#I feel like we’re missing a missive opportunity here

[moonlit-typewriter]

Why am I not seeing any post-Atlas Annabeth art from the show? I feel like we’re not thinking about the possibilities of Leah’s hair with the gray streaks and that feels like a crime.

In her natural hair?

Gorgeous

In her braids?

Stunning

There’s literally no style that she wouldn’t absolutely eat🤩

Let’s make more post-titans-curse-tv annabeth art

[ikeromantic]

My Favorite Place

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, Approx. 2600 words. This scene takes place after the romantic epilogue and completely inside my head. Fluff!

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Lunches with Friends

The letter from Sasuke arrived on the same day Mitsuhide planned to speak with Nobunaga - to request permission to take his little one on a journey.

The timing of the ninja’s reply could not be better. His letter said the passage 'home' would be open in less than a month’s time, ‘assuming calculations are correct.’

He also went on to say he was uncertain how regular these passages would be. And that he didn’t recommend travel unless all parties were committed to the destination.

An interesting wrinkle in Mitsuhide’s plans. He did not want to be caught, 500 years from all his plans, his allies, his work. It struck him then that this was what his little mouse had done. Perhaps not purposely, not when she left. But she’d chosen - for him - to abandon all she knew and held dear. How could he shrink at the possibility of doing the same for her?

These thoughts swirled through him as he mounted the steps of the tenshu. He did his best to bottle them up when he reached the door. In dealing with Nobunaga, he must have a clear mind.

Mitsuhide knocked lightly. The door opened.

His little mouse stood there, looking quite surprised to see him.

He smiled at her, hiding his own surprise. She’d gone out shopping today, or so Kyubei told him. Either his vassal was slipping or the chatelaine was improving her skill at misdirection. “Little one. I see you arrived ahead of me.”

Mitsuhide studied her expression. She looked pleased. Her cheeks were pink, eyes bright. His gaze passed her into the room beyond. Nobunaga sat, his newest tea set in use on the table. Ranmaru stood nearby, head down. The kitsune warlord wondered what transpired, but he knew he would get it from his little one later, if nothing else. She couldn’t dissemble well enough to avoid his direct questions.

“I . . . didn’t realize you were dropping by too! We could have had tea together.” She fiddled with the tie on her obi.

“Yes. We could have. I was under the impression you were in town. How silly of me.” Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow.

His little one had the grace to blush. “Ah, well, I am going to town. Now. To shop.” She looked down.

Mitsuhide chuckled. She was still so very innocent, even when she tried to be tricky. He cupped her cheek and gently raised her head to look at him. “Then allow me to kiss you goodbye.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Slowly, savoring the moment he felt her relax into his touch, responding with her mouth, her body.

She took a step closer to him, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Mmm,” Mitsuhide smiled as he pulled back from her. “I will see you at home later. You will be back before dinner?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a tad breathless.

“Good. I am sure we will have many things to discuss.” His golden eyes shone with curiosity that would not be denied.

His little mouse nodded. “See you later, then.” She scurried past and down the stairs.

“Was that for my benefit,” Nobunaga asked dryly.

“It was for mine.” Mitsuhide entered and bowed.

Nobunaga gestured him forward. “Sit. I expected to see you today.”

“I thought you might.” Mitsuhide sat and waited quietly while Ranmaru poured tea.

“Do you have something to report?”

Mitsuhide sipped at the hot tea, considering what he did have to say, beyond requesting time absent from Azuchi. His gaze drifted to Ranmaru and then back to Nobunaga.

His lord’s eyes narrowed. “Ranmaru, you are needed in the kitchen.”

“My lord?” The page looked up, surprised.

“The kitchen,” Nobunaga repeated.

Ranmaru gave a quick bow and hurried out. He cast one look at Mitsuhide over his shoulder, a nervous glance, and then he was gone.

“Thank you my lord. I do prefer privacy for our discussions.”

Nobunaga frowned slightly. He said nothing, only waited for his warlord to continue.

Mitsuhide picked out a few gems to share. “The Aki province is not as peaceful as Hideyoshi has been led to believe. The coalition he is working on a treaty with will fall apart. They are not honest in their dealings.”

Nobunaga’s brow furrowed. “How do you know this?”

“A bit of information here, some there. I put it together. The Mouri clan will continue to defy you, I am sure. And there is more. The Ikko Ikki still have much influence among the common folk. They continue to recruit and train. It is only a matter of time before they make another attempt on your life.”

“That isn’t news so much as a certainty.” Nobunaga gestured imperiously. “They will yield or fall. I do not fear Kennyo.”

“It isn’t the demon abbot I worry about either. It is the forces that seek to use him. He was once friends with The Tiger of the Kai, and some of his followers have been seen in Sakai, speaking with foreign merchants.” Mitushide shrugged. “I cannot say what it will mean.”

Nobunaga nodded. He hadn’t forgotten their enemies in Echigo.

“I have placed some people in each camp, watching. If an opportunity arises -”

“I trust my left hand to deal with the knives at my back.” He smiled for the first time since Mitsuhide’s arrival. “But I think you came to do more than report?”

Mitsuhide bowed his head. “Perceptive as always, my lord.” He cleared his throat. “I need to be absent for a time. With my fiancee. I wish to show her Sakamoto, and to take her to the Mino province. Perhaps . . . further.”

Nobunaga was quiet for a moment. “How long do you intend to be gone?”

“A month? Likely more.”

“You would take my good luck charm and leave me one-handed, knowing my enemies surround us?” Nobunaga didn’t sound angry, only curious. He knew Mitsuhide always had some sort of plan in mind.

“Think more than your left hand will be out of sight, rather than gone.” Mitsuhide looked up.

Nobunaga regarded him with those impenetrable carnelian eyes. He was one man the kitsune warlord could never fully read. “And my good luck charm?”

“Will be in good hands.”

“And if I say no?” One brow rose in question.

Mitsuhide smiled, sharp and thin. “Have I ever betrayed you?”

Nobunaga laughed, a full throated, head thrown back guffaw. It faded to a chuckle and then just a smile. “You may go. I expect you to bring my luck charm back unharmed and in good spirits.”

He bowed again. “I will endeavor not to disappoint you.”

“You will not.” Nobunaga’s eyes were hard, though he still smiled.

Mitsuhide spent the rest of his day wondering what his lord and his lover had talked about. He could think of a dozen things. A sewing commission? Her work as chatelaine? Funds? Was there something she needed - and had she gone to Nobunaga for it? Not knowing bothered him more than he expected.

Worse, Kyubei was nowhere to be found. A fact that made him certain his vassal knew what she was up to. Of all the things Mitsuhide had expected to share with his lover, his vassal’s loyalty had not been his first thought. Not that he minded . . . much. But Kyubei’s first oath was to him.

He nearly went to Azuchi to look for the two of them. But patience was always the wiser course. Instead, he busied himself at the manor, sending missives to his castles and telling them to expect his arrival. Then, preparing his manor servants for an extended absence. They knew what to do and needed very little instruction.

Despite his attempts at distraction, he was on pins until he heard Kyubei and his little mouse return. They were laughing as they walked into the hall, his vassal’s low voice an indistinct rumble under her high, sweet chatter.

“We were lucky we -” She stopped speaking as Kyubei interrupted.

“We were! I did tell you, my lady. I expect we will need to -” His vassal stopped himself, then continued on a whole different topic. “Ready yourself for dinner with my lord. I will check on the menu. Do you need a maid?”

“No, Kyubei. I think I can handle it. Thank you, again.”

“It is the least I owe you.”

Her laugh, sweet and gentle. “You owe me nothing. But I’d like to think we’re friends now.”

“We are, my lady.”

Mitsuhide looked out in time to see Kyubei bow and leave for the kitchens. Clearly he suspected they were being listened to. What lucky thing had happened? And what did he expect they would need to do? His little one was turning into quite the conspirator. She would need to deliver herself of these secrets. Her lover had some ideas on how best to get them out of her.

He waited until she was in her rooms to approach, sliding her door open silently. She was dressed in just her underclothes, a cool, wet cloth pressed to her face. She didn’t hear him as he came in, and shut the door behind him.

Mitsuhide took advantage of the moment to see if she’d brought any packages, but there was nothing new in her room. He came up behind her and settled his arms around her waist.

His little one shrieked and leapt up. She put her foot back and tried to pull him forward, but that move only worked if he was moving that direction when she did it. Like this, it was ineffective, but he was proud of her for trying. She turned, ready to place an elbow in his ribs, and then she saw who had her.

“Mitsuhide! You - you bastard!” Her cheeks were bright pink, all the way to the tips of her ears.

“Are you angry with me, little mouse?”

“No. Yes! You scared me!”

Mitsuhide chuckled. “And are you still afraid?”

She shook her head. “Just mad at you.”

“Oh? Then I will have to make it up to you.” He bent down to kiss the nape of her neck. “I cannot bear for you to be angry with me.” He kissed along her neck, enjoying the little sigh of pleasure that escaped her lips.

“It’s going to t-take more than a few kisses. Tease.”

“I have much more than that in mind.” Mitsuhide sat and pulled her into his lap. He hadn’t realized how much he missed holding her until she was in his arms. His unsettled feelings faded as she nestled against his chest.

“I missed you today.”

“And I, you.” He kissed her and it made the one they’d shared at the tenshu seem a pale shadow for the warmth and passion in it. Mitsuhide stroked her back and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

They parted, reluctant and breathless. Neither said anything for awhile. And then they both spoke at once.

“What were you -”

“Why were you -”

She laughed. “You first.”

“Alright.” He shifted her to face away from him and began unpinning her hair. Mitsuhide told himself it was because she was less guarded when enjoying herself, but the truth was, he just liked the feel of it. He waited until he’d released her hair from it’s bun, and began gently combing his fingers through it, before he spoke again. “I wondered what you went to Nobunaga for. Did he summon you?”

“Mmmm, no . . . I just had to talk to him.” She sighed happily at his gentle ministrations.

“Oh? Is your lover allowed to know what you talked about?”

She gave a breathy laugh. “Are you jealous, Mitsuhide?”

“No.” He scowled. “A little.” It was more than jealousy, and less. A layered emotion. He didn’t fear that she loved someone else. No one could take her from him. It wasn’t that. It was . . . Nobunaga’s claim on her as his charm. His casual ownership of her as an Oda princess. Coming from his lord, he could accept it but if she saw herself that way . . .

