#Lorenzo ( inquiries )

[enzomancer]

I am 4,000 words deep into writing a long form fic of this event and I fully expect that only 3 of you sickos will actually read it, but nonetheless it’s imminent, I have put so much thought and effort into it, and you know what? It’s not even that explicit, it’s mostly internal monologue, but if you enjoy Strahd being sexy and also Actually Quite Bad, I guess keep a look out for that, because it’s coming

There was something different about Escher...

In what we’ve been referring to as “The Incident,” my Curse of Strahd character, Lorenzo (dhampir wizard) hooked up with Strahd's consort Escher after a lengthy period of pining.

It was a strange, serendipitous meeting. Lorenzo had used a fly spell to go off on his own and brood in the woods, when he happened across Escher, who had been keeping tabs on the party.  They chatted, they fed together, things got steamy. 

The catch is that Escher was possessed by Strahd the whole time.

 (Additional context/campaign notes/Tome of Strahd and Amber Temple spoilers after break)

…so, Lorenzo is currently under the effect of two (2) dark gifts/curses acquired in the Amber Temple, one being the Gift of Vampyr which he has yet to consummate.   The other… well, he used his True Seeing boon one too many times, and now he has scales, crazy high CON and a sadistic streak.  The Amber Temple is a dangerous place for a character with an inferiority complex, deep emotional wounds and low WIS. 

Our party fled Barovia to Darkon to see if we could find a safe place for Ireena to lay low while we figured out how to deal with Strahd.  Ludmilla and Volenta accompanied us, as they are invested in protecting Ireena and have decided to support the party’s efforts to deal with Strahd.  

Of course, Strahd can’t leave Barovia himself so he would have to send someone after us to get Ireena back. That loyal, disposable someone was Escher.  Escher, wearing a magic circlet that allowed Strahd to possess him.

The party had spent the evening reading from the Tome of Strahd, when they reached the chapter where Strahd sacrificed his dear friend Alek Gwilym in order to secure his immortality from Vampyr.  Lorenzo had been deeply conflicted about accepting his own deals, as he doesn’t want to lose the rest of the party as allies by killing one of them while Strahd remains an existential threat.  The mental effects of the curses have corroded both his sense of self and his relationship to the party and sent him spiraling. Lorenzo knew he’d have to explain himself when they reached the chapter detailing Strahd’s deal, but what he didn’t bargain for was how loud and insistant Vampyr’s urging to kill would become. 

When Rémy, the party’s cavalier and wielder of the sun sword, confronted Lorenzo about what they’d seen in the book and the terms of Lorenzo’s own deal, Vampyr’s voice in Lorenzo’s head commanded him to act fast and kill Rémy. Lorenzo cast Fly and flew off into the night to resist The Urge.

I thought that would be the end of the session, but @tea-with-eleni had me roll a perception check to realize Lorenzo was being observed.  By Escher, who Lorenzo has been trying to score with since very early in our game.  There were hints, there were blatant red flags (Escher was wearing a magical circlet, for one!), but Lorenzo had taken leave of his senses many sessions ago and hooking up with Escher was a perfect way to dodge the crushing weight of his bad decisions and the persisting urge to kill his friends. 

He knew, and I as a player knew, that *something* was up, and Escher had some kind of angle, but the possibility of Escher being possessed by Strahd all along simply did not cross my mind, or Lorenzo’s. Strahd can’t leave Barovia, right?

In the morning, Escher was gone and Lorenzo returned to camp. He knew something was off. He told Ludmilla that he’d seen Escher in the woods and they’d fed together. Ludmilla went rigid and gut-punched him with the news that Strahd was probably piloting Escher as a thrall and the party was in imminent danger. 

Shortly thereafter, Strahd!Escher lead a troop of undead on the camp. Lorenzo banished Escher in the hopes of saving him, but that only bought the party time to finish off the other undead since Darkon is on the same plane as Barovia.  When Escher reappeared, Lorenzo swiped the control circlet with mage hand and Escher collapsed.  After deliberating, and coming to the conclusion that there was no way to save Escher and he was going to be a threat as long as he was around, the party killed Escher. 

Now Lorenzo has to live with not only Escher’s death and the consequences of his curses, but the fact that he shared a night of passion with none other than Strahd von Zarovich.  

(for the record, Strahd rolled over 20 for his How Good is the Sex roll, a fact that couldn't possibly have ramifications on Lorenzo's already porous psyche)

thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed baby's first dirty picture, this one really pushed my figure drawing skills lol

[effervescentdragon]

happy bday @milflewis i fucking adore you youre literally my favourite. i couldnt sleep bcs this story kinda gripped me by the throat and you were complaining the other day, so i hope you enjoy <3 this is pure indulgence :)

"Are you ready, petit?" Charles asks. He is glowing in his dark red clothes and his golden mask, and he isn't even trying to conceal who he is for the masquerade. Arthur knows all eyes will be on Charles anyways, as they always are. Charled shines so bright, it gives both Arthur and Lorenzo more than enough shade to hide themselves if they wish to do so. Lolo usually does, and he will keep hiding for as long as he can, protecting them from the shadows. Arthur... is not sure he wishes to hide for much longer. "We are late already, and we should make an entrance. You know the Court loves a spectacle, and we should make sure their eyes are on us. We need their favour, still. At least for a while more."

Arthur also knows Charles cares only for one pair of eyes and one person's favour, and there is no guarantee Captain Vettel will even be there, with the Navy's assignments to the M-- Sea. He observes Charles' nervous movements, his hands flying to fix a stray lock of hair, and he can't help but feel pity for his brother. Charles loves so fully and so freely that his heartbreak is imminent. Arthur admires him for it, but he also wishes Charles followed his head more than his heart sometimes. He won't say anything; there is no sense to it. Charles will not listen.

"I will not be joining your dramatic entrance, Charles." Arthur forces himself to laugh carelessly, when his whole body feels like it is on fire. "The point of the masquerade is to conceal our identities, and that will be impossible if I were to walk in with you, Il Predestinato."

Charles blushes, and Arthur's laugh turns genuine. "Alright," Charles concedes, his eyes staring straight into Arthur's and seeing more than Arthur is comfortable with. "I know you have something planned, petit, and I know you will not tell me what. Just, be careful? Please? I worry for you."

Arthur swallows heavily. People like to underestimate Charles and his intelligence, but Arthur should know better. Charles taught him everything he knew after all.

"You need not worry, brother," he says softly. "Nothing important is on the line if my plan fails."

Charles does not really look like he believes him, bit he lets it go nonetheless. Arthur fixes his smile just like he fixes his mask, and does not pray for success. He will either make it himself, or he will not have it at all.

---

The masquerade ball is a raging success. Arthur basically sneaks in through the servants' entrance, determined to protect his anonymity. He watches Charles for a while, smiles at the way people fawn over him and the way Charles graces them all with his attention. Arthur could never do it; it is too grating, too exhausting, to be so adored. Merely observing his brother tires him out. He knows Charles is filling the empty space in his heart with these meaningless interactions, and if Arthur believed in gods, he would ask them only for the happiness for his brother. He does not, though, so he asks the universe for Charles' love not to be in vain. Charles needs support in a way that Arthur doesn't, because Arthur and Charles will always go for what they want even if it's doomed for failure, but the difference is that Arthur knows when to let go of a doomed quest. Charles does not.

It is past midnight and everyone's inhibitions are effectively gone. Arthur has danced with ladies and gentlemen both, and laughed at their inquiries about his identity. He even approached Charles and asked his brother for a dance, and Charles' eyes sparkled in mirth as he let Arthur lead him through the steps and he laughed freely as Arthur commented on the appearances and the gossip he's heard as he made his way through the people gathered for the festivities. When Charles faltered in his steps, about to ask a question, Arthur had only shook his head. I have not seen him, he tried to convey, and Charles gave him a sad smile of understanding before pulling Arthur in for another dance, against all decorum. Arthur let him lead, and they both delighted in the scandalous gasps they elicited.

Now, Arthur stands leaning against a column, unwilling to admit defeat. He will find who he is looking for tonight. He looks over the crowd as he sips his drink, and it is by divine grace or perhapd by magic that he hears the familiar laughter he had been searching for the whole night. He turns towards the sound and drinks the rest of his wine, leaving the glass on a table he passes.

The man who is laughing with two ladies wears a stylised fox mask, and Arthur cannot contain his amusement. He approaches the little group just as a server passes by him, and he vows to make it up to the poor man as he moves so that he can trip him. The man goes down in a heap, and both ladies yelp. The man's eyes narrow, but Arthur acts quickly. He grabs the man's hand and pulls, ducking behind a column and into a passageway he has discovered some time ago. The man puts up little resistance, and the commotion from behind them fades out somewhat.

The moment they are out of sight, Arthur finds himself pressed against the wall.

"Who are you, and what do you want from me?" Pierre Gasly asks, and Arthur would recognize that Rouen lilt even half-deaf. Just like he would recognize the blue of Pierre's eyes, their unnaturally bright colour emphasised by the dark-red edges of the fox mask he wears. "Answer me," Pierre commands, and Arthur thinks of how he would be glad to do whatever Pierre wanted him to. He knows he cannot say this, and he knows Pierre does not recognize him. The realisation both thrills and dejects him somewhat, for is he not more memorable? Should Pierre not know him, when they have spent almost as much time together as Pierre and Charles did in their youth and when it has not been less than two years since Pierre left on his assignment to the Navy?

