#Commerce Fox

[universe-gods-and-goddesses]

Giants pt.2

Yoshio= Commerce Fox

Satoshi= Youth Fox

Ayaka= Mercy Fox

Takara= Genocide Fox

Akira= Spirit Fox

Minori= Misfortunate Fox

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The long, bloody lineage of private equity's looting

Tomorrow (June 3) at 1:30PM, I’m in Edinburgh for the Cymera Festival on a panel with Nina Allen and Ian McDonald.

Monday (June 5) at 7:15PM, I’m in London at the British Library with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Baroness Martha Lane Fox.

Fans of the Sopranos will remember the “bust out” as a mob tactic in which a business is taken over, loaded up with debt, and driven into the ground, wrecking the lives of the business’s workers, customers and suppliers. When the mafia does this, we call it a bust out; when Wall Street does it, we call it “private equity.”

It used to be that we rarely heard about private equity, but then, as national chains and iconic companies started to vanish, this mysterious financial arrangement popped up with increasing frequency. When a finance bro’s presentation on why Olive Garden needed to be re-orged when viral, there was a lot off snickering about the decline of a tacky business whose value prop was unlimited carbs. But the bro was working for Starboard Value, a hedge fund that specialized in buhying out and killing off companies, pocketing billions while destroying profitable businesses.

https://www.salon.com/2014/09/17/the_real_olive_garden_scandal_why_greedy_hedge_funders_suddenly_care_so_much_about_breadsticks/

Starboard Value’s game was straightforward: buy a business, load it with debt, sell off its physical plant — the buildings it did business out of — pay itself, and then have the business lease back the buildings, bleeding out money until it collapsed. They pulled it with Red Lobster,and the point of the viral Olive Garden dis track was to soften up the company for its own bust out.

The bust out tactic wasn’t limited to mocking middlebrow family restaurants. For years, the crooks who ran these ops did a brisk trade in blaming the internet. Why did Sears tank? Everyone knows that the 19th century business was an antique, incapable of mounting a challenge in the age of e-commerce. That was a great smokescreen for an old-fashioned bust out that saw corporate looters make off with hundreds of millions, leaving behind empty storefronts and emptier pension accounts for the workers who built the wealth the looters stole:

https://prospect.org/economy/vulture-capitalism-killed-sears/

Same goes for Toys R Us: it wasn’t Amazon that killed the iconic toy retailer — it was the PE bosses who extracted $200m from the chain, then walked away, hands in pockets and whistling, while the businesses collapsed and the workers got zero severance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/business/wp/2018/06/01/how-can-they-walk-away-with-millions-and-leave-workers-with-zero-toys-r-us-workers-say-they-deserve-severance/

It’s a good racket — for the racketeers. Private equity has grown from a finance sideshow to Wall Street’s apex predator, and it’s devouring the real economy through a string of audactious bust outs, each more consequential and depraved than the last.

As PE shows that it can turn profitable businesses gigantic windfalls, sticking the rest of us with the job of sorting out the smoking craters they leave behind, more and more investors are piling in. Today, the PE sector loves a rollup, which is when they buy several related businesses and merge them into one firm. The nominal business-case for a rollup is that the new, bigger firm is more “efficient.” In reality, a rollup’s strength is in eliminating competition. When all the pet groomers, or funeral homes, or urgent care clinics for ten miles share the same owner, they can raise prices, lower wages, and fuck over suppliers.

They can also borrow. A quirk of the credit markets is that a standalone small business is valued at about 3–5x its annual revenues. But if that business is part of a large firm, it is valued at 10–20x annual turnover. That means that when a private equity company rolls up a comedy club, ad agency or water bottler (all businesses presently experiencing PE rollup), with $1m in annual revenues, it shows up on the PE company’s balance sheet as an asset worth $10–20m. That’s $10–20m worth of collateral the PE fund can stake for loans that let it buy and roll up more small businesses.

2.9 million Boomer-owned businesses, employing 32m people, are expected to sell in the next couple years as their owners retire. Most of these businesses will sell to PE firms, who can afford to pay more for them as a prelude to a bust out than anyone intending to operate them as a productive business could ever pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

PE’s most ghastly impact is felt in the health care sector. Whole towns’ worth of emergency rooms, family practices, labs and other health firms have been scooped up by PE, which has spent more than $1t since 2012 on health acquisitions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

Once a health care company is owned by PE, it is significantly more likely to commit medicare fraud. It also cuts wages and staffing for doctors and nurses. PE-owned facilities do more unnecessary and often dangerous procedures. Appointments get shorter. The companies get embroiled in kickback scandals. PE-backed dentists hack away at children’s mouths, filling them full of root-canals.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

The Healthcare Private Equity Association boasts that its members are poised to spend more than $3t to create “the future of healthcare.”

https://hcpea.org/#!event-list

As bad as PE is for healthcare, it’s worse for long-term care. PE-owned nursing homes are charnel houses, and there’s a particularly nasty PE scam where elderly patients are tricked into signing up for palliative care, which is never delivered (and isn’t needed, because the patients aren’t dying!). These fake “hospices” get huge payouts from medicare — and the patient is made permanently ineligible for future medicare, because they are recorded being in their final decline:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Every part of the health care sector is being busted out by PE. Another ugly PE trick, the “club deal,” is devouring the medical supply business. Club deals were huge in the 2000s, destroying rent-controlled housing, energy companies, Mervyn’s department stores, Harrah’s, and Old Country Joe. Now it’s doing the same to medical supplies:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

Private equity is behind the mass rollup of single-family homes across America. Wall Street landlords are the worst landlords in America, who load up your rent with junk fees, leave your home in a state of dangerous disrepair, and evict you at the drop of a hat:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/16/die-miete-ist-zu-hoch/#assets-v-human-rights

As these houses decay through neglect, private equity makes a bundle from tenants and even more borrowing against the houses. In a few short years, much of America’s desperately undersupplied housing stock will be beyond repair. It’s a bust out.

You know all those exploding trains filled with dangerous chemicals that poison entire towns? Private equity bust outs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/04/up-your-nose/#rail-barons

Where did PE come from? How can these people look themselves in the mirror? Why do we let them get away with it? How do we stop them?

Today in The American Prospect, Maureen Tkacik reviews two new books that try to answer all four of these questions, but really only manage to answer the first three:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

The first of these books is These Are the Plunderers: How Private Equity Runs — and Wrecks — America by Gretchen Morgenson and Joshua Rosner:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/These-Are-the-Plunderers/Gretchen-Morgenson/9781982191283

The second is Plunder: Private Equity’s Plan to Pillage America, by Brendan Ballou:

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/brendan-ballou/plunder/9781541702103/

Both books describe the bust out from the inside. For example, PetSmart — looted for $30 billion by RaymondSvider and his PE fund BC Partners — is a slaughterhouse for animals. The company systematically neglects animals — failing to pay workers to come in and feed them, say, or refusing to provide backup power to run during power outages, letting animals freeze or roast to death. Though PetSmart has its own vet clinics, the company doesn’t want to pay its vets to nurse the animals it damages, so it denies them care. But the company is also too cheap to euthanize those animals, so it lets them starve to death. PetSmart is also too cheap to cremate the animals, so its traumatized staff are ordered to smuggle the dead, rotting animals into random dumpsters.

All this happened while PetSmart’s sales increased by 60%, matched by growth in the company’s gross margins. All that money went to the bust out.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/antoinegara/2021/09/27/the-30-billion-kitty-meet-the-investor-who-made-a-fortune-on-pet-food/

Tkacik says these books show that we’re finally getting wise to PE. Back in the Clinton years, the PE critique painted the perps as sharp operators who reduced quality and jacked up prices. Today, books like these paint these “investors” as the monsters they are — crooks whose bust ups are crimes, not clever finance hacks.

Take the Carlyle Group, which pioneered nursing home rollups. As Carlyle slashed wages, its workers suffered — but its elderly patients suffered more. Thousands of Carlyle “customers” died of “dehydration, gangrenous bedsores, and preventable falls” in the pre-covid years.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/opioid-overdoses-bedsores-and-broken-bones-what-happened-when-a-private-equity-firm-sought-profits-in-caring-for-societys-most-vulnerable/2018/11/25/09089a4a-ed14-11e8-baac-2a674e91502b_story.html

KKR, another PE monster, bought a second-hand chain of homes for mentally disabled adults from another PE company, then squeezed it for the last drops of blood left in the corpse. KKR cut wages to $8/hour and increased shifts to 36 hours, then threatened to have workers who went home early arrested and charged with “patient abandonment.” Many of these homes were often left with no staff at all, with patients left to starve and stew in their own waste.

PE loves to pick on people who can’t fight back: kids, sick people, disabled people, old people. No surprise, then, that PE loves prisons — the ultimate captive audience. HIG Capital is a $55b fund that owns TKC Holdings, who got the contract to feed the prisoners at 400 institutions. They got the contract after the prisons fired Aramark, owned by PE giant Warburg Pincus, whose food was so inedible that it provoked riots. TKC got a million bucks extra to take over the food at Michigan’s Kinross Correctional Facility, then, incredibly, made the food worse. A chef who refused to serve 100 bags of rotten potatoes (“the most disgusting thing I’ve seen in my life”) was fired:

https://www.wzzm13.com/article/news/local/michigan/prison-food-worker-i-was-fired-for-refusing-to-serve-rotten-potatoes/69-467297770

TKC doesn’t just operate prison kitchens — it operates prison commissaries, where it gouges prisoners on junk food to replace the inedible slop it serves in the cafeteria. The prisoners buy this food with money they make working in the prison workshops, for $0.10–0.25/hour. Those workshops are also run by TKC.

Tkacic traces private equity back to the “corporate raiders” of the 1950s and 1960s, who “stealthily borrowed money to buy up enough shares in a small or midsized company to control its biggest bloc of votes, then force a stock swap and install himself as CEO.”

The most famous of these raiders was Eli Black, who took over United Fruit with this gambit — a company that had a long association with the CIA, who had obligingly toppled democratically elected governments and installed dictators friendly to United’s interests (this is where the term “banana republic” comes from).

Eli Black’s son is Leon Black, a notorious PE predator. Leon Black got his start working for the junk-bonds kingpin Michael Milken, optimizing Milken’s operation, which was the most terrifying bust out machine of its day, buying, debt-loading and wrecking a string of beloved American businesses. Milken bought 2,000 companies and put 200 of them through bankruptcy, leaving the survivors in a brittle, weakened state.

It got so bad that the Business Roundtable complained about the practice to Congress, calling Milken, Black, et al, “a small group is systematically extracting the equity from corporations and replacing it with debt, and incidentally accumulating major wealth.”

Black stabbed Milken in the back and tanked his business, then set out on his own. Among the businesses he destroyed was Samsonite, “a bankrupt-but-healthy company he subjected to 12 humiliating years of repeated fee extractions, debt-funded dividend payments, brutal plant closings, and hideous schemes to induce employees to buy its worthless stock.”

The money to buy Samsonite — and many other businesses — came through a shadowy deal between Black and John Garamendi, then a California insurance commissioner, now a California congressman. Garamendi helped Black buy a $6b portfolio of junk bonds from an insurance company in a wildly shady deal. Garamendi wrote down the bonds by $3.9b, stealing money “from innocent people who needed the money to pay for loved ones’ funerals, irreparable injuries, etc.”

Black ended up getting all kinds of favors from powerful politicians — including former Connecticut governor John Rowland and Donald Trump. He also wired $188m to Jeffrey Epstein for reasons that remain opaque.

Black’s shady deals are a marked contrast with the exalted political circles he travels in. Despite private equity’s obviously shady conduct, it is the preferred partner for cities and states, who buy everything from ambulance services to infrastructure from PE-owned companies, with disastrous results. Federal agencies turn a blind eye to their ripoffs, or even abet them. 38 state houses passed legislation immunizing nursing homes from liability during the start of the covid crisis.

PE barons are shameless about presenting themselves as upstanding cits, unfairly maligned. When Obama made an empty promise to tax billionaires in 2010, Blackstone founder SteveS chwarzman declared, “It’s a war. It’s like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939.”

Since we’re on the subject of Hitler, this is a good spot to bring up Monowitz, a private-sector satellite of Auschwitz operated by IG Farben as a slave labor camp to make rubber and other materiel it supplied at a substantial markup to the wermacht. I’d never heard of Monowitz, but Tkacik’s description of the camp is chilling, even in comparison to Auschwitz itself.

Farben used slave laborers from Auschwitz to work at its rubber plant, but was frustrated by the logistics of moving those slaves down the 4.5m stretch of road to the facility. So the company bought 25,000 slaves — preferring children, who were cheaper — and installed them in a co-located death-camp called Monowitz:

https://www.commentary.org/articles/r-tannenbaum/the-devils-chemists-by-josiah-e-dubois-jr/

Monowitz was — incredibly — worse than Auschwitz. It was so bad, the SS guards who worked at it complained to Berlin about the conditions. The SS demanded more hospitals for the workers who dropped from beatings and overwork — Farben refused, citing the cost. The factory never produced a steady supply of rubber, but thanks to its gouging and the brutal treatment of its slaves, the camp was still profitable and returned large dividends to Farben’s investors.

Apologists for slavery sometimes claim that slavers are at least incentivized to maintain the health of their captive workforce. This was definitely not true of Farben. Monowitz slaves died on average after three months in the camp. And Farben’s subsidiary, Degesch, made the special Zyklon B formulation used in Auschwitz’s gas chambers.

Tkacik’s point is that the Nazis killed for ideology and were unimaginably cruel. Farben killed for money — and they were even worse. The banality of evil gets even more banal when it’s done in service to maximizing shareholder value.

As Farben historian Joseph Borkin wrote, the company “reduced slave labor to a consumable raw material, a human ore from which the mineral of life was systematically extracted”:

https://www.scribd.com/document/517797736/The-Crime-and-Punishment-of-I-G-Farben

Farben’s connection to the Nazis was a the subject of Germany’s Master Plan: The Story of Industrial Offensive, a 1943 bestseller by Borkin, who was also an antitrust lawyer. It described how Farben had manipulated global commodities markets in order to create shortages that “guaranteed Hitler’s early victories.”

Master Plan became a rallying point in the movement to shatter corporate power. But large US firms like Dow Chemical and Standard Oil waged war on the book, demanding that it be retracted. Borkin was forced into resignation and obscurity in 1945.

Meanwhile, in Nuremberg, 24 Farben executives were tried for their war crimes, and they cited their obligations to their shareholders in their defense. All but five were acquitted on this basis.

Seen in that light, the plunderers of today’s PE firms are part of a long and dishonorable tradition, one that puts profit ahead of every other priority or consideration. It’s a defense that wowed the judges at Nuremberg, so should we be surprised that it still plays in 2023?

Tkacik is frustrated that neither of these books have much to offer by way of solutions, but she understands why that would be. After all, if we can’t even close the carried interest tax loophole, how can we hope to do anything meaningful?