“I needed to talk to him about us. I didn’t want bad feelings. He was my boss after all. Still is, I guess.” She laughed again.

“About us, little one?” His heart thudded suddenly in his chest.

She bent her head forward and took a breath. “I hope you don’t think it’s silly. I just wanted him to know I love you. And that I needed to be here with you.”

Mitsuhide froze. Of all the things he thought they might have discussed, he hadn’t thought she went to Nobunaga to have a heart-to-heart.

“Of course, I let him know I still care about him, and the others. I mean, I haven’t abandoned them - I’m still around.” She realized he wasn’t moving. “Is that alright? Mitsuhide? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” She looked at him, worried.

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face against her shoulder. “You have no idea . . .”

She kissed him on the side of his head. “I don’t understand you sometimes. Most times, actually. I thought you might be angry.”

“I am never angry with you.” He sat up and resumed finger-combing her hair. Mitsuhide was intensely glad no one could see how easily she disarmed him. Took apart his plans and defenses and left him bare by just being so adorable.

“Is that all you wanted to know?”

“About Nobunaga, yes. How did your shopping go? Was Kyubei a help?” Mitushide was relaxed now, confident her answer would be as innocent as the first.

“Shopping went fine. Kyubei was great. He is really very resourceful.”

“Oh?” Mitsuhide began to braid her hair. His dextrous fingers were good at three and five strand plaits. It was a little like tying a bond, or ropework. But infinitely more pleasant.

“Yes. We - we found what we needed to.”

“And what was that?”

She shrugged. “Just, stuff. Nothing to be interested in.”

Mitsuhide knew deflection when he heard it. “But I am, little mouse. Did you find some new fabric? A tool for your sewing kit?”

“No . . . don’t worry about it.”

“Is it a secret?” Mitsuhide’s eyes shone. “You know how much I like teasing secrets from you.”

She wriggled in his lap, as if considering escape.

He tied off the braid with a ribbon and leaned down to nip her neck. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, “Is that what you want me to do?”

“N-no! This is - Mitsuhide - that’s not fair!” She nestled back against him as if defeated. “I’ll tell you if you really want to know. But I’d rather keep it a surprise.”

Ah, what a conundrum. He wanted to know everything about her, especially the things she wanted to hide. But he knew how hard she tried to surprise him. His gorgeous haori was the latest example, though he’d figured it out only a week into its construction.

Mitsuhide stroked his hands down her arms, soothing. “I will be patient then. Until your surprise is ready. But . . . we’ll be traveling soon. Will that be a problem?”

She made a happy squeal. “Are we going to visit your home? On a vacation?”

“Yes, love. I spoke with Nobunaga about it and he has granted us both leave.”

“I can’t wait. I want to see all your favorite places. Hear all the stories about you as a boy! Will you introduce me to your family?” She sounded so excited. It pleased Mitsuhide to no end to hear joy in her voice.

“My family has passed, but I will be glad to introduce you to those that remain. I will show you everything you might find beautiful, but you should know little one, my favorite place is wherever you are.”

Next: My Home Is Your Home

[ladyknightleyisundercover]

best laid plans

Happy New Year! Here’s one for everyone else planning on snuggling down in pajamas and going straight to sleep.

“It’s nearly time!”

“QUICK Daddy! It’s NEARLY TIME!”

“Nearly time, nearly time!”

“Come on, everyone in—that’s it, over here—ow, James, put that broomstick down right away—”

“But I need to do a loop-the-loop for the new year—”

“Not in my living room you don’t, now, quick! Look at the clock!”

“It says one minute to midnight!”

“Daddy, Daddy!”

“Alright Lily, I’m here! Are we ready to go?” Harry hurried into the living room, subtly giving Ginny the thumbs up, as their three children bounced around the sofa in barely restrained excitement. The clock on the mantelshelf showed it was about thirty seconds to midnight and a quick flick of Ginny’s wand meant that the wireless next to it started up, static at first and then, after a few moments, the unmistakable sound of a countdown began. Ten, nine...

“Eight! Six! Ten! Three!”

“Muuuuuuuum, Lily’s doing it wrong!”

“AM NOT!”

“Quick, we’re going to miss it!”

“THREE!” bellowed Harry. “TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

“Happy new year!” echoed Ginny. “Happy new year, everybody!” The wireless began to play Auld Lang Syne and she and Harry joined in, the children—who, between them, managed some mixture of the correct words and tune—adding contributions here and there. Mostly, James and Al enjoyed the opportunity to pump each other’s arms up and down so vigorously that they both fell off the sofa in a tangled heap, but before any tears could begin, Harry scooped them both up.

“Ssh!” he said. “Can you hear that?!”

They both froze, listening intently, and Lily stopped bouncing, too, eyes wide. “FIREWORKS!” cried James, having identified the loud bangs first, and the two of them raced to the window.

“They’re in our garden!” Al shouted, racing out of the room and towards the back door, hotly pursued by his brother.

“Cloaks and wellies!” Harry called, racing after them. “And both of them on before you go outside! Boys! Are you listening?!”

“Do you want to go out and see the fireworks, too, Lily?” asked Ginny.

Lily thought for a moment. “Loud,” she said solemnly. Ginny smiled, knowing she would never, ever admit to being afraid of the noises in front of her brothers.

“They are a bit,” she said. “But how about we turn off all the lights and watch them from in here, where it’s quiet?”

Another moment’s thought ended in vigorous nodding, so Ginny opened the curtains, turned off the lights (and added a subtle, half-silencing charm to the window so the sounds were muffled) and the two of them watched a twenty minute display of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ finest.

George had stocked them up at Christmas with a special personalised box—Ginny had worried, slightly, at first, about what this meant but it appeared that he’d simply modified the fireworks which exploded into the missive HAPPY NEW YEAR into reading HARRY’S NUDE YEAR instead. He had slightly overestimated his niece and nephews’ reading ability, so this passed unnoticed by the children (who were much more amused by the ones which read, somewhat inexplicably, given the festive occasion, POO) although Ginny managed to catch Harry’s eye from inside and tip him an enormous wink.

After the display was over, James and Albus were eventually persuaded to come back inside, tripping over themselves in their excitement to recount the display. Lily, that bit younger, was starting to get more than a little overtired, and did not take kindly to her brothers’ teasing her for not wanting to go outside to see the fireworks. Tears threatened, but were averted by Ginny’s suggestion that they all have a glass of Mummy’s very special drink to celebrate the new year and the champagne (lemonade, with magical glitter charms added) was duly passed around and imbibed with enthusiasm. Shortly thereafter, it was agreed that almost one o’clock in the morning was indeed a suitably late time to deign to go to bed, and, in various states of sleepiness, the three Potter children, accompanied by their parents, climbed the stairs.

By the time they reached the landing Lily, still in her mother’s arms, was actually asleep, so Ginny indicated to Harry that she would deal with her if he got the boys to bed. She managed to get her daughter into bed, tucked up, curtains drawn and nightlight on without her stirring, and, after dropping a kiss on her head, crept out of the room.

Harry appeared to be having some difficulty with the boys—“James, I think five stuffed dragons is enough for one bed—honestly your Uncle Charlie has a lot to answer for—”. As a magnanimous gesture, she therefore decided to go downstairs to ensure that the real champagne (a Christmas gift from Bill and Fleur) was suitably chilled and settled herself on the sofa in front of the fire. She flicked her wand at the wireless again, which was now playing something from Celestina Warbeck’s back catalogue, and a few minutes later, Harry arrived.

“You missed one,” he informed her gravely.

“One what, child? Have we another I’m not aware of?” she asked absently, shuffling up to make room then immediately snuggling down on top of Harry as soon as he was comfortably ensconced.

“A clock,” he said. “The jig was nearly up!”

“Oh no!” she said. “Which one?”

“Bathroom,” Harry replied. “Al said he needed the loo before bed which I think had less to do with bodily functions and more to do with being allowed to stay up a minute later than his brother. I went in with him, to make sure he didn’t fall in, and noticed that the bathroom clock was displaying five to nine, and not five to one as he thought it was. Fortunately—” and here he broke off for a moment to yawn hugely, “—I managed to catch it before any harm was done, and he happily went to bed none the wiser.”

“Such observational skills and quick thinking are clearly what have made you such a great Auror,” said Ginny, summoning a blanket to wrap around them both.

“Mmm,” he agreed. “And such creativity with the truth is what makes you such an excellent writer.”

“Oi!” she said. “No mocking my profession. If it wasn’t for me, we’d still have three overexcited children bouncing round the room for three more hours, getting more and more wound up and, I guarantee you, tears before ten thirty. As it is, it’s just gone nine o’clock, it’s New Year’s Eve, and we have the whole evening ahead of us, with three soundly asleep children upstairs. Am I a genius, or am I a genius?”

“To be fair, you did say that it was your Mum who gave you the idea to wind all the clocks on and—ow! Alright, okay! You are a genius.”

“I still can’t believe she did that to us when we were little,” Ginny said, sounding slightly miffed. “Or that none of us spotted it. I even remember being amazed one year at how quickly the evening had gone—we were allowed to stay up til midnight, but it didn’t feel like we’d been awake any longer than normal. Well! Now I know why!”

“Very sneaky,” agreed Harry, pulling the blanket more tightly around them. “And now, we have the whole evening ahead of us…”

“Mmm...” agreed Ginny, closing her eyes for a moment.

Harry yawned again. “How did you get the radio to play the countdown?” he asked sleepily.

“When I went in to do that interview with Lee just before Christmas, he let me listen to the recording from last year and I duplicated it on my wand,” she said, pausing several times to yawn. “It wasn’t really the wireless playing, just that duplication.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Told you. I’m a genius.”

“Genius,” Harry agreed. “Mm.” There was a very long pause. “D’you want some champagne?” he murmured, for the bottle and glasses were currently just out of reach on the coffee table. He hoped she wouldn’t: he’d have to move to get them, and that would mean disturbing the comfortable nest they’d built here on the sofa...

“Maybe in a minute,” Ginny said softly. “Just going to...enjoy the quiet for a moment...”

“Genius idea,” agreed Harry, feeling the softness of her body on his and snuggling deeper into the sofa. “Just...in a minute...”

*

Ginny awoke with a start. The room was dark, and cold—the fire had long since gone out. Harry, beneath her, was snoring away. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she blinked twice, picking out the numbers on Uncle Fabian’s battered old watch. A quarter past three!

“Harry! Harry!”

“Wassamatter?” He stirred sleepily, then sat bolt upright, forcing her up, too. “Gin? What’s wrong?”

