#And gave that woman three months to convince everyone she should be president

[cant-always-get-what-you-want]

What is he going to do? Kill the people that have already died? Displace the people that have already been displaced? Continue the trend set by the current administration and send billions of dollars in weapons and funding to israel?

If you want to speak about how things will get worse domestically, then go ahead. But to act like this makes any difference in the level of suffering being undergone by palestinians right now is disingenuous at best and fucking disgusting and blindsided at worse.

Kamala looked into the faces of people who lost family members from weapons provided by her government at one of her rallies and told them "I'm speaking" as a way to get them to shut up while they were opposing the genocide. She continuously affirmed the United States' commitment to "defending" israel throughout her campaign. What exactly was she planning to do/say/advocate for as president that she couldn't do right now as VP?

the writing is on the fucking wall.

if you didnt vote kamala specifically because of your support for palestine, you have allowed this to happen. because if kamala had won, it would have been bad for palestine, but now that trumps won, itll be worse.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Fireworks

A/n: this is not requested but i needed to write something for me and I always love writing best friend!jisung (this turned out to be hella long btw). Also i just realized this is the 16th jisung fic on my masterlist wtf. Welp happy sweet sixteen jisung. 

Tag List: @mini-meanhoe​ @leggomylino​ @hanstagrams​ @desertofdessert​ @hoes4hoseok​ @yangomangos​ @jeonqqin​ @geminirules​ @crscendoforsung​ @mrsunshine999​ @jisungsjheekies​ @hannie-squirrel00​ @cotccotc​ @kodzu-ken​ @konenichi​ @yangs-jeongin​ @binniebutter​ @skzwriternet​​

Warnings: cussing probably, lil distressed jisung, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Y/n and Jisung practically grew up together. Y/n always dreamed of getting her fairytale happy ending. So, Jisung is surprised when she is settling for an all but labeled ‘arranged marriage’ to an asshole that Jisung knows doesn’t love her. Not like he does. Can Jisung convince himself to go after what he really wants and take the risks that come with it? Can Y/n face the facts that what she has wanted has been in front of her all along?

Genre: romance, fluff, angst, non-idol!au, bestfriend!au, friends to lovers!au, wedding crasher!au, Fem Reader

❃

“Please, come today!”

Jisung sighed over the phone. “Y/n. I have no knowledge whatsoever about dresses. Especially wedding dresses! They’re all white! What’s the difference?” I could hear the murmurs of Changbin and Chan on the other side of the line. “See. I will be no help at all!” Despite the negative connotation of his words I could hear the tiny smile in his voice.

“So, we’re meeting outside the shop at five.”

“Y/n, I’m not going.”

“2146 Chyeongsong Ave, got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it.”

Letting out a happy laugh I hung up on my best friend, sure that his attendance could be accounted for. The wedding was three months away. Jiho, my fiancee, had no desire for a big wedding and it seemed the sooner we were married the happier he would be.

But, I had always dreamed of a magical wedding with hundreds of people watching me marry the man of my dreams. So, we compromised. He said I could plan as big I wedding as I wanted as long as I could get it done in three months and he would pay for it.

Jiho was the son of one of Seoul’s big company presidents. His family was very kind and seemed to welcome me with open arms despite my less than formal upbringing. Jiho grew up in a penthouse apartment and went to the best university in Seoul.

I grew up in a tiny house in the rundown suburbs next door my best friend, Jisung, and busted my ass to get scholarships and pay my way through a cheap college. Jisung was beside me in all the big moments in my life. He was my best friend and I loved him more than anything.

“So, what did he say?”

Sooyoung’s head of curly dark hair popped over the cubicle divider separating our two desks. I laughed and gave her a thumbs up. “You doubted my power of Jisung persuation?”

“Never. You could convince that boy to run around Gangnam with his shoes on his ears and screaming at the top of his lungs if you wanted to.” Laughing at the thought, I turned back to my computer, desperately watching the minutes tick by before I would get to start searching for my wedding dress.

❃

A slightly chilling breeze blew across the street. Jisung regardless of his lack of enthusiasm on the phone picked me up from work to walk with me to my dress appointment. My mother, other best friend Yuri, and Jiho’s sister Bo Rim were already waiting outside. Everyone greeted us with a smile as we walked up. My arm was looped with Jisung’s and my hand was stuffed in his jacket pocket since it was cold. 

 My mother smiled and embraced Jisung with a kiss on the cheek before motioning us inside. My entourage and I were quickly greeted by a consultant. “Hi! My name is Hyunsoon, I’ll be your consultant today. You must be the gorgeous bride, Y/n!” She smiled looking me up and down before glancing at my arm linked with the man beside me. “And is this handsome young man your husband-to-be?” 

 Jisung shook his head dark hair falling in his eyes. A tight smile sat on his lips as he answered the woman. “No, I’m just the best friend. I’m not going to stay for the whole appointment.” She nodded looking at Jisung with new eyes. “I want to be surprised. Regardless, Y/n will look radiant in whatever she chooses.”

 After a few questions about my wedding Hyunsoon led me back into a dressing room and my family and friends to a couch with mirrors around it.

 “Are you excited for your wedding?” She asked with a kind smile, placing dressing on the wall of the dressing room for me to see.

 “You could say that,”

 Her brows furrowed. “You don’t sound very excited?” I shrugged and laughed nervously. The dresses she had picked out were very pretty. Sensing I had nothing more to say on the topic she helped me into the first dress. 

It was weird to see myself in the garment. I watched her fix the dress with clips so it would fit as it should before looking over to me. The dress was more of a ball gown style. It poofed out just above my hips and was strapless with a sweetheart neckline.

“Do you want to go out and show them?” I nodded and helped her pick up the many layers of tulle skirt. Hearing fabric brush against the ground as we walked out of the hallway, the heads of my entourage turned. Several smiles were seen from my view in the mirror as I stepped up onto the pedestal.

 I gazed once again at the dress in the mirror. It was a gorgeous gown; there was no doubt. Feeling ready for their opinion, I turned around to face the peanut gallery. “What do you think?” My mother was quick to gush over the skirt. Bo Rim and Yuri both raved over the shiny beading on the bodice. Mrs. Nam, Jiho’s mother seemed to like it just fine. My eyes fell on Jisung who said nothing. He looked at me, arms crossed and fingers brushing over his bottom lip. “Ji?”

 “It’s....nice...”

Struggling not to laugh I replied, “One of the most incredible song writers I know and the only thing he has to say is ‘nice’?” My friend chuckled and his stare raked over the fabric before looking back up at my face.

“It’s not you. You don’t look like you. You look like some frilly puffy marshmallow girl.”

From anyone else the comment would offend but all I could do was laugh. “He’s right this is definitely not me.” Nodding the consultant ushered me back into the dressing room. Five dresses later, nothing felt right and I was beginning to get stressed out. “What do I do, Hyunsoon? Nothing feels right. I’m not feeling those....fireworks.” The beautiful woman looked at me in question. “Sorry, it’s something Jisung and I say to each other. It’s like our wish for the other to find so much happiness that it feels like...actual fireworks.” I explained with a light laugh. 

She sat down on the floor with me, moving the short silk robe further over my thigh, a gentle gesture. “Tell me more about your fiancee,” She kept her hand on my knee and rubbed soothing circles on my skin.

“Ummm....well...his name is Nam Jiho. He’s really nice and very very smart. Like holy fuck, he is insanely smart. He spends most of his time at work and he really likes to run as well.”

She looked at me expectantly. “That’s it?” I nodded, a little unsure of what else she wanted me to say. “And you love him?”

“Of course! What kind of a question is that? I’m getting married aren’t I?” Though I smiled, she could tell there was the smallest bit of insecurity. She thought for a minute tapping her fingers softly on my knee.

I felt somewhat lost among the mountains of white fabric scattered about the room. “Okay then! Whose opinion matters the most to you out of everyone you brought with you today?”

“Oh- Jisung. Of course.”

“Tell me about Jisung,”

A hefty sigh left my lips, but a small happy smile soon replaced it. “Jisung is....he’s like....my person you know? Like anytime I need him- even when I don’t need him- he’s always around. We grew up together. He is my everything. I trust him with more than my life. He’s just....Jisung. He is fully himself and unapologetic about it.” Ilaughed recalling thousands and thousands of memories with him. “He is a total asshole. Way too confident. But, he gets really shy sometimes. He’s also very genuine and has the biggest heart. Without Jisung...I wouldn't be who I am today.”

She smiled and pushed herself off the ground. “I will be right back!” Just as she closed the door, Hyunsoon winked over at me and left me alone in the dressing room.

❃

Jisung’s POV

I was beginning to feel restless. Y/n hadn’t come out in at least thirty minutes. My leg was going to bounce off my body at this point. Unable to sit still any longer I pushed myself off the plush couch. It was getting harder and harder to control my heart seeing Y/n walk out in all these gowns knowing she was going to marry another man.

Wandering through the labyrinth-like rows of white frocks, I found myself thinking once again about Y/n. Not bothering to cage my thoughts they ran wild with daydreams of Y/n choosing dresses imagining what I would think of her walking down the aisle. Her smiling at me instead of that asshat, Jiho. 

Turning down an obviously dead end, my eyes fell on the mannequin standing in the center of the row. A delicate dress hung on the figure.Tattooed lace around the bodice and down the front of the gown to the hips fading like waves on shore. The back was low and open and my mind filled in the gaps, picturing Y/n’s soft skin laying beneath the fabric. My fingers brushed over the long thin sleeves. 

The sound of the a door closing snatched me from the my tantalizing reverie. “Oh- You’re Jisung right?” The woman asked walking closer. I recognized her as the one helping with Y/n’s appointment. I gave her a short nod, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “I actually need your help.”

“Anything for Y/n.” The beautiful woman’s brow quirked up and a smile slid onto her painted lips. “I mean....anything...for the bride.” 

Her tongue slid over her white teeth. There was so much white around, my head was starting to physically hurt. “Uh huh. Anyway! Y/n basically hates everything not only I have picked, but also everything she’s picked.” I stood waiting for the part where I could possibly help. “She trusts you. She wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

“I’m sorry....I don’t see how-”

“I see you’re looking at dresses. Have you seen one that you like? Maybe....one you would like...on Y/n?” My eyes fell to the floor, glancing over at the mannequin briefly. My quick gaze did not go unnoticed by Y/n’s consultant. “Well...Jisung....don’t you have good taste.” She walked over to dress form and checked the price tag before giving the gown a once over. “Revealing taste too....” She sang with a smirk. 

I looked away rubbing the back of my neck, the area feeling very itchy all of a sudden.  “I-I- uh...the dress just seems like her. It’s very.....mesmeric. Her.” 

“She did say you have a way with words.” Hyunsoon, I think her name was, walked over to one of the racks pushing past dresses until she pulled out one I assumed was in my bestfriend’s size. “Go sit back down! I know she’s going to love this one.” 

My head tilted back and I let out a sigh. As much as it pained me, I knew seeing that dress on Y/n and knowing it was ‘the one’ would be it for me. I’d snap and in front of all her family, soon to be and current, I’d confess how much I loved her and that I didn’t want her to marry that dick. I’d ruin what would be her perfect happy ending. Well...in her words....her ‘Moderatley-Happy-Fiancially-Stable Ending’.

“Actually...I’m gonna head out. I know she’s gonna love it. Tell her I hope she gets her fireworks.”

Willinging myself to start moving, I walked past Hyunsoon and towards the door, only stopping once. A glimpse. I caught only a glimpse. The door of Y/n’s dressing room opened and I saw the bright smile on her lips as she looked at the dress being brought to her. “That’s your last look, Han.” I mumbled under my breath. “Now turn around and walk out.” 

With every ounce of willpower left in my body, I did.

❃

The TV droned in my rundown apartment. My two closest friends, outside the one I was deeply in love with, were half drunkenly lounged in my tiny living room. I scowled at the television, taking another drink from the bottle in my hand. 

“Dude- slow down. That’s like your sixth drink.” The eldest chided, tossing a balled up fast food wrapper at my head. 

Ignoring the fellow musician’s advice, I chugged the rest of the beer shooting Chan a look. “Chan let him be. You know what tomorrow is.” Changbin sighed. Turning, I found him hanging off an armchair upside down, scrolling through his phone. It was silent for a while until the inverted boy spoke up again. “I still don’t get why she’s marrying that douchebag.”

Knowing where this conversation was going I escaped to the kitchen, preoccupying myself with grabbing another beer from the fridge. the other two boys paid me no mind and continued the discussion as if I was invisible. Chan’s attention turned back to me as I plopped down next to him on the dusty old couch. “Han, didn’t you say you caught the guy cheating like....multiple times....” 

It was true. I had caught Jiho not once, not twice, not even three times, but four times I had got him with other women. Jiho liked to go out to clubs. The scumbag would pretend that he was working late so Y/n would be none the wiser, then he would stay out until three in the morning drinking and getting with random girls he met. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to frequent establishments he knew I wouldn’t be at. My music career was in the dumps lately and I had resorted to DJ-ing at downtown clubs.

That fucking asshole even had the audacity to flirt with other girl while Y/n was around. She had invited me out with the two of them for drinks  after a promotion at work. The second she leaves for the bathroom Jiho starts making moves on the waitress. Right in front of me. 

“Yeah....well, there’s nothing I can do about it.” On multiple occasions I had tried to tell Y/n about her terrible fiancee. Every time I tried, all I could see was the look of hope on her face. the look that practically begged for me to tell her that Jiho and I were finally getting along. And....I couldn’t do it. I could never do it. 

“Boo hoo. Horton hears a bitch ass liar!” Changbin slurred from his awkward position. 

“What?”

“That is quite possibly the biggest lie you have ever told.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Chan yanked the beer out of my grip and handed me a water bottle instead. “Oh and what do you suppose I do then?” I managed to get the words out before Chan less than gently shoved the water in my face. 

The man beside me sighed and shifted to face me fully. “You love Y/n. Yes or No?”

“Yes.”

“She needs to know that.” I shook my head. No, she did not need to know that. I was not going to be the reason Y/n ruined her chance at a good life. Looking around my apartment I saw nothing but disappointment. Most months it was hard to make rent and I could barely afford to do anything but the bare necessities. She deserved better than what I could give her. “We all know Y/n is only settling. This is definitely not the fairytale ending she always talked about.”

“Chan, there’s no such thing as fairytales. Even Y/n knows that.” Inwardly, I grimaced at my own words. Had Y/n been around to hear those words I would have been slapped upside the head. 

“How do you know that? Do you have proof?” Changbin mused, a drunk smile on his face. “Let’s say this is a fairytale. You and Y/n have to be the main characters! The prince and the princess always get to together in the end! Duhhh!”

Even in my sour and depressed mood it was easy to laugh as Changbin slid off the armchair and landed on his head. “He does have a point, Ji.” Chan said, listing his head back onto the couch. Two of his fingers pushed the bottom of the bottle back up towards my face. “You’re the leading man in your own life, dude. Stop acting like the best friend. If you want her go get her.”

My thumb brushed over the grooves in the plastic . The alcohol was quickly clearing out of my system. A numbness filled my body as I contemplated the options put in front of me. Maybe it was time for me to be selfish. Maybe it was time for me to get what I wanted. 

Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself off the sofa and headed for the door. 

❃

Thirteen hours. Thirteen hours before my best friend’s wedding and I was walking to her house at two in the morning to confess my feelings for her. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mumbled under my breath. The view of her parents house was growing closer as I walked down the street. Y/n told me earlier in the week she would be staying there the night before the big day. 

Just like so many nights in our teen-dom, a familiar yellow glow from Y/n’s bedroom window illuminated the street below her house. Through the second story window I could see glimpses of movement. For a moment I just stood, doubting all the decisions I made in the last twenty minutes. I could chicken out here. Turn around and go home. She would never know. 

Just as I was about to turn around, I was caught in daze by the image in the window. Y/n stepped into view, radient like a new morning. From the little I could see from the street, she was wearing the dress I had picked from the boutique. Her hair was messily pushed back and strands fell in front of her eyes. The glint of the standing mirror flashed across from where she stood. Her beautiful E/c eyes trained on her reflection. 

She was breathtaking. My chest got tight just looking at her and a cold sweat was born on my palms. I watched as she rung her hands together, nervously twisting the rings on her fingers; a habit we both shared. Y/n let out a shaky breath before returning her gaze to the looking glass, this time with a smile. 

Her delicate fingers reached up and brushed her cheek before they stretched out as if to shake some invisible person’s hand. Her smile grew brighter as she talked to this imaginary person. She laughed and looked truly the happiest I had seen her in a long time. 

My eyes fell to the road, scuffing my shoe on the asphalt. She was happy. No matter how badly I wanted her.....there was no way I was going to take that away from her. Y/n’s happiness mattered more than mine. I could find comfort in the knowledge that she would be happy. That she would be taken care of. That she got everything she deserved. Everything I could never give her. 

Turning on my heel, the cold air and truth bleeding me sober, I walked back into the city away from my happy ending. 

❃

Y/n’s POV

Thirteen hours. Thirteen hours before my wedding and I was questioning everything for absolutely no reason. The rest of my family was long asleep. Yet, here I sat in my wedding dress feeling like everything I was doing, every decision I made.....was wrong. I felt like crying for no reason, my throat refusing to be anything but tight. 

Coming to my feet, I smoothed out the gorgeous gown and walked with no purpose until I found myself staring at the mirror on the far side of the room. The girl on the other side of the glass looked like a bride. Why wasn’t I happy with that?

Standing up tall like my mother lectured many times in the past few days, I pursed my lips and put on a pained smile. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Nam Jiho,” The name felt unclean coming from my lips. Tilting my head, I rubbed my face before staring back at my reflection. I sighed pushing back the feeling of tears begging to spill over. 

“It’s nice to meet you, my name is Nam Y/n.” I shivered, swallowing the last bit of moisture in my mouth. “Nam....Y/n.....Y/n Nam....Mrs.Nam Y/n.” The more I tried to look at the person who I would become the more I felt like crying. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Mrs. Nam Y/n....” Before I could finish the words I broke into tears. Loud sobs filled my room and all I could do was stare at the hollow shell reflected in my mirror. 

My heart ached. The air in the room around me felt heavy, like a weight on my shoulders, pushing me down into the ground. Pushing past the lump in my throat, my eyes returned to the mirror, this time fixating on the photos framing the glass. Pictures of my friends and family.

 My heart lifted seeing a photo of Jisung and me. It was an old picture from highschool, probably taken on one of those disposable cameras you could get at corner stores. His school uniform was slightly too big for his then thin frame. My skirt was just a little too long and my shoes were never quite the right size. We were seated on the bleachers outside the school. Jisung sat on the row above me and let me rest between his legs. His arm was wrapped around my shoulders, as he leaned around to kiss my cheek. I was caught in the middle of a laugh and Jisung looked so happy right next to me. 

I smiled remembering the day from the printed memory. A friend we both had lost touch with had taken the photo while we weren’t looking. We then got teased for days afterwards. My fingers brushed over the delicate fabric of the dress. The dress that Jisung had chosen. Jisung. Almost every happy moment of my life....was tied to Jisung. Taking a step forward, I looked back in the mirror. Sniffing away the tears, I smiled. 

“I’m please to meet you....I’m Mrs. Han Jisung,” 

The smile on my face grew bigger and my heart swelled. Reaching up I brushed away the tears that spilled over before holding my hand as if meeting one of the guests at my wedding. “Jisung and I are so pleased you could come to our wedding,” 

The feeling in my chest had me wishing to cry all over again but for a different reason. I wanted to jump and scream at the top of my lungs the name ‘Han Y/n’. The more I said it, the more I felt like a teenager again. 

All I could think about was Jisung. His dark hair, dyed one too many times, leaving it slightly damaged but somehow still soft. His big, round, doe eyes. The way he told the stupidest jokes. His voice- not just when he sang, but even simply speaking his voice was one of my favorite sounds. Pressing my hands to my cheeks, I pulled away finding them hot. 

“Fuck...I’m in love with Jisung.”

❃

“Okay, I need everyone to give me some fucking space!” I shouted, effectively silencing my dressing room. One by one, my maid of honor ushered the ladies out. I let slip one time that I am having second thoughts and all hell breaks loose. 

Sitting at the vanity, my head fell into my hands. I was dejected. Confused. And obviously sitting with a pretty big headache. I hadn’t heard from Jisung since the dress appointment and he didn’t answer any of my texts this morning. It was like he was avoiding me. Eyeing the champagne on table I contemplated drinking the whole damn bottle then just going through with the event. As much as I wanted to get married, I didn’t want to do it to someone I didn’t love. 

Standing up, I manuevered the champagne filled vessel away from my body and popped it, the sound letting loose a satisfying echo. The bubbly liquid filled the glass flute I picked up. My first sip was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“I told you guys I needed space! Just fuck off!”

Downing the glass, I turned to pour another one. Drunk ceremony was looking like my best option right about now. The click of the dressing room door opening caused my ears to prick up. “I said fuck off-”

“That’s not very nice language coming from the bride.” 

Jisung stood in the doorway, hesitant smile on his face. His hair was almost styled, pieces still falling loose over his forehead. A black blazer hung over an untucked slightly wrinkled white dress shirt. His slender hands were shoved in the pockets of his blue jeans. 

“Coming from you that’s rich,” He watched me drink in his appearance. “Jeans, Ji? You come to my wedding in jeans and Doc Martens?” 

My best friend rubbed the back of his neck, eyes trained on the carpeted floor. “To be honest....I wasn’t sure I was coming at all.”

I blinked, trying to process the words just said to me. My best friend....the man I loved more than anything in the world...said he almost didn’t come to my wedding. “Excuse me?”

“Y/n....we need to talk....” 

My chest tightened in anticipation as I watched Jisung close the door. He stayed on the opposite side of the room seemingly nervous or afraid to even look my way. A hint of a smile appeared as I watched Jisung anxiously turn the silver rings around his fingers. “Ji, have you been avoiding me...”

Instead of answering, the man’s eyes fell to the bottle on the vanity. He motioned to it, wordlessly asking for a glass. Stepping away, I allowed him enough room to cross and pour a glass for himself. He downed the flute like a shot almost making me laugh at the similarity between us. “Didn’t you want to get married outside? In a forest if I remember correctly?”

“Don’t change the subject, Jisung.”

“I’m not.” For the first time I felt like Jisung really looked at me. His eyes seemed to soften. Before I could once again appreciate how beguiling his eyes were, they retreated back to their place on the floor. “Y/n....this isn’t you. You deserve a fairytale ending. Your fairytale ending. You don’t deserve a shotgun wedding in some church with nobody watching just waiting for the hour de vours to be passed out.”

“I’m not pregnant. This isn’t a shotgun-”

“Please just let me finish, Y/n....”

Nodding, I leaned against the vanity and watched my friend’s hands brushed through his dark locks. The silver hanging from his ears glinted in the bright fluorescent lighting. “Y/n...Don’t....don’t get married.” He seemed encouraged by my reaction, or lack thereof. “I think about you a little more than I should. A lot more actually. For a long time. Y/n/n, I’ve been in love with you since grade school.”

A familiar lump began to form in my throat and a pit formed in my stomach. Gaining confidence, Jisung’s eyes met mine. “It’s been killing me...seeing you with that asshole. I know you’re happy. I know that you’re better off with him. He can give you everything that I can’t, because you deserve to have a nice house. You deserve to be spoiled with gifts and trips. You deserve to not come home every night and worry whether the rent has been paid.” Jisung stopped and stared at the empty glass in his hands. 

“You always talked about fairytales when we were little. Well...my fairytale would just be us. No magic. No princes and princesses. Cause you’re enough for me. More than enough. Y/n, you’re it for me. You’re my fairytale.”

His eyes widened seeing a single tear rolling down my cheek. Before continuing Jisung watched me with shaking hands carefully set the glass flute on the vanity behind me. 

“I- I want you to be happy. If you’re happy with Jiho then I will go out into that church and clap when you get hitched. Because, that's what friends fucking do and that I can give you. But...if there is any chance....any part of you...that loves me at all....even a little bit....”

He gulped, fingers ferociously twisting the rings on his right hand. Not many would believe it, but Jisung was shy. Introverted. It was rare to see him like this. Jisung wasn’t afraid or nervous, but more timid or demure. I could almost see his heart physically stop beating as I opened my mouth to speak.

“I’m not happy, Ji.” He blinked, big, brown, doe eyes trying to understand what I meant. “I want to be. But, I can’t be happy with someone I don’t love. I don’t care about the money or the gifts. I just.....want my fireworks. I think you can understand that more than anyone.”

Jisung nodded dejectedly, shoving his hands into the pockets of the blazer that seemed to be holding itself together with only a few threads. He seemed to not understand what I was saying. “I do....understand- I mean. That’s all I want for you. If you can’t be happy with Jiho or me then-”

“Fuck, Ji. You really are dense aren’t you?”

“What?”

Reaching forward, I twisted the collar of Jisung’s slightly unbuttoned shirt and pulled him closer. Before our lips even touched I could feel electricity in the air, sparking and making room hotter. Finally feeling my lips against his sent my stomach on a rollercoaster; twisting, turning, loop de loops, and free falls giving me the greatest feeling spreading to the rest of my body. 

The feeling of my fingers sliding up his neck, must have brought Jisung out of whatever shock induced daze he was in. Like second nature his arms wrapped around me, cool hands pressing into the bare skin of my back. There was nothing but fire in my stomach as Jisung dragged his lips over mine at a painstakingly slow pace. The man smiled feeling me pull and tangle my fingers in his soft dark tresses. 

“Fireworks?” I asked, pulling away with my bottom lip snagged between my teeth. 

“Millions.” Jisung’s thumb brushed over my cheek before he leaned back in capturing my lips in another death defying kiss. “Did you drive here? I took the train.” He mumbled between kisses.

I laughed feeling happier than any moment before in my life. “My car is out back. You’re driving.”

Opening my eyes, I saw that signature smirk my best friend was famous for. For the first time I knew why my insides did flips when it was directed at me. Lacing his fingers with mine he dragged me from the dressing room and led me through the halls as fast as we could run with one of us in a wedding dress. As we reached the car, slamming the doors shut, the bells in the chapel started to ring making the both of us grin. Jisung leaned over, fastening my seatbelt before kissing my lips like they were his only source of air.

“You make quite the gorgeous runaway bride,”

❃

Masterlist

[crimsonthehobo]

Battle Scars - (1/?)

[A/N:] Haven’t been on this account in months, am quite sleep-deprived and I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Well, lunch now apparently. So before I lose the minimal courage I got, I’ll just drop this off here and hope it works! Don’t know when I might write the next part, might even not. Who knows. Mind’s wonky. This has been in my files for a long while, wrote it back when Guy Sebastian’s song Battle Scars got stuck in my head. Figured I might as well let it stop collecting dust. Also, considering I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how to properly tag. 

If there’s tags I should put, ESPECIALLY if they’re tw tags, please do tell me. [Summary:] The child of a general, the only survivor of a (frankly) unethical experiment, and the old college roommate of one Alexandra Danvers. Somehow all three of those things correlate with one another, not that you can remember at this point. You just want to live in the forest, forgetting the reasons for the scars that litter your body. [Warning(s):] Reader’s thoughts get... dark. Somewhat. More depressing, I think. Some people horrifically mutate too, so there’s that. Again, if there should be warnings in the tags or here that I should put but didn’t, do tell me. What else... uh, this is approximately 11k words long? Maybe that deserves a warning all to itself. Is there a tag that explains “possibly turns you into a modern-day cave person living in forests to steal from humans and wrestle bears”? Possibly a spoiler, but hey, at least it means you read warnings, so congrats!

The first time you felt like you’d failed, was when you had to leave the first love of your life. It was the only scar that had no physical counterpart, but you’d felt the mind-numbing pain, nonetheless.

“You watch yourself, alright? I won’t be around to keep your head screwed on for you!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

You rolled your eyes, pointedly keeping your focus on shoving the remaining belongings you had into your duffle. You didn’t look at her. You couldn’t. You knew if you did, you’d break.

Silence fell over the room at your half-hearted response, the lack of noise almost making you regret not saying anything more in reply. And then…

“Do… Do you really have to go?”

‘Damn it.’

Alex’s words were shaky, barely louder than a whisper. The strained tinge in her voice urged you to look up from zipping up your bag, glancing over at the source.

Seated on your bed with her legs over the side, she sat hunched over as one of her legs anxiously shook up and down against the edge. Her hands were curled into fists between her knees, knuckles white as her forearms tensed from their placement on her thighs.

She looked so… small. Nervous. It wasn’t like her.

She was supposed to be Alex Danvers. A stubborn redhead that was tough-as-nails and was always up for drinking you under the table any day!

But you couldn’t blame her for not being herself. She was heartbroken, and so were you.

Though, it made you feel guilty that it was because of you that she looked so weak.

No, “weak” wasn’t the word.

Vulnerable…

Vulnerable seemed more fitting.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked away, but it didn’t last for long. You felt her tap your jaw; once, twice, then a third time. For you two, it was a universal sign that you needed to listen. That what would be said was important.

It was an action that would only take effect if done by the other, and no one else.

It could calm either of you from rage, or even help you fight the haze of drunkenness to be in some semblance of sober.

It was special. Meaningful.

Hence why your automatic reaction was to turn, to obey the silent request to face her.

“You’ll stay in touch, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

Now you? You were weak. While the owner of your heart was devastated right in front of you, all you could offer for comfort was an unconvincing smile and a useless apology.

Her throat bobbed as she attempted to swallow back a sob, but the teary shine in her eyes gave her away.

Another surge of guilt struck your heart and made you avert your eyes elsewhere, anywhere, as long as they were not on her.

‘Look at what you’ve done.’

It was your fault. She didn’t even know why you were leaving so suddenly.

Your father had found out of your attraction to her, and needless to say, he didn’t take it lightly. A few strings pulled later, and you were being sent away to be “straightened out.” The thought almost made scoff during that particular conversation in his study, but you accepted the consequences anyway.

You should’ve been better.

You should’ve done better.

You didn’t protect her well enough.

The fault was none but yours… and the knife you felt in your heart would remind you for a long while to come.

~~~

 The second time you felt like you’d failed, happened two years after that moment in your college dorm room.

It took months for that scar to start to heal, but you knew it would take years before it would even begin to fade.

You’d tried to keep in contact, but you had your life to live and so did she. Not to mention the day your father heard of the two of you still communicating, he pulled more strings to cut you off. It was too late, anyway. You’d already stopped talking by then.

But whether the silence was for the better or worse was up for debate.

Just the thought of her made your heart lurch, and actually interacting with her never failed to re-open that scar anew. The space, however agonizing, let the wound heal.

Yet that very same space was what let you drown yourself into your current occupation. In order to compensate for the agony, you let yourself fall deeper and deeper into your work. Though at this point, you were questioning if you should even call it that.

Unknown to her, a month into your time in the military, a general offered you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You found it hard to believe. You weren’t stupid, you could read between the lines. You knew “opportunity” also meant “ulterior motive.”

He didn’t prove you wrong.

When you walked into the conference room you’d been instructed to enter, your eyes immediately fell to the only individual inside.

General Lane.

You knew three things about him. One, he had been your father’s best friend. Two, he had a palpable dislike for any and all alien life. Specifically, Superman. Three, whenever he began to rant, just smile, and nod.

It was only the two of you there, yet you couldn’t seem to find it in you to focus. Not after he uttered the words “military program.”

You already knew this wouldn’t end well.

Though you remained silent, your eyes having glazed over as the static in your ears prevented his words from reaching your brain, he continued to speak. You only managed to catch bits and pieces, but you got the gist.

They wanted to conduct an experiment and were looking for lab rats. They wanted you to be one.

You weren’t surprised they asked. To everyone else’s knowledge, you had no one left in your life but you. Your father made sure any links between you and Alex were cleanly severed, meaning any history between you two had been cleared. You had no family other than your parents, your mother having passed while you were still in your single digits, while your father had done the same just a week before this very meeting.

‘Tch… no love lost there.’

But, considering he was a respected figure and a close friend of the very same general right in front of you, you had to at least act as if his death affected you. Your father had always been one for appearances, so no one outside of the two of you (and Alex) knew just how estranged you’d been from the other. Because of this, luckily (or unluckily, depending on what way you view it), people took your indifferent poker face to be one of grief.

General Lane wanted to capitalize on that. On you.

You had military blood in you (because apparently that meant you were exactly like your father), you had a “reason” to go missing (grief, hah), and—as far as he was concerned—you had no close relations that would worry should you ever disappear (you… couldn’t really think of a quip to internalize there). You seemed like the perfect guinea pig.

“…We need heroes around here. Human heroes. Not those monsters who could fall to their instincts at the drop of a hat, or at the touch of some space rock—”

Again, it came with no surprise to you that extra-terrestrials were the main focus of said experiment.

You wanted to say no. Fuck, did you want to say no. You wanted no part in this blind hatred. But then…

“—They’re never here when we actually need them. A group of freaks like him are planning to go after National City to lure him out, and where is Superman? Frolicking off in space! The President had an entire clandestine organization made exactly for roach-connected situations like this, yet they don’t even know—”

Your blood ran cold, your hearing suddenly becoming clear as your eyes bore into his.

National City.

Of all the places, they had to go there. You didn’t give it a second thought. You didn’t have to.

“I’ll do it.”

.

.

.

You had no idea what CADMUS was, just that they were collaborating with the U.S. Military to make you and forty-nine others into the ones that would “exterminate the roaches infesting the planet.”

Sounded more like “short-sighted discrimination with an unhealthy dash of xenophobia” than “rational thought for the human race” to you; but as long as you could protect Alex, you didn’t care how much of the mindless drivel you had to sit through.

You didn’t count how many times you found yourself strapped to a metal bed, or how many times you found a needle being stuck into you. Rather, you couldn’t. More than half the time, whatever they put into your bloodstream always made you feel woozy. Enough to make you practically perpetually confused.

Any recollection of your experiences during the experimentation were impossible to stir, and after seeing that one woman’s all-too-amused smirk a few too many times, you were convinced that it had been on purpose.

Before you knew it, another month had passed. Not that you would’ve realized it yourself. Your best guess would’ve been a week, if it weren’t for the woman General Lane had assigned to you telling you otherwise.

She was about your age, maybe a month or so younger. Lucia was her name if you remembered correctly. She’d been left by him to keep an eye on you, or to “keep you sane” as she worded so eloquently.

She was the first person you saw the moment you could properly think again. Her calming presence was a breath of fresh air, and for a moment, everything felt… nice.

Until a soldier barged through the door of your allocated resting area, screaming about an attack.

Time seemed to blur once again, and the next thing you knew, you were in the middle of a war zone. A mile or two from some desert base in the middle of nowhere.

Only you and the rest of the fifty who had been volunteered for the Eradication Program had been deployed. You wished you hadn’t been. The others were bloodthirsty, tearing through the opposition the moment they were ordered to. You, however, chose to take a step back and analyse the enemy.

Most of the “opposing force” looked to be human, not alien. None of them seemed hostile, either. Well… until they were provoked, that is. The human-like members of their group—who you’re sure actually were human—were being protected by their definitely-alien comrades, clearly not trained for combat or any attack whatsoever. In fact, if their attire was anything to go by, they all worked in what could be considered “support” occupations. Engineers, researchers, varying members of medical staff… not one of them appeared to be soldiers.

What was General Lane not telling you?

Were you really protecting National City?

…Were you even in National City?

You felt your comms crackle in your ears, said general’s voice screeching, “What the HELL are you doing?! Move your ass, Six!”

Right. Soldier Six, your call sign. Simply because you were the sixth one to wake up.

How original.

You huffed, and in retaliation to the general’s orders, you tore the device out of your ear and threw it as far as you could over your shoulder.

Because frankly, you didn’t want to. Not when you’d been pit against wrongly identified “hostiles.”

Despite your stubbornness to keep your feet rooted to your spot, soon enough, you didn’t have the privilege of choosing to abstain.

The other “volunteers”—all forty-nine of them—began to stop and convulse. Their flesh rippled beneath their skin, muscles expanding and contracting in an obscene manner.

Something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.          

Each and every one of them mutated appallingly right before your very eyes, all of them attaining a different level of horrendous to another. Some grew limbs, some lost them. Others had extra eyes while a handful had one left or none at all. A few had their nails elongate into claws, others had a tailbone that whipped its way through the air. More than half had lost the colours of their irises—no, not just the colour. The pupils and irises themselves disappeared completely. It was a horrific spectacle to behold.

To call these things a shell of their former selves, would be insulting to the humans they used to be.

Was this going to happen to you?

You didn’t have much time for your thoughts. The one thing that didn’t change was the sheer amount of bloodthirst coursing through their veins. With the supposedly villainous aliens already exhausted, they wouldn’t last a second round against the other volunteer—

‘…No,’ You shook your head, fists clenched tight, ‘Those aren’t the volunteers anymore.’

From what you could see, those men and women died the moment the experiments started. All you could do for them, was help them rest in peace.

And you doubt they’d be getting any rest with their bodies wreaking havoc as these beasts.

Using the enhanced abilities you shared with the monstrosities, you slowly but surely took them out one by one.

They fought like animals.

Yet no matter how many times they slashed at your body, no matter how many times they lunged for your head, nor how many times they made you bleed, you continued to end every single one of them. You didn’t want any of them to suffer longer than they already have.

As with most things nowadays, in your eyes, the details were nothing but a blur. Everything felt… vague. Flashes of claws, bones, and agonizing pain run through your mind, yet no instance remained distinct for more than a second.

…Was this a symptom? Of the experiment, or the transformation?

Fear of the truth made you falter, and a skeletal tail surging straight through your right thigh forced your focus to return. But then so too would the questions, along with the subsequent terror, until another wound started the cycle another time. Again and again, until after what felt like an eternity, the last of them finally fell with an inhuman screech. It was done. But at what cost?

You surveyed your battleground, heart heavy and clenched in an icy grip. You couldn’t protect them, save them. Any of them.

A mighty hack then reverberated through the painfully silent air and caused you to flinch. Your head snapped up to turn to its direction, your feet already making their way over. You’d thoughtlessly skidded onto your knees, the coin-flip reaction bringing you to the survivor’s side. It was an alien.

Your eyes were wide in alarm, hands flittering around as your mind buzzed at what to do. There were so many injuries. Far too many for him to survive, alien or no. Your eyes met his, and your breath hitched in surprise. His irises didn’t scream anger or disgust like you expected. Instead, they were shining in wonder so innocent, it was almost childlike.

“You… Your body… did not… revolt?” the dying male grinned, placing a hand in yours to grip it in glee, “M-Miracle! It… I-It is m-miracle!”

For a moment, you were confused. Until you followed his gaze and watched as your body slowly stitched itself back together. One shallow cut in particular caught your attention, the damage slowly disappearing before your very eyes, leaving not a single blemish on your skin. You’d been so focused on fighting, that you didn’t even stop and wonder how you were still alive. After this day, there may not even be a single scar found.

At another bloody cough, newfound healing abilities were far from the forefront of your mind. Your vision blurred with tears, a sob escaping without your control. It was your fault. It was all your fault.

“Sorry…” You hadn’t spoken in so long, your voice harsh and throat sore, “I- I’m so sorry.”

He weakly shook his head, “B-Blame… not… on y-you. Deceived. We… We all… were…”

“W-What?”

With a wince, he forced his other arm to point to one of his fallen allies, a human researcher about a meter or so north of you.

“Necklace… take…” the light in his eyes was beginning to die, you could see it and he could feel it. Forcing a shaky smile, he murmured in his broken English, “Promise… y-you… not feel… guilty?”

“I…”

You knew you’d feel guilty.

You should, shouldn’t you? This was all your fault! You were careless and made a mistake once again. You didn’t see through the veil, you weren’t smart enough. You couldn’t stop the others, you weren’t quick enough.

You weren’t enough.

And just like before, people suffered because of it.

But… although he was on his last seconds of life, he looked at you so brightly. He was still so hopeful. How could you break such a wonderous being in his last moments?

You shook your head ‘no,’ lying, knowing this would be a wound that would last a long time to come. From the huff he gave, you felt like he knew that too.

Nonetheless, he coughed out, “P-Promise?”

You swallowed, feeling a fresh wave of hot tears cascading down your cheeks. With another lurch from your heavy heart, you gave him a nod and a shaky smile of your own, “I promise.”

His smile grew a fraction wider, “P… Pro… mise…”

His last breath left him, leaving the hand still in yours to fall, limp.

You were wrong earlier, there was a scar left behind.

The laceration you’d received from foolishly grabbing onto a tail, the one injury that had been obscured from your sight by his hold, had left a mark. You knew what it would be. A memento, of another time you’d failed. Of the first time your naivety took the life of another. You let a sob escape your control.

And another…

And another…

For hours you stayed on the blood-soaked sand, the coarse particles dyed red with the proof of the violent loss of life. By the time you heard a chopper land meters away to analyse the aftermath, your tears had long since dried and the last remnants of your rampant emotions were now trapped deep within, leaving only your now-signature emotionless mask. Thankfully, they understood enough that your mind was stuck elsewhere and didn’t bother to get a mission report out of you.

They did, however, cheer at the averted “crisis.”

All except Lucia. It was a small comfort, but a comfort, nonetheless. Rather than cheering, she sat next to you, a consoling hand on your shoulder as she murmured apologies for wrongs not her own.

For a brief moment, you wondered why she was here. What her role was in all of this mess, how she got caught up in it…

But when the others’ voices drowned out Lucia’s and all you could hear was their excitement and joy, your thoughts were immediately overrun by pure rage. Your stare morphed into a glare as your eyes kept themselves glued to the carnage below, hand clutching the unseen necklace concealed by your dog tags.

You were the only one who survived.

You were the only success.

You were now a monster.