Pierre is staring at him, his arm across Arthur's chest strong and unmoving. Arthur raises his hands and puts them on Pierre's forearm. His heart beats wildly in his throat when he says "A kiss."

Pierre blinks, twice. His eyes fall down to Arthur's lips, the only part of his face not covered by his own mask, and Arthur supresses a shiver when Pierre's eyes turn dark.

"A kiss?" he asks, and Arthur has always found Pierre's smirk stupidly attractive. "Only that?"

"Yes," Arthur replies, willing his voice not to shake. "Merely a kiss."

Pierre does not look away from Arthur's eyes, searching for something in them. "A kiss," he says contemplatively. He licks his lips. "I can do that."

Before Arthur can say anything, Pierre removes his arm from Arthur's chest and leans in. Arthur does not get a chance to react, for Pierre's lips are on his and oh - oh.

He raises his arms again and throws them over Pierre's shoulders, holds on as Pierre presses him into the wall even further. His body presses against Arthur's everywhere and his lips are wonderfully soft as they move against Arthur's. Arthur has his hands in Pierre's hair, and Pierre's hands press into the dips of Arthur's hips. They burn even through all the clothes, and Arthur lets himself enjoy the way Pierre feels. He is a good kisser, must have had a lot of practice which does not surprise Arthur in the least. He's wanted to kiss Pierre Gasly since he realised he wanted to kiss people in general, and he cannot begrudge anyone else who wished to do so, too. He isn't sure he will get another chance, though, so he vows to make the most of this kiss.

Pierre is the one who breaks off the kiss first. He groans and leans his forehead against Arthur's, his hands still pressing into Arthur's hips, his breathing ragged. Arthur's isn't much better, and he grasps at Pierre's shoulders and holds on, keeping his eyes closed, unwilling to speak and interrupt this moment.

"Merde," Pierre breathes against his lips. "I did not know - I could not have imagined - petit," Pierre says, and Arthur's eyes fly open in shock, because -

"Did you really think I would not know you?" Pierre asks, and Arthur cannot speak. "Did you think I would have forgotten you?"

Arthur looks into Pierre's eyes instead of focusing on his self-satisfied smile, and there is kindness in them, and desire which Arthur is sure is mirrored in his own face, or whatever is visible of it.

"I do not know what I thought," he whispers, "except that I wanted a kiss."

"And now that you've got it, what shall we do?" Pierre asks, and Arthur cannot help but roll his eyes.

"You are quite insufferable," he says without any malice. "Do you know that?"

"Oh, I know." Pierre smirks. "And you like it." Arthur hums noncommitaly, and Pierre chuckles. "And what if I wanted another kiss, Arthur?" He rubs the edge of his mask against Arthur's. "What then, petit?"

Arthur smiles despite himself, because dawn may bring whatever she wants, but this night belongs to Arthur and his victory.

"I think," he says very slowly, "that I would be amenable."

This time, Arthur is the one who reaches for Pierre first, and their kiss is even better this time because Arthur is quite certain it will not be the last one.

---

"And where is my brother?" Charles asks as he is following Sebastian outside for a respite. Sebastian, who had observed the way Arthur moved towards where Lieutenant Gasly was, only smiles.

"I saw him step away with a friend," he says, and Charles nods. "I believe he is in good hands, Charles. Do not fret."

Charles laughs, then shakes his head. "I do not believe I will ever cease to worry about my brother," he says, "but I also trust your word, Captain." He smiles, and Sebastian cannot berate himself for attending the masquerade when faced with that smile. "Do not let me down."

Sebastian bites back the words he wants to say, promises he wants to make and is not sure he would be able to keep, not with the kind of life he leads, and offers his hand to Charles.

"I will do my best," he says seriously.

"That is all I ever wanted from you," Charles replies, and puts his hand into Sebastian's.

[ksfoxwald]

Fire and Hemlock Readalong: Part 4 Chapter 2

In which we return to Stow-on-the-Water.

Polly continues her inquiries. She calls up Mary Fields and confirms that she owns a horse called Lorenzo, though claims the previous owner was Sebastian Leroy. When Polly asks about Tom, Mary makes a tart remark about being asked about her boyfriends. Plural, Polly notes, which seems to imply Seb also tried seducing Mary Fields? It seems the sort of thing he would do, but that also adds another relationship with a strange power imbalance to the story. And then there's Fiona's incident where she tried to run off with a German businessman at fifteen, despite being the "sensible" one. I like that for her, though. It makes her more of a person than a personified voice of reason.

Anyway, I don't consider myself qualified to write about sexual abuse or cycles of trauma, but that is definitely an angle with a lot to explore here, how Seb and Tom are Laurel's victims but then go on to imitate her.

Next Polly takes a bus to Stow-on-the-Water, and chats with Edna about Leslie, almost getting her to reveal something, but they are interrupted by Thomas Piper, who is just as hostile as last time. But we do learn a few important things.

There was at one point a giant in the supermarket, or at least a "huge lunatic throwing tins" that Thomas and Leslie faced when they first moved to Stow-on-the-Water - nine years ago.

Thomas threatens to call the cops on Polly "for threatening my wife. Sister, I mean."

Edna's identity is interesting because it shows how it's not just Tom's gift making the stories come true, but Polly's too. They initially disagreed on whether Edna was Tan Coul's wife or sister, so in a muddled way she became both. Someone with her own secret Nowhere identity.

But that's all we're able to learn for now.

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Mark Consuelos.

full name: Rafael Cristian Bardales.

nickname(s) / goes by: Rafael, Raf, Boss.

pronouns & gender: he/him, cis man.

sexuality: straight.

birth date: November 15, 1970.

birth place: Amalfi, Italy.

arrival to merrock: moved to Merrock in 1999 from New York City.

housing: downtown. occupation: lawyer & real estate mogul.

work place: Bardales Inc.

family: step-daughter, Devika & daughter figure, Reyna.

relationship status: single.

PERSONALITY

People who know Rafael describe him as a witty, bright human being with a spark for life and a love of laughing. Those who have never met the guy wouldn't believe it. In the court room, he is cold, calculating, very to the point and damn good at his job. But away from it, he is one of the most compassionate, giving people that you will ever meet. He can be a bit blunt and forthright, and his head is almost always in paperwork or on his phone. He might forget to slip out of lawyer mode when he steps into the café, but he'll pay for your latte without you needing to ask.

WRITTEN BY: Katie (she/her) est.

BACKGROUND / BIO

Rafael was born to the sort of parents that make people believe that true love exists. Lorenzo, an architect from Mexico was visiting the Amalfi Coast for a ritzy party that Bella, a local midwife, was attending, and the rest is basically history. They added their beautiful baby boy, Raf, and easily had the picture perfect family.

Add some things in there about a pimply-faced boy who liked to play lacrosse and soccer but was way, way too smart to ever chase it professionally, politeness drilled into him from the moment he was old enough to talk, a head for business and a heart for doing the right thing, and someone had Rafael pinned down to a T. His younger years were fairly typical for someone his age and status, and it wasn’t until he hit his teen years that he really pinned down what he wanted to do: law. He was easily accepted into the University of Bologna (after all, he had graduated as valedictorian), and then soon after accepted an invitation to study abroad at Columbia University Law School, where he quickly reached the top of his class, and graduated with flying colors.

It didn’t take Rafael long to land a job at one of the most prestigious firms in the city, and it didn’t take him much longer than that to really settle into the lifestyle. He had the penthouse suite, the luxury car, the doorman that said good morning and good evening every time he set out on adventure, and perhaps most importantly: the tabloid romance. Well, it would have been, if they were both starlets and not lawyers. Although his partner was well known and had a reputation as being the best in her firm, she still gave him a second look, and the two began a relationship that quickly moved from dating to marriage in the blink of an eye. Rafael truly was living a blessed, perfect life.

But as his father had often warned him growing up, it truly only takes one bad day for things to go wrong. Losing a high profile (and high stakes) case sent Rafael into a tail spin. He lost his position at the firm, which sent him spiraling, spending more time at the bar than at home with his wife and family, leading to an extra-marital affair as well. In one fell swoop, it seemed he lost it all: the penthouse suite, his fancy cars, his marriage, his job, and his life in New York City.

Not many inquiries into openings at other firms returned any interest, except for one in a small town in Maine… and although he had no interest in moving to a place that got that much snow in the winter, he was curious. Rafael made the move to Merrock and settled into solving small cases, representing people who needed his help, and began to see an opportunity in this small town. He started to purchase small businesses and help them find their footing, becoming the landlord of several housing options downtown. Once business was really booming, he stepped it up a bit and opened his own company, Bardales Inc., which specializes in both law and real estate. Convincing his parents to move to town to retire, he set his father up as head of the board, and his mother with a beautiful bungalow by the sea to have friends over for afternoon tea, in addition to an estate for the whole family to call home (someday, when he finally retires).

Now, Raf’s time is split between winning cases for the little guy, helping to grow the town that he’s begun to love and call home, and working at developing new projects for… well, whoever is bankrolling them and pulling the strings. He has ambitions to be at the top of the food chain, and won’t stop until he gets there, but it doesn’t mean he can’t strive to be a good person on that journey.