“We missed it!” she said in dismay, shivering from the sudden cold as the blanket slipped away too.

“What?”

“We missed it! It’s gone three in the morning!”

“Missed...oh! Midnight! Oh, dear. Oh well, there’ll be other new years’ eves,” he said. “And may I be the first to wish you a happy new year, Mrs Potter.”

“Happy new year,” she echoed. “But never mind about that! We missed our child-free evening!”

“Oh. That,” he said.

“Yes, that!” she replied.

“Don’t worry,” he said, lying back down on the sofa and pulling her down beside him. The blanket started tucking itself back around them. “Ron owes me one—don’t ask. But we can cash in some favours soon and go out all night if you want, leaving the kids with him and Hermione.”

“Or we could just stay in,” said Ginny, having considered this.

“So many options,” he agreed sleepily. “Just as well we’ve a whole year ahead of us, then.”

[fictionalized]

So, uhhhhh, conversation ended up talking about various other social media sites and I found out that I never deleted my LiveJournal? Which yikes. Anyway, looking at my posts, I found a noir Lord of the Rings thing I wrote, and..... I don’t know. Here it is.

4 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 Spent the night in a camp on the shores of the River Lune. My time at the Thorin's Hall was- well, one can hardly call time among the Dwarves exactly pleasant, but it was quiet. I did my best to keep a low profile, at least. Still, the past catches up with you eventually, even in the deeps, and Silvertounge had little choice in the matter. Got me what I needed, though- a quiet warning, a packed bag, and a quick pony were enough to get me out of the mine before the Easterlings could lay their grubby hands on me. Bastards think that just because they grow a beard and wield an axe, the Dwarves feel some kinship to them. Give it some time. You’ll never find much kinship in a dark corridor. I helped teach the Dwarves that. Too much trouble for me to go back now. If they lay eyes on me, not likely to get more than a bloody shout, a short fight, and a short pyre. Thorin’s Hall is not a safe haven anymore.

I'm a bit torn on where I should go from here. It's been years since I was last in the Shire, and many of the old names I remember aren't around any longer. Rumor has it that the Thain doesn't see himself as long for this world, and he's going to step down soon. Damn shame to see him go, if he does- Took's seen more blood than most anyone else in the Shire, but the years catch up eventually. Might as well make my way in, though, and see what can be found. I doubt Easterlings can tell one Hobbit from another, so the Shire may just be the ideal haven, for the time being. If I can find a way to pass the time. 6 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 That went neater than expected. Made my way into Michel Delving two afternoons past, and was surprised by what I saw. Things haven't been the same since Gamgee retired- probably hasn’t been this bad since the troubles with Saruman. But no heroes of the War are coming home to help. It’s up to the people of the Shire, and they just don’t want to bother. Already found a place to stay. Found Silvertounge’s last gift for me, too- a pony used to carrying a Dwarf around won’t have much more trouble with a Hobbit and half dozen gold ingots hidden in the saddle bags. With a gift like that, I likely could buy half the Shire, if I wanted. I’m grateful to Silvertounge. I hope the cold didn’t cause him too much suffering. With a stash like that, I’ve got more than I need right now. I had a little talk with the mayor, and I won’t have any problems getting what I want in town. Settled down in a little hole down in Three Farthing Stone, and buried the rest in my living room.

Been spending the past couple nights in the Ivy Bush. I can feel that itch starting again, after sitting still for two days, with no news of what’s going on. Can’t afford to just drown the time in the tavern, have to keep an ear out. I caught one of the Bounders on the road this evening- it took long enough to find him; I guess their numbers aren’t what they once were. He was nervous about something, but we had a nice chat. He said the borders looked clear, but he’d let me know if he saw anyone strange come into town. Good fellow. 7 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 Found the perfect opportunity. Turns out the Quick Post in the Shire has fallen to shreds. Just the sort of thing a restless young Hobbit with some spare time and a fast steed could do to keep an eye out, especially if he was looking to keep an ear out for news. The mayor seemed confused when I approached him for the job- he knows exactly how much money I have, even if no one else does. But he didn’t object, and Coffer and I- oh, I named the pony, seemed fitting- set out on our first delivery runs this afternoon. Things I’ve learned today- folk of the Shire are nosy, and boring. Dozens of messages, traveling no more than a handful of miles, and most of them nothing more notable than variations of “How are you, we’re well, see you soon.” Orders for shoes and pipeweed and pies, even the messages from the Shirriffs were boring- “all quiet in Buckland, thanks for asking.” And everyone asks what I’m carrying, too- not that they care, apparently, if other people know, as they’ll tell me everything they’ve written. Maybe they just hope I’ll deliver the message if something happens to their letter. We’ll see how tolerable this job remains. 21 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 Maybe the Shire isn’t so boring after all. Overheard one of the Shirriffs talking in the Ivy Bush after my last run this afternoon. Apparently there have been a lot of bad pies passed around lately. Baker’s shamed by it, and might get run out of business, and it takes a lot for people in the Shire to lose interest in someone who’s cooking for them. No one’s died, but a fair number of folk have taken ill. This might be worth looking into, certainly will pass the time as I watch the borders. By the Valar. This is what seems interesting now. Now I remember why I left the Shire in the first place. 26 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 Rough few days. A pack of Easterlings came into the Shire three nights past, must have followed me from Thorin’s Hall. The mayor has let things slip further than I thought- no organized response, and most everyone just locked themselves behind their doors. A few farmers were caught totally unprotected. I knew none of the Shirriffs would raise a hand to help, so I took Coffer and went out to do what I’m best at. Two days and nights running, coming out of the woods, and we got rid of them. There was only thirty Easterlings to start, and only half made it back out alive. Staying out in the woods like that meant I haven’t slept in the past few days. Well, I haven’t slept much since before I left Thorin’s Hall. Every time I drop off, the dreams of fire come back. It’s the thought of these Easterlings, it’s getting to me. Three days of fighting left me worn, but somehow peaceful. Focused. Talked to the mayor about the raids this afternoon. Three farms burned. One in Stockbrook two days ago, one near the Rushock Bog yesterday, and Overhill this morning. I saw each of them go up, but couldn’t stop the Easterlings. They paid for it, though. Mayor asked for their bodies, but he’s not ready for that. I burned them. He wasn’t happy, but what’s he going to do about it? I don’t understand this raid, though. I haven't seen the Easterlings send children on their raids before. They must be getting desperate, and with two dozen fewer warriors returning to them, then I hope that desperation chokes them. Oh, progress in the pies. Nearly three weeks- that’s how long they’ve been appearing. Somehow all the berries in the northwest Shire have been tainted. It’s madness. I’m looking into the baker- someone’s framing her, I know it. But who? Why go to all this trouble to put a baker out of business? She has to have made some enemy in her past. 28 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 Curse the Shire to Sammuth Nauru. Every single blasted Hobbit I’ve interviewed has nothing worthwhile to tell me about the baker. Most won’t even speak to me- I get nervous mutters at best and closed doors at best. This is the gratitude I get for three sleepless nights of protecting them from Easterlings. The Shirriffs are no better. They speak to me, but have nothing to tell me, other than what I already know- the berries were poisoned, spoiling the pies. Two Hobbits died from eating the pies yesterday. It is a cold poison that eats away at them. Others will join them soon. The Shire will see more deaths soon. I will find answers. 30 Wedmath, Shire Reckoning 1481 Still nothing. I searched the northwest realm of the Shire, all the way out to the River Lune, and found nothing. Whoever was there covered their tracks well; it looked like no one had even passed that way since I made my way to the Shire. The people of the Shire are getting scared, too. Paranoid. The Shirriffs have started mailing each other more notes. Sealed, this time, official-looking. Some say the mayor is going to call them in for a meeting, and the Bounders. Good. About blasted time they had some organization. But it won’t be anytime soon. Not for a few weeks, I’m sure. Hobbits are nothing if not slow to act. That’ll give me time to solve this. 4 Halimath, Shire Reckoning 1481 I can’t believe it. Those ungrateful curs. After all I’ve done in the Shire, and this is what they think. I gave in. Opened one of those official, sealed envelopes. The Shirriff of Greenfields sent a missive to the mayor. And he suspects me. Decided that it’s the outsider who’s done this. Vicious little backstabber, trying to convince the Bounders to take me in, send me to Arnor for “justice.” He’ll not lay a hand on me, I assure you of that. I tossed it into Rushock bog. The Shirriffs don’t want to wander the roads, they won’t trust the night and the Bounders to protect them. Afraid of the Easterlings, I know. And I’m the only one protecting them. But they won’t go to the mayor in person, and I won’t carry word of their betrayal of me. Not on my watch. I must be more vigilant in what I’m delivering. Thanks to the Valar for Coffer. I’ve been staying up longer and longer, working on this problem and watching for the Easterlings. He’s learned the routes for the post, and that’s the only time I can get a few bits of sleep, it seems. He’s a patient sort, always makes sure to wake me up in time for a delivery, or if anyone approaches. Good pony. If any of Silvertounge’s sons remain, I should let them know I appreciate their father’s gift. 7 Halimath, Shire Reckoning 1481 No luck with the pies. Blasted, cursed pies. I must have missed something. What did I see or what didn’t I see. The berries, all along the river’s shore. The Shirriffs are- they’re asking questions. More of them. All of them. Too many questions, too many to ignore. Are they right? Have I… No. No, I can’t have. I wouldn’t feed them to the cold. But the letters. I think they’re starting to send word with the Bounders. They’re starting to wonder. I need more sleep. 8 Halimath, Shire Reckoning 1481 The Easterlings struck again. Two of the Shirriffs were killed, and four Bounders. They never saw me coming for them. 9 Halimath, Shire Reckoning 1481 The Shire is no place for me anymore. .In the middle of the night, I dug up my six gold ingots from the floor, and made my way east towards Bree. I’ll miss the Ivy Bush, but I’m certain they’ll be safer without me. No Easterling will menace them after I’m gone. We’ll see what Bree holds for me.

[lynxmuse]

Philosophy Moment

Hubris.  A great and interesting human capacity we all share (and that I’ve spoken about before here) that is responsible for 94% of all downfalls.*

And one of the ‘best’ hubristic follies we pursue is the belief that “I’m not human.”  Not literally – at least, usually not literally – but more along this flavour: “Other people might be tricked, or swindled, or taken in, but I can’t be.  Other people might be susceptible to advertising, or social media, or disinformation campaigns, or the addictive ways companies manipulate the base of our brain stem, but not me.  I’m too smart/careful/clever/advanced/enlightened for that. I’m better than them.”**

Of course, that is not only not true, but that very arrogant certainly makes us all the more susceptible to all of that… because when we’re certain it can’t/won’t be happening to us we are totally not present and miss all the signs that it is indeed happening, or, even better, that would warn us away before it starts.

