#Miss Andry Malice

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 1.26 (after 1940)

1942 – World War II: The first United States forces arrive in Europe, landing in Northern Ireland. 1945 – World War II: Audie Murphy displays valor and bravery in action for which he will later be awarded the Medal of Honor. 1949 – The Hale telescope at Palomar Observatory sees first light under the direction of Edwin Hubble, becoming the largest aperture optical telescope (until BTA-6 is built in 1976). 1950 – The Constitution of India comes into force, forming a republic. Rajendra Prasad is sworn in as the first President of India. Observed as Republic Day in India. 1952 – Black Saturday in Egypt: rioters burn Cairo's central business district, targeting British and upper-class Egyptian businesses. 1956 – Soviet Union cedes Porkkala back to Finland. 1959 – The 41-acre (17 ha) Chain Island is listed for sale by the California State Lands Commission, with a minimum bid of $5,226. 1962 – Ranger 3 is launched to study the Moon. The space probe later misses the moon by 22,000 miles (35,400 km). 1966 – The three Beaumont children disappear from a beach in Glenelg, South Australia, resulting in one of the country's largest-ever police investigations. 1972 – JAT Flight 367 is destroyed by a terrorist bomb, killing 27 of the 28 people on board the DC-9. Flight attendant Vesna Vulović survives with critical injuries. 1974 – Turkish Airlines Flight 301 crashes during takeoff from Izmir Cumaovası Airport (now İzmir Adnan Menderes Airport), killing 66 of the 73 people on board the Fokker F28 Fellowship. 1986 – The Ugandan government of Tito Okello is overthrown by the National Resistance Army, led by Yoweri Museveni. 1991 – Mohamed Siad Barre is removed from power in Somalia, ending centralized government, and is succeeded by Ali Mahdi. 1998 – Lewinsky scandal: On American television, U.S. President Bill Clinton denies having had "sexual relations" with former White House intern Monica Lewinsky. 2001 – The 7.7 Mw Gujarat earthquake shakes Western India, leaving 13,805–20,023 dead and about 166,800 injured. 2001 – Diane Whipple, a lacrosse coach, is killed in a dog attack in San Francisco. The resulting court case clarified the meaning of implied malice murder. 2009 – Rioting breaks out in Antananarivo, Madagascar, sparking a political crisis that will result in the replacement of President Marc Ravalomanana with Andry Rajoelina. 2009 – Nadya Suleman gives birth to the world's first surviving octuplets. 2015 – An aircraft crashes at Los Llanos Air Base in Albacete, Spain, killing 11 people and injuring 21 others. 2015 – Syrian civil war: The People's Protection Units (YPG) recaptures the city of Kobanî from the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), marking a turning point in the Siege of Kobanî. 2020 – A Sikorsky S-76B flying from John Wayne Airport to Camarillo Airport crashes in Calabasas, 30 miles west of Los Angeles, killing all nine people on board, including former five-time NBA champion Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna Bryant. 2021 – Protesters and farmers storm the Red Fort near Delhi, clashing with police. One protester is killed and more than 80 police officers are injured.

[clubkidandcollectives]

Monstrous New Zine

[thewhumperinwhite]

The Kennelmaster's Boy (Part 1)

@marseny since you asked so nicely 😌 here's What I Did To Andry. This is several years prior to the events of WKW. I suspect this little flashback will be three parts.

TW for: parental abuse.

Also: Andry worries about it, but you don't have to: no dogs are harmed in this piece.

----

The first time, Andry really does sneak down only to see the puppies.

Sometimes people tell him that as a Prince, he should have no need to sneak anywhere. And it is true that no part of the palace is expressly forbidden him, except for the Lady's Mouth in the courtyard, where he would be frightened to go anyway. And no one in the castle has the authority to send him away from wherever he wants to be, with one obvious exception.

But Andry sneaks lots of places—to the kitchens to beg treats for Asher, or the Salle d'Armes to train on his own when his fencing lessons are done. It feels better, safer, to go unseen in the castle where he's lived all his life, every once in a while. Otherwise, he can't ever be sure who will tell his father where he's been, out of malice or ignorance. And he can't ever tell what will make his father angry, if he does hear of it. An excursion that earns him nothing but a roll of the Lion's eyes this week might get him boxed ears or worse the next. Better to go quietly, if he's at all unsure.