[timeguardians]

" is that blood ? " (Lorenzo to Novak)

Her throat tightens at the inquiry. Immediately, she feels the thundering pulse in her chest hasten with a renewed vehemence. Fingers drop the weighted crimson triage bag from her shoulders and she moves to inspect her side. The gap in her uniform is glaring. Prodding deeper between the tattered threads, she finds a warm and wet slick. "Damn it," she curses in the hushed undercurrent of a breath.

Eyes drop downwards to the wound, though they didn't have to in order to know that it ran DEEP. "I must have gotten sliced on shrap freeing myself from the tangle of that collapsed building." Sharpened debris had been EVERYWHERE as if a bomb had gone off. Mikami had warned her not to go back for that man, and she had done so anyways. Novak was nothing but stubborn when she wanted to be. Her heart was far too soft.

"Can-- can you hand me some field dressing?" She numbly requests, moving to shrug her uniform jacket off.

[spryfilm]

Blu-ray review: “The Parallax View” (1974)

“The Parallax View” (1974) Drama Running Time: 102 minutes Written by: David Giler and Lorenzo Semple Jr. based on the novel by Loren Singer Directed by: Alan J. Pakula Featuring: Warren Beatty, Hume Cronyn, William Daniels and Paula Prentiss Carroll Commission Spokesman: “Ladies and gentlemen, you have been invited here today for the official announcement of the inquiry into the death of…

[xtruss]

Folks It’s New a Bullshit on the Block! Officials Believe Pro-Ukraine Group May Have Sabotaged Nord Stream – Reports

European and US agencies have obtained tentative intelligence relating to pipeline bombing, say reports

— Dan Sabbagh, Philip Oltermann and Lorenzo Tondo in Kyiv | Tuesday 7 March 2023 1

Gas leak at the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline in September. Photograph: Danish Defence/AFP/Getty Images

European and US intelligence officials have obtained tentative intelligence to suggest a pro-Ukrainian saboteur group may have been behind the bombing of the Nord Stream gas pipelines last year, according to reports in the New York Times and German newspaper Die Zeit.

German investigators believe the attack on the pipelines was carried out by a team of six people, using a yacht that had been hired by a company registered in Poland and owned by two Ukrainian citizens, according to Die Zeit.

The information has been shared between European intelligence agencies in an effort to establish more information about those who carried out the undersea bombings in September, an attack that had left western governments perplexed.

Details about the intelligence remain sketchy and it is unclear what confidence the US intelligence community places in the theory, as well as who may have organised, funded and directed such a daring attack on the gas pipelines running between Russia and Germany. But it is suggested that the government of Kyiv did not direct the underwater strike.

Russia said it wanted an independent international inquiry to be set up in response to the report. Its deputy envoy to the UN said Moscow would call for a vote at the UN security council on whether to launch one.

A senior aide to Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy, told the Guardian the government in Kyiv was “in no way involved in the attack”, which he said had no military impact on Russian forces.

“In the midst of a war … Ukraine and its allies would definitely not spend resources on something that would not bring us victory directly on the battlefield. It doesn’t make any sense. But it is extremely beneficial for Russia itself to try to switch attention from the war … and try to present itself as a kind of ‘victim’,” he said.

The attack took place in international waters in the Baltic Sea, near the Danish island of Bornholm, with large amounts of gas rising up from the sea floor.

Nord Stream pipeline damage captured in underwater footage – Video

The prevailing theory at the time of the attack was that the bombing was the work of Russia, seeking to blame the west, but there have been doubts about whether Moscow would want to destroy its own expensively built infrastructure, even if the flow of gas had been halted by the time of the attack.

While investigators had been able to largely reconstruct how the pipelines had been blown up, Die Zeit’s report said, they had not found any evidence as to who would have tasked the group to carry out an attack, with a “false flag” operation still a theoretical possibility.

Six people were involved in the operation to transport explosives to the site, including the yacht’s captain, two divers, two diving assistants and a doctor. All six were understood to have used professionally faked passports, said Die Zeit, with their real identities still unclear.

The yacht set sail from the German port city of Rostock on 6 September. The equipment for the secret operation was previously transported to the port in a delivery truck, according to Die Zeit. After its return, investigators found traces of explosives on one of the tables inside the hired vessel.

Russia has repeatedly denied carrying out the bombing, even at one point blaming the UK, although there is no evidence of British involvement. A month ago, the US investigative journalist Seymour Hersh wrote an article saying the US had blown up the pipes – a claim denied by the US.

Speculation about US involvement has lingered because, just before Putin invaded Ukraine, Joe Biden cryptically claimed “there will be no longer a Nord Stream 2” if war were to break out. “We will bring an end to it,” he said, adding: “I promise you we’ll be able to do it.”

The German government said its own investigation has not yet reached a conclusion. Sweden, Denmark and Germany informed the security council a few days ago that their investigations were continuing and that there were still no results, a German government spokesperson said.

Reactions in Germany to Tuesday’s unconfirmed reports were cautious

“My impression from previous conversations is that the German investigators do not yet have any results that they can or want to communicate, simply because the evidence is far too thin,” said Roderich Kiesewetter, of the conservative Christian Democratic Union (CDU).

“We have to continue to ask the question: who had an interest in the detonation, why were only three of the four strands detonated, and who is benefiting from the very uncertainty, speculation, an accusations?” he added.

White House spokesperson John Kirby said: “We need to let these investigations conclude and only then should we be looking at what follow-on actions might or may not be appropriate.”

The Nord Stream gas pipelines connected Russia and Germany and were long opposed by Ukraine as they would have let Moscow sell more gas to western Europe. Gazprom representatives did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

It is not the first time pro-Ukrainian groups have been suspected of carrying out a major attack. US intelligence has come to believe that the car bombing of Darya Dugina in Moscow last August was conducted by partisans working for “elements” of the government in Kyiv.

A former Russian MP described that attack as the work of a little-known group called the National Republican Army, which he said was composed of Russian partisans. Its primary target was believed to be not Dugina, but her father, the Russian nationalist Alexander Dugin, but he switched vehicle at the last moment.

— The Guardian USA

[cxrsedmoon]

( @lunarxdaydream ) asked:  [ THROAT ]:  sender pins the receiver to the wall by placing a hand or forearm against their throat.  (Adalene // I’m sorry Lorenzo 😫)

Pinned against the wall prompts // Still Accepting

Considering their relationship, he wasn’t surprised that there was pushback from those who knew Adira. He was a creation meant to destroy their kind, a being that most other’s didn’t trust. But this kind of approach, he certainly didn’t see coming. Lorenzo knew they had their ways of concealing their presence from his kind, still it amazed him at how easily they were able to manage it.

He didn’t see her coming, didn’t hear nor smell her. Impressive to say the least. But the moment hands were on him, his guard went up, irises shifting to gold as they narrowed down at the woman now with her arm at his throat. “You know,” he began, struggling to speak with the force she applied. “If you wanted a... private conversation. All you had... to do... was ask.” He barely managed to say anything between breaths, though he didn’t resist her any. He didn’t like fighting, not that he wouldn’t should the need arise but he’d rather talk to her and get to the bottom of this situation that to fight his way out of it.

[cxrsedsouls]

( @lunarxdaydream​ ) asked:  Lorenzo, does your pack know about Adira? If so, how do they feel about the situation? Do you expect your relationship to go far? Would you like to have children one day? (Truth serum)

Truth Serum! // Still Accepting

“They know a few things, but not that much. There is some things that it isn’t really up to me whether or not they find out about her. I haven’t even given them a name yet because I’m not sure how she’d feel about it. Though, I guess that it is about time to have a discussion about this. What I have told them so far, they are rather excited for when... or if, they get to meet her. Anyone who plays a role in my life, they are always ready to meet. They worry, of course, but I think they’d be able to see that Adira is a good woman with a beautiful heart and that’s all that will matter.  That, and that we are safe.”

A warm hands rubs at his chin a bit in thought. “The future is something that is always difficult to say. Anyone in the beginning of a relationship believes its long term but considering what each of us are, how we live our lives, nothing is guaranteed. Though I can say that I do hope it goes far, and if there was anyone I think it was possible with, it would be her, but I don’t know for sure.”

Something of a laugh rumbles in his throat. “Of course, it’s practically in the nature of a lycan to aim to mate and eventually have kids. Especially one in my position. It’s usually the alpha’s own child that tends to become the next one. So yes, I do want children one day.”

[shctteredillusions]

Tag dump for Elias, Lorenzo, and Penelope

[noctispostmortem-blog]

⚔️ Are they protective of their partner? [ for Lorenzo, Lyrica, and Taylor ]

The Muses In Relationships || @electrograin

Lorenzo is a wolf and by instinct, he naturally is protective of anything that is considered his, even more so when it comes to someone he cares for. Once in a relationship, he’s fiercely loyal and protective of that person and he is most certainly the type that you would never want to cross. You’d never truly know what this alpha was capable of until you’ve angered him and messing with his SO is the quickest way to do that.

Oh boy… Lyrica is not only very protective of her partner but extremely possessive as well. She wants her partner’s attention constantly on her and can get enraged at times when it’s not. Though, she will do her best to not go overboard with it, there will always be that fire burning within her. Plus, if someone dares to mess with the one she is with, she really isn’t the type to show any sort of mercy and her wrath is just as bad as her father, Hades’.

Taylor is a very calm type of girl, but she is more than willing to step up for someone she cares about even if there isn’t very much she can actually do. She won’t take someone saying or doing anything to her friends, even more so if she’s actually in a relationship. She is very much the type who’d take a bullet for her SO and do anything and everything she can do, no matter how limited she is, for them.