It’s like one of my former roomates, who prided themselves on being a pretty good manipulator.  Putting aside the oddity of being proud about that kind of thing, the ‘joke’ was that instead, they themselves were often manipulated.  And they didn’t realize it.  To someone more skilled at manipulation (again, not something to be proud of) they were an easy target, and someone aware of their manipulative attempts could diffuse it to no advantage, again without them realizing it.  Like my theory of the Tai Chi Push Hands Skill Differential Exponential Experience Factor, all that bluster of certainty only got them into way more trouble than they could feel.  They found themselves on the floor without even realizing they were there, let alone how they got there.

We are bombarded with missives and messages every day, both genuine and manipulative.  And for the latter, both directly with unscrupulous intent and indirectly through algorithmic chicanery that is designed only to hook our limbic brain and keep our attention hooked (for the purposes of making money).  And through this time of shelter in place we’re even more exposed.  To walk blindly forward like we are an unassailable fortress is just inviting all sorts of opportunities to render ourselves fools (and to maybe let the whole world know it).  Just like “I am human, therefore I have biases”, “I am human, therefore I am capable of being tricked, hoodwinked, and hijacked to ill intent.”

By keeping ourselves mindful and cautious, we can avoid being hooked, avoid spreading it far and wide, avoid harming ourselves and our wellbeing (financial, emotional, relatedness, etc), and avoid destroying the very structures, institutions, communities, and families we hold dear.

* Note, not a real statistic, but that doesn’t necessarily make the notion entirely untrue…

** Where ‘them’ in this sense is used pejoratively.

[shimmersing]

Queued

Characters: Erithon Zale, Republic Trooper; Aitahea Daviin, Jedi Consular; Elara Dorne; respective Trooper & Consular crewmembers.

Setting: The Trooper’s Ship, Triumph Rising, immediately prior to Corellia

Spoilers: Through Chapter 3

Summary: Cut off from communications and distractions while in hyperspace, Erithon finds himself penning a desperate missive to a certain Jedi… but does he have the courage to send it? Meanwhile, the Barsen’thor considers the larger ramifications of her personal decisions, and even the Force brings no comfort.

Notes: Solidly inspired by Lauv’s “i’m so tired…” and thank you to @taraum for beta-reading. <3

“I’m so tired of love songs,” Erithon muttered, muting the crackling audio and flipping the datapad to the end of his bunk. They were en route to Corellia, open war calling Havoc to the front lines. Everything was a disaster.

Erithon snatched up the datapad again. “Thanks but no thanks, Galactic Top Forty,” he grumbled, scrolling through the limited music they’d picked up while in orbit over Voss. Being both isolated and neutral, the list of updates from the Core was woefully small.

Once in hyperspace, Erithon and his crew had found themselves with several hours to kill before reaching Corellia. Havoc was doing their usual routines to prep for a challenging mission: Elara & Aric having a pleasant argument about regulations, Yuun meditating or researching, Vik had taken up trying to teach Forex to play sabaac (strangely, the droid couldn’t seem to outwit the Weequay after two weeks; Vik was of course cheating).

Erithon had promised Elara he’d try to sleep.

[AO3 flavor found here.]

But every little noise the Triumph Rising made as she careened through hyperspace got on Erithon’s last nerve, conjuring visions of impossible stray hyperspace garbage tearing his ship to pieces, or dropping out of hyperspace out to find Corellia in Imperial hands and his allies in the hands of-

Augh, stop it.

So he turned on the only music he could find in the datapad’s drive, something months old already, never listened to. A young man opined about love songs, perhaps a statement on the music business more than his actual love life.

It was something Aitahea had recommended, laughing that she had a youngling’s taste in music, but she had been raised in Jedi enclaves after all. Of course that was ridiculous because despite saying that, she’d sent him everything from a rare recording of the Cathedral of Winds to some cantina band off Tattooine.

Her galaxy seemed so expansive, so engaging, and he had somehow found a place in it. He wasn’t about to let that go just because the war was back on and the Core Worlds were fracturing and-

He saw the messages icon out of the corner of his eye, blinking in electronic frustration when it couldn’t connect to the holonet feed, interrupted as they were in hyperspace.

A message.

Why not? He wasn’t sleeping, so he might as well make the most of his time.

***

Listen.

I love you.

I should have told you on Voss. By the Core I should have told you on Alderaan if I’m being either honestly stupid or stupidly honest, probably both. I’m not sappy enough to take “love at first sight” seriously, and I don’t think you are, either. But we’re living out some old fairytale here, don’t you think?  

I’m sorry I kissed you on Nar Shaddaa. No, I mean, I’m not. I mean, I took advantage of our position. But then you kissed me back, and then you were mad about that, and it was a screw up, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.

I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you on Voss. You have never failed to give everything for everyone, no matter who they are. From the moment we met - on Taris I mean, not to mention when we were kids but that’s a whole other message to be honest.

I don’t remember giving anyone permission to write me as the love interest in a holodrama. Where was I?

Every time we meet somehow you end up in my arms, and I haven’t stopped feeling thrilled when I find you there again. I’ve seen you take your gloves off when you see me coming. Not for your crew, not for mine, not for the damn Jedi Council or the Chancellor. Me.

So on Voss there you were in my arms again and for a minute I thought you were dying, and I couldn’t tell you I loved you and that there was so much that I did and didn’t regret saying and doing. For you. With you.

And Corellia will probably kill us so I needed you to know. I’m okay if we can’t be together, I can accept that, and I’m not sure what I’ve done in this life to deserve someone like you anyway.

You told me once we found each other when we needed the other most. I have never needed, wanted, anything more in my entire life than you. It’s complicated, I know, but if we somehow survive this I promise it’ll be worth it.

See you soon.

***

Erithon pushed send.

Fuck.

He punched at the screen a few times, frowned, and then his eyes went wide. “Wait. The relay. Wait.”

This is bad very bad but there’s maybe a chance-

Erithon skidded out of his quarters and through the ship looking for Dorne.

“Elara!” he called, fighting to keep his voice even. The medic appeared in the doorway of the med bay alone, eyes still on her datapad. Erithon exhaled explosively, relieved. “Hey, Elara, can you delete a message from the hyperspace relay queue?”

Dorne dropped her “Per regulations, sir, I’m not allowed, it would have to be you or Jorgan. I can only-”

“Fine, permission granted, whatever, can you do it? You have the helm, so I’m locked out of messaging administration.”

“Are you off duty then, sir? I can only return you to service after you’ve rested the allotted period, and it’s only-” Dorne paused to glance at her chrono and Erithon took the opportunity to interrupt the fastidious officer again.

“Elara, it was to Aitahea.”

Dorne’s face went deathly still for a moment before she recovered her usual aplomb. “I take your meaning, sir. Give me a few moments.”

Dorne rushed back into the med bay while Erithon paced the room a few times. He looked at an old analogue chrono on the wall (when had they gotten that?) and watched the seconds tick by. How long had it been? When were they due to drop out of hyperspace?

“Sir?”

Erithon jumped at Elara’s soft query, wrapped tight in his thoughts. “Yeah?”

“It’s taken care of, sir.” Elation clasped her hands in front of her, flustered. “Yes, sir.” She pauses for a moment, gathering her courage. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Of course,” Erithon replied, distracted by relief.

“Sir, we all adore Master Aitahea. Even Vik, I think. And we can see that…” Elara shifted awkwardly. “She’s important to you. We understand if that means things here have to change.”

Erithon turned to look at his medical officer with hollow eyes. “I can’t get an answer out of her, Elara. And now we’re in open war, it just can’t be. She’s a Jedi.”

“Sir, I’ve actually studied the Jedi recently. It’s rare for them to establish romantic relationships, but not completely unheard of. They have some regulations, not dissimilar to our own.”

Erithon chuckled. “Five credits you know what forms are required from memory.”

“It’s form number fourteen hundred thirty-two A for the ranking officer and number fourteen hundred thirty-seven B for the lower rank, unless one isn’t in the-”

“Thanks, Elara, I get the point.”

“The Barsen’thor technically outranks you, sir.”“Elara.”

The woman sighed. “Sorry, sir.” She turned back towards the medbay, giving her a sidelong glance, a mix of pity and concern. “Page me if you need anything, sir.”

“Yeah.” Erithon missed her pointed expression, back to exploring his snarled feelings.

[dayntee]

[Pillars: Deadfire] Frigid Nightmares

This whole thing came about as a result of me accidentally wandering into the Beast of Winter DLC and being WHOLLY unprepared for it (IE getting my ass utterly handed to me). After rolling back a fair notch, I’ve continued on, but I also tried to mentally justify the detour, backtrack, and continued exploration of the Deadfire and this... whatever it is, is what resulted. 

Summary: Ydwin’s insistence on investigating the invitation from Rymrgand’s faithful rubs Aloth the wrong way; his consciousness (both his own and a suppressed Iselmyr) pulls him in two directions. Should he follow his captain’s orders or push an agenda that’s more personal than he’s willing to admit?

Rating: PG-13, for some depicted gruesome violence

Relationships: Aloth x F!Watcher (unspoken/unresolved, ANGST AHOY)

Spoilers: Deadfire, Beast of Winter DLC (light)

Notes: Still finding Idralia’s accent, but it’s Aedyran with a Deadfire dull to it. Writing it out is almost as challenging as speaking it on stream. Imagine it landing somewhere between Aloth’s mid-Atlantic and Serafin’s super casual pirate cadence. And then trying not to make it sound Dyrwoodan. 

Also available here on AO3

A curled, familiar piece of tanned leather suddenly appeared before Idralia’s face. As she gently pushed it aside, the stern glare of Ydwin appeared from behind it, decisively reaching up with her spare hand to adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose. 

“Watcher. You’ve had this invitation for weeks. Do you have any intention of investigating its source?” 

Idralia reached up and removed her eye patch, rubbing the protected eye for a moment as it re-adjusted back to the dim light below decks. She had no medical need for the patch, but her experience as a sharpshooter on the high seas had long since taught her the value in keeping an eye dim for travelling above and below deck. She preferred, however, to meet her companions with both eyes when discussing matters of import.