Truth be told, he isn't unsure about this one. The King has made it very clear that he doesn't want Andry near the Royal Hounds, anywhere but on a hunt. "I don't keep lady's lap dogs, boy," the Lion has told him, more than once. (The last time his fist was tangled in Andry's hair and he shook him by it, hard.) "I catch you coddling them again, I'll toss you in the kennels with a roast around your neck, and see how softly you can stroke them then."

But Brunie's been huge and sluggish with the weight of a huge litter for weeks, now, and Andry wants to see if she had the puppies alright. So he tucks his long gold braid under the collar of his plainest tunic, and creeps down the servants' stairs to the kennels.

Brunie thumps her tail tiredly on the straw-littered floor when she sees him, her belly clustered with a dozen fat gray puppies, crawling over each other to reach her milk, occasionally toppling over as though unsure what to do with their chubby little limbs.

Bombur is sitting next to her, looking very pleased with himself, and Andry can't resist reaching into the pen to scratch behind the wolfhound's silky ears.

"You had the easier job, old boy," he says softly, while Bombur rolls his big dark eyes back blissfully and lifts his chin for scratches. "No need to be smug."

At this moment one of the pups, belly full of milk, tumbles and lands in a heap at Bombur's feet, and Bombur lowers his head and noses the pup closer to the bars, looking up at Andry expectantly.

Andry should be getting back, now. But Bomber pants and wags his tail, and the little pup blinks sleepily at the uncomprehensible world around it, small and round and unafraid, and Andry relents, and bends to scoop it carefully up, tucking its warm weight in the crook of his arm and stroking its velvety head with the one finger and the utmost gentleness.

The puppy yawns enormously and immediately rests its tiny head on Andry's arm and goes to sleep. Bombur pants up at him, looking pleased and softly foolish, as though Andry the Lion's Son is as easily trusted as anyone else, and Andry is blinking embarrassed tears out of his eyes by the time he hears the sudden voice behind him.

"Hell are you doing in here?" the voice says. There's no real rancor in it, but Andry still spins on his heal, cradling the puppy against his now-pounding heart, with a nonsensical instinct to shield it against the intruder, who almost certainly belongs here far more than Andry does.

A boy is standing in the doorway to the cellar proper, paused in the act of propping an old straw broom against the wall, surveying Andry with curious dark eyes, below a mop of dark hair cut in a working-man's short crop. He can't be more than a few years older than Andry, though he is several inches taller.

His homespun tunic doesn't cover his arms, and Andry can see that they're corded through with wiry muscle. Andry feels his own face suddenly heat up, though he isn't sure why.

The boy puts his long-fingered hands on his hips and—almost smiles at Andry. "Well," he says. "I was about to holler for the Master, but you must be someone, for Old Lord Bombur to watch you holdin' his pup without a show of teeth." Andry looks dumbly down at the wolfhound, who is still wagging his tail, the new boy apparently included in his good mood. "Who are ye, then, boy?"

Andry stares, stupidly. The puppy in his hands makes a grumpy little huff, hurt that he's stopped scratching its head, but Andry's hands have gone entirely numb and won't respond to his commands.

"I," Andry says, his voice crackly and too high. "Um," he says, and that seems to be all he can manage now.

"...right," the boy says, and he takes a step forward; Andry, entirely without meaning to, takes a matching step back, his hand still curled protectively around the wolfhound pup.

Bombur stands, and snaps his teeth once, to warn Andry to stop backing away with his puppy. The boy raises his dark brows, presumably for a similar reason.

"You're not—stealing one of the King's Hounds, are you?" the boy says, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn't believe that Andry is capable of making off with the pup.

Andry lifts his chin, feeling obscurely offended. "What if I was?" he says, feeling stupid as he said it; he should be glad not to be thought a thief, he should be putting the pup down and making his exit, he should be being as unmemorable as possible.