[worldly-diversity]

   ❝ let me help with that. ❞ — Clarice & Lorenzo — ( @magnificofiore )

Lorenzo hissed softly as he peeled the torn fabric from the cut to his shoulder, the skin still raw and aggravated, as the blood slowly drying had caused the cotton to get stuck in the wound. Still, it wasn't the first time he'd ended up with scratches and it likely wouldn't be the last.

"Thank you, Clarice…" He muttered softly, slowly relaxing as he allowed her to fuss over him, likely already having called for a physician as soon as he'd entered. Turning slightly, he watched her round him and help carefully remove the fabric from the parts he had trouble seeing and reaching. Honestly, he'd feel more at ease as soon as he was out of these ruined clothes.

Tomorrow, he'd pay their enemies back thousandfold.

[theophrastus]

Excerpt from Gravelle's "The Latin-Vernacular Question and Humanist Theory of Language and Culture"

"Most fifteenth-century humanists chose to write in Latin because of their conviction of its superiority to the vernacular for prose composition. This conviction was based on their misgivings about certain features of the vernacular admitted even by its advocates. Leon Battista Alberti, Cristoforo Landino, and Lorenzo de' Medici acknowledged flaws in the vernacular but believed these flaws came not from inherent inferiority but from historical neglect. Their opinion derived from the humanist study of the historical nature of language, not from the opposition of the partisans of the Volgare [vulgar-vernacular] to the classicism of humanism."

"The Volgare was judged inferior to Latin on two counts: vocabulary and grammar. First, its vocabulary was thought to be meager compared to the copia of Latin. The defense of the vernacular had to reckon with the charge that it could only express thought in a crude and clumsy way. These discussions of vocabulary contributed to a theory that linked the growth of language and intellectual capacities. The second count against the vernacular was that it was ungrammatical, an idea inherited from earlier philology and shared by at least one humanist. According to this idea, the modern languages were disordered and ungrammatical; the ancient, regular and grammatical. Before the Volgare could be treated on an equal footing with Latin, the humanists had to come to a better understanding of grammar. And pursuing this inquiry into the nature of grammar, some humanists would link grammar and the structure of thought."

"Although there are a few similarities, fifteenth-century comparisons are different from earlier ones, as Dante's and Boccaccio's ideas about the relative merits of the two languages show. Both see the greater use and currency of the vernacular as an asset, as do later humanists. Indeed, for Dante the vernacular is more noble than Latin because of its greater use. Both Dante and Boccaccio believe its defect to be want of grammar, art, and regularity. Dante justifies his use of the vernacular in the Convivio by saying that the work in Latin would be as useless as gold and pearls buried in the ground. In his Life of Dante Boccaccio praises Dante's decision to write the Divine Comedy in the Volgare for the benefit of his fellow citizens, who had been abandoned by the learned. To write for them in Latin would be like giving a newborn a crust of bread to swallow. Boccaccio says that Dante considered but rejected a Latin version, of which three lines are cited. Still, Dante's choice of the vernacular is not altogether praiseworthy to Boccaccio. The Comedy is likened to a peacock. The peacock's distinctive features are flesh that will not rot, gorgeous form and 'foul feet and noiseless tread.' Where one expects Boccaccio to liken the content of the Comedy to the flesh and its form to the feathers, one is surprised to find the vernacular form compared to the 'foul feet and noiseless tread!'. Moreover, Boccaccio says in his Commentary on Dante that the Comedy would have been 'much more full of art and more sublime in Latin because Latin speech has much more of art and dignity than the maternal speech.'"

"Dante and Boccaccio are both sure that Latin is richer than the Volgare, and therefore many more things can be conceived in Latin."

"The humanist debates about grammar are the foundations of a new theory of language and culture. This is perhaps most clearly understood by contrast with some prehumanist ideas of grammar and language. The question of grammatical inferiority is different from the question concerning copia. The first considers vocabulary, the second the structure of language. Again it is instructive to compare humanist and prehumanist ideas, as before in the question of copia. In Dante's words, Latin is "perpetual and incorruptible" because grammatical. Grammar is an art that was devised to arrest change and variety. In De Vulgari Eloquentia he says that change motivated 'the inventors of the art of grammar, which is nothing else but a kind of unchangeable identity of speech in different times and places.'"

"Dante believes the vulgar tongue to be governed by mutable usage, to which Latin is impervious because established by art and grammar. Art and grammar give it regularity, and this regularity makes it more beautiful than the vernacular: 'Therefore that language is the most beautiful in which the parts correspond most perfectly as they should, and they do so in Latin more than in the vulgar tongue, because custom regulates the latter, art the former; wherefore it is granted that Latin is the more beautiful, the more excellent, and the more noble.'"

"Poverty of language is a flaw also frequently imputed to the vernacular in the fifteenth century. However, because of a better understanding of the historical nature of language, the humanists began to argue that the Volgare could become sufficiently copious. Moreover, from the discussions of copia comes a theory of culture: as language grows through certain stages, so do the intellectual powers of a civilization. Valla calls copia "a faculty and a power."" Copia is an important idea in humanist philosophy of language, a concept used to demonstrate the nexus of language and thought. Besides this epistemological motive, copia is used in [theories] of culture."

"Dante's idea is relevant here for two reasons. The first pertains to the question of the two languages, the second to a wider issue of language and reality. The immutability of ancient languages, an ahistorical idea, is described in the first pages of De Vulgari Eloquentia. There he discusses the origin of speech in Eden. He says that language is only necessary to man; neither God nor the angels have need of it. They communicate their ineffable meanings without the clumsiness of speech. Their glorious thoughts are exchanged silently, mind to mind. Only man has need of words: 'Nor does it happen that one man can enter into the mind of another by spiritual insight, like an angel, because the human spirit is hindered by the grossness and opacity of its mortal body.'"

"Dante then conjectures about who spoke the first word and in what speech. He says that the biblical story says Eve spoke the first word but then dismisses the idea that the first recorded speech was made by a woman as contrary to common sense and reason. Adam spoke first; he was moved to utter certain words rendered distinct by Him who has distinguished greater things. Dante says that the first language was Hebrew. Divinely instituted, the connection of word and thing was not arbitrary but established by God, as was the grammar: 'We assert that a certain form of speech was created by God together with the first soul. And I say, 'a form,' both in respect of the names of things and of the grammatical construction of these names, and of the utterance of this grammatical construction.'"

"The unity of language and reality was destroyed at Babel, although Hebrew survived so that Christ 'might use not the language of confusion but of grace.' To measure the originality of humanist philosophy of language, Valla's comments about language, Adam, and Babel should be compared with the passage from De Vulgari Eloquentia. To Valla all meaning is created by man and history, not God and nature: 'Indeed, even if utterances are produced naturally, their meanings come from the institutions of men. Still, even these utterances men contrive by will as they impose names on perceived things … Unless perhaps we prefer to give credit for this to God who divided the languages of men at the Tower of Babel. However, Adam too adapted words to things, and afterwards everywhere men devised other words. Wherefore noun, verb, and the other parts of speech per se are so many sounds but have multiple meanings through the institutions of men.'"

"An idea akin to Dante's of the identity of grammar and Latin persisted in the Quattrocento, when it was rejected by most humanists. In the famous debate about the vernacular in ancient Rome, Bruni takes a position reminiscent of Dante's. This debate took place in 1435 in the antechamber of Eugenius IV among Bruni, Antonio Loschi, Flavio Biondo, Cencio dei Rustici, Andrea Fiocco, and Poggio. The issue was whether there was a vernacular in ancient Rome. Bruni maintained that bakers and gladiators could not have mastered grammar and Latin. Loschi agreed; the others did not. Later other humanists, Guarino, Valla, and Filelfo, heard of the debate and wrote against Bruni. Salvatore Camporeale, among others, has discussed this debate, which is important in the story of humanist thought about grammar and the rival claims of authority and common usage as determinants of language. The debate is one instance of the confrontation of two different concepts of rhetoric. The first concept is that of Antonio Loschi: rhetoric is a formal art, higher than ordinary discourse. He says: 'Eloquence is a higher thing [than the conventions of daily speech] and more removed from vulgar speech and, even if it often concerns uncertainties and common things, still it is contained in its own peculiar and certain principles.' The second concept of rhetoric emphasizes the semantic and linguistic science of speech. The opponents of Loschi and Bruni argue that meaning arises from the historical and mutable conventions of ordinary usage, although they all admit the importance of literate authority in establishing usage. Thus the creative force in language is general cultural conventions."

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 4 Di Volta in Volta

Luglio 20, 1969

“Commander Neil Armstrong is making his way out of the spacecraft and is taking his first steps down the ladder to the moon’s surface. In mere moments he will be the first man to step foot on the moon…” The voice was narrated through the tv screen as the events of the first human moon landing played out in front of nearly the entire village. Those who did not have access to radio or television were crammed into their neighbor’s houses to either listen or watch on the small television screens. The usual Sunday atmosphere had been disrupted by the whole world waiting with bated breath as history played out in their living rooms. Luca sat between Giulia and Alberto in front of Massimo’s secondhand TV, fighting the urge to press himself against the class so as not to miss a single detail. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before because he had stayed up listening as the Apollo 11 crew had taken their last orbit around the moon before landing their naveta spaziale on the surface. Behind him, his family was sitting at the dinner table tightly pressed between Massimo and the several cats that had found some form of purchase on his broad shoulders. Luca had not thought it possible, but Massimo’s eyebrows seemed to be furrowed even deeper than usual; they were the only indication that he seemed just as anxious as everyone else.