 ~~~

 It was two years later after that, that the third occurrence happened.

Although you held a great amount of distrust for the U.S. Military, you never left their command. Foolishly, you stayed and did whatever they said. You went to where they told you you’d been needed. You fought who they told you to fight. You killed who they told you to kill.

All because of your own fear.

What if you were already transforming? What if your body was just one second away from fighting whatever gave you your powers? What if, the moment you left… you went berserk?

One “what if” after another festered in your mind, leading to you to forcibly suppress your own self and play their perfect little soldier, if only to keep your own body at bay should it ever run amok.

After all, they created you. The only ones who would know how to stop you would be them, right?

Besides, what would you even do once you left? They’d written the end of your life for you the moment you agreed to be a lab experiment.

Who would you have turned to?

Alex?

You scoffed at the thought. You said “yes” to help protect her, not drag her into the damn problem.

For a year and a half, you’d justified your stay with those thoughts, and for more than half of that time you let yourself be used as a mere weapon. It took you a year until you accepted the truth of your situation, and it wasn’t until roughly three months prior to your third failure that you finally let yourself see reason.

 .

.

.

 You sat up on your bunk, eyes on your hands, staring at blood that none but you could see. Sweat dripped from your brow, faint screams echoing in your eardrums, audible just beneath the vigorous beating of your heart.

‘I can’t keep this up…’ You released a shuddering breath, ‘How long will I have to keep this up?!’

Ever since that day in the desert, your nights were never peaceful, your sleep never serene. You’d long since gotten used to the endless screams of terror, the unending stream of unfamiliar faces contorting in woe. But what you hadn’t prepared for—what you never thought you’d ever need to prepare for—was for those faces to suddenly become familiar.

Alex had been petrified, the alien terrified, and Lucia… Lucia lay on the bloodied, black dirt, prone. Her face perpetually mortified. Even after you lurched forward in your bed and had left the realm of dreams, their suffering still danced in the shadows of your surroundings, the remnants of their frightened faces flashing in your eyes like some ghastly slideshow.

Their misery was because of you. You’d stumbled too deep into the haze, and by the time you came out, you had become what you feared the most. The cause of their torment.

‘What am I doing with my life?’

It was on that night that you truly accepted the reality of your situation. You had let your mind wander and, without realizing, let yourself function on autopilot for too long. It wasn’t until now, on this night—when you were terrorized by their screams—that you accepted that fact. But you felt it was already too late.

By mindlessly putting your life on the line, you had saved hundreds of lives—or so you were told. Yet for every life you saved, you knew there had been at least one you’d taken in return.

Your comrades rejoiced at your feats, and even a few of the higher-ups praised your work.

And yet…

Why did you feel nothing? Why did you feel out of place?

Why did you feel like you were doing something you weren’t meant to?

You’d been confused, very much so. For over a year, in fact. Your body felt ironically alien. Different. As if you’d been sleepwalking the past two years. Your memories, too, felt foreign. They were more like dreams than anything else.

No… “dream” was far too nice of a word.

Nightmare—like vulnerable—seemed more fitting.

Your recollection of the past two years was a mess. There were only a handful of distinct memories you could recall, and all were of them. Alex… the alien… and Lucia. The rest were all a hazy blur, a fever dream that kept you jumping from one horrific scene to another.

You didn’t even know who you’d been fighting the entire time. No one ever gave you a clear picture, only stating where you were needed and what had to be done. You vaguely remember a mix of terrified faces, both alien and human. What did they even do wrong?

Did they even do wrong?

It was then that reality truly sunk in. You already knew that you were a weapon, one for them to use however and whenever they saw fit. What was hardest to swallow was the fact that the blood you’d let yourself spill—blood you could’ve chosen not to spill—could very well have been those of innocents.

You buried your face into your knees, fingers threading through your hair and gripping your pounding skull. You felt your nails dig into your scalp.

Luckily for your tattered mental state, Lucia had been there to help anchor you back to reality.

She murmured lowly as she gently pried your fingers from your head, and though her words went through one ear and out the other, her voice alone soothed you. You found that she knew exactly what to do, and even let you bury your face into her shoulder as she cooed at you softly, her hands tenderly drawing calming patterns on your back.

You’d been so happy that she was there. It wasn’t until hours later, after both of you had passed out in emotional exhaustion, that you woke up and realized that she had always been there. You’d just been too stuck in your own mind to see her.

When she woke up, her eyes meeting yours, neither of you spoke a word. Yet you both knew your dynamic had shifted, the air between you different. It simply went unsaid.

It didn’t go unseen, however. Everyone knew how dangerous you were, and after a rookie’s idiotic mistake, knew how equally dangerous it was to make Lucia unhappy in any way.

(His shoulder wouldn’t shove into others the same way again, nor would his ego inflate with the chasm you’d left.)

Stupidly, despite the revelations of that night—perhaps even because of said revelations—you continued living under the government’s employ.

In your mind, it was no longer just for your fear, it was also for her sake. If you left, you knew she would do whatever it took to stay by your side, regardless of the danger. Even if you were to be hunted, experimented, or executed, she would stay. And none of those fates were any you would allow to befall her.

No matter the gruesome sights that looped in your mind like a film at some grisly theatre, you jumped into the fray again, and again, and again. Still as reckless. Still as unrelenting. Still as guilty.

Not a single complaint ever left your lips. You felt you deserved it. But more importantly, you felt you were protecting her.

She didn’t agree.

The topic had been the spark of many arguments between the two of you, one such case being…

“You can’t keep doing this—you can’t keep living like this!”

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

You stayed silent, sat on your bed in your designated quarters. Your eyes were trained on her pacing form as you fiddled with the fresh bandages on your arms, replies only said in mind.

At this point, this scene was common. You’d gotten injured, she’d gotten frustrated, and you had the decency to listen. You knew Lucia wasn’t mad at you. Annoyed? Maybe. But not mad. Her anger was always directed at the same people, and never to you. She just hated to see you hurt.

‘Unfortunately, it’s an occupational haza—'

“—And don’t you say it’s an occupational hazard!”

Or… not?

Lucia stopped in her tracks, eyes boring into your own, “There are always ways to complete your missions without you ending up a bloody mess, but they don’t care about that, do they? As long as the mission is completed as soon as possible, they don’t give a damn. What if you never healed? What if you actually found something that would actually get you killed?” 

You had no response for that.

“They don’t even know of the full extent of your powers—none of us do! They started sending you out the day after that desert! Yet here we are again… I don’t understand why we don’t just leave.”

You opened your mouth to speak for the first time, to remind her of the dangers of such a plan just as you always had in the past, when you felt your hairs stand on end. Someone was eavesdropping. Your glare flashed to the door, spotting an eye widen at your stare before rushing off. You’d rush after them, but you knew nothing could be done without arousing suspicion. This base was full soldiers, and thus witnesses. Unfortunately, it was also full of snitches.

You stood abruptly, causing Lucia to jerk in surprise. Her brow furrowed when she spotted the grim frown you now wore.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

She could only blink in shock, “Now?”

“Now.”

The conversation would’ve been seen as treason. Or, at best, the start of it. You needed to run.

She followed your unwavering stare to the door, the sight of its slight opening making the cogs in her mind connect the dots. Someone had heard, and were no doubt reporting you. Her shock melted into determination, “I’ve already got a bag of necessities packed in case of an emergency escape. Let’s go.”

Next thing you knew, you were both dashing through corridors, unfamiliar alarms blaring the moment you had retrieved her bag. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had prepared for this eventuality.

Squad after squad were sent after you both, all made up of people you’d seen as comrades and allies not even an hour before. Any fondness you held for each of them, however, immediately dissipated the moment they aimed a gun even a meter in Lucia’s direction. With a growl, you tore through every single one of them, unabashed by their betrayed yells so long as her safety was assured.

But you’d made a mistake. You were focused too much on those aiming for her, that you forgot there were others targeting yourself. Lucia didn’t. Which is why she spotted the soldier pulling out a weapon from a case before you did.

It looked like a gun, but she knew it was different. She could feel that it was. When they overlooked her completely and aimed for you, she knew she was right. Without a second thought, she shoved you out of the way, just as the soldier pulled the trigger.

A bang echoed in your ears, then a pained scream and a thud.

Your heart dropped. She’d pushed you away. Because of her, the bullet only grazed your torso… before tearing straight through her own.

You fell to your knees, not sparing a glance away from Lucia even as you put a bullet straight through the head of the soldier responsible.

“You IDIOT! Why would you do that?! You know I would’ve survived it!”

Your eyes were panicked, breathing growing more erratic by the second as you attempted to staunch the blood flowing from her wound. There was so much blood… why was there so much blood?!

“No…” she shook her head, “You… You wouldn’t’ve. N-Not… Not this one.”

You could hear footsteps and voices growing closer. You ignored them.

“I always survive, it’s my THING!” You gritted your teeth, ignoring the tears leaving tracks down your cheeks, “Stop talking, would you?! You need all your damn energy!”

Lucia simply smiled, even as more of the coppery liquid slid down the side of her mouth, “Promise me… promise me you w-won’t blame yourself f-for this?”

Déjà vu. Taunting, agonizing, déjà vu.

“I… I…” more tears, and a sob. What ever happened to control? “…I can’t.”

Her smile didn’t waver, as if she expected your response. Instead, she lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb gently wiping a tear away, “I know what you’re thinking, and I know it’s hard f-for you t-to think otherwise, love… but this isn’t your fault. I chose to do this. Y-You couldn’t’ve done anything to stop me.”

“…” You shook your head in disbelief, feeling more blood seep through your fingers.

Why wouldn’t the bleeding stop?!

“C’mon, love. P-Please, look at me?”

“…”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to see her so accepting of her fate.

Yet you couldn’t help the confused furrow of your brows at her tapping your jaw, your focus immediately swivelling to her. Not on instinct, but in question, confusion, and slight betrayal. You’d never regretted telling her of your first love, of admitting that there were some things you could never forget. Until now.

“Th-There you are. I know it hurts, but you have t-to p-promise me, then you need to leave me.”

The familiar action had increased your pain tenfold, but her words had the panic in your eyes grow more intense, blood freezing in your veins.

‘No. NO. NononoNO—’ You looked away as you felt your body quake, the chill caused by her words making your limbs feel like lead, ‘Not you… anybody but you!’

You felt her tap your jaw again, but you didn’t look to her, preferring to stubbornly keep your eyes on your hands. You wouldn’t- You couldn’t.

“Please…” Lucia’s voice sounded so small, distant. Just like with the alien, you knew she was on her last breaths, and so did she, “L-Listen to me… they… now want you… gone. I-I know… it’s a lot to ask, but you have to leave me. Please. T-That bullet was meant f-for you—”

You couldn’t help but snap, “What bullet isn’t when I’m out on the field?!”

“N-No, love. T-They made it for you. T-To kill you…” she weakly shook her head, “I… I… s-saw it… wasn’t… normal.”

“Shit—SHIT! Why can’t I stop the god damn bleeding?!”

You hated that there were so many things that you couldn’t do. Why can’t you just do something—anything—right for once?!

As always, she knew where your mind was headed, “N-No matter… how little… y-you… think of yourself… I know y-you were meant… to be amazing. F-From the moment I… I saw you… I knew you’d be… a… a-a hero.”

“What kind of fucking hero can’t even save the person she loves?!” head hung low, you pulled your hands away from her wound, reluctantly accepting that it was futile, “What kind of useless hero am I?”

You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the other draping itself across her stomach. You shifted yourself closer, cautiously embracing the dying woman. Apology after apology left your mouth, your tears dripped down from your cheeks only to mix with her own.

“It’s not… your… fau…” her hand, now much weaker than it had been earlier, fell limply onto the arm you’d placed on her stomach. When her fingers lightly squeezed your forearm, you knew what she expected. You released your grip on her hip, linking your hand with hers, making her chuckle faintly, “I-It… theirs… y-y’hear me? N-Never fo… forget… ‘s wasn’t… fault…”

“I… I won’t…”

You knew you’d never forget this day… just as how you’d never forget where the fault would forever lay in your mind.

“L… Love you…” her eyes were fluttering shut, and at the tug of her hand, you knew what she wanted.

You leaned closer, your lips pressing on hers for the final time. Only a second later did her last breath leave her lungs, and with it, one more piece of your fragile heart.

You could only stare, hoping that she would open her eyes and fill the deafening silence. But she didn’t, and you had to accept that she never would. When your mind finally opened itself to the rest of the world, you could hear the soldiers. Their orders for you to back down… or, more specifically, his.

General Lane.

When you saw a glimpse of his face, everything turned red and screams replaced the buzzing in your ears. You could never remember much past their anguish.

All you knew was the gash on your torso healed, but the mark never faded.

~~~

 Six months passed, and sleep was still a stranger. So were your mind and memories, but what else was new?

You had no idea where you were, you never did more than half the time. More often than not, you’d find yourself lost in thought, staring off at nothing as your finger lightly traced the scar hidden beneath your shirt. Sometimes you’d snap out of it, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar area. Occasionally, you’d stop yourself mid-step as you were walking or crossing the street.

Either way, people would be staring at you like you were insane. You couldn’t blame them, you felt like you were. That was fine, you never stayed in one area for long anyway.

For the past couple of months you’d been hopping from place to place, lingering only for three days at most. You didn’t have to do much to conceal your identity, considering the government already got rid of it for you. You did get yourself a new name, though.

Corazon.

Wasn’t exactly subtle to you, but it was better than Soldier Six and at least you could remember it.

How could you not, when your mistakes were always made by your soft heart?

You only wished that you had the ability to rid yourself of your emotions, then at least living would be somewhat bearable. You hated that even the smallest things could trigger your beating heart. It could’ve been a hair colour, a laugh, or just an oblivious pair holding hands, your heart wouldn’t fail to work with your fractured memories and remind you of what you’d lost.

You wished you could split the two, or at least rid yourself of one… maybe even both. You couldn’t think without feeling, nor feel without thinking. If you had no way to feel, no way to have a conscious thought, or both, then living a seemingly deathless life would be bearable. Sure, that sort of life isn’t one others would say is worth living, but neither is the one you are now.

The only thing keeping you away from finding a way to have that ‘plan’ to come into fruition, was the fact that—as far as you know—only the government could ‘help.’

You never wanted to make contact with those bastards again.

“Wha- HEY!”

At the indignant yell, you blinked yourself out of your stupor. Confused, you looked around.

You’d wandered into an alley. Huh.

Hearing a groan, you glanced down, spotting a boy who couldn’t’ve been any older than mid-teens. He was sat on the concrete, rubbing his forehead, having presumably fallen after colliding with you.

Then, you heard yelling.

You looked up and saw a group of men pointing and yelling unintelligibly at the boy at your feet. He sprang up and made a move to exit, only for your hand on his shoulder to stop him in his tracks. You felt his eyes on you, but yours never left the group stomping closer as they brandished their makeshift weapons in a supposedly threatening manner.

Hammers, nails in bats, metal pipes… generic, stereotypical, bad guy weapons. You saw a gun or two poking out from the waistbands of their pants, yet you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

When they stopped in front of you, they even puffed out their chests to make themselves look bigger. One of them stepped forward and grumbled with a voice made forcibly gruff, “You with this brat?”

“Pff,” You only shook your head in mirth. You’d heard of people like this in movies, but you never knew they actually existed.

His lips curled up into a snarl, “What’s so funny.”

“…” You smiled, tilted your head in faux innocence, and admitted clearly, “You.”

Predictably, your response infuriated him, and he launched himself towards you to attack.

Within a minute, him and his group were all unconscious, weapons—including their guns—left splintered and bent on the damp ground.

You grumbled, “Idiots.”

With another roll of your eyes, you spun on your heels and moved to leave the scene… only to face an overexcited fourteen-year-old.

“That was AWESOME!”

“!”

You blinked. You’d forgotten he was there. You watched, an eyebrow raised as he asked question after question, each going through one ear and out the other. Your mind didn’t register a single one, but from the rapid rate the words seemed to leave his lips, the number seemed endless.

Didn’t he need to breathe?

It was here that the boy lurched to a stop, his lungs lacking the air required to allow speech. You only blinked when he took in just a little too much oxygen. His overdramatic wheezing caused you to smirk and huff in mild amusement. His eyes darted to you at the noise, focusing on your mirth as he smacked a fist against his chest in an effort to abate his hacking.

“You…” he coughed again, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You only offered a shrug in response. Considering past experience, human interaction wasn’t something you necessarily searched for. Generally, they all ended up morphing into some form of confrontation for you—or loss, but that was a thought hurriedly buried in the deepest recesses of your mind.

The boy wasn’t deterred by your silence. Instead, he seemed even more determined to fill the space with his own words. Again, most of them generally went through one ear and out the other.

“—I’m Lucas!”

Wait. Why was the kid telling you their name?

You still didn’t reply, but ‘Lucas’ didn’t seem fazed and continued, saying, “My friends call me Luke, though!”

He then scratched his head sheepishly, “Well… they would, if I had any.”

Head tilted in a questioning manner, your brow furrowed at his admission, movements that he managed to notice.

“Ah… well, nobody ever wants to be friends with the weird kid.”

You raised your eyebrow, and he pointed to the unconscious group at your feet as an explanation.

“Wouldn’t be the first time these guys went after me, and they don’t care whether I’m at school or not,” Lucas kicked away a stray can, giving the men an annoyed sneer, “Just that Dad ‘pays them back’ or something, I dunno. No one really wants to be caught up in a mess like this.”

You’d followed his gaze, staring at the people sprawled out on the dirty floor.

What were these guys, self-proclaimed tax collectors? Loan sharks? Wannabe gang members?

That last one seems to fit them to a T.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud growling of a stomach. And it wasn’t yours.

Shaking your head, you glanced back at Lucas, his face red in embarrassment. Without hesitation, you rooted through the pockets of a few of the men, forgoing their cards and instead pulled out handfuls of cash from their wallets.

You may already be considered a criminal by the U.S. Army, but you didn’t want more on your record than you already had. And you had standards.

You’d rather have “assault” and “pickpocketing” on that record over “not paying for fast food” any day. That last one just seems like a real shitty thing to be arrested over. Besides, you’d never steal from ordinary civilians… but you’d make exceptions for assholes.

You moved to leave the alley again, tousling Lucas’ hair as you went past. When you didn’t hear his footsteps following, you stopped at the entrance, sending another glance back towards his way you huffed at his stupefied expression before jerking your head in a gesture to follow. You couldn’t help but smile at his joyful expression, biting back a chuckle at his excited hopping at your side.

“Nice to meet you, Luke.”

.

.

.

Six more months passed, and after meeting Lucas, you haven’t left the town. You’d found out that he’d essentially raised himself. The kid’s mother was gone, and he didn’t know why. You met his father, and after that one meeting you knew he was useless. His debts weren’t even for necessities, just for his alcohol and gambling. Guy didn’t even seem to care that his son was the one suffering most from the consequences of his actions.

You were annoyed, but after witnessing him passed out in a bathtub, reaching over the edge to clutch at a toilet while a bottle of whiskey hung from his fingers, you knew he was a lost cause. Lucas knew it, too. Admitted that he’d known so for years.

You felt bad for the kid and did what you could to help. You kept those lackeys off his back. Got him clothes, food, school supplies if he needed them. You didn’t tell him where you got the money and he never asked, but considering how you’d initially met you assume he had a slight idea. You still didn’t talk much, and your attention span failed you at times, but he understood. He knew that you were at least trying.

At times he’d ask you for help with his homework, and you were convinced it caused you just as much grief as it did him. You could barely remember what happened months or a year before, let alone what you’d learnt over a decade ago.

You were a weapon, not a teacher. You could teach him how to kick ass with the best of them, but you didn’t know shit about literature or geography. Or whatever it was high schoolers learnt these days.

Even when you were working with the government, you didn’t have to know how to get around yourself. They just shipped you to the mission location and back, and that was that. You didn’t even know you got around now, considering how most of your time on the road was spent in your head.

You swear he only asked you to laugh at you. You’d try to intimidate him with a deadpan stare, but that only made the cheeky brat laugh louder. Your exasperation would fizzle out soon enough, his joy infectious. You found yourself feeling… happy. Normal. Like an average human. Something you never thought would be a near-unreachable standard.

But of course, as always, happiness in your life never lasted long.

You’d stopped moving. You stayed in one place for too long.

You’d focused too much on the present, that you forgot about the past you’d been running to escape. And so, it caught up.

You were running again. They were at your heels, this time. And you couldn’t just beat them into the ground.

Their weapons looked different. Their bullets hurt.

You didn’t want to believe that this was happening. Just this morning you’d been laughing with Lucas, pancake batter and syrup drizzled over your heads.

Now all you could hear were shouts and gunfire, blood dripping down a healing cut at your temple.

You wanted them to lose your tracks, but you knew how they worked. If you disappeared completely, they’d have to look for clues. Which would lead them to Lucas. Which was why you were leading them, herding them away like sheep to be as far away from the kid as possible. But it was not meant to be.

“Sis!”

The voice made electricity shoot up your spine, catching more than just your attention. You noticed a few soldiers turn to look his way as he ran towards you, even as you shook your head and urged him to turn back. He wouldn’t. You were family, how could he leave you behind?

“LUKE, RUN!”

…Was that your voice? Sometimes you’d forget what your voice sounded like, and not using it for weeks at a time definitely didn’t help your case.

He skidded meters away, eyeing the soldiers, his face conflicted, “But—”

You heard the crackling of their comms and spotted a few guns being pointed his way, one of them even pulled out a pin.

What the fuck was General Lane thinking?!

The kid was a civilian, not a criminal!

You sprinted over to Lucas, body shielding his within a second. You felt bullets pierce your back, easily tearing through the fabric of your clothing. You heard Lucas yelling for them to stop, but you knew they wouldn’t listen. You heard the tell-tale clinking of a grenade rolling on the concrete and you tightened your grip around him, eyes screwed shut. You heard the bellowed orders “TAKE COVER” and then…

Pain.

Searing, white-hot, pain was spreading on your back. You felt shrapnel enter your torso, the heat eating away at your skin. You forced yourself to endure the agony.

You were protecting him.

You repeated those four words in your mind like a mantra, mind clinging to them for a way to ground itself.

When you felt the dust settling, the ringing in your ears calming, you dared to open your eyes. And you wish you didn’t.

Despite your best efforts, Lucas had been hit. Twice. The projectiles had presumably ricocheted. Whether it was shrapnel or bullets, you didn’t know. All you knew was that he was wounded, and that you’ve failed once again.

“No…” You rasped out, tears obscuring your vision. Your throat hurt from disuse, but you continued to force the words out, “No… kid, not you too!”

“Hah,” Lucas laughed, not noticing the blood that came with the motion, “I’m… I… I didn’t e-expect to go like this. P-Pretty badass, huh?”

His eyes were beginning to flutter closed, the light in his eyes quickly dulling. Your breath hitched in your throat, and gritting your teeth, you muttered, “No, no… c’mon, eyes on me bud. Eyes on me!”

His head weakly flopped to the side as he grinned, teeth stained with blood, “S’okay… was meant t-to be gone in… in… that alley. Y’saved me… y’let me be happy… thank you.”

Lucas went limp. Just like that, he was gone. And so were you.

You didn’t flinch when the wounds on your back slowly stitched themselves back together, no doubt leaving a mark as every failure always did.

You didn’t resist when they forcefully yanked you away, uncaring that they had just taken the life of an innocent. The life of a child.

You felt someone forcefully lift your head, to which you muttered, “Kill me. Please.”

You didn’t speak any more after that, no matter how much they tried to get a reaction.

No… you wouldn’t do anything until you were either dead, or put face-to-face with the bastard you knew gave the order.

And as expected, they put him right where you wanted him.

You were back at the base, arid desert and all.

They’d seated you in a metal chair, one bolted down to the thick concrete beneath your feet. Your arms were forced to lie flush against its armrests, wrists cuffed into place.

You were in one of the interrogation rooms, metal walls to the front, back and the left. You weren’t fooled. You knew the wall to the right was a one-sided window. To know that there were people just watching you…

You felt like an animal.

It was only after General Lane stood across from you, after the only door leading in and out of the room clicked shut, that you even twitched. Your attention finally drifted up from the flimsy metal cuffs that they’d clamped around your wrists—not that they knew your strength had grown—and to the poor excuse of a man attempting to stand tall.

You glared at him, unabashedly showing the hatred burning within you. It made him swallow, despite the poker face he attempted to keep up. Your silent staring contest stretched on and on, his mouth repeatedly opening and closing in indecision. He wanted to speak, but had no idea what to say.

The people behind the window had plenty of words, though. You couldn’t catch all of them, but you managed to decipher a muffled few.

“Dad” was one. Which meant one of the people might’ve been his kid. Wouldn’t be implausible. Last time you paid attention to him, he had two. Girls, if your memory actually served you correct. And two of the voices you could hear were distinctly feminine.

“Our” was another, spoken with a lilt for emphasis before “Dad”, which meant both of his kids were there. If your first assumption was correct.

“Superman” was the last one you heard. It was the word that caused you the most grief. Why mention the “Man of Steel”? You remembered hearing someone rant about the Kryptonian, mentioning a possible relation between the hero and a journalist. One of General Lane’s kids was a journalist. That could pose a problem. If his kids really were on the other side of the glass, and Lucas’ info—

‘Luke.’

Any hesitation you had dissipated instantly. No matter what would become of you, you’d make this bastard pay. It was the least you could do.

Breaking away from the General’s stare, your eyes flashed to the window, cogs turning in your mind. Perhaps you could do worse than cause simple, physical, pain. You could expose him, have his children lose their faith in him. Even if they weren’t his children, they would be his soldiers. It could lead to questioning of his authority.

It was worth a shot. Besides, what did you have to lose?

“You killed him,” you snarled, “He was just a boy, but you killed him.”

You shot up from your seat. Rather, you shot up with your seat. The cuffs were still in place, but the bolts that held the seat down had lost their hold with a resounding crack.

General Lane jumped back in shock, the doorknob now jiggling as his soldiers desperately tried to come to his aid.

Without missing a beat, you tore your hands out of their restraints and pulled the long metal table that separated you two upwards, shoving it legs-first into where the door would be. The legs went right through the wall, the body of the table now blocking the entrance as well as the door itself.

‘That’s the front wall and entrance covered…’

With an audible growl, you turned back to the general, the man now scrambling back to push himself flat against a wall in fear. He was pointing a pistol at you, but you were undeterred.

You took a step, and he took a shot.

You took another, and he did the same.

You took a third, and the man emptied his gun into your torso.

You weren’t fazed, your fury burning too great for you to feel anything other than rage.

He looked like he was about to reply to your yell, but you cut him off before he could, snapping, “Your problem was with me. It always has been. There was no need for you to involve a civilian, let alone ordering your men to open fire!”

“I… I—”

“I wanted to live, so you tried to have me die. When I do want to die, you keep me alive. How much more do I have to suffer for you to be satisfied?! How much longer do I have to exist, for my wants to actually matter?!”

As you stomped closer towards him, you gripped the chair that had been meant for him and threw it across the room. The object formed a deep dent upon impact and rendered the back wall weak.

Releasing another growl, you lifted him up by the collar of his uniform, “How much lower are you going to fall, after murdering that poor boy? Is there even a bar lower for you to reach?!”

The general continued to ignore the futility of repeatedly pulling the trigger of his empty pistol, desperate for a way out. But without a miracle, he would never be able to escape.

Unfortunately, he got one. It came in the form of a Kryptonian, at that.

Superman broke through the dented wall, quick in separating you from the general. You felt your back smack against the one-sided window, the cool glass cracking beneath your flesh.

Oh, right. You hadn’t had the chance to change. Your shirt was still burnt at the back, the rest of your clothing tattered at the edges and your feet shoeless. Your state of dress seemed to come as a surprise to Superman, too. If the brief moment he took to observe his ‘opponent’ was any indication.

You glanced at the wall he’d used as an entrance. It wasn’t that much of a fall. It wouldn’t take much to heal if you got hurt. Ten seconds, at most.

Within a breath, you fearlessly leaped through the broken wall. You heard a choke of astonishment behind you as you did, but as much as you wanted to be amused by the alien, you recognized the threat he was to your freedom.

He was a goody-two-shoes. If he caught you, you’d just be locked up. And you’d be used as a lab rat or a weapon all over again. Never able to die.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You’d landed with a wince and a roll, a sickening crack shooting shocks up your left arm. You’d shaken off the pain, sprinting towards where you knew the weapons vault was. The rushing of wind reached your ears, indicating that the alien wasn’t far behind. Spotting the vault entrance straight ahead, you trusted your instincts and slid across the tile floor as if you were running a base. It worked.

Superman flew straight past you, and not expecting you to have sensed him coming, was going too fast to stop himself from crashing into the vault. Your eyes widened at the sight. You hadn’t predicted it either.

Hurriedly pushing yourself up to your feet, you’d rushed into the vault, mind flashing through the arsenal they had you use throughout the years. You’d known what they had in there, and one of them was definitely not good for a Super.

When you stepped foot into the vault, you were proven right. Superman was struggling to stand, green creeping its way through his veins.

“Shit…” without hesitation, you pulled him up. You wrapped his arm around your neck and dragged him out, uncaring of the guns pointed at you. You felt his questioning stare, and grumbled, “What.”

“Why?”

Such a simple question, made of only one word… yet the true nature of its complexity was beyond you. You shook your head. Not the time.

“Never wanted to kill anyone. Never wanted anyone dead, either…” You sighed, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Just wanted to be happy.”

Once you determined that he was at a safe enough distance, you promptly let him flop into the ground. You huffed at his comical “oof” before revealing the smoke grenade you had swiped from the vault. You pulled its pin, and as everyone’s vision began to be obscured, you muttered words only Superman could hear.

“Please, just leave me alone…”

 ~~~

You didn’t know if it was because of Superman’s influence, but you were. Left alone, that is.  Then again, it might’ve been because you’d kept away from civilization as best as you could, staying in forests for as long as you were able.

For how long at this point? You weren’t sure. By the time you’d left him in the smoke, it had been five years since the dorm with Alex. Three since the experiment. One since Lucia. And... none since Luke. 

With a shake of your head, their blurred faces and vague memories faded in an instant, the frown at the resurfacing thoughts of them quickly replaced with an easy-going smile.

The woods weren’t too bad.

The animals were surprisingly amicable, and you found an unfamiliar joy in jumping into lakes and rivers without any remorse. If you needed anything that couldn’t be provided naturally, the camp sites you’d managed to memorize the locations of were useful in that regard. Clothes, food, money…

You didn’t realize exactly how easy it was to steal from civilians until you weren’t one yourself.

Still... it should be troubling that you didn’t know how long you’d been living in the forests. Every day blurs together. You didn’t even know what forest you were living in. Or if you’d lived in more than one. Your memories continued to fracture, and due to lack of practice, you could feel your ability to speak and understand wavering.

Your memories…

Very few of them remained intact. You had a feeling that you had a part to play in it, intentional or not, considering that the ones you could remember seemed happy, and anything otherwise—anything that caused pain… either you got rid of them the second they came, or it made you retreat into the deepest recesses of your mind, never knowing how long you’d been in there the moment you returned to reality.

Could’ve been a few seconds, minutes, maybe even hours. It was partially why you’d lost track of how long you’d been living among the trees.

Every time you thought of your past, you were reminded of the burden that was carrying emotions. Of being human. It was roughly one month into living away from humans, that you accepted it was simpler to just ignore the fact that you had a life before this mess. That there had ever been happier times. If you couldn’t identify what was considered a ‘good’ memory, then you wouldn’t be sucked into the ‘bad’, right?

So you buried them. Even imagined little coffins for them and everything.

Part of you knows that it’s unhealthy. But that mindset is what led to those instances now being few and far in between—or, at least you hoped they were. Again, you didn’t really have a good sense of time.

But living was good. It was fun, not thinking of anything but what to do next. You could spend an entire day chasing after deer, or just climbing a tree. And do the same thing all over again tomorrow!

…It all sounds a bit boring now that you think about it. But oddly enough, the days were surprisingly fun. If you really wanted a thrill, all you had to do was start wrestling a bear! That was fun.  

You were actually rushing away from one right now, teasingly dangling yourself from one branch of a tree to another, when you heard a scream. A female scream, and then… a crash. While the noise terrified the bear, it only intrigued you, drawing you closer. Almost like a siren’s call.

You dropped down to the forest floor, tackling the bear in the process. After absentmindedly hauling it over your shoulder, you dashed through the treeline within seconds. Once out of the forest, you coughed as you blinked at the wreckage before you.

Two vehicles had collided roughly thirty meters away, the smoke billowing from the smouldering wreck making your lungs burn. What startled you more was the armed man holding a gun up to an injured, blonde woman twenty meters away from the crash.

You blinked at the man, who seemed to be talking the woman’s ears off. Rather, what was the word… monologuing? Yeah. Monologuing.

His cocky grin made you roll your eyes, the action leading to you noticing the bear’s presence on your shoulder. An idea struck. Your eyes narrowed at the man, before glancing over to the bear. The man. The bear. The man…

“BEAR!”

You gleefully yelled, startling them both. But what brought complete horror upon both humans, was the fact that there was now a bear hurtling towards them. Correction, towards the man.

He dropped like a rock, him and the bear both did. Whereas the poor, unharmed-yet-traumatised fuzzy animal quickly scrambled to its feet before sprinting back into the woods, the effectively disarmed male stayed flat on the concrete, out cold.

Tilting your head to the side, you walked up to the unconscious human, your brows furrowing as you wondered why he wasn’t moving.

You sniffed and rubbed at your itching nose, wincing at the horrible stench of roasting rubber. You couldn’t tell if the blood you smelt came from the wounds after the crash, or after the bear.

You gave him a light tap of a foot, checking if he’d wake up anytime soon. When the man didn’t budge, you shrugged and turned to go back to the forest, only to freeze when you were startled by the female he’d been threatening. You’d forgotten she was there, and the woman was far closer than you remembered her to be.

She looked stunned.

Her hands were hovering by her cheeks, palms over her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes as she muttered… a name? It sounded familiar. You didn’t know why. You tilted your head, confused.

“You…” she sobbed, tears now flowing freely. She stammered out, “You don’t remember, do you?”

Who was this woman?

Cautiously, you shook your head. Your was body tense, knees bent and ready to escape if you needed to.

“Nothing? It’s me, Eliza,” another shake of your head. She sniffled, “Eliza Danvers? One of my daughters brought you over for Thanksgiving a few times, you were like a part of our family, before… before… you disappeared.”

Danvers.

You didn’t hear anything past that, the word—name?—had a tremor course through your skull. That was… worrying? It should be worrying, right?

Your hands flashed to your aching temples, gritting your teeth, you croaked out, “D-Dan… Danvers?”

You hadn’t said anything in months. Your throat was probably as painful to use as your voice was to hear.

Eliza’s eyes shined brighter in realization. You were remembering.

“Yes, Danvers! Do you… Do you remember my daughter? She’d been your closest friend. Alex, Alexandra Danvers—”

Static was all you could hear. You dropped to your knees, the pain growing more unbearable the more she spoke. You barely felt the gravel of the road digging into your knees.

Alex?

Alex.

Who was—

“No… Don’t!”

That was… you? Why was this hurting so much? What was going on?

Why didn’t you want to remember?

You felt hands on your shoulders, desperately trying to… to what? Snap you out? Of what? Pain? You didn’t even know why it came up, let alone how to stop it!

Then… then a chill. One you haven’t felt since you encountered… someone. You couldn’t remember them, either.

All you could hear were your instincts.

Instincts…

Your instincts were screaming, frantic in wanting you to leave. To escape.

So you followed them.

Shrugging Eliza’s hands off of your shoulders, you jumped to your feet and swiftly fled into the woods, not turning back once. Not even when you heard her scream a name—yours?—and especially not when you heard the tell-tale swoosh of… a cape? You didn’t know.

Your thoughts made no sense right now. All you wanted was to go back and forget. To go back into the woods and be happy.

Just… be happy.

[flslp87]

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Summary: Doctor Emma Swan, a psychology professor at the University of Miami, is looking for her Superman.  Doctor Killian Jones, a sociology professor, on sabbatical from Cambridge University, is looking for his Buttercup.   What happens when well-meaning friends and family gift them memberships to an online dating site?

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Special thanks to @duathadun @hellomommanerd  @idontdothatveryoften and @natascha-remi-ronin   for their magical help!

Can be found on FF and AO3

Magical Match

Words ~15,200          

 February 2018

 Emma watched the clock tick down the last few minutes which would signal the end of the first test of the semester for her Psych 101 class. Then eighty students would put down their pens and eighty pairs of eyes would meet hers, some resigned, some elated, most unsure. Once scores had been posted, her office would be inundated with students with questions about their grades, and by the next class her roster would have dropped by several.  Such was the life of a professor at a university where admission wasn't easy and where their grades from high school were often among the highest in their class. 

"Time," she called.  "Please turn your papers over and pass them to your left." Emma moved down the aisle collecting the exams, and as the pile grew heavy, wondered whose idea it was to give an essay exam.  Yours, numbnut, she scolded herself.  "Your reading for the next class is on your syllabus," she told them in closing. "I'll see you Tuesday."

 One or two students waved, a few others smiled and as they filed out she couldn't help but make a few guesses as to which ones would drop.  But, she sighed, her job wasn't to worry about each individual student who dropped, it was to make sure that those who stayed got what they paid for...or what their parents paid for, anyway.  "Cynical much?" she muttered, cramming the papers into her bag before shutting off the lights and hurrying out the door. 

Emma took the stairs to her office on the fourth floor and with an hour left before she needed to leave to meet Mary Margaret, sat down to grade the exams.  She made it through three of them before her attention wandered to her laptop and the possibility that a new message might have arrived from Clark, as she hadn't heard from him in a few days.  Had he returned from his business trip?  Or maybe she should be asking herself was when had she started to care?

 December 2017 

Since moving to Miami, Emma, as well as many of her colleagues, spent the holidays at the home of their boss, David Nolan.  As the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, he worked hard to make sure that no one was alone over the holidays, and as Emma was best friends with his wife, Mary Margaret, she found she didn't mind. However, as the years went on and the number of single faculty decreased, it seemed that everyone had someone they wanted her to meet. The problem was, how could they know exactly what Emma needed when Emma didn't even know? 

Mary Margaret said she needed her very own Prince Charming, which was how she described David.  Emma wasn't so sure.  She liked David...a lot...and he was a great boss, but to be married to someone like that, she just wasn't sure. 

Belle told her she needed a bad boy, like the man she had married.  But, once again, while she could definitely say there were some aspects of the bad boy that had attracted her in the past...she didn't think she could marry him.

 Her past romances had taught her what she didn't want, but what did appeal to her?  Someone who challenged her…yet cared about her opinion.  Someone who was caring, witty and not afraid to say he was sorry.  Someone who would sweep her off her feet when she needed him yet allowed her to walk alone. A man who, like a pirate in the night, would sneak up and steal her heart so effortlessly that she would never want to let him go.  Who was he? Where was he?  Was he someone she had yet to meet? 

The group this year had been smaller and while it had been an enjoyable day, Emma was ready to go home and curl up with her six-month-old kitten, Ginger.  She said her goodbyes and was just opening her car door when Mary Margaret came running down the walk.  "Emma, hold on," she huffed, "you forgot your gift." 

Emma took the green envelope and frowned a little. "You gave me my gift the other day.  What's this?" 

"Well," Mary Margaret began, but her body language and the way she seemed to struggle for the right words served to put Emma on guard. "David and I just want you to be as happy as we are so we kind of..." 

Her hesitation had the hairs on the back of Emma's neck standing straight up and convinced her that she was most likely not going to like it.  "What did you do?" she asked hesitantly. 

Mary Margaret took a deep breath. "Just read the letter and remember...we love you." Then she quickly hugged her and with a little wave disappeared back inside. 

With a shake of her head, Emma tossed the envelope onto the passenger seat and drove home.  Once inside, her curiosity got the better of her and she ripped the envelope open and pulled out several sheets of paper.  The letter was from a dating site she had heard about from some of her friends called Magical Matches, whose slogan was “Your True Love is only a keystroke away.” With a roll of her eyes at the matchmaking persistence of her friends, she tossed the letter on her desk deciding she would deal with it later. 

For a week Emma moved the letter from one place on her desk to another, but never had the desire to read what it had to say. And since Mary Margaret and David had left on a cruise, she didn't have to explain herself either.  Which left the door open for her to turn down several invitations for New Year's Eve and welcome in 2018 her way...movies, champagne and her favorite dessert. 