“Carried interest” comes up in every election cycle. Most of us assume it has something to do with “interest payments,” but that’s not true. The carried interest loophole relates to the “interest” that 16th-century sea captains had in their cargo. It’s a 600-year-old tax loophole that private equity bosses use to pay little or no tax on their billions. The fact that it’s still on the books tells you everything you need to know about whether our political class wants to do anything about PE’s plundering.

Notwithstanding Tkacik’s (entirely justified) skepticism of the weaksauce remedies proposed in these books, there is some hope of meaningful action. Private equity’s rollups are only possible because they skate under the $101m threshold for merger scrutiny. However, there is good — but unenforced — law that allows antitrust enforcers to block these mergers. This is the “incipiency standard” — Sec 7 of the Clayton Act — the idea that a relatively small merger might not be big enough to trigger enforcement action on its own, but regulators can still act to block it if it creates an incipient monopoly.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

The US has a new crop of aggressive — fearless — top antitrust enforcers and they’ve been systematically reviving these old laws to go after monopolies.

That’s long overdue. Markets are machines for eroding our moral values: “In comparison to non-market decisions, moral standards are significantly lower if people participate in markets.”

https://web.archive.org/web/20130607154129/https://www.uni-bonn.de/Press-releases/markets-erode-moral-values

The crimes that monsters commit in the name of ideology pale in comparison to the crimes the wealthy commit for money.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farbenizers

[Image ID: An overgrown graveyard, rendered in silver nitrate monochrome. A green-tinted businessman  with a moneybag in place of a head looms up from behind a gravestone. The right side of the image is spattered in blood.]

[liberalsarecool]

When you elect Republicans, you 100% get corruption.

Politicians, judges, Presidents.

All the Right Wing institutions support the corruption: Federalist Society, RNC, FOX, Heritage Foundation, Chamber of Commerce, Koch Brothers.

The evidence is manifest.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[Fox News is Private, Pro-GOP US Media]

"I welcome the U.S. and coalition operations against the Iran-backed Houthi terrorists responsible for violently disrupting international commerce in the Red Sea and attacking American vessels," Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., said in a statement. "President Biden’s decision to use military force against these Iranian proxies is overdue."

"I am hopeful these operations mark an enduring shift in the Biden Administration’s approach to Iran and its proxies. To restore deterrence and change Iran’s calculus, Iranian leaders themselves must believe that they will pay a meaningful price unless they abandon their worldwide campaign of terror," he added.

House Foreign Affairs Committee Chair Mike McCaul, R-Texas, who said he was meeting with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff when the strikes were called, also praised the actions. He also called on Biden to restore the Houthis' terror designation.

"I’m pleased the president, in coordination with our allies, finally took action against the Iran-backed Houthis following weeks of instability in the Red Sea. Tonight, with these strikes, we are beginning to restore deterrence. The administration must acknowledge it was a mistake to rescind the Houthis designation as a Foreign Terrorist Organization, and re-list them immediately," he said.

Sen. Roger Wicker, R-Miss., the top Republican on the Senate Armed Services Committee, similarly called the action "overdue" and accused the Biden administration of contributing to the increasingly hostile situation in the Red Sea, but said the strikes were "a good first step toward restoring deterrence in the Red Sea."[...]

["]It is important that we follow this action in close consultation with our Saudi partners to ensure they are with us as the situation develops," Wicker said.[...]

Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., an ally of former President Trump's, said he was "very supportive of the Biden Administration’s decision to strike Houthi rebels who have been harassing international shipping and trying to attack Israeli and American interests."[...]

Even rank-and-file Republicans have been issuing cautious and rare praise for the move. Rep. John James, R-Mich., a military combat veteran who served in Iraq, told Fox News Digital, "The Houthis are a terrorist organization. They have been striking at U.S. military personnel since late last year and must be destroyed."[...]

"While I support these targeted, proportional military strikes, I call on the Biden Administration to continue its diplomatic efforts to avoid escalation to a broader regional war and continue to engage Congress on the details of its strategy and legal basis as required by law," Rep. Gregory Meeks, D-N.Y., the top Democrat on the House Foreign Affairs Committee, said.

11 Jan 24

[triscribeaucollection]

Daughter

(/SLAMS a new Time Traveler General Leia fic on the table for Whumptober)

My second cousin, once removed.

That was how Padmé introduced her, to fellow Senators, to Jedi and clone troopers, even to Palpatine himself, mere hours before his dramatic death. In the chaos that followed, very few eyes gave the matronly woman at Padmé’s side so much as a second glance.

Their mistake.

“We’ve received word from Onderon,” Sabé called out, on the other side of the sitting room. “Steela Gerrera and Lux Bonteri confirmed their attendance at the peace talks.”

Padmé hummed, flicking through her list of accepted invitations, refusals, and undecided systems who could potentially be swayed one way or the other. With the losses of Grievous, Dooku, and now the puppetmaster Sidious, the Confederacy had fairly quickly fallen apart; the Banking Clan, Commerce Guild, Techno Union and others only able to hold off from profit-driven in-fighting for so long. With the facade of their ‘dedication’ to the cause collapsing in upon itself, more and more Separatist worlds were deciding they would, perhaps, like to come back to a Republic eagerly tearing itself free of corruptive influence.

Nearly two hundred Senators and lesser politicians had already been ousted from their positions on charges of accepting bribes, engaging in fraud, and colluding to grant more extravagant emergency powers to the Chancellor.

Padmé, her handmaidens, and their unexpected savior remained hard at work to ensure the continued momentum of their successes.

At least until a chirp upon her comlink indicated the arrival of a guest.

“No need,” Padmé told the others as she stood, halting a shuffle to hide incriminating datapads out of sight beneath blankets and within bags of personal hygiene items. “It’s only Bail and Fox.”

Sabé, Dormé and the rest relaxed, returning to their tasks. Only the oldest woman in the room remained tense, sharp gaze following Padmé while she hurried to the main door.

As one of the strongest candidates for Chancellor, Bail needed to remain under armed protection at all times. Fortunately, dressing inconspicuously and being accompanied by an aggrieved Commander Fox counted - at least as far as Bail himself was concerned. Fox, on the other hand, began grumbling under his breath the moment they cleared Padmé’s external security and entered the apartment foyer. “Can’t wait until morning, or a proper escort, no, he needs to come visit now in an unarmored speeder-”

“I’m afraid I’ll need to donate quite a few cartons of pastries to the Guard offices tomorrow,” Bail murmured, smiling even as he slipped off his dark cloak. “And possibly a new caf machine.”

“Three caf machines,” Fox huffed. “The shinies keep trying to experiment every time you send another one.” He rolled his eyes quite dramatically, after pulling off his helmet.

A year before, opening up and airing his annoyance so clearly in front of non-clones would have been unthinkable for the commander. It delighted Padmé each and every time she was allowed to bear witness to the easing of that wall, as well as its latest, near total collapse; the removal of whatever influence Sidious was exuding over the Coruscant Guard seemed to have done wonders for lifting a weight off Fox’s shoulders, and his inhibitions at the same time.

Which wasn’t to say the man didn’t still perform his job admirably. A hint of sound drew his eyes instantly towards the doorway to the living room, fingers twitching towards holsters before they went still.

“Leia,” Padmé said, even before turning around. “May I present Guard Commander Fox? And Bail you know, of course.”

“Of course,” the woman replied, voice dry, one brow raised ever so slightly. “Commander. Senator.”

Fox let out a soft grunt, flicking his gaze back and forth between the two women. “...resemblance is definitely stronger, when you two aren’t in uniform.”

‘Dressed up’, others might say, but Padmé felt the word uniform had the right of it, when she needed to step into the role of Naboo’s representative and carry the expected image thereof. Leia, for her part, had spent most of the past several days in a much less eye-catching series of dark grey and blue outfits: just elaborate enough to pass muster as Padmé’s relation and assistant, with plenty of concealed pockets for weaponry, but otherwise quite plain. With their hair hanging loose and both in practical sleepwear, however, Fox certainly had the right of it.

They looked like mother and daughter.

Only, in reverse of the actual family tree.

“I realize this may be futile, considering whom I’m asking,” Padmé murmured, looking at the woman who would have been her child in another life. “But would you two consider helping me convince her to take a break before she burns out?” Despite her gentle tone, the words caused annoyance to flicker across Leia’s face, and something in how she tipped her chin- adjusted her stance- reminded Padmé viscerally of Anakin.

From battlefield to Separatist space to Coruscant, Leia had maintained a whirlwind of activity, removing major players from the board and only briefing pausing to actually introduce herself to others. In the week since Padmé met her, she didn’t think Leia had taken more than four or five hours rest each night, too focused on assassinating Palpatine and setting the rest of their political purge in motion. Even since successfully killing the Sith, she’d remained intent on continuing to work, to restore the Republic before it could finish falling apart.

Fox, who substituted spite for sleep and drank at least six cups of caf per day, only snorted.

Bail proved more useful.

The tall man stepped forward, reaching, and like a planet drawn to its sun, Leia came closer as well to grasp his hands. “However the election results turn out, I will be returning to Alderaan for a few days afterward. Would you consider accompanying me?”

Leia froze. It took a long moment for her jaw to flex, for the question to creep out, “Are you- certain?”

“I’ve already sent a coded message to inform Breha about you,” Bail answered, equally quiet. “She’d like to speak in person, whenever you have time for a call.”

Motion rippled through the woman, too large for a tremble, too subdued for a shudder. Her eyes darted towards Padmé, who smiled. “The console in my chamber is triple-encrypted. No one will interrupt you.”

Several more seconds passed, before Leia jerked her head in a nod. She held herself so rigidly, so constantly, a general poised over her battlefield holotable, never ceasing in her planning and commands and constant self-control. For an instant, though- for an instant, holding onto Bail’s open hands and sagging ever so slightly, Padmé saw instead a girl who’d lost too much, too fast, and desperately hoped to get even some small measure of it back.

When the two Organa senators went to place their call, Fox let out a deep breath and sagged in place himself. “Alright. Maybe that was worth coming out here in the middle of the night.”

Padmé hid a grin, threading her arm around his and carefully towing the commander along to join her handmaidens. “I wonder, if you stay involved with Bail and Breha, whether or not Leia will agree to come intimidate your shinies out of experimenting with the caf machines?”

“Ha.”

[darkmaga-returns]

10 shocking stories the media buried today.

The Vigilant Fox

Nov 13, 2024

#10 - Tucker Carlson calls for an IMMEDIATE repeal of the 1986 Vaccine Injury Act.

This would strip Big Pharma of its liability shield, making them accountable for injuries caused by their products.

In fact, Carlson called the vaccine enterprise, particularly the COVID vaccine, a “scam.” Here’s why:

1. “You convince politicians to force the population to buy your product.”

2. “Anyone who complains gets fired.”

3. “You can’t be sued.”

“How is it that there’s this one category that’s exempt from the risk [lawsuits] that all the rest of us who are involved in any kind of business face every single day?” Carlson asked.

“I have liability insurance on my house in case the UPS guy slips delivering a package from Amazon. But somehow, Albert Bourla [CEO of Pfizer] and all the other creepy, creepy billionaires who run these disgusting pharma companies are in no danger of being sued because their corrupt pals in Congress in 1986 gave them blanket immunity? Let’s tear that down immediately,” Carlson urged.

To the argument that vaccines “can’t compete” without blanket immunity, Carlson countered, “Well, why don’t you just make a safer vaccine then? How’s that sound? Why don’t you face the same risk [lawsuits] that every other person who conducts any other kind of commerce or lives in this country faces every single day?”

He demanded, “Let’s see the numbers right now,” highlighting that the government has access to vaccine data that it’s hiding from the public.

“If somehow you’re being prevented from knowing, then you can be absolutely certain that crimes are being committed,” Carlson concluded, “because why else would they be hiding it from you?”

[coven-of-genesis]

Italian folk magic - animal correspondences & symbolic meanings

In Italian spirituality and folklore, there are various animal correspondences and symbolic meanings. Here are a few examples:

The wolf is a common symbol in Italian folklore and is often associated with strength, cunning, and loyalty. In some traditions, the wolf is also seen as a protective spirit and a guide through the wilderness.

The snake is associated with both positive and negative symbolism in Italian spirituality. On one hand, the snake can represent wisdom, transformation, and healing. On the other hand, it can also represent deception, danger, and evil.

The fox is often seen as a trickster figure in Italian folklore and is associated with cleverness, adaptability, and quick thinking. In some traditions, the fox is also associated with the god Mercury and represents communication and commerce.

The owl is associated with wisdom, intuition, and the mysteries of the night. In some Italian traditions, the owl is also seen as a symbol of death and the afterlife.

The bear is a symbol of strength, courage, and protection. In some traditions, it is also associated with the goddess Diana and represents fertility and the power of the natural world.

The horse is associated with freedom, power, and nobility. In some traditions, it is also associated with the goddess Epona and represents fertility, abundance, and the protection of travelers.

The bee is a symbol of hard work, community, and the sweetness of life. In some Italian traditions, it is also associated with the goddess Venus and represents love and beauty.

The cat is associated with independence, mystery, and intuition. In some traditions, it is also associated with the goddess Bastet and represents protection, fertility, and the power of the feminine.

The boar is a symbol of courage, tenacity, and strength. In some traditions, it is also associated with the god Mars and represents protection, fertility, and the power of the warrior.

The rooster is associated with vigilance, courage, and the dawn. In some Italian traditions, it is also associated with the god Apollo and represents prophecy, music, and the power of the sun.

[rebootgrimm]

Brands that are Pro-Israel under cut!!! Boycott them!!