“Of course I do. I’d like to think that in the time you’ve been aboard The Defiant, you’ve noticed I‘m a woman of my word,” she took the missive from Ydwin’s insistent grasp, re-reading the contents over again. The thin, jagged writing in red disconcerted her; things were weird enough on the ship with Xoti’s slow descent into constant bloodlust and a growing tension between herself and Aloth that sailing to the furthest southern reaches to freeze her arse off didn’t seem like a logical next step. “There’s just, you know, this whole matter of Eothas destroying the Deadfire by wading through it like a toddler’s bathing pool, a stack of unclaimed bounties that’re honestly starting to rot, and the needs of our other compatriots to attend to. We’re sort of a busy lot,” 

Ydwin said nothing, crossing her arms and staring intently until Idralia met her gaze again. Once she did, the scout felt a prickling in her senses at the back of her mind as she felt the cipher reach out to her mentally.

And is that to say that my own concerns or interests are not as important as theirs? she questioned, and Idralia winced at the implication. Ydwin had largely been confined to the ship since she had first boarded in Neketaka, and that had been even several more weeks prior to the receipt of the mysterious invitation from whomever this “Vatnir” was. She simply shook her head and she could feel the bubbling frustration from the pale elf. 

“Really wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s not necessary. Listen, I don’t know how much time I have left. I could die tomorrow from this whole splintered soul thing for all I know. It’s like... I don’t know what it’s like, I’m not sure anyone else out there has wandered about with only half of themselves,” she screwed her face in her own frustration, trying to make sense of her rapid string of thoughts. 

This is why I do this. You are conflicted and trying to take on too much. Slow down. Focus on this for a while - perhaps a focused distraction will allow you to more easily sort out your... other priorities. Idralia picked up on the hesitation of thought in Ydwin’s message, but before she could ask for clarification, the cipher had turned abruptly on her heel to exit the captain’s quarters. She dropped her face into a hand, rubbing at the bridge of her own nose and pushing upward to relieve pressure she’d been harboring in her sinuses—missing the unapologetic brush of shoulders between Ydwin and Aloth as he made his way in. 

Aloth cast a glance Ydwin’s way as she pushed past him with no sign of hesitation. While he held respect for Ydwin’s pursuit of knowledge in the metaphysics, her unapologetic approach to animancy rubbed him the wrong way. ‘No matter,’ he supposed, turning his attention back to the distracted Watcher.

It was clear to him for quite some time now that Idralia had been holding back the discussion regarding the nature of their friendship. While he still wasn’t certain he was ready to broach the topic himself, he did recognize she was respecting a boundary she had set years ago with him and he admired her diligence. Catching himself staring, he cleared his throat, and the woman snapped to attention, straightening in her desk chair and dropping a roll of leather to the floor, where it began to rock slowly with the listing of the ship. Aloth bent and picked up the missive before Idralia had fully regained her awareness, and his eyes skimmed its contents before he could stop himself.

“Ah - the Dead Floe is our next course then, captain?” he used the title playfully and enjoyed the pink that traveled up her ears at his use of it. Idralia wasn’t a fan of the title, particularly when used by her former adventuring party. With the plethora of time she had spent teasing him on their previous adventures, he found he was beginning to appreciate turning the tables. 

“Oh, w-well,” she stuttered a moment, regaining her composure with a deep breath before dropping her tricorn unceremoniously on the desk and relaxing in his company. Even when he did catch her off guard, she never took long to return to her more confident, certain bearing. “I think that would be Ydwin’s preference. I’ve been... having trouble focusing on one task at a time, and she requested her own interests take a priority for a time. I s'pose that’s not much different than taking a detour to Ori o Koiki, right?”

Aloth hummed an agreement and nodded. She had a point; it would be rather obvious favoritism if she weren’t equally willing to investigate the needs of their other companions. ‘An’ yet ye dinnae mine a thot ye might be th’ importan one, aye?’ Iselmyr bubbled from deep within his psyche, cackling all the while he silently pushed her back down. Opportunities to poke and prod at his most insecure feelings—that was often the most likely times his elder ego would make herself heard. At least her thoughts rarely, if ever, spilled from his mouth these days.

“That seems fair, to say the least. Still,” he hesitated, and Idralia re-focused her attention on him. 

“Tell me your thoughts, Aloth. You know I trust your opinion,” he felt a smile twitch at the side of his mouth, knowing full well how much she valued his council. It was odd to him that someone who was so certain in her actions would seek insight from someone as unsure as he was; oft before she’d claimed it was because she valued how very differently he perceived the world. As he grew to know her, however, he suspected it was because they were more alike than either cared to admit and he reaffirmed her beliefs rather than than questioned them. 

“Something about it simply seems... off. But I suppose that could be my predisposition for distrust in theological cults with extreme beliefs,” he gave a slight shrug and Idralia laughed. 

“You kind of have good reason to be suspicious. Maybe all the more reason to check this out sooner rather than later,” she waved off the notion and stood with a stretch. “Never mind all that, though, I doubt you came in here to talk about Ydwin. What do you need, Aloth?” she hipped her hand and gave him that carefree smile, the one that made him believe without a doubt she knew exactly where she was going, how she was going to get there, and reaffirmed his decision in tagging along on her adventures. 

In that moment, his heart skipped a beat and, just like that, his resolve was gone again. Logically, he knew better. Fear of rejection was ridiculous because he already knew she harbored feelings for him—she’d more or less confirmed that within hours of his rejoining her group. Emotionally though, there was the fear of hurting her, of breaking her heart... now that was a fate to which he was terrified he might find himself. It was his turn to backpedal. 

“A-ah, oh, I-I’m... afraid you’ve preemptively answered my inquiry. I was merely wondering where we might be sailing to next,” he attempted to shrug nonchalantly once more, but he knew she was far too perceptive to ignore the stiffness in his shoulders and forced movement. She smiled, a sad sort of resignation in her eyes, and she scooped up her eye patch and cap from the desk before moving up to place her other hand on his shoulder. 

“Another time then,” she promised quietly, and his bare shoulder burned with the absence of her warmth as she moved past, donning her headgear once more and moving above deck.

‘Ya bullocksed tha’ one, Corfiser,’ he felt the mockery wave through again and this time he allowed Iselmyr to chide him. Quite frankly, he felt he deserved it. "Not like ye kin run afar offa ship, ye dafty,” he found himself muttering alone, and he bit the inside of his cheek to quell the bubbling criticisms, lest another crew mate overhear. He had maintained fair control of Iselmyr and, even if in this matter she was right, he wasn’t about to let it go again. 

Sighing, he returned below decks, settling himself in his bunk where he might distract his thoughts with his latest grimoire acquisition or simply drift off. Anywhere he could be without thoughts that rang too true.

“It’s casting again! Aloth, can you sto-” Idralia’s command was lost the moment she was blown back by a blast of bitter cold and hail. Already, Ydwin, Xoti, and Cantelope all lay unconscious at the feet of the gargantuan rotting beast, its rancid wings flapping languidly amidst the biting cold winds of the Dead Floe. Idralia’s bow skidded several feet away from her grasp across the icy ground, and it took every last bit of Aloth’s concentration to maintain the spell he was forming. His arcane reserves were burning low, and he only had a handful of spells remaining that seemed to have any effect on the lumbering so-called Herald of Rymrgand. Even Idralia’s normally fearsome powerful shots were barely penetrating its frozen hide. 

Idralia scrambled through the snow, scraping away her eye patch to rely on her full sight, squinting against the bright sky as she adjusted to the sudden influx of light. She whirled about on the ground, bringing up her warbow with both hands just a huge claw came down to attempt to crush her into the ground. She managed to prop it between her and the dragon, straining against an impossible strength, and Aloth knew there was only a moment more he might take advantage of the distraction that could save all their lives—or doom them all.

“Athek werthan roth!” with emphasis, he finished the last fiery incantation he had remaining, watching the fireball form around the rear of the beast and scorching its back flank. ‘It’s not enough!’ he panicked, and the first crunch he heard following the explosion was not half as sickening as the second.

Idralia screamed in pain, one of the dragon’s huge claws pinning her to the ground through nearly the whole of her left shoulder, her leather armor easily sundered and barely enough skin and sinew remaining to keep her arm attached to her torso. Her left fingers spasmed out with raw nerve stimulation, her right hand coming up to grasp the splintered remains of her family heirloom, the only item of purchase she could find. Blood pooled below her, vibrant against the stark white below.

“IDRALIA, NO!” was all Aloth could manage before he was immediately weaving another spell, this time an unerring Minoletta’s. But the enemy was faster yet, unnaturally so, as it slammed a backhanded claw into Eder’s shield, sending the Dyrwoodan man flying back into the remains of the ice sculpture of Rymrgand, his head knocking violently against the pedestal and stilling him at the base.

“A-Aloth,” the elf barely heard his name over the harsh whistling, and he dared to look once more in the direction of the one he had truly come to care for, despite his reticence in letting her know. And there it was. That knowing smile. The one that would normally warm his heart instead sank it deep within his chest, settling in his stomach where he doubted it would ever rise again. 

‘I can’t save them,’ he realized, the spell he was finishing fizzling in his grasp as another claw came down around his captain’s body, covering it from his view, but not without causing a gruesome splatter. His stomach churned and he looked away, knowing his distance from the fight simply meant he would be the last to join them.

He swore the dragon began to chuckle as it inhaled again, filling its chest with frozen air intended to erase him from existence. This foe was just too strong. As once more the icy chill of snow and hail began to rain around him, numbing his core, he was left only with that failure. ‘I can’t save her,”  

He awoke drenched in sweat, a stark contrast from the chill of the nightmare that was rapidly escaping his mind. He was breathing sharply, and pushed his grimoire from his chest, a heavy thud hitting the deck below that caused him to wince. Thankfully, he realized none of the light sleepers were present, with Eder heavily snoring in the hammock below his and Serafin’s smaller form curled up in a cot across the way.

‘A quick walk then,’ he wiped his brow with his blanket, nimbly exiting his hammock and replacing his grimoire among his other belongings before heading above deck, taking his time to avoid eye contact with any of the other crew he happened by. 

“Bad dreams takin’ to you too, Aloth?” Xoti echoed from the hall as he climbed upward, and he tried not to startle at the sudden acknowledgement. She was always where you never expected these days, and it was rapidly becoming disconcerting.

