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echotrinityme · 3 years ago

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You will be loved Chapter 9:Toxic Love

No one's POV

They got back to the base, faces still red from their encounter. They quickly walked to the General's tent where Rupert was already inside looking very irritated and confused about why they were red and late. General Galeforce also noticed the slight difference the boys were in but figured it was something else not important.

He cleared his throat to speak, "Well, where you boys doing?"

Charles and Henry jumped at the question, they both looked at each other then glanced down at the floor like it was interesting. Rupert studied the boys' movement while he was watching the scene with morbid curiosity.

Something was off...they are hiding something and they are doing a horrible job of being subtle about it. They may be many things but apparently being sneaky ain't one of them.

Rupert's POV

Do they think we're idiots? Something happened between them earlier and I want to know what it is. Their faces are red as a tomato and their clothes seems a bit ruffled up... like if their were making out but that's bloody impossible considering both of them are taken.

Unless...Oh bloody hell! Gosh darn it Charles... I knew he still have feelings for Henry. Dating Calvin didn't change that it only made it worse, how's he gonna tell Calvin? How's Henry gonna tell Dominic? I hope they don't plan to keep it a secret from them.

If they do keep it a secret, it's gonna be one bloody mess if the secret comes out.

No one's POV

The General nodded his head signaling to stop the awkward conversation, he informed them about some tasks and missions till he dismissed them. Charles, Henry, and Rupert walked out the tent, Henry's phone beeped making Henry checked what's the notification is and it was Dominic.

Dominic wanted to see Henry and Henry texted yes, he waved goodbye to Charles and Rupert then ran off to the unknown direction. After Henry left, Rupert turned his head towards Charles with a cold glare. Charles froze under Rupert's glare while he tried to look at anywhere but his face.

"What was that all about, Charles?" asked Rupert, still having the glare on his face.

"Uh, what was what?" questioned Charles, trying to play dumb.

"Don't try to play dumb, I know there something going between ya."

Charles was scrambling on how to stop himself on telling the secret, however despite their agreement, the secret has to come out sooner or later.

"So... Henry and I sorta...um" said Charles, making hand gestures trying to tell Rupert about the big secret.

"Sorta what?" questioned Rupert with an eyebrow raised and looking at Charles with suspicion.

"We...sorta kissed." finally said Charles bringing his head down in shame.

Rupert eyes widened and his face became red in anger. His suspicions are confirmed, Charles and Henry did kiss. He mulled over the info until he heard Charles say something that made him more angrier.

"We also kinda had a...uh... make out session."

"You. Did. What?"

"Besides the kiss, we made out."

"That's so much worse Charles!" bellowed Rupert, making a few soldiers around the area glanced at them making them embarrassed. Rupert grabbed Charles by his arm and went to find a more secluded area.

Once they've found a secluded area, Rupert had the urge to punch Charles but restraint on it. He has to hear the whole story on how and why before he jumped into conclusions.

"Ok, what happened when you took Henry to hang out?" asked Rupert.

"I took him to a place where I hoped to make him happy, which he did."explained Charles. Rupert nodded while he was explaining the story.

"Please continue." said Rupert.

Charles continued, "The place was a cliff and the scene was beautiful, making it romantic."

"I held his hand and I guess I got carried away and started to kiss him."

Rupert was still nodding and listening, however he wonders why Charles and Henry had gone overboard.

"Then how did you guys managed to make-out?" asked Rupert.

Charles looked down at his feet, he wondered that himself. Why did they do that? What made him do that? He's in a relationship with Calvin and Henry also has Dominic, however Charles had be thinking about his relationship with Calvin for awhile.

He realized that his relationship with Calvin was just wrong, he still have feelings for Henry. Being in a relationship didn't change that, he also realized Calvin manipulated him making him feel like crap.

"I... don't know." answered Charles.

"Are tell you gonna Calvin about this?" asked Rupert.

"Yes and I want to ask you something." said Charles with an authoritative tone starling Rupert, he never heard Charles be like that. He was used to the goofy, non-seriousness unless it comes to the Topphats.