The day had been perfect.  She lounged in bed until Ginger insisted it was time to eat, and then after a run to her favorite bakery she had settled in with a cup of hot chocolate and an excessively large bearclaw. She made it through The Sound of Music before taking a small break to entertain Ginger and then dove back into The Promise. 

A grilled cheese and a bottle of water carried her through An Officer and a Gentleman and The Lake House.  And then she pulled out dessert and cut a piece of her hazelnut cheesecake with chocolate drizzle that she had picked up earlier and popped the cork on the champagne.  With those in hand, Emma sank down onto the sofa and sang along with the songs that were in the movie Pretty Woman. 

Halfway through the bottle of champagne, she decided to watch Ghost, and as the last drop of bubbly was poured into her glass, her tears started to fall.  Why was she alone on New Year's Eve?  If there was a man just for her, where was he? 

As one year gave way to the next, Emma pressed play on the movie that seemed to have the man of her dreams.  He was a dichotomy in that one side was shy, awkward and unsure while his alter ego was cocky, confident and caring.  And while he had been portrayed many times by many actors, none quite pulled off both side as well as Christopher Reeve. 

As she watched Clark Kent's shy puppy behavior around Lois Lane, Emma found herself with such a goofy smile on her face that she had to look away. Unfamiliar feelings were coming to the surface, but before she gave them too much thought, her attention was diverted when Ginger jumped up on her desk and started batting everything onto the floor. "Feeling left out?" she crooned, picking up the kitten and cleaning up the mess she'd made, which included a pile of papers. 

Stacking the papers neatly proved to be more difficult than it should have been, as little paws were busy swatting at everything that moved.  Emma tossed one of Ginger's toys, thinking she would run after it and had just straightened the pile when, with one jump, the kitten landed in the middle and everything scattered everywhere again. "Ginger!" 

"Mew," Ginger responded, looking up at her with such an innocent expression that Emma couldn't help but pick her up and hug her. 

"What am I going to do with you?" Emma murmured softly, her eyes landing on the letter from Magical Matches.  Unsure what caused her to open it, Emma picked up the letter and sank down onto her desk chair to read. 

Dear LostGirl, 

Your Magical Match is CapnJolly. Whether you contact him or not is up to you, but if you choose to do so, please follow the instructions on the included page. 

Best of Luck, Ruby Lucas President Magical Matches 

Emma stared at the words on the page for so long that Ginger batted at her arm for attention.  Should she or should she not?   

Her gaze was drawn back to the television screen that was showing Superman turning back time to save Lois Lane, and she made her decision. She wanted to find that someone who would jump with her. Before she could change her mind, Emma read the directions for signing into the server and composed her email: 

Dear CapnJolly, 

My friends gave me this as a Christmas gift and while I am skeptical about it really working, I decided why not. 

I'm looking for someone, not to follow, but to walk by my side.  Someone who can see through walls that aren't impenetrable and leap the ones that are. Someone whose weakness is really his strength and who loves me for what I am and not for what he wants me to be. 

I've not found him yet and really don't have high hopes that I ever will, but I promised my friends I would give it a try and that...that is important. 

Your Magical Match, 

LostGirl 

A quick proof was all she allowed herself before she hit send because she knew that if she thought too long about it, she would end up deleting it.  This way, it was done.   

Early February 2018 

He had written back the next day and somehow through the various computer conversations, she had grown to look forward to hearing from him.  They had discussed everything from their favorite books to their favorite movies and had even spent several exchanges talking about pasta.  He knew she wasn't a morning person, ate Pop-Tarts for breakfast and enjoyed walks on the beach. 

But...he didn't know who her best friend was, that she was a professor at a university in Miami or her real name.  There were some parts of herself she needed to keep close...for privacy, she tried to tell herself, but really for protection, for as long as the wall was up...she was safe.  Or was she? 

Her phone was in her hand before she realized it, her thumb hovered over the app to open it, but since there was no notification, Emma set the phone aside and finished grading the test she had started before getting lost in memories. Once she was done, she dropped her pen, locked her office, and had taken less than ten steps when she heard her name being called from behind and, knowing who it was, fought to keep from ducking into the women's room just ahead. But since it was her boss...and her best friend's husband, she plastered a smile on her face and slowly turned around. "David, what committee are you trying to fill now?" she asked him with resignation. 

"No committees, Emma," David smiled, "I just want you to meet the man who will be taking over Belle's classes while she's out with the new baby." 

"Oh?" Emma's brow went up as she sized up the man standing next to David. "I thought you were going to spread her classes around." 

"Well," David put his hand on the man's shoulder, "I didn't know that the brother of one of my dearest friends would be available so...let me introduce Killian Jones." 

"Emma Swan." She shook his hand while trying to remember where she had seen him, and while making small talk, surreptitiously studied him.  Not quite as tall as David, dark hair he wore longish, but gelled back except for a few strands that fell over a high forehead, square jaw that was clean shaven, smallish ears tight to his head and blue eyes rimmed by dark lashes that were covered with a pair of oversized dark glasses.   

He wore dark pants, white shirt with a muted tie, covered by a tweed jacket, and in his hand he was holding a fedora...just like Clark Kent come to life. "No, Killian...Killian Jones," he repeated, and she realized she must have voiced her thoughts aloud. 

"I'm sorry," Emma hastened to add, "I've got to run. I have a lunch meeting." And before she could embarrass herself or David any further, walked away.  Rude, perhaps...but for some reason being in the company of Killian Jones gave her a strange feeling. 

She looked back as she started down the stairs and both were still standing there with their mouths hanging open.  She shrugged, "It's your wife, David. You know how grumpy she gets if someone is late." 

As she walked across campus to the Shalala Student Center, Emma thought about how David had smiled and waved her off as he was used to her behavior, but Killian Jones had looked almost relieved. "That's odd," she muttered, spotting Mary Margaret across the room seated next to a window. 

"What's wrong?" her friend asked before Emma was even situated in the chair. 

Emma frowned. "David just introduced me to the person taking Belle's classes and I know him...but from where, I'm not sure...yet." Then it hit her and after an excited inhalation, she continued, "Remember that conference I went to last fall and I---" 

"Complained about one of the speakers for weeks?" Mary Margaret finished her sentence. 

"Yes," Emma shook her head, "it's him.  His ideas were really..." Simplistic, archaic...annoying, she thought.  "But I don't want to talk about him.  Let me fill you in on Clark." 

~~~CS~~~ 

When Emma left, Killian slowly let go of the breath he was holding, as he hadn't been interested in a confrontation with a colleague so soon after joining the team. 

"Sorry about that," David interrupted his thoughts to make excuses for the Swan girl. "Emma can be prickly, but she's a fine instructor and has co-published with another professor in the area of psychophysiology.” 

Killian didn't say anything, just nodded his head in a 'that's alright' motion, as he much preferred observing to confrontation anyway.  Besides, it seemed that Emma apparently had a very comfortable working relationship with his soon to be boss and he didn't want to get off on the wrong foot.  And that was on a professional front...on the personal front, he would hate to create any issues, as Liam would kill him. 

He followed David as he was shown around the college, but once they left the Flipse Building behind and started walking across the campus, Killian could finally relax.  The warm temperatures and soft breeze were a welcome change from the snowy cold of Wisconsin and the damp cold of London.  So much so, in fact, that he found himself second-guessing his wool tweed jacket and fedora. 

"Here we are," David indicated the modern building in front of him, "our 46-million-dollar student center." 

"That's a lot of money." Killian looked on in amazement at the chrome and glass structure surrounded by lush, tropical landscape. 

"Donors with deep pockets," David intoned, leading him around the building. "These gliders okay?" he asked, pointing to a patio dotted with wooden seating areas. 

Killian looked out over the sparkling lake surrounded by green grass and nodded, "It's fine, mate."   

David led them to a wooden table, flanked by benches and covered with a wooden umbrella, and slid onto one side. Killian followed suit, sliding onto the one across and when it surprised him by moving, he unceremoniously fell, almost slipping off the seat, knocking his glasses askew. 

"You okay?" David asked quietly. 

Killian blushed and straightened his glasses while hastily looking around to see if anyone had noticed. "Fine, fine.  I just...ugh...slipped." He ran his finger from one side to the other under his collar, thinking that he was feeling a tad warm. 

"You're not too hot, are you?"  David asked just as the wind whipped around them. 

The breeze served to cool him down a little, but even with the pomade in his hair, it was strong enough to blow an unruly lock over his forehead. "I might have to rethink my jackets while I'm down here." 

David grinned as their orders were set in front of them. "Ditch the jacket.  We're a pretty loose group.  One of our faculty comes to work in board shorts and flip flops." He shrugged, "As long as you're decent and do the job." 

Killian couldn't quite see coming to work in shorts but thought perhaps a lighter wardrobe might be in order.   

With the gentle movement of the seats and the steady hum of the fountain, he found that his attention kept drifting to an email he needed to write. He wanted to share this new opportunity but worried it would be crossing some unspoken line that she had arbitrarily set up between them. "I could get used to this," he found himself uttering. 

David laughed. "Well...we do have a faculty member retiring in May, so..." he left it hanging in the air. 

Could he live in a place of perpetual sunshine, across the pond from his brother and family and friends?  "I'll keep that in mind," he finally managed, but decided it was definitely something to think about. 

While they ate, Killian was content to allow David to carry the conversation.  He parceled out information on the school, places he thought Killian should visit, restaurants he frequented and tidbits about his wife, Mary Margaret before segueing into escapades he and Liam had been involved in when they had met at University. 

Killian had just popped a salty chip into his mouth when he heard, "David, I didn't expect you to be here," and a dark-headed woman leaned over and kissed his dining companion, answering his question about her identity. 

His eyes were drawn to those of the woman standing next to the dean's wife and the iciness of her green stare answered his question as to whether or not her antagonism had been his imagination.  Her eyes skittered away first, moving to the vicinity of his chest and feeling his face flame, his gaze moved out to the lake. 

Killian listened to David speak to his wife, finding that he envied the easiness with which they spoke.  When he was introduced, his habits of old kicked in and after a brief hello, he sat back and answered only when spoken to, feeling as if the words were lodged in his head, but unable to be spoken.  Only when he was communicating with... 

"David, Doctor Jones," Emma interrupted his thought and tipped her head in farewell as she moved to follow her friend. 

"Whoa," David's brows rose, "what did you do to upset Emma?" 

Killian didn't really feel the need to explain the whole misunderstanding over the paper he presented and just shook his head. "Professional differences, I suppose.  You know how psychologists' philosophies often differ from those of sociologists," he finally settled on. 

David studied him for an extra second. "That I do.  I need to head back now, is there anything else I can help with?" 

"Point me toward the Metrorail?" 

~~~CS~~~ 

Emma was expecting Mary Margaret to say something about her treatment of Jones, and so when they had walked around the lake and her friend hadn't said anything, she couldn't stand it any longer. "I know I was rude, but he..." 

"Gets under your skin.  I know." Mary Margaret sent her a quick grin. "But he's cute." 

A snort burst forth before Emma could contain it. "Kind of like a puppy dog.  Did you see the chip crumbs on his tie?" 

"He just needs a good woman to help bring him out of his shell." Her friend laughed. 

"Maybe," Emma agreed, "but that's not me. After all, I've got..." 

"Clark, I know," Mary Margaret said with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. 

Once back in her office Emma continued with her grading, not stopping until she was finished.  She had just completed adding all the grades to the computer gradebook when her phone buzzed.  A glance at the notification sent a little thrill through her system. "Clark," she giggled excitedly as she swiped the app to read the message. 

~~~CS~~~ 

Killian had rented an apartment overlooking Biscayne Bay, steps away from Bayside Marketplace and an easy commute by train to the University. He had chosen the place not only for the scenery, but because it offered a large balcony, which he had been drawn to the minute he had walked in the door.  Large glass windows lined the back wall revealing the blue water of the Bay for as far as the eye could see. And as a sailor, even if it was just for recreational purposes, the blue, blue sea calmed him and soothed his soul. 

Since he had been in residence, he had discovered a pattern in his behavior when he returned to the apartment. Upon entering, with a flick of his wrist his hat would land on the table, his jacket and tie would be flung over the sofa, and as he unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt with one hand the other grabbed his laptop as he gravitated to the balcony. Symbiotic...or at least it seemed that way to him, for it needed him to enjoy its beauty as much he needed its ability to soothe him. 

"And today's no different." Killian stretched his legs in front of him and watched the water below, noting the coming and going of the tour boats.  He had thought about taking one of the cruises but felt more of a need to be the one in control, which was unlike him.  Different from any time in his life he could remember, making him question what had caused the change.  Or better yet...who? 

January 2018 

The new year was only a few hours old, and while Killian had enjoyed spending the evening with his niece, Piper, he couldn't help but wonder when he would find his own Buttercup. That wasn't something he often thought about because, generally, he was happy with his life. He taught classes, did research, wrote and spent time with his family.  But there had been something different about this year's New Year's Eve. He had watched The Princess Bride with his niece and found himself feeling...lonely...bereft even...as if something...or someone...was missing. 

It wasn’t long before he found himself sitting down at the piano, his fingers running over the keys, almost subconsciously picking out the notes to the theme song from the movie he had been watching. But that didn’t seem to help the restless feeling he had and eventually pushed up from the piano, eventually settling in a chair losing himself in thought. 

"Killian?" He looked up as Elsa came into the room. "Any trouble tonight?" 

He sent her a small smile. "Not at all. Why would you say that?" 

"No reason," she shrugged a shoulder, "you just appeared...I don't know...lonely, I guess." 

He surprised himself by answering quietly, "I was just wondering about my Buttercup." 

"Oh?" Liam's voice joined the conversation, "Something to share, Little Brother?" 

Killian shook his head, almost wishing he hadn't said anything. "Just a comment after watching your daughter's favorite movie, that's all." 

Killian watched Liam and Elsa exchange a look that said a lot, but what exactly he wasn't privy to, and then Liam disappeared in the direction of his study only to reappear with a red envelope in his hand. "Take a chance, Killian." He handed the envelope over before holding his hand out to Elsa. 

Elsa leaned over, kissing Killian on the cheek and then wrapped her arm around Liam as he came to his feet, "Love is worth it. Night, Killian." They moved down the hall toward their room and Killian was left alone with his thoughts. 

It had taken him a few days before his curiosity led him to open the envelope, and by the time he had, the letter from his magical match had been waiting for over a day. 

Dear CapnJolly, 

My friends gave me this as a Christmas gift and while I am skeptical about it really working, I decided why not. 

I'm looking for someone, not to follow, but to walk by my side.  Someone who can see through walls that aren't impenetrable and leap the ones that are. Someone whose weakness is really his strength and who loves me for what I am and not for what he wants me to be. 

I've not found him yet and really don't have high hopes that I ever will, but I promised my friends I would give it a try and that...that is important. 

Your Magical Match,

LostGirl 

"She's looking for a bloody Superman," Killian mumbled, pushing away from his desk to pace in front of it.  "How's a normal bloke expected to live up to that?" He stopped pacing long enough to stare in the mirror at his image. "You're certainly no Superman," he told the man looking back at him.  "But, maybe you could be his alter-ego, Clark Kent.  With that in mind, he sat back down to try to put together a response that didn't make him sound like an arse. 

Dear LostGirl, 

I, too, am skeptical of this process working but was reminded recently that skepticism is often the first step to a great discovery.  And since one can only truly fail if they don't try, I would like to see if I'm up to the task of breaking down a few of your walls, much like the man of steel. 

I am looking for someone who is loyal and willing to fight for what she wants.  Someone who isn't interested in trying to change me, but who accepts me for the man I am.  Someone who loves me enough that even after years together, it is always as exciting as the first time.  Someone who challenges my mind and allows me to challenge hers. 

Are you willing to roll down the mountain with me? 

Your Magical Match, 

CapnJolly 

~~~CS~~~ 

February 2018 

Killian admitted that he had sent that first email mainly out of curiosity, but it hadn't taken many exchanges before one day he had signed his message as Superman's alter-ego, Clark.  It hadn't been planned, but had just happened, and she had understood...and with her signature, she become his Buttercup. And now, four weeks after their initial emails...she mattered, and that was cause for concern.  The anonymity made it simple, as he didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing because each and every word he wrote had been thought out. The awkwardness that he felt around women that caused him to inevitably do or say something foolish wasn't a problem because the more he corresponded with his Buttercup, the easier it became.  The ease hadn't transferred to other women though, as today with Emma Swan, he had been tongue-tied and felt like a gauche teen. Not a promising start to the next few months. 

The revving of a boat motor served to pull his attention back to the task at hand, that of composing a new message for his magical match. He had some things he wanted to share with her, but while he had been open about his likes and dislikes, he was still holding his identity, his family and his location close.  Why, he couldn't say, but something told him that his Buttercup wasn't quite ready for taking that next step.  He still needed to scale a wall or two. 

Opening his computer, he started typing, but for every word that he wrote, he deleted two.  It took him the better part of an hour to get the right tone, to get the right words, but once he had written everything out, he hit send.  No second thoughts.  Once sent, his heart fluttering in his chest and his nerves skittering along his skin, he couldn't stay inside any longer. A quick change into running shorts and Killian headed to the beach to run. 

~~~CS~~~ 

The message from Clark wasn't long, but many of their messages weren't.  They had fallen into the habit of asking each other a simple question, or of relaying information.  It was a way to share pieces of themselves without going too far out on the limb.  Or, in her role of Buttercup, a way to take a few steps down the hill, or if necessary a few steps back up the hill.  Safe...but still satisfying...and exciting. This time was different though, as he had shared more about his location and even asked for her help. 

Dear Buttercup, 

I'm sorry I've not been in touch for a few days, but I've recently sailed into a new harbor.  For the next few months, I'll be sailing where the sun shines and the water is warm.  The only problem is that I find myself at odds with one of my shipmates and I am vexed as to how to repair the rift.  Would you have any words of wisdom for this weary sailor? 

Yours, 

Clark 

She read the message through once...and then read it through once more, but this time very slowly. She kept thinking that taken at face value, his words meant one thing, but that maybe there was a hidden message too. However, after several minutes of coming up with no answer, she decided to answer him once she had returned home.  Ginger had been alone too long and if she were bored, who knew what she would get into. 

Emma lived in a small neighborhood in the town of Coconut Grove, located not far from the University.  It was a small community located within the city of Miami but was easily accessed via the Metrorail and close to the shops at Bayside Marketplace and the night life and beaches of South Beach.  Most days she took the train but knowing that she would be staying late grading papers she had driven. Now as she dealt with the rush hour traffic along the US-1, she had second and third thoughts, finally driving into her driveway an hour after leaving her office.   

With a slight hesitancy as to the mess she might be walking into, Emma unlocked and slowly pushed open the door.  She took a step into the foyer and when the floor was clear let out the breath that she was holding.  Shutting the door behind her, she dropped her briefcase onto a side table and turned around to hang up her jacket when, out of the corner of her eye, an orange flash ran around a corner.   

"Ginger?" The kitten was gone but trailing across the floor was a strand of cream colored yarn that matched the afghan that Mary Margaret had given her for Christmas.  "No, no, no," she repeated rapidly running to the T.V. room to find it spread across the floor. "Ginger," she groaned picking it up, finding where the mischievous kitten had found a loose strand and had taken off.  Holding it tightly in one hand to keep the blanket from further unraveling, she followed the trail that led down the hall and around a corner into her bedroom where the kitten had gotten sidetracked by her hair ribbons, now spread around the room.   

Emma quickly picked up the ribbons, tossed them on the dresser and went looking for the kitten.  She wasn't in the kitchen but she had been, as her box of toys had been upended and its contents were spread across the floor. Ginger wasn't in the study either, however there was evidence of her as she had knocked her pens off the desk, which left the bathrooms.  Emma could hear the kitten before ever entering the room and, as expected, found her destroying a roll of toilet paper. 

"Ginger!" Emma picked up the kitten and tucked her under one arm and then picked up the mess. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked her friend carrying her into the kitchen and setting her on the floor while she got out the kitten food.  Once Ginger had her nose in the kitten food, Emma set her sights on her own meal, finally settling on a slice of cold pizza and dropping down in front of her computer. 

Clark's question about advice to help sort out a disagreement between co-workers reminded her of her feelings regarding Killian Jones.  Having sat in on a portion of a presentation he had given, she had left early after hearing him say that growing up in the foster system was what caused social deviance. What would she need to change her mind? Was there anything?  Maybe there was, she thought as she sat down to type out her message. 

~~~CS~~~ 

Killian spent the next several days thinking about what Buttercup had suggested while he went about his professorial duties. Preparing lectures and PowerPoint presentations to match the students’ needs ended up taking extra time, but once that was complete, he went back and reread the last message. 

Dear Clark, 

Rifts are often caused by a misunderstanding. Perhaps if you can figure out where the misunderstanding occurred, you can clear that up. 

Good luck, 

Your Buttercup 

He knew exactly what had caused the rift between him and Emma Swan as it had to do with a paper he had presented on social deviance.  All he had to do was figure out why she'd had such a visceral response to his presentation...and correct it. Simple, right? 

"Killian?" He turned to greet David, who happened to be standing next to a man wearing board shorts and flip-flops. 

"David, how are things?" 

Pleasantries exchanged, David introduced his companion, "I'd like you to meet August Booth. August, Killian is covering for Belle." 

After a few conversational exchanges, David excused himself and Killian and August began walking back to their offices. Along the way, August shared a few more pieces of information about his specialty as well as filling him in on a few idiosyncrasies of the other faculty members.  "Had any run-ins with anyone yet?" 

"Not really, no." Killian tugged on his right ear, and straightened his glasses, habits he was aware of resorting to when he felt uncomfortable. 

"That look is telling me there's more in what you're not saying. Come on, spill," August encouraged. 

Killian didn't respond right away but waited until they were in his office.  He leaned back against his desk and looked over the man standing in front of him, deciding perhaps he could fit another piece to the puzzle. "Nothing, really...just...Emma Swan took offense with a paper I presented last fall, but I'm unsure as to why."  He picked up a copy of the paper, handing it to August. 

"Creating Social Deviants in the Foster System; A Case Study," August read aloud. "This was the paper?" 

"Aye," Killian answered. "What about it?" 

"It's not really my story to tell," August prefaced before continuing, "but Emma was raised in the foster system and so this--" 

"--is a touchy subject." Killian finished his sentence.  "I get it now.  Thanks, mate." 

"Anytime." August handed back the pape.  "I’ve got to run, but if you ever want to go wakeboarding or windsurfing, let me know." 

Once he was gone, Killian dropped down onto his desk chair and tried to figure out his next step.  He had inadvertently upset a colleague by making her think that he was maligning an entire subset of individuals who were near and dear to her heart.  He wanted to make it right, for her vexation with him left him feeling unsettled, for more than what could be taken at face value.   He wanted Dr. Swan to read his entire paper.  Perhaps then the confusion could be cleared up, their working relationship would be amicable, and the unsettled feeling he had would disappear. Question was, how to get it to her. Mailbox...leave it on her desk...slide it under her door?  All possibilities, except the likelihood of her tossing it in the garbage without reading were 70/30.  What then could he do? 

He was on his way to place it in her mailbox when he was presented with an unexpected opportunity.  Killian reached to open the door to the department office and without looking barreled inside running headfirst into Emma Swan, who was carrying a box full of papers.  "What the hell!" he heard as the box was dropped, landing on the toe of his wingtips. 

"Ouch!" Killian yelped, also dropping the article and exam he'd been carrying before realizing that Emma was just staring at the papers that were slowly sliding out of the box at his feet.  Old habits kicked in. "Uh, sorry Doctor Swan." He bent over and began haphazardly shoving the papers back inside the box. "I didn't look where I was going. I was," he looked around locating his exam and held it aloft, "going to make copies of this test and I..." The last piece was shoved inside and, standing, he pushed the box toward Emma, unaware that he had taken a step forward. 

"Uh," Emma let out a gasp as the box hit her in the chest and only the fact that Killian was still holding on to it kept it from once again landing on the floor. 

"Sorry about that." He gave her a sheepish grin, relaxing his stance a bit, thinking she looked a bit shell-shocked for lack of a better word.  "Are you alright?" 

She shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts and took the box out of his hands. "I'm fine," she answered his question solicitously, before her voice took on its usual clipped tone. "Thank you." She brushed past him, leaving him standing there alone. 

Killian righted his glasses and tried to remember why he was standing in the doorway to the department office.  As if in a trance he looked down at the papers he was holding and snapped his fingers, "Ahh, yes. Copies." He left his order for his exam to be copied but it wasn't until he was back in his office that he remembered the article and wondered where it had ended up. 

~~~CS~~~ 

Her lecture over, Emma handed a pile of the Developmental Psychology article to each of the rows and once everyone had a copy, moved back to the podium.  "Read these over for next class, please, and we'll discuss them then," she instructed before turning her attention to shutting down her PowerPoint. 

"Doctor Swan," Emma's attention was pulled to one of her students, Henry Mills, a gangly, dark-headed boy, who laid a small stack of papers on the podium. "I think I accidentally picked up a copy of the wrong article." 

Emma handed him the correct one before looking down at the one he had originally been given and, seeing the title, felt her brows raise in question.  How had a copy of the Jones' article ended up with hers? 

But then the scene from earlier in the day replayed in her mind of when he had run into her, knocking the box from her hands. She had stood there like an idiot while he had shoved all the papers back into the box, handing them to her.  Just as awkward as always she wanted to say but then...he had asked if she was alright and there was something in his voice that was different.  The way his British accent curled around the syllables and the huskiness of his tone sent...dare she say...a shiver up her spine?  She had to have been mistaken, she ultimately decided, before shutting off her computer and packing up. 

Once back in her office, Emma set the article in front of her, trying to decide what she should do.  Throw it in the trash and pretend like she never saw it, put it in his faculty mailbox, or take it to his office and give it to him?  With a shake of her head, she suddenly remembered how angry she had been when she had heard the beginning of his presentation last fall, and without thinking, she picked it up to toss in the garbage.  But before she could let it go, her curiosity got the better of her and, pulling it close, she read. 

Thirty minutes later, she finished the article and buried her head in her hands and mumbled, "Damn!  How could I have been so wrong?" 

Before she could change her mind, Emma grabbed her jacket, her phone and the article and left the building, making her way across campus to the chemistry building.  "Mary Margaret!" She burst into her friend's office without knocking, "You'll never believe what I..." She stopped when she noticed that Mary Margaret wasn't alone, for sitting in front of her desk was the very man she had come to talk about.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company.  I'll come back." 

"No, don't go," Jones stopped her from leaving, "I need to leave anyway."   

Without any further fanfare, he covered his dark hair with his fedora, and with a tip of his chin, left the room.  Unsure what to say, Emma sank down onto the seat he had recently vacated noting it was still warm and a musky scent still lingered in the air. "Why was he here?" she asked without preamble. 

Mary Margaret snickered, "Hello to you, too." 

"Sorry," Emma apologized. "How are you?  And why was he here?" 

Her friend waved her hand toward her desk where a pile of keys lay. "Would you believe my car keys?" 

Emma raised a brow, "Really?" 

"Really.  Now tell me what has you so rattled." 

Unsure where to start, Emma started with the early morning collision and ended with her discovery of how she had been wrong, jumping to some conclusions that she shouldn't have. "He wasn't generalizing for all children raised in the system," Emma shared excitedly, "I think he was saying that the attachment theory would suggest that with this particular case, the person had an inability to regulate in infancy due to abandonment and a broken parental bond, leading to social deviance as a child which carried through to adulthood." She grimaced, "I can appreciate this and probably," she sighed, "shouldn't have been so angry." 

When Mary Margaret didn't say anything, Emma leaned on the desk. "What do I do?" 

"Apologize," her friend said softly. 

Emma took a deep breath, "I was afraid you were going to say that." 

On the way back to the Flipse Building Emma kept thinking about the best way to apologize but nothing felt right.  She wondered if Clark had been able to sort things out between himself and his co-worker and if so, perhaps he would have some words of wisdom. 

~~~CS~~~ 

Since leaving Mary Margaret's office, Killian had been trying to figure out what it was that had brought Emma Swan rushing into the office unannounced.  Had she found his article?  Had she read the article? And if she had, what did she think?   

But why did he care?  He was only going to be in town for a couple of months, unless he interviewed for and was offered the permanent position. So why did it matter what she thought of him professionally?  Still unsure of the answer, Killian exchanged his tweed and wingtips for running shorts and shoes and hit the beach.  After five miles he still couldn't come up with an answer and pushed for another couple before cooling down and making his way back to the apartment.

He stripped and stepped under the shower spray, thinking over the answer that he had settled on while running and that was that Emma Swan was an enigma.   He heard stories of what a good instructor she was, how the students and faculty all enjoyed working with her, and yet the Emma Swan he saw was prickly...distant. She challenged him intellectually, whereas Buttercup stimulated him with her curiosity, her wit and her insight. If he could somehow combine the two, he would have found his perfect woman. 

Stepping from the shower, Killian dried and wrapped a towel around his waist just as a notification from Buttercup appeared. He quickly slipped into sleep pants and opened the message. It read: 

Dear Clark, 

Were you able to mend the rift between yourself and your co-worker?  I find that now I am in need of some advice from you.  I have recently realized that I jumped to an inaccurate assumption and have treated someone poorly because of it.  I am unsure how to repair the divide between us.  Any ideas? 

Buttercup 

Killian couldn't help but smile when he read her message because whether she had meant to or not, she had created a tiny crack in her wall.  Without much thought behind his answer, he sent a response. 

Buttercup, 

If you are wrong, apologize. 

Clark 

He was surprised when he didn't have to wait long before she answered back. 

Clark, 

I was afraid you would say that.  Saying I'm sorry is difficult.  No magic pill?   

Buttercup 

He chuckled at her response and answered. 

Dear Buttercup, 

No magic pill.  Sorry. 

Clark 

But she didn't let him have the last word. 

Clark, 

No key to his stomach?  No special Hallmark card or movie?   

Buttercup 

He got it, he really did, for saying you are wrong was difficult, but he had faith in her.  Which was interesting since they had never met. Wanting to learn more about her, he just started sending silly questions, as did she, until a glance at the clock told him they had been 'talking' for four hours.  His eyes barely able to stay open, Killian sent her one last question and when she didn't answer immediately, he allowed his eyes to close and drifted off to sleep. 

~~~CS~~~ 

It had been over a week since Emma fell asleep while 'talking' to Clark, which meant it had been a week since she realized she was wrong about Killian and needed to apologize.  However, saying she was sorry was not one of her strong suits and while she had tried...kind of...she was still working up to it. 

She decided that starting with a peace offering and then apologizing might make things a little easier and after some subtle questioning had stopped by Starbucks to procure his favorite coffee. However, once she arrived at the University and located him, she had been upstaged by none other than Tina Bell, the college's barracuda.  Tina had a reputation for flitting through men as quickly as a fairy flits through a flower field and by all appearances she had set her sights on Professor Jones. 

After taking a few days to regroup and come up with another idea, Emma planned to steal a piece of his mail from the faculty mailboxes and drop it by his office claiming it had accidentally gotten mixed up with hers.  Frustratingly, it seemed that someone else had the same idea because every time she checked the boxes, his was always empty.  It wasn't until she happened to walk by his office one afternoon to overhear someone say, "Killian, here's your mail.  It must have been left in my box by mistake," that she realized the culprit was Neal.  She didn't think Killian played for the same team as Neal, but she guessed she could be wrong. 

As February morphed into March and Emma still hadn't said she was sorry, she started thinking that if she didn't kick her own ass, her friends might very well do it for her.  Mary Margaret sent reminder texts, Clark had started asking in his messages and even her kitten had gotten in on the action.  Ginger had discovered the copy of the article that Killian wrote and scattered it all over the house, almost as if leaving reminders for her master. 

Making up her mind that this was the day, Emma found out which room he was teaching in and planned to stop by on her way to her own class.  Sadly, as had been her luck, once he was finished teaching, the podium was swarmed by a gaggle of girls and Emma was left out, yet again.   

Tired of being one step behind, she finished teaching her class, packed up for the day and barely made it to the Metrorail for her trip home. But once she arrived home, she had too much nervous energy to sit still, finally changing into running gear and hitting the streets. Allowing her feet to lead the way, she quickly realized that they were leading her directly to the beach and its hard-packed sand.   

Emma wasn't sure how far she ran, nor was she sure how long she ran, but she found a set of footprints in the sand and followed them blindly.  In her head she created an image of the person she was following, thinking they too might be trying to outrun something...or someone.  Her butterflies inside settling down, she slowed to a walk, allowing the gentle breezes to dry the sweat and calm her senses.  The mysterious steps faded as they rounded an outcrop of rocks and as she scooted around, the owner of the prints came into view. 

He had one leg resting on the shelf of a rock, his torso bent forward as he stretched his hamstrings.  She couldn't see his face, but he had a five-o'clock shadow, and his dark head was moving to music only he could hear.  She had just decided to turn the other way when he dropped his leg and looked her direction.  Emma's eyes traveled from his feet covered in a bright pair of Nike's, up bare legs, baggy shorts, a bare, slightly furred chest into the blue eyes of the man she had been simultaneously looking for yet running from for the past month. 

"Killian!" His first name burst forth before she could stop it. "Doctor Jones," she quickly amended, trying to keep her eyes glued to his instead of oogling his barely clad body. 

Killian took a step closer, his eyes widening with surprise as he removed an earbud. "Em...uh...Doctor Swan," he hesitated before dropping his gaze to the sand. 

Realizing that he might be feeling self-conscious, Emma cleared her throat, "Emma, please," she managed softly. 

He lifted his eyes and gave her a shy, but very endearing smile, and repeated, "Emma," quietly, almost as if he were trying it to see how it felt on his tongue. "And you can call me Killian." His response was just as soft as hers had been. 

Emma closed her eyes, but the vision of his chest, jaw covered with burnished whiskers and blue, blue eyes without glasses were burned in her brain, refusing to leave.  Do it, she told herself, opening her eyes once again to find his gaze locked on her.  "I'm glad I ran into you." His arched brow asked a question without his lips ever uttering a sound. "No, really," she rolled her eyes, "I wanted to tell you I was sorry.  I've behaved like an ass." 

He didn't say anything for the longest time, and afraid that perhaps she had waited too long, Emma almost turned to leave, but something kept her feet planted. "Apology accepted.  Care to walk?" 

They walked around the rocks, heading back up the beach and while not the comfort of an old friend like she felt when messaging Clark, their talk was, at least friendly.  She found that when she asked him questions about his professional life, he appeared more comfortable and seemed to stutter less, which gave her a new appreciation for him.  She hadn't really wanted to like him, but darn it, she did, and that was almost disconcerting. 

When they eventually parted ways and Emma arrived home, she couldn't get their encounter out of her mind, and for the first time she found herself wishing that Clark was close.  But she hadn't even told him where she lived...nor had she shared her real name.  The dilemma of what to do carried her into the shower. 

~~~CS~~~ 

The week after seeing Emma on the beach was a break for the University, and while he thought about flying home to see Liam, Elsa and Piper, in the end, he decided against it.  He divided his days between research for the book he was hoping to write and allowing August to teach him how to windsurf. Each evening he ran along the beach and while Emma Swan didn't cross his path, it didn't mean she didn't cross his mind.  He found himself thinking of her periodically, especially when he was in the middle of his research.  That she might be an interesting co-author had crossed his mind a time or two, so much so that he had almost mentioned it to Buttercup and asked her opinion.  But aware that he hadn't shared his real name and profession, kept him quiet...for the time being anyway. 

The problem was that the closer he felt to her, the more difficult it became to keep quiet...but something held him back. It was as if he were waiting on some sign and once he had gotten that sign, then...and only then would he divulge information that would lead to her knowing his real name.  What that sign was, he couldn't say...but when it happened, he would know. 

The last day of the break, a Sunday, David and Mary Margaret were hosting a brunch for the faculty of the College of Arts & Sciences, and if any faculty members were in town, they were expected to be there.  Killian arrived late and snuck in, hoping not to call attention to himself as he circled the room keeping his eyes open for... 

"Looking for me?" A whispered voice asked in his right ear as he felt an arm circling his waist. 

Could that be? he wondered turning to his right, only to be surprised by Neal's whiskered jaw leaning close to his shoulder. "Bloody hell, Cassidy!" Killian bellowed, jumping back quickly. "What are you doing?" 

"Well, I thought," Neal started before being pushed aside by the college snake. 

"Get your hands off him!" Tina Bell ordered Neal, shoving him out of the way. 

Killian noticed people staring, which was the exact opposite of what he had been looking for.  Slowly, he took a step back, trying to keep out of the reach of the groping hands. "Wai...wai…uh…just a minute here. There...there seems to be a...a...a big misunderstanding." His collar suddenly started feeling tighter and he swiped his finger around inside it in a desperate attempt to get it to loosen, all the while looking across the room for someone to rescue him. "Hold on, here," he tried again, taking another step backward.  "There...there seems to be, uh...a misunderstanding." He took one more step and hit a table, causing the plant sitting on it to wobble. 

Simultaneously, a hand reached out, stopping it from tumbling to the floor and another hand settled at his waist.  He knew before he turned that his savior was Emma Swan, but where had she come from?" 

"There you are," she hesitated just long enough to get the attention of both of his suitors, "Killian.  I've been looking for you." 

Emma positioned herself close against his side, her nearness causing his heart to speed up and sweat beads to appear on his upper lip.  Unsure what he was supposed to say, Killian looked down into her green eyes shining with laughter.  He swallowed his unease and nodded his head, "Aye, that's uh...that's right."   

He swallowed again when Emma linked her arm with his, and with an, "Excuse us," pulled him away from the situation. 

Once they were well out of Neal and Tina's hearing, Killian thanked Emma, and as they were walking by the buffet table offered to buy her a drink.  She rolled her eyes at his remark. "Sure, but I can get it.  Want something?" 

He sent her a little smile and shrugged nonchalantly. "What...ever, uh...you're having is fine.  I'll just be over…" he waved in the direction of several chairs, and when she nodded he moved away and sat down. 

Killian watched her move around the table with ease, curious as to what she was making to drink, when out of the corner of his eye he saw someone sit down next to him.  His breathing stopped until he heard, David's low laugh, "Emma making you one of her creations?" 

He sent his companion a quick grin and shrugged, "I'm not sure.  Should I be worried?" 

"Oh, just wait," David intoned. "Our Emma has a sweet tooth." 

"Watch it, David," Emma laughed, "I heard that." She handed Killian a cup piled high with whipped cream that was covered with brown sprinkles. "Drink up.  I've got to go hear more about the sunsets in Key West." With a little wave, she faded into the crowd. 

Killian looked at the whipped topping melting in his cup and lifted it to see if a whiff of the brown specks would give him some indication of what he was drinking. "Cinnamon?" For some reason that seemed familiar but he didn't know why.  Many people drank hot chocolate, but he hadn't heard of many drinking it with whipped cream and cinnamon, except...and then it came to him. "Buttercup," he whispered. 

"Buttercup?" David repeated, "No, it's cinnamon." 

Killian shook his head to clear his thoughts because what was rolling around inside his head made very little sense.  He had just swallowed his second drink of the sugary concoction when he realized what David had said, and asked curiously, "Emma always makes the chocolate with whipping cream and cinnamon?" 

David laughed, "Always.  Why?" 

"No, no reason." He couldn't get beyond the fact that he had already been wishing that Emma and Buttercup were the same person, as each stimulated him in different ways and now...now if every time he was involved in a conversation with Buttercup, he saw Emma in his mind...how should he handle it?  Needing to move to a safer topic, Killian asked David about his break. 

"Oh, I took Mary Margaret to Key West." He went on to sing the praises of the little town that sat on the very tip of the Florida Keys.  "Have you had a chance to drive down since you've been here?" 

Killian barely had time to say no before David continued with the conversation, claiming the Key West sunsets were not to be beat and that if the opportunity arose, it was a place he recommended.   

It wasn't long before Killian noticed people starting to leave, and as soon as he was able he too made his excuses.  All the way home, he kept replaying conversations that he'd had with Buttercup over the past two months and combining those with what he knew about Emma.  Was it even possible that they were one and the same?   Or was it something that he just desired?  And if his magical match wasn't ready to let him knock down all those walls, then what could he do without losing her...or possibly both of them? After all, he was only Clark Kent. 

Later that night a notification arrived that he had a new message from Buttercup. Killian opened the app and read, 

Dear Clark, 

This may sound odd, but just out of curiosity, Clark Kent has several nervous habits that Superman doesn't share.  Do you have any nervous habits you're willing to share with your magical match? 