Luca’s eyes widened as the man on the screen as the astronaut hopped onto the last ring of the ladder, his hands gripping tightly to it as if he were afraid to float away into the expanse of space. Beside him, Alberto squinted closely at the emerging astronaut and rubbed his chin.

“Their suits kinda look like that old diving suit, no?” he muttered in Luca’s ear. Guilia loudly shushed him from Luca’s other side, promptly cutting off any further commentary. Instead of vocalizing his agreement he instead gave an energetic nod to Alberto before the older boy could swat Giulia’s arm in revenge.

“I can see my footprints as I step away from the spacecraft…the surface appears to be covered in… fine, sandy particles…” For one moment, Luca pictured himself bounding across the surface of the moon, the old diving helmet pressed tightly to his shoulders, and space sand floating behind him. He could almost feel himself levitating away from the worn, wool rug of Massimo’s small kitchen, thousands of stars floating above him.

Giulia gasped, startling Luca back to reality, “He’s letting go of the spacecraft!” Sure enough, Armstrong’s grainy figure on the screen was slowly letting go of the ladder and stepping into the unknown of space. In a moment of trepidation, Luca reached wrapped his hand around Guilia’s as they waited for the next few moments to pass. He could hear Alberto inhale sharply beside him, assuming he was just as anxious as the rest of them.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” in one moment the entire world released its breath with a cheer.

Massimo slammed his fist down on the table with a shout of “Vittoria” ringing through the house. His outburst startled the cats into a hissing mess and Nonna Paguro slapped his arm with her cane, claiming a premature heart attack. Around them adults and children were shouting and cheering, many even taking to the streets, their cacophony mixing with the howling of dogs. Giulia hurriedly leaned over to wrap her arms around Alberto and Luca’s shoulders, relieved giggles echoing in their ears as she rushed over to embrace Massimo in earnest. Luca grinned, sparing one last glance at the screen as the rest of the astronauts filed out of the ship, before turning excitedly to Alberto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Luca embraced him, only realizing mere seconds after that his hand was still entangled with someone else’s. At his friend’s stiff posture and flushed face, Luca’s excitement died only to be replaced with confusion. He rocked back onto his heels, one hand draped awkwardly around Alberto’s neck and Alberto’s left hand resting on his hip.

“Alberto?” he breathed, forcing the older boy to peer at him as he pulled away. Alberto blinked rapidly, his hand clenching and unclenching around Luca’s and his green eyes looking desperately around the room. He licked his lips and did not fail to notice Alberto’s eyes following the movement. He opened his mouth to say something before a loud crash broke the atmosphere between them. Machiavelli’s son, Bocelli, had become spooked in the excitement and had managed to knock over Massimo’s favorite tea kettle along with a few teacups. While the kettle had merely been bumped from the impact, three cups had met a disastrous end on the floorboards.

Amidst shouts and curses from the adults, Alberto had firmly and quickly untangled himself from Luca, rushing to the pantry to remove a broom and pan for the mess. Lorenzo was trying his best to scoop the remaining cats into his arms so they wouldn’t get hurt and Daniela was simply yelling at them all to move. Massimo was cradling the kettle with his arm, gently checking for any damage while Giulia remained unseen in the mess, her eyes flitting between Luca and Alberto who still hadn’t said anything. On the carpet, Luca watched as if frozen, unsure of why he felt like crying.

The days following the moon landing and the Apollo 11 crew’s return to earth found Giulia and Alberto working overtime to fill the town’s orders. At least, that was what Luca was telling himself. Since their awkward moment on the rug, Alberto hadn’t spent as much time around Luca, instead of spending hours out fishing and hauling the day’s catch through the streets. His conversations with them would always be clipped, though not unfriendly and he always found a reason not to spend time with them. Giulia, feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, tried to ask Alberto what was going on while they delivered, but he simply brushed off her inquiries with a forced grin. In her opinion, his lies reeked more than days old trash left in the heat. Her frustration grew to an extreme one evening when Alberto bid them both a halfhearted goodnight from the dinner table, claiming he would be staying up later than usual to fill in the finance charts. Ignoring Giulia’s glare and Luca’s hurt expression, he pulled out the counting charts Massimo had been filling out the previous afternoon and began adding the day’s earnings.

“I think he really does hate me,” Luca admitted to Giulia once they passed the archway leading to the docks.

“Don’t be ridicolo, I think he’s just... acting weird?” She floundered, unable to come up with an acceptable response.

“Oh, really, Giulia?!” Luca burst, his frustration surging, “He's not the one who acted weird, I was! I messed up, and now he can’t stand to be around me. I disgust him!” He kicked at a pebble, his expression strained. Luca tried to inhale deeply to calm himself, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t allow it. He turned back to a solemn Giulia, his voice choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” To his mounting horror, large drops of water began to spill down his cheeks and before Giulia could even reach out to offer comfort, the teen was tearing down the cobblestones leading to the water's edge. Giulia’s calls were lost in the water as it enveloped him, his salty tears mixing with the sea. He swam for a long time, wanting to avoid his own home for as long as possible. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alberto’s hands on his hip or how it felt to look down into his eyes. Had they not been interrupted, what would have happened? And then he remembered how Alberto had looked frantic, almost afraid of what Luca was going to do. With a half-formed snarl, Luca dove towards the ocean floor. Reaching a shallow cave, he sat down and curled in on himself while his stomach heaved, and his tail thrashed.

“Stupido, stupido, stupido, stupido…” he sobbed over and over, unable to silence Bruno in his mind.

Giulia marched into the house fuming, her eyes landing on Alberto who stared at the wall in front of him, his expression blank. Wordlessly, she picked up the discarded papers on the table and smacked them across the back of his stupid, curly head.

“OW! What the-” Alberto spun around to glare at her.

“Non posso crederti,” she seethed, her hands shaking.

“I don’t have time for your hormonal dramatics, Gi,” Alberto deadpanned, moving to stand and escape from the redhead’s wrath.

“Don’t you dare,” she pushed him back into the chair, her brute strength surprising him. Small as she may be, Giulia was still Massimo’s daughter.

“How can you both keep hurting each other like this? You’re friends, no? Start acting like it!” She flailed her hands hysterically in such a way that Alberto almost wanted to laugh.

“We are friends, tutto bene,” He argued, inwardly wincing at the lie.

“Then why does Luca always look on the verge of tears after being around you? What happened, fratello? You haven’t been the same since the moon landing.” Giulia stared him down with both fists resting on her hips. She rarely referred to him as her brother, and when she did it was because she was trying to show how much she actually cared. That was the one thing Giulia and Alberto always agreed on, they hated to show feelings. Alberto could feel the anxiety he felt on that day building again inside him. He hadn’t meant to make it worse; he was going to make a joke about Luca being scared, but then he had grabbed Alberto’s hand. They touched each other easily all the time, frequent in their affection and friendly nature, but Luca had never held Alberto’s hand like that. Alberto hadn’t wanted to let go. It was just a harsh reminder that eventually he would have to let go of Luca forever. He swallowed thickly and peered at Giulia.

“I’m not going to get in the way of Luca following his dreams,” He said slowly, trying to get his friend to understand. “Luca is meant for grander things than whatever I had planned, I’m just helping him realize that.” Giulia stared at him for a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing her eyes shut.

“Oh, Dio, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Giulia, listen,” He began only to be interrupted by Giulia holding up her hand.

“Silenzio, Bruno. I know you don’t believe that. Luca wouldn’t have any of his dreams without you, and if he were to lose you, those dreams would fade.” Alberto shrank into his seat, not wanting to look her in the eye. With a defeated sigh, the young girl sat beside him.

“You’ve never told us about how you ended up alone, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He swallowed his objection and let her continue, “but I wish you could understand that we’re not like your old family.  Berto,” she reached out and held one of his hands in both of hers, “we will never abandon you, and neither will Luca. But I am afraid that if you continue to act this way, he’ll think you abandoned him.”

Alberto’s head snapped up and he gazed fiercely at Giulia, reminding her of the first time he revealed his sea monster form to her.

“I would never abandon him.”

She stared back coolly and pointed at the bracelet on his wrist, “Then prove him wrong.” With that she stood and marched upstairs, her steps sounding with finality. Alberto watched her empty seat for a few moments, his ears roaring with the pounding of his heart. Before he could reconsider his actions, the chair scraped harshly along the floorboards, and he was rushing towards the warm ocean.

“Luca!” He called desperately into the waves, not caring if any of the other sea folk were sleeping. His shouts startled a school of pandoras swimming by, and they rushed past him as fast as possible. Alberto sped towards Luca’s home, his heart thundering as he reached Luca’s window. Peering in he found Nonna Paguro sleeping on her side of the room, her snores rattling through the water. To his growing anxiety, he found Luca’s bed empty and so turned towards the island where he had often hidden. Crashing clumsily upon the rocky shore, Alberto called out to the tower, its windows and roof dark and unresponsive.

If he looked too closely at the darkened mouth of the tower, he’d see a small child, crying anxiously for his papa to come home. Pushing the dark memories away, Alberto took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Feeling the anxiety in his chest close to bursting, he dove back into the darkened waters and shouted again.