"Yes?" asked Rupert, tentatively.

"Did Calvin lie to me about Henry?"

"Yes." said Rupert without hesitation.

Charles nodded and he closed his eyes, he was an idiot. He quickly assumed Henry was not into him, he was. Now he seems to lost Henry to that guy who thinks he's all that, Calvin lied to him and manipulated him into a relationship.

"Oi Charles, you okay?" asked Rupert, softly.

"No." mumbled Charles, he opened his eyes, his eyes was shimmering.

Time skip to Saturday

It was finally Saturday, Henry was nervous about his first date with Dominic. He was wearing khaki jeans, with a brown shirt and a brown cardigan. While he was looking at himself in the mirror, his mind wander to the kiss and make-out session he had with Charles a couple days ago.

Why did Charles kiss him? More importantly, why did he enjoyed it? He also made out with him for gosh's sake! I thought Charles was dating Calvin and he's gonna go on a date with Dominic, something feels wrong and Henry has a boding feeling about it.

Is he going to tell Dominic about the encounter? Henry has no choice but to tell him, it's not good keeping secrets from your partner especially if your partner is new. Maybe he'll tell him on date 3 or date 6.

The door bell rang, Henry quickly ran to the door and opened the door to reveal Dominic wearing all black with black pants, shirt, and shoes while holding a bouquet of roses in his hand. He smiled at Henry and gave the roses to him with a big grin on his face.

"For you." said Dominic while he bowed like a gentleman.

Henry took the roses and he found a vase to put them in, he filled the vase with water and he put the vase on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you, Dominic. You're sweet." signed Henry.

"Only for you, Henry." signed Dominic with a sweet smile.

They headed out of Henry's apartment and went to Dominic's car to drive to the restaurant. The drive wasn't that far, they got to the restaurant named Dixie's and went inside where a waitress was standing by the podium.

"How may I help you, sirs?" asked the waitress named Dot, she was smiling even it looked faked.

"Reservations for two, last name Daemon." said Dominic with a polite tone.

Dot gazed down at the podium where there was a tablet, she scrolled down the list and found his name. She lead them to to a booth by the window and sat them down, she got their drinks and went away to give them a few minutes to decide what to eat.

Henry was looking over the menu so was Dominic, he was also thinking how he was gonna tell Dominic about his kiss with Charles. He tapped his finger on Dominic's hand signalling him to look at Henry who was wearing an anxious expression.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Dominic.

"I have something to tell you." signed Henry.

"What is it?" asked Dominic with an apprehensive tone.

"I kissed Charles."

"Excuse me..." said Dominic.

"I kissed Charles." signed Henry, again while he was worried for Dominic's reaction. He's not gonna mention the make-out session, not now anyways.

Dom was silent for a moment, his body language seems frozen, his body didn't even to respond when Dot came by to ask what they like to order. He finally turned to Dot and asked in an emotionless tone to give them a few more minutes.

After Dot was gone, he turned back to Henry. Henry sank down in his seat a little by the way Dom was looking at him. It was dark and cold, his eyes flashed red for a moment and he grabbed Henry's hand roughly.

"Don't. Ever. Do. That. Ever. Again." snarled Dom while he gripped Henry's hand more hard making Henry winced.

Henry nodded hastily and Dominic quickly switched moods when Dot came back again to get their orders. They quickly got their orders and after that there was more a pleasant conversation.

Dom apologized for his behavior when he took Henry back to his apartment and he promised to never do it again. He even kissed Henry on the lips making Henry blushed red and said goodnight to him. Dom left, leaving Henry on his own to think about what happened earlier with Dominic getting violently angry.

"He's really scary when angry, I need to make sure not to piss him off like that again." thought Henry.

#Henry Stickmin #henry stickmim collection #thsc #charles calvin #rupert price #thsc charles calvin #thsc rupert price #stickvin #henrles

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jennycalendar · 6 years ago

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very really married (7/?)

read it on ao3!

this is not technically new writing; i just did a lot of editing and now there is more fic. since i last updated this fic in......november??? let’s copy-paste the summary again:

Giles and Jenny's flights to Sunnydale both stop over in Las Vegas. On the same day. Naturally, a chance encounter leads to a drunken marriage, one that they mutually agree to keep up for appearances.