“AAH, ah, yes. You could say that,” he looked anywhere but her eyes as she loomed forward with interest, the soft and eerie glow of her lantern brightening as she grew closer. She unhooked it from her belt and peered within, as though seeking some answer from it, before eyeing him once more.

“They haunt me too. Every night. I wonder if I’ll ever get a proper sleep again...” she chuckled suddenly, as if in on her own joke. “But of course I will. When Gaun’s done with me, that is,” 

“W-well. We can’t all hope for divine intervention. I’ll just be getting some fresh air,” he brusquely shut down the conversation, desiring little more insight to the demons that undoubtedly haunted the Dawnstar priestess, and deeply hoping either she or the Watcher had that situation under control. Xoti shrugged and Aloth quickly exited, closing the door to below decks quite firmly behind him. 

It was just past midnight, partially cloudy, which allowed his eyes to adjust quickly to the deep nighttime sky. He took a deep breath, exhaling just as purposefully and noted the fog caused by his warm breath in the air. ‘We’re heading south,’ he acknowledged, and he shuddered, in part due to the chilly night as well as from the lingering horrors of his dreams.

“Can’t sleep?” he heard from above, and he didn’t bother glancing up. Idralia often spent her time in the rigging or crow’s nest when she wasn’t in her quarters. He hadn’t fully expected to find her out here at this hour, but then her proclivity for wearing a patch often meant she stretched her eyes in the dark rather than the light. 

“I slept well enough, but...” he shook his head. It was a dream, for gods sakes. Divination wasn’t his strong suit or a personally strong belief, particularly after learning the mortal nature of the so-called deities. Surely, dreams could hold meaning, but why would the divine ever reveal a truth to him when they could speak directly to the Watcher?

He heard a gentle thump as Idralia dropped down behind him, and he leaned against the railing of the ship, looking out and anywhere but at her. The memories, even if they were imagined, were still too fresh. Thankfully, she didn’t press, leaning backwards into the railing instead so that they might not need to meet eye to eye.

“You know, I’m not fond of the cold. Hate it, actually. Winter’s my least favorite season,” she wrinkled her nose. “Part of why I like the Deadfire so much. Stick in the right parts and it’s pleasant year-round,” 

“I find it hard to believe that pirates, sea monsters, ghost ships, and conniving bureaucrats are that much better than a bit of snow and wind,” he replied, thankful for the distraction in conversation.

“A whole lot more exciting at any rate. Your ship gets frozen and there winds up being not much to do but sit around. I prefer to keep moving,” he could see the hint of a smile on her lips from the corner of her sight, and he smirked in response.

“Is that why we’ve been everywhere around the Deadfire except Magran’s Teeth?” she laughed uneasily at the question and turned slowly to face out to the water, her smile more sheepish now.

“You’ve got me. There’s a lot I want to end, especially this whole half-a-soul situation, but...” she grew quiet, contemplative, and he saw her glance his way again. Still, he could not meet her eyes. “But not everything,” she finished quietly, and he understood there was so much more unsaid behind her statement. 

That moment hung between them a while, the two listening to the waves hit the side of the ship, the creak of the wood and rigging, the flap of the canvas sails in the night breeze. It centered both of them in different ways and, for a moment, he was back on the roads of the Dyrwood with her, when they might instead be listening to the crackle of the campfire and the crickets in the countryside. 

“Well,” he started, after a time, “I think there’s still quite a lot we have left to do. And we don’t have to start with the coldest tasks first,” he finally turned his head to look at her, and she met his eyes. He smiled gently, encouragingly, and she chuckled.

“What, tell Ydwin to wait her turn?” she sighed, and he could tell she bore the weight of responsibility to her crew and their needs.

“The choice is ultimately yours. You’re the captain, after all—we’re all going to go where you take us,” he reasoned. “Certainly you might need to approach things with more focus but... perhaps consider that focus should be on something for you.” 

Idralia looked at him with a more startled glance and she studied his face for a moment. After a while, she closed her eyes, turned her head back out over the water, and sighed. 

“You give good advice, Aloth. Perhaps I shouldn’t get ahead of myself on this one... and honestly, those bounties actually are starting to rot,” 

“I mean, I wasn’t going to bring it up, but...”

“But they’re stored in a chest below Tekehu’s bunk and you don’t mind his quiet torment?” she winked at him and he suppressed a smile in spite of himself. 

“Even I’m not that cruel,” he raised his hands helplessly and Idralia gave him a gentle shove. 

“Alright, you’ve made your point. I think we’ve got quite a bit to report on back at Neketaka. And honestly... I could use a dip in the bath house again. I doubt the crew would fight me much on that one,” she reasoned, and they both knew full well a shore leave would be well-received. 

“I’ll never be one to complain,” Aloth reassured and Idralia returned a smug grin. ‘Oh no,’ He walked into this one, and he knew it.

She leaned in close, uncomfortably close, and murmured.

“You’ve never been one to complain about a good view, Corfiser,” 

Without giving him so much as a second to sputter in protest, she pushed herself from the railing and headed to the door below decks, casting a last sidelong glance at him to enjoy the bewildered look on his face. The night was too dark to catch the beet red blush across his cheeks, spreading onward to the tips of his ears, but he hardly doubted she needed the visual confirmation of his discomfort. They knew each other far too well. 

He let her close the door behind her before he sighed to himself, sinking his hot face in his hands down against the railing until he felt the cool wooden surface on his forehead. ‘I’ve avoided one catastrophe,’ he reassured himself, though he wasn’t so certain his nightmare was anything more than the feverish imagination of his innate worrywart. 

‘But what else am I walking into?’ he wondered, knowing with growing certainty he couldn’t keep this awkward dance of theirs going on forever.

[lulabo]

I discovered recently that, while I was aware of the cancellation of Selfie before the winter of my discontent in 2014, my hospitalization that winter meant I missed the last handful of episodes and was, indeed, unaware of their very existence in the universe. This means that last month, while wondering why ABC would deprive me of many more seasons of Eliza and Henry sharing deep and meaningful eye contact, I discovered new episodes I had not seen before! And thus did I lament afresh the cancellation of this show and the courtship of these two characters. (This post has been in my drafts so long that I was still pissed about the Beach Body phenomenon on my fb feed.)

So, fuck you ABC! Here is a catalog of things I would have wished to see in a 13 episode season 2.

201 “Giving Off Sparks”: I don’t know how Tinder works, and neither does Henry Higgs! For sociological reasons, Henry needs to be on the dating app where rejection is a mere swipe from acceptance. Reluctant to engage Eliza as his adviser, he instead turns to Charmonique. Eliza’s new look intrigues her colleagues but may be negatively impacting her sales.

202 “VIPs Don’t Get YIPs”: Terrence, killing it in the customer service department, wonders if he might find sales more of a challenge. He turns to Eliza, top! sales! rep! of KinderKare Pharma, though he discovers her on the edge of a crisis of confidence. Saperstein and Henry take the opportunity to observe their top! rep! in action.

203 “Now We’re Here”: Having seen Eliza at work and what her earning potential is, Henry tries to help her find alternate avenues of income to supplement her commissions and curtail her debt, leading them to explore the Beach Body world of Facebook.

204 “Take Your Kevin to Work Day”: Charmonique’s son’s school is closed due to cafeteria e.coli and comes to work with her. Hijinks ensue, primarily as a way to allow the cast to once again dance to k-pop or perform meaningful karaoke (in costume, for David Harewood).

205 “Two Bar Far”: She’s VIP, bitches: Henry and Eliza are invited to Rancho de Saperstein, but this time, Eliza’s asked to bring her plus one–Freddy! Henry’s romantic jealousy begins to get the better of him, and he and Eliza share a tense and loaded moment in the rain.

206 “Henry Digs Mario Andretti (Baby Baby)”: Eliza has to get to the birth of her niece or nephew despite having her license suspended just as Henry’s breaking in his new hybrid. Julie Hagerty guests as Eliza and Bethany’s mom Mary.

207 “Pickering”: Henry’s college roommate, Colonel Pickering, arrives for a surprise visit. He and Eliza get on like a house on fire and it makes Henry bonkers, mostly because Eliza asks a lot of questions about what Henry was like when he was younger. Pickering, having an “oh god I’m in a settled relationship what have I done” panic before his 40th birthday realizes that life with his live-in bf is actually way more awesome than pining for something he’ll never have, Henry, unless you make a move on how you feel. Guest starring Karl Urban as Colonel (Yes That’s His First Name) Pickering.

208 “Jump Back Hack” KinderKare’s email system has been hacked! The office is flooded with private, personal, and unprofessional missives sent far and wide. Joan becomes victim of a meme that is, retroactively, Eliza’s fault from her days BH (Before Henry(’s Tutelage)). As petty fights and hurt feelings fester among the ensemble, Eliza does her best to undo the damage and cheer everyone up, most likely ending the episode with a group singalong of Tiny Dancer.

209, “Do It for the Trope” Henry entreats Eliza to accompany him to a birthday party for former-almost-girlfriend, now engaged to a former-sorta-business rival from his days before KinderKare. Masquerading as his totes smart trophy GF, barely-concealed romantic tensions flare throughout the evening. When Henry escorts Eliza to her door, Freddy just inside, she reveals Freddy has asked her to move in with him.

210, “Thanks Schmanks” Colonel Pickering invites Henry to his yearly potluck Thanksgiving. When Henry arrives (classic jello mold in hand), he’s surprised to find that not only has Colonel invited Eliza and Freddy, he’s asked Henry’s siblings (guest stars Julia Cho and Ki Hong Lee) as well. Henry drowns his anxiety, which goes about as well as expected.

211, “She’ll Try to Teach the Things I Taught Her” Henry, blistering from having behaved so badly at Thanksgiving, decides to take a few of the million vacation days he’s accrued in the last several years. Eliza, unsettled by Henry behaving so badly at Thanksgiving, decides she needs a project and sets her sights on mentoring a junior sales associate she discovers sobbing in the bathroom, having been horribly dumped by her married boyfriend. She texts Henry that she’s got her own little Eliza (named, actually, Becca) to remake in her image, but no amount of stern and grammatically correct warnings prepares her for Becca hitting on Freddy. (Sample line: “Tai may have been way harsh to call Cher a virgin who can’t drive, but in the end, they were total BFFs.”)