Yours, 

Buttercup 

~~~CS~~~ 

Emma wasn't sure what possessed her to ask the question, but once she hit send, she couldn't wait for the answer.  When Clark didn't respond right away, she couldn't stop her mind from drifting back to the party and Killian's nervous habits. Besides turning really red, he was prone to rub his hand on his neck. Sometimes along the back and at other times along the front, and his speech patterns changed.  They became more hesitant, even slightly dysfluent. 

The dysfluency itself was interesting to Emma as it seemed to change depending on the environment.  She had watched him arrive and he appeared fine, however once Neal and Tina had surrounded him, making him uncomfortable, he had really stuttered and then the stuttering had lessened as they moved away.  But when she had seen him at the beach, once the initial awkwardness was over, his speaking pattern was different.  Then his speech had been fluent...smoother, even if his sentences were not as long and eloquent as she had expected...or as long and eloquent as Clark's were, which was a curious comparison to make.  But the cadence of his speech and the way his tongue wrapped around those British vowels did something to her that she hadn't expected.  In fact, there were times when she found herself hearing Killian's voice in her head as she read some of the messages from Clark.  How messed up was that?  There would come a time when a decision would have to be made, she could feel it.  The question was...how much time did she have? 

Knowing she had to teach the next day, Emma tried to go to sleep early but her mind wouldn't stop enough to allow for a deep sleep. It took hours of tossing and turning before she finally fell into such a shallow sleep that she was aware of every little creak in the house and every move made by Ginger, thanks to the bell on her collar.  Her dreams had Killian and Clark morphing into the same person, each saying words she would expect from the other.  She reached a point where she wasn't sure which man she was running to...or running from. 

When the alarm went off, she wanted nothing more than to bury her head under the blankets, but with an early class spurring her on, she forced her feet to move.  Knowing she was going to need an extra shot of caffeine, Emma quickly showered, dressed and was out the door and in line at Starbucks before even realizing she hadn't even touched her phone.  When she saw the notification, signaling a message from Clark, a little jolt traveled through her system, but wanting to savor the feeling she dealt with the non-important stuff first.  Her thumb hovered over the app when she heard the barista call, "Swan," and the moment was lost.   

A congested US-1 slowed her down and so it wasn't until several hours later that Emma dropped down into her office chair and opened the app to see what awaited her. 

Dear Buttercup, 

Just like Clark Kent, I find myself unsure at times and when that occurs, besides turning red, I tend to tug on my right ear. I've been trying to stop, but perhaps it’s a Superman transformation I've yet to conquer. 

Yours, 

Clark  

"He tugs on his ear," Emma murmured. "Why does that sound so familiar?"  Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten anything earlier, but grabbing something from the vending machines didn't sound good, so... 

E: Have time to meet me at the student center? 

Thankfully she didn't have to wait long for an answer, 

MM: Sounds good.  Usual spot in 20? 

E: Perfect.  See you then. 

There were several "busy" activities that she could have started, but Emma found that she didn't have the drive to begin any of them.  Leaving her office behind, she escaped the confines of the building and started the walk across campus.  The weather was still perfect, and with the sun shining down and the fragrant flowers around, Emma found herself relaxing and reflecting over the past few months. Much had changed since last November when she had told Mary Margaret that she was not interested in dating. 

November 2017 Thanksgiving 

Emma dried the last glass, set it in the cabinet and shut the door. "Done," she said with a smile. She hung up the towel she had been using and followed Mary Margaret into the family room.   

They settled on the sofa in front of the fireplace, both lost in their own thoughts for a few moments. "Thanks for helping clean the kitchen," her friend told her quietly.  "When Robert is ready to go home, he means right then." 

Emma laughed at the memory of the argument between the men and how in the end David had given in and driven them home. "That was sweet of David to drive them home." 

"An only child," Mary Margaret laughed and the changed the subject. "Ready to let me in on why you arrived alone?" 

Emma's head dropped onto the back of the sofa. "I was wondering when you would ask, but," she lifted her head, "it's not a big deal, really.  When Mary Margaret's only response was a lift of her brow, Emma laughed and shook her head. "There was just something missing between us and..." She bit her lip, unsure how much more to say.   

"Oh Emma," the brunette sighed, "he wanted more, didn't he?" 

Emma nodded her head slowly. "I'm not sure why I have such a hard time picking men," she finished disgustedly, and gave her friend a tiny smile. "Know any men as special as your husband?" 

She watched several expressions cross her friend's face and thought to herself, ‘I'm going to wish I wouldn't have said anything,’ before her friend even opened her mouth. "Well, it's interesting that you ask," Mary Margaret started, "it just so happens..." 

"Stop." Emma held up her hand.  "I was just kidding.  You know I don't do 'fix-ups.'" 

"But Emma, what if he's your true love?" 

"Ha!" burst out before she could stop it. "Let's change the subject, shall we?" 

March 2018 

And if I had taken her up on the offer to introduce me to someone, would I have a third man in my life?  Or would I have none? "Feast or famine," she mumbled as she entered the noisy environment of the student center and sat down at their usual table. 

While she waited, Emma's thoughts once again drifted back over conversations that she'd had with Clark and how easy it was to share most things with him. Most things that is...except her name, what she did for a living and...where she lived. 

"What's wrong?" Mary Margaret asked before she had even settled in a chair. 

Emma frowned at her. "How do you know anything is wrong?" 

"Because you're chewing on your bottom lip.  Now spill." 

Emma spent the next hour trying to explain the confusion she was feeling inside and how her feelings for Clark and Killian were morphing together.  She found it freeing, but even talking about it still didn't give her clarification as to what she should do. "You've been quiet," she commented as she ran out of things to say. 

"Have you thought about trying to meet Clark?" Mary Margaret asked her quietly. 

"Yes," Emma nodded, "but...but I like what we have, even if it's not completely open.  If we meet I might find out--" 

"---that you might be wrong about him," Mary Margaret interrupted.  Emma sighed, but didn't say anything, only nodded her head.  "Emma," her friend reached out with a reassuring touch on her hand, "don't give up.   Love is worth it." 

All the way back to the Flipse Building, Emma thought about what Mary Margaret had said and wondered if she was brave enough to take a chance. Was her true love at the bottom of the hill, just like Buttercup's Westley? It was a question that certainly deserved a lot of thought but since she had a class of freshmen to lecture for the next ninety minutes, she would have to set it aside to ponder later.   

As she stood in front of her class, lecturing about habits, Emma's mind kept wandering to her situation, but using every ounce of skill she had learned over the past few years, she made it through her PowerPoint without having to repeat herself too many times.  She had just started a video to accompany her lecture when she looked up, meeting the blue eyes of Killian Jones.   

The first thing she noticed was that he didn't have his glasses on and his gaze was so intense that she had to hold onto the table to keep from falling.  He looked different, but beyond the absence of his eyewear, she couldn't put her finger on why she thought that. Almost like when Clark Kent becomes Superman flitted through her mind before she pushed it aside as a preposterous idea. 

Emma couldn't look away, her gaze mesmerized by his and then...he smiled.  A smile so endearing that if she hadn't been holding onto the table, her legs would have given out.  Without conscious thought, Emma found herself smiling back, and then it happened, and as if in slow motion the room stood still. 

 Killian's face turned red and he reached up and...tugged on his ear. 

Emma blinked rapidly several times, thinking surely, she didn't just see that.  But he did it again. 

He reached up, and once again tugged on his ear. 

Emma's mouth dropped open, and just as she started to walk over to him, the video came to its conclusion and with a little wave Killian disappeared.  She didn't know where the words came from, but somehow she closed out the class and made it back to her office repeating, "I am so screwed," over and over again. 

Almost in a trance, Emma packed up and drove home, arriving to discover that Ginger had been busy, but she hadn't destroyed anything important. The decision time that she had been fretting about for a while had arrived. The question of what to do ran around inside her head, almost filling up too much space to allow her to function.  She had just about decided to put it off for another day when her phone buzzed with a new notification from Clark.  With much curiosity and a little trepidation, Emma opened the app.

Tell me dear Buttercup, are buttercups your favorite posies? 

Yours,

Clark 

~~~CS~~~ 

Killian leaned against the open patio doors, listening to the waves roll in several floors below. Usually the rhythmic pulse served to soothe him, but tonight his thoughts were in too much disarray and he'd resorted to a generous dollop of rum.  As the amber drink burned a path from his mouth to his stomach, he set the glass aside and leaned on the railing staring out at the bay, hoping for some clarity. 

With each ebb and flow of the water, the shore changed, reminding him of his own metamorphosis over the last few months. It hadn't been something that he had noticed as it was taking place, for then, he had been attempting to make some sense of what he was feeling.  His emotions were wide and varied and they included those for his Buttercup, as well as many for Emma Swan and suddenly, the two women had merged into one...at least in his mind.  But after speaking with Liam, there had been an epiphany, of sorts, and he had realized that the man he looked at in the mirror every morning had indeed changed. 

He had arrived home from the party and, with his thoughts mired in confusion, he had needed someone to help him sort through them and reached out to his family.  Piper had answered the phone and after listening to her stories about school, she had passed him on to Elsa.  It hadn't taken long before Elsa had asked if she could help, and he thought about asking her for her opinion, but then Liam's voice came over the phone and he hadn't been able to stop the flow of words. 

It had felt good to be able to articulate what was in his mind and what was in his heart.  And once the words were said, then he had been forced to examine the meaning behind them. Liam had asked a few questions, but as the questions became fewer and his answers shorter, Killian had started to wonder what was going through Liam's head. The end of the conversation was really what stood out in his mind. 

"Have you ever fought for a woman, Killian?" Liam had asked him quietly. 

"No." He had never wanted to fight for anyone. 

Liam continued, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.  So, Little Brother, if you want this woman, you need to fight for her." 

Once he had hung up the phone, he found himself thinking about Clark Kent's transformation to Superman.  It all started when he removed his glasses.  He stood taller, more confident, his voice was lower pitched...and what he wanted, he went after.   

Killian found himself in the bathroom, staring at the man in the mirror, and just like Superman, he pulled the tortoiseshell glasses from his face.  Different, yet the same, he thought, wanting to do more.  With a tug of the knot, his tie ended up on the floor and the top few buttons of his shirt came undone and his stance changed...looser...cockier. His hair...he mussed, letting it fall over his forehead. And the new Killian Jones stared back at him.  This man, not the same man that looked back at him each day, but a man on a mission.  A man willing to fight for the woman he wanted. 

And that man made his first appearance at the University earlier today.  That man had breezed through his classes and, needing to see Emma, had stopped by the room where she was lecturing.  Exchanging looks with her had been intense, and he'd needed to hold on to the door facing to keep from pushing his newfound confidence farther...and then...she smiled. His heart raced, but the video's ending had sent him running home. 

Once home, after a run on the beach, he set out to see how close he could get to his Buttercup and sent her a message.  But now, hours later and she hadn't responded. Had he gotten too close?  And if so, was she running? 

Unsure what his next step should be, Killian readied for bed and, keeping his phone close, lay down, folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.  His thoughts fell back on the encounter with Emma and how he felt when she smiled at him, his heart had... 

His phone sounding with the theme music to Princess Bride interrupted his thoughts before they could delve any further into his feelings.  Killian reached for the phone, quickly opening the app.  Buttercup's message was short and either she was being a bit cheeky...or she was trying to put some distance between them.  "We'll see about that," he muttered as he reread her message. 

Dear Clark, 

Buttercups are not my favorite posey. 

Yours,

Buttercup 

Killian's next message was short...but a little more personal. 

Dear Buttercup, 

How about Blue Bonnets?  Are they your favorites?  Blue like your Westley's eyes. 

Yours,

Clark 

Even though it was getting late, he didn't have to wait long for her answer. 

Dear Clark, 

I do like blue, but Blue Bonnets aren't my favorite. 

Yours,

Buttercup 

Killian's smile was decidedly wicked as he answered her. 

You like blue?  Blue like the sky or blue like the sea? 

He couldn't put the phone down, he was so anxious to hear what she had to say. 

Why, blue like the sea, of course.  Oh, a bonus for you. My favorite flowers are Tiger Lilies. 

Killian had his answer and assumed she was turning in for the night.  He shut the phone off and as fatigue pulled him down into sleep, he continued to formulate his plan as to how far he could push her before her walls came tumbling down and he was able to win Buttercup’s heart.   

Over the course of the next few weeks, Killian put his plan into action.  His messages to his Magical Match included questions that became increasingly more personal, pushing her down that hill a little at a time.  Initially, she met his new questioning technique with hesitation and challenged his with questions of her own.  But then, it was as if a door had opened and she was walking through as she met each of his questions with ones of her own.   

By telling her he had grown up in London, he learned she was born in Boston. 

By telling her his parents had been killed when he was a teenager, he had learned she had been raised in the foster system. And that news sent his heart racing, for Emma Swan had also been raised in the foster system.   

By telling her his magical match gift had been bestowed on him by his brother, his wife and their daughter, he had learned she had received it from married friends, who were colleagues.  Could those have been David and Mary Margaret? 

Mid-April was upon them and Killian wanted...no...needed to meet Buttercup, but he had one more question for her.  It was quick. 

Dear Buttercup,

If you could take a trip to see the sunset, where would the trip lead you? 

Yours,

Clark 

Surprisingly, he didn't have to wait long as her response popped up right away. 

Dear Clark, 

I hear the sunsets in Key West, Florida are like no other. 

Yours,

Buttercup 

When Killian read her answer, he couldn't believe the amount of relief he was feeling and he was being hit with it from several directions.  Creating the perfect letter took some time but once it was sent, he was confident he had made the right decision. 

The following week, he realized he needed a little advice and stopped by David's office.  David's secretary smiled. "Doctor Jones, how can I help you?" 

"Good morning, Mrs. Lucas." He sent her what he hoped was an endearing smile. "Is David in?" 

Once inside David's inner sanctum, Killian got right to the point, "David, I thought I'd check out those sunsets in Key West next weekend. Would you happen to have a hotel recommendation?  And would you mind taking me to the airport? 

~~~CS~~~

As soon as Killian had left the office, David couldn't stop smiling.  He picked up his phone to share the news. "Mrs. Lucas," he said to his secretary, "please tell Ruby thanks again for help with that matter." 

"I'll do that, Doctor Nolan," she answered. "Is there anything else before I leave for the day?" 

"Nothing, thanks."  As soon as she was gone, David snuck outside to where a copse would hide him, should anyone come around.  He needed to call Liam and fill him in on the news.  As he waited for the phone to ring, he saw Killian leaving the building, and stepped back a little more into the shadows.   

"David, good to hear from you," Liam's voice came over the line.  "How are things?" 

~~~CS~~~ 

Dear Buttercup, 

Are you ready to meet me at the bottom of the hill? If so, I'll be waiting at the Southernmost Point in Key West on April 21 at 7:00p.m.  If all goes well, the sunset will signify a new beginning.  I'll leave my cape at home and be holding four Tiger Lilies, one for every month we've been talking.   

              ~Clark 

Emma read through the message one more time and the excitement that she had felt the first time was just as real...the tenth...twentieth, but who's counting time.  It had taken her a lot of runs on the beach and talks with her friend, but Emma had made the decision to continue down the hill.  She hadn't rolled down, like they had in the movie, but taken sure and steady steps, allowing him to get closer to her than anyone had in...forever. And after his last message, she had decided to drive to Key West...and meet him.   

Ginger mewed and followed her to the door, and seeing her little forlorn, furry face almost stopped her...but, "You'll be in good hands, my friend." She picked up the kitten and rubbed her face against the soft fur.  "Mary Margaret is going to take care of you. You like her, right?" 

The kitten didn't look convinced but followed her mistress from room to room as Emma made sure she had everything and then called her friend.   

"Hello?" 

"I'm getting ready to leave.  You won't forget to take care of Ginger, right?" 

"Go, Emma," Mary Margaret assured her, "Ginger and I will be fine.  Good luck." 

"Thanks...for everything." While Emma didn't know for sure, she had a feeling she was thanking her friend for a lot more than just watching her pet.   

On a good day, the drive along the scenic US-1 was almost four hours from her home in Coconut Grove, but add in a wreck and a little road construction and she didn't pull into the hotel until five hours later.  Once she checked into her room, she had too much nervous energy to just sit around and decided to take the opportunity to visit the Hemingway House. Once there she was free to wander about the eccentric writer's home, admiring not only the residence, but the many cats that called the house their home.   

After leaving the Hemingway House, Emma still had a few hours to waste and spent time walking in and out of the shops on Duval Street.  Her stomach was so tied up in knots that she couldn't even think about food and she was too nervous to people watch, and so an hour early, she started in the direction of the concrete buoy that proudly proclaimed it to be the Southernmost Point in Key West, Florida. 

When she arrived within eyesight of the buoy, Emma stopped and leaned against a store, shielding herself from others, but allowing her to see the comings and goings of the tourists.  Her eyes were constantly moving over the crowd, searching for the man that she hoped was both her magical match, i.e., Clark Kent, as well as her Superman. Taking a chance on even the possibility of love was not something that Emma Swan had ever done until she had become his Buttercup. Now...she was here...and...she was ready. 

She saw him coming from the opposite side of the street, his walk much more Superman these days than Clark Kent.  He looked good as Superman, she thought. Contacts instead of glasses, jeans instead of dress pants, a vest and a shirt unbuttoned a few buttons instead of a tie, all topped by black leather instead of a tweed jacket. And not a fedora in sight, she noticed as he turned to look in a store window.  She assumed he was window shopping until he straightened his jacket and ran his hand through his hair, leaving it artfully mussed. He turned back toward the corner and his lopsided grin caused her heart to do a little flip.  That they had come so far was a miracle, making her think they were technically a miracle match instead of a magical one. 

Just before he reached the corner, his steps hesitated and he stopped, his confidence flagging.  His shoulders sagged, and his body relaxed and just like that, Clark was back.  He dropped his head studying the bright orange flowers he was holding, four beautiful Tiger Lilies as he had promised and then...with a swipe of his finger across one delicate petal, his shoulders drew back and his head lifted.  Superman had once again returned and Emma's heart melted a little more. 

He looked toward the concrete buoy and Emma watched him take a breath and his lopsided smile once again returned.  She saw him scan the crowds, looking for her, she knew, before settling off to one side.  His Adam's apple bobbed and seeing that even when he was Superman he was nervous, Emma stepped away from the wall and started her walk to where he was waiting. 

~~~CS~~~ 

Killian saw her coming and she was so beautiful all the words that he had planned to say disappeared from his brain. His eyes trailed up her slim legs encased in tight jeans, to her soft sweater covered by the ever-present leather jacket.  Her hair blowing around her face and the sun shining on her gave her a glow, and those combined with her smile woke his heart and made it sing. 

She stopped in front of him, giving him a smile that he hadn't been aware he was longing for. "I hoped it was you." Her voice was husky and a little breathless and the way she was biting her lip was endearing to see. 

"Really?" He felt his smile grow, "I hoped it was you, too." He took a half step closer. "When did you suspect?" 

Emma tilted her face up to the sun, as if working to bring back a memory that was hiding. "Clark and Killian had been merging in my head for several weeks, but then when you were standing in the doorway of my class--" 

"And tugged on my ear?" he finished. 

She nodded. "Yes. And then you disappeared." Her voice faded as she studied him intently. 

His face felt stiff and too warm, as if he had been smiling too much or was embarrassed...or both. "I'm sorry," he told her quietly. "I wanted to stay but it felt like it was..." and then he stopped because he wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. 

Emma took another step closer. "Too much?" she asked hesitantly. 

This time it was his turn to nod. "Something like that." 

"How long do you plan to stay?" Emma's shining green eyes continued to stare into his as if she were cataloging his features and digging into the deepest recesses of his mind. 

She had asked him a question, but he had been so lost in her green-eyed gaze that it took him a while to process what she had said.  "In Key West...or in Florida? 

Emma rolled her eyes and lightly giggled, relieving some of the nervous tension he still was holding. "Florida, silly." 

"Well," Killian handed her one of the bright Tiger Lilies, "that depends on a few things." He handed her another, each word carefully chosen. 

"Thank you," she whispered softly, her breath blowing across the petals causing them to undulate slightly.  His eyes rested on her lips before he forcibly brought them back to hers.  She pulled the flowers down to clasp them tightly against her chest as she stared up at him, almost as if something held her captivated. Her pink tongue peeked out to slowly circle her lips and for the first time, Killian felt that there was a very real chance he would get to taste that mouth. Something he had longed to do but never really thought possible. "What things?" 

Her words broke through his hazy thoughts. "A job," he handed her the third flower, "for one. After all, my position is only until the end of the semester." 

Emma frowned up and him and took a step back. "Wait.  I thought you were applying for Cora Mills' position." 

Killian felt his brow raise in question, thinking that the fact that she was aware he had been offered the opportunity to apply for the position was an interesting piece of information.  "I've been told about the position but haven't decided if I should apply or not." He took a step forward closing the distance that she had just added. 

"What...what will help you determine whether or not to apply?" she asked him breathlessly. 

A tiny smile played along her lips, their twitching pulling his eyes to them time and again. "I think you know." He handed her the last flower, his eyes open for her to read whatever was in them that she wanted to see.   

~~~CS~~~ 

His blue eyes had been hypnotizing her since she had stopped in front of him and the more she stared, the more rubbery her legs became.  Hearing him talk and listening to the melodic tone to his voice, the more he pulled her in...bringing her closer to him...making her want to step into him, letting him wrap her in his arms.  But patience and allowing things to develop between them naturally had worked so far, which was why she was working so hard to refrain from staring at his lips. 

Hearing him remind her of the temporariness of his position and then telling her he hadn't applied for the other one sent a shock of fear zipping down Emma's spine.  That wasn't like her, yet as he uttered the words, "I think you know," she had to look down to make sure that her legs weren't slowly melting into the very ground beneath her feet.  Surely, he couldn't mean her, could he? 

But then she looked...really looked in his eyes and what she saw was so raw...so heart-wrenchingly beautiful, she couldn't keep from stepping closer. The toes of her boots touched his and her hands rested against the soft leather of his jacket. "Killian?" There was so much she wanted to say but how to verbalize exactly what she was feeling was a problem, because as she had said earlier to him...it just felt so big. 

He took another step and cupped her elbows, pulling her closer, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. "Yes, love?" 

Emma wasn't sure if the word was an endearment or just something that he used when speaking to others, but it sent awareness along her skin. "Where's home?" 

He leaned his head closer and whispered, "I have a flat in Cambridge, which is the University I am on sabbatical from, and my family lives outside of London, why?" 

She shook her head, turning questioning eyes to his. "You would be willing to give up your...family for me?" 

"Aye." His breath wafted across her mouth, making her want to lean forward...just an inch closer, to finally seal their lips. "Buttercup," he tugged her into his body, locking his arms around her, "can I be your Westley?  Can I be your happy ending?" 

The words were barely out of his mouth before Emma took the leap and locked her mouth to his.  He tasted like heaven and his arms...those felt like home. Their lips parted briefly, just long enough for her to mutter, "Welcome home, Killian." 

The setting sun touched the ocean, painting the world around them with a golden glow.  Killian swung Emma around dipping her in his arms. “Is this the Happy Ending you envisioned for Buttercup, Swan?”   

She smiled, “It’s not a happy ending, Killian.  It’s a Happy Beginning.” He swung her back into his arms and captured her lips once again as the sun sank into the ocean and the night closed around them. 

~fin

Thanks for reading

[prasanththampi]

BUSINESS COMMUNICATION XIBMS EXAM ANSWER SHEETS PROVIDED WHATSAPP 992476...

Xaviers Institute of Business Management Studies

 MARKS: 80

 SUB:  Business Communication

                 N. B. :      1)     Attempt any Four Case studies

                               2)     All case studies carry equal marks.

No: 1

A REPLY SENT TO AN ERRING CUSTOMER

Dear Sir,

Your letter of the 23rd, with a cheque for Rs. 25,000/- on account, is to hand.

We note what you say as to the difficulty you experience in collecting your outstanding accounts, but we are compelled to remark that we do not think you are treating us with the consideration we have a right to expect.

It is true that small remittances have been forwarded from time to time, but the debit balance against you has been steadily increasing during the past twelve months until it now stands at the considerable total of Rs. 85,000/-

Having regard to the many years during which you have been a customer of this house and the, generally speaking, satisfactory character of your account, we are reluctant to resort to harsh measures.

We must, however, insist that the existing balance should be cleared off by regular installments of say Rs. 10,000/- per month, the first installment to reach us by the 7th.  In the meantime you shall pay cash for all further goods; we are allowing you an extra 3% discount in lieu of credit.

We shall be glad to hear from you about this arrangement, as otherwise we shall have no alternative but definitely to close your account and place the matter in other hands.

Yours truly,  

Questions:

1.       Comment on the appropriateness of the sender’s tone to a customer.

2.       Point out the old – fashioned phrases and expressions.

3.       Rewrite the reply according to the principles of effective writing in business.

NO. 2

WAVE

(ATV : Advertising Radio FM Brand)

           A young, gorgeous woman is standing in front of her apartment window dancing to the 1970s tune, “All Right Now” by the one – hit band free.  Across the street a young man looks out of his apartment window and notices her.  He moves closer to the window, taking interest.  She cranks up the volume and continues dancing, looking out the window at the fellow, who smiles hopefully and waves meekly.  He holds up a bottle of wine and waves it, apparently inviting her over for a drink.  The lady waves back.  He kisses the bottle and excitedly says, “Yesss.”  Then, he gazes around his apartment and realizes that it is a mess. “No !” he exclaims in a worried tone of voice.  Frantically, he does his best to quickly clean up the place, stuffing papers under the sofa and putting old food back in the refrigerator, He slips on a black shirt, slicks  back his hair, sniffs his armpit, and lets out an excited , “Yeahhh!” in eager anticipation of entertaining the young lady.  He goes back to the window and sees the woman still dancing away.  He points to his watch, as if to say “ Come on. It is getting late.”   As she just continues dancing, he looks confused. Then a look of sudden insight appears on his face, “Five,” he says to himself.  He turns on his radio, and it too is playing “All Right Now.”  The man goes to his window and starts dancing as he watches his lady friend continue stepping.  “Five, yeah,” he says as he makes the “okay” sign with his thumb and forefinger.  He waves again.  Everyone in the apartment building is dancing by their window to “All Right Now.”  A super appears on the screen: “Are you on the right wavelength ?”  

Questions :

1.       What is non – verbal communication ?  Why do you suppose that        this           commercial relies primarily on non-verbal communication          between a   young man and a gorgeous woman ?  What types of    non – verbal communication are being used in this case ?

2.       Would any of the non-verbal communications in this spot (ad) not       work well in another culture ?

3.       What role does music play in this spot ? Who is the target market ?

4.       Is the music at all distracting from the message ?

5.       How else are radio stations advertised on TV ?

  NO. 3

ARVIND PANDEY CAUGHT IN BUSINESS WEB

           Arvind Pandey is a project manager at Al Saba Construction Company in Muscat.   It s a flourishing company with several construction projects in Muscat and abroad.  It is known for completing projects on time and with high quantity construction.  The company’s Chairman is a rich and a highly educated Omani.  A German engineer is Arvind’s Vice – President for urban and foreign construction projects.

           Three months ago, Al Saba had submitted a tender for a major construction project in Kuwait.  Its quotation was for $ 25 million.  In Kuwait the project was sponsored and announced by a US – based construction company called Fuma.  According to Al Saba, their bid of $ 25 million was modest but had included a high margin of profit.

           On 25 April, Arvind was asked to go to Kuwait to find out from the Fuma project manager the status of their construction proposal.  Arvind was delighted to know that Fuma had decided to give his company.  (Al Saba) the construction project work.  The project meant a lot of effort and money in planning the proposed construction in Kuwait.

           But before Arvind could tank the Fuma project manager, he was told that their bird should be raised to $ 28 million.  Arvind was surprised. He tried to convince the Fuma project manager that his (Arvind company had the bast reputation for doing construction work in a cost effective way .  However, he could always raise the bid by $ 3 million. But he wanted to know why he was required to do so.

           The Fuma manager’s reply was, “That’s the way we do our business in this part of the world, $ 1 million will go to our Managing Director in the US, I shall get $ 1 million, you, Mr. Pandey, will get $ 1 million in a specified account in Swiss Bank.

           Arvind asked, “ But why me ?”

           “ So that you never talk about it to any one.”  The Fuma Project Manager said.

           Arvind promised never to  leak it out to any one else.  And he tried to bargain to raise the bid by $ 2 million.  For. Arvind was familiar with the practice of “ pay – offs” involved in any such thing.  He thought it was against his loyalty to his company and his personal ethics.  

           Arvind promised the Fuma project manager that the bid would be raised to $ 28 million and fresh papers would be put in. He did not want to lose the job.

           He came back to Muscat and kept trying to figure out how he should place the whole thing before his German Vice President.  He obviously was at a loss.  

Questions :

1.       Analyse the reasons for Arvind Pandey’s dilemma.

2.       Does Arvind Pandey really face a dilemma ?

3.       In your view what should Arvind Pandey do ?  Should he disclose       it to his German Vice President ?  

                     NO. 4.

COMPANY ACCEPTING A CONTRACT

           A computer company was negotiating a very large order with a large size corporation. They had a very good track record with this client.

           In this corporation, five different departments had pooled their requirements and budgets.  A committee was formed which had representation from all the departments. The corporation wanted the equipment on a long lease and not outright purchase.  Further, they wanted all the hardware and software form one supplier. This meant that there should be bought – out items from many suppliers since no one supplier could meet all the requirements of supply from its range of products.

           The corporation provided an exhaustive list of very difficult terms and conditions and pressurized the vendors to accept.  The computer company who was finally awarded the contract had agreed to overall terms that were fine as far as their own products were concerned but had also accepted the same terms for the brought – out items.  In this case, the bought – out items were to be imported through a letter of credit. The percentage of the bought – out items versus their own manufacture was also very high.  One of the terms accepted was that the “system” would be accepted over a period of 10 days after all the hardware had been linked up and software loaded.

           The computer company started facing trouble immediately on supply.  There were over 100 computers over a distance connected with one another with software on it.  For the acceptance tests, it had been agreed that the computer company would demonstrate as a pre-requisite the features they had claimed during technical discussions.

           Now, as you are aware, if a Hero Honda motorcycle claims 80 km to a litre of petrol, it is under ideal test conditions and if a motorcycle from the showroom were to be tried for this test before being accepted, it would never pass the test.  In corporation’s case, due to internal politics, the corporation persons from one department – who insisted on going exactly by the contract – did not sign acceptance since the “ system” could not meet the ideal test conditions.

           Further, in a classic case of, “ for want of a horse – shoe, payment for the horse was held up”, the computer company tried to get the system accepted and payment released.  The system was so large that at any point of time over a period of 10 days something small or the other always gave problems.  But the corporation took the stand that as far as they were concerned the contract clearly were concerned the contract clearly mentioned that the “system” had to be tested as a whole and not module by module.

Questions :

1.       Comment on the terms and conditions placed by the corporation.

2.       What factors influenced the computer company’s decision to       accept the  contract ?

3.       Was it a win – win agreement ?  Discuss ?

                        NO. 5

EMPLOYMENT INTERVIEW OF R P SINHA

           Mr. R P Sinha is a MBA.  He is being interviewed for the position of Management Trainee at a reputed company. The selection committee’s is chaired by a lady Vice – President.  Mr. Sinha’s interview was as follows :

Committee : Good morning !

Mr. Sinha : Good morning to Sirs and Madam !  

Chairperson : Please, sit down.

Mr. Sinha : Thank you (sits down at the edge of the chair, keeps his portfolio on the table)    

Q. Chairperson : You are Mr. R. P. Sinha

A Sinha : Yes, Madam.  This is how I am called.

Q. Chairperson : You have passed MBA with 1st Division.

A. Sinha : Yes, Madam.

Q. Chairperson : Why do you want to work in our organization ?

A Sinha : It is just like that.  Also, because it has good reputation.

Q. Member A : This job is considered to be quite stressful. Do you think you can manage the stress involved.

A. Sinha : I think there is too much talk about stress these days.  Sir, would you tell clearly what you mean by stress ? I am very strong for any stress.

Q. Member B : What are your strengths ?

A. Sinha : Sir, who am I talk boastfully about my strengths. You should tell me my strengths.

Q. Member C : What are your weaknesses ?

A. Sinha : I become angry very fast.

Q. Member A : Do you want to ask us any questions ?

A Sinha : Yes Sir !  What are the future chances for one who starts as a management trainee ?

           The member tells M. Sinha the typical career path for those starting as Management Trainee.  The Chairperson thanks Mr. Sinha.  Mr. Sinha promptly says in reply, “you are welcome,” and comes out.

  Questions :

1.       Do you find Mr. Sinha’s responses to various questions effective ?       Give  reasons for your view on each answer given by Mr. Sinha.

2.       Rewrite the responses that you consider most effective to the     above questions in a job interview.

3.       Mr. Sinha has observed the norm of respectful behaviour and    polite conversation.  But, do you think there is something      gone wrong in his case ?  Account for your general       impression of       Mr. Sinha’s performance at the interview.

   NO. 6

     Comment on the form and structure of the  Report.  

[plenoptic07]

The first rough little chunk of a modern AU Volpelli to tide @kitmarlowes through a shitty day~ ft. cute Jewish bookstore owner Gil

((please no reblogs))

Nic missed his bus.

 Not by much, he figured, not that it mattered—whether he missed it by five minutes or five seconds, he missed it all the same. He’d been up all night going over polling numbers, reading news coverage, trying to find an angle that would salvage this nightmare of a campaign, and fallen asleep at his desk. He’d woken up and looked at his watch to find that he had about forty-five seconds to catch the bus.

 But it was gone by the time he’d hurried into the street, wearing the same clothes he’d fallen asleep in. He knew it wasn’t just running late because the usual crowd of commuters was no longer at the stop. Which meant that it had showed up exactly on time for the first time since its new regular driver, a punk-ass eighteen year old everyone called Salai, had been hired. Salai was a vain idiot—he was brilliant, actually, having gone to university for art three years ahead of his classmates and graduating in record time, but he acted like an idiot—and should have been fired within his first week of work, but he spoke Italian, and Little Italy had been flooded with immigrants the last few months, mostly older folks finally coming to join their families. There weren’t many Italian-speaking people prepared to spend their entire day driving the city bus back and forth through crowded streets, and there had been an unfortunate rash of helpless non-English speakers being dumped off at odd points across New York when Salai took a few days off, so the kid stayed.

 And he chose today, of all days, to actually make it to the stop on time.

 Nic stood at the stop, clothes rumpled, messenger bag over his shoulder. He needed a coat; a light drizzle fell from the grey clouds overhead, soaking his head and shoulders, leaving puddles around his shoes. He thought about calling Biagio and dismissed the idea as soon as it came. Biagio was as dirt-poor as he was; the fool biked six miles to and from work every day. He’d be pedaling through the morning traffic right now, earbuds jammed in tight, his dark curls growing heavy in the rain, but he wouldn’t mind. Biagio looked good a little disheveled. At least, girls thought he did, and opinions that didn’t come out of a woman’s mouth just didn’t mean that much to Biagio.

 Any other day, he might have called Agostino, who drove an ancient Mustang he’d purchased for about two grand four years ago; every year he sunk all of his spare cash into maintaining the thing. But Auggie was in Jersey for a conference. No dice.

 Marietta had a car, but the thought of calling his ex-wife and asking for a ride—of meeting her on the curb and opening the door of her sleek black sportscar and seeing her nose wrinkle when he defiled her perfect leather seats with his wet ass—made him unironically want to die. Definitely not.

 Damn, he hated being broke.

 The next bus was due to show in the next forty-five minutes. Slowly, shuffling through the puddles, Nic turned and went back into his apartment. It was a one-room studio, nothing he was particularly proud to call home, but it was home nonetheless. There wasn’t enough wall space for bookshelves; he’d crammed in five and then had to settle for stacking up his books on the floor, somewhat haphazardly arranged by fiction/non-fiction, then genre, then author. He weaved around them on his way to the closet. His closet, he realized, absolutely stank of thirty-something-divorcee couture. If single guy couture was sports coats and Oxfords and married guy couture was sweater vests, he was right in the middle. He opted for slacks and a sweater and found dry shoes in the back of the closet. They didn’t have gel insoles, which sucked, because he had brutally high arches and his dogs would be barking by the end of the day.

 His dogs would be barking? Christ, he was becoming his dad.

 With nothing to do but kill time, he put on a pot of coffee, brushed out his hair (alarmed, as always, by its slow but steady retreat away from his temples, and by the greys that occasionally made an appearance on his jawline), scrubbed the taste of morning from his teeth. He shot an appropriately apologetic text to Farha. Though kind, having her schedule disrupted brought out a beast in her, and having the man in charge of her campaign show up to work over an hour late was sure to set her off. Nic said a silent apology for the aides who would be caught up in her hurricane.

 He brought the mail in, braving the rain with a coat this time. Bills, bills, bills, unsurprisingly. He tossed them onto the already substantial stack on the counter. He kept telling himself he would get to them and then, well, not getting to them, like every other functioning adult in America. Postcard from his father, who lived upstate a little ways and for some reason felt compelled to send postcards despite not travelling much further than two miles from his house to visit the barber and go to church on Sundays. He’d become very quiet since Mama died, not like himself. Nic and his sister Margherita were still trying to convince himself to move down to Little Italy, where they could keep an eye on him, keep him company.

“Bah,” Bernardo would say, waving a hand. “If I wanted to live with Italians, I’d have stayed in Florence.”

 They compromised by taking turns driving up to see the old man every other weekend. Totto was up for this Friday, but soon he’d be out of the rotation. He was in school for a PhD in theology and didn’t really have the time to spare. Nic wasn’t looking forward to taking increased bus rides upstate. Maybe he’d bribe Margherita into going more often—or maybe Marietta would be willing to take the kiddo up every once and a while.

 Speaking of. He had an envelope from his ex-wife, containing an alimony check that he dropped directly into the garbage, and no less than seven illustrations done in crayon, which he put up on the fridge alongside about fifty others. As per usual, he couldn’t make out what they were illustrations of, but Primerana’s color theory was developing, at least. She was beginning to pair warm and cool colors for contrast. Nic thought that must be pretty sophisticated for a four-year-old. He stood and stared at her colorings for a few minutes, missing the absolute hell out of her. He was always counting down the days until he’d see her again. He was presently six away; she’d just been with him this weekend.

 At five to nine, he stood outside in the rain once more, holding his travel mug full of black coffee, and caught the bus.

 / page break

 Because it was already a Monday and he missed his kid and God apparently hated him, the bus broke down four miles from the office. Every other city bus was immersed in New York traffic.

 “Take the subway,” the not-quite apologetic bus driver suggested to his marooned passengers.

 Nic wanted to throttle him. What madman would be taking the bus if they were in any way able to take the subway? He did consider it, particularly given that the rain was still beating its determined drum upon his skull, but the thought of descending the concrete stairs into that cool subterranean labyrinth made his hair stand on end. Damn poverty and damn claustrophobia, they were making his life absolute hell.

 He shot off another text to Farha, well-aware that his explanations were starting to sound like excuses. He sent her a picture of the bus’s steaming hood, as proof. She responded with a series of emojis that he couldn’t for the life of him decipher. The next senator of the state of New York, he thought, and smiled to himself. Provided, of course, that her campaign manager ever made it into work.

 With no other options—no money for a cab, and not a Lyft in sight, not that he could afford that either—Nic started walking. His shoes soaked through in a matter of minutes; he was immensely grateful for his coat, which slicked off most of the rain. He’d lost the hood in a tussle with a mugger three months ago, and cold water dripped down the back of his neck. He hunched his shoulders and weaved through the foot traffic, zoning out to the endless drone of rough New Yorker voices, cell phones jingling, cars whizzing past and spraying water across his legs.

 He got an amused but sympathetic text from Biagio, who had also been sending out incessant Snapchat updates of his own bedraggled but handsomely grinning face for the last five minutes. He was recording Farha’s Morning Meltdown, as he called it. For posterity, of course. There would come a day when America would be curious to see the visual history of its future president, Farha Fareed, who needed six times as many clips as any other woman to keep her hijab in place once she really got going. Nic and Biagio really did love the hell out of her, but she was driving them both into an early grave.

 Loud swearing jarred him from his digital escape. A truck was parked haphazardly on the side of the road ahead of him, one of its back wheels on the sidewalk. A man was struggling to hoist a box out of the back; the downpour had soaked it, and it bulged visibly on one side, threatening to spill its contents. As Nic approached, it gave, and hardback novels poured onto the sidewalk. The man began swearing again with a fervor.

 Nic quickened his pace, bending down to grab up an armload of books while the man struggled to juggle the weight of the box onto his hip. “I got it,” he said quickly, rounding his shoulders to keep the books covered from the rain.

 “Thanks,” the man panted—Nic couldn’t see him around the massive box. “Right in here—”

 With the truck driver watching them sullenly through the rearview mirror, Nic followed the man into a shop; it took both of them to jimmy the door open with their arms full. Nic shuffled inside and lowered the books onto the first clean patch of floor he found, straightening up and rubbing his lower back with a wince. He looked around. He was standing in a small bookshop; each wall was lined floor to ceiling with books, new and old alike. A plastic table nearby bowed under the weight of its DISCOUNT!! mystery thrillers. A corkboard was prominently mounted on the wall by the door, bearing at least two dozen brightly colored flyers advertising reading groups, yard sales, local concerts, and bikes for sale. Nic took a number off one of those before turning to look at the man he’d helped.