The boy grins, and steps closer again, and Andry realizes (with muffled horror) that he doesn't want to be unmemorable.

"I'd stop you, obviously," the boy says, and he steps easily into Andry's space—Andry lets him, feeling sweaty—and lifts the puppy easily out of Andry's relaxing fingers.

The boy sets the pup neatly back in the pen, where Bombur sniffs it loudly to make sure nothing's amiss. The boy does not step away from where he's standing, really quite close to Andry.

"What's your name?" the boy asks him. He's properly smirking now, his voice teasing and inviting, and looking Andry right in the face—like it's a face he doesn't know, but likes.

Andry stares up at the boy. He wants—to lie, or more than that, to change, to say a different name and have it be the truth. But that isn't how it works, and suddenly Andry has forgotten every name except his own.

So instead he turns on his heel and runs.

Andry can't sleep that night, too busy making lists of names to give in place of his own. He's thought of and rejected almost fifty different names before he even realizes he's decided to go back.

----

The Kennel Boy's name is Marten, and he's been the kennelmaster's apprentice for nearly three months. He thinks Andry is a lesser Noble's son named Aiden, and also, an idiot.

Andry hates looking stupid, normally. He more than hates it—it frightens him. He hates to do things wrong, even in front of people who won't hit him for it.

But on his third or fourth visit, when Marten insists he's holding one of the puppies wrong, the older boy pushes into Andry's space, rearranged Andry's hands with his own warm calloused fingers. Marten sees Andry's answering blush, and laughs, but doesn't move back.

Andry holds the puppies wrong on purpose. Never in a way that would hurt them—he's very careful; always just barely wrong enough. He offers to help sweep the kennels clean on the next trip, and misses large swaths of dirty straw, until Marten puts his hands on his hips and asks him if he's ever held a broom in his life.

"Maybe you should show me how," Andry says, cheeks burning with his own boldness, and Marten grins, transparently pleased, and does.

It can't last, of course. Andry stands on the balcony, almost a month later, still and straight beside his father, and sees Marten's face in the crowd—pale with shock and then looking away, half-running from the courtyard.

Andry knew he was doing wrong, a little, from the beginning; Marten's easy smile always made the lies sit heavy in his stomach. But he is still surprised at the force of Marten's anger when he learns that Andry is the Lion's son.

"You lied to me," he says, in a voice that shakes, his warm calloused hands in fists at his sides. "How could you, how could you not tell me you were—you liar!" The dogs shift in their pens at Marten's raised voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut, turns and will not look Andry in the eyes. "Get out," he says.

Andry reaches for him, wants to turn him around, wants to pull the boy's hands open and twine their fingers together, wants, wants things he doesn't even have words for yet.

"Get out!" Marten yells at him, and Andry takes to his heels again, tears in his eyes.

----

Andry stays away. If there are tears shed in the privacy of his bedroom, that is his own business; Asher kindly keeps his mouth shut, let's Andry hide his whimpers under his sheets and doesn't remark on his red and puffy eyes in the mornings. Andry is a Prince, and while he sometimes sneaks, he will not beg.

He doesn't need to. He wipes sweat from his eyes in the sparring ring by the guard barracks and when he looks Marten is there, leaning against the ring's fence and watching him with wary eyes.

"You hold a sword a lot better than a broom, Your Highness," Marten says. His voice is carefully neutral. He's standing only a few feet away, and the farthest from Andry he's ever been. "Come on," Marten says after a moment, his voice a fraction softer. "Old Bombur keeps on howling; no one babies him like you do." He meets Andry's eyes, nervous and angry and sorry, and Andry crosses the ring to stand before him, unable to do anything else. "Come back to him, why don't you."

Andry does not spoil the moment with tears; only follows Marten back down to the kennels. Marten lets him hold the broom again, and the next day when he calls Andry "Your Highness," he smiles, like it's a joke and not a curse.

Andry has never been more relieved; too grateful, really, to think clearly. When Marten asks, the following month, if there is space in the Lion's retinue, and when they next go out on a hunt, and who will handle the Hounds, Andry does not notice the boy fails to meet his eyes.