Accenture

AccuWeather

ActionIQ

Ahava

AirBnB

Alaska Air

AllianceBernstein

Allianz

Amazon

Amdocs

American Airlines

American Eagle

American Wire Group

Amwell

Apollo

Apple

Aramis

ArentFox Schiff

Ariel

Atlassian

Authentic Brands

Aveda

Avery Dennison

Axel Springer

Bain & Company

Bank of America

Bank of New York Mellon

Baskin Robins

Bath & Body Works

Baupost Group

Bayer

BBC

BCG

Bioventus

Blackrock

Blackstone

Black & Decker

Bloomberg

Bobby Brown Essentials

Boeing

Bosch

Bounty

Bristol Myers Squibb

Bumble and Bumble

Burger King

Cadbury

Caltex

Capri Holdings

CareTrust REIT

Caterpillar

CeraVe

Chanel

Chapman and Cutler

Cisco

Citadel

Citi

Clinique

CNN

Coca-Cola

Comcast

Condé Nast

CV Starr

Cytokinetics

Davis Polk

Dell

Deloitte

Delta Air Lines

Deutsche Bank

Deutsche Telekom

DeviantArt

DHL Group

Disney

Donna Karan Cosmetics

Douglas Elliman

Dove

Edelman

Eli Lily

Endeavor

Energizer

Estée Lauder

EY

Facebook

Fanta

Fiverr

Forbes

Ford

Fox Corp

Gamida Cell

GE

General Catalyst

General Motors

Genesys

Gillette

Goldman Sachs

Google

Hardee’s

Hearst

Henkel

Herbert Smith Freehills

Hewlett Packard

Hewlett Packard Enterprise

HP

HubSpot

Huntsman Corp

H&M

IBM

Insight Partners

Instacart

Instagram

Intel

Intermedia

Interpublic Group

Intuit

Jane

Jazwares

Jefferies

Johnson & Johnson

Jo Malone

JP Morgan

Kate Spade

Kenon Holdings

Kit-Kat

KKR

KPMG

La Mer

Lays

Lego

Lemonade

Levi Strauss

Lifebouy

LinkedIn

Lipton

Live Nation Entertainment

L’Oréal

MAC Cosmetics

Maggie

Major League Baseball

Mango

Manpower Group

Mars

Marsh & McLennan

Mastercard

Mattel

McDermont Will & Emery

McDonalds

McKinsey

Merck

Merck KGaA

Meta

MeUndies

Microsoft

Milo

Morgan Lewis

Morgan Stanley

Motorola

MRC

Nasdaq

National Basketball association (NBA)

National Geographic

NeoGames

Nescafé

Nestle (and anything that stems from them)

Netflix

NFL

Nido

Nike

Nokia

Novartis

Nvidia

Okta

Omnicon Group

Oracle

Oreo

Origins Natural Resources

Palantir

Pampers (Procter & Gamble)

Paramount Global

Paul Weiss

PepsiCo

Perishing Square

Pfizer

Philips (66)

Pillsbury

Prescriptives

Progressive

Pringles

Puma

PVH

Raytheon

Regeneration Pharmaceuticals

Related Companies

Revlon

Ribbon

Riskified

Sabra Hummus

Sales Force

SAP

Sequoia Capital

Seyfarth Shaw

Siemens

Signal

Simons Property Group

Skydance

Snickers

SodaStream

Sony

SoulCycle

Sprite

StagWell

Starbucks

State Street

Stila Cosmetics

Subway

Sweet Green

Synovus

Tang

Tesla

Teva Pharmaceuticals

Thermo Fisher Scientific

Tieks by Gavreli

Tide

Toblerone

Tommy Hilfiger Toiletries

Tory Burch

Tribe Hummus

Troutman Pepper

Twin

UBS

United Airlines

Universal Music Group

UPS

UpWork

US Chamber of Commerce

Verizon

Victoria’s Secret 

Vim

Volkswagon

Volvo

Vontier

Wall’s

Walmart

Warby Parker

Warner Brothers Discovery

Wells Fargo

WhatsApp

Winston & Strawn

WiX

WWE

Zara

Zoff Davis

Zoom

[odinsblog]

No one loves Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman more than America’s elite. In recent years, we’ve seen leaders, investors, and celebrities hold out a Saudi exception to human rights in the service of a blurry concept of national interests that requires the U.S. to constantly compromise its values in service of an autocrat. And so MBS has been welcomed back into the establishment fold, and he won over Washington. And now he’s taking a victory lap.

When Saudi Arabia convened a 2018 summit in Riyadh, businesspeople shielded their name tags from view, sheepish about seeking MBS’s money just days after journalist Jamal Khashoggi’s murder. But the stigma has apparently worn off, and big names in finance, tech, media, and entertainment showed up at the Miami edition of Davos in the Desert.

The entire conceit of the conference is that Saudi Arabia can be abstracted from MBS, who is hardly ever mentioned yet remains the unspoken force behind the events. The host, the Future Investment Initiative Institute, a mouthful, is essentially the crown prince’s personal think tank. Session after session offered platitudes and ruminations on the least controversial ideas ever—AI is going to change the world! Climate is important! Sports bring people together! The two-day gathering was titled “On the Edge of a New Frontier,” itself a sort of redundant name. (Isn’t a frontier an edge?)

Yasir Al-Rumayyan, governor of a major sovereign wealth fund that’s currently under Senate investigation, led the proceedings. The Public Investment Fund that Al-Rumayyan runs is the conference’s founding partner and powers its lavish events. That Al-Rumayyan has $70 billion in annual investments to dole out is enough to draw out financial titans, curious entrepreneurs, and former Trump officials.

Jared Kushner, who had grown a beard, was talking about his theory of investing, without noting that MBS’s sovereign wealth funds had reportedly contributed $2 billion to his Affinity Partners. Steve Mnuchin, who similarly snared $1 billion of Saudi funds for his Liberty Strategic Capital, wore a suit and dress sneakers and talked about Israel as a tech hub. Mike Pompeo, in a tie, said that U.S. leadership in the world requires a “stability model” that involves working with “like-minded nations,” though “they’re not all going to be democracies.” Little wonder he rushed U.S. arms to Saudi Arabia as secretary of state as part of an end run around Congress.

Doing business with Saudi Arabia has become so normalized that the CEOs of major corporations and investment firms showed up in droves. There was Accenture’s Julie Sweet, Blackstone’s Stephen Schwarzman, and Thiel Capital’s Jack Selby. David Rubenstein—the billionaire who has played host to President Joe Biden at his Nantucket estate—spoke alongside his daughter Gabrielle. (This year, the Biden administration didn’t send an emissary, but the deputy commerce secretary, Donald Graves, attended in 2021.)

Journalists have kept a distance from Saudi Arabia after the dismemberment of Washington Post columnist Khashoggi, but in Miami the moderators included CNN’s Bianna Golodryga, Fox’s Maria Bartiromo, Bloomberg’s Manus Cranny, and The Wall Street Journal’s Gerard Baker.

MBS has especially used boldfaced names to rehabilitate his standing post-Khashoggi, his crackdown on women activists, and the destructive Yemen war. In Miami, there was a fireside chat with failed Senate candidate Dr. Oz. “Saudi Arabia is, I think, doing some wise investing and shifting mindsets by trying to leapfrog, in some cases, where the West is,” Oz said.

For Gwyneth Paltrow, it was just another fun public event. She spoke about how Goop had “built meaning” for its fans, in conversation with entrepreneur Moj Mahdara, a former adviser to Hillary Clinton. It was particularly incongruous when Paltrow discussed bringing more women to the cap table to fight the patriarchy.

Rob Lowe had some advice for Riyadh’s efforts to break into Hollywood and create its own film industry. “My view is there’s no reason that Saudi shouldn’t be the leader in IP in the same way they’re attempting to be the leader in sports and everything else,” Lowe said. “You need to have someone who can communicate: Why Saudi, why now.”

For all of the glitzy stage management and slick social media branding, at many moments there were fewer than 50 people watching the livestream on YouTube. But what mattered more were the opinion leaders, financiers, and tycoons in the room.

Big Tech was there, too, with Google’s Caroline Yap and Dell’s Michael Dell. Nothing was quite as obsequious as last year’s gathering in Miami when Adam Neumann, Marc Andreessen, and Ben Horowitz—all beneficiaries of Saudi Arabia’s financial largesse—gushed about how MBS is like a “founder,” except “you call him, ‘His Royal Highness.’”

(continue reading)

[universe-gods-and-goddesses]

Grandchildren pt.2

ryan= Weapon Serpent

Toshi= Glory Fox

Jun= Secret Fox

Yoshio= Commerce Fox

Satoshi= Youth Fox

Ayaka= Mercy Fox

Takara= Genocide Fox

Akira= Spirit Fox

Minori= Misfortunate Fox

Nadia= Rainbow Angel

Khonis= Blizzard King

[beardedmrbean]

The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) didn't report a staggering $7 billion in award-level obligations and outlays during fiscal year 2022, according to an inspector general audit released this week.

The EPA Office of the Inspector General (OIG) determined that the agency underreported its award-level outlays by $5.8 billion, or 99.9%, and its award-level obligations by $1.2 billion, or 12.9% during FY22, the period between October 2021 and September 2022. The agency further failed to report any of its Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act outlays and under-reported its coronavirus pandemic-related outlays.

"The lack of complete and accurate reporting also led to taxpayers being initially misinformed about the EPA’s spending, and policy-makers who relied on the data may not have been able to effectively track federal spending," the OIG report concluded.

In response to the audit, House Energy and Commerce Committee Chair Cathy McMorris Rodgers, R-Wash., blasted the EPA and called for increased transparency into its activities. 

"It’s outrageous and unacceptable that the EPA cannot keep track of its spending or inform Congress — and the American people — of how it is using taxpayer dollars," McMorris Rodgers said in a statement Thursday. "This eye-opening report only further highlights the need for more transparency at the EPA."

"It also raises questions about whether the agency is incapable of managing its record-high budget or if the agency is attempting to hide the amount of taxpayer dollars it is spending to advance the administration’s radical rush-to-green agenda," she added. "The Energy and Commerce Committee will continue holding this administration accountable for its actions that are driving up costs across the board and hurting Americans."

MICHIGAN DEMOCRAT SIGNED NDA INVOLVING CCP-TIED COMPANY, DOCUMENTS SHOW, CONTRADICTING HER PAST CLAIMS

The EPA ultimately corrected its FY22 figures in May 2023 as a result of the OIG audit while making configuration changes a month later. Overall, the inspector general made five recommendations which it said the agency agreed to make.

The report, meanwhile, comes as the EPA both manages a massive green energy fund and continues to request a larger budget. The Inflation Reduction, Democrats' massive climate and tax bill passed in 2022, created the $27 billion Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund, which in turn establishes a national green bank to fund green projects nationwide.

HOUSE REPUBLICANS OPEN PROBE INTO BIDEN ADMIN FOR OPENING PUBLIC LANDS TO FOREIGN OWNERSHIP

And the White House is requesting that Congress approve a FY24 EPA budget of more than $12 billion, a record level. Republicans have aimed to reduce the EPA budget to about $6 billion, which would be the agency's smallest budget since the early 1990s.

"The Biden administration is using EPA as a pass through for taxpayer dollars to fund left-wing groups that aim to get Democrats elected, not improve the environment," Mandy Gunasekara, a Heritage Foundation visiting fellow who served as the EPA's chief of staff during the Trump administration, told Fox News Digital.

"A failure to report $7 billion is absurd and unacceptable, but also symbolic of how Team Biden operates: prioritizing their political goals over the needs of the American people," she continued. "I’m glad Chair Rodgers is monitoring this and hope the committee brings forth the agency’s Chief Financial Officer to account for this serious oversight."

The EPA did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince + Versailles for your fandom fest!

Congrats on your milestones!

(Versailles was such an interesting choice! A different palace? I got it in my head to write a historical AU, so you get 1785 Versailles and rival ambassadors to the court of France. I hope you enjoy!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Lessons in Foreign Diplomacy

(firstprince, 5.3k, E; read it below or on AO3)

It had only made sense when Congress had sent him to Paris in 1784 to negotiate a large number of treaties with various European states. Alex is damned good at negotiating, and getting a good outcome for these agreements was vital to the continued success of their new republic. What he was not as pleased about is the missive from Washington a few months later assigning him to succeed Franklin as Minister to the Court of Versailles. Don’t get him wrong, living in Paris is— well, it’s pretty great, actually, but he’d still rather be back in Philadelphia, helping govern the country he worked so hard to liberate. Alex knows he’s helping shape U.S. foreign policy, and that’s important too. Much of the work he does is extremely rewarding.

What he despises are the times when the King and Queen decree that he come to the palace at Versailles for some inane weekend of fancy balls and dinner parties and lawn games. He daren’t refuse, though; Louis’ support in the war was instrumental, so Alex has to go pretend to be delighted no matter how distasteful the trappings of the monarchy are to him. The gatherings never fail to make him feel utterly out of place, full of the kind of European nobility and extravagantly wealthy people who look at him as some kind of shabby, poor, charity case from across the sea.

Then there’s the British Ambassador, Henry Fox-Mountchristen. He’s new in the position, just like Alex is, and a Duke of somewhere or other—Alex tries not to pay attention, honestly. All he knows is that any representative of the British government is automatically his enemy. The fact that he’s a noble on top of it is just icing on the cake. Alex had met him first at one of these fancy parties; he’d made no attempt at hiding his disdain, Henry had looked down his nose at him, and they’ve loathed each other ever since.

Annoyingly, he’s very good at his job. In the year that Alex has been working out trade deals and new commerce treaties, Henry has been there representing British interests in the negotiations, and is usually the only one in the room who can go toe-to-toe with Alex. He is constantly getting in the way forcing Alex to settle for less than he’d hoped for (except for that one time when he actually helped Alex negotiate a better deal with Portugal by tying their terms to Great Britain’s, which— Alex still doesn’t know what that was about).

Even more annoyingly, he’s hotter than the fucking sun.

It’s kind of ironic that, in a lavish, opulent court full of lithe young women in low-cut gowns, the one person Alex can’t tear his eyes away from is the Brit wearing frocks that are about as boring as you could get away with at Versailles. It’s those fucking cheekbones, and those piercing blue eyes, and those full lips that Alex kind of wants to bite. Alex’s frustrating desire—as shocking as it had been to recognize—absolutely does nothing to soften his feelings toward the other man; if anything, it just stokes his anger. Why the fuck did it have to be him?

Tonight, Alex is at one such fancy party, drinking too much champagne, dancing with beautiful women, and glaring at Henry from across the room. He is, as always, wearing a stupid powdered wig that makes him look absurdly pale (Alex refuses to wear one, of course, and his appearance never fails to cause a stir even when he’s wearing ridiculously ornate silk coats and waistcoats, though he suspects it’s just as likely because of how brown he is). Henry’s dark blue coat, finely embroidered with silver thread, is downright subdued in comparison to the flash surrounding him, but every time he moves the embroidery catches the light and he shines.

It is so irritating.

Alex watches as he stands off in a corner, drinking champagne and blatantly ignoring the obvious flirting of many hopeful ladies looking for a dance. It’s absurd, really—not that he draws that much attention, because just look at him, but that after nearly a year of this he still hasn’t managed to get the stick out of his ass. Alex despises everything these parties represent, and he still manages to attend them without acting like he’d prefer to be put in the stocks.

Drinking plenty of the free-flowing wine and cognac usually helps with that.

He’s not even really aware of his feet carrying him over to Henry until he’s standing next to the other man. Alex doesn’t even look at him, instead staring out at the ballroom floor where the guests are dancing increasingly haphazard waltzes as the night stretches on, though he sees Henry tense out of the corner of his eye.

“So is there something wrong with your feet, or do you think you’re just better than everyone?” Alex asks eventually.

Alex hasn’t turned his attention away from the room, but Henry’s face snaps toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

“They say you’re the most eligible bachelor here, and you haven’t danced with anyone tonight.”

“Watching me that closely, are you?” Henry returns dryly. Alex has to bite down on a protest that he wasn’t because, well. Trying to deny it would just make him sound like a petulant child. When he doesn’t respond, Henry continues, “None of them interest me, and I wouldn’t wish to… lead anyone on.”

Alex huffs out a scornful laugh as he finally turns to face him. “So you are that conceited, got it.”