 “Are there more?”

 “Nope—last one,” the man—the shop’s manager or owner, Nic presumed—said from behind the front counter. The truck driver shouted something at them from the curb before starting his truck and trundling away. The bookstore owner raised a middle finger at the window without looking up from the binder he was scribbling in.

 Nic approached the counter cautiously. The owner was dark, almost gloriously so. Skin like burnished bronze, curls of hair so black they were nearly brown. Great hands—large hands, Nic noted, with a sort of swooping heat in the pit of his stomach. The guy was around his height, maybe an inch or so shorter, but with muscle packed in ways that Nic—who didn’t even know where he might locate a gym in his neighborhood, let alone attend one—genuinely envied. He wore a knit cap at the crown of his head, which flattened some of his curls. Nic cast his mind around for the word for it—a religious thing, he was pretty sure. As he floundered, the guy looked up. Oh, Christ, of course his eyes would be brown too, rich and dark, like fresh soil after a heavy rain.

 “Any of them wrecked?”

 “What?” Nic said dumbly, stupefied by the fierce angles of this stranger’s jaw, the furrow of his dark brows. He wasn’t precisely an Adonis—he probably hadn’t been too good-looking until he got older, much as Nic had.

 “The books—the ones that fell onto the sidewalk. Are they okay?”

 “Oh. Oh. Yeah. Um. Wait.” Nic turned and headed back to the books he’d abandoned on the floor. He lifted them onto a mostly-empty table, pushing aside several treatises on Plato’s Republic, and checked them over one by one. “Two—three with water damage on the covers. Pages seem okay.”

 “Good.” The guy walked over, stepping around Nic to collect the injured survivors. “I’m Gil,” he said, tucking the books under one arm and sticking out the other hand. Nic shook.

 “Nic. I presume you own this place?”

 “You presume correctly,” Gil said, and smiled. God dammit. He would have a great smile, slightly lopsided, open and easy. “Owner, manager, and employee.”

 Nic looked at the front window. It took him a moment to puzzle it out, because he was looking at the letters backwards, but he read La Volpe’s in painted script. The subheading beneath it read Bo ks nd Cur os.

 “Books and Curios,” Gil said, a little abashedly. “Couple of shit-head kids vandalized it a few weeks back. Haven’t quite gotten around to repainting.”

 “La Volpe,” Nic mused. “The fox. Are you Italian?”

 “Half. Dad was from Florence. Ma was a Sephardic Jew.”

 “Oh, it’s Jewish,” Nic blurted, and immediately felt his cheeks turn scarlet. Gil arched an eyebrow. “Sorry. I was trying to remember about your—uh—my brain is saying ‘skullcap,’ but that seems wrong.”

 Gil’s face relaxed, and he laughed, a warm, lifting sound. Nic’s stomach fluttered. He was having what Biagio might call a ‘distinctly bisexual’ moment. “Skullcap will do in a pinch. I call it a kippah. I believe Adam Sandler has popularized yarmulke vis-a-vis a rather charming SNL skit.”

 “Is there a difference?”

 “Nope. Depends on whether you prefer Hebrew or Yiddish. I opt for Hebrew in my ongoing effort to resist a culture of increasing Ashkencentricism.”

 “Uh,” Nic responded. Gil grinned.

 “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for your help back there.”

 “Oh. Of course. I could hardly stand by and watch innocent books suffer.”

 Gil chuckled. “Man after my own heart. You’re Italian too, I take it?”

 “Florentine. My folks came over here after the war.”

 Gil hummed, a low, sympathetic sound. “The war” hung like a cloud in Little Italy. Nic glanced at Gil’s kippah and felt a bizarre, curdling sense of shame, of downright guilt, burning the lining of his stomach. He was overcome with the need to make excuses, to apologize. He looked down at his feet instead.

 “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Gil asked suddenly.

 “You don’t have to stay with the shop?”

 “I mean, as busy as I am,” Gil chuckled, gesturing around the entirely empty store, “I think I can take a few minutes to thank you for giving me a hand back there.”

 “I would, I just—I’m heinously late for work today.”

 “Fair enough.” Gil gave him a quick up-and-down, probably just surveying the state of his clothes, but Nic caught himself hoping it was also a little something more. “Then, any chance you’re in need of a ride?”

 “I couldn’t ask you to—”

 “No need. I’m offering.” Gil pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and smiled. “Come on. Coffee on the way?”

 Nic hesitated, something between pride and courtesy telling him to reject the offer, but—damn, he did not want to keep walking in that rain. “Okay,” he said, a little reluctantly. “If it’s really alright for you to be gone.”

 “If you’re that worried about my business, maybe you can swing by after work and grab a book or two,” Gil said, and winked.

 Nic was sure it was entirely benign—probably not even real flirting—and it was cheesy as all hell to boot—but his stomach did a flip, nonetheless.

 / page breaks

 Nic had approximately two regrets in life. The first was not spending enough time with his mother when she was still alive. The second was getting into the car with hands-down the worst driver he had ever had the deep misfortune of sharing vehicular space with.

 “You alright?” Gil asked for perhaps the fortieth time.

 Nic, jaw clenched shut, nodded. He sat ramrod-straight in the passenger seat of Gil’s truly-a-piece-of-shit Honda, one fist balled on top of his thigh, the other hand wrapped tight around the oh-shit handle above his door. Gil took a hair-rising right turn on a red light, cutting off someone oncoming, and apparently didn’t hear them leaning on their horn. Nic swayed in his seat and the handle abruptly popped off the ceiling. He sat holding it in his hand, dumbfounded.

 “Oh, yeah, that’s been broken for months. Keep trying to glue it back on,” Gil said cheerfully. He leaned alarmingly across the center console and plucked it from Nic’s hand, tossing it into the back seat. “So you’re in politics, huh? Must be exciting.”

 “I suppose,” Nic said through gritted teeth. Gil slammed on his brakes, and his car screeched to a halt mere inches from the next driver’s bumper. Nic saw her watching them nervously through her rear-view mirror. “We’re in the middle of a campaign for the Senate.”

 “No shit! Who’s the candidate?”

 “Farha Fareed.”

 “No shit. I think she’s a boss. She was great serving on city council a few years back. What’s she been up to since?”

 “Serving senate advisory boards, mostly. Filled an ambassadorship in the Middle East for—” Nic paused to stamp the non-existent brake on his side of the car. Gil braked several horrifying seconds later. “For a few months.”

 “I hope you win. We need more people like her in government, you know? Not just minority people, but like…” Gil tapped a fingertip to his temple and executed a lane change with his knee on the steering wheel while he reached for his coffee. Nic desperately fought the urge to reach across and grab the wheel. “You know? She’s sharp, but honest. That’s all a politician needs, in my opinion.”

 Nic could have debated that for literally hours, but he settled for an agreeable hum. They could debate the nuances of good politics next time, when he wasn’t quite so afraid for his life. His smugly observant inner self noted his use of next time. He ignored it.

 “Have you always worked in the local bookstore business?”

 “Nah. Took it up after leaving my sordid life of crime,” Gil said, mock-serious. Nic rolled his eyes. “Had the store for about five years now. You a book guy? You seem like a book guy.”

 “I am.”

 “Whatcha reading these days?”

 “Political autobiographies, mostly. For work. I don’t have a great deal of time for leisure reading lately.”

 “You should make time,” Gil said, with a note of sternness. He let go of the wheel to rabbit-punch Nic’s upper arm with both fists, then seized it again and took a sharp turn. “Seriously. It’s not good for bookworms to go too long without reading for pleasure. Bad for the soul.”

 “I don’t believe in souls,” Nic replied, and wanted to take it back at once. Stupid thing to say. Too existential for a first—not a date, he wouldn’t in a million years describe this as a date, but a first companionable hellish car ride.

 “Yeah?” Gil said, without missing a beat. “I do.”

 “Well, you’re Jewish.”

 Gil cackled at that, nothing short of gleeful. “Right! I always forget about that part of the Torah. ‘And lo, if thou believest not in souls, know that thou art straight-up a bad Jew, lai lai lai, Amen.’”

 “Okay, okay, sorry, I was talking out my ass,” Nic amended. “So do you believe in souls Jewishly? Is that possible?”

 “It is Jewishly possible to believe in anything,” Gil said, with such cheerful conviction that Nic didn’t want to press him any further—he just wanted to sit for a moment with that clear, warm confidence.

 As desperate as he had been to get out of the car not even minutes before, Nic was a little disappointed when they rolled up to the campaign office (Gil bumped the curb heartily and only barely managed to avoid the parking meter).

 “Last stop,” he said. “Hey, I meant it earlier. It’d be nice if you stopped by the shop.”

 “Oh? And why is that?”

 “Because I like you,” Gil said, tone still light, and Nic blanched. “In, like, a gay way, you know.”

 “What are you, sixteen?” Nic demanded, his cheeks burning, and swung his bag onto his shoulder. “Thank you for the ride. And the coffee.”

 “Which you didn’t finish.”

 “Because my stomach was roiling because your driving is abhorrent.”

 Gil laughed, long and loud. “That’s fair. I hope you come by the shop later.”

 “We’ll see,” Nic grumped, and shut the door. His stomach was roiling, but it wasn’t all down to Gil’s driving—he was already re-planning his route home, mapping a meandering path in his head that would take him past the bookstore.

[amandafayebooks]

His Susie Q

Chapter One

Suzanna 

"I am. I'm the father. The baby's mine."

Silence. Blessed peace follows the unexpected statement from my brother's best friend. The earth herself pauses in its rotation while my collective family holds their breath, waiting for the information to process.

Then pandemonium breaks loose.

I should be involved in the arguments taking place. After all, it's the paternity of my unborn child that they're discussing. I can't, though. I'm too busy rewinding the last three months of my life to see if I've possibly slept with Matthew and not realized it. 

No. I don't think I did.

I take in the room, doing as I've done since I was a child. Taking in the madness from the safety of the outside. 

My brother Alex, who knows damn well that this child is not Matt's, has a calculating expression on his face. His eyes quickly flicker between Matthew and me, formulating and discarding plans of attack in rapid succession. Alex is a politician, born and bred. It's what he's been trained to do since birth. Analyze a situation and find the best possible outcome. 

My younger brother Tyler is with his wife in the corner, conversing in rapid but quiet tones. I can't understand what they're saying, but the tone is clear enough. As Alex's campaign manager for the House of Representatives, it'll be his job to sell this to the public. This, as in my ill-begotten pregnancy.

Matt is nose to nose with my father. I try to focus on what they are saying, but words have become fuzzy in my ears. I pull a trick of serenity from the lockbox in my head. I close my eyes, picturing a big blue space of nothingness. It's not just blue. Shades are ranging from the deepest night to the brightest sunrise. I count backward from ten, allowing the numbers to fill the space in my mind. Willing my body to calmness. I make it to three before the numbers shatter. Cracks in my psyche are breaking it into pieces.

A wave of nausea flows over me, and I reach behind me, feeling for the chair I know is there. When I'm sure of my placement, I let my knees go weak, and limply slide into the seat.  

My hands rest on my knees while my head dangles over my legs. I let the oxygen saturate my blood cells, inhaling through my nose, and exhaling through my mouth. This, too, shall pass. Difficult roads lead to beautiful destinations. A hundred different platitudes drift in and out of my brain, each of them less helpful than the last. 

How did I get into this situation? I know the mechanics. Girl meets boy. Girl kisses boy. Girl, let's boy ride bareback because she's on the pill, forgetting that she finished a round of antibiotics two weeks ago, and her birth control probably isn't working yet. The girl tries to call the boy only to find out he gave her a fake number.

It's an all too familiar story. Frankly, half of my social worker cases started a similar way. 

What I'm trying to figure out is how did I get here? What steps took me to the place where my secret crush, my unrequited desire, the boy I've been clandestinely in love with since the third grade is currently telling anyone who will listen that I am carrying his child? 

You may wonder why this sort of announcement is causing such a ruckus. It's the twenty-first century, after all. Women have babies out of wedlock more than they have them in it.

Well, that may be true. But not in my family. I'm Suzanna Belle. Yes, that Suzanna Belle. The second child and only daughter of The Blueridge Belles. Our obscure corner of the mountains has produced two presidents, three senators, a vice president, and too many random political offices to count.

If you're not a politician, then you're a politician's wife. Or campaign manager. Or maybe you run a non-profit that your closest politician uses as camera bait. Still, the point stands.

All except for me. It was apparent from a young age that I didn't have the constitution for public service. (Read, quick-witted, and able to pivot on your feet.) Instead of going into an approved profession designed to help my brother, however, I shamed the family legacy by becoming a social worker. 

Isn't social work a public service you ask? Why, yes, it is. Thank you. But, it's not one easily used to gain voter turnout. I can't have a camera following me at work waiting for the perfect photo op. 

My mother's voice floats into my ears, and when I hear her huff, "This is just like the Palins all over again," I almost eke out a laugh. Almost. Only my mother would equate me, a college-educated independent woman, with an unmarried teenager.

I can feel motion beside me and open my eyes to see the feet of my brother. I don't flinch away when I feel his hand land lightly on my back. I'm okay with physical affection, but not when I'm having 'a moment,' as my family calls it. When I lean into his touch, he starts to rub firm circles into my spine, easing some of the tension building there. 

"You don't have any control over what she does, David."

I peek up from my hiding spot when I hear Matthew lash out at my father. Matthew moved to our town when he was twelve years old. He and my brother have been fast friends ever since. I left for college and never moved back into the house, so Matt has been more of a staple in these halls than I have. It's one of the reasons Alex asked him to come tonight. That, and we hoped that with a nonfamily member present, our parent's reaction might temper at least a little bit. We were wrong.

Still, though, that doesn't explain why Matthew decided to announce that he was the father. I understand that he was trying to lessen the pressure on me. I even appreciate the gesture. But he's got to know that as soon as they realize it's not his, and of course, they are going to, it's just going to be that much worse. Then, not only will I have disgraced myself by getting pregnant, but I'll have pulled Matthew into my shame by lying for me. 

I zone back out, letting my thoughts wander where they will. It's odd, seeing Matthew so worked up. He's a pediatrician. He has two modes; happy, and adorable. Not this raging hulk of a man I see before me. Nobody talks to daddy like that. No one. My father is a marine and a two-time vice president. Yet, I've never seen him this worked up. If I thought it was because he cared about me, I might feel gratification to see such a fire lit underneath him in my defense.

Another flood of sickness crashes into me, and I must make some move, some sound of distress. Suddenly Alex drops to his heels next to me, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Matt," he barks, and the air pressure changes immediately. Matthew's like a hurricane. The eye of the storm. And he's striding towards me, shoving my father out of his way. 

Matt lowers to one knee in front of me, taking my head into both of his hands. It's the closest we've been since my senior prom. Maybe the closest we've ever been. His face is mere inches from mine.

I feel weak at his touch. Palpitations burst through my chest, and I try to convince myself it's from the morning sickness. At seven o'clock at night.

"Susie Q," Matt questions breathlessly, and another piece of my wall crumbles around me. He's the only person who ever called me that. My parents thought nicknames were below our class, whatever that means. But always, always, I've been his Susie Q.

Without taking his thumb off my cheek, he pushes two fingers into the pulse point on my neck. His head moves imperceptibly as if he's listening for something the rest of us can't hear. Satisfied with whatever he's heard, he whispers, "What's wrong princess, tell me what hurts?"

I'm sure he says that to all the girls. Literally. Every girl under the age of thirteen has probably had those exact words whispered in her ear when they feel at their worst. I can't stop the shudder that runs through me at his tone, though. Deep, possessive. Almost Sensual. 

I make the mistake of looking him in the eye. Blue, but like the abyss in my mind, they flex and blur depending on his mood. His mind must be as twisted as my own because his eyes can't seem to settle on a color. There's a storm of emotion billowing behind them. 

At this distance, I notice things I only get to glance in passing—the way his three-day-old stubble covers his chin but naturally fades away from his lips. The widow's peak, bleeding into an otherwise full head of light brown hair. The piercings in his ear that I know he won't let close. Even though it's uncouth for a pediatrician to wear earrings—his words, not mine.

I feel more than see a crowd form around us and break eye contact with Matthew to look over his shoulder. Everyone has formed a half-circle around me and the two men kneeling at my feet. My father and mother. Alex's wife, Julie, who happens to be my favorite person on the planet. Tyler and his wife Michelle. Uncle Charlie and his partner Tom. Tom gives me an encouraging wink. His arrival to the family rivaled even this hoopla. 

My heart kicks up again, the pressure of this many people crowding around me elevating my tension levels. My stomach heaves, and I close my eyes, counting in my breaths as I go. 

A vast blue blankness. Tranquility washes over me. The numbers hover in my mind. Ten, nine, eight—.

"So son, before I call your parents, tell me; are you going to do the right thing here and marry my daughter?"

My father's drawl is sharp, a sure indicator of his distress. Matthew doesn't even hesitate.

"Yes, sir, if she'll have me."

Before I have a chance to react, my stomach lurches for a final time, and I'm bending over the side of the chair, vomiting spectacularly into my mother's potted chestnut tree.

Like what you’ve read, visit smarturl.it/amandafayebooks for more!

[cinephiled-com]

New Post has been published on Cinephiled

New Post has been published on http://www.cinephiled.com/interview-feras-fayyad-sheds-light-heroes-war-syria-powerful-doc-cave/

Interview: Feras Fayyad Sheds Light on the Heroes of the War in Syria in His Powerful Doc ‘The Cave’

Oscar nominee Feras Fayyad (Last Men in Aleppo) delivers an unflinching story of the Syrian war with his powerful new documentary, The Cave. For besieged civilians, hope and safety lie underground inside the subterranean hospital known as the Cave, where pediatrician and managing physician Dr. Amani Ballour and her colleagues Samaher and Dr. Alaa have claimed their right to work as equals alongside their male counterparts, doing their jobs in a way that would be unthinkable in the oppressively patriarchal culture that exists above ground. Following the women as they contend with daily bombardments, chronic supply shortages, and the ever-present threat of chemical attacks, The Cavepaints a stirring portrait of courage, resilience, and female solidarity. I was honored to sit down with talented director Feras Fayyad to discuss this powerful film just as rash decisions by the U.S. President were making life exponentially worse for Fayyad’s countrymen were already struggling for their survival.

Danny Miller: This is such a powerful, important film, I hope that it is seen far and wide. Life has obviously been horrendous for Syrians for years and yet much of the world has not been paying that much attention. Now Syria is in the news again for very upsetting reasons having to do with the current U.S. administration. Does it bother you how little most Americans seem to know about what’s going on in your country?

Feras Fayyad: Thank you so much for what you said about the movie and also for this important question. Yes, I think Syria has been an “undercover” story for a very long time. Without the refugee crisis, I sometimes think there would be no coverage whatsoever even if the country burned completely. I do feel as an artist that I have a responsibility to help people see more of what’s going on, to make sure that people learn about the struggle people have over there and the extreme dangers they face every single day. And now the current news is so sad, so scary, so horrible. As a Syrian I keep asking myself how it’s ever going to end and then I wake up and find there is a whole new war happening with the Turkish people coming in. and the Kurds having no choice but to align with Syrian regime and the Russians. There is just endless destruction happening in my country.

And yet your film shows such humanity, such goodness among the Syrians who are so courageously trying to help others amidst such constant turmoil.

It was very important to me to try to bring this story to light, to show all of these extraordinary people who are trying to help their society, change their society, make life possible. The people in this film are working so hard to help their country but they are being systematically hunted down. That’s what I think people here don’t understand, they see all these Syrian refugees and they focus only on what that’s going to mean for other parts of the world, forgetting that these are people who desperately want to stay in their own country. Nobody wants to go leave their home, but in most cases they have no choice, they have to leave or face certain death.

Al Ghouta, Syria – Dr. Amani (center) and Dr Alaa (right) in the operating room. (National Geographic)

Dr. Amani is such an amazing character. With all the incredible stress they were under with their work in the cave, was it difficult to get her to agree to allow you to film there?

When I approached Dr. Amani, her first reaction was that she didn’t believe that anyone outside of Syria would care about this story. I spent a lot of time convincing her how important it is for people to see what they were all doing there. She eventually agreed that it would be helpful for the outside world to understand what is happening, how so many people were being affected, and how Syrians are trying to help their own. She was still surprised, though, when she realized that she was going to be one of the main characters in the film.

Did you always know that you wanted to have most of the footage in the film come from the Cave and not above ground?

We shot a lot of other footage but in the end I felt that focusing on this underground hospital was the most important story to tell. I didn’t want this film to turn into the classic refugee story, I wanted to show how these brave Syrians were fighting what was going on by providing help to these desperate people inside the country, I wanted to show how this woman was trying to change her society.

I imagine you had enough footage to make three documentaries.

Oh, definitely. We followed Dr. Amani around for hundreds and hundreds of hours, she gave us such incredible access to her life and the work they were doing in the Cave. She trusted how I was going to tell this story and never made any demands on us whatsoever.

I’m guessing that the scene where the guy tells Dr. Amani that should be home taking care of her husband and kids was not an isolated incident.  

Not at all, she heard that many, many times. Amani was the first female hospital manager in the entire history of Syria. There has never been a woman leading a hospital at all, much less in such a serious situation where she was managing over a hundred people who were serving about 400,000 people in such a war-torn area. You have to understand that Syria has been an extremely patriarchal society. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to tell Dr. Amani’s story. All of us Syrians grew up in this patriarchy where we were forced to call Assad our father, his picture was everywhere. It was just embedded in the culture that women should be serving men and not more. Things were starting to change in Syria with the democratic revolutions against the system, and the people in the medical profession were always on the front lines of that.

And then in these makeshift hospitals I assume the situations were so dire that the people had no choice but allow women to assume greater responsibility.

Yes, although Amani was really in a unique situation. She was very inspiring so many women and she worked very hard to increase the number of women working in the Cave.

Al Ghouta, Syria – Nurse Samahar, Dr Amani and Dr Alaa working in a subterranean hospital in Syria to save the lives of victims of chemical and conventional weapons in the Syrian Civil War. (National Geographic)

With all of the amazing work the people in the Cave were doing, it was so devastating to see it shut down after the chemical attacks in that part of Syria. Who provides medical care to the people in that region now?

It’s all been taken over by the Syrian regime. Dr. Amani is now living in Turkey and is not able to come and go nor is she allowed to practice medicine. I hope that changes for her but she’s basically living the life of a Syrian refugee along with so many others. She is wanted by the Syrian regime and if she goes back now, they would kill her.

That is so horrible. It must be incredibly dangerous for you and your crew to go back and forth into Syria. How do you deal with that?

I was jailed and tortured by the Syrian regime for 18 months, partly because of my other films. While I was there, I witnessed the torture of many women.

So I assume that now you go in and out of the country very secretly?

Yes, there are different ways that I go in to minimize the risks. Getting our footage out was always very dangerous as well. We used WhatsApp to get a lot of it out and smuggled flash drives. It remains a very dangerous situation for everyone. I never stay in the country for more than three days and I never bring in a phone.

What do you hope that people who see your film understand about Syria?

I hope they will begin to understand the situation in my country and put pressure on the politicians to start finding real solutions. Our country has been destroyed by the current regime and from Russian bombing and now what’s happening with Turkey in the north. The number of people who have been killed in Syria, and who are still being killed, is simply unbelievable. And many more just disappear. What will the future of the country be? Right now it’s mostly about death.

Al Ghouta, Syria – Young boy receives medical treatment in the emergency room. (National Geographic)

Such a nightmare, and it only seems to be getting worse in recent weeks. Do you hold onto a belief in your heart that one day your country will be restored and that many people will be able to return?

That is my wish, of course, but right now I just feel so strongly that I need to make people aware of what’s going that I am willing to risk my life and my team is willing to risk their lives to document what we can. We hope that once people understand what is happening, and understand some of the history of this part of world that they will be inspired to work for a better Syria.

Do you worry that this film will put you even more of the crosshairs of the Syrian regime?

I worry most of all for my family members who are still in Syria: my father and my mother and some of my sisters. I have one sister in Lebanon and one in Sweden but I worry every single day about the people I know who are still in the country because of the current regime. I will continue to do this work to remind people how urgent this situation is and that the Syrian people need help.

National Geographic’s The Cave is currently in select theaters. Click here to see if it’s coming to a city near you.

[thegloober]

Return to Terror: Why the Election of Jair Bolsonaro Would be a Disaster for Brazil

by Pablo Villaça

October 26, 2018   |  

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João Carlos Grabois was still in his mother’s womb when he was tortured with electroshocks. 

A little more than one month from his due date, he was a victim of Colonel Brilhante Ustra, probably the cruelest torturer of the military dictatorship that ruled Brazil for 21 years, from 1964 to 1985. That was a tough competition considering the many, many monsters who worked for the regime (including the notorious Sérgio Fleury). 

Ustra, however, was a special kind of monster – one that found in his role during the dictatorship the opportunity to prey upon all the political prisoners that had the misfortune of falling into his hands. In at least a few occasions, for instance, he took the young children of people he was torturing to see their parents while they were in the process of being massacred. 

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On another occasion, Ustra sent soldiers to pick up the infant child of another couple he was “interrogating,” and to make them talk, he ordered his subordinates to torture the child. 

For fifteen hours.

Yes, he tortured a baby.

It just so happens that Colonel Brilhante Ustra is the idol of former Captain Jair Messias Bolsonaro, the extreme right-winger who seems likely to become the next Brazilian president. 

Bolsonaro even honored Ustra when he was voting for the absurd impeachment of Dilma Rousseff, dedicating his vote “to the memory of Brilhante Ustra, Dilma’s horror”.

Dilma was tortured by the Colonel when she was a young political prisoner during the dictatorship.

Things get uglier, however: Bolsonaro also says he believes in torture and that the only mistake of the military was torturing instead of killing the people who fought against the regime. He also said that he was not going to rape a fellow congresswoman because “she didn’t deserve it.” He compared the quilombolas (members of black rural communities formed by former slaves) to animals. He said none of his sons would date a black woman because they were “well raised.” He stated that repeated beatings could “correct” children and stop them from “turning gay”. This week, he said that, if he becomes president, he will not allow blacks, women and homosexuals to “play victims” anymore, which adds to his recent declaration that he would stop “all kinds of activism” in his presidency.

It’s no wonder, then, that his followers started putting his words into action even before the end of the election.

You see, in Brazil, we have (too) many political parties – and a candidate can only be elected if he or she gets more than 50% of the votes, something that usually demands a second round between the two winners of the first one. So, when Bolsonaro ended the first round with a little more than 46% of the votes, many of his fans took to the streets in celebration.

And that’s when the terror started.

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The same night of that first round, a 63-years-old black master of capoeira, Moa do Katendê, was stabbed to death after saying to a Bolsonaro voter that he voted for Fernando Haddad, the left-wing candidate from the Worker’s Party who also got to the second round. 

And that was only the beginning: since then, dozens and dozens of acts of violence were committed against Haddad’s supporters, the victims frequently belonging to one of the groups mentioned before: blacks, women and members of the LGBTQ community. (There’s a “map of political violence” listing many of these incidents – which already includes three murders – here).

How can someone like Bolsonaro be so close to becoming Brazil’s president? 

Well, in order to understand that, we have to go back a few decades – and I’ll promise I’ll be brief.

Brazil was going places in the late 1950s and early ’60s. After tumultuous times that included the suicide of president Getúlio Vargas, we had a progressive president in Juscelino Kubitscheck. Later, after Jânio Quadros resigned after only seven months as his elected successor (that’s a story for another day), Brazil had an authentic left-wing president for the first time: João Goulart (Jango), pictured above. 

Jango started his “basic reforms” – a program that would change education, wealth distribution, the redistribution of abandoned land, the creation of lines of credit to producers, and the nationalization of strategic resources (energy, water, oil and so on). That didn’t sit well with the right-wing-dominated military and with an economic elite that’d been benefiting from the state since the end of slavery in Brazil, and well before that. 

So a coup d’etat took place. The military deposed and exiled Jango, ended all political parties, and nominated a general as our president. That happened in 1964. Four years later, in 1968, the military approved what would be known as “Institutional Act Number 5” (AI-5), which gave the military unlimited powers to repress the growing movements against the dictatorship. People started “disappearing.” Hundreds were arrested, tortured, killed. I have close relatives who were tortured in the so-called “basements” of the Political Police. 

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The military remained in power for 21 years. In 1985, we finally got a civilian as president again. However, he was not elected by the people, but by the Congress, which was back in action. Nothing is easy in Brazil, though, and that president, Tancredo Neves, got sick and died before he could take office. His vice-president, José Sarney, became the president and… well, he was not a good one, driving inflation to a new peak. 

Our next president – the first one elected by the people since João Goulart – lasted less than three years before an impeachment procedure that resulted in his resignation for corruption charges. Then came a period of calm: we had Fernando Henrique Cardoso for two terms (eight years) and then Luis Inácio Lula da Silva, aka “Lula,” for another two. Cardoso helped implement a new currency and control inflation. Lula implemented reforms that took 42 million people out of the poverty line, and turned Brazil into an international leader in fighting hunger and inequality. 

After eight years, Lula left office as the most popular president ever, with an almost 90% approval rating. He was succeeded by Dilma Rousseff (pictured below), an ex-revolutionary who fought the dictatorship and was tortured by the military. Four years later, Dilma got reelected.

And then, the same forces that helped take Jango down decided they’d had enough of leftist presidents. With the help of the media—all major Brazilian networks are Fox News, basically—some members of the judiciary, and the right-wing parties, they cooked up absurd accusations against Dilma involving BUDGETARY MANEUVERS (not corruption, I want to stress) and impeached her. Oh, an important detail: her vice-president helped them do it. (In Brazil, it’s frequent that the President and the Vice-President are from different parties; and her successor became part of the “white coup d’etat” to remove her.) 

The country got really polarized between Left and Right, and that’s when our worst historical mistake came back collecting its dues. You see, when the Dictatorship ended in Brazil, we didn’t do what Chile and Argentina did when their dictatorships ended: we didn’t held any military accountable. Everyone was pardoned. 

Not one torturer went to trial. 

Not one executioner. 

So now we have generations of people who simply don’t believe we even had a dictatorship. 

Or that it was a hardline one. 

They believe that everyone who got killed or tortured “deserved it.” 

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That the youth wanted to establish a “Communist Dictatorship.” 

And that the military “saved” us. 

That’s the context that made Jair Bolsonaro possible. 

And that’s why he acts like he was in the ’50s and managed to convince people that “COMMUNISTS ARE A THREAT!” 

Yes, in 2018 that’s still a thing in Brazil. 

But then something happened: Lula became the favorite to win the presidency in the next election. More than that: he was expected to win in the first round. So, to stop that, he was accused of corruption by Sergio Moro, a right-wing partisan judge, and incarcerated. The whole process is full of irregularities and it has been denounced by international groups as a way to keep Lula from running. Which they managed to do even though the UN human rights committee ruled he should be allowed to run. (Noam Chomsky visited Lula in his cell recently and wrote about it.)

And that’s when Bolsonaro started posing as the country’s savior, vowing to “end corruption and violence” by any means necessary – conveniently forgetting the stains on his own resume. He was named in a bribe list known as “Furnas List.” He was proven to have a “ghost worker” in his payroll (which is funded by federal money). He used federally approved funds to pay for his rent even though he had an apartment of his own. His son, who is also a congressman, had an astounding growth of 432% in his net worth in a span of few years. His current presidential campaign was recently exposed as receiving non-disclosed corporate donations to send fake news to millions of voters through WhatsApp (corporate donations are forbidden by Brazilian electoral law).

Still, Bolsonaro poses as the solution for corruption. And many Brazilian bought the farce. 

What’s worse is that to many of his fans, his misogyny, his racism, his homophobia, and his xenophobia are seen not as negative qualities, but virtues. 

And here we are: the second round will happen next Sunday, but one of Bolsonaro’s son (another congressman; yes, politics are a family business for them) already threatened to send the army to shut down the Supreme Court in case it tried to contest his father’s candidacy based on the aforementioned irregularities. 

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As that was not enough, Bolsonaro himself said, during a speech a couple days ago, that he will oversee a “cleansing of the reds” (meaning left-wingers), who will have to “either get out of the country or rot in jail”.

In case you didn’t notice it, I’m one of those “reds” – and a vocal one, at that. What’s more shocking is that Bolsonaro’s fans, seemingly still living in the 1950s, are always saying they’ll “finish all communists” in Brazil. 

Sen. Joseph McCarthy would have loved them.

I haven’t given up, though. The election is couple of days always and maybe, just maybe, Brazil will come to its senses before it’s too late. I can’t believe my country will basically tell its children (I have two of my own) that hatred is something to be rewarded.

It may be a cliché, but I keep thinking of John Lennon’s verses:

“You may say I’m a dreamer/But I’m not the only one./I hope someday you’ll join us And the world will be as one.”

The pessimist in me reminds me that Lennon was shot to death. The realist, that his words remain alive. The optimist, that maybe they still hold some power.

I can’t stop hoping. 

And so I hope. For my children, my country, and our humanity.

Previous Article: Be Noisy: A Report from the 4th Women in Entertainment Summit

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Source: https://bloghyped.com/return-to-terror-why-the-election-of-jair-bolsonaro-would-be-a-disaster-for-brazil/

[exiledsol]

[center][img]http://imaginechat.com/memberpages/Audun/Avatars/zeroicon%20white.png[/img][/center]

[center][size=14pt][b]Zero[b][/size] Timothy Rayne[/center]

[center][img]http://orig06.deviantart.net/613e/f/2012/365/2/5/fantomex_by_shadzx2-d5psyo2.jpg[/img][/center]

[b]Origin Story:[/b] Tim Rayne was a high school history teacher and was what one could call a “normal” guy.  He spent a little too much time watching old episodes of Farscape and not enough time jogging. But this was indeed what normal people did; yes?

Even his wife getting diagnosed with cancer when she was thirty was unfortunately what one considered to be normal these days however upon receiving word on how advanced it was and that she only had six months to live; Tim took it upon himself to take a less normal approach.  Bills kept collecting and stayed unpaid due to him being denied loans from local financial institutions (Hey things are tough for everyone these days right?), and more conventional treatments were proving ineffective.  Advice offered by friends and other people from support groups wasn’t working.  He left countless messages on internet message boards that were focused on alternative forms of treatment; both legal and…not so much.

He and his wife were on month “four” of six and it seemed like the physician’s initial assessment was wrong.  Six months seemed generous now as his wife’s health was deteriorating rapidly and both Tim and his wife began making plans for the inevitable.  It was four in the morning when he received an email from an anonymous sender.

[font=times new roman][pre]“At 13:00 today go to the corner of Racine and Fifth. You will find a convenience store there. Buy the third Pay as You Go Metro! Phone from the back of the rack. Proceed one block west and enter the coffee shop there. Sit in the booth in the north-west corner. Wait for the call. It will save your wife.”[/pre][/font]

Suffice to say; after a great deal of researching and coming up with nothing in the short time he had to do so; he was waiting in booth as directed.

The call he received that day set him on an unexpected path.

A path that led to his recruitment by an “off the books” division of S.T.A.R. Labs in Salt Lake City that specialized in advanced physics.  He learned that CERN was not the only organization with an enormous hadron collider and there; so that his wife could receive the treatment she needed; he became Test Case Zero.  

Tim was experimented on repeatedly over a period of two years and when not being injected or exposed to all manner of energy and particle exposure he was being trained in hand to hand combat and firearms.

The health of Tim’s wife made an immediate improvement after one week of treatment.  S.T.A.R. Labs – Utah paid Tim’s outstanding bills and while he didn’t get to see his wife as much as he liked; he understood that this was the price to be paid for his wife’s life.

It was in his third year at S.T.A.R. Labs – Utah when his powers began to manifest.

In his fourth year he was learning just what he could do with his new found powers.

In his fifth year he was beginning to combine the physical training he had received since coming to the labs with his powers.

It was on his thirty-fourth birthday when S.T.A.R. Labs came to him with his first…what they called a mission of great importance.

He was brought into a room and told to “gear up accordingly” only to then have a monitor on the wall flicker on.  He could see a scene on the monitor that depicted a man and a woman asleep in bed.  The view was distorted some, as though he was viewing the scene through some manner of miniaturized camera but he could indeed make out that it was someone’s bedroom.

The ear bud he had inserted activated with a song tone…

[b][color=blue][font=trebuchet ms]“Zero.  Take the package from the table.  Then focus.  Relocate to the scene on the monitor.  When there...arm the package.  You will have two minutes to exfiltrate to a distance of one hundred meters.  Resistance should be expected if you are seen.  Do not engage.  Exfiltrate and relocate.  Remember your training.”[/font][/color][/b]

“Remote relocation” was something he had been working on for the last six months.  It was not easy.  Often it made his nose and ears bleed and that was pleasant compared to the headaches afterwards.

[b][color=blue][font=trebuchet ms]“Zero.  Remember your training.”[/font][/color][/b]

It took longer than he would have preferred but one moment he was in the room in S.T.A.R. Labs – Utah and the next he was in the bedroom he had been viewing in the monitor.  Things felt…wrong however.  There was the few moments of nausea as expected and the disorientation that came along with it but when he finally had cleared his head and stood over the bed he had been viewing earlier.  He understood why things felt wrong.  The couple he had been watching was the President of the United States and a woman that was certainly not the First Lady.

[b][color=blue][font=trebuchet ms]“Zero.  Remember your training.”[/font][/color][/b] , came the calm voice in his ear.  [b][color=blue][font=trebuchet ms]“Arm the package.  Exfiltrate and relocate.”[/font][/color][/b]

Tim shook his head slightly.

[b][color=blue][font=trebuchet ms]“Zero.  Remember your training.”[/font][/color][/b]

[b]“I didn’t train for this…”[/b] , he whispered out loud…more to himself than anyone in particular.  The President let out a growl in response; rolled to his side and turned his back on Tim.

[b][color=blue][font=trebuchet ms]“Zero.  Remember your training.  Remember the arrangement you have with us.”[/font][/color][/b]

He shook his head once more…trying to understand just what was going on when he heard another soft tone.  Looking down, he felt a chill wash through him as “the package” was now armed and rather than a two minute countdown, it looks as though it had started at ten seconds.

Because now it was at seven seconds!

Six seconds.

Tim was on the move.  Rushing out of the bedroom and into a hall where two armed and seemingly attentive men were utterly surprised to see him come charging out of the President’s bedroom.

[color=red]“Get on the fucking ground!”[/color] , shouted one of them.

Five seconds.

Tim blinked out of existence and appeared further down the hall only to kick open another door and run through it even as bullets snapped through the air where he was a moment before.

Four seconds.

Tim spotted something green…

[i]Outside…[/i]

…and a moment later he was outside too…except fifteen feet in the air and rapidly falling towards the ground.  He could hear alarms.  He could hear people shouting.

Three seconds.

Tim hit the ground hard and immediately scrambled to his feet.

[i]I’m at the fucking White House![/i]

Two seconds.

Everywhere he looked there were people.

Except up…

One second.

Tim pushed the maximum range of his power and appeared one hundred meters in the air above the front lawn of the White House only to then throw “the package” upwards and relocated just as the detonation occurred.

One day later; Tim’s wife passed away from advanced Stage Four cancer.  It was revealed that much of her body was riddled with cancer and it was decided that maybe her miraculous cure had just been a fortunate remission and nothing more.

One day later; it was revealed that an unregistered “meta” had taken part in a despicable act of terrorism but thankfully failed in their attempt to bomb the White House.

Tim wasn’t at his wife’s funeral and there was a good deal of speculation around why he wasn’t but in the end; it was decided that his grief was too great and he simply could not be present.

Tim Rayne disappeared after that.

One year later; yet another vigilante had appeared in Gotham City; referred to as “Zero” and seemingly taking steps to stop criminals there as well as being more inquisitive than normal about S.T.A.R. Labs.

(( While it was NOT S.T.A.R. Labs who actually experimented on Tim and tasked him with the assassination of the President; the "shadow corporation" that was responsible for this did a convincing job.  Tim is not sure if it was a division of S.T.A.R. Labs gone rogue; some manner of clandestine agenda of the over-arching  entity known as S.T.A.R. Labs or simply some manner of nefarious group that was masquerading as them.  Suffice to say; until Tim can be sure what the answer is; he's reluctant to get involved with anything remotely associated with S.T.A.R. Labs. ))

[b]Home City:[/b] Gotham City

[b]Civilian Appearance/Style Description:[/b]

[img]https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B_GMAd6U0AEOiMR.jpg[/img]

Tim trains daily; alternating between cardiovascular conditioning, yoga and weight training.  He fully understands that the people he is generally dealing with or up against are significantly stronger and simply..."better" than he is.  The training allows him to feel more confident; or atleast least unsure about himself.  He also finds that being in top physical condition allows himself to better absorb the rigors of teleportation.