212, “He’s the Nultimate” Freddy, desperate to get Eliza to forgive him for letting Becca kiss him, quickly runs through his limited arsenal of ideas and turns to Henry for help. Even Freddy can see that Henry’s suggestions indicate a level of interest in Eliza that is not strictly coworker/colleague, or even friend/friend, and he demands to know the extent of their involvement. When Eliza admits there once was a spark, Freddy asks her to make up her mind with an ultimatum: move in with me or break it off, this middle place is stressing the hair right off his head.

213, “It’s a Swift Song” Eliza’s been staying with Charmonique, who will not give her advice on who to choose, especially when she hasn’t told Henry there’s a choice to be made. Kevin, hanging out at Charmonique’s desk, inadvertently slips the truth to Henry that Eliza is deep in a three day cleanse to clear her mind and bare her soul before she chooses Freddy or Henry. Henry calls Eliza and leaves a message (which, who does that anymore, Henry) that is cryptic yet slightly romantic. Eliza, meanwhile, is drowning her sorrows in Pinkberry (because cleanses make her hangry) when it starts to pour. Coincidence! In walks Henry, needing a respite from the rain! He unthinkingly tells her he thought she was on a cleanse, then is forced to admit he knows about the ultimatum. Eliza bolts, and after a fraction of a second of hesitation, Henry follows her into the street. There they stand, soaked to the bone, making insanely intense eye contact, until Henry seizes the moment, and Eliza, and and the season ends with them kissing in the rain.

IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK ABC

[unf8rtunate]

Report from the Field #3: The Imperial Missive

Officer on duty: Anastasia Tersk

Ana, except for the drinking, saves money. She lives meagerly in an apartment only two blocks from the station.

In a surprising turn of events, I was completely awake and sober at the station that morning. I wish I hadn’t been, though, in the wake of the Prime Minister getting ousted on corruption charges, someone leaked a memo to the press that held yet more corruption. I was watching the news vod from my desk with more disdain than I was supposed to feel when the station chief appeared behind me.

“Good stuff, eh, Ana?”

“What? Good stuff?”

“Hah! Not even a week after Minister Bruke leaves, the Court is still up to its ears in dirty deals. Hard to believe we’ve fallen so far.”

“I guess, but who knows if that memo’s even real. It could be a fake to get attention.”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out, Ana.”

“How do you mean?”

“You and Konstantin are going to interview the military police commander. He’s the prime suspect for the leak.”

“Wait. You want me to interview someone? I’m sorry sir, but--”

“No, I want you to follow Konstantin around and back him up.” I still wasn’t sure exactly what the chief wanted me to do, but he was already gone so I decided to take him at his word; I’d follow Konstantin around watch him interview people. 

Oddly enough, I’d arrived so early that Konstantin wasn’t even in yet, so I took the opportunity to stare at my holo screen absentmindedly until he showed up. No use wasting precious resources by doing something; I set the news feed to update automatically and watched the headlines flicker down the screen without really reading them. Something about the memo, and a high profile corruption case in another district. At least it was someone else’s problem, although with every new corrupt Court official, my job got harder.

I was wondering if I could afford some of the fancier whiskey for the weekend when Konstantin snapped me out of my daze.

“It seems we’ve got our work cut out for us, wouldn’t you say?” Konstantin was awash with grey. A grey jacket overlaid a grey tie, which sat taughtly under a grey overgrown 5 o’clock shadow, which connected vaguely, yet easily to his darkish grey hair. In addition, his typically pale face smiled kindly down at me over grey bags in his eyes. “You look cheerful, what happened?”

“Nothing happened, and thanks. I assume you’ve talked to the chief?” I stood up hastily to let my jacket on, noticing the surprising cold in the office; I’d usually show up after the building had warmed up. “I sent a message to the MP commander’s office, letting them know we were coming.”

“Are you sure nothing happened? You’re early.” He followed me to the door of the station; I paused just outside, breathing in the fresh, crisp air, and closing my eyes to feel the chill in my nose. “You know you can tell me. That’s what partners do, they don’t keep secrets.”

“I don’t have any secrets, Konstantin. You of all people should know that. See that? Hard work paying off. We’ve been granted an audience with commander Trevic. I should come in early more often.”

“You should come in on time more often, I say.” Konstantin chuckled to himself as he caught up with me and breathed in the morning air himself, his light grey much more comfortable now.

We took the train downtown to the commander’s office. It was so uneventful, if it had been a normal day, I’d have fallen asleep, but I was too excited by the idea of getting this much work done in the morning, I couldn’t bear to miss any of it. The commander’s office sat atop a massive barracks that was more out of place than anything else downtown. Konstantin and I skirted around some of the MPs drilling in the training grounds before the building itself. I nodded curtly at the MP in front of the front door, who didn’t react. There was less of an atrium than there was a sorting area. After going through security, Konstantin and I were prompted, in that order, to give the elevator guard a digi-badge to confirm our identities. I almost asked if our inspector badges weren’t good enough, but I held my tongue.

The elevator guard, as it turned out, accepted our digi-badges, and granted us access to the penthouse, and with it, the commander. It was Konstantin’s turn to give a curt nod, and our unspoken inspector duties fulfilled, I followed him into the elevator and the interview. 

The penthouse was small and minimalist. Beside the required workspace materials, there were two images of what I assumed were relatives, a map of the city, and an abstract painting depicting some purple blobs that I didn’t understand. The man himself, when we entered, faced away from us, and simply motioned vaguely at us as we approached his desk. Flanking him were two closed doors that looked like they held great secrets within. The holo screen flickered away as he turned around to see us.

As we sat down, a slight but noticeable frown came over his pudgy, pink face and rested just above his chin, accenting it. He craned his small, beady eyes away from me and left them staring into Konstantin.

“What’s all this, now?” He rumbled under his mustache. “I was made aware of an appointment, but I never get to the finer details of things.” He rotated in his chair, just enough to look at me again, “And who’s this?” He grunted a bit at himself, readjusting in his chair.

“I’m inspector Konstantin Kamelov, and this is my partner, inspector Anastasia Tersk. We’re here because-”

“Oh, don’t be silly! Little girls can’t be inspectors! Why are you really here? Did Fyodor send you? I bet this is one of his little jokes that he likes so…”

“Like I was saying, we’ve been asked to investigate a document that was leaked recently-”

“Come now, my friend, do not be coy with me! I know Fyodor has his little jokes from time to time, surely you can’t be serious!”

“We’ve been asked to investigate a-”

“Are you serious then? A woman inspector? My, how the world changes when one isn’t paying attention.”

“Are you done?”

“Is this a real investigation, then?”

“Yes, this is a real investigation. Like I was saying, I’m inspector Kamelov, and this is inspector Tersk, my partner. We’re here because of the document leak, surely you heard about it.”

“Ah, that. A nasty sort of business that; leaks lead to floods, you know, and all that.”

“Right. Anyway, we’d like to ask you a few questions about this administration. It may be difficult, but there are some suspicious individuals in this office that we’d like your thoughts on.”

“I see, but what do you need from me, then? Thoughts? Surely you can get those from me at any time. Why the personal meeting?”

“Ana, would you read the good commander the list of names?”

“Okay. Prime suspect in the military police office: Terral Trevic. Additional suspects-”

“Now hold on just a moment! Why am I the prime suspect? I released no such document! This is pure slander! Who gave you that? A name, I demand it!”

“I just got this from Konstantin. I don’t know where-”

“Quiet, girl! Inspector! I demand to know why I’m a suspect!” I shrank back into the chair and peeked at Konstantin. He wore a concentrated, yet indifferent face and stoically watched the commander with a neatly raised eyebrow.

“It could have only been leaked from someone with 10th level clearance or higher. You’re the only one with that kind of access in this office. It had to be you, didn’t it? The only remaining question is why. What do you have to gain?” Konstantin’s face contorted more, the beginnings of an angry snarl emerging around the grey. His upper lip twitched slightly. I crossed my arms.

“This is ridiculous! I didn’t even know about this until this morning, along with everyone else! The military police have nothing to do with this! You should be investigating the central office! Minister Bruke himself led that sewage pit, that’s where you SHOULD be! Or the treasury! Those godforsaken leeches!”

“We’ll get there, certainly, but I’m not done here.”

“What in the hell does that mean, inspector? Haven’t I been slandered enough? It’s insulting that you should even show up!”

“I need access to all of your correspondence from the past two weeks.”

“Absolutely not, inspector! To come into MY office with this disgusting piece, and accuse ME of treason; it’s not simply insulting, it’s entirely degrading!”

“I do have the documentation from the Department.”

“I must see it then.”

Konstantin produced a data pad from his grey jacket and slid it across the commander’s desk. Slowly, cautiously, timidly, he inspected its contents for the proper authority, and, finding it, sat back in a great huff that ruffled his face as well as his stretched uniform.

“Very well, inspector, I will have my office send you the required information.”

“Thank you commander. In addition, you won’t be able to leave the city until the investigation is over.”

“Now hold on a moment, inspector. What do you mean, ‘won’t be able to leave the city?’” He leaned up with another grunt that filled the room.

“We’ve locked down your credentials. You won’t be able to leave the city until the investigation is over and you get approval from the Department. If you are innocent, that is.”

The commander was angry, and it showed. His face grew a brighter shade of pink, almost reaching red, and it jiggled when he mumbled at us. I mimicked Konstantin as he stood up, all the way up to the coat swirl as he turned on a heel to leave the office. My coat didn’t quite swirl as much as Konstantin’s, but I felt dramatic doing it. I followed him out of the office, a million questions in my mind. I wondered about them all the way back to the train station.

“So what’s the plan now?”

“We’ll go down to city hall and talk to the deputy mayor, I suppose.”

“What about commander Trevic? I thought he was the prime suspect?”

“He was, but I doubt he’s the leak. He did give us access to his correspondence when we asked nicely. And he hasn’t left his office yet.”

“How do you know that?” Konstantin looked up at me as the train jostled a bit over the tracks.

“I bugged his room while we were in there, and he hasn’t moved.”

“Oh. So what do we have on the deputy mayor then?”

“She would likely be the next prime minister, if Bruke hadn’t resigned, but her name’s been tied in with that mess, so I doubt she’ll win in a real election. Either way, crazier things have happened, so…”

“Okay, sure, but why do we want to talk to her? Can’t we get a statement or something?”

“We could, certainly,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “but then she’d have time to think about her answer, I suppose. This way, we’ll get a more honest take.” The train slowed outside of the downtown stop. Konstantin and I stood up.