“Luca! I’m sorry, please talk to me!” He swam frantically, his gaze twisting in every direction, hoping to catch a glance of blue. He swam farther out to the ocean, the fields of seaweed sloping into rocky, sand-filled terrain.

“I’m s-sorry,” He gasped, bubbles escaping his mouth and floating towards the moonlit surface. He felt his hope slipping away with them when he heard a hiccupped cry.

“Alberto?” Luca’s voice was raw from his emotional outburst, but it was still the most beautiful sound Alberto had ever heard. Twisting around with enough force to nearly snap his neck, Alberto found Luca peering out from underneath an overhanging rock bank. He felt his own sob of relief escape his throat before he swam down to his friend. The older boy floated in front of Luca, unsure of how he would react.

“Is everyone okay, you sound upset,” Luca’s eyes were red-rimmed, and they pinned Alberto to the spot with their concern. Alberto wanted to slap himself; Luca was obviously hurting yet here he was making sure Alberto and everyone else was alright. How selfish can you be, Alberto?

“No, everyone’s fine, but I’ve been an idiota, Luca. We only have days left before you go back to Genoa, and I’ve spent the past two weeks ignoring you because…” He stopped as he felt his fear resurfacing. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“But that doesn’t make se-”

“I know, that’s why I said I’m an idiota,” he chuckled drily at Luca’s confusion. “You got me off the island, but there are days I feel like I’m drowning.” He explained patiently, “There are so many new things here and I feel like I’m always behind while you’re always ahead.” He swallowed, watching as Luca still looked confused. “I feel like one day you’re going to realize that I’m slowing you down and I don’t want to get in the way of you becoming who you’re meant to be, even if that means I get left behind.”

Luca’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock, “Alberto, there is no dream worth having if you’re not in it.” Alberto stood stunned before him, his mouth had gone shockingly dry considering the saltwater in it.

“Caro,” he whispered, pulling Luca into his arms, too overwhelmed to finish speaking.

“I thought I offended you,” Luca admitted softly, his voice humming against Alberto’s collarbone, “I thought I had made you uncomfortable, when in reality I thought I grabbed Giulia’s hand, I promise.” Alberto felt his stomach drop out from him. He badly wanted to contradict Luca, tell him he had wanted more than anything to grab his hand whenever he could. But he wouldn’t, his fear wouldn’t let him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t offend me. If anything, I can’t blame you. No one can resist my good looks and charm,” He joked, laughing a bit too loudly to be considered natural. Luca snorted and pushed away from him, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, Berto,”

I really do, Alberto thought helplessly.

“Thank you for coming after me, again.” Luca laughed exasperatedly, hiding his face in his hands with a groan. “Giulia probably thinks I’m the most dramatic idiot in all of Italy.”

Alberto shrugged and glanced to the side, “Eh, you’d be surprised, she has her own moments. Must be an Italian thing.” Luca glared at him halfheartedly through his claws.

“Do you wanna head back to your house, or…” Alberto motioned his head back towards Porto Rosso. Luca smiled and motioned back to him.

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow you.”

“Well, it’s about time. I’ve only been waiting for over a year,” Alberto teased, swimming back towards the shining lights of the port town, his best friend’s laughter ringing behind him.

31 Agosto 1969

The last weeks of summer came and went with the laughter of children and a full season of fishing; having decided that winning the Porto Rosso Cup last year had been enough of an adventure, Giulia, Luca, and Alberto had instead spent time behind the scenes helping with the race alongside Signora Marsigliese. The woman had been extra grateful for the help and had run the three of them nearly ragged with preparations. With no Ercole in sight, the race had been far more enjoyable for all the town’s children, and even more so for their families.

Alberto volunteered to keep watch in the bay as the kids swam, already used to having lifeguard duties. He made sure to help anyone who got stuck or might have struggled especially hard. It made Luca’s heart especially warm to watch Alberto interact with the smaller children, encouraging them and even allowing the smallest bambina to latch onto his tail when she got too tired to swim back to shore. This year, Daniela and Lorenzo actually helped by offering water to kids as they struggled up the hill, this time without threatening to dump it on their heads.

In the end, the race was one by a brother and sister from the Ricci family who both were so exhausted they could barely keep the trophy held up between them. The end of the season also meant that Alberto would be working in his many diverse side jobs once it got too cold.

“Do you actually like working in la panetteria? Luca asked him from where he sat on the floor packing his things away.

“It’s not bad,” Alberto shrugged nonchalantly, “it was kinda stressful at first, but Signora Aurora is really nice, and I don’t make nearly as many mistakes as Ciccio.”

“I don’t think anyone could make as many mistakes as him, Ciccio’s a league unto his own,” Luca muttered absently, comparing two different books in his hands. In Alberto’s opinion, they looked the exact same.

“After the weather gets colder, I start baking in the mornings at the Pasticcini, and then Signore Ciano has me help him and Guido in their garage. I offered to help Padre D’uva at the church, but” he shrugged again with a half-smile, “babies don’t really like getting baptized by sea monsters.” Luca snorted and rolled his eyes at the image of a scaled Alberto trying to dunk a screaming child.

“I guess your smile and good charms don’t work on everybody, amico.”

Alberto flipped upside down on the bed and bit his lip suggestively and waggled his eyebrows, “Just you then?” Luca paused a moment to look at him and his gaze was almost enough to make Alberto stop. The young monster tilted his head to the side, considering Alberto’s features.

“Eh, could use some work,” He answered finally turned his head back to his bag, trying to stifle his laughter as Alberto made a face.

The sound of knuckles rapping on the doorframe causes them both to look up. Giulia leaned against the chipped white paint and smiled warmly, “Mind if I come in, ragazzi?” Alberto happily scooted to the side, ultimately remaining in his upside-down state.

“You’re not done packing?” Giulia asked incredulously. Luca only pouted from the floor.

“I can’t decide which books to take,” He ran a hand through his already stressed curls, the motion capturing Alberto’s attention even from his angle.

“You’re such a nerd, you know that right,” She ruffled his hair affectionately.

“As a nerd, it is, in fact, my job to know that, Giulietta.” The brunette stuck his tongue out defiantly before tossing the books back onto their pile. With a groan he stood and stretched his back, the muscles popping into place. Throwing himself on the bed he looked up at the ceiling and said, “I can’t believe summer’s already over, I feel like we just got back!” He flopped back down, his arm thumping Alberto’s stomach.

“Hey, attento!” Alberto swore. He swung himself back up and flopped backward, tugging Giulia along with him. Luca patted his stomach by way of apology before sighing dramatically.

“Why doesn’t school go by this fast?”

“Because then more people would enjoy it,” Giulia sighed from the other side of Alberto, who remained oddly quiet. He turned his head from one side to the other, watching how the late afternoon sun turned Giulia’s hair a violent copper and how it made Luca’s eyes seem molten. Suddenly reaching out, he tugged both close to him and said, “Vi amo, ragazzi.” Luca and Giulia shared a look of befuddlement.

“…Okay?” They replied in unison

“Learn as much as you can and then tell me everything in your letters, okay? Just like before. Except for this time, I’m going to learn new things, too. That way, we can all share what we learned next summer.” He grinned proudly at the thought.

Giulia sat up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you feeling okay, pazzo? Do you need a doctor or something?”

“No, I’m serious. Giulia, you remember what you asked us at the beginning of summer?” She cocked her head to the side before nodding.

“I asked what you wanted to be when we got older.”

“Esattamente! And I have no idea, but I want to find out.” He looked at both Luca and Giulia as they processed his words. Luca was the first to move, wrapping his arms tighter around Alberto’s middle and grinning into his shoulder.

“I think that’s a great idea, caro. I’m proud of you.” Giulia nodded in agreement as she settled back down.

“Even if you don’t figure it out this year, or the next, just goditi il viaggio, like my mama always says. Life is about discovery, if you can’t enjoy it, learn from it.” Alberto hummed contently in response.

“Your mom sounds smart,” he mused.

“She is,” Luca and Giulia answered together, causing the trio to burst into a fit of giggles.

Later that evening, when Massimo climbed upstairs to check on the children, he found Giulia, Alberto, and Luca curled around one another on Giulia’s bed. Alberto had both arms wrapped protectively around both his daughter and Luca while they snored away peacefully. Machiavelli waltzed between his legs before alighting himself upon the bed and curling up next to Alberto’s head. He softly chided the cat to remain quiet and leave the children to their dreams. Without waking them, he softly tucked them in with the blanket from Alberto’s bed before walking out of the room. As he closed the door, he chanced one last glance at his little family and allowed himself a small smile. He could not wait for summer to return.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

This is the Brill Companion on the Reception of Herodotus in Antiquity and Beyond, by Jessica Priesley and Vasiliki Zali (Brill, Leiden and Boston, 2016).

I add the very informative review of this volume by Pr. Lorenzo Miletti https://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2018/2018.04.56

“This companion is a generous and extremely welcome work which both widens and enriches the debate on Herodotus’ reception, a theme that has provoked wide interest in recent decades, after a long period in which scholarship consisted of a sparse list of contributions, the most famous being some essays by Arnaldo Momigliano.1

In the detailed introduction, Priestley and Zali, authors of two recent Herodotean monographs, 2 explain the purposes of their work and rightly underline the difficulties in dealing with such a mammoth matter. They prevent any criticism of incompleteness by enumerating how many fields of inquiry this volume has to leave aside, like Herodotus’ reception in the Imperial age, or in late antiquity, and so on. Lacunae of this type are perfectly understandable, since no book could ever fully cover the reception of such an important author as Herodotus; however, as I will argue below, some of these ‘voids’ are problematic.