“That is not—”

“You just said that no one in this room interests you,” Alex interrupts before he can finish. “You do understand how that sounds, right?”

Henry stares at him for a long moment, a piercing look in his eye that Alex wants to turn away from. He doesn’t, though.

“I didn’t say that no one here interested me,” Henry says, his voice a low rumble, barely audible above the din of the party, that makes something flare hot and bright low in Alex’s gut.

“I— what?”

“You know, I think I’ve rather had enough festivities for the evening,” Henry announces in his usual clipped cadence. “Good night, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Do try not to cause another international incident tonight?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Alex spits automatically. That was one time, and it wasn’t an incident anyway. Marie Antoinette thought it was fucking hilarious.

Alex knows for sure that Henry’s had plenty to drink himself when the corner of his mouth twitches and he quips, “Another time, perhaps,” before he strides off, leaving Alex gaping as he tries desperately not to imagine exactly what that would entail.

~~~~~

Despite the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed the previous night and how late he was up, Alex wakes fairly early the next morning. He knows from experience that the rest of the court won’t show their faces until much later today, which means he can enjoy the solitude of the empty gardens as he strolls along finely graveled paths between carefully manicured hedges and sculpted trees. He lets his feet carry him aimlessly, trusting that he’ll be able to find his way back eventually and not really caring that much if he ends up late to some stupid event.

He’s certainly not expecting to encounter anyone else out here.

The quiet crunch of footsteps on gravel alerts him to the other person’s presence somewhere beyond the next turn. He could walk the other way, keep to himself and avoid the intruder on his thoughts, but he doesn’t. Alex keeps moving forward as the other footsteps approach him, until they meet at the juncture of two hedges, a statue of a cherub marking the intersection.

Henry.

He’s wearing a light blue coat with almost no decorative embroidery, which is subdued and boring and also makes his eyes shine with the pale, icy, breathtaking blue of the sky in midwinter. Without a wig, his golden blond hair looks absurdly soft as it flops over his forehead, and Alex catches himself wondering what it would feel like between his fingers before quickly closing the door on that. Jesus fuck, he’s got to stop thinking these things.

Especially since it’s clear Henry doesn’t care for his company either. The corner of his mouth pinches and his posture goes rigid, as it always does when he sees Alex, and for a moment Alex thinks he’s going to just keep walking. He does stop, though, inclining his head minutely in stiff politeness.

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”

“Ambassador,” Alex returns, because he refuses to use Your Grace. “I hadn’t expected to meet anyone else out in the gardens this morning.”

“Yes, well,” Henry says in an odd tone. His eyes skitter away across the landscape and he tips his chin slightly. “Only part of this bloody place that’s tolerable, aren’t they?”

Alex blinks several times, sure he didn’t just hear that. Henry’s member of the aristocracy, born to this kind of bullshit; Alex never really considered that Henry might detest the opulence and artifice as much as he does, even though, looking back, it should have been obvious from the way he comports himself.

He’s not entirely sure what to do with this information.

“I’m glad to see you upright after your indulgences last night,” Henry adds, as if to prove he’s still a prick.

Alex opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get anything out, a rumble of thunder cuts him off. The clouds have been thick all morning, but now they’re downright menacing, heavy and dark and foreboding of a storm. The kind of clouds that impress upon you a desire to get under cover with some speed; too bad they’re deep in the middle of the garden and Alex has no clue where the nearest shelter is. Hardly a moment later, a few fat drops of rain splatter down onto his shoulders and head. Henry turns a frown up at the clouds as dark spots appear on his pale coat.

And then the sky fucking opens.

It’s a pounding, torrential rain, the kind that soaks through layers of fine wool and linen within minutes so that you lose all hope of staying even a little dry. Still, one hardly wants to stand out in it. Alex spins aimlessly, wondering which way to run, when he feels a tug on his elbow and Henry is calling, “this way,” over the din.

Apparently, blindly following his bitter enemy is a thing he’s doing now.

They run, even though they’re both already drenched, and before too long they emerge from the woods next to a small octagonal building overlooking a lake—the Belvedere, sometimes used as a lounge when the Queen entertains guests out at Trianon. At the moment it’s empty save for a collection of couches, and they stumble in, dripping liberally all over the marble floors. Alex wastes no time before stripping off his coat and tossing it onto one of the lounges, silk pillows be damned, and he’s got his waistcoat halfway off when he hears a strangled noise from behind him.

“What are you doing?” Henry asks, a scandalized expression on his face. It’s irritating that even now, when he kind of looks like a wet dog with his blond hair plastered against his head, he’s still breathtakingly beautiful.

“Not particularly interested in standing around in soaking wet wool,” Alex huffs. At least if he gets his outer things off, his shirt might dry a bit while they wait out the storm. It’s not like he’s getting fucking naked.

Which is definitely not something he’s thinking about now.

“Apologies if I’m offending your delicate sensibilities, Your Majesty,” Alex sneers as he drapes his waistcoat over the back of the couch.

Henry’s cheeks have gone decidedly pink, and when Alex turns toward him fully, he looks away, crossing his arms over his chest and staring fixedly at the opposite wall. Outside, the rain continues to pour down, surrounding them with a dull hiss as it pounds on the roof and lashes against the windows.

“What is your grievance with me?” Henry asks eventually, sounding nothing so much as tired.

Alex stares at him. “Is that a joke? I’m American. Maybe you heard, we fought this whole war against you—”

“Not against me,” Henry interrupts firmly.

“Fine, your country. It makes no difference.”

“It bloody well does!” Henry snaps. He turns away again, pressing his lips into a thin line as he stares out of one of the windows. “Did you ever think to ask me what my views were on American independence, Mr. Claremont-Diaz?”

“What?”

“Of course not. You just assumed.”

“You’re a representative of the British government. Why wouldn’t I assume?” Alex thinks it’s a fair question. He knows Henry was a member of parliament before he became Ambassador. His family is exceedingly well-connected and highly placed in the government. It feels like a pretty fucking safe assumption.

Apparently not, though.

Henry gives him a withering look. “Oh, and I’m sure there was no dissension in the writing of your little Declaration, then?”

Alex bristles at ‘little Declaration’, but Henry unfortunately has a point. “Fine,” he grits out. “What’s your opinion on American independence, Ambassador?”

“I wasn’t the only one in Parliament who spoke against the prospect of an expensive and bloody war,” Henry says evenly, staring out the window again. “A few even genuinely believe in the principles of self-governance, as it turns out. We’ve had to be… cautious in expressing ourselves, of course. I happen to feel strongly that people should have a say in their own lives,” he adds, and somehow it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about government anymore. He lapses into silence, letting the sound of the rain fill up the space between them. Then the corner of his mouth tugs into a tiny smirk. “Thought we should have cut you lot loose ages ago, actually. Much more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Hey!” Alex exclaims, but it also shocks a laugh out of him. Which is… weird. He stares at Henry, trying to make all of this new information fit into a portrait he now realizes was startlingly incomplete. He thinks, a little distantly, that he kind of needs a whole new painting. “I’m sorry for assuming,” he says eventually. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re always a prick to me.”

“You hate me, Alex,” Henry says flatly, his mouth going tight again, and something inside Alex turns over at the use of his given name. “Am I supposed to merely smile through the insults?”

Alex can’t help but wince. He wraps his arms around his waist, which he blames on the chill and not the way he’s feeling a little too vulnerable at the moment. Spring’s warmth seems to have abandoned them today, and the cold stone of the Belvedere is doing nothing to help, nor is the way his damp shirt is clinging to his skin.

“I don’t hate you,” he admits quietly. He has a lot of conflicting feelings about Henry. Somehow hate has never been one of them. “I wanted to, but I don’t.”

“I’m not certain that’s better,” Henry says, an obvious wariness in his voice. 

Alex doesn’t really know what to say. He hugs his arms a little tighter around himself and shivers.

“For Christ’s sake, this is why you leave the wool on,” Henry huffs unexpectedly, and a moment later he’s crossing the room and grabbing Alex’s discarded coat. He stands right in front of Alex and reaches around him so that he can drape the coat over Alex’s back. “There,” he says as he tugs the fronts close by the lapels, then reaches up to smooth his hands across Alex’s shoulders.

It’s only then that Henry seems to notice their proximity, or the way he’s still holding onto Alex. Their eyes lock together, and a bolt of heat shoots down Alex’s spine that has nothing to do with the coat. A flush of pink blooms across Henry’s cheeks and his lips part slightly as he inhales, and then he starts pulling away, which is the very last thing Alex wants.

“Henry, wait,” he murmurs as one of his hands reaches out to snag the front of Henry’s coat almost of its own accord. Henry freezes. “Don’t… don’t go.”

Alex thinks of all the times he’s caught Henry staring at him with a look he couldn’t quite read. Of the way that Henry had said I didn’t say no one here interested me only last night. He looks searchingly up into his blue eyes now, dark and slaty in the low light, full of both trepidation and something like hunger.

“I can’t…” Henry starts, but his voice trails off. He lets himself be tugged in closer, his eyes dropping to Alex’s mouth. “We can’t,” he whispers.

“Fairly certain those aren’t words that are allowed in the Court of Versailles,” Alex quips softly.

He takes a step backward so that he’s leaning against the back of the couch, hoping that Henry will follow when Alex pulls him along. He doesn’t really want to think about the relief that surges through him when Henry does, nor how it feels when Henry lets Alex pull him so close that their hips are pressed together. One of his thighs slots between Alex’s, and Alex inhales sharply at the contact.

“Alex, please,” Henry murmurs tightly, his face tipped down toward Alex’s. Alex can’t tell if it’s please yes or please don’t.

“Shhh,” Alex hushes. He lets his grip go slack, but Henry doesn’t pull away. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Henry closes his eyes and lets out a shuddery exhale, then he sways forward until their foreheads meet. Their noses press together, and Alex breathes in deeply, filling his senses with Henry. Who turns out to smell like wet wool—which is admittedly not great—but also like the cologne he wears and also something that reminds him of the spring air. Alex nudges forward, tipping his head slightly, until finally Henry closes the narrow gap between their lips and presses their mouths together.

Alex had always thought that if he were to end up kissing Henry, it would be rough and rushed. A battle, as much as their verbal sparring matches had always been, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. He never once imagined it could be like this, soft and syrupy slow, a languid give and take. One of Henry’s hands is clutched almost possessively at the nape of Alex’s neck, the other curled carefully around his jaw, and he takes his time mapping out Alex’s mouth as the kiss gets deeper and more heated, like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

It’s a lot to take in, so Alex stops trying; he lets it wash over him, soaking into his bones as thoroughly as the rain had done. His chilled fingers move to Henry’s waistcoat, fumbling with the slippery buttons until he finally gets it open. He slides his hands underneath it, onto the dip of Henry’s waist, his hot skin searing through the thin linen shirt against Alex’s palm. Henry groans at the contact, his hips rocking forward against Alex’s, and the movement makes the depths of their mutual arousal all too clear.

Alex drops a hand to the front of Henry’s breeches and cups him through the wet fabric, which draws another ragged please from Henry’s throat as he presses into Alex’s palm. That one, at least, Alex is sure of. He flips them around so Henry’s pressed up against the back of the couch, then pulls back just enough to reach the buttons holding his fall-front breeches closed. Too many fucking buttons, actually, but he gets them undone, and then he’s tugging out the long tails of Henry’s shirt and dropping to his knees as he finally, finally gets a hand around Henry’s cock.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says without really meaning to, but it’s worth it for the way that it makes Henry shudder and tip his head back as he thrusts into Alex’s grip.

Henry’s knuckles are going white where his hands are tightly gripping the ornate scrollwork carved along the top of the couch, and Alex prises one off to bring it to his head instead. Henry’s fingers twine into his damp curls in a way that makes a hot jolt of arousal lance through Alex, and that’s new information he’s absolutely not going to think about later. Alex licks his lips in anticipation as he works his hand up and down the shaft of Henry’s cock, thumbing over the crown and grinning at Henry’s moan when he rubs at the sensitive spot on the underside.

“Have you ever—” Alex starts, though he can’t quite make himself say it. “With another man?”

Henry lets out a soft puff of laughter before he opens his eyes and looks down at him. “More than a few times.”

There’s something indescribably attractive about Henry’s confidence, in the idea that he’s experienced in something like this, but it does absolutely nothing for Alex’s nerves. He must not manage to keep them off his face, because the smirk on Henry’s lips softens.

“You haven’t,” he says. It’s not really a question. Alex just shakes his head, and Henry’s hand slides down to thumb tenderly along the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Alex says firmly. “I want you.” He swallows. Works his hand on Henry’s cock again just to see the way his eyelids flutter. “Want to feel you on my tongue. Want to taste you.”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry groans. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Not just yet,” Alex says, then wraps his lips around Henry’s cock and slowly sinks forward.

It takes him a moment to get used to it, the weight on his tongue, the taste of his skin, the stretch of his jaw muscles as he moves. He carefully catalogs Henry’s reactions, every gasp and moan and shiver as he swirls his tongue or twists his wrist around what he can’t quite take in his mouth. Henry slowly falls apart under his ministrations, and it’s so unbelievably arousing that Alex is aching in his own breeches, unsure if the curses spilling from Henry’s lips in his posh accent or the way he says that’s good, Alex is doing it for him more.

Then Henry’s fingers close more tightly around his curls as his gasps reach a crescendo, which Alex only later realizes might have been intended as a warning; at the time it just makes Alex moan and try to take him deeper, and then Henry is spilling onto his tongue with a breathless, delirious laugh.

Henry’s chest is still heaving when he hooks his fingers into the front of Alex’s shirt and drags him up into a searing kiss. It’s hard and deep, Henry licking into his mouth and biting down on his lower lip, and it’s all Alex can do not to whimper into it. He’s never had a kiss that felt this all-consuming, like he’s been ignited from the inside and he doesn’t even care if it burns through him and leaves nothing but ash.

He barely realizes what’s happening when Henry grabs his hips and pushes back, manhandling him over to some kind of chaise longue that he only becomes aware of when his calves hit the edge of it and he collapses backward onto the seat.

“Hey, so, uh,” he says as Henry climbs over top of him, a predatory glint in his eye that absolutely does not make Alex’s cock throb. “When you said you weren’t not interested in anyone at the party…”

“Was I talking about you?” Henry finishes, giving him a look like it’s a stupid question.

Look, Alex knew it was a stupid question before it finished leaving his mouth. Still.

“Well, I dunno, maybe you have a list or something.”

Henry stops inches from his lips and glares down at him. “No, you rebellious miscreant, it’s only ever been you,” he says, then kisses him so thoroughly that Alex might actually forget how to speak.

Which is probably the point.

~~~~~

They’re seated next to each other at dinner that evening, which is probably Marie Antoinette’s idea of a joke. A day ago, Alex would have been annoyed beyond belief. Now, though, he knows what Henry looks like as he slowly comes apart. Now he knows what Henry’s lush lips look like wrapped around his cock.

What a difference a few hours makes.