Age - 36 Height - 6'2" Weight - 171 lbs

[b]Costume Description:[/b]

[left][img]http://static.tumblr.com/gkorcp6/KkZm7687w/tumblr_l61uumanae1qc3ucmo1_1280.jpg[/img][/left]

[b]Personality:[/b] Tim isn’t afraid to make with the snappy patter when he’s nervous.  He’s focused and fully engaged with training and the mastering of his power but he is clearly not dealing with what he had gone through in the past and simply burying it within.  Tim doesn’t like talking about his past.  He feels as though he was naieve and the guilt over feeling responsible for his wife’s death makes him quick to deflect personal questions sent his way.  Tim also errs on the side of paranoia.  He is ever-vigilant for S.T.A.R. Labs or whatever "shadow corporation" it was that trained him and gave him his abilities.  While he does indeed want to avenge his wife he is also somewhat paralyzed by the fact that whoever it was that trained him is significantly more powerful and connected than he is.

[b]Powers:[/b]

[glow=green,2,300]Teleportation[/glow] – Tim can move himself and up to two hundred additional pounds up to 100 meters in any direction he has line of sight to.  He needs roughly 1 second between teleportation attempts to “recharge” but straining to greater distances beyond 100 meters or carrying more than just himself along with him can result in greater exhaustion and leave him drained for an extended period. Each instance of teleportation does tire him.  He can currently “rapid-fire” teleport fifteen times over a stretch of fifteen to twenty seconds and that will leaving him breathing heavily and in need of a rest for two to three minutes.  Newton’s First Law of Motion still governs Tim and his power.  If he is running and leaps into the air, only to the teleport; upon appearing again he will maintain that momentum.  If Tim is falling, he can indeed teleport out of that fall but depending on how far he has fallen; he will maintain that momentum and downward force upon reappearing elsewhere.  Psychologically Tim still relies from time to time on a physical stimulus for his teleportation.  Example:  At times; when under stress if Tim was on a rooftop of a building and needed to teleport to another rooftop; he would need to sprint towards the edge and jump…only to then reappear on the other rooftop.  This physical stimulus is NOT needed and is indeed something he must overcome.  After a teleport and upon reappearing there is a minor shockwave that accompanies this reappearance.  Not a shockwave of a physical nature but more; a wave of silence that radiates out from him; silencing all noise for a second as it moves outward from him until it dissipates at a 15 meter radius from Tim.

[glow=green,2,300]Remote Relocation[/glow] – With focus and under the right circumstances; Tim can use a remote video feed to act as guidance for his teleportation.  This can allow him to teleport far…far beyond what his normal range currently is.

[glow=green,2,300]Firearm Training[/glow] – Tim is proficient with side-arms and rifles of the automatic and semi-automatic variety.  To call himself a crack shot would be quite generous.  He is capable but still has a good deal of expertise to acquire.  He is growing more competent at combining his teleportation whilst firing his sidearms.

[glow=green,2,300]Hand to Hand Combat Training[/glow] – Tim has spent five years learning jiu jitsu as well as krav maga.  Much as his skill with firearms; he is a capable combatant but certainly not an expert and has a good deal to learn.  He is growing more competent at combining his teleportation whilst using hand to hand attacks.

[b]Weapons:[/b] Tim wields a pair of experimental .45 calibre ceramic pistols that will accept a number of modified rounds.  Upon fleeing S.T.A.R. Labs he has had to resort to simply regular ammunition but he is hoping to come up with a way to expand his arsenal.

[b]Equipment:[/b] Tim’s costume was developed by S.T.A.R. Labs and acts as a form of body armor and is effective against knifes and small calibre ammunition.

Tim has a pair of goggles that allow him to see in infrared and low light conditions.

[b]Weakness:[/b] As a result of the experimentation done on Tim he needs to consume double the normal human average of fluids everyday; lest he begin to dehydrate and grow ill.  Once every five days he needs to spend twelve hours breathing in nothing other than pure helium.  Failing to do this causes a painful deterioration in Tim over time and after having missed his treatment for three days; he will slip into a coma and experience complete system failure a day or so after.

[right][img]http://img11.deviantart.net/2981/i/2012/163/b/d/fantomex_by_leifleif-d53alrb.jpg[/img][/right]

[i-am-very-very-tired]

I first fell for Kerry Washington after watching her performance in Our Song, a beautiful independent film, in 2001. I was studying theater at the University of California in Los Angeles and couldn’t convince any of my friends to trek across town to see a movie no one had heard about with actresses no one knew. What got me up and to the theater was the fact that the story—which follows three high school friends coming of age in Brooklyn—was about young women who looked like my friends and me. As these black and Latina girls navigated their complex young lives, I saw my own story of struggle in them. I sat through the film electrified. Washington, then 24, radiated off the screen. Her laugh made me want to know her forever. In the 16 years since, Washington has become one of the most prolific actresses of her generation. The Kerry we have come to know disappears when Kay Amin of The Last King of Scotland, or Broomhilda in Django Unchained, or Olivia Pope in Scandal, now in its sixth season, appears onscreen. It comes as no surprise that she’s been nominated for four Emmys and two Golden Globes. But Kerry’s acting career is just one side of her: She uses her platform to give voice to the most forgotten, to shine a light on the darkest of places. She has fought violence against women, raised money to protect the civil liberties of minorities, and advocated for the arts, among other things. She is a fierce ally, and I would know: As the artistic director of and a national organizer for the Women’s March on Washington, I reached out to Kerry to ask for her help. She immediately agreed. She was my sounding board. She was my sister. She helped me carry the weight of history. That day, hundreds of thousands of people listened to Kerry’s every word at the Los Angeles march. “Six months from now, a year from now,” she said, “if you feel like, ‘Wow, there is an agenda at work to make me feel like I don’t matter, because I’m a woman my voice doesn’t matter, because I’m a person of color my voice doesn’t matter, because I’m an immigrant, because I’m a person of the LGBTQ community, because I’m an old person, because I’m a young person, because I have a f-cking voice, I don’t matter.’ You matter!” In her art and her activism, Kerry’s message to us, always, is that we matter. The women she portrays are filled with searing dignity. In a world that tries to devalue women, particularly black women, to play these characters with dignity is to say that these women, these black women, matter—which is still a revolutionary statement. With her new production company, Simpson Street, she will bring even more of these characters into our world. At 40, and at the top of her Hollywood game, Kerry knows that her actions now will impact her own kids’ futures. The mother of two—she has a daughter, Isabelle, three, and a son, Caleb, seven months, with her husband, football player turned actor Nnamdi Asomugha—wants to create a world where “we all know in our hearts that we’re 100 percent worthy.” The one and only Kerry Washington, everyone. Paola Mendoza: Let’s start with where you are in your career and personal life: Besides, obviously, the sounds of your two beautiful children, what makes you jump out of bed at this point in your life? Kerry Washington: OK, I’ve been really trying to practice the Oprah Winfrey ritual: I check in with gratitude and grace when I wake up. I can be in a little bit of a state of overwhelm and panic if I don’t start out being connected to grace and gratitude. Paola: I’m overwhelmed by 10:00 in the morning most days! Kerry: I know. I’m like, “I need a nap.” Because of my baby or a 5:30 A.M. call time, the day starts really early. We have to pace ourselves. That’s a big theme for me these days. I have to pace myself for this political moment. Pace myself for my relationship with my family. Pace myself in my career to get through the rest of the season with a new child and a toddler. It is about slowing down, but it’s also about being present. Not rushing ahead or being stuck in yesterday. Paola: You recently turned 40. How do 20, 30, and 40 differ? Kerry: Life is just getting better. For me, 40 feels like a beginning. I’m in the middle of so much new—with this career, the kids, and I’m still sort of a newlywed. I’m excited to be at this stage in life. Paola: Let’s talk about your career: Is there a project or a role that has been the most transformative for you personally? Kerry: It’s impossible to say that Olivia Pope hasn’t been one of the most transformative roles for me. I’ve never played a character for this long. Olivia Pope also took my anonymity away. Before, I was a character actor: Nobody really knew that the girl from Save the Last Dance was the same girl from The Last King of Scotland. So I could show up and be a person in the public eye when it was useful, then dip out and have my life. Olivia Pope has really changed that. Paola: How much longer do you want to play Olivia? Kerry: It’s not really up to me. It’s up to Shonda [Rhimes, Scandal’s creator] and to the network. Shonda has said from the beginning that she kind of knows how it ends. So I’m trusting her to guide the arc. It’s also important for me to do other work—and playing Olivia gave me the opportunity to become a producer. The charge of my production company, Simpson Street, is to tell stories that are about people, places, and situations that may not always be considered by the mainstream. Inclusivity is not about, you know, creating a world where straight white men have no voice; it’s about creating a world where we all have a voice. So I’m excited to start that new journey, as a producer. Paola: And we need more women producers! On the show Olivia and her dad have had powerful conversations around what it means to be African American in the U.S. [In one scene, he tells her, “You have to be twice as good” as white people “to get half of what they have.”] What value do you see in those moments? Kerry: In the first season it was as if Olivia Pope was raceless. There was no denying that Olivia was a black woman, because I’m a black woman, playing her in badass white trench coats that call to attention the fact that I’m not looking like anybody else on television. But we didn’t talk about her identity as a black person. [Since then] the writers have become more and more willing to deal with race. When Olivia was kidnapped, it was not lost on me that the fictional president of the United States was willing to go to war to save one black woman at a time when hundreds of black women were missing in Nigeria and we were begging the world to pay attention. Shonda was saying, “The life of a black woman matters.” With her dad—he is trying to instill in her this generational learning about what it means to be a person of color in the United States. And Olivia is at odds with balancing the truth of his understanding with her ability to achieve things he was never able to. Paola: There’s a scene when Olivia’s dad says, “Get yourself some power.” Will Olivia ever be in power instead of right next to power? Kerry: She’s on a journey of discovering what it means to be in power, not just power-adjacent. I’m as curious as anyone about her relationship to power and how it’s going to continue to evolve. Paola: Is power something you would like to see in her character? Kerry: I want Olivia to be a whole person—to not have issues around healthy personal and healthy work relationships. But if she evolves in those ways, I’m not sure that we have a show anymore! Paola: One of my favorite quotes, which I have over my desk, is [from the German poet and playwright] Bertolt Brecht: “Art is not a mirror held up to reality, but a hammer with which to shape it.” Do you think that art is a hammer or should art be a mirror? Kerry: I think it is both. Art curates compassion. Art to me breaks down walls and allows us to step into somebody else’s shoes. Paola: What artists from previous generations have inspired you? Kerry: Jane Fonda, Cicely Tyson, and Diahann Carroll—those women are my lighthouses. Because their light was shining ahead, I knew where to go. They kept showing up for their art and values and that made me feel like I could bring all of myself to my work. Paola: How did they stand up for their art and values? Kerry: If society is telling us to look the other way, and you, as anybody from a disenfranchised community, are saying, “My story matters,” that is an act of activism. When Cicely Tyson wore her natural hair on television, it wasn’t considered beautiful for a black woman to wear her natural, textured hair. She made it mainstream. With Diahann Carroll, it was an act of activism just for her to be the lead on her own show, Julia. Art often leads to the opening of our thoughts as a society. Paola: How is this time in history changing you as an artist? Kerry: I’m not sure how it’s changing me yet. That idea of holding each other’s hands at the Women’s March—it feels like we are being invited to do that every day. So many of us are feeling attacked, whether it’s a woman’s right to choose or headstones in a Jewish cemetery, immigrants being deported or banned. So many of us feel the need to protect and defend our democracy. And march toward the dream of being “We the people.” So that’s exciting, scary, and frustrating. We’re awake. We are awake more than ever before, and we have to stay awake.… Can I say one more thing? For democracy to work, everybody has to have a voice. It’s not about demonizing other voices. It’s important that there be real conversations across the aisle. There are people on the opposite end of the political spectrum who think that I’m part of a left-wing propaganda machine. It makes me sad that people would think that, because I believe for democracy to work, there has to be diversity of thought. Paola: In these times, what do you do for your self-care? Kerry: Sometimes, when we’re feeling challenged in life, we feel a pull to isolate, and for me part of the joy of being a wife, a mother, and in a cast of friends is allowing myself to be in spaces of love. So being open to that love. Then, for me, self-love is like: Am I sleeping enough? Eating well? Not: Am I eating well to be able to fit into my skinny jeans? But: Am I eating well to be healthy and strong? And to acknowledge the good, because there is always a lot of good. Paola: Let’s talk beauty: Are there any rituals that your mother or grandmother passed down to you? Kerry: We’re an island people; my grandparents emigrated through Ellis Island from Jamaica. My parents’ first date ended at the beach. We’ve all been lifeguards in my family. So there’s a lot of water culture: I did water aerobics the whole time I was pregnant with my son. I drink tons of water—particularly now, as a nursing mom. With my skin, even, I use products all about hydration. It’s all about water! Paola: You project a sense of optimism. Where is your optimism coming from? And how can we all harness it? Kerry: My deepest desire is to create a world where there’s room for all of us, where no matter who you are, you get to wake up in the morning and know that you are worthwhile and deserving. If that’s the world I want to live in, I have to do the work to make that true for me. I have to do the work of self-love and affirmation, and say, “I am a woman, I am a person of color, I am the granddaughter of immigrants, I am also the descendant of slaves, I am a mother, I am an entrepreneur, I am an artist, and I’m joyful.” And maybe in seeing my joy, you can finish your sentence with, “And I am joyful too.”

[prasanththampi]

XIBMS EXAM CASE STUDY ANSWER PROVIDED

CONTACT: DR. PRASANTH MBA PH.D. DME MOBILE / WHATSAPP: +91 9924764558 OR +91 9447965521 EMAIL: prasanththampi1975@gmail.com WEBSITE: www.casestudyandprojectreports.com

SUB:  Business Communication

N. B. : 1) Attempt any Four Case studies 2) All case studies carry equal marks. No: 1 A REPLY SENT TO AN ERRING CUSTOMER Dear Sir, Your letter of the 23rd, with a cheque for Rs. 25,000/- on account, is to hand. We note what you say as to the difficulty you experience in collecting your outstanding accounts, but we are compelled to remark that we do not think you are treating us with the consideration we have a right to expect. It is true that small remittances have been forwarded from time to time, but the debit balance against you has been steadily increasing during the past twelve months until it now stands at the considerable total of Rs. 85,000/- Having regard to the many years during which you have been a customer of this house and the, generally speaking, satisfactory character of your account, we are reluctant to resort to harsh measures. We must, however, insist that the existing balance should be cleared off by regular installments of say Rs. 10,000/- per month, the first installment to reach us by the 7th.  In the meantime you shall pay cash for all further goods; we are allowing you an extra 3% discount in lieu of credit. We shall be glad to hear from you about this arrangement, as otherwise we shall have no alternative but definitely to close your account and place the matter in other hands. Yours truly,   Questions: 1. Comment on the appropriateness of the sender’s tone to a customer. 2. Point out the old – fashioned phrases and expressions. 3. Rewrite the reply according to the principles of effective writing in business. NO. 2 WAVE (ATV : Advertising Radio FM Brand) A young, gorgeous woman is standing in front of her apartment window dancing to the 1970s tune, “All Right Now” by the one – hit band free.  Across the street a young man looks out of his apartment window and notices her.  He moves closer to the window, taking interest.  She cranks up the volume and continues dancing, looking out the window at the fellow, who smiles hopefully and waves meekly.  He holds up a bottle of wine and waves it, apparently inviting her over for a drink.  The lady waves back.  He kisses the bottle and excitedly says, “Yesss.”  Then, he gazes around his apartment and realizes that it is a mess. “No !” he exclaims in a worried tone of voice.  Frantically, he does his best to quickly clean up the place, stuffing papers under the sofa and putting old food back in the refrigerator, He slips on a black shirt, slicks  back his hair, sniffs his armpit, and lets out an excited , “Yeahhh!” in eager anticipation of entertaining the young lady.  He goes back to the window and sees the woman still dancing away.  He points to his watch, as if to say “ Come on.  It is getting late.”   As she just continues dancing, he looks confused.  Then a look of sudden insight appears on his face, “Five,” he says to himself.  He turns on his radio, and it too is playing “All Right Now.”  The man goes to his window and starts dancing as he watches his lady friend continue stepping.  “Five, yeah,” he says as he makes the “okay” sign with his thumb and forefinger.  He waves again.  Everyone in the apartment building is dancing by their window to “All Right Now.”  A super appears on the screen: “Are you on the right wavelength ?”   Questions : 1. What is non – verbal communication ?  Why do you suppose that this commercial relies primarily on non-verbal communication between a young man and a gorgeous woman ?  What types of non – verbal communication are being used in this case ? 2. Would any of the non-verbal communications in this spot (ad) not work well in another culture ? 3. What role does music play in this spot ? Who is the target market ? 4. Is the music at all distracting from the message ? 5. How else are radio stations advertised on TV ?

NO. 3 ARVIND PANDEY CAUGHT IN BUSINESS WEB Arvind Pandey is a project manager at Al Saba Construction Company in Muscat.   It s a flourishing company with several construction projects in Muscat and abroad.  It is known for completing projects on time and with high quantity construction.  The company’s Chairman is a rich and a highly educated Omani.  A German engineer is Arvind’s Vice – President for urban and foreign construction projects. Three months ago, Al Saba had submitted a tender for a major construction project in Kuwait.  Its quotation was for $ 25 million.  In Kuwait the project was sponsored and announced by a US – based construction company called Fuma.  According to Al Saba, their bid of $ 25 million was modest but had included a high margin of profit. On 25 April, Arvind was asked to go to Kuwait to find out from the Fuma project manager the status of their construction proposal.  Arvind was delighted to know that Fuma had decided to give his company.  (Al Saba) the construction project work.  The project meant a lot of effort and money in planning the proposed construction in Kuwait. But before Arvind could tank the Fuma project manager, he was told that their bird should be raised to $ 28 million.  Arvind was surprised. He tried to convince the Fuma project manager that his (Arvind company had the bast reputation for doing construction work in a cost effective way .  However, he could always raise the bid by $ 3 million. But he wanted to know why he was required to do so. The Fuma manager’s reply was, “That’s the way we do our business in this part of the world, $ 1 million will go to our Managing Director in the US, I shall get $ 1 million, you, Mr. Pandey, will get $ 1 million in a specified account in Swiss Bank. Arvind asked, “ But why me ?” “ So that you never talk about it to any one.”  The Fuma Project Manager said. Arvind promised never to  leak it out to any one else.  And he tried to bargain to raise the bid by $ 2 million.  For. Arvind was familiar with the practice of “ pay – offs” involved in any such thing.  He thought it was against his loyalty to his company and his personal ethics.   Arvind promised the Fuma project manager that the bid would be raised to $ 28 million and fresh papers would be put in. He did not want to lose the job. He came back to Muscat and kept trying to figure out how he should place the whole thing before his German Vice President.  He obviously was at a loss.   Questions : 1. Analyse the reasons for Arvind Pandey’s dilemma. 2. Does Arvind Pandey really face a dilemma ? 3. In your view what should Arvind Pandey do ?  Should he disclose it to his German Vice President ?  

NO. 4. COMPANY ACCEPTING A CONTRACT A computer company was negotiating a very large order with a large size corporation.  They had a very good track record with this client. In this corporation, five different departments had pooled their requirements and budgets.  A committee was formed which had representation from all the departments.  The corporation wanted the equipment on a long lease and not outright purchase.  Further, they wanted all the hardware and software form one supplier.  This meant that there should be bought – out items from many suppliers since no one supplier could meet all the requirements of supply from its range of products. The corporation provided an exhaustive list of very difficult terms and conditions and pressurized the vendors to accept.  The computer company who was finally awarded the contract had agreed to overall terms that were fine as far as their own products were concerned but had also accepted the same terms for the brought – out items.  In this case, the bought – out items were to be imported through a letter of credit. The percentage of the bought – out items versus their own manufacture was also very high.  One of the terms accepted was that the “system” would be accepted over a period of 10 days after all the hardware had been linked up and software loaded. The computer company started facing trouble immediately on supply.  There were over 100 computers over a distance connected with one another with software on it.  For the acceptance tests, it had been agreed that the computer company would demonstrate as a pre-requisite the features they had claimed during technical discussions. Now, as you are aware, if a Hero Honda motorcycle claims 80 km to a litre of petrol, it is under ideal test conditions and if a motorcycle from the showroom were to be tried for this test before being accepted, it would never pass the test.  In corporation’s case, due to internal politics, the corporation persons from one department – who insisted on going exactly by the contract – did not sign acceptance since the “ system” could not meet the ideal test conditions. Further, in a classic case of, “ for want of a horse – shoe, payment for the horse was held up”, the computer company tried to get the system accepted and payment released.  The system was so large that at any point of time over a period of 10 days something small or the other always gave problems.  But the corporation took the stand that as far as they were concerned the contract clearly were concerned the contract clearly mentioned that the “system” had to be tested as a whole and not module by module. Questions : 1. Comment on the terms and conditions placed by the corporation. 2. What factors influenced the computer company’s decision to accept the contract ? 3. Was it a win – win agreement ?  Discuss ?

NO. 5 EMPLOYMENT INTERVIEW OF R P SINHA Mr. R P Sinha is a MBA.  He is being interviewed for the position of Management Trainee at a reputed company.  The selection committee’s is chaired by a lady Vice – President.  Mr. Sinha’s interview was as follows : Committee : Good morning ! Mr. Sinha : Good morning to Sirs and Madam !   Chairperson : Please, sit down. Mr. Sinha : Thank you (sits down at the edge of the chair, keeps his portfolio on the table) Q. Chairperson : You are Mr. R. P. Sinha A Sinha : Yes, Madam.  This is how I am called. Q. Chairperson : You have passed MBA with 1st Division. A. Sinha : Yes, Madam. Q. Chairperson : Why do you want to work in our organization ? A Sinha : It is just like that.  Also, because it has good reputation. Q. Member A : This job is considered to be quite stressful.  Do you think you can manage the stress involved. A. Sinha : I think there is too much talk about stress these days.  Sir, would you tell clearly what you mean by stress ? I am very strong for any stress. Q. Member B : What are your strengths ? A. Sinha : Sir, who am I talk boastfully about my strengths.  You should tell me my strengths. Q. Member C : What are your weaknesses ? A. Sinha : I become angry very fast. Q. Member A : Do you want to ask us any questions ? A Sinha : Yes Sir !  What are the future chances for one who starts as a management trainee ? The member tells M. Sinha the typical career path for those starting as Management Trainee.  The Chairperson thanks Mr. Sinha.  Mr. Sinha promptly says in reply, “you are welcome,” and comes out.

Questions : 1. Do you find Mr. Sinha’s responses to various questions effective ?   Give reasons for your view on each answer given by Mr. Sinha. 2. Rewrite the responses that you consider most effective to the above questions in a job interview. 3. Mr. Sinha has observed the norm of respectful behaviour and polite conversation.  But, do you think there is something gone wrong in his case ?  Account for your general impression of Mr. Sinha’s performance at the interview.

NO. 6 Comment on the form and structure of the Report.  

Xaviers Institute of Business Management Studies

MARKS : 80           SUB :  BUSINESS ETHICS  

N. B. : 1) Attempt any Four Cases 2) All  cases carries equal marks. No : 1 PUBLIUS Although many people believe that the World Wide Web is anonymous and secure from censorship, the reality is very different.  Governments, law courts, and other officials who want to censor, examine, or trace a file of materials on the Web need merely go to the server (the online computer) where they think the file is stored.  Using their subpoena power, they can comb through the server’s drives to find the files they are looking for and the identify of the person who created the files. On Friday June 30, 2000, however, researches at AT & T Labs announced the creation of Publius, a software program that enables Web users to encrypt (translate into a secret code) their files – text, pictures, or music – break them up like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and store the encrypted pieces on many different servers scattered all over the globe on the World Wide Web.  As a result, any one wanting to examine or censor the files or wanting to trace the original transaction that produced the file would find it impossible to succeed because they  would  have to examine the contents of dozens of different servers all over the world, and the files in the servers would be encrypted and fragmented in a way that would make the pieces impossible to identify without the help of the person who created the file.  A person authorized to retrieve the file, however, would look through a directory of his files posted on a Publius – affiliated website, and the Publius network would reassemble the file for him at his request.  Researchers published a description of Publius at www.cs.nyu.edu/waldman/publius.

Although many people welcomed the way that the new software would enhance freedom of speech on the Web, many others were dismayed.  Bruce Taylor, an antipornography activist for the National Law Center for Children and Families, stated : “It’s nice to be anonymous, but who wants to be more anonymous than criminals, terrorists, child molesters, child pornographers, hackers and e-mail virus punks.”  Aviel Rubin and Lorrie Cranor, the creators of Publius, however, hoped that their program would help people in countries where freedom of speech was repressed and individuals were punished for speaking out.  The ideal user of Publius, they stated, was “a person in China observing abuses of human rights on a day – to – day basis.” Questions : 1. Analyze the ethics of marketing Publius using utilitarianism, rights, justice, and caring.  In your judgement, is it ethical to market Publius ?  Explain. 2. Are the creators of Publius in any way morally responsible for any criminal acts that criminals are able to carry out and keep secret by relying on Publius ?  Is AT & T in any way morally responsible for these ? Explain your answers. 3. In your judgment, should governments allow the implementation of Publius ?  Why or why not ?

NO. 2 A JAPANESE BRIBE In July 1976, Kukeo Tanaka, former prime minister of Japan, was arrested on charges of taking bribes ($ 1.8 million) from Locjheed Aircraft Company to secure the purchase of several Lockheed jets.  Tanaka’s secretary and serial other government officials were arrested with him.  The Japanese public reacted with angry demands for a complete disclosure of Tanaka’s dealings. By the end of the year, they had ousted Tanaka’s successor, Takeo Miki, who was widely believed to have been trying to conceal Tanaka’s actions. In Holland that same year, Prince Bernhard, husband of Queen Juliana, resigned from 300 hundred positions he held in government, military, and private organizations.  The reason : He was alleged to have accepted $ 1.1 million in bribes from Lockheed in connection with the sale of 138 F – 104 Starfighter jets. In Italy, Giovani Leone, president in 1970, and Aldo Moro and Mariano Rumor, both prime ministers, were accused of accepting bribes from Lockheed in connection with the purchase of $ 100 million worth of aircraft in the late 1960s.  All were excluded from government. Scandinavia, South Africa, Turkey, Greece, and Nigeria were also among the 15 countries in which Lockheed admitted to having handed out payments and at least $ 202 million in commissions since 1970. Lockheed Aircraft’s involvement in the Japanese bribes was revealed to have begun in 1958 when Lockheed and Grumman Aircraft (also an American firm) were competing for a Japanese Air Force jet aircraft contract.  According to the testimony of Mr. William Findley, a partner in Arthur Young & Co. (auditors for Lockheed), in 1958 Lockheed engaged the services of Yoshio Kodama, an ultra right – wing war criminal and reputed underworld figure with strong political ties to officials in the ruling Liberal Democratic Party.  With Kodama’s help, Lockheed secured the Government contract.  Seventeen years later, it was revealed that the CIA had been informed at the time (by an American embassy employee) that Lockheed had made several bribes while negotiating the contract. In 1972, Lockheed again hired Kodama as a consultant to help secure the sale of its aircraft in Japan.  Lockheed was desperate to sell planes to any major Japanese airline because it was scrambling to recover from a series of financial disasters.   Cost overruns on a government contract had pushed Lockheed to the brink of bankruptcy in 1970.  Only through a controversial emergency government loan guarantee of  $ 250 million in 1971 did the company narrowly avert disaster.  Mr. A. Carl Kotchian, president of Lockheed from 1967 to 1975, was especially anxious to make the sales because the company had been unable to get as many contracts in other parts of the world as it had wanted. This bleak situation all but dictated a strong push for sales in the biggest untapped market left-Japan.  This push, if successful, might well bring in revenues upward of $ 400 million.  Such a cash inflow would go a long way towards helping to restore Lockheed’s fiscal health, and it would, of course, save the jobs of thousands of firm’s employees. (Statement of Carl Kotchian) Kodama eventually succeeded in engineering a contract for Lockhed with All – Nippon Airways, even beating out McDonnell Douglas, which was actively competing with Lockheed for the same sales.  To ensure the sale, Kodama asked for and received from Lockheed about $9 million during the period from 1972 to 1975.  Much of money allegedly went to then – prime minister Kukeo Tanaka and other government officials, who were supposed to intercede with All – Nippon Airlines on behalf of Lockheed. According to Mr. Carl Kotchian, “ I knew from the beginning that this money was going to the office of the Prime Minister.”   He was, however, persuaded that, by paying the money, he was sure to get the contract from All-Nippon Airways.  The negotiations eventually netted over $1.3 billion in contracts for Lockheed. In addition to Kodama, Lockheed had also been advised by Toshiharu Okubo, an official of the private trading company, Marubeni, which acted as  Lockheed’s official representative.  Mr. A. Carl Kotchian later defended the payments, which he saw as one of many “Japanese business practices” that he had accepted on the advice of his local consultants.  The payments, the company was convinced, were in keeping with local “ business practices.” Further, as I’ve noted, such disbursements did not violate American laws.   I should also like to stress that my decision to make such payments stemmed from my judgment that the (contracts) …… would provided Lockheed workers with jobs and thus redound to the benefit of their dependents, their communities, and stockholders of the corporation.  I should like to emphasize that the payments to the so-called “ high Japanese government officials” were all requested y Okubo and were not brought up from my side.  When he told me “ five hundred million yen is necessary for such sales,” from a purely ethical and moral standpoint I would have declined such a request.  However, in that case, I would most certainly have sacrificed commercial success….. (If) Lockheed had not remained competitive by the rules of the game as then played, we would not have sold (our planes) ……… I knew that if we wanted our product to have a chance to win on its own merits, we had to follow the functioning system.  (Statement of A. Carl Kotchian) In August, 1975, investigations by the U.S. government led Lockheed to admit it had made  $ 22 million in secret payoffs.  Subsequent senate investigations in February 1976 made Lockheed’s involvement with Japanese government officials public.  Japan subsequently canceled their billion dollar contract with Lockheed. In June 1979, Lockheed pleaded guilty to concealing the Japanese bribes from the government by falsely writing them off as “marketing costs”.  The Internal Revenue Code states, in part.  “ No deduction shall be allowed….. for any payment made, directly or indirectly, to an official or employee of any government …. If the payment constitutes an illegal bribe or kickback.’  Lockheed was not charged specifically with bribery because the U.S. law forbidding bribery was not enacted until 1978.  Lockheed pleaded guilty to four counts of fraud and four counts of making false statements to the government.  Mr. Kotchian was not indicated, but under pressure from the board of directors, he was forced to resign from Lockheed.  In Japan, Kodama was arrested along with Tanaka.

Questions : 1. Fully explain the effects that payment like those which Lockheed made to the Japanese  have on the structure of a market.   2. In your view, were Lockheed’s payments to the various Japanese parties “bribes” or “extortions” ?  Explain your response fully. 3. In your judgment, did Mr. A. Carl Kotchian act rightly from a moral point of view ?  (Your answer should take into account the effects of the payments on the welfare of the societies affected, on the right and duties of the various parties involved, and on the distribution of benefits and burdens among the groups involved.) In your judgment, was Mr. Kotchian morally responsible for his actions ?  Was he, in the end, treated fairly ? 4. In its October 27, 1980, issue, Business Week argued that every corporation has a corporate culture – that is, values that set a pattern for its employee’s activities, opinions and actions and that are instilled in succeeding generations of employees (pp.148-60) Describe, if you can, the corporate culture of Lockheed and relate that culture to Mr. Kotchian’s actions.  Describe some strategies for changing that culture in ways that might make foreign payments less likely.

NO. 3 THE NEW MARKET OPPORTUNITY In 1994, anxious to show off the benefits of a communist regime, the government of China invited leading auto manufacturers from around the world to submit plans for a car designed to meet the needs of its massive population.  A wave of rising affluence had suddenly created a large middle class of Chinese families with enough money to buy and maintain a private automobile.  China was now eager to enter joint ventures with foreign companies to construct and operate automobile manufacturing plants inside China.  The plants would not only manufacture cars to supply China’s new internal market, but could also make cars that could be exported for sale abroad and would be sure to generate thousands of new jobs.  The Chinese government specified that the new car had to be priced at less than $5000, be small enough to suit families with a  single child (couples in China are prohibited from having more than one child), rugged enough to endure the poorly maintained roads that criss-crossed the nation, generate a minimum of  pollution, be composed of parts that were predominantly made within China, and be manufactured through joint – venture agreements between Chinese and foreign companies.  Experts anticipated that the plants manufacturing the new cars would use a minimum of automation and wuld instead rely on labor – intensive technologies that could capitalize on China’s cheap labor.  China saw the development of a new auto industry as a key step in its drive to industrialize its economy. The Chinese market was an irresistible opportunity for General Motors, Ford and Chrysler, as well as for the leading Japanese, European and Korean automobile companies.  With a population of 1.2 billion people and almost double digit annual economic growth rates, China estimated that in the next 40 years between 200 and 300 million of the new vehicles would be purchased by Chinese citizens.  Already cars had become a symbol of affluence for China’s new rising middle class, and a craze for cars had led more than 30 million Chinese to take driving lessons despite that the nation had only 10 million vehicles, most of them government – owned trucks.

Environmentalists, however, were opposed to the auto manufactures’  eager rush to respond to the call of the Chinese government.  The world market for energy, particularly oil, they pointed out, was based in part on the fact that China, with its large population, was using relatively low levels of energy.  In 1994, the per-person consumption of oil in China was only one sixth of Japan’s and only a quarter of Taiwan’s.  If China were to reach even the modes per person consumption level of South Korea, China would be consuming twice the amount of oil the United States currently uses.  At the present time, the United States consumes one forth of the world’s total annual oil supplies, about half of which it must import from foreign countries. Critics pointed out that if China were to eventually have as many cars on the road per person as Germany does, the world would contain twice as many cars as it currently does.  No matter how “ pollution – free” the new car design was, the cumulative environmental effects of that many more automobiles in the world would be formidable.  Even clean cars would have to generate large amounts of carbon dioxide as they burned fuel, thus significantly worsening the greenhouse effect.  Engineers pointed out that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to build a clean car for under $5000.  Catalytic converters, which diminished pollution, alone cost over $200 per car to manufacture.  In addition, China’s oil refineries were designed to produce only gasoline with high levels of lead.  Upgrading all its refineries so they could make low-lead gasoline would require an investment China seemed unwilling to make. Some of the car companies were considering submitting plans for an electric car because China had immense coal reserves which it could burn to produce electricity.  This would diminish the need for China to rely on oil, which it would have to import.  However, China did not have sufficient coal burning electric plants nor an electrical power distribution system that could provide adequate electrical power to a large number of vehicles.  Building such an electrical power system also would require a huge investment that the Chinese government did not seem particularly interested in making.  Moreover, because coal is a fossil fuel, switching from an oil – based auto to a coal – based electric auto would still result in adding substantial quantities of carbon dioxide to the atmosphere. Many government officials were also worried by the political implications of having China become a major consumer of oil.  If China were to increase its oil consumption, would have to import all its oil from the same countries that other nations relied on, which would create large political, economic and military risks.  Although the United States imported some of its oil from Venezuela and Mexico, most of its imports came from the Middle East – an oil source that China would have to turn to also.  Rising demand for Middle East oil would push oil prices sharply upward, which would send major shocks reverberating through the economics of the United States and those of other nations that relied heavily on oil.  State Department officials worried that China would begin to trade weapons for oil with Iran or Iraq, heightening the risks of major military confrontations in the region.  If China were to become a major trading partner with Iran or Iraq, this would also create closer ties between these two major power centres of the non-Western world – a possibility that was also laden with risk.   Of course, China might also turn to tapping the large reserves of oil that were thought to be lying under Taiwan and other areas neighboring its coast.  However, this would bring it into competition with Japan, South Korea, Thailand, Singapore, Taiwan, the Phillippines, and other nations that were already drawing on these sources to supply their own booming economies.  Many of these nations, anticipating heightened tensions, were already puring money into their military forces, particularly their navies.  In short, because world supplies of oil were limited, increasing demand seemed likely to increase the potential for conflict. Questions : 1. In your judgment, is it wrong, from an ethical point of view, for the auto companies to submit plans for an automobile to China ?   Explain your  answer ? 2. Of the various approaches to environmental ethics outlined in this chapter, which approach sheds most light on the ethical issues raised by this case ?  Explain your answer. 3. Should the U.S. government intervene in any way in the negotiations between U.S. auto companies and the Chinese government ?  Explain. NO. 4 WAGE DIFFERENCES AT ROBERT HALL Robert Hall Clothes, Inc., owned a chain of retail stores that specialized in clothing for the family.  One of the Chain’s stores was located in Wilmington, Delaware.  The Robert Hall store in Wilmington had a department for men’s and boy’s clothing and another department for women’s and girl’s clothing.  The departments were physically separated and were staffed by different personnel : Only men were allowed to work in the men’s department and only women in the women’s department.  The personnel of the store were sexually segregated because years of experience had taught the store’s managers that, unless clerks and customers were of the same sex, the frequent physical contact between clerks and customers would embarrass both and would inhibit sales. The clothing in the men’s department was generally of a higher and more expensive quality than the clothing in the women’s department.  Competitive factors accounted for this : There were few other men’s stores in Wilmington so the store could stock expensive men’s clothes and still do a thriving business, whereas women’s clothing had to be lower priced to compete with the many other women’s stores in Wilmington.  Because of these differences in merchandise, the store’s profit margins on the men’s clothing was higher than its margins on the women’s clothing.  As a result, the men’s department consistently showed a larger dollar volume in gross sales and a greater gross profit, as is indicated in Table 7.11. Because of the differences shown in Table 7.11 women personnel brought in lower sales and profits per hour.  In fact male salespersons brought in substantially more than the females did (see Tables 7.12 and 7.13) Men’s Department Women’s Department

Year Sales ($) Gross Profit ($) Percent Profit ($) Sales ($) Gross Profit ($) Percent Profit ($) 1963 210,639 85,328 40.5 177,742 58,547 32.9 1964 178,867 73,608 41.2 142,788 44,612 31.2 1965 206,472 89,930 43.6 148,252 49,608 33.5 1966 217,765 97,447 44.7 166,479 55,463 33.5 1967 244,922 111,498 45.5 206,680 69,190 33.5 1968 263,663 123,681 46.9 230,156 79,846 34.7 1969 316,242 248,001 46.8 254,379 91,687 36.4 TABLE 7. 12

Year Male Sales per Hour ($) Female Sales Per Hour ($) Excess M Over F (%) 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 38.31 40.22 54.77 59.58 63.18 62.27 73.00 27.31 30.36 33.30 34.31 36.92 37.20 41.26 40 32 64 73 71 70 77

As a result of these differences in the income produced by the two departments, the management of Robert Hall paid their male salespersons more than their female personnel.  Management learned after a Supreme Court ruiling in their favor in 1973 that it was entirely legal for them to do this if they wanted.  Wages in the store were set on the basis of profits per hour per department, with some slight adjustments upward to ensure wages were comparable and competitive to what other stores in the area were paying.  Over the years, Robert Hall set the wages given in Table 7.14.  Although the wage differences between males and females were substantial, they were not as large as the percentage differences between male and female sales and profits.  The management of Robert Hall argued that their female clerks were paid less because the commodities they sold could not bear the same selling costs that the commodities sold in the men’s department could bear.  However, the female clerks argued, the skills, sales efforts, and responsibilities required of male and female clerks were “substantially” the same. TABLE 7. 13

Year Male Gross Profits per Hour ($) Female Gross Profits Per Hour ($) Excess M Over F (%) 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 15.52 16.55 23.85 26.66 28.74 29.21 34.16 9.00 9.49 11.14 1143 12.36 12.91 15.03 72 74 114 134 133 127 127

TABLE 7. 14

Year Male Earnings per Hour ($) Female Earnings Per Hour ($) Excess M Over F (%) 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 2.18 2.46 2.67 2.92 2.88 2.97 3.13 1.75 1.86 1.80 1.95 1.98 2.02 2.16 25 32 48 50 45 47 45

Questions : 1. In your judgment, do the managers of the Robert Hall store have any ethical obligations to change their salary policies ?  If you do not think they should change, then explain why they have an obligation to change and describe the kinds of changes they should make.   Would it make any difference to your analysis if, instead of two departments in the same store, it involved two different Robert Hall Stores, one for men and one for women ? Would it make a difference if two stores  (one for men and one for women) owned by different companies were involved ?  Explain each of your answers in terms of the relevant ethical principles upon which you are relying. 2. Suppose that there were very few males applying for clerks’ jobs in Wilmington while females were flooding the clerking job market.   Would this competitive factor justify paying males more than females ?  Why ?  Suppose that 95 percent of the women in Wilmington who were applying for clerks’ jobs were single women with children who were on welfare while 95 percent of the men were single with no families to support.  Would this need factor justify paying females more than males ?  Why ?  Suppose for the sake of argument that men were better at selling than women; would this justify different salaries ?