The volume is divided into three parts: Part 1: ‘Father of History’ is on Herodotus’ influence on later (Western) historiography, from antiquity to early modern times; Part 2: Language, Translation, and Scholarship presents (perhaps too heterogeneously) essays exploring the fortune of various formal aspects of the Histories; Part 3: New Narratives and Genres focuses on the reception of Herodotus as a storyteller, passing (slightly ex abrupto) from Pausanias to Kapuściński and Gore Vidal with no one else in between.

Since it is impossible to discuss each of the valuable essays in these three parts, I will focus on what appears to be the two main ‘cores’ of this companion, namely Herodotus’ reception in antiquity and in the Renaissance. In order to do so more effectively, I have given the essays a different order. I apologise for not discussing the essays dealing with more recent episodes of the historian’s reception, due to a lack of space.

Though focusing on different aspects, most of the contributions deal with Herodotus’ reception in antiquity, starting with the delicate (and indeed vexata) quaestio of the relationship between the historian and his ‘successor’ Thucydides.

Marek Wekowski’s essay aims to demonstrate not only that Thucydides has Herodotus in his mind when dealing with the political situation of Athens and Sparta, but also that the very shape of (at least part of) Thucydides’ work can be read as a response to the ‘meaningful structure’ of Herodotus’ Histories, especially with reference to, on the one hand, the parallelism of Herodotus’ digressions on Athens and Sparta and, on the other hand, Thucydides’ Archaeologia (1.2-19) and Pentecontaetia (1.89-118). The two historians appear thus closer than is commonly acknowledged, especially as regards the “general vision of the ultimate goal of a large-scale historical narrative”.

Vasiliki Zali analyses in particular the way Thucydides and Xenophon (above all in the Hellenica) deal with a ‘typical’ Herodotean subject such as the Persian Wars, concluding that both writers, independent of any influences from other sources on the same topics, clearly rely on Herodotus’ account in handling the Greek victory as a delicate problem which can be used as an argument in the political debate between the main Greek cities, a problem involving both moral and political issues.

Xenophon is also at the core of the contribution by Vivienne Gray, who discusses passages from the Cyropaedia which are most probably indebted to Herodotus’ work. If compared to Herodotus’ Histories, the Cyropaedia offers a largely different portrait of Cyrus, who is represented as an example of an enlightened leader in Xenophon, and as a great king displaying both political virtues and tyrannical tendencies in Herodotus. Gray shows how Xenophon’s refined strategy implies an attentive handling of Herodotean points, as well as a re-writing of the episodes already reported in the Histories which clearly shows Xenophon’s ‘Socratic’ purposes.

Christopher Baron’s essay is a lavishly written work on Herodotus’ reception in the works of Duris of Samos. Baron’s analysis encompasses several aspects from which it is possible to detect Herodotus’ influence on Duris, namely “arrangement, subject matter, engagement with other authors, use of evidence, and pleasurable reading”. Baron discusses several fragments, convincingly concluding that a thorough appreciation of Herodotus’ deep influence clearly helps to dismiss the cliché-portrait of Duris as a ‘tragic historian’, and to understand better how Duris worked, especially as regards to his interest in mythical digressions and poetic sources, and to his criticism of Ephorus and Theopompus.

Eran Almagor analyses Flavius Josephus’ use of Herodotus by illustrating Josephus’ knowledge of the Histories through several, well-discussed, examples. Josephus manages a combined reading of the Bible and Herodotus, and he sometimes uses the latter in order to correct the former, as in the case of the sequence of the Achaemenid kings ( AJ 11.21-30 and 120-183). While Josephus’ criticism against the Greeks does not exclude Herodotus, this is nonetheless among his major models. Armagor goes beyond previous scholarship by extending the list of Josephus’ passages which seem linguistically and stylistically influenced by Herodotus.

John Marincola’s essay is a thorough analysis of how Herodotus’ account of the battle of Plataea is received by Plutarch in his Life of Aristides, an analysis carried out by paralleling this biography with Plutarch’s On the Malice of Herodotus (which is however not discussed in itself). Marincola points out how Plutarch re-elaborates Herodotean episodes by reducing emphasis in describing discrepancies among the Greek cities, by adding elements not present in Herodotus (see the religious omina before the battle), and also by stressing Panhellenic items more patriotically.

Greta Hawes’ contribution focuses on Herodotus’ influence on Pausanias’ Periegesis, but the reader has to wait no less than fourteen pages in order to find the first mention of what the title promises. Hawes’ convincing comparison, however, shows how Pausanias is indebted to Herodotus not only when discussing places already described by the ancient historian, or in general from a rhetorical point of view, but more deeply in his approach to sources and to the way of dealing with them, purposefully giving rise to an idea of the Greek land as a polycentric and somehow chaotic object, which the authorial storytelling is called to put in order.

Olga Tribulato’s essay offers a noteworthy discussion of Herodotus’ reception in Greek lexicography. She provides a detailed status quaestionis, but also opens new perspectives on how Herodotus’ Ionian forms were perceived throughout the centuries from the Hellenistic to the late imperial ages, by analysing quotations from Herodotus in the main lexicographical sources we can read today, namely Phrynichus, Moeris, Dionysius, Pollux, and the so-called Antiatticist (the analysis of this last author is particularly comprehensive). From a methodological point of view, the way the author manages textual, linguistic and reception issues is worthy of praise.

A useful premise to the group of essays focusing on the Renaissance is Félix Racine’s contribution, which analyses how Herodotus was read by Latin writers, from Cicero to the twelfth century, largely before Greek manuscripts of the Histories became available in the West and Latin translations were achieved. Racine shows how Herodotus was not widely read in Latin late antiquity, however, but he nevertheless continued to be seen as a major authority: in sum, an interesting case of how the reception of a writer is possible even without his work.

Adam Foley’s essay focuses on Lorenzo Valla’s Latin translation of Herodotus in its cultural context and on its fortunate early reception. Foley claims that before Valla humanists read Herodotus above all through the Latin ancient authors (he admits exceptions but does not discuss them). Valla’s work changed the way to approach Herodotus; it was celebrated to such an extent that it overshadowed the fame of Herodotus himself, thanks to its linguistic and stylistic virtues.

Following the recent interest in Matteo Maria Boiardo’s vulgarisation of Herodotus’ Histories, Dennis Looney describes the cultural context of Ferrara in the Quattrocento, also stressing Guarino Veronese’s role in Herodotus’ diffusion. Looney accurately describes, by exploring some specific cases, the way Boiardo worked, and also analyses the narrative of Boiardo’s main work, L’inamoramento de Orlando (1494) detecting in it the influence of Herodotus’ narrative.In his interesting essay on Herodotus in Renaissance France, 

Benjamin Earley shows, walking in Anthony Grafton’s footsteps, how this country was in the 16th century the place where a major debate on historical temporality developed, which led scholars to realize how distant the ancient world was, and so to reconsider the way the ancient authors may be useful to the present. After claiming his aim “to explore how the ongoing debate over historical temporalities affected readings of Herodotus’ truthfulness”, Earley analyses Saliat’s vulgarization, and then passages from Montaigne, Bodin, Estienne, Casaubon and Lancelot-Voisins de la Popelinière, showing how the debate involved problems about the definition of historical chronology and the reliability of Herodotus as a source.

Neville Morley focuses on the Herodotus/Thucydides opposition as it was developed from the early 17 th century on, by identifying a number of prominent scholars who exalted Thucydides by contrast to Herodotus and created the myth of Thucydides as the “best historian ever”. Then it concludes by pointing to the beginning of the 20th century as the period in which Herodotus slowly re-emerges as a positive model, while the myth of Thucydides is supplanted by a more moderate approach.

Benjamin Eldon Stevens’ essay explores the modern and ancient reception of a famous passage of Herodotus’ Histories, the “linguistic experiment” made by pharaoh Psammetichus in order to find out which language was the more ancient (Hdt. 2.2). Stevens parallels the episode with some modern linguistic research, and with medieval and early modern tales about analogous experiments. The discussion of later episodes is accurate and interesting; however, less convincing is how the Herodotean account of Psammetichus’ experiment is set in its proper context in the light of the historian’s own concept of language.3

If we look at this companion as a whole, it is possible to conclude that the editors and authors have been successful in showing how deep and striking the influence of Herodotus has been throughout the centuries, and also in stimulating further debates and research. Before concluding, I wish only to add two remarks. First: although – as mentioned above – incompleteness in this type of collective work is to be expected and excused, I believe that one or more essays covering the Byzantine world would have been welcome, as far as this stage of the historian’s reception has made possible the surviving itself of the Histories. Second: since the choice to cover a range of about 2500 years necessarily encourages the adoption of a continuity/discontinuity pattern instead of a synchronical approach to specific epochs, I wonder whether a more precise range like, for instance, the one chosen in the recent volume edited by Susanna Gambino Longo might constitute a more productive solution, open to more interdisciplinary scenarios, at least sic stantibus rebus (where res are our knowledge of Herodotus’ fortune).4

To sum up, this book is a well-edited product – with only a few typos5 –, which also provides indexes and a bibliography of great utility. It is highly recommended not only to Herodotean scholars, but also to experts in ancient historiography, classical reception, and Renaissance studies. All the essays are stimulating; several of them are excellent and offer new acquisitions in the wide field of Herodotean studies.