Henry is standing stiffly next to his chair when Alex saunters up, his face perfectly composed in rigid formality as he inclines his head. “Good evening, Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”

“Your Grace,” Alex returns, pitching his voice to convey just the right balance of insolence and provocation.

Something flashes in Henry’s eyes, probably meant as a warning, but also suggesting that he might enjoy hearing it in a very different context, and also that he’d really like to drag Alex off into the nearest cupboard and do terrible things to him. Alex certainly understands the impulse. It’s been less than six hours since the Belvedere, and Alex still wants him so intensely that it’s nearly a physical ache. His fingers itch to reach out and touch, to tug that stupid wig off his head, to press his thumb to the corner of Henry’s mouth. Fuck.

Instead, he puts on his politician smile and turns to greet the person sitting on his other side, who turns out to be some Spanish princess. She does not seem very impressed with this arrangement—typical for royalty, really—but warms a bit once she realizes she can speak Spanish to him rather than the obligatory French. Alex and Henry spend most of the dinner seemingly ignoring each other and talking to the other guests seated around them. Seemingly, because Alex actually uses the cover of the table to variously press his knee to Henry’s, or hook their ankles together, or slide a hand high up onto Henry’s thigh and squeeze. The latter he does when Henry’s attention is turned away, and it makes Henry choke on his wine and direct a vicious glare at him, which Alex marks down as a victory.

Sometime during the third course, they find themselves both at liberty when the rest of their dinner companions become thoroughly wrapped up in other conversations. Henry is quite clearly trying to ignore him, which Alex just as obviously cannot allow to stand.

“Did you mean it?” Alex asks, his voice low but casual, so as not to draw any attention from those around them.

“What?” Henry asks as he slants a look toward Alex.

“When you said maybe I could fuck you another time.”

Henry’s fork slips out of his grip and clatters to the plate, and several sets of eyes turn toward him. His eyes are wide as he stares at Alex in shock, but there’s also something undeniably heated in his gaze. “You are, without a doubt, the worst person I’ve ever met,” he says flatly, loud enough to be overheard.

Alex can’t quite suppress his grin. It draws a few titters of laughter and whispers from the surrounding guests, most of whom are well aware of Alex and Henry’s mutual enmity. When nothing further comes of it, though, they return to their conversations.

“So is that a no?” Alex asks eventually, still smirking.

Henry glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. “Come to my chambers tonight,” he says crisply, as if they were going to be meeting about policy, “and we shall discuss the matter further.”

~~~~~

They don’t truly revisit the conversation until much later, when Henry is splayed out naked on top of the silk bedding and Alex is two fingers deep inside him. Well, they did cover the obvious question, but:

“The worst person you ever met, huh?” Alex says, pressing the words against the inside of Henry’s thigh.

“Are you really bringing this up now,” Henry huffs, exasperated.

“I dunno,” Alex says. He twists his fingers to reach the spot he’s discovered that makes Henry gasp and tremble. It’s been an enlightening experience so far. “What you really think of me seems relevant.”

“I think,” Henry gets out tightly, “that you’re stubborn—”

Alex bites down on the tender skin at the crease of his hip.

“—opinionated—”

A slow lick up the length of his shaft.

“—arrogant—”

A hot breath, ghosting over the crown.

“—uncouth—”

Alex curls his fingers, and Henry whimpers as his spine arches up off the bed.

“—and if you don’t get inside me right now, I’m going to stonewall all of your treaty negotiations for the next month.”

Alex laughs softly as he withdraws his fingers and climbs up the bed, seeking out the oil to slick himself up. “Oh, well then, how could I refuse?” he returns, grinning at the look of desperation on Henry’s face when he teases the head of his cock at his rim. “You’ve got a real honeyed tongue there, sweetheart. Know how to make a boy feel special.”

Henry gets a hand behind his neck in an iron grip and drags him down into a kiss, digging his heels into the back of Alex’s thighs until Alex is sinking into the tight heat of his body. It’s a lot more intense than he thought it would be, and he makes an embarrassing punched-out sound at the sensation of Henry utterly surrounding him.

And that’s before Henry releases his neck, looks up at him with his face impossibly gorgeous and undone, and murmurs, “I also think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

It’s too much, like the first kiss in the Belvedere was too much; Alex knows how to handle the verbal sparring, the familiarity of traded insults, even in the middle of sex. He doesn’t know what to do with the strange twisting in his chest at Henry’s words, with the knot that’s lodged in his throat. They’re not— this isn’t—

He lets Henry pull him into another kiss, lets the give and take of their bodies quiet his spiraling thoughts, until there is only Henry’s hands in his hair, and the cut of his teeth against Alex’s lip, and the roll of their hips together in perfect, earth-shattering harmony.

~~~~~

Alex needs to go. He needs to get out of this bed, get dressed, and go to his own chambers. It’s not as though people stumbling out of others’ apartments is an unusual sight in the palace during one of these weekends, but if he were to be seen leaving Henry’s—

Well. The rumors wouldn’t stay quiet for long, of that he’s certain.

Instead he curls a little closer against Henry’s side, presses a kiss to his shoulder. That’s probably too much, too, but Henry just hums softly, a small, blissful smile curving his lips. Somehow, Alex thinks he’s even more beautiful in this moment than he’s ever been before.

“So,” Alex says eventually, “when we get back to Paris…”

They both live there, not even that far away from each other. They could…

He doesn’t know what. Have some kind of sordid, illicit affair? What would that mean for their lives? Their occupations? It’d be messy. Dangerous. A terrifically, catastrophically stupid idea.

A little crease forms between Henry’s brows as he frowns, and for a moment Alex fears that he’s misread everything. Maybe this was never supposed to leave Versailles. Alex doesn’t know what’s even possible for them to have outside these walls, but he also doesn’t know how he’s meant to go back to what they were before now that he’s had this.

“It seems to me,” Henry says carefully, “that there should be ample opportunity for… improving diplomatic relations when we return?”

There’s a beat of silence before Alex can’t choke back the laugh bubbling out of his chest any longer, and the smile that’s been slowly pushing its way onto Henry’s lips finally breaks free. Then they’re both dissolving into giggles, and Alex is grinning like an idiot when Henry pulls him into another lingering kiss.

Yeah. Worst idea he’s ever had.

[eaudrey35]

Walz faced another accusation of misrepresentation in unearthed, blistering letter: 'Remove any reference' | Fox News

Faux News just stop. U continue to reach and grasp at straws when it comes to Tim Walzs.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Bill Bramhall, New York Daily News

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 5, 2024 (Tuesday)

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

MAR 6, 2024

Possibly the biggest story today in terms of its impact on most Americans’ lives is that as part of its war on junk fees, the Biden administration announced an $8 cap on late fees charged by credit card issuers that have more than a million accounts. These companies hold more than 95% of outstanding credit card debt. Currently, fees average $32, and they fall on more than 45 million people. The White House estimates that late fees currently cost Americans about $25 billion a year. The rule change will save Americans about $10 billion a year.

The administration also announced a “strike force” to crack down on “unfair and illegal pricing.” Certain corporations raised prices as strained supply chains made it more expensive to make their products. But after supply chains were fixed and their costs dropped, corporations kept consumer prices high and passed on record profits to their shareholders. The strike force will encourage federal agencies to share information to enable them to identify businesses that are breaking the law. 

Banking organizations and the U.S. Chamber of Commerce came out swinging. Executive vice president Neil Bradley said that such regulation “to micromanage how private businesses set prices will have the same result: shortages, fewer choices for consumers, a weaker economy, and less jobs.” 

And in what perhaps illustrates why voters don’t appear to know much about what the administration is doing, these stories have gotten far less attention today than the primaries and caucuses. 

Today is Super Tuesday, when 15 states and one territory choose their primary candidates for president and for the House of Representatives and the Senate (although in Alaska, only Republicans vote today and in American Samoa, only Democrats vote today). About 36% of Republican delegates will be awarded today, and that’s the side people will be watching because on the Democratic side, Biden has a virtually uncontested lead with the exception of candidate Jason Palmer, who won the Democratic caucuses in American Samoa.

Trump is expected to win today’s Republican contests, but observers are watching to see what percentage of the vote challenger Nikki Haley, former governor of South Carolina, takes from him. As I write this, she appears to have won Vermont and run strongly elsewhere, especially in the suburbs. Three states conducted exit polls and they, too, show warning signs for Trump as 78% of Haley voters in the North Carolina primary, 69% in California, and 68% in Virginia refused to say they would support the party’s nominee no matter who it is. 

It is also notable that polls showed Trump with a much stronger margin over Haley than materialized today. As Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo notes, it is not yet clear what that means.

Trump is on his way to becoming the Republican presidential nominee. On Friday the Republican National Committee (RNC) will meet in Houston to choose a new chair. The only people running are Trump loyalist Michael Whatley and Trump’s daughter-in-law Lara Trump, who hope to become co-chairs. Natalie Allison reported today in Politico that the RNC will not vote on a resolution that would have prohibited the RNC from covering Trump’s legal bills. 

Trump is certainly in need of money. Today, his lawyers demanded a new trial in the second E. Jean Carroll case, complaining that the judge limited what he could say, and asked for a judgment figure significantly lower than the $83.3 million the jurors awarded. By the end of Friday, Trump must post either the money or a bond covering it.

This morning, Trump told Brian Kilmeade of Fox & Friends that he was not worried about coming up with the money to pay the $454 million he owes in the New York fraud case, or the interest it is accruing at more than $100,000 a day. “I have a lot of money. I can do what I want to do,” Trump said. “I don't worry about anything. I don't worry about the money. I don't worry about money.”

Yesterday, Allen Weisselberg, the former chief financial officer of the Trump Organization, admitted he lied under oath during his testimony in that case. He will be sentenced in April. 

Super Tuesday is also the day that the 2024 presidential campaign begins in earnest for those who had not previously been paying much attention, and Taylor Swift today urged her 282 million followers on Instagram “to vote the people who most represent YOU into power. If you haven't already, make a plan to vote today,” she wrote.

The presidential contest is only one of the many contests on the ballot today, but most of those results are not yet in. 

Although the Arizona primary will not be held until March 19, we did learn today that Senator Kyrsten Sinema (I-AZ) will not run for reelection. Her exit will leave the Arizona senator’s race to election-denying Trump Republican Kari Lake, who lost the Arizona governorship in 2022 (although she continues to insist she won it), and Arizona Democratic representative Ruben Gallego. 

Just as voters don’t appear to know much about what the administration has done to make their lives better, a recent study from a Democratic pollster suggests that voters don’t seem to know much about Trump’s statements attacking democracy. When informed of them, their opinion of Trump falls.

Trump has called for mass deportations of immigrants and foreign-born U.S. citizens; on February 29, he said he would use local police as well as federal troops to round people up and move them to camps for deportation. Asked yesterday by a Newsmax host if he would “order mass deportations if you win the White House,” Trump answered: “Oh, day one. We have no choice. And we’ll start with the bad ones. And you know who knows who they are? Local police. Local police have to be given back their authority, and they have to be given back their respect and immunity.” 

On the one hand, caps to credit card late fees and an attempt to address price gouging; on the other hand, local police with immunity rounding up millions of people and putting them in camps, for deportation. And, in between the two, an election. 

People had better start paying attention. 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF ch9 | Troubling Tension

Yesss here's another Lone Wolf Squad chapter for you! There's action, fun, shenanigans, some innocent bantering and - tension. Let's see how that affects the squad.. I hope you enjoy this chapter (:

Summary: words spoken - and unspoken - cause a tension that affects the squad during their mission Rating: Teen and up Tags: canon-typical violence, swearing (usage of slang; kriff/kriffing = fuck/fucking, kark = shit), miscommunication Words: 9.434k Characters: Lupe (OC), Trooper Ragnar (OC), Trooper Claw (OC), Trooper Fang (OC), Trooper Twist (OC), Mace Windu, CC-1010 Commander Fox, Commander Thorn, Gra Neb (OC), unidentified Commerce Guild members, ARC-5555 Fives (cameo) aLoF masterlist | AO3 ch8 < | ↓ | > ch10

20 BBY, Coruscant | Jedi Temple, High Council Chamber

(Within a few rotations after the events of chapter 8)

“A civvie pick-up? In neutral territories?”

Lupe's words weren't intended to undermine the Jedi Council; she was merely surprised by the mission's objective. Her arms already crossed, she raised a brow. Master Windu shot her an unamused smile. “And we trust you to complete this mission delicately,” he added to the briefing.

“Understood. But I can tell you, a squad of clones accompanied by a Jedi will stand out,” she replied, a smirk on her face as she found amusement in the necessity to state the obvious. The seasoned Jedi Master sighed before picking up the datapad at his side. “Then it's of the highest importance to make yourselves not stand out. We're sure you'll think of a solution,” he concluded, before handing her the device with the mission’s details.

Lupe nodded towards Master Windu as she accepted the datapad, before positioning herself in the middle of the room again. “Thank you, Masters,” she said, whilst respectfully bowing before them. When dismissed, she turned around and walked out of the Chamber, finding her way towards the GAR barracks. Well, this was going to get interesting.

---

Coruscant | GAR Barracks

“A civvie pick-up? In neutral territories?” Fang shot at her after she finished summarising her briefing in front of the squad. Lupe snorted in response; those had been her exact same words. “Yeah, and we're supposed to handle this delicately; since it's a neutral planet, no one can find out the Republic is interfering,” she explained, adding some heaviness to her words, hoping they would pick up on the importance of it.

“And sending a Jedi with a clone squad is supposed to be discreet?” Claw added with a raised brow. Lupe smiled and shook her head; she loved how these clones were on the same page as her. “Yeah, they trust me to be creative enough to figure something out.”

Ragnar had been standing at the back of the squad during Lupe's recap, silently taking in both her words and those of his brothers as he gently stroked the little beard on his chin. He looked up at Lupe's last remark, and finally moved himself forward to claim her attention. “And have you figured something out?” he asked her, his usual seriousness to his voice.

Her lips slid into a confident smirk when she faced the sergeant. “My dear Sergeant, of course I have. Haven't we been on enough missions together by now for you to trust me with this?” She gestured to them to follow her when she walked away. “Now follow me; we're going shopping.”

---

Coruscant | Republic Centre for Military Operations

“And you have direct orders?” Commander Fox, standing stiff as a statue, was facing her through his visor from the other side of the transparisteel window that separated them. His arms crossed in front of his chest, he seemed unimpressed by her request.

“Do indirect orders work for you?” Lupe asked, a sheepish grin on her face. Maker, this guy is unyielding. She thought it had been his attitude towards her when she was brought in drunk, after evoking a fist fight among the GAR’s troops; but apparently, he was always like this. “C’mon, we'll return the gear once we've finished the mission. I'll bring you a caf too,” she tried charming him, accompanied by an innocent smile.

Fox leaned forward, his helmet just centimetres away from the window. His voice was low and almost threatening when he spoke. “Is that bribery?” Lupe’s eyes widened in shock and she showed her hands in a gesture of innocence. “What? No, I- Kriff, I just thought you could use some,” she replied, starting to get slightly annoyed.