“Fine, but also,” Konstantin raised an eyebrow at me, “how are we supposed to find her? The deputy mayor’s gotta be pretty busy, especially at a time like this, right?”

“Busy? Yeah, she’s busy, but she’s got time for us.” Just barely, a smile began to come over Konstantin’s face, under the grey. I sighed, out of questions for him, and contented myself with stuffing my hands in my pockets and making faces to try to keep myself warm on the walk to city hall.

I’d never actually seen it in person. On the news vods, it looked much more grandiose, like a noble castle upholding justice. When I saw it for real, it was much less valiant than it was old. Maybe it was cleaned out for photoshoots, but even the outside of the building had seen better days. Mold poured from the windows, and black stains perpetrated its entire exterior. It had been renovated so many times that some of the windows, in addition to the mold, had fresh sawdust on them. The doors had been rebuilt to replace the ancient portcullis, and white stone replaced where the gate had once been. Instead, Konstantin and I walked unceremoniously through outdated but functional doors and into a sad, albeit well lit, atrium.

A tired, frail, old woman strained to look at us. A permanent frown burned into her face, her eyes looked first through me, then through Konstantin. She opened her mouth to speak, but as we arrived at her desk, Konstantin smiled warmly and interrupted her, “We’re simply here for an appointment, miss. No need to lift a finger.” The woman’s shoulders shrunk slightly, and she squinted at him.

“An appointment? With whom, might I ask.” Konstantin’s smile flickered on his face as he reached into his jacket. There was a modest shuffling from inside his coat while he searched for it, but he found his badge and held it triumphantly in front of the woman. Her eyebrows retracted. “Ah, I see. That kind of appointment.” She paused, “Well… don’t let me stop you.” Her attention left us and returned to whatever had taken it before. 

Konstantin, with a ruffle of his coat and a quick heel turn, briskly moved past her desk. Hearing this, my eyes left the woman and found him, and I jogged to keep up, “What was that all about?” I asked, catching up.

“You will quickly learn that the unofficial power of the watch greatly outweighs the official power.” I gave him a puzzled look, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“We have a reputation for brutality. For better or for worse, Ana, most people don’t care to argue with us. It can be very useful at times, like when we want a hasty meeting with someone.”

“But also…” I let him finish.

“But also, there are many who don’t trust our judgment.”

I contemplated the idea. It made enough sense; the watch held the entirety of the military might within the city. And I’d certainly never heard of the watch being audited or otherwise inspected for integrity. Perhaps that was why the interviews were so easy to get. I wondered, but not for long.

“Welcome, inspectors!” A cheery voice greeted me. A man in a modest, but fine suit holding a data pad stood before us. He wore a deceptively friendly look, and only paid attention to us peripherally. His head, seemingly independent of his body, indicated for us to follow, as his body, unaware of its attachments, swung around, marching down a corridor. I followed Konstantin who followed the man, as he led us down a short series of winding corridors. At the end, he opened a door for us and, looking up for the first time, saw me and gave a confused complexion as I followed Konstantin into a small, meticulously decorated office. 

A woman with strikingly blonde hair sat behind a desk covered in knick knacks and pictures. She read vigorously in the direction of a screen and didn’t hear us come in. She didn’t hear the door close behind us, and she didn’t hear us sit down. She didn’t hear Konstantin cough, but she did hear me pipe up.

“Hello? Are you…” I snuck a peek at my notes, “Sara Dyatski? I’m inspector Tersk, and this is inspector Kamelov. We have some questions for you.” Startled, Sara Dyatski snapped out of a trance. She looked at me, searching for something, but not finding it.

“And you are..?” She placed her hands gently on her desk in front of us, still searching.

“I’m inspector Tersk,” I repeated, “And this is inspector Kamelov. We had some questions for you.”

“Oh! Of course; why didn’t you say that!” She laughed at herself. Konstantin cleared his throat again. She covered her mouth with a fragile hand and regained her composure. “My apologies, inspectors. So what can I do for you?”

Konstantin crossed his legs and nodded at her, “Ms. Dyatski, I’m sure you’re aware of the leaked document from this office?” Ms. Dyatski nodded somberly. “We think we know where it came from.” Ms. Dyatski nodded stiffly. “Did you release it, Ms. Dyatski?” Ms. Dyatski nodded sadly.

“What’s going to happen to me?” She emerged timidly from behind her desk. Konstantin’s gaze intensified. He stared into her face, “That’s a very good question, Ms. Dyatski. What happens to you depends on who you were talking about. We’d also like to know that, but our efforts so far have been,” He flattened his hair, “unsatisfactory.” His voice deepened, becoming raspy.

“I-” She stuttered, her hands slowly reaching under her desk for something. I shifted in my chair, ready for her to pull a weapon. Instead, she produced a small satchel and set it amongst the clutter of her desk. “ I can’t tell you anything else, but I’m sure this will cover things.” She forced a smile as her hands fell to her side again.

Konstantin, still resolute, reached for the satchel. I watched him pick it up carefully and bring it closer to himself. His hand rested on the gold colored clip for a moment while his eyes stayed on Ms. Dyatski. His vision dropped to the bag. I took a good look at it, it was black, faux leather, with a gold colored buckle holding it shut. It was simply made, with only stitched accents around its body, which was full, but not too heavy. Gently, Konstantin opened the buckle and lifted the flap to reveal several stacks of freshly printed cash. Confused, he cocked his head and stared at it for a moment before both his and my attention returned to Ms. Dyatski.

She held a gun in her hand. Facing us but laid on her desk, I stared down the barrel. She primed it, making both Konstantin and I tense. I watched her as a thin line of blood trickled from her nostril to her upper lip and her eyes stretched open unnaturally. Slowly, she raised the gun to her own head. “Wait-” Konstantin blurted out a moment before she pulled the trigger. He froze, halfway out of his chair, arm outstretched, reaching for her. His mouth hung open and in the quiet after the gunshot, I could hear his breathing, becoming more intense with the seconds. He clenched his fist and smashed it into the table.

He stood up and stared daggers at me. I tentatively stood up, picking up the satchel. “What, uh, does this-” I began.

“Fuck!” He shouted. He snatched the bag from me and looked inside. He rifled through the cash and inspected one of the bills. He dropped the satchel, but held onto a stack of bills. Furiously, his eyes searched the office, but he didn’t see what he wanted, so he went back to the bills. He flipped through them quickly, looking again for something. He dropped his stack and picked up a new one, looking at only a few bills in the bunch. He fell to his knees and dug through the cash, pausing only briefly to inspect each one. I watched him in awe.

Coming to a realisation, he let a bill slowly fall from his hands and saw his mess. Cash so fresh that it still had a tinge of warmth to it lay strewn all over the office, becoming nearly indistinguishable from the clutter otherwise, save for the value of it. Konstantin stood up.

“Come, Ana, we’re leaving.” He pushed the office door open in front of him. I took one last look at the mess we left behind. The deputy mayor’s body lay contorted on the floor, her head poking out from the side of her desk, a chunk missing from her skull. Her eyes remained starkly open, seeing nothing.

Konstantin was silent, but rushed on our journey. He ignored everyone, including both me and the old woman on our way out of city hall. Once outside, I tried to stop him, taking his wrist, but he resisted me. I decided to simply follow him and see what happened.

We arrived close to the Court Bank Central Administrative Office, or as it was commonly known, the treasury. I followed Konstantin inside, remiss to notice the details of our surroundings. Konstantin hurried past all security, me and his coat quickly after. Hastily, he checked the signage for our destination. We arrived at the office of the Senior Court Administrator of Finance, or as he was commonly known, the secretary of the treasury. A plaque, of course in gold, on his door told me that his name was Yevgeny Mishkal, but I didn’t get a good look because Konstantin kicked it. Meekly, the door crumpled, and pieces of expensive, but not expensive enough wood fell to the floor. Konstantin marched inside, immediately to the secretary, who was likely in shock from the surprise, and pushed him to the ground.

“Talk. Now.” Konstantin barked at the old man, who tried in vain to collect his glasses and pick himself up from the floor. As he got on all fours, Konstantin delivered his foot into the old man’s stomach, sending him back onto the floor.

Through his teeth, the secretary coughed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Desperately, he turned himself over and tried to look at Konstantin through trembling fingers, “I can assure you! This has all been a great misunderstanding! Take the money!”

Konstantin clenched his fist while his face erupted with rage. “You have the gall to embezzle money in the first place! I should kill you right now for that; then to destroy the deputy mayor and tell me this is a misunderstanding? What fucking planet do you think I’m from? Explain yourself!” He fell on top of the old man, and holding the other by his collar pushed his face in so close that their noses touched. I tried to say something, but both of them ignored me.

The secretary cringed away from Konstantin, pleading, “I’m innocent, you have to believe me! I had nothing to do with any of that! Embezzlement?” Konstantin pushed him to the ground, hands wrapped around his throat. “You’re innocent? And yet you’ve been taking money from the treasury like a common highwayman! I have proof, you dirty bastard. It’s over.” There was a surprised fear in the secretary’s eyes as Konstantin struggled not to strangle him.

Still feeling skittish, I knelt down beside Konstantin and laid a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking, trembling, and slowly let go of his grip. The secretary was half crying, half groaning on the floor as Konstantin stood up over him.

It took about a minute for security to show up, but by that time, we’d cuffed the secretary, and hoisted him from the fetal position. Security demanded to know what was going on, so Konstantin told them.

“Inspector Kamelov, this is my partner inspector Tersk. We were assigned to investigate the recent document leaks. We started with the military police commander, Trevic. He was a dud, but he made a good point about the central office. So we found the deputy mayor, who admitted to being the leak right before putting a bullet in her head. From there, I connected the dots; before our meeting with Trevic, I realised that only someone with level 10 clearance or higher could be responsible. That, and while the treasury wasn’t directly implicated by the Bruke scandal, they had to have been involved. Then, I found un notarised cash in the deputy mayor’s office that had come straight from the treasury itself.

I found that all of the bills, while still unofficial, had been signed by the secretary. So I put it all together. The Bruke scandal, Trevic’s accusations, the clearance levels, and the money. It all leads here.”

Security didn’t buy it, but in the end, Konstantin was right. The secretary had been stealing money directly from the treasury before it could be accounted for. Of course he would have been caught eventually, but I suppose he planned to leave before then. We had to get the chief down to the treasury, and he wasn’t pleased to find that Konstantin had assaulted a Court official, and less pleased that I hadn’t done anything, but we got away with it. We went drinking that night. Together.