Authors and titles

Introduction (Jessica Priestley & Vasiliki Zali) 

PART 1 – “Father of History” 

1 Herodotus in Thucydides: A Hypothesis (Marek Wecowski)

 2 Herodotus and His Successors: The Rhetoric of the Persian Wars in Thucydides and Xenophon (Vasiliki Zali) 

3 Duris of Samos and a Herodotean Model for Writing History (Christopher A. Baron) 

4 “This is What Herodotus Relates”: The Presence of Herodotus’ Histories in Josephus’ Writings (Eran Almagor)

 5 History without Malice: Plutarch Rewrites the Battle of Plataea (John Marincola) 

6 Herodotus in Renaissance France (Benjamin Earley) 

7 The Anti-Thucydides: Herodotus and the Development of Modern Historiography (Neville Morley)

PART 2 – Language, Translation and Scholarship 

8 Herodotus’ Reception in Ancient Greek Lexicography and Grammar: From the Hellenistic to the Imperial Age (Olga Tribulato) 

9 Herodotus’ Reputation in Latin Literature from Cicero to the 12th Century (Félix Racine) 

10 Valla’s Herodotean Labours: Towards a New View of Herodotus in the Italian Renaissance (Adam Foley) 

11 Herodotus and Narrative Art in Renaissance Ferrara: The Translation of Matteo Maria Boiardo (Dennis Looney) 

12 The ‘Rediscovery’ of Egypt: Herodotus and His Account of Egypt in the Voyage dans la Basse et la Haute-Égypte (1802) by Vivant Denon (Andreas Schwab) 

13 Not beyond Herodotus? Psammetichus’ Experiment and Modern Thought about Language (Benjamin Eldon Stevens

)PART 3 – New Narratives and Genres 

14 Herodotus (and Ctesias) Re-enacted: Leadership in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia (Vivienne Gray) 

15 Pausanias and the Footsteps of Herodotus (Greta Hawes) 

16 Ryszard Kapuściński’s Travels with Herodotus: Reportage from the Self (Kinga Kosmala) 

17 Herodotus in Fiction: Gore Vidal’s Creation (Heather Neilson

)Notes1. Momigliano’s contributions are quoted frequently throughout the whole book, where he is evoked as an authority, but sometimes also as a cumbersome ‘father’ to be metaphorically ‘killed’: see especially the essays by Earley and Foley

.2. J. Priestley, Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture, Oxford 2014 (see BMCR 2014.10.42); V. Zali, The Shape of Herodotean Rhetoric, Leiden 2014 (see BMCR 2015.08.39).

3. For language in antiquity Stevens mostly relies on D.L. Gera’s monograph of 2003 (Oxford), while for a general overview of Herodotus’ conception of language he cites T. Harrison’s article of 1998 (in Histos, 2), leaving aside three monographs on this subject, namely J. Campos Daroca (Almería 1992), L. Miletti (Pisa-Roma 2008), and, more surprisingly, R. V. Munson (Cambridge MA 2005).

4. S. Gambino Longo (ed.), Hérodote à la Renaissance, Paris 2012 (see BMCR 2012.12.09).

5. See e.g. Herodotu (-o), p. 200; verecundia (-am), 210. An inversion at p. 171: ‘Florentine’ pro ‘Roman’ and vice versa. 

[jerrylewis-thekid]

FBI, THERE'S A CAROGNE NAME EDGAR HOOVER

More or less we all knew that J. Edgar Hoover, the mythical director of the equally legendary FBI, was a heated reactionary, an eccentric man, a type not exactly favorable to blacks, homosexuals, Jews and women. Now, without fear of denial, we can say that J. Edgar Hoover was much more, and worse: a paranoid fascist, a blackmailer of presidents in turn blackmailed by the mafia. Anthony Summer, a brilliant "investigative journalist", already the author of investigations of great commitment such as those on the Kennedy murder or on the life (and death) of Marilyn Monroe, tells us his story. He tells us about it in a book (J. Edgar Hoover, pp. 528, 35,000 lire - Bompiani) which for the abundance of documentation and anecdotes, for the speed of narration and writing, I could define pleasant reading, were it not for the subject becomes repugnant from time to time. I admit, at the cost of sounding a bit provincial, that I didn't expect so much. I did not expect that the greatest democracy in the world would have been able to tolerate for half a century, at the head of a delicate and powerful body like the FBI, an authentic "son of a bitch", a "bastard fagot" (the definitions are president LB Johnson), a psychotic like J. Edgar Hoover. We too have and have had our "bastards" in this field, but I recognize that in the face of the magnitude of the violations committed by Hoover, the Sifar files disappeared, the specious "omissions" on state documents, the diversions of the Sid, the Piano Solo, Pazienza and De Lorenzo, become jokes. In his own way, Hoover embodied one of the souls of America, more precisely the soul prevalent in some rural and Midwestern areas. So while his tenure at the head of the FBI offended the enlightened spirit of the American constitution, on the other a man like him embodied, like it or not, the deep feelings of a large section of the people of the United States. When J. Edgar Hoover died (May 2, 1972) at the age of 77, he was still in service. He had become director of the FBI almost half a century earlier, in 1924. He had run that institute in the days of Dillinger, Capone and the gangsters of the thirties, was there during the Second World War and then again in the era of McCarthy and the war cold. He had spied on the clandestine loves between Eleanor Roosevelt and her young lover (she 58, he 33), and the brazen loves of the Kennedy brothers, he had woven relationships with the most powerful Mafia bosses, hindered the advancement of blacks and the birth of the commission of inquiry against crime chaired by Senator Kefauver. For those very long decades the guiding ideas of his action had been two: the FBI and America. Not all of America, of course. "His" America, the only one that, in his eyes, was worth defending, at the cost of violating the constitution, if necessary by placing a microphone under the president's desk, or in one of his bedrooms. His persistence in persecuting those he considered the enemies of "his" America bordered on ferocity. Charlie Chaplin, for example. A friend of the Jew Einstein, Chaplin was the embodiment of everything that triggered Hoover's fear and wrath. The FBI had judged Chaplin "dangerous" and his films "communist" even before Hoover took over as director. But it is curious to learn that many years after Chaplin was established in Switzerland, Hoover continued to keep his name in the "Security index", or the list of those who needed to be arrested in the event of a national emergency. How to say the "capturandi" of the Solo piano - in the Magnum version. Another of his victims was black activist Angela Davis. The officers watching her risked being fired because they failed to photograph her having sex with her lover. A fury surpassed only by what Hoover felt when Martin Luther King jr was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Hoover didn't know half measures. In Miami Beach, where he went to spend Christmas, he always went down (as long as there were) to hotels that displayed the "No jews, no dogs allowed" sign - no Jews, no dogs. When he became director in 1924, the FBI

had only three female agents. Two were fired immediately. The third ended up in a psychiatric hospital. He spent his days repeating that as soon as he was outside he would kill "that dog Hoover". His entry into the Bureau marked a turning point. Up until that point, the FBI had been a rather corrupt and ramshackle federal agency. In the headquarters there was a room, called the "cage of the vultures", where the agents without assignment spent their days drinking whiskey and telling each other obscene stories. Hoover fired most of them and had the room sealed. Summer writes: "From the beginning of his tenure to the present day, no one has heard of corruption among FBI agents". Hoover desperately fought the Communists and homosexuals by being himself, not a Communist, but a homosexual. That with Clyde Tolson was a very close relationship that lasted for a few decades, and to the end. But Hoover's homosexuality also had dangerous aspects and Summer actually traces back to this the weakness of his action against the mafia: "Starting in the 1930s, the FBI's war against the mafia became a mere formality". Various explanations of the phenomenon have been given over the years. Summer's idea is that Hoover was being blackmailed. He frequented the restaurants of the mafia in New York and Florida, he often played horse racing and indeed "The races put him", he writes, "in a state of overexcitement. One afternoon, after a lucky bet, he got into the car by mistake. someone else and used it to get back to Washington. " Gangster Sam Giancana's brother Chuck said that Hoover was no different from all the other politicians and cops, only more bastard: "Hoover didn't want a bribe a month, so we never gave him cash, but something better: straight on rigged races. If he wanted, he could bet ten thousand dollars on a horse being given twenty to one ... and he did. " But with this we are not yet at the heart of the blackmail. There is more. The man who really blackmailed Hoover, who "had him by the balls", to put it in the crude language of the gangsters, was the Jewish mafia boss Meyer Lansky. Lansky was a genius and in a safe he had pictures of Hoover in compromising poses with Clyde Tolson: "That was the reason, they said, they had nothing to fear, and for a while, from the FBI." Some of the most exciting chapters of the book concern the clashes between Hoover and the Kennedy brothers: John the president and Bob the minister of justice. They are also the chapters in which the mafia and the tragic and seductive figure of Marilyn Monroe appear, mixed together, that the two brothers took to bed and that Hoover had photographed and recorded. The war had begun at the time of the Democratic "convention" where Hoover, against Kennedy, wanted to nominate Johnson. When it was seen that Kennedy would prevail, they pressed why he accepted Johnson as vice president: "John Kennedy made that nomination, under the threat of disastrous sexual revelations that would destroy his image ... the blackmailers, according to this version, they were the same Johnson and Edgar. " It is difficult to summarize these chapters, you have to read them to decide which side looks worst. Source: La Repubblica @zivasanxiety