She thought he might budge by now, but the only thing that ensued was an intimidating silence. Lupe sighed at last, before moving closer to the window. Her voice was low and soft, making sure these words were between her and Fox only. She subtly gestured towards her squad, located at the back of the room as they patiently awaited their General's negotiating.

“Look, it's a delicate mission and our orders are that they can't stand out as clones, but I'm NOT dragging them into any mission without them wearing some proper armour. I need them to be safe.”

Another moment of silence. She couldn't see the Commander's expression through his visor, and she was totally lost on whatever went on in his head. Fox was definitely a hard one to read. It seemed like he was chronically done with everything and everyone, and that vibe made it hard for her to feel any other emotions. Maybe she would bring him that caf after all.

She could hear the deep sigh through his built-in voice regulator, before his posture relaxed - but only slightly. There was only so much room for Commander Fox to relax. “Alright, but I'm gonna have to report this,” he said at last, slowly shaking his head. “Fine by me,” Lupe bit back in a whisper, as the Commander turned around to fetch them a chaperone from the guard station.

The red laser barrier got disabled, granting them entrance into the facility. Fox was followed by another Coruscant Guard, meeting Lupe at the entrance. “Thorn will accompany you. Don't make me regret this,” Fox sighed, before heading back into the guard post. Lupe shot him a quick ‘yessir'; Fox strongly reminded her of Wolffe, but it seemed this Commander was even more tired and done than the Wolfpack's leader.

After nodding a quick greeting towards Thorn, Lupe started following him, her squad quickly following them behind. When they gained some comfortable distance from the guard post, Lupe cleared her throat. “Is, er- is he always like that?” she asked cautiously, her curiosity taking the better of her.

Thorn chuckled softly. “Commander Fox? Ah, he's just tired. We get to see a lot of kark on a daily basis. And the paperwork pushes you over the edge sometimes.” Lupe, walking at his side by now, shot him a wry smile. “Sorry for adding to your pile,” she said softly, starting to feel slightly bad about it. Thorn granted her a quick nod before replying: “Don't worry sir, we're used to it.”

After rounding a few corners, they found themselves in front of a solid door. Thorn entered a security code on the appurtenant control panel, and the door slid open. The room behind it was filled to the brim with confiscated and abandoned goods. “Alright, there we are. Remember, you can't take any GAR equipment; it's against military protocol. But I'm sure we have something useful in that corner,” Thorn elaborated, whilst pointing towards a spot less blinding from white plastoid armour pieces.

Lupe and the boys slowly walked into the room, in awe of everything they laid their eyes on. This was like walking into a candy store. Fang reached for a BT X-42 heavy flamethrower, laying on a rack at eye level, but Claw whacked his brother's hands away before he could touch it, shooting a stern look at his twin. Thorn followed them from a little distance, an amused smile below his helmet.

When they reached the spot, Lupe started shuffling through the gear. It clearly wasn't anything the GAR was using, so she wondered what it was doing at the military facility. But she wasn't going to complain; this was perfectly usable to execute her plan. After she approved the goods, she turned towards her squad, a content look on her face. “Dig in, boys,” she said, before they started rummaging through the gear.

It didn't take them too long to compile their outfits, pleased by what they encountered. Armoured pieces were ornate with leathery parts and wrapped in rags. Some colours adorned their new looks, something different from all the white and flint grey they were used to. Lupe had joined them in disguising herself; she couldn't look like a Jedi as much as the boys couldn't look like clones.

“Well, at least you achieved the mercenary look,” Thorn remarked with an amused chuckle, as soon as they had finished dressing themselves. “I'm nailing this look,” Fang gasped, admiring his new outfit. Ragnar looked at him, his lips pressed into a serious, thin line. “Well, don't get used to it,” he said at last, before putting on a customised bounty hunter helmet.

When they exited the hallway and walked past the guard post, Fox shot them a disapproving look from under his helmet, before shaking his head. “Don't forget to put that away,” he shot at Lupe, pointing towards the lightsaber's hilt, still dangling from her belt. “Will do. Thanks for your compliance, Commander,” she said with a grin, before turning towards Thorn and giving him a quick, thankful nod. She and her squad left the facility.

As soon as the door slid shut behind them, Thorn started laughing, placing a comforting hand on Fox’s shoulder. “She was a Padawan with the 104th? She must have been a pain in Wolffe's ass,” he snickered. Fox sighed and took off his helmet, stroking his hand through his greying hair. “She's changed since the start of the war; grown too feral, if you'd ask me. Rex’s ARC trooper has a bad influence on her,” he replied, only increasing Thorn's amusement. “Well, you can't make me believe this was all Fives’ doing,” he chuckled, before walking off to pour them a fresh mug of caf.

---

Coruscant | GAR Barracks' Hangar

The Lone Wolves’ new looks granted them some glances, filled with mixed feelings. Lupe was quite amused by it, as she felt the staring clones’ reactions shift between awe, bewilderment and disapproval. She didn't care about it, as long as they would successfully complete this mission - and as long as the temporary outfits’ armour would keep her troops safe.

When they reached their shuttle, the boys made it to their usual spots at once; Claw in the pilot seat with Fang at his side, Twist at the ship's control panel and Ragnar and Lupe just behind them, to overlook the whole operation. “Alright, boys, let’s go. Claw, get this ship in the air. Fang, set out coordinates to the Kessel System. Twist, we need some codes scrambled,” Lupe shot at them, before sharing a look with her sergeant. As Claw piloted the ship out of the hangar, Lupe's gaze returned to their view, and she added in a mutter: “We're heading for uncharted territories.”

---

Outer Rim | Kessel System | Space

Technically, the Kessel System in the Outer Rim was far from uncharted. It contained the troublous planets of Kessel and Oba Diah, both very well known to the Republic - mostly for alarming reasons. But since both planets remained neutral during the war, the Republic wasn't particularly welcome to check in on their situations.

Their current mission led them to Kepler, located within the same system. Kepler was an ecumenopolis; like Coruscant, although not comparable in size, the planet's complete surface was covered in one, big city. With slightly less interference from Kessel’s spice mining and Oba Diah’s Pyke Syndicate, it was the perfect spot for shifty businesses and shady deal making. That didn't make the planet less dangerous than the much bigger ones accompanying it in this system.

When the shuttle reverted into realspace and Claw started piloting it towards Kepler’s spaceport nearest to their objective, Lupe sat down at the back of the ship, patiently awaiting their arrival. Her mind wandered off as she recalled memories from the last few rotations, when she had been on Naboo with Fives. She had dragged him along in hopes she could ease his mind after losing Echo, but so much more had happened during those rotations. Her lips slipped into a smile when she thought about their moments at the lake, how their relationship had changed since then, how their bond had strengthened.

But her smile disappeared when her worries took over. She wasn’t supposed to be in such a relationship, especially not with a clone, a soldier of the Republic. But she couldn’t deny those feelings; she couldn’t push them aside. They made her feel more alive, they made her senses sharper, they made her feel more connected to the Force. But it also made place for new feelings, such as concern over Fives’ well-being and even dread, as she knew so many clones did not return from the battlefield.

When she noticed Ragnar walking over towards her, she tried to swallow those feelings of anguish away; there was no need to bother him with them. He sat down opposite her; it reminded her of their moment during their first mission together, where she had let down her emotional walls. She had to keep them up, but it was becoming harder now that she had started to bond with her sergeant. They had gotten to know each other better, and that meant he was getting better at reading her.

“You’re upset. Did something happen when you were away? Did he- Did he hurt you?” Ragnar asked her in a low, quiet voice, making sure the boys wouldn’t pick up on the conversation. “No, he didn’t,” she replied immediately, offering him a comforting smile to help him ease his mind, before continuing: “I’m just worrying about him.” Ragnar’s eyes darted around, not meeting hers, as he searched for words. Lupe was aware of Ragnar’s mistrust in Fives, and thus trying to shift the subject away from the ARC trooper, she added: “I worry about all you guys.” Ragnar’s gaze shot to hers instantly, his eyes steady now.

His eyes were always so serious, but also full of concern, especially when they were sharing a private conversation. And he always seemed to find the time and space to check in on her, when the boys were occupied with something else. He seemed to care for her so much. Yes, of course she deeply cared for the clones in her squad as well, and with every mission, their bond strengthened. But it almost seemed like Ragnar had granted her his everlasting loyalty from the very first moment they had met.

“You’re better at hiding that,” he softly replied to her remark about worrying over them. Lupe couldn’t help but chuckle as she leaned forward in her seat, getting closer to Ragnar. “I know you and I share a lot, but there are still things I keep to myself,” she told him, an amused tone to her voice and a flicker in her eyes. But his eyes were as serious as ever. “Some thoughts and feelings transcend shared words,” he stated cryptically.

She wasn’t sure what he meant with that, but she just assumed it had to do with her current taste in men. “Ragnar, look, I know you’re not very fond of Fives, but he’s- he’s good to me. He cares about me,” she said cautiously. She didn’t feel the need to deny her relationship with Fives anymore; not towards her squad. They knew her so well by now; they wouldn’t believe her if she denied it, anyway.

Although they still showed concern, Ragnar’s eyes softened at her words. She started to reach for him with her hand, but simultaneously, he slid back into his seat, leaning backwards and thus unintentionally avoiding her touch. A shiver ran through him when he realised it, but it was too late; Lupe had withdrawn her hand by now, afraid she had scared him off. She turned into herself again, putting her arms around her stomach. Ragnar knew she always did this when she felt the need to protect herself, even if she didn’t realise it herself. He knew their moment was gone, and after taking a deep breath, he got to his feet to return to the boys in the cockpit. “I’m just- I’m just not sure about his intentions. Be careful around him,” he said at last, before walking off.

He cursed himself. Those weren’t the words he wanted to tell her; he had wanted to tell her the squad cared about her too - he cared about her. But the only thing he could muster, was a warning for some outsider clone he didn’t trust, whose intentions were unclear to him, afraid he would hurt her over time. Because Ragnar himself cared so much.

---

Outer Rim | Kessel System | Kepler

Lupe was snapped from her thoughts when the shuttle hit the surface. She scolded herself for letting this get to her the way it did, when she clearly needed to focus on the mission ahead. With a sigh, she pulled herself together, adjusting her outfit when she got to her feet. The boys were already wearing their helmets. She expected Ragnar to check in on her a last time before they headed out, but he didn’t; not this time. Get your kark together, she thought as she put on her own helmet before getting off the shuttle.

It felt strange; she didn’t like it. She was used to wearing as little as possible, to move around freely and unbothered. As a Padawan, she had quickly gotten rid of her Jedi cloak, and as the war had started and progressed, she only wore minimum armour. But never a helmet. Instantly, she had trouble with reading her surroundings, with using her senses. It felt like the helmet blocked them. Her skin couldn’t feel the air, her mouth wasn’t able to taste the atmosphere and her eyes didn’t have a clear vision. Or wasn’t it the helmet?

“Kriff,” she sighed out loud, her voice subdued within the helmet. Immediately, a static sound erupted, before she heard Fang’s voice: “Problem, sir?” Kark. She had forgotten they had aligned the built-in comm devices of their helmets, so they could communicate with each other at all times, as long as they were wearing them. The clones were used to this, of course, but Lupe definitely wasn’t. At least due to the helmet, they couldn’t see her blushing right now.

“I, er- I’m not really used to wearing this much.. Equipment,” she regained herself, and she wasn’t lying. She heard several of them chuckling over the comm device, feeling a heavy hand from Claw on her shoulder. Before any of them could shoot her some witty remark, she added herself: “Yeah yeah, I know, you know.” She briefly glanced over towards Twist, who replied to her with a quick shrug.

They found their way through Kepler’s streets on foot, taking in their surroundings as they advanced towards their objective’s location. It looked nothing like Coruscant; at least not like the higher levels. Here in the Outer Rim, everything seemed seedy. At least they didn’t stand out with their adjusted outfits.

“Alright, remember,” Lupe started to remind the squad over their built-in comm devices, “We have the coordinates to the objective’s residence, but he’s probably being watched by the Seppies - or the Commerce Guild - or the Pykes - or anyone else, for what I care. We have to do some recon ourselves, and we have to find an opportunity to meet up with him - without any involvement from any of those parties.” Some affirmative sounds from the boys, before Ragnar’s voice spoke out.

“Are we sure about this objective’s intentions? Does he really want this Republic pick-up?” Lupe was used to Ragnar’s seriousness, and she knew he always held the squad’s best interests at heart; this time he meant it no differently. But because of their earlier conversation, she couldn’t help but take his words the wrong way. “Are we ever sure about anyone’s intentions,” Lupe muttered, slightly irritated, forgetting they could all hear her.

None of the clones replied, but because of the uncomfortable silence, she felt something was off. And then she realised. KRIFF. She was never going to wear a helmet again after this mission. “I don’t know, I only have the intel the Council provided us. We’ll have to see and do what we’re good at; improvise.” Exactly what she was doing right now to divert the attention from her unsubtle remark. She heard some more sounds of affirmation, but none were as clear and confident as before.

The remainder of their walk was rather uncomfortable. None of them spoke another word, as it was clear there was some tension surrounding them. Lupe sighed in relief - but not too loud - when Twist informed them they were getting close to the objective. Time to skip into her General-mode again. “Gotta wait until dark, then we’ll find ourselves a spot on one of the nearby roofs,” she said somewhat cautiously, afraid she would share too much of her thoughts with them again. “We’ll draw too much attention as a group if we keep lingering around together, so I propose we scatter and meet back here at sunset.” It was a good strategy considering their situation, but being alone after her screw up was an additional benefit to this plan.

Fang was the first one to speak up. “Can’t we sit in a bar and get ourselves some drinks while we wait?” he suggested, partly because he thought some booze would lift the tension between them. Which was a considerate thought of him, but he didn’t think his plan through. Claw crossed his arms and tilted his helmeted head sideways as he addressed his brother. “You want to drink from a kriffing straw? We’re not supposed to take our helmets off,” he shot at his twin, resulting in a huff from Fang. “That goes for food as well?” he retried, resulting in a whack on his helmet this time, as Claw shot out: “How are you gonna eat with your helmet on?”

Normally, Lupe would be amused by the twins’ bickering, but she couldn’t get herself to even smile this time. “Remember, this place at sunset,” she reminded them in all seriousness, before she intended to walk off. But again, it was Fang’s voice that stopped her from doing so. “How are we going to remember this place as our rendezvous point? All these streets and intersections look the same to me,” he shot out worriedly. Lupe gave their surroundings a quick look, and spotted a signboard on one of the nearby buildings. The board depicted a very underdressed Twi’lek female, her scanty underwear revealing much of her orange skin and lush curves. Perfect. Lupe pointed towards the signboard, and said flatly: “I’m sure you’ll remember her. See you at sunset. Keep your emergency channels open.” With those words, she turned around and walked away.

