, it's just...how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?" Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron's eyes. "What?" said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk. "He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake." Hermione muttered. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to -" "And what did you say?" said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione. "And he did say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else," Hermione went on, going so red now that Harry could almost feel the heat coming from her, "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there...or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task...." "And what did you say?" Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk. "Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to -" "Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is. Miss Granger," said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor." Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them; Malfoy took the opportunity to flash POTTER STINKS across the dungeon at Harry. "Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. "A further ten points from Gryffindor...oh but of course..." Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings...." The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. To Harry's fury, he began to read the article aloud. "'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache...dear, dear. Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps...'" Harry could feel his face burning. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now. "'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.' How very touching," sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. "Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now." Furious, Harry threw his ingredients and his bag into his cauldron and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched Harry unload his cauldron. Determined not to look at Snape, Harry resumed the mashing of his scarab beetles, imagining each one to have Snape's face. "All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head. Potter," said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again. Harry didn't answer. He knew Snape was trying to provoke him; he had done this before. No doubt he was hoping for an excuse to take a round fifty points from Gryffindor before the end of the class. "You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape went on, so quietly that no one else could hear him (Harry continued to pound his scarab beetles, even though he had already reduced them to a very fine powder), "but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me. Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him." Harry tipped the powdered beetles into his cauldron and started cutting up his ginger roots. His hands were shaking slightly out of anger, but he kept his eyes down, as though he couldn't hear what Snape was saying to him. "So I give you fair warning, Potter," Snape continued in a sorter and more dangerous voice, "pint-sized celebrity or not - if I catch you breaking into my office one more time -" "I haven't been anywhere near your office!" said Harry angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness. "Don't lie to me," Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry's. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them." Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink or to look guilty. In truth, he hadn't stolen either of these things from Snape. Hermione had taken the boomslang skin back in their second year - they had needed it for the Polyjuice Potion - and while Snape had suspected Harry at the time, he had never been able to prove it. Dobby, of course, had stolen the gillyweed. "I don't know what you're talking about," Harry lied coldly. "You were out of bed on the night my office was broken into!" Snape hissed. "I know it. Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!" "Right," said Harry coolly, turning back to his ginger roots. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there." Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment. Harry thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse him - then he saw that Snape had drawn out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion. Harry stared at it. "Do you know what this is. Potter?" Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again. "No," said Harry, with complete honesty this time. "It is Veritaserum - a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," said Snape viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips" - he shook the crystal bottle slightly - "right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then. Potter...then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not." Harry said nothing. He turned back to his ginger roots once more, picked up his knife, and started slicing them again. He didn't like the sound of that Truth Potion at all, nor would he put it past Snape to slip him some. He repressed a shudder at the thought of what might come spilling out of his mouth if Snape did it...quite apart from landing a whole lot of people in trouble - Hermione and Dobby for a start - there were all the other things he was concealing...like the fact that he was in contact with Sirius...and - his insides squirmed at the thought - how he felt about Cho....He tipped his ginger roots into the cauldron too, and wondered whether he ought to take a leaf out of Moody's book and start drinking only from a private hip flask. There was a knock on the dungeon door. "Enter," said Snape in his usual voice. The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated. "We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist. Harry kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard. "I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him. "I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me." "After the lesson," Snape snapped. Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if he'd poured out enough armadillo bile, Harry sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry. Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Keen to hear what Karkaroff wanted to say, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to go to the bell, which gave him an excuse to duck down behind his cauldron and mop up while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door. "What's so urgent?" he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff. "This," said Karkaroff, and Harry, peering around the edge of his cauldron, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm. "Well?" said Karkaroff, still making every effort not to move his lips. "Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since -" "Put it away!" snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the classroom. "But you must have noticed -" Karkaroff began in an agitated voice. "We can talk later, Karkaroff!" spat Snape. "Potter! What are you doing?" "Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor," said Harry innocently, straightening up and showing Snape the sodden rag he was holding. Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry. Not wanting to remain alone with an exceptionally angry Snape, Harry threw his books and ingredients back into his bag and left at top speed to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just witnessed. They left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, all three of them had taken off their cloaks and thrown them over their shoulders. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in Harry's bag; they had sneaked a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table. They went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby, where they had fun selecting the most lurid socks they could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly. Then, at half past one, they made their way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village. Harry had never been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading them out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; they were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then they turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar.... "Hello, Sirius," said Harry when they had reached him. The black dog sniffed Harry's bag eagerly, wagged its tail once, then turned and began to trot away from them across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed over the stile and followed. Sirius led them to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were soon out of breath. They followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour they climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius's wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoulder straps of Harry's bag cutting into his shoulders. Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when they reached the place where he had vanished, they saw a narrow fissure in the rock. They squeezed into it and found themselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of them. All three of them bowed low to him, and after regarding them imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck. Harry, however, was looking at the black dog, which had just turned into his godfather. Sirius was wearing ragged gray robes; the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Azkaban. His black hair was longer than it had been when he had appeared in the fire, and it was untidy and matted once more. He looked very thin. "Chicken!" he said hoarsely after removing the old Daily Prophets from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor. Harry pulled open his bag and handed over the bundle of chicken legs and bread. "Thanks," said Sirius, opening it, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. "I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself." He grinned up at Harry, but Harry returned the grin only reluctantly. "What're you doing here, Sirius?" he said. "Fulfilling my duty as godfather," said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray." He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry's face, said more seriously, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter...well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried." He nodded at the yellowing Daily Prophets on the cave floor, and Ron picked them up and unfolded them. Harry, however, continued to stare at Sirius. "What if they catch you? What if you're seen?" "You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus," said Sirius, shrugging, and continuing to devour the chicken leg. Ron nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets. There were two: The first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing - Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved. Harry scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out at him: hasn't been seen in public since November...house appears deserted...St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment...Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness.... "They're making it sound like he's dying," said Harry slowly. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here...." "My brothers Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informed Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork." "Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close," said Harry slowly, still reading the story. "The night my name came out of the goblet...." "Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" said Hermione, an edge to her voice. She was stroking Buckbeak, who was crunching up Sirius's chicken bones. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him." "Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs," Ron muttered to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look. Sirius, however, looked interested. "Crouch sacked his house-elf?" "Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry, and he launched into the story of the Dark Mark's appearance, and Winky being found with Harry's wand clutched in her hand, and Mr. Crouch's fury. When Harry had finished, Sirius was on his feet again and had started pacing up and down the cave. "Let me get this straight," he said after a while, brandishing a fresh chicken leg. "You first saw the elfin the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?" "Right," said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together. "But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?" "No," said Harry. "I think he said he'd been too busy." Sirius paced all around the cave in silence. Then he said, "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?" "Erm..." Harry thought hard. "No," he said finally. "I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." He stared at Sirius. "Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?" "It's possible," said Sirius. "Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insisted. "The elf wasn't the only one in that box," said Sirius, his brow furrowed as he continued to pace. "Who else was sitting behind you?" "Loads of people," said Harry. "Some Bulgarian ministers...Cornelius Fudge...the Malfoys..." "The Malfoys!" said Ron suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoed all around the cave, and Buckbeak tossed his head nervously. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!" "Anyone else?" said Sirius. "No one," said Harry. "Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione reminded him. "Oh yeah..." "I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," said Sirius, still pacing. "What's he like?" "He's okay," said Harry. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament." "Does he, now?" said Sirius, frowning more deeply. "I wonder why he'd do that?" "Says he's taken a liking to me," said Harry. "Hmm," said Sirius, looking thoughtful. "We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione told Sirius. "Remember?" she said to Harry and Ron. "Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" said Ron. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite." "How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?" "Come off it," said Ron incredulously. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?" "It's more likely he did it than Winky," said Hermione stubbornly. "Told you," said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, "told you she's obsessed with house -" But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron. "When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?" "Went to look in the bushes," said Harry, "but there wasn't anyone else there." "Of course," Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, "of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf...and then he sacked her?" "Yes," said Hermione in a heated voice, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled -" "Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" said Ron. Sirius shook his head and said, "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a mans like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." He ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard. "All these absences of Barty Crouch's...he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too....It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak." "D'you know Crouch, then?" said Harry. Sirius's face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer. "Oh I know Crouch all right," he said quietly. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial." "What?" said Ron and Hermione together. "You're kidding!" said Harry. "No, I'm not," said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads. "He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," said Sirius. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said, reading the look on Harry's face. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side...well, you wouldn't understand...you're too young...." "That's what my dad said at the World Cup," said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Try us, why don't you?" A grin flashed across Sirius's thin face. "All right, I'll try you...." He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing...the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere...panic...confusion...that's how it used to be. "Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened...." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power." "Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione. "Yep," said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd I magine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while...gotten to know his own son." He began to wolf down large pieces of bread. "Was his son a Death Eater?" said Harry. "No idea," said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf." "Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered. Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark. "Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again - doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy...then he sent him straight to Azkaban." "He gave his own son to the dementors?" asked Harry quietly. "That's right," said Sirius, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though...they all went quiet in the end...except when they shrieked in their sleep...." For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them. "So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry said. "No," said Sirius dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in." "He died?" "He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it." Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it. "So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic...next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation." There was a long silence. Harry was thinking of the way Crouch's eyes had bulged as he'd looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry. "Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry told Sirius. "Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," said Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater." "And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione. "Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," said Sirius. "Yeah, it does!" said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head. "Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him." "So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asked Harry, but Hermione broke in. "Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape -" "Oh give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron impatiently. "I know Dumbledores brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him -" "Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?" "I dunno - maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out-" "What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry said loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen. "I think they've both got a point," said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters." Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names. "Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble." "Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," said Ron. "Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" said Harry quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was." He showed Snape something on his arm?" said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. "Well, I've no idea what that's about...but if Karkaroff's genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers..." Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration. "There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort." "Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" said Ron stubbornly. "Well," said Sirius slowly, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though...he's a different matter...is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not...what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?" Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron. "You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?" "I can try," said Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch." "And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet. "Bagman told me they hadn't," said Harry. "Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," said Sirius, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic...maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long...." Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes. "What's the time?" Harry checked his watch, then remembered it hadn't been working since it had spent over an hour in the lake. "It's half past three," said Hermione. "You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." He looked particularly hard at Harry. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you." "No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows," Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him. "I don't care...I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?" He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. "I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," said Sirius, "see if I can scrounge another paper." He transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts. "Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron said as they walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care...It'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son." "Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors," said Hermione severely. "I don't know," said Ron. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career...Percy's really ambitious, you know...." They walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward them from the Great Hall. "Poor old Snuffles," said Ron, breathing deeply. "He must really like you. Harry....Imagine having to live off rats."