3. If you think the managers of the Robert Hall store should pay their male and female clerks equal wages because they do “substantially the same work” then do you also think that ideally each worker’s salary should be pegged to the work he or she individually performs (such as by having each worker sell on commission) ?  Why ? Would a commission system be preferable from a utilitarian point of view considering the substantial book keeping expenses it would involve ?   From the point of view of justice ?  What does the phrase substantially the same mean to you ?

NO. 5 NAPSTER’S REVOLUTION Eighteen – year old Shawn “NAPSTER” Fanning, then a freshman at Northeastern University, dropped out of school and founded Napster Inc. (website was at w.w.w.napster.com) in San Mateo, California in May 1999.  Two months earlier, working in his college dorm room, he had developed both a website that let users locate other users who were willing to share whatever music files they had in MP3 format on the hard drives of their computers and a software program (called “Napster) that let users copy these music files from each other over the Internet.  When an early free version of the program he posted on Download.com received more than 300,000 hits and was named “Download of the week,” he decided to devote himself full time to developing his program and website.  The final version of his version of his program was officially released August 1999, and in May 2000, with more than 10 million people – most of them students on college campuses where Napster was especially popular – signed up at its website, Shawn’s company received $ 15 million of start – up funds from venture capital firms in California’s “Silicon Valley.” Fanning grew up in Brockton, Massauchettes, the son of a nurse’s aid and the stepson of a truck driver, in a family of four half-brothers and half-sisters. He got the nickname “Napster” during a basketball game when a player commented on his closely cropped sweaty head of hair.  Fanning had taught himself programming and had held several summer programming jobs. The company Shawn helped establish gave the Napster program away for free and charged users nothing to use its website to post the URL addresses where personal copies of music could be downloaded.  Nevertheless, a month later, Shawn found himself embroiled in a legal and ethical controversy when two record tables, two musicians (Metallica and Dr. Dre), and two industry trade groups of music companies (the National Music Publishers Association and the Recording Industry Association of America) filed suits against his young company claiming that Napster’s software was enabling other to make and distribute copies of copyrighted music that the musicians and companies owned. On June 12, the two industry trade groups filed preliminary injunctions against the company demanding that it remove all the songs owned by their member companies from Napster’s song directories.  According to the two groups, a survey of 2555 college students showed a correlation between Napster use and decreased CD purchases.  College students were outraged, especially fans of Metallica and Dr. Dre. Supporters of Napster argued that Napster allowed people to hear music that they then went out and purchased, so Napster actually helped the music companies.  Music sales had increased by over $500 million a year since Napster had started to operate, but the music companies claimed that this was a result of a booming economy.  Supporters of Napster also argued that individuals had a moral and legal right to lend other individuals a copy of the music on the CDs that they had purchased.  After all, they argued, the law explicitly stated that an individual could make a copy of copyrighted music he or she had purchased to hear the music on another player.  Moreover, according to Fanning, Napster was not doing anything illegal, and the company was not responsible if other people used its software and website to copy music in violation of copyright law any more than a car company was responsible when its autos were used by thieves to rob banks.  Much of the music that was downloaded using Napster, they claimed, was in the public domain (i.e.not legally owned by anyone) and was being legally copied.  The music companies countered that an individual had no right to give multiple copies of their music to others even if the individual had paid for the original CD.  If everyone was allowed to copy music without paying for it, they charged, eventually the music companies would stop producing music and musicians would stop creating it.  Other musicians claimed, however, that Napster and the Web gave them a way to put their music before millions of potential fans without having to beg the music companies to sponser them. In March 2000, the band Metallica hired consultant PDNet to electronically “evesdrop” on users who assumed they were anonymously accessing Napster’s website.  The following week the band’s lawyers handed Napster a list with the names of 300, 000 people that Metallica claimed had violated its copyrights using Napster’s service and that Metallica now wanted removed from Napster’s services.  Fanning complied with the demand of Metallica, whose drummer, Lars Ulrich, was one of his musical heros.  “If they want to steal our music,” said Ulrich, “ why don’t they just go down to Tower Records and grab them off the shelves ?”  Many young people protested that the bands should not be alienating their own fans in this way.  One fan posted a note on an MP3 chat room : “Give me a break !  I have been dropping 16 bucks an album for Metallica’s music since I was a teenager.  They made a fortune off us and now they accuse us of stealing from them.  What nerve !”  Howard King, a Los Angeles lawyer for Metallica and Dr. Dre, stated that “I don’t know Shawn Fanning but he seems to be a pretty good kid who came up with a sensational program.  But this sensational program has allowed people to take music without paying ………. Shawn probably had no idea of the legal ramifications of what he created.  I’m sure the though never crossed his mind.” In August 2000, a federal judge in San Francisco, Marilyn Patel, responded to the suit against Napster.  Judge Patel called Shawn’s company a “monster” and charged that the only purpose of Napster was to copy pirated music without paying for it.  The judge ordered Napster to remove all URLS from its website that referenced material that was copyrighted. Judge Patel’s ruling would have shut down the company’s website immediately.  But a few days later, an appeals court reversed Judge Patel and allowed the company to continue operating.  The reprieve was only temporary.  On Monday February 12, 2001, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco affirmed Judge Patel’s ruling.  The company attempted to circumvent the ruling by negotiating agreements with the music companies that would pay them certain annual fees in return for withdrawing the suit. Napster was not the only software that allowed individuals to swap files from One personal computer to another over the Internet.  The software program named “Gnutella”  let individuals swap any kind of files – music, text, or visuals – over the Internet, but Gnutella did not operate a centralized index like the website that Napster had established.  Observers predicated that if Napster was put out of business, numerous underground websites would be created providing the kind of listing service that the company had earlier provided on its website.  Already a website named zeropaid.com provided free copies of Gnutella and many other Napster clones that users could download and use to share digital music files with each other.  Unlike Napster, these software products did not require a central website to connect users to each other, making it impossible for music companies to find and target single entity whom they could sue.  Many observers predicated that Napster was only the beginning of an upheaval that would revolutionize the music industry, forcing music companies to lower their prices, make their music easily available on the Internet, and completely change their business models.   Questions : 1. What are the legal issues involved in this case, and what are the moral issues ? How are the two different kinds of issues different from each other, and how are they related to each other ?  Identify and distinguish the “systemic, corporate and individual issues” involved in this case.  

2. In your judgment, was it morally wrong for Shawn Fanning to develop and release his technology to the world given its possible consequences ?  Was it morally wrong for an individual to use Napster’s website and software to copy for free the copy righted music on another person’s hard drive ? If you believe it was wrong, then explain exactly why it was wrong.  If you believe it was not morally wrong, then how would you defend your views against t he claim that such copying is stealing ?  Assume that it was not I illegal for an individual to copy music using Napster.  Would there be anything immoral with doing so ?  Explain ?

3. Assume that it is morally wrong for a person to use Napster’s website and software to make a copy of copyrighted music.  Who, then, would be morally responsible for this person’s wrong doing ?   Would only the person himself be morally responsible ?  Was Napster, the company, morally responsible ? Wash shawn Fanning morally responsible ?  Was any employee of Napster, the company,   morally responsible ?  Was the operator of the server or that portion of the Internet that the person used morally responsible ?  What if the person did not know that the music was copyrighted or did not think that it was illegal to copy copyrighted music ?

4. Do the music companies share any of the moral responsibility for what has happened ?  How do you think technology like Napster is likely to  change the music industry ?  In your judgment, are these changes ethically good or ethically bad ?

NO. 6 WORKING FOR ELI LILLY & COMPANY Eli Lilly, the discoverer of Erythromycin, Darvon, Ceclor, and Prozac, is a major pharmaceutical company that sold $6.8 billion of drugs all over the world in 1995, giving it profits of $2.3 billion.  Headquartered in Indianpolis, Minnesota, the company also provides food, housing, and compensation to numerous homeless alcoholics who perform short-term work for the company.  The work these street people perform, however, is a bit unusual. Before approving the sale of a newly discovered drug, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration requires that the drug be put through three phases of tests after being tested on animals.  In phase I, the drug is taken by healthy human individuals to determine whether it has any dangerous side effects.  In Phase II, the drug is given to a small number of sick patients to determine dosage levels.  In Phase III, the drug is given to large numbers of sick patients by doctors and hospitals to determine its efficacy. Phase I testing is often the most difficult to carry out because most healthy individuals are reluctant to take a new and untested medication that is not intended to cure them of anything and that may have potentially crippling or deadly side effects.  To secure test subjects, companies must advertise widely and offer to pay them as such as $250 a day.  Eli Lilly, however, does not advertise as widely and pays its volunteers only $85 a day plus free from and board, the lowest in the industry.  One of the reasons that Lily’s rates are so low is because, as a long time nurse at the Lily Clinic is reported to have indicated, “ the majority  of its subjects are homeless alcoholics” recruited through word of mouth that is spread in soup kitchens, shelters, and prisons all over the United States.  Because they are alcoholics, they are fairly desperate for money.  Because they alcoholics, they are fairly desperate for money.  Because phase I testes can run several months, test subjects can make as $4500 – an enormous sum to people who are otherwise unemployable and surviving on handouts.  Interviews with several homeless men who have participated in Lily’s drug tests and who describe themselves as alcoholics who drink daily suggest that they are, by and large, quite happy to participate in an arrangement that provides them with “easy money”.  When asked, one homeless drinker hired to participate in a Phase I trail said he had no idea what kind of drug was being tested on him even though he had signed an informed – consent form.  An advantage for Lilly is that this kind of test subject is less likely to sue if severely injured by the drug.  The tests run on the homeless men, moreover, provide enormous benefits for society.  It has been suggested, in fact, that in light of the difficulty of securing test subjects, some tests might be delayed or not performed at all if it were not for the large pool of homeless men willing and eager to participate in the tests. The Federal Drug Administration requires that people who agree to participate in Phase I tests must give their “ informed consent” and must take a “ truly voluntary and a uncoerced decision.”  Some have questioned whether the desperate circumstances of alcoholic and homeless men allow them to make a truly voluntary and uncoerced decision when they agree to take an untested potentially dangerous drug for $ 85 a day.  Some doctors claim that alcoholics run a higher risk because they may carry diseases that are undetectable by standard blood screening and that make them vulnerable to being severely named by certain drugs.  One former test subject indicated in an interview that the drug he had been given in a test several years before had arrested his heart and “ they had to  put things on my chest to start my heart up again.”  The same thing happened to another subject in the same test.  Another man indicated that the drug he was given had made him unconscious for 2 days while others told of excruciating headaches. In earlier years, drug companies used prisoners to test drugs in Phase I tests.  During the 1970s, drug companies stopped using prisoners when critics complained that their poverty and the promise of early parole in effect were coercing the prisoners into  “Volunteering”.  When Lilly first turned to using homeless people during the 1980s, a doctor at the company is quoted as saying, “ We were constantly talking about whether we were exploiting the homeless.  But there were a lot of them who were willing to stay in the hospital for four weeks.”   Moreover, he adds.  “Providing them with a nice warm bed  and good medical care and sending them out drug – and alcohol – free was a positive thing to do.” A homeless alcoholic indicated in an interview that when the test he was participating in was completed, he would rent a cheap motel room where I’ll get a case of Miller and an escort girl have sex.  The girl will cost me $ 200 an hour.”  He estimated that it would take him about two weeks to spend the $ 4650 Lily would pay him for his services.  The manager at another cheap motel said that when test subjects completed their stints at Lily, they generally arrived at his motel with about $ 2500 in cash : “ The guinea pigs  go to the lounge next door, get drunk and buy the house a round.  The idea is, they can party for a couple of weeks and go back to Lily and do the next one.” Questions : 1. Discuss this case from the perspective of utilitarianism, rights, justice and caring.  What insight does virtue theory shed on the ethics of the events described in this case ? 2. “ In a free enterprise society all adults should be allowed to make their own decisions about how they choose to earn their living.”   Discuss the statement in light of the Lily case. 3. In your judgment, is the policy of using homeless alcoholics for test subjects morally appropriate ?  Explain the reasons for your judgment.  What does your judgment imply about the moral legitimacy of a free market in labor ? 4. How should the managers of Lily handle this issue ?  

Xaviers Institute of Business Management Studies

MARKS : 80

SUB:  INTERNATIONAL BUSINESS N. B.: 1) Attempt any four cases            2) All cases carries equal marks. No: 1 BPO – BANE OR BOON ? Several MNCs are increasingly unbundling or vertical disintegrating their activities.  Put in simple language, they have begun outsourcing (also called business process outsourcing) activities formerly performed in-house and concentrating their energies on a few functions.  Outsourcing involves withdrawing from certain stages/activities and relaying on outside vendors to supply the needed products, support services, or functional activities. Take Infosys, its 250 engineers develop IT applications for BO/FA (Bank of America). Elsewhere, Infosys staffers process home loans for green point mortgage of Novato, California.  At Wipro, five radiologists interpret 30 CT scans a day for Massachusetts General Hospital. 2500 college educated men and women are buzzing at midnight at Wipro Spectramind at Delhi. They are busy processing claims for a major US insurance company and providing help-desk support for a big US Internet service provider-all at a cost upto 60 percent lower than in the US. Seven Wipro Spectramind staff with Ph.Ds in molecular biology sift through scientific research for western pharmaceutical companies. Another activist in BOP is Evalueserve, headquarterd in Bermuda and having main operations near Delhi.  It also has a US subsidiary based in New York and a marketing office in Australia to cover the European market.  As Alok Aggarwal (co-founder and chairman) says, his company supplies a range of value-added services to clients that include a dozen Fortune 500 companies and seven global consulting firms, besides market research and venture capital firms.  Much of its work involves dealing with CEOs, CFOs, CTOs, CIOs, and other so called C-level executives. Evaluserve provides services like patent writing, evaluation and assessment of their commercialization potential for law firms and entrepreneurs.  Its market research services are aimed at top-rung financial service firms, to which it provides analysis of investment opportunities and business plans.  Another major offering is multilingual services.  Evalueserve trains and qualifies employees to communicate in Chinese, Spanish, German, Japanese and Italian, among other languages.  That skill set has opened market opportunities in Europe and elsewhere, especially with global corporations. ICICI infotech Services in Edison, New Jersey, is another BOP services provider that is offering marketing software products and diversifying into markets outside the US. The firm has been promoted by $2-billion ICICI Bank, a large financial institution in Mumbai that is listed on the New York Stock Exchange. In its first year after setting up shop in March 1999, ICICI infotech spent $33 million acquiring two information technology services firms in New Jersy-Object Experts and ivory Consulting – and command Systems in Connecticut.  These acquisitions were to help ICICI Infotech hit the ground in the US with a ready book of contracts.  But it soon found US companies increasingly outsourcing their requirements to offshore locations, instead of hiring foreign employees to work onsite at their offices.  The company found other native modes for growth.  It has started marketing its products in banking, insurance and enterprise resource planning among others. It has earmarket $10 million for its next US market offensive, which would go towards R & D and back-end infrastructure support, and creating new versions of its products to comply with US market requirements.  It also has a joint venture – Semantik Solutions GmbH in Berlin, Germany with the Fraunhofer Institute for Software and Systems Engineering, which is based in Berlin and Dortmund, Germany – Fraunhofer is a leading institute in applied research and development with 200 experts in software engineering and evolutionary information. A relatively late entrant to the US market , ICICI Infotech started out with plain vanilla IT services, including operating call centeres.  As the market for traditional IT services started wakening around mid-2000, ICICI Infotech repositioned itself as a “Solutions” firm offering both products and services.  Today , it offers bundied packages of products and services in corporate and retail banking and include data center and disaster recovery management and value chain management services. ICICI Infotech’s expansion into new overseas markets has paid off.  Its $50 million revenue for its latest financial year ending March 2003 has the US operations generating some $15 million, while the Middle East and Far East markets brought in another $9 million. It new boasts more than 700 customers in 30 countries, including Dow Jones, Glazo-Smithkline, Panasonic and American Insurance Group. The outsourcing industry is indeed growing form strength.  Though technical support and financial services have dominated India’s outsourcing industry, newer fields are emerging which are expected to boost the industry many times over. Outsourcing of human resource services or HR BPO is emerging as big opportunity for Indian BPOs with global market in this segment estimated at $40-60 billion per annum.  HR BPO comes to about 33 percent of the outsourcing revenue and India has immense potential as more than 80 percent of Fortune 1000 companies discuss offshore BOP as a way to cut costs and increase productivity. Another potential area is ITES/BOP industry.  According to A NASSCOM survey, the global ITES/BOP industry was valued at around $773 billion during 2002 and it is expected to grow at a compounded annual growth rate of nine percent during the period 2002 – 06, NASSCOM lists the major indicators of the high growth potential of ITES/BOP industry in India as the following. During 2003 – 04, The ITES/BPO segment is estimated to have achieved a 54 percent growth in revenues as compared to the previous year.  ITES exports accounted for $3.6 billion in revenues, up form $2.5 billion in  2002 – 03.  The ITES-BPO segment also proved to be a major opportunity for job seekers, creating employment for around 74,400 additional personnel in India during 2003 – 04.  The number of Indians working for this sector jumped to 245,500 by March 2004.  By the year 2008, the segment is expected to employ over 1.1 million Indians, according to studies conducted by NASSCOM and McKinsey & Co. Market research shows that in terms of job creation, the ITES-BOP industry is growing at over 50 per cent. Legal outsourcing sector is another area India can look for.  Legal transcription involves conversion of interviews with clients or witnesses by lawyers into documents which can be presented in courts.  It is no different from any other transcription work carried out in India.  The bottom-line here is again cheap service.  There is a strong reason why India can prove to be a big legal outsourcing Industry. India, like the US, is a common-law jurisdiction rooted in the British legal tradition. Indian legal training is conducted solely in English.  Appellate and Supreme Court proceedings in India take place exclusively in English.  Due to the time zone differences,  night time in the US is daytime in India which means that clients get 24 hour attention, and some projects can be completed overnight.  Small and mid – sized business offices can solve staff problems as the outsourced lawyers from India take on the time – consuming labour intensive legal research and writing projects.  Large law firms also can solve problems of overstaffing by using the on – call lawyers. Research firms such as Forrester Research, predict that by 2015 , more than 489,000 US lawyer jobs, nearly eight percent of the field, will shift abroad.. Many more new avenues are opening up for BOP services providers.  Patent writing and evaluation services are markets set to boom.  Some 200.000 patent applications are written in the western world annually, making for a market size of between $5 billion and $7 billion.  Outsourcing patent writing service could significantly lower the cost of each patent application, now anywhere between $12,000 and $15,000 apiece-which would help expand  the market. Offshoring of equity research is another major growth area.  Translation services are also becoming a big Indian plus.  India produces some 3,000 graduates in German each year, which is more than that in Switzerland. Though going is good, the Indian BPO services providers cannot afford to be complacent.  Phillppines, Maxico and Hungary are emerging as potential offshore locations.  Likely competitor is Russia, although the absence of English speaking people there holds the country back. But the dark horse could be South Affrica and even China BOP is based on sound economic reasons.  Outsourcing helps gain cost advantage.  If an activity can be performed better or more cheaply by an outside supplier, why not outsource it ? Many PC makers, for example, have shifted from in – house assembly to utilizing contract assemblers to make their PCs.  CISCO outsources all productions and assembly of its routers and witching equipment to contract manufactures that operate 37 factories, all linked via the internet. Secondly, the activity (outsourced) is not crucial to the firm’s ability to gain sustainable competitive advantage and won’t hollow out its core competence, capabilities, or technical know how.  Outsourcing of maintenance services, date processing, accounting, and other administrative support activities to companies specializing in these services has become common place.  Thirdly, outsourcing reduces the company’s risk exposure to changing technology and / or changing buyer preferences. Fourthly, BPO streamlines company operations in ways that improve organizational flexibility, cut cycle time, speedup decision making and reduce coordination costs.  Finally, outsourcing allows a company to concentrate on its core business and do what it does best.  Are Indian companies listening ? If they listen, BPO is a boon to them and not a bane.

Questions: 1. Which of the theories of international trade can help Indian services providers gain competitive edge over their competitors? 2. Pick up some Indian services providers.  With the help of Michael Porter’s diamond, analyze their strengths and weaknesses as active players in BPO. 3. Compare this case with the case given at the beginning of this chapter.  What similarities and dissimilarities do you notice? Your analysis should be based on the theories explained.

No: 2 PERU Peru is located on the west coast of South America.  It is the third largest nation of the continent (after Brazil and Argentina) , and covers almost 500.000 square miles (about 14 per cent of the size of the United States).  The land has enormous contrasts, with a desert (drier than the Sahara), the towering snow – capped Andes mountains, sparkling grass – covered plateaus, and thick rain forests. Peru has approximately 27 million people, of which about 20 per cent live in Lima, the capital.  More Indians (one half of the population) live in Peru than in any other country in the western hemisphere.  The ancestors of Peru’s Indians were the famous incas, who built a great empire.  The rest of the population is mixed and a small percentage is white.  The economy depends heavily on agriculture, fishing , mining, and services, GDP is approximately $15 billion and per capita income in recent years has been around $4,3000.  In recent years the economy has gained some relative strength and multinationals are now beginning to consider investing in the country. One of these potential investors is a large New York based bank that is considering a $25 million loan to the owner of a Peruvian fishing fleet.  The owner wants to refurbish the fleet and add one more ship. During the 1970s, the Peruvian government nationalized a number of industries and factories and began running them for the profit of the state in most cases, these state – run ventures became disasters. In the late 1970s the fishing fleet owner was given back his ships and allowed to operate his business as before.  Since then, he has managed to remain profitable, but the biggest problem is that his ships are getting old and he needs an influx of capital of make repairs and add new technology.  As he explained it to the new York banker. “Fishing is no longer just an art. There is a great deal of technology involved.  And to keep costs low and be competitive on the world market, you have to have the latest equipment for both locating as well as catching and then loading and unloading the fish” Having reviewed the fleet owner’s operation, the large multinational bank believes that the loan is justified.  The financial institution is concerned, however, that the Peruvian government might step in during the next couple of years and again take over the business. If this were to happen, it might take an additional decade for the loan to be repaid.  If the government were to allow the fleet owner to operate the fleet the way he has over the last decade, the fleet the way  he has over the last decade, the loan could be repaid within seven years. Right now, the bank is deciding on the specific terms of the agreement.  Once theses have been worked out, either a loan officer will fly down to Lima and close the deal or the owner will be asked to come to New York for the signing. Whichever approach is used, the bank realizes that final adjustments in the agreement will have to be made on the spot.  Therefore, if the bank sends a representative to Lima, the individual will have to have the authority to commit the bank to specific terms. These final matters should be worked out within the next ten days. Questions: 1. What are some current issues facing Peru? What is the climate for doing business in Peru today? 2. What type of political risks does this fishing company need to evaluate? Identify and describe them. 3. What types of integrative and protective and defensive techniques can the bank use? 4. Would the bank be better off negotiating the loan in New York or in Lima ? Why?

No: 3 RED BECOMING THICKER The Backdrop There seems to be no end to the troubles of the coloured – water giant Coca Cola. The cola giant had entered India decades back but left the country in the late 1970s.  It staged a comeback in the early 1990s through the acquisitions route. The professional management style of Coca Cola did not jell with the local bottlers. Four CEOs were changed in a span of seven years.  Coke could not capitalize on the popularity of Thums Up.  Its arch rival Pepsi is well ahead and has been able to penetrate deep into the Indian market.  Red in the balance sheet of Coke is becoming thicker and industry observers are of the opinion that it would take at least two decades more before Coke could think of making profits in India.

The Story It was in the early 1990s that India started liberalizing her economy.  Seizing the opportunity, Coca Cola wanted to stage a comeback in India.  It chose Ramesh Chauhan of Parle for entry into the market.  Coke paid $100 million to Chauhan and acquired his well established brands Thums Up, Goldspot and Limca. Coke also bagged 56 bottlers of Chauhan as a part of the deal.  Chauhan was made consultant and was also given the first right of refusal to any large size bottling plants and bottling contracts, the former in the Pune – Bangalore belt and the latter in the Delhi and Mumbai areas. Jayadeva Raja, the flamboyant management expert was made the first CEO of Coke India.  It did not take much time for him to realize that Coke had inherited several weaknesses from Chauhan along with the brands and bottlers. Many bottling plants were small in capacity (200 bottlers per minute as against the world standard of 1600) and used obsolete technology.  The bottlers were in no mood to increase their capacities, nor were they willing to upgrade the trucks used for transporting the bottle. Bottlers were more used to the paternalistic approach of Chauhan and the new professional management styles of Coke did not go down well with them.  Chauhan also felt that he was alienated and was even suspected to be supplying concentrate unofficially to the bottlers. Raja was replaced by the hard – nosed Richard Niholas in 1995. The first thing Nicholas did was to give an ultimatum to the bottlers to expand their plants or sell out. Coke also demanded equity stakes in many of the bottling plants.  The bottlers had their own difficulties as well.  They were running on low profit margins.  Nor was Coke willing to finance the bottlers on soft terms.  The ultimatum backfired. Many bottlers switched their loyalty and went to Pepsi.  Chauhan allegedly supported the bottlers, of course, from the sidelines. Coke thought it had staged a coup over Pepsi when it (Coke) clamed the status of official drink for the 1996 Cricket World Cup tournament.  Pepsi took on Coke mightily with the famous jingle “Nothing official about it”. Coke could have capitalized on the sporty image of Thums Up to counter the campaign, but instead simply caved in. Donald Short replaced Nicholas as CEO in 1997.  Armed with heavy financial powers, Short bought out 38 bottlers for about $700 million.  This worked out to about Rs 7 per case, but the cost – effective figure was Rs 3 per case. Short also invested heavily in manpower.  By 1997, Coke’s workforce increased to 300.  Three years later, the parent company admitted that investment in India was a big mistake. It is not in the culture of Coke to admit failure.  It has decided to fight back.  Coke could not only sustain the loss, it could even spend more money on Indian operations.  It hiked the ad budget and appointed Chaitra Leo Burnett as its ad agency.  During 1998 – 99, Coke’s ad spend was almost three times that of Pepsi. Coke is taking a look at its human resources and is taking initiatives to re – orient the culture and inject an element of decentralization along with empowerment.  Each bottling plant is expected to meet predetermined profit, market share, and sales volumes.  For newly hired management trainees, a clearly defined career path has been drawn to enable them to become profit centre heads shortly after completion of their probation. Such a decentralized approach is something of a novelty in the Coke culture worldwide. But Alezander “Von Behr, who replaced Short as Chef of Indian operations, reiterated Coke’s commitment to decentralization and local responsiveness.  Coke has divided India into six regions, each with a business head.  Change in the organization structure has disappointed many employees, some of whom even quit the company. Coke started cutting down its costs.  Executives have been asked to shift from farm houses to smaller houses and rentals of Gurgaon headquarters have been renegotiated.  Discount rates have been standardized and information systems are being upgraded to enable the Indian headquarters to access online financial status of its outposts down to the depot level. Coke has great hopes in Indian as the country has a huge population and the current per capita consumption of beverages is just four bottles a year. Right now, the parent company (head – quartered in the US) has bottle full of problems.  The recently appointed CEO-E Neville Isdell needs to struggle to do the things that once made the Cola Company great.  The problems include – Meddling Board Coke’s star- studded group of directors, many of whom date back to the Goizueta era, has built a reputation for meddling. Moribund Marketing Once world class critics say that today the soda giant has become too conservative, with ads that don’t resonate with the teenagers and young adults that made up its most important audience. Lack of Innovation In the US market, Coke hasn’t created a best – selling new soda since Diet Coke in 1982.  In recent years Coke has been outbid by rival Pepsi Co for faster growing noncarb beverages like SoBe Gatorade. Friction with Bottlers Over the past decade, Coke has often made its profit at the expenses of bottlers, pushing aggressive price hikes on the concentrate it sells them.  But key bottlers are now fighting back with sharp increases in the price of coke at retail.

International Worries Coke desperately needs more international growth to offset its flagging US business, but while some markets like Japan remain lucrative, in the large German market Coke has problems so far as bottling contracts go. When its own house is not in order in the large country, will the company be able to focus enough on the Indian market?

Questions:

1. Why is that Coke has not been able to make profit in its Indian operations? 2. Do you think that Coke should continue to stay in India? If yes, why? 3. What cultural adaptations would you suggest to the US expatriate managers regarding their management style? 4. Using the Hofstede and the value orientations cultural models, how can you explain some of the cultural differences noted in this case?

NO. 4 THE ABB PBS JOINT VENTURE IN OPERATION ABB Prvni Brnenska Stojirna Brno, Ltd. (ABB-PBS), Czechoslovakia was a joint venture in which ABB has a 67 per cent stake and PBS a.s. has a 33 per cent stake.  This PBS share was determined nominally by the value of the land, plant and equipment, employees and goodwill, ABB contributed cash and specified technologies and assumed some of the debt of PBS.  The new company started operations on April 15, 1993. Business for the joint venture in its first two full years was good in most aspects.  Orders received in 1994, the first full year of the joint venture’s operation, were higher than ever in the history of PBS.  Orders received in 1995 were 2½ times those in 1994.  The company was profitable in 1995 and ahead of 1994s results with a rate of return on assets of 2.3 per cent and a rate of return on sales of 4.5 per cent. The 1995 results showed substantial progress towards meeting the joint venture’s strategic goals adopted in 1994 as part of a five year plan.  One of the goals was that exports should account for half of the total orders by 1999.  (Exports had accounted for more than a quarter of the PBS business before 1989, but most of this business disappeared when the Soviet Union Collapsed).  In 1995 exports increased as a share of total orders to 28 per cent, up from 16 per cent the year before. The external service business, organized and functioning as a separate business for the first time in 1995, did not meet expectations.  It accounted for five per cent of all orders and revenues in 1995, below the 10 per cent goal set for it.  The retrofitting business, which was expected to be a major part of the service business, was disappointing for ABB-PBS, partly because many other small companies began to provide this service in 1994, including some started by former PBS employees who took their knowledge of PBS-built power plants with them.  However, ABB-PBS managers hoped that as the company introduced new technologies, these former employees would gradually lose their ability to perform these services, and the retrofit and repair service business, would return to ABB-PBS. ABB-PBS dominated the Czech boiler business with 70 per cent of the Czech market in 1995, but managers expected this share to go down in the future as new domestic and foreign competitors emerged.  Furthermore, the west European boiler market was actually declining because environmental laws caused a surge of retrofitting to occur in the mid -1980 s, leaving less business in the 1990 s.  Accordingly ABB-PBS boiler orders were flat in 1995. Top managers at ABB-PBS regarded business results to date as respectable, but they were not satisfied with the company’s performance.  Cash flow was not as good as expected.  Cost reduction had to go further.  The more we succeed, the more we see our shortcomings” said one official. Restructuring The first round of restructuring was largely completed in 1995, the last year of the three-year restructuring plan.  Plan logistics, information systems, and other physical capital improvements were in place.  The restricting included : • Renovating and reconstructing workshops and engineering facilities. • Achieving ISO 9001 for all four ABB-PBS divisions. (awarded in 1995) • Transfer of technology from ABB (this was an ongoing project) • Intallation of an information system. • Management training, especially in total quality assurance and English language. • Implementing a project management approach.   A notable achievement of importance of top management in 1995 was a 50 per cent increase in labour productivity, measured as value added per payroll crown.  However, in the future ABB-PBS expected its wage rates to go up faster than west European wage rates (Czech wages were increasing about 15 per cent per year) so it would be difficult to maintain the ABB-PBS unit cost advantage over west European unit cost. The Technology Role for ABB-PBS The joint venture was expected from the beginning to play an important role in technology development for part of ABB’s power generation business worldwide.  PBS a.s. had engineering capability in coal – fired steam boilers, and that capability was expected to be especially useful to ABB as more countries became concerned about air quality.  (When asked if PBS really did have leading technology here, a boiler engineering manager remarked, “Of course we do.  We burn so much dirty coal in this country; we have to have better technology”) However, the envisioned technology leadership role for ABB-PBS had not been realized by mid – 1996.  Richard Kuba, the ABB-PBS managing director, realized the slowness with which the technology role was being fulfilled, and he offered his interpretation of events. “ABB did not promise to make the joint venture its steam technology leader. The main point we wanted to achieve in the joint venture agreement was for ABB-PBS to be recognized as a full-fledged company, not just a factory.  We were slowed down on our technology plans because we had a problem keeping our good, young engineers. The annual employee turnover rate for companies in the Czech Republic is 15 or 20 per cent, and the unemployment rate is zero.  Our engineers have many other good entrepreneurial opportunities.  Now we’ve begun to stabilize our engineering workforce.  The restructing helped.  We have better equipment and a cleaner and safer work environment.  We also had another problem which is a good problem to have.  The domestic power plant business turned out to be better than we expected, so just meeting the needs of our regular customers forced some postponement of new technology initiatives.” ABB-PBS had benefited technologically from its relationship with ABB.  One example was the development of a new steam turbine line.  This project was a cooperative effort among ABB-PBS and two other ABB companies, one in Sweden and one in Germany.  Nevertheless, technology transfer was not the most important early benefit of ABB relationship.  Rather, one of the most important gains was the opportunity to benchmark the joint venture’s performance against other established western ABB companies on variables such as productivity, inventory and receivables.

Questions: 1. Where does the joint venture meet the needs of both the partners?  Where does it fall short?   2. Why had ABB-PBS failed to realize its technology leadership? 3. What lessons one can draw from this incident for better management of technology transfers?  

NO. 5. CHINESE EVOLVING ACCOUNTING SYSTEM Attracted by its rapid transformation from a socialist planned economy into a market economy, economic annual growth rate of around 12 per cent, and a population in excess of 1.2 billion, Western firms over the past 10 years have favored China as a site for foreign direct investment.  Most see China as an emerging economic superpower, with an economy that will be as large as that of Japan by 2000 and that of the US before 2010, if current growth projections hold true. The Chinese government sees foreign direct investment as a primary engine of China’s economic growth.  To encourage such investment, the government has offered generous tax incentives to foreign firms that invest in China, either on their own or in a joint venture with a local enterprise.  These tax incentives include a two – year exemption from corporate income tax following an investment, plus a further three years during which taxes are paid at only 50 per cent of the standard tax rate.  Such incentives when coupled with the promise of China’s vast internal market have made the country a prime site for investment by Western firms.  However, once established in China, many Western firms find themselves struggling to comply with the complex and often obtuse nature of China’s rapidly evolving accounting system. Accounting in China has traditionally been rooted in information gathering and compliance reporting designed to measure the government’s production and tax goals.  The Chinese system was based on the old Soviet system, which had little to do with profit or accounting systems created to report financial positions or the results of foreign operations. Although the system is changing rapidly, many problems associated with the old system still remain. One problem for investors is a severe shortage of accountants, financial managers, and auditors in China, especially those experienced with market economy transactions and international accounting practices.  As of 1995, there were only 25,000 accountants in china, far short of the hundreds of thousands that will be needed if China continues on its path towards becoming a market economy.  Chinese enterprises, including equity and cooperative joint ventures with foreign firms, must be audited by Chinese accounting firms, which are regulated by the state.  Traditionally, many experienced auditors have audited only state-owned enterprises, working through the local province or city authorities and the state audit bureau to report to the government entity overseeing the audited firm.  In response to the shortage of accountants schooled in the principles of private sector accounting, several large international auditing firms have established joint ventures with emerging Chinese accounting and auditing firms to bridge the growing need for international accounting, tax and securities expertise. A further problem concerns the somewhat halting evolution of China’s emerging accounting standards.  Current thinking is that China won’t simply adopt the international accounting standards specified by the IASC, nor will it use the generally accepted accounting principles of any particular country as its mode.  Rather, accounting standards in China are expected to evolve in a rather piecemeal fashion, with the Chinese adopting a few standards as they are studied and deemed appropriate for Chinese circumstances. In the meantime, current Chinese accounting principles present difficult problems for Western firms.  For example, the former Chinese accounting system didn’t need to accrue unrealized losses.  In an economy where shortages were the norm, if a state-owned company didn’t sell its inventory right away, it could store it and use it for some other purpose later.  Similarly, accounting principles assumed the state always paid its debts – eventually.  Thus, Chinese enterprises don’t generally provide for lower-of-cost or market inventory adjustments or the creation of allowance for bad debts, both of which are standard practices in the West. Questions: 1. What factors have shaped the accounting system currently in use in China? 2. What problem does the accounting system, currently in sue in China, present to foreign investors in joint ventures with Chinese companies? 3. If the evolving Chinese system does not adhere to IASC standards, but instead to standards that the Chinese governments deem appropriate to China’s “Special situation”, how might this affect foreign firms with operations in China ?

NO. 6 UNFAIR PROTECTION OR VALID DEFENSE ? “Mexico Widens Anti – dumping Measure …………. Steel at the Core of US-Japan Trade Tensions …. Competitors in Other Countries Are Destroying an American Success Story … It Must Be Stopped”, scream headlines around the world. International trade theories argue that nations should open their doors to trade.  Conventional free trade wisdom says that by trading with others, a country can offer its citizens a greater volume and selection of goods at cheaper prices than it could in the absence of it.  Nevertheless, truly free trade still does not exist because national governments intervene.  Despite the efforts of the World Trade Organization (WTO) and smaller groups of nations, governments seem to be crying foul in the trade game now more than ever before. We see efforts at protectionism in the rising trend in governments charging foreign producers for “dumping” their goods on world markets.  Worldwide, the number of antidumping cases that were initiated stood at about 150 in 1995, 225 in 1996, 230 in 1997 , and 300 in 1998. There is no shortage of similar examples.  The Untied States charges Brazil, Japan, and Russia with dumping their products in the US market as a way out of tough economic times.  The US steel industry wants the government to slap a 200 per cent tariff on certain types of steel.  But car markers in the United States are not complaining, and General Motors even spoke out against the antidumping charge – as it is enjoying the benefits of law – cost steel for use in its auto product ion.  Canadian steel makers followed the lead of the United States and are pushing for antidumping actions against four nations. Emerging markets, too, are jumping into the fray.  Mexico recently expanded coverage of its Automatic Import Advice System.  The system requires importers (from a select list of countries) to notify Mexican officials of the amount and price of a shipment ten days prior to its expected arrival in Mexico.  The ten-day notice gives domestic producers advance warning of incoming low – priced products so they can complain of dumping before the products clear customs and enter the marketplace. India is also getting onboard by setting up a new government agency to handle antidumping cases.  Even Argentina, China, Indonesia, South Africa, South Korea, and Thailand are using this recently – popularized tool of protectionism. Why is dumping on the rise in the first place? The WTO has made major inroads on the use of tariffs, slashing tem across almost every product category in recent years. But the WTO does not have the authority to punish companies, but only governments.  Thus, the WTO cannot pass judgments against individual companies that are dumping products in other markets.  It can only pass rulings against the government of the country that imposes an antidumping duty.  But the WTO allows countries to retaliate against nations whose producers are suspected of  dumping when it can be shown that : (1) the alleged offenders are significantly hurting domestic producers, and (2) the export price is lower than the cost of production or lower than the home – market price. Supporters of antidumping tariffs claim that they prevent dumpers from undercutting the prices charged by producers in a target market and driving them out of business.  Another claim in support of antidumping is that it is an excellent way of retaining some protection against potential dangers of totally free trade.  Detractors of antidumping tariffs charge that once such tariffs are imposed they are rarely removed.  They also claim that it costs companies and governments a great deal of time and money to file and argue their cases.  It is also argued that the fear of being charged with dumping causes international competitors to keep their prices higher in a target market than would other wise be the case.  This would allow domestic companies to charge higher prices and not lose market share – forcing consumers to pay more for their goods.

Questions 1. “You can’t tell consumers that the low price they are paying for a particular fax machine or automobile is somehow unfair.  They’re not concerned with the profits of companies. To them, it’s just a great bargain and they want it to continue.” Do you agree with this statement? Do you think that people from different cultures would respond differently to this statement? Explain your answers. 2. As we’ve seen, the WTO cannot currently get involved in punishing individual companies for dumping – its actions can only be directed toward governments of countries.  Do you think this is a wise policy ? Why or why not? Why do you think the WTO was not given the authority to charge individual companies with dumping? Explain. 3. Identify a recent antidumping case that was brought before the WTO. Locate as many articles in the press as you can that discuss the case. Identify the nations, products (s), and potential punitive measures involved. Supposing you were part of the WTO’s Dispute Settlement Body, would you vote in favor of the measures taken by the retailing nation? Why or why not?

Xaviers Institute of Business Management Studies MARKS : 80           SUB:  Marketing Management  

N. B. : 1) Attempt all Four Case studies 2) All questions carry equal marks.

Case study 1

Case Study on Segmentation, Targeting & Positioning

Profiles Group is a leading interior decorator and designer in the country. Mr. Neerav Gupta, one of the partners in the group has invested a good amount of money in the business. The other two partners namely Mr. Pratham Gupta who is a distant cousin of Neerav and Mr. Dev Suri are mainly into managing the firm’s country wide operations. Mr. Stanley Pereira, who is more of a sleeping partner, looks after the administrative and financial aspects of the firm. Profiles Group has around 44 service centers in the country including state capitals and several developing cities. Since the firm’s inception in 1998, its progress has been unstoppable. The clients include many reputed companies, hotel chains, popular celebrities and even hospitals and commercial banks.