Fang received another whack on his helmet as his gaze wandered over the signboard for a bit too long, before Claw dragged him away from the place, to find some distraction until sunset. Twist was ready to walk into a different direction, but remained at the spot when he noticed Ragnar was frozen to the ground. The sergeant just stood there, looking at their general as she disappeared into the distance. “S-Sarge, are you a-alright?” Twist cautiously asked, after changing to a more private comm channel.

Ragnar snapped out of his thoughts and turned towards Twist. He wanted to say he was, but when he looked at his brother, he let out a deep sigh. He couldn’t see Twist’s face, but he could feel his concern. “I, er- might have said something to the General that- that I shouldn’t have said,” he finally admitted, double checking that he was on a private comm channel with Twist. “A-about the objective?” Twist inquired, resulting in Ragnar shaking his head immediately. “No, earlier. I, er- we had a conversation concerning Fives,” he let out with another sigh.

Twist put his hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, before easing his mind: “S-Sarge, just talk to her. S-she’ll come around. You know s-she’s very understanding.” Ragnar sighed again, as he started scratching the narrow bit of bare skin between his helmet and his blacks, which he was still wearing below his temporary outfit. “Yeah, guess you’re right, as always,” he said at last, letting go of some of his tension. A modest smile below his helmet. “I’ll just.. I’ll wait until tonight. Need some time to figure out what to say. Find the right words this time,” he said slowly, not sure yet how he could get a moment with her alone. Twist nodded, before reassuring: “S-she’ll understand.”

---

Sunset. It was almost time for their rendezvous, and although Lupe was looking forward to continue the mission without any more altercations, she was reluctant about getting back to their rendezvous point. As she rounded the last corner, she froze at the spot when she noticed Ragnar there, and Ragnar only. She didn’t want to be childish about it, but she couldn’t handle this conversation right now; not when the mission’s success was at stake. So without looking, she stepped backwards, back into the alley she came from, hoping he hadn't spotted her yet.

Almost immediately, she bumped into someone, and her heart dropped. The last thing she could use right now, was getting into a fight with some spice addict, a swindler, or even worse, a Pyke envoy. Her mind was racing, already searching for possible solutions to get the least bad outcome to this situation, when she turned around and noticed a familiar outfit. “Twist,” she sighed out of relief, briefly hanging her head as she caught her breath, letting go of some of the tension.

Twist gently tapped her on the helmet to get her attention, and she looked up at him again. “T-turn to comm ch-channel 2407.8,” he said as quickly as he possibly could. She shot into focus immediately, concern washing over her, afraid something had happened. She turned to the channel, nodding towards Twist when she was in. “You don’t s-seem yourself, s-sir,” Twist said carefully, not wanting to push her in any way, but trying to help her out nonetheless. Lupe was lost for words for a moment; she wasn’t expecting Twist to check in on her.

“Yeah, well.. This last rotation has been.. Interesting,” she managed, not sure if she should bring any of it up. She looked away, but she knew Twist’s eyes were prying at her through his visor. “Stop it,” she whispered, more to herself than to Twist, but she noticed Twist turning his gaze away immediately, as he started to shift on his feet and got all nervous again. Now she had done it; now she had managed to get half her squad into uncomfortable positions. “No no no, Twist, I-,” she started, but she interrupted herself as she was struggling to get her helmet off.

Twist tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t let him. She wasn’t a clone, so there would be no consequences if she took it off. “Kriff this,” she said as soon as she had managed, tossing the helmet to the ground. “I’m never gonna wear a helmet again after this mission.” Her hair was a cluttered mess, as it had gotten all tangled up under her helmet. Irritated, she tried wiping it out of her face before she turned to Twist again. “Twist, I’m sorry, I meant that to myself. Today’s been-”

She interrupted herself again, as tufts of hair in front of her face were still hindering her, pricking her eyes and tickling her skin. She groaned and closed her eyes, letting her head tilt backwards in frustration. A very gentle touch to her face brought her back to reality, and when she opened her eyes, she noticed Twist was tenderly fixing the strands of hair, getting them out of her face. Dearest Twist, she thought, whilst an affectionate smile appeared on her face.

She was finally able to balance her emotions again. “Thank you, Twist,” she whispered, and he nodded at her before picking up her helmet and handing it back to her. She accepted it and put it on again, allowing them to continue the conversation over the private comm channel. “As I was saying. I’ve been a shu'shuk* today and I think I’ve pushed Ragnar away. And now I’m afraid my actions might affect the mission,” she finally poured her heart out, before adding with a whisper: “And might affect the squad.”

*shu’shuk = disaster, big screw-up, etc.

Twist smiled below his helmet, even though she couldn't see it. “S-sir, we're not t-that easily p-pushed away. And you're p-part of the s-squad now; you're p-part of us.” He paused for a moment, before continuing: “T-talk to Ragnar, he'll u-understand.” She swallowed away the emotions that were trying to erupt at his words, which were exactly what she needed to hear. For a brief moment, she placed her hand on the side of Twist's helmet. “Thank you. And I will,” she said to him, now extremely thankful that she had bumped into him after all.

But the sun was setting, and they had to continue their mission. Lupe shot a quick look around the corner, and noticed Claw and Fang had joined up with Ragnar by now. “Seems we're late to the party,” she joked to Twist, and he was just glad to hear a tone of amusement in her voice again, after today's tensions.

“Heh, got lost, sir?” Fang shot at them when they finally reached the rendezvous point. Ragnar shot him a stern look, although it was lost under his helmet. After all the tensions, he just couldn't understand why Fang would say things like this, with the probability of making things even worse. Was he ever serious about anything? He groaned softly.

But Lupe's spirits seemed to have been lifted. “Luckily Twist found me and put me back on the right track,” she said casually, before turning towards Twist and granting him a quick, subtle nod. Ragnar wondered what that meant, but kept his mouth shut. He had said enough this last rotation to sour the mood.

“Alright, I did some recon and found the perfect spot,” Lupe continued, gesturing to them to follow her. “There's an abandoned building nearby; we can use the roof without potential residents getting suspicious.” As soon as they reached the building, she added: “Go make yourselves comfortable, I have to take care of one last thing first.”

As a few ‘yessirs’ echoed through their helmets, Ragnar watched the General walk off again. He wondered if this was his cue, if he should follow her to talk things out, but when he made the slightest indication he was going to follow her, Twist put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait,” he said quietly, looking at his sergeant through his visor, before following behind Claw and Fang to ascend the roof. Ragnar sighed, but followed Twist's advice anyway. His brother seemed to always be right, after all.

It didn't take long for Lupe to join them on the rooftop, and when she did, she was carrying food and drinks. “I come bearing gifts,” she said with an amused tone to her voice. She put everything down and Fang came jolting forward immediately, ready to still his hunger. Claw followed behind a bit more restrained. “We, er- thought it was gonna be another meal of ration bars,” he said carefully, as the scent of the food slowly made it inside his helmet and his mouth started to water.

Lupe chuckled, as she sat down and removed her helmet. Her hair was less of a mess than before. “Well, we don't know how long we'll be stuck here, so gotta keep things fun,” she said with a smile. She made sure the boys helped themselves to some food and drinks before taking any herself.

When the food was gone and their bellies were satisfied, the darkness had gathered around them. The mood had been good, and even as Lupe would have liked to continue their comradery, they had a mission to complete. “Alright boys, time to get on with the mission. Since we'll be here for a while, let's take shifts to observe the objective’s residence.” They nodded to her in agreement.

“Alright, I'll take the first shift, along with Tw-” Lupe interrupted herself when she noticed Twist shaking his head vigorously, before he subtly nodded into Ragnar's direction. Ah, right. “Ragnar, you're with me,” she said at last. “The three of you, get some rest.” Claw and Fang nodded, before finding a place to lay down and get some sleep. As Ragnar got up and found his way to the edge of the building, Twist shot Lupe an encouraging nod before he made himself scarce.

Lupe took a deep breath before positioning herself at Ragnar’s side. They laid down, peeking over the edge, their visual on the residence. Some quick to-the-point remarks concerning the mission, but nothing more.

It was only a while later, when he was sure they wouldn't get interrupted by any of his brothers, Ragnar found the courage to address their earlier friction. “Lupe..,” he started, after clearing his throat. Apparently, she had been ready for this conversation, as she replied in an instant: “Ragnar, you've made it pretty clear you don't like him, but I do.” Her voice had lost its earlier edge to it, but it was still serious. He couldn't help but notice some hurt in it, which put him off guard. “Lup- Sir, it's just that.. Nevermind.”

The air was heavy with suspense and Ragnar could hear Lupe swallow at his side. “Speak up. That’s an order,” she said at last. He noticed a slight tremble to her voice, and although she gave him an order, he wondered if she was really in her role as a General right now. He took a moment to carefully formulate his words, as making things worse was the last thing he wanted. This had already affected the squad enough, and it had only been one rotation. Besides, he hated seeing his General like this, and he detested himself for being the cause of it.

“I.. I don't trust him. He's got a reputation. Please, just- Just be careful around him,” he sighed, his voice low and quiet, but she could hear him alright. She was getting riled up again; why was it so hard for Ragnar to understand he was wrong about Fives, to notice he made her happy and feel loved? “Duly noted, thank you sergeant, but I can take care of myself,” she replied flatly, not taking her gaze away from the objective's residence. “General, sir, I-I-,” he stammered, clearly lost for words. Why was it so hard for Lupe to understand he said all this because he cared for her, because she was part of the squad; because she was family?

Lupe shot him a haunting look; it was a mixture of bitterness, incomprehension and hurt. He had to set this right, for the sake of the squad’s dynamics - and for his own peace of mind. “Lupe.. I’m only saying this because we care- Because I care about you,” he said at last, a softness to it she wasn't used to, not coming from her sergeant. “I’m afraid he’s going to hurt you. Break your heart. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Silence. Lupe had averted her gaze again, but it clearly wasn't directed towards their target this time. Only when his words had dawned on her, she let out a relieved chuckle, as she bumped her fist into his shoulder. “Maker, why didn't you just say so?” Ragnar let all his tension go with a deep sigh. “I-I thought it was obvious,” he elaborated, before Lupe let out a short, cynical laugh. “Yeah, well, welcome to the female brain,” she blurted out.

This time it was Ragnar who chuckled. “You're the first female I shared a real conversation with,” he admitted, resulting in the most genuine smile he'd seen on Lupe's face since they started this mission. “I guess things don't get as complicated with your brothers,” she said softly, as she briefly put her head on his shoulder in a way to comfort him, to show her compassion; it made his heart skip a beat.

He swallowed before continuing the conversation. “You're my vod too,” he finally said. Since they had talked things out and he was already getting soft with her, there was no need to keep this from her any longer. She withdrew her head, and for a moment, he thought he screwed up again. “You.. You alright?” he shot at her with concern.

Just for a second, he thought she was wiping away a tear. But when she looked back at him, there was nothing to be seen, except for the most heartwarming smile on her beautiful face. “Yeah, I just- Have never heard someone call me that before,” she whispered, and he returned the smile, although much more restrained than he would have liked to share with her.

When the time came for the next shift, Lupe and Ragnar got to their feet. Before waking up Claw and Fang, they lingered at their recon spot for a little longer. “Thanks for the rollercoaster of emotions today,” Lupe said to Ragnar jokingly, a smirk adorning her face. Ragnar, finally comfortable again with a bit of bantering, replied: “I thought the Jedi were good at putting those away.” Another cynical laugh from Lupe, as she shook her head. “Yeah, well, in that case, I suck at being both a General and a Jedi.” Ragnar put a comforting hand on her shoulder, before easing her mind. “We couldn't have asked for a better option for either of them.”

---

It took them a few rotations to figure out their objective's patterns. They had spotted some scout parties from different origins, and knew they had to be careful not to reveal themselves and thus the Republic's involvement. They had to come up with a plan to get in contact with the objective, to ensure a discreet pick-up.

“Our best chance is early evening, when he takes his daily stroll through the streets. It's relatively quiet at that hour, so least chance of any unwanted attention,” Lupe concurred with her squad. “I have something in mind to notify the objective in a subtle way. Who of you is best at acting?”

Without a word or any debate, all the boys turned towards Fang, shooting him almost accusative glances. It took him a moment to realise, but when he did, he shrugged. “What? It helps handle things a bit less seriously,” he elaborated, resulting in a chuckle from Lupe; she should have known. “Great, keep that thought,” she told him, before continuing: “Listen up Fang, this is what we're gonna do..”

---

When the streets got quieter that evening, the squad was in position. Twist was still on their rooftop, overlooking their surroundings to keep an eye out on everyone, ready to alert them if they would attract any unwanted attention. Ragnar and Claw lingered at different corners of the street to move in if any assistance was needed. Lupe and Fang were waiting at different spots, ready to start the next phase of their plan once the objective would make it outside.

The door slid open, and their objective, a Sullustan male, appeared. He was wearing typical native headgear on his wide head, a pair of large ears protruding it. Underneath his dark and gleaming eyes were two flaps of jowls adorning his cheeks. His small posture didn’t make for a very intimidating appearance. “Go,” Lupe shot at Fang through their built-in comm devices, as soon as the objective had made it outside his residence. The Sullustan strolled away from his porch, and just when he rounded a corner, Fang came walking up from the opposite direction. His stride was grand and somewhat exaggerated; his shoulders widened to make them look broader than they really were.

Fang threw his whole body in when he hit the unknowing Sullustan, making him crash to the ground in an instant. He could have done with a little less effort, since the objective didn't even reach a cadet's size. When the Sullustan realised what had happened, Fang loomed over him, whilst slowly growling: “Di’kut*..” Twist had done such a great job at modifying Fang’s voice regulator, making it sound low and threatening.

*Di’kut = idiot, useless individual, waste of space

The Sullustan cowered behind one arm, trying to apologise but too intimidated to utter any intelligible words. At that very moment, Lupe came marching towards the spectacle. In her best Mando’a - no one here besides the clones would notice her pronunciation was less smooth than the boys’ - she started shouting at Fang. She made sure to add some swear words and phrases, since those were the first ones she had remembered correctly when she started learning Mando’a. She couldn't wait to tell Sinker and Boost she was finally able to use it to assist a mission.

She hit Fang in the chest plate, making him step backwards in defeat, like a massiff being scolded by its owner. The Sullustan seemed to relax a little. Lupe spun around to face him, kneeling down to his level, trying to make herself less intimidating. “Please excuse my coworker; he can't help it, he was born rude,” Lupe told the male, using the most comforting tone she could muster towards a stranger. “Here, let me help you,” she continued, reaching her hand towards him. He accepted it, somewhat confused, and she assisted him back to his feet.

When he was standing in front of her, Lupe started apologising again. “I'm very sorry; I promise you this isn't the last he'll be hearing about this,” she said, whilst crossing her arms and turning her helmeted head towards Fang ominously. With a small voice, since he still hadn't fully regained himself from this intimidating encounter, he tried telling her it was alright. She nodded a silent goodbye, before grabbing Fang by the arm and dragging him away, tossing in some more Mando’a scolding. They left the Sullustan behind, newly confused as he fidgeted with something in his hand.

When they reached a safe distance, Fang returned their conversation to their comm devices. “Sir, with all due respect; that was duse*. I counted at least seven mispronunciations.” Claw added from a distance: “Don't forget the incorrect usage of some of those words.” Lupe snickered at them. “Well, you two are very welcome to criticise my Mando’a - as soon as you best me in a lightsaber duel,” she shot back at them. “That's not fair, lightsaber practice wasn't part of our basic training,” Fang yammered in return. Lupe bumped her fist into his upper arm. “And Mando'a wasn't in mine; see how this goes both ways?” Fang could only groan in return, as he rubbed the spot where she had just hit him.

*duse = rubbish, waste (garbage)

As the sun was setting, they regrouped back on the rooftop. Lupe took her helmet off, glad to feel some fresh air on her skin again. “Were you able to hand him the note?” Ragnar asked her as soon as he made it to her side. She nodded affirmatively, before turning her head towards Fang. “Hopefully Fang didn't scare him off too much, with his convincing acting skills,” she said with a grin. “What can I say? I'm a natural,” Fang said with a shrug, resulting in laughter from the squad.

---

Early in the evening during the next rotation, the squad had found its way towards a new rendezvous spot. Lupe had deemed it best to meet up one rotation after their little theatre play, so the Sullustan could incorporate it into his next day’s stroll. Hopefully this way, the objective leaving his home would draw as little attention from other scouting parties as possible.

They had picked a rendezvous point at an old, abandoned square. The ruinous buildings surrounding it gave off an ominous atmosphere. A monumental statue at the centre was a memory to a bygone era. Lupe and Twist found themselves facing the monument, whilst the others were scouting the area from rooftops of nearby constructions.

“You th-think there will be m-m-monuments of the w-war, once it's o-over?” Twist asked her, his voice distant whilst he was looking up at the forgotten statue, as it stood broken in front of them, not withstanding the test of time. Lupe put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I'm personally gonna raise hell if there won't be any; it's the least they can do to remember all of you, after all the clones’ sacrifices,” she said softly. She knew a smile would be lost on him, hidden below her helmet; but she smiled anyway.

As the darkness crept over the square and the time of their proposed meeting lapsed, they all got restless, an uneasiness taking a hold on them. “You all realise there's a chance he doesn't show up?” Claw finally spoke out everyone's fears. “Yeah, maybe your note wasn't too clear, sir. What did you write down again?” Fang continued his twin's suspicions. Lupe sighed out of frustration; they had already gone over this before delivering the message to the objective. “‘Return the Queen's Jewels’, including time and location,” she replied. She had chosen these specific words as a nod towards Coruscant’s nicknames, Queen or Jewel of the Core Worlds. The part of return should have been obvious.

But all Fang could muster was: “Sounds pretty cryptic to me.” Another sigh from Lupe, this time more annoyed. “Well, none of you came up with a better option. Besides, I couldn't just scribble down: ‘Here’s your ride to Coruscant, nice to have you on our side! Kind regards, the Republic’, could I?” She heard some static chuckling over her comm. In all its seriousness, Ragnar's voice broke through the subdued laughter. “He used to work for SoroSuub Corporation; he's a smart guy, he'll figure it out.”

“Or s-something happened on h-his way h-here,” Twist added, resulting in a moment of silence as everyone took in those menacing words. “Kriff, one of us should have stayed behind, keeping an eye on the objective,” Lupe blurted out, breaking the silence. The word ‘shu'shuk’ entered her mind again; she thought everything within the squad had finally been back to normal.

Just when she started to question herself again, especially her capability as a Jedi General, the redeeming words came in over their comm devices. “Objective inbound,” Ragnar's voice sounded, abruptly ending the discussion. Relief washed over Lupe, but there was no time to relax; she and Twist shot into focus, getting ready to face the Sullustan. “Let me know if you spot anything out of the ordinary,” she told the boys, before she headed for the objective.

“You must be Gra Neb. Thanks for meeting us; I'm glad we didn't scare you off,” Lupe spoke with a kind voice as soon as she reached him. Neb, the Sullustan, halted some steps away, not fully trusting the situation. He narrowed his big, mouse-like eyes before addressing Lupe. “How do I know you're on the right side?”

It was a fair question, and Lupe understood the Sullustan's restraint. She gently nudged Twist forward. “Will a squad of clones suffice?” she asked, nodding approvingly towards Twist to show his face for a brief moment; which he did. Neb’s eyes seemed to narrow even further. “Could be a defected one,” he shot out, and Twist's eyebrows wrinkled in hurt when he put the helmet over his face again. Lupe pressed her lips into a thin line before she discreetly showed her lightsaber, hidden at her belt below some rags.

Neb’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Lupe thought he finally believed them. But he crossed his short arms and almost accusingly, he shot at her: “Those can be bought on the black market.” Lupe let out a long, deep sigh. “Tough crowd,” she whispered, but loud enough for the squad to hear over their comms. “I guess you'll have to trust us. Doesn't seem like you have a lot of options left,” she said at last, quickly adding: “No offence.”

Just as the Sullustan started to protest again, Lupe's comm channel whirred up. “Uninvited guests at the south exit,” Claw warned the squad, moments before Lupe laid eyes on the newcomers. Instinctively, she positioned herself between their objective and the incoming threat, but she realised she couldn't use her lightsaber - not unless in dire need -, because it would give them away. It would tell them she was most likely a Jedi, and thus betraying the Republic's interference.

But since the arriving party didn't engage in a stand-off immediately, Lupe thought sharing a conversation wouldn't hurt. Her gaze slid over the colourful attendees, and since the party consisted of mostly Gossams with a few additional Sullustans, Lupe was quick to figure out their background. “Let me guess, Commerce Guild?” she shot out, as casually as possible, when they finally halted within hearing range. They wouldn't have been slightly intimidating if not for the array of battle droids that accompanied the group.

A female Gossam with wrinkled, blue skin addressed her, faking an amused attitude; she didn't seem very intimidated by these mere adversaries they were now facing. “Very perspective of you. Now please hand over our asset,” she spoke out, granting Lupe a slightly annoyed look, as if the situation just bored her. At least Lupe had been right about one thing: the Kessel System was proving interesting.

Lupe crossed her arms and started shaking her head in disagreement. “Afraid not. He's coming with us,” she said confidently. The Gossam was doing no effort to hide her irritation by now. “And who exactly is us?” she asked with a cold tone to her voice. Lupe shot a quick glance at Twist, trying to come up with a plausible answer. “The Pyke Syndicate sends its regards,” she replied at last, since pretending to be involved with the SoroSuub Corporation would be very unbelievable; it was a subsidiary of the Commerce Guild itself.

Probably not the best answer after all. Not trusting how this choice of words might escalate the situation, Lupe quickly turned to their internal comm channel. “Claw, how, er- how quickly can you get the ship here?” she asked cautiously, keeping her eyes on the party in front of her. “Just keep ‘em busy as long as you can, sir,” came Claw's response. Lupe swallowed: “Yeah, well, please hurry.”

The Gossam narrowed her eyes as the whole situation became more suspicious with every sentence exchanged. “The Pykes do not hire mercenaries to do their filthy work. They clean up their own messes.” Yeah, as expected. Lupe put her hands on her hips when she replied. “Yeah, and we don't ask questions when hired. That's why we clean up, er-.. Messes.”

She could slap herself in the face right now; she wasn't very proud of the remark, as it had been far from her usual wit. “Nice comeback, sir,” she heard Claw panting over the comm as he was running towards the shuttle, and she knew the audible chuckle came from Fang. She shushed them before returning her focus on the Gossam. As expected, she didn't buy any of it.

“You know, it doesn't matter who you are once we're done with you. So I'll give you one last chance; hand over the asset,” the Gossam made clear, all signs of charm and forced niceness gone by now. Lupe and Twist tensed, fully aware of what would happen next. Without thinking, their hands hovered over their blasters, ready to get them out in an instant. Without looking, Lupe nudged Neb right behind her, shielding him from what was to come. “Not. A. Chance,” she slowly growled towards the Gossam.

The Commerce Guild spokesperson sighed, before shrugging her scrawny shoulders. “Have it your way,” she answered, before snapping her fingers. The battle droids started advancing and aiming their weapons at them. “Nothing more warming than a get-together with clankers, eh?” Lupe shot out over their comm channel, as she quickly looked around her surroundings to find cover. She couldn't use her lightsaber, so she had to do this the regular way.

Dirt and dust erupted from the surface when the droids’ laser bolts hit it. Both Lupe and Twist had drawn their blasters by now and were returning the fire. Ragnar and Fang joined in from the rooftops, resulting in some surprised looks from the Guild members.

“Grab Neb!” Fang called, and he couldn't help but howl a quick laughter at his own wordplay. “Is everything a kriffing joke to you?” Ragnar shot at him over the comm channel. Fang chuckled in return. “Like the General says; gotta keep things fun!” he elaborated. A pause when Ragnar found an opportunity to hit multiple droids at fatal spots, before adding: “You and I have a different definition to the word fun.” “That’s why you’re the sergeant, and I’m not!” Fang replied with a chuckle.

Lupe and Twist had found some cover behind the statue's pedestal, dragging Neb with them on their way. Blaster fire was shot back and forth during an intense stand-off, and Lupe scolded about not being able to use her lightsaber or being able to improve their situation with some Force induced aid.

Just when the droids started to close in on their current position, and Lupe felt the dire need of using her lightsaber was near now, they all heard the familiar sound of their shuttle approaching. A surge of relief washed over Lupe. Claw piloted the ship between them and the Guild members, crushing some droids in the process, before Lupe dragged Neb to his feet. “Go, go, go!” she shouted, as they ran towards the ship's boarding walk. She notified Claw as soon as they had made it inside, and with a smooth movement, he turned the ship around and ascended it simultaneously, making sure the extended boarding walk was facing the rooftops.

Lupe and Twist positioned themselves at the ship's entrance, reaching out to catch them when Ragnar and Fang made the jump. “Get us the kriff out of here!” Lupe shot at Claw as soon as they were all inside, and he didn't wait a moment longer to guide them away from the scene, as blaster fire left scorch marks on the shuttle's hull. The clones all positioned themselves at their usual spots, aiding in their retreat, whilst Lupe guided the startled Sullustan towards a bench.

“Sorry about that, but I told you you didn't have a lot of options left,” she told him with a smirk, making sure to wipe it from her face before she took her helmet off. Neb looked up at her face, lost for words as he was still taking in everything that had happened on the surface. “Let's get you to Coruscant,” she said to him kindly, patting him on the shoulder before making her way to the cockpit.

“That was close,” she sighed as soon as she was in her squad's company, as they all seemed to be catching their breaths. “Thanks for the quick pick-up,” she added, putting a hand on Claw's shoulder as he was flying the ship into space, away from Kepler, and hopefully out of the Kessel System soon.

…

Epilogue

The Sullustan had been delivered to Coruscant, and his well-being was now out of their hands; they weren't responsible for him anymore. It was up to Gra Neb himself now, to share his experiences and knowledge from his time with SoroSuub Corporation to aid the Republic against the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The squad was ready to return their temporary outfits to the Republic military base, anticipating to get into their usual attire again. Lupe was mostly looking forward to getting rid of her helmet.

In a spare moment, when she claimed some brief minutes alone, she found the opportunity to comm Fives. “You said what?” he laughed over the comm transmission, after she had given him a summary of their mission. “The Pykes were the first ones to come to mind. What would you have said?” she shot back at him, an amused tone to her voice. “When in doubt, always use the Hutts,” he chuckled at her, and the sound of it made her heart both melt and ache.

A deep sigh from Lupe told Fives about her longing feelings. “I, er- could use some time alone. With you. Gotta come up with a plan,” she admitted, adding to Fives’ suspicions. “Already got one,” he replied in an almost sing-song voice. “Wait for my signal,” he added mysteriously, before they said their quick goodbyes and went on with their businesses.

So I guess getting vodzoned is now a thing. Also I wrote most of this chapter by accident (I hope it all makes sense).

[ask-half-blood-hill]

Meet the Demigods: Layla Anda

Good evening, campers. Sephora, live from Cabin Two! Today on 'Meet the Demigods' we have the head of the camp market, the queen of all things commerce, and the most well-traveled demigod, Layla Anda from the Hermes cabin!

Q1: How would you describe how you look?

"I'm sixteen, I'm about five foot five. My hair reaches down to about my hips, but I always have it tied back so it doesn't get in the way. I'm very athletic, so I'm pretty lean and slender. I have hazel eyes, and my skin is a warm, orangey-red tan, especially from being outside ALL the time!"

Q2: Where have you traveled to?

"I've been all over the US, Canada, and Mexico. I speak seven languages, and as a kid of Hermes, I can understand any language spoken or written! I've also traveled to Australia, China, South Korea, New Zealand, Puerto Rico, and places like that! I still think my favorite place is my birthplace- Arizona! It's just so vast, and beautiful!"

Q3: What kind of skills do you have, as a demigod?

"I feel like I fit more into the niche of the 'God of Travelers' thing my dad's got going on. I'm able to teleport short distances- about two hundred feet at most. I also can just naturally tell how far we are from the closest town or civilization, and I can read any form of navigational tool! I can read and understand every language in the world, I have a talent for understanding the worth of something in every currency in the world, and I and one of the fastest runners in camp! Thanks, dad! You're the best!"

Q4: If you could have any power of any demigod in camp, what would it be?

"Reagan has this ability to just... Control ships. That's cool, but I think I'd have to go with the Hephaestus kids' ability to control and understand every mechanical thing, like cars, trucks, planes, stuff like that! I would be an unstoppable traveler!"

Q5: What is your favorite animal?

"I absolutely adore snakes, but that's just a Hermes thing. So, if I had to pick for myself, I'd probably say foxes! They're smart, agile, and they probably carry so much knowledge with them!"

Q6: When you graduate, what do you want to study at college?

"Good question! Oh, man, I think I'll study something like business, and open my own shop. I have so many ideas that could help people out. I can only hope Finn from the Hephaestus cabin helps out. His handiwork would be SO helpful!"

Q7: What are your thoughts on Atalanta and Ganymede being the camp directors?

"They're doing great! The camp has never felt so positive, and the past year of them doing this has been something incredible! Morale is so high, there's been a record low of attacks, and they're both extremely skilled with teaching us! Atalanta is the guardian of young women, after all- and Ganymede is the guardian of young men! They deserve a raise, you hear me?!"

Q8: Okay, so which cabin would you like to live in if you didn't live in the Hermes cabin?

"Oh, if I can't pick Hermes already, then my number two choice would probably be the Nike cabin! Rumor has it they have a ping pong table, a pool table, and a Foosball table in the cabin- and they have that basketball court on the outside! I also light how bright it looks on the outside, and the Nike kids are so cool to hang with!"