A brief background of the Partners: Neerav Gupta had a family owned business that was into manufacturing wooden furniture but Neerav‟s interest was more into decorating. So, after completing a Master’s course in interior designing from a reputed college abroad, he decided to start his own interior design services. Meanwhile, the furniture manufacturing business was handed over to Pratham Gupta due to property and family settlement issues. But, Pratham decided to join Neerav and they both started a partnership firm. Dev Suri, a friend of Neerav who had been living abroad, sold out his real estate business and had decided to settle on the Indian soil itself. He offered help by providing additional capital and his knowledge of real estates did help the firm although in a small way. Stanley Pereira, an experienced teacher and consultant, had worked previously in leading interior designing colleges and was instrumental in making required changes in syllabus structure and interior designing courses. He has also written many books and articles on the topic. He had retired early due to family commitments but landed up in Profiles Group as a Partner through mutual contacts.

The conversation: All the four partners are comfortably sitting face to face on a peach colored cushioned sofa which is situated near the window corner inside Neerav’s well-structured office. Pratham Gupta feels that since their firm has invested large funds, they must enter into more market segments especially the smaller ones. And, regarding this issue, a professional conversation takes place among the partners. The talks are as follows: Pratham: “So, what do you think about expanding our market segments to smaller more ordinary markets?” Stanley: “What are you exactly trying to say, Pratham? Will you explain it?” Pratham: “Listen guys, right now, we have 44 centers and competent people to work under us, but when we see our customer base, it looks small and limited. What I mean to say is that we also need to have those individual household customers who are looking for service expertise in this field. Most household customers don’t get the necessary information as to how to go about the interiors or how to decorate their home/offices etc.” Neerav: “I agree with your points Pratham, but don‟t you think if we have to reach the smaller segments of the market, we need a different approach to cater to their needs. We would have to advertise and communicate to these segments in a customised way. This will increase the promotion budget and our focus on the existing customers may be compromised.” Dev: “I think we need to get a balance here. Pratham‟s points are valid enough and it will make Profiles group more productive. If need be, we may have to take help of a service consultancy in order to penetrate deeper markets.” Stanley: “Okay... so, even if we allocate these segments, we need to target them in a way where we will know the immediate impact of these segments. We have to position in such manner that we get this customer base to keep moving towards us... however, the problem lies in the demand for our product in these segments!” Pratham: “What is that problem you are talking about, Stanley?” Stanley: “I will tell the problem, we know our product... but these individual customer segments will see our product as a one time purchase... Interiors and designing is done by a household customer at one point... very rarely, he will seek for a change or improvement. So, is it acceptable that we cater to their one time need and then let go?” Neerav: “I do understand that point... But, that’s always the case in our business. Interior decorations and designs are usually considered one-time expenditure by household customers.... and as a matter of fact, that has not affected the way we do our business or on our returns.” Pratham: “See, even otherwise it should not affect our firm because individual customer segments are willing to pay or spend on interiors. If they need a good, comfortable home along with a neat set of furniture then why don’t we cater to that need, even if it’s a one time demand from a particular customer? This is exactly what I meant earlier when I said, given the expertise we have, why don’t we use it to expand our customer base? Of course, we may have to develop suitable pricing strategies, promotion strategies for these market segments which is according to me, not a big thing to do.” Dev: “Let’s first consult with our marketing hero and ask their opinion or suggestions as well” Dev takes out his cell phone to dial Mr. Sunil’s number and he immediately gets the connection. Sunil is the head of the marketing section and he is very efficient in his job. He also has an acceptable humour quotient. Dev asks Sunil to come over to Neerav’s office.

Sunil enters the office: Sunil: “What’s up, Bosses?” Dev gives a brief explanation to Sunil about the potential market. Sunil: “that’s a welcome sign actually... we have the necessary resources and we are available to any customer at any given point... So, I think it‟s a good idea that we update our customer profiles also... Only thing is we have to make sure we are targeting and positioning our customer segment in the way they feel comfortable to approach us...” Pratham: “Nicely said Sunil... You are our man in this task.... We rely on you to make our markets bigger and customer segments broader...” Sunil: “Always thinking in the interests of Profiles Group, Mr. Gupta... Not to worry... You tell me the confirmed plans and leave the execution on me...” Neerav: “Well, what can I say? If we are sure about managing the newer segments which is existing out there, then our work is just to target them and position our product as per the given requirements” Dev: “There is one important suggestion I would like to present here.... We need to ensure that we properly differentiate our existing customers from the newer ones so that we are not overriding one another or our customers don’t feel compromised at any point.” Stanley: “That’s a really valuable suggestion, Dev... I completely agree with this point” Sunil: “Me too... Mr. Suri has stated an absolute theory... But, it’s not that we can’t take the benefits from the two and use it for our purpose... Somewhere, we can link the newer segments with the existing ones and gradually Profiles Group will mean the same to every one. That is however applicable in the long term... For now, we need to attend our customer base on a one-to-one basis... So, we do it slow and steady” Neerav: “Sunil, I don’t understand, but whenever you speak you visualize the big picture as well... I admire your quality and also that you are very loyal to Profiles Group” Sunil: “Anytime Mr. Gupta, I am at your service....Just give the command and it will be done” All of them laugh at that comment and decide to have an official meeting regarding the Segmenting, Targeting and Positioning strategies for the potential market. Within a month, the scheduled meeting is done with the involvement of key people and various points are noted down for implementation. The marketing team after a brainstorming session also comes up with a collective idea about introducing Re-decorating and re-designing to be offered as a part of Profile’s group’s services. This meant that clients or customers can think about re-designing or re-decorating their homes/offices with the already available possessions and existing furniture. This also meant less cost to the clients. This idea was taken up seriously and plans to implement such services were already underway.

The Progress: The next six months in the Profiles Group has made everyone busy with different tasks and agendas to be accomplished. Sunil is the busiest person around and he is actively engaged in marketing activities related to the targeting and positioning of their product to the new customer base. Very soon, the results are noticeable in the Profiles Group. After a considerable amount of planning and hard work, the subsequent months showed positive results as given below:  The markets are segmented based on the income level of the household customers  Their needs, wants and demands are analyzed  These markets are targeted based on their desire, willingness and capabilities to attain the required interiors and furnishings.  Sunil headed a separate section namely Re-designing and Re-decorating Services at the firm’s main office. Sunil was immediately involved in making special centers for Re-designing and re-decorating services in different parts of the country.  Marketing section was taken over by a competent person - Ms. Sneha Agarwal who has over 8 years of experience in interior designing. She was chosen on the recommendation of Stanley Pereira as Sneha had been a merit student previously and Stanley had been her teacher.  Neerav had even managed to get some MNC‟s as the firm’s clients.  Positioning of Profiles Group’s product and services was done in three ways –  For the already existing customer base which include the corporate and business houses, film industry and celebrities and other big units who spend huge amounts on the interior decorations.  For the newer segments also termed as the individual household segments who have limited spending abilities but have a desire for elegant interiors at reasonable rates.  For the collective market – re-design and re-decor services were offered.  The structure of the firm’s web-site was made more user-friendly and included several videos showing how proper layout and interiors increased efficiency, easy movement, allowed more lighting and ventilation and created a feeling of well-being and comfort.  A CD was also launched which included these videos and the necessary information of the Profile’s firm with the contact addresses and numbers. The CD also included interview with certain well-known clients who were highly satisfied with the firm’s services. This established trust and good communication in the market.  Soon enough, the firm launches into environmental friendly interiors and develops „Go Green‟ initiatives that uses more re-cycled and renewable substances.  There was a plan to begin annual contests and games which involved household customer segments to give their ideas or suggestions for a well laid out interiors using eco-friendly materials and “Go-Green‟ initiatives.

The Partners and the interview: It’s been two years now since Profile’s Group had moved into individual household segments. All four partners are seated on the sofa inside Neerav‟s office except this time the sofa is of cream shade and a press reporter namely Namitha Goel is sitting on a single sofa across them. Namitha Goel had scheduled this interview and later will be published in the “Living Designs”, a new monthly magazine that deals with interiors. She begins with a direct question to Neerav – Namitha: “Mr. Neerav Gupta, do you think the reason for the substantial increase in your customer base is due to the Redesign and re-decoration services? Neerav: “Well, to a considerable extent, I believe it is so. Re-design is not about my taste or your taste. It’s about working with what the client owns and making them happy. Most people are good in re-arranging their stuff but they don’t have time or energy to do it. So, we offer them this assistance.” Namitha: “How come you got this thought about making these household segments as your customers? I mean, your firm is associated with the influential clientele base and considering that, why did you feel that these household segments would prove to be a lucrative market for you?” Neerav: “The entire credit for making individual household segments as our customers goes to my business partners here, my workforce and their efforts. Around two and a half years back, we had just got into a conversation in this very same office and Pratham suggested about tapping these markets with our available resources. Let me clarify that we decided to target this segment not for profits but we felt they too would benefit from our expertise in this field.” Namitha: “According to the market survey, it seems that there is no close competitor for you in this business. So, your firm stands at the top like it’s been from a long time. What do you say in this matter?” Neerav is about to answer but his cell phone rings and he attends to it quickly. Neerav: “Excuse me, Ms. Namitha.., I have urgent business call that can’t wait..., Carry on with your questions and my team mates will answer. I have to go now.” He addresses his partners and leaves the office in a hurry. The interview proceeds and remaining partners contribute their views. The interview takes another 45 minutes and Namitha Goel is satisfied with her work as a press reporter. She leaves the Profile’s Group office with a sense of achievement. The next month’s issue of “Living Designs” carries the cover story of the Profiles Group with the partners‟ exclusive interview placed in the shaded column of the magazine pages.

Questions: 1 Examine the progress of Profile’s Group as a leading interior designer and decorator. Questions:  2 What kind of change was observed in the STP strategy of the firm and how was it useful? Questions: 3 Evaluate the working of Profile’s group with respect to the Segmenting, Targeting and Positioning of markets. Do you have any suggestions for the firm?

Case study 2 Determining the Marketing 4 P’s

Any business organization in order to be successful needs to have a clear picture about the 4 P’s of marketing. This forms the basis on which business functioning takes place. What are these 4 P’s and why are they important? Let’s assume that we are interested to start up a small business enterprise and for that we have the necessary capital, skills and people. And now, since we are in the initial stage of enterprise formation, we need to answer the previous question. Marketing mix comprises of the four basic elements or components which are termed together as 4 P’s of marketing. They are: Product: what is it that we have to offer to the market? What can it include? In what ways can it be modified, changed, expanded, diversified etc.? Will our products be accepted in the market? If not, how do we create a market for our products? Price: at what value should the products be offered in the market? What should be the returns? Will it be worth to the buyers? What variations, differences and strategies can we adopt in order to earn a fair margin and also gain customer satisfaction? Place: where must be our products available? How soon it’s demanded in the market? How quick we can deliver it to the consumption points? Who do we need to involve in the distribution of our products? How much will they charge for their services? Promotion: why do we need to promote our products? Will people be aware of our products if we don’t do any promotion? If we need to promote our products, what kind of message we should convey to the market? In what ways and methods we can carry out the promotion? Unless we know the answers to the above questions, we cannot make our business function. Therefore, after considering the strengths and weakness of our likely enterprise and studying the market opportunities, we decide to manufacture wax crayons.

The main reason behind this decision is – 1. We can come up with an effective 4 P’s either by marketing the crayons ourselves and if not, we can take orders by being the suppliers to our clients. 2. We know that our market mainly comprises of educational institutions, drawing and painting classes/centers, artistes, even big companies use crayons extensively. 3. We realize the potential of wax crayons as we can offer variety in sizes, quality, colors, price ranges, wholesale and retail prices etc. We can even venture into related areas such as wax artic rafts, wax candles, oil colors, paint etc. 4. We can have direct contact with our clients and in the long term we can even engage an agency to market the crayons. 5. We know that promotion strategies can be based on the type of our customer segment and we could easily do it through advertising on Television, newspapers, children’s comics, notebooks, school notice boards, etc. We can even sponsor or conduct drawing competitions, art exhibitions or we can have contractual agreements with the stationery outlets, art schools etc. However, we are still apprehensive about our marketing mix. We are yet to confirm about our marketing mix and until then we are unable to finalize on our decisions or start with the implementation process.

Question 1.How will you determine the marketing mix for our enterprise? Question 2.Do you have any ideas to make our enterprise successful particularly by enhancing or improving the marketing mix? Question 3.What do you think will be the challenges in making an effective marketing mix since our enterprise is a new one?

Case study 3

Good Publicity vs. Bad Publicity

Roger Twain walked as usual with a pleasant aura and at a leisurely pace to his office. Roger is a PR Manager in one of the top FMCG companies of the world. His office along with the PR staff was recently shifted from sixth floor to the second floor of the building. The reason was simple enough. Top management did not want external parties to wander around the whole building in the excuse of meeting PR staff or the PR manager. Roger Twain in fact, welcomed this shift and was glad that he didn’t have to wait for the lift as he could now very well use the staircase. Roger has around 15 years of experience in PR and handling Publicity related issues. He had worked with several companies as well as non-business organisations and institutes. Roger currently in his 53rd year has achieved lot of success in his career as a professional expert in the field of PR and Publicity handling. Although his plans to start his own PR Consultancy firm didn’t work out the way he wanted, he was actively involved in several worldwide workshops, seminars and presentations. He even wrote articles on PR strategies and published some books on PR. Roger’s ideologies as a PR professional was –

 “No News is not good news… You have to be in the news – good or bad. And, the objective should be to convert bad news into good news.”  “You cannot create bad news about your company. At the same time, you cannot create a good one. You can only communicate it in good or bad way.”  “PR is about being in the news – time and date don’t matter much.”  “It’s not about being right or wrong – it’s about being clear and sticking to the truth and using it positively.”  “Everyone has a right to express… But, a PR person should consider it as a righteous Duty”  “Your Company can show only performance. PR has to talk about it.”

A few of his career achievements in the different organizations that he worked for are as follows:

Problem Situation 1: Some of the cosmetic products of Jasper Ltd. were selling in the market beyond its expiry date. A media report exposed and presented this story to the public that Jasper Ltd. was desperate to increase its sales and did not consider consumers’ interests or their well-being. This led to decrease in sales volume even in the other product categories of the company. Due to incorrect operations of some channel members and retail outlets, old stock was sold to the consumers after the expiry dates. The outcome was Jasper Ltd.’s low profit margins. Challenge: Roger’s challenge was to make consumers more aware and responsible while purchasing the company’s products without ruining the distribution channel relations and at the same time making the company socially responsible.

Solution: Roger suggested to the advertising department to create a public awareness ad regarding the importance of checking product expiry dates before buying. He advised the management to take back old stock from the retail outlets and distributors by offering a reasonable price and also prescribing the time limit within which those products should reach the company. Roger’s view was that distributors will mostly see their benefit and continue to sell the old stock. If they sell it back to the company itself for a price, they would definitely make an effort to get the new stock and sell those to the consumers. Roger’s logic was “it is better to spend some money on getting back the old stock than let it sell in the market at the risk of company’s reputation.” Meanwhile, consumers will also be aware about expiry dates of cosmetics when they buy it.

Problem situation 2: Acorn Seeds Company’s assistant finance manager was involved in some fraudulent activity and was accused of misappropriation of funds. This news became public and soon enough, company’s investors and stakeholders began to question the integrity and trustworthiness of the company. Company found it difficult to convince people that one person’s immoral intentions does not mean that everyone in the company is beyond trust and moral obligations. Furthermore, company’s products and services got severely affected and consumers started opting for competing products. There was bad publicity all around. Sales declined and situation got worse when finance manager unable to handle pressure resigned. Even though finance manager was not involved with his assistant, he was linked with him and given a bad treatment from outsiders even including some of the employees. Media accelerated this issue and created more hype than was necessary. Challenge: Roger’s challenges in this situation was handling bad press, dealing with media people with patience and uplift the company’s integrity with good reputation. He also needed to make the financial department integrated with other departments and boost the employee morale. At the same time he had to take care that company’s products do not suffer in the situation. Solution: Roger suggested to the top management to issue a public message in the newspapers/magazines and also at the end of the Company’s product ads on TV. The message was - “We value your trust in us as you value our commitment towards you.” Roger’s view was that once the fraud was committed and was out in the open, there was nothing much to be done but to move on accepting that such incident occurred and will not happen again. Roger also advised for just one press conference regarding this issue to put an end to this matter. The assistant finance manager had confessed and was told to resign instead of being fired. Soon enough, people forgave and forgot this issue, sales improved and company was on the track once again.

Problem Situation 3: One of the women’s facial creams produced by Jasper Ltd. was severely criticised by media and women. The belief was that the product contained acidic substance causing harmful chemical reactions on the skin. This belief was created when some women claimed that their skin discoloured/scalded after using this facial cream. Media reports provided some facts related to the product that made women who were using this cream more alert. As a result sales dropped drastically.

Challenge: First of all, Roger had to study the product and know its constituents. Secondly, he discussed with product research team as to why such claims could be targeted towards the product. Next, he had to face the media and women consumers addressing the claims and product’s safety.

Solution: Roger collected those facts provided in the media reports and sent them for verification with the skin specialists, research team and for laboratory testing. It was verified and proved that facts provided were immaterial in causing damaged skin. It was also proved that the cream contained no acidic substance or any sort of harmful chemical. Secondly, those women who claimed skin damage were questioned about their application of the skin cream. Two women confessed that they combined several other beauty products along with cream’s application. Others confessed that they were interested in making some quick money if company provided any compensation. Roger arranged a special press meet and provided all the relevant facts and information regarding this issue.

Problem Situation 4: Homely Anchor, a charitable organisation that mainly looked after elderly people in several old age homes was having a problem with its donations. There were anonymous donations coming from several places that it was difficult to track the funds and its allocation. The members of the organisation were themselves confused with the amount collected and amount spent since proper records were not maintained. There were gaps in the accuracy of the information and its updates. Somehow, a magazine columnist/writer got to know about this state of affairs and without much investigation published a small article in the magazine. The article stated how Homely Anchor was unable to manage funds and money received through anonymous donations remained anonymous. Although the article was not accusing of fraud, it hinted the readers in that direction. Within a few months of the article publication, some social activist groups and media started questioning Homely Anchor. There were questions raised on who were the anonymous fund raisers, amount of donations and what and how much was being spent where.

Challenge: Since Roger was working as a part-time Public Relations officer in Homely Anchor, he had to face the social activists and media on behalf of the organisation. He had to protect the privacy of anonymous donation givers and assure them as well as old age homes that funds are raised, managed and used for good intentions.

Solution: He merely gave open statements telling that a proper system will soon be in place that would ensure the accuracy and safety of records related to donations and fund raising. Shortly, he arranged for a small conference consisting of prominent social activists, charitable workers and media representatives to discuss and debate on the implementation of proper systems in charitable organisations. This conference gained lot of popularity and free publicity for Homely Anchor which resulted in more donations. An appropriate system was also implemented to record the transactions.

Problem Situation 5: The research and production team at Sparkly Company had designed a new and innovative technology of purifying water in their product – “Sparkler water purifiers”. This system was tested and proved that it was safe and that it purified water without destroying its minerals. Once it was approved, production plants were ready to manufacture water purifiers in the newly designed way. But, information had leaked to the rival competitor “Visor” Ltd. who immediately took advantage of the opportunity. Visor Ltd. issued statements in the press about this new technology of purifying water and that soon they will be marketing these products. There was a commotion in Sparkly Company due to this. Research and production teams began to accuse each other on the information leakage. Somehow, management was not able to control the situation. News spread about the rivalry issues and information leakage. Media was too interested in finding out which company would come out with the product first. Challenge: Roger too found this situation difficult to handle. There was definitely an information leakage regarding the new method implemented in water purifiers. Roger’s immediate tasks were to find how information was leaked out and who would have done it. He knew the commitment levels of the company’s employees were not questionable. Second, he had to ensure that Sparkling Company was the first to introduce this technique and at the same time he could not accuse Visor Ltd. openly in public.

Solution: Since acquiring patents (exclusive rights) to the new technique in water purifiers was in process, Roger decided not to talk about it. He then released a statement in the press as “Sparkly Company’s dedicated effort towards manufacturing Sparkler Water purifiers with new technology was a long time process. It involved continuous research and lab experiments by the team. This technology shows our expertise and we will never compromise on our products.” After an internal investigation, Roger found that company’s certain e-mails were hacked and through that, information had leaked to Visor Ltd. So, systems and networks were made more secure. Roger made it clear in his public appearance in the media that crucial information did leak out due to the insecure network and computer systems. But, he was careful not to mention names or make any accusations. Media turned their attention to Visor Ltd. questioning its integrity, ethical and business values.

Questions: 1) Identify the qualities of Roger as a PR professional and analyse his role in the companies that he worked for.

2) In the above problem situations, was there any other approach that Roger could have adopted? If yes, suggest some approaches. If no, why do you agree with Roger’s approach?

3) List the PR tools and strategies that were adopted by Roger in dealing with the problem situations.

Case study 4

Personal Selling – Professional approach

Background Information:

“Keep Fit” is a medium-sized outlet exclusively dealing in exercising equipments/machines and fitness accessories and sometimes in sports equipments also. It has 27 sales persons employed under it. Owners of the outlet – an active middle-aged couple have several contacts abroad through which they place orders for the necessary and required equipments. Once an order is placed for particular equipment, it takes atleast 2 weeks for the equipment to reach the outlet. Secondly, the sales force is involved in cold calls, constantly checking upon new orders from the existing customers and getting new customers to place orders for these equipments from in and around the city. Sometimes, they travel to other nearby cities seeking orders and new customers. Some of the equipments that Keep Fit sells are –

 Cardio equipments such as Treadmills, Stair climbers, Steppers, Bikes, Ellipticals, Rowers, so on.  Strength equipments such as Weight benches, Power racks and varieties, different kinds of Weight machines which is supplied as per customer’s requirements, lifting accessories, home gym systems, and other machines.  Fitness accessories such as pedometers, ankle and wrist weights, jump ropes, stretch mats, hand grips, exercise balls, pull and push up bars, so on.  Sports accessories such as soccer balls, volleyballs, basketballs, poles, boxing gloves, track pants and such other stuff if at all there is customer demand or they have placed such orders.

The owners have already realized the growth potential of these equipments/machines after analyzing the following:

a) Since most people are becoming health and fitness conscious, there is lot of demand but supply is comparatively low. b) Due to heavy work pressures and IT related jobs that require people to sit in front of their computer systems for long, it has resulted into high demand for creating and maintenance of gyms in the companies and at the workplaces. c) The affluent class or groups especially celebrities and sports stars don’t mind purchasing and owning these equipments in their homes, the objective being creation of a personal gym at home. d) Fitness centers, gymnasiums and sports clubs are increasing in number and so is the demand for the exercising equipments and machines. e) Encouragement given to different sports requires the sports men and women to use such equipments and therefore, they have to be provided with such resources so as to participate in national or international sports events like Olympics.

Two more salespersons were recently recruited and selected by the owners. After the training and several exposures to the sales practices adopted by experienced salespersons, these two salespersons were ready for the actual job.

The first salesperson namely Mr. Jagan Das is hard-working and efficient in his work. It was observed in the training programme that he was alert to the situations and environment around him. But, at the same time he had a weakness of listening a lot to other people’s opinions and not contributing his thoughts or ideas. However, he was enrolled in a short-term communication course to improve his language skills and expressing his thoughts. The second salesperson namely Mr. Tarun Mehra is an enthusiastic and determined chap. He likes to share ideas and given the time, he would talk his way out. In the training programme, he asked lot of questions and after receiving answers would again question about why and how of things. His only weakness was his tendency to get over-enthusiastic about things and situations that he would forget about existing situation or problem. In the first few months, Jagan and Tarun were getting along fine as they were assigned the same sales territory. Sometimes, they would go together to collect orders and even dispatch orders to the customers. Together, they were able to deal with complicated clients and achieve higher sales targets than what was assigned to them. Lately, the owners observed small fights happening between Jagan and Tarun. They were not sure as to what caused the disagreements that led to fights but eventually, the couple decided that the salesmen needed to sort it out by themselves. On Jagan’s request, their sales territories were separated and now, Jagan and Tarun had to deal with different customers at different locations.

After Reading the Background Information, analyse the following two situations and answer the questions given at the end:-

Situation 1: Jagan is at the outlet’s veranda listening to how another sales person handled a customer’s complaint. He receives a call from one of the old customers of the outlet. The telephonic conversation goes as follows: Customer: “From “Shape-up” Gym, I am Raghav speaking... Two months back, I purchased this treadmill from you for our gymnasium located at the city’s east and now it is causing some problem... till now whatever gym equipments we purchased from you had no problems of any kind” Jagan: “Please tell me your problem Sir...” Customer: “See, actually I can fix the problem... I know some people who can do it very easily... but that’s not my point... I need to know why the machine caused problem.” Jagan: “You tell me your problem Sir, and then we will fix it for free...” Customer: “I am not having a problem; your machine has a problem” Jagan: “I will come at your place Sir, tell me your exact problem so I can note it down and solve it as soon as possible” Customer: “I can solve the problem... I need to know whether the treadmill comes with a guarantee period and why a brand new machine is causing this problem” Jagan: “I will come over there Sir and if it’s possible, I will bring a technical member from my team along with me...” Customer: “No Thanks for your help... I will speak to your Boss about the treadmill’s inefficiency!” Jagan: “Wait... let me know what I can do for... ...” The call is dropped and Jagan is unclear as to what he must do next. Should he call back the customer on the same number as appearing on his mobile or should he find out if he can trace the customer information from the sales records of the last two months or should his superior know about this incident? The customer appeared to be in a hurry and didn’t even tell about the problem. Jagan also wondered about how Tarun would react to this kind of call.

Situation 2: Tarun is busy entering some information into the sales records. He is asked to pick up a call from the superior’s office and following conversation takes place: Customer: “Is this Keep Fit?” Tarun: “Good evening Sir, yes it is... May I know your name Sir?” Customer: “Who am I speaking to? ... I am Jonathan from Lance Sports Club” Tarun: “Mr. Jonathan, this is Tarun and I am a sales executive at Keep Fit... you can tell me your concern Sir,” Customer: “I had placed an order for 7 pairs of weight plates, 6 pairs of dumbbells, and 2 exercising bikes – one upright and also 2 treadmills and volleyball” Tarun: “I am listening Mr. Jonathan” Customer: “Yes, good, now according to price-list, it says 3 treadmills, 3 exercising bikes, 6 pairs or weight plates, 6 pairs of dumbbells.... the thing is number of items mentioned in the bill are completely wrong” Tarun: “Just tell me the Bill Number and I will get back to you Jonathan... But, how many items have you received in actual numbers?” Jonathan: “Well, that’s the problem... I have received the same numbers as I placed in the order... but, the bill and the list says wrong numbers... and only that volleyball is not received” Tarun: “Okay.... Just see on the top left of your list... you will find the Bill Number... please tell me that...” Jonathan: “There is no Bill number in this...” Tarun: “Please check it once again... there is a bill number mentioned at the top left or top right or somewhere at the top... Okay... tell me the date of the bill and your order placement date atleast” Jonathan: “No, it’s alright, there must be a mistake... we will sort it out during the payment” Tarun: “Mr. Jonathan... Please co-operate and tell me the bill number or the date so that I can verify it in the sales records and check the invoices also” Jonathan: “No, that’s okay... do not bother about it... we will confirm later...” Tarun: “Listen Mr. Jonathan, I can just.... ...” But, before Tarun tells anything more, the customer has cut off the call. Tarun feels uneasy about the conversation. He was being so helpful and wanted to clarify the figures but it looked like the customer was not interested to do so. Should he follow up on the customer after finding out the necessary details or should he just keep quiet till the customer raises the issue once again? Should he tell this to his superior? He tried to imagine Jagan’s way of tackling these types of customers.

Note: In both the situations, the salespersons have not met the customers personally. In Situation 1, Jagan is dealing for the first time with one of the old customers of the outlet. In Situation 2, Tarun had spoken to some other member of the sports club previously.

Questions:

Question 1:- Identify the approach (plus points and negative points) of the two salespersons in the above situations and make a comparative analysis.

Question 2:- In both the situations, were the customers satisfied with how the salespersons handled their queries? Analyse the sales person’s and customer’s interactions in the above situations.

Question 3:- If you were a salesperson, how would you have handled the above two situations? Do you have any suggestions for Jagan and Tarun?

Xaviers Institute of Business Management Studies

Principles & Practice of Management

Marks - 80

(Please attempt any 4 of the below mentioned case studies. Each Case study is for 20 marks)

Read the following case and answer the questions given at the end of the case. LOSING A GOOD MAN Sundar Steel Limited was a medium-sized steel company manufacturing special steels of various types and grades. It employed 5,000 workers and 450 executives. Under the General Manager operation, maintenance, and headed by a chief. The Chief of and under him Mukherjee Maintenance Engineer. The total was 500 workers, 25 executives, (Production), there were services groups, each Maintenance was Shukla was working as the strength of Maintenance and 50 supervisors. Chatterjee was working in Maintenance as a worker for three years. He was efficient. He had initiative and drive. He performed his duties in a near perfect manner. He was a man of proven technical ability with utmost drive and dash. He was promoted as Supervisor. Chattejee, now a Supervisor, was one day passing through the Maintenance Shop on his routine inspection. He found a certain worker sitting idle. He pulled him up for this. The worker retaliated by abusing him with filthy words. With a grim face and utter frustration, Chatterjee reported the matter to Mukherjee. The worker who insulted Chatterjee was a "notorious character" , and no supervisor dared to confront him. Mukherjee took a serious view of the incident and served a strong warning letter to the worker. Nothing very particular about Chatterjee or from him came to the knowledge of Mukherjee. Things were moving smoothly. Chatterjee was getting along well with others But after about three years, another serious incident took place. A worker came drunk to duty, began playing cards, and using very filthy language. When Chatterjee strongly objected to this, the worker got up and slapped Chatterjee. Later, the worker went to his union - and reported that Chatterjee had assaulted him while he was performing his duties. Chatterjee had no idea that the situation would take such a turn. He, therefore, never bothered to report the matter to his boss or collect evidence in support of his case. The union took the case to Shukla and prevailed over him to take stern action against Chatterjee. Shukla instructed Mukherjee to demote Chatterjee to the rank of a worker. Mukherjee expressed his apprehension that in such a case Chatterjee will be of no use to the department, and. the demotion would adversely affect the morale of all sincere and efficient supervisors. But Chatterjee was demoted. Chatterjee continued working in the organisation with all his efficiency, competence, and ability for two months. Then he resigned stating that he had secured better employment elsewhere. Mukherjee was perturbed at this turn of events. While placing Chatterjee's resignation letter before Shukla, he expressed deep concern at this development. Shukla called Chief of Personnel for advice on this delicate issue. The Chief of Personnel said, "l think the incident should help us to appreciate the essential qualification required for a successful supervisor. An honest and hardworking man need not necessarily prove to be an effective supervisor. Something more is required for this as he has to get things done rather than do himself." Mukherjee said, "l have a high opinion of Chatterjee. He proved his technical competence and was sincere at his work. Given some guidance on how to deal, with the type of persons he had to work with, the sad situation could h.ave been avoided." Shukla said, "l am really sorry to lose Chatterjee, He was very honest and painstaking in his work. But I do not know how I could have helped him; I wonder how he always managed to get into trouble with workers. we know they are illiterates and some of them are tough. But a supervisor must have the ability and presence of mind to deal with such men. I have numerous supervisors, but I never had to teach anybody how to supervise his men." Questions: (a) Identify the problems in this case. (b) Do you think the decision taken by shukla is in keeping with the faith, trust and creating developmental climate in the organisation? Critically evaluate (c) How would you help in improving rough and tough behavior of employees?

Read the following case and answer the questions given at the end. ABC manufacturing The ABC Manufacturing Company is a metal working plant under the direction of a plant manager who is known as a strict disciplinarian. One day a foreman noticed Bhola, one of the workers, at the time-clock punching out two cards his own and the card of Nathu, a fellow worker. Since it was the rule of the company that each man must punch out his own card, the foreman asked Bhola to accompany him to the Personnel Director, who interpreted the incident as a direct violation of a rule and gave immediate notice of discharge to both workers. The two workers came to see the Personnel Director on the following day. Nathu claimed innocence on the ground that he had not asked for his card to be punched and did not know at the time that it was being punched. He had been offered a ride by a friend who had already punched out and who could not wait for him to go through the punch-out procedure. Nathu was worried about his wife who was ill at home and was anxious to reach home as quickly as possible. He planned to take his card to the foreman the next morning for reinstatement, a provision sometimes exercised in such cases. These circumstances were verified by Bhola. He claimed that he had punched Nathu's card the same time he punched his own, not being conscious of any wrongdoing. The Personnel Director was inclined to believe the story of the two men but did not feel he could reverse the action taken. He recognized that these men were good workers and had good records prior to this incident. Nevertheless, they had violated a rule for which the penalty was immediate discharge. He also reminded them that it was the policy of the company to enforce the rules without exception. A few days later the Personnel Director, the Plant Manager, and the Sales Manager sat together at lunch. The Sales Manager reported that he was faced with the necessity of notifying one of their best customers that his order must be delayed because of the liability of one department to conform to schedule. The department in question was the one from which the two workers had been discharged. Not only had it been impossible to replace these men to date, but disgruntlement over the incident had led to significant decline in the cooperation of the other workers. The Personnel Director and the Sales Manager took the position that the discha rge of these two valuable men could have been avoided if there had been provision for onsidering the circumstances of the case. They pointed out that the incident was costly to the company in the possible loss of a customer, in the dissatisfaction within the employee group, and in the time and money that would be involved in recruiting and training replacements. The Plant Manager could not agree with this point of view. "We must have rules if we are to have efficiency; and the rules are no god unless we enforce them. Furthermore, if we start considering all these variations in circumstances, we will find ourselves loaded down with everybody thinking he is an exception." He admitted that the grievances were frequent but countered with the point that they could be of little consequence if the contract agreed to by the union was followed to the letter. Questions (a) Identify the core issues in the case (b) Place yourself in the position of the Personnel Director. Which of the following courses of action would you have chosen and why? (i) Would you have discharged both men? (ii) Would you have discharged Bhola only? (iii) Would you have discharged Nathu only? (iv) Would you have discharged neither of them? Justify your choice of decision. (c) What policy and procedural changes would you recommend for handling such cases in future?

Read the case and answer the questions given at the end of the case. PK Mills

PK Mills manufactures woolen clothes. Over the years, it has earned an envious reputation in the market. People associate PK Mills with high quality woolen garments. Most of the existing employees have joined the company long back and are nearing retirement stage. The process of replacing these old employees with younger ones, drawn from the nearby areas, has already begun. Recently, the quality of the garments has deteriorated considerably. Though the company employs the best material that is available, the workmanship has gone down. Consequently, the company has lost its customers in the surrounding areas to a great extent. The company stands, in the eyes of general public, depreciated and devalued. The production manager, in a frantic bid to recover lost ground, held several meetings with his staff but all in vain. The problem, of course, has its roots in the production department itself. The young workers have started resisting the bureaucratic rules and regulations vehemently. The hatred against regimentation and tight control is total. The old workers, on the verge of retirement, say that conditions have changed considerably in recent years. In. The days gone by, they say, they were guided by a process of self-control in place of bureaucratic control. Each worker did his work diligently and honestly under the old set-up. In an attempt to restructure the organizational set-up, the managers who have been appointed afterwards brought about radical changes. Workers under the new contract had very little freedom in the workplace. They are expected to bend their will to rules and regulations. Witnessing the difference between the two 'cultures' the young workers, naturally, began to oppose the regulatory mechanism devised by top management. The pent-up feelings of frustration and resentment against management, like a gathering storm, have resulted in volcanic eruptions leading to violent arguments between young workers and foremen on the shop-floor. In the process production has suffered, both quantitatively and qualitatively. The production manager in an attempt to weather out the storm, is seriously thinking of bringing about a radical change in the control process that is prevailing now in the organization. Questions: (a) What are the core issues the case? (b) Do you agree with the statement "The problem, of course, has its roots in the production department itself”? Reason out your stand. (c) Critically evaluate the finding that old supervisors complain and new workers to resist any type of control. (d) What type of control system would you suggest to the company to improve the production?

The AB Steel Plant

The Vice President for Production at the AB Steel Plant was giving the Production Department Manager, Mr. Singh, a hard time for not doing anything about his work group which was perpetually coming late to work and was behind schedule in the performance quotas for several months now. The vice President's contention was that if the production' crew was consistently tardy, the production process was delayed by about 15 minutes on an average per member per day, and this was no way for the department to meet the assigned quotas. "They are losing about 6 to 8 hours of production time per member per month, and you don't seem one bit concerned about it," he yelled at the manager. He added that he was pretty upset about the 'lax management style' of the manager and very clearly stated that unless the manager did something about the tardiness problem, another manager who can manage the crew effectively' will have to be found. Mr. Singh knows that he has an able and good group of workers but he also realizes that they are bored with their work and do not have enough incentives to meet the production quotas. Hence, they seem to respond to the situation by taking it easy and coming late to work by a few minutes every day. Mr. Singh has also noticed that they were taking turns leaving the workplace a few minutes early in the evenings. Even though Singh was aware of this, entire he pretended not to notice the irregularities and was satisfied that once the workers started their work, they were pretty good at their jobs and often helped to meet rush orders whenever they knew that Mr. Singh was in a bind. Questions: (a) What do you think is the real, problem in this case? (b) How do you perceive the stand of Mr. Singh? Analyze critically. (c) What intervention should Mr. Singh use to rectify the type, of situation he is presently confronted with? Discuss giving the reasons. (d) Discuss the implications of effecting them with your recommendations.

Dealing with an Employee’s Problem

Ms. Renu had graduated with a degree in foreign languages. As the child of a military family, she had visited many parts of the world and had travelled extensively in Europe. Despite these broadening experiences, she had never given much thought to a career until her recent divorce. Needing to provide her own income, Ms. Renu began to look for work. After a fairly intense but unsuccessful search for a job related to her foreign language degree, she began to evaluate her other skills. She had become a proficient typist in college and decided to look into secretarial work. Although she still wanted a career utilizing her foreign language skills, she felt that the immediate financial pressures would be eased in a temporary secretarial position. Within a short period fo time, she was hired as a clerk/typist in a typical pool at Life Insurance Company. Six months later, she became the top typist in the pool and and was assigned as secretary to Mrs. Khan' manager of marketing research. She was pleased to get out of the pool and to get a job that had more variety in the tasks to perform. Besides, she also got a nice raise in pay. Everything seemed to proceed well for the next nine months. Mrs. Khan was pleased with Renu's work, and she seemed happy with her work. Renu applied for a few other more professional jobs in other areas during this time. However, each time her application was rejected for lack of related education and/or experience in the area. Over the next few months, Khan noticed changes in Renu. She did not always dress as neatly as she had in the past, she was occasionally late for work, some of her lunches extended to two hours, and most of her productive work was done in the morning hours. Khan did not wish to say anything because Renu had been doing an excellent job and her job tasks still were being accomplished on time. However, Renu's job behavior continued to worsen. She began to be absent frequently on Mondays or Fridays. The two-hour lunch periods became standard, and her work performance began to deteriorate. In addition, Khan began to suspect that Renu was drinking heavily, due to her appearance some mornings and behavior after two-hour lunches. Khan decided that she must confront Renu with the problem. However, she wanted to find a way to held her without losing a valuable employee. Before she could set up a meeting, Renu burst through her floor after lunch one day and said: "I want to talk to you Mrs. Khan" "That's fine," Khan replied. "Shall we set a convenient time?" "No! I want to talk now." "OK, why don't you sit down and let's talk?" Khan noticed that Renu was slurring her words slightly and she was not too steady. "Mrs. Khan, I need some vacation time." "I'm sure we can work that out. You've been with company for over a year and have two weeks’ vacation coming." "No, you don't understand. I want to start it tomorrow." "But, Renu, we need to plan to get a temporary replacement. We can't just let your job go for two weeks". "Why not? Anyway anyone with an IQ above 50 can do my job. Besides, I need the time off. " "Renu, are you sure you are all right ?" "Yes, I just need some time away from the job." Khan decided to let Renu have the vacation, which would allow her some time to decide what to do about the situation. Khan thought about the situation the next couple of days. It was possible that Renu was an alcoholic. However, she also seemed to have a negative reaction to her job. Maybe Renu was bored with her job. She did not have the experience or job skills to move to a different type of job at present. Khan decided to meet with the Personnel Manager and get some help developing her options to deal with Renu's problem. Questions: (a) What is the problem in your opinion? Elaborate. (b) How would you explain the behavior of Renu and Mrs. Khan? Did Mrs. Khan handle the situation timely and properly? (c) Assume that you are the Personnel Manager. What are the alternatives available with Mrs. Khan? (d) What do you consider the best alternative? Why?