Which is to say: Giles is going to have to figure out how to hide his fake marriage from his new Slayer (and everyone else) while also hiding his new Slayer from his fake wife (and everyone else). And his complex feelings for Jenny aren't helping anything.

Odd as it was, the memories of the night in Vegas didn’t satisfy Giles as much as they should have. This wasn’t something that he was used to. Generally, whether it was a fling or a serious relationship, the desire for closeness and intimacy wasn’t quite as overwhelming after the first time they had slept together. He and Jenny had consummated their marriage the night they met, and yet he felt a new, hopeless longing every time he looked at her, as though they hadn’t so much as held hands.

It took him three days to finally admit that it was because he hadn’t known Jenny when they had been intimate. Clumsy or perfect, passionate or passionless, he still didn’t know what it would be like to go to bed with Jenny Calendar when he genuinely liked being around her. Things that had once been sources of annoyance had somehow stumbled into things that made him feel…fluttery. Soft. The strangest kind of settled.

But the fact remained that Giles was not at all willing to make any sort of amorous overture. Jenny had made it quite clear that his romantic advances would not be welcome or appreciated, and abusing his position as her husband was a reprehensible concept. Much as he hated existing in uncertain-relationship limbo, it seemed wholly safer than making his budding feelings known and making an already strained situation more difficult than it had to be.

This all flew out the window when Jenny entered his office and announced, “So! We should go on a date.”

“What,” said Giles weakly.

“A date,” said Jenny. “You know, going out, seeing the sights, fun stuff like that?”

“What,” said Giles again. It wasn’t really a question, he just couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Rupert, you do know what a date is, don’t you?” Jenny was biting her lip, eyes sparkling. “Listen—”

“What does a date have to do with helping us look like we have real feelings for each other?” Giles asked with genuine confusion.

Jenny’s smile vanished. “Nothing,” she said. “You know what? Never mind. This was—stupid. It was stupid. It was a stupid idea that I thought would help us look married because why else would I ask you out on a date? No reason! Am I talking a lot? I’m talking a lot. I’m going to go teach class.” And before Giles could fully process what had just happened, she’d bolted, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

She was moving so fast that she nearly knocked over Buffy, who probably would have fallen down if not for Slayer balance. As it was, Buffy had to grab the doorframe. “Jeez, Giles, you finally scare her off?” she quipped.

Giles ran through the sequence of events five times in his head. All the variables seemed to point to—but no, she’d said she didn’t want any romantic contact with him—

She said maybe, said an utterly unhelpful voice in the back of his head. She said maybe she didn’t want that.

Regardless—

“Giles, you do know you’re setting a world record for Most Easily Distracted Watcher, right?” Buffy tossed her bag onto the table, nearly knocking over one of the precarious stacks of books from the previous night’s research. “You and Ms. Calendar have, like, the most disgustingly functional relationship ever. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Thank you,” said Giles, “I think.”

“So!” said Buffy brightly. “That ring we got off that vamp last night!”

“What?” Giles winced. “Oh! Yes.” Attempting to look appropriately Watcherly, he launched into a detailed explanation of the very limited information he had, and did not think about how his romantically-challenged wife might have been trying to properly ask him out. Not in the slightest.

He really, really should have been translating, but the words were twisting on him every time he tried. Doom and disaster became date,and ashes was ask was why would I ask you out, and the Anointed One was Jenny Calendar’s lips are extraordinarily kissable for some absolutely bloody unfathomable reason. By third period he was frustrated, by fourth he was vexed,and by lunch break, he was ready to snap. He was a Watcher, damn it, and his responsibility was to the Slayer, not his wife’s extraordinarily kissable lips! And frankly, if he was focusing on a part of Jenny that was particularly kissable, it wouldn’t be her lips, it would be—

And there he was, yet again thinking about Jenny in a way that was thoroughly inappropriate for the workplace. “Splendid,” said Giles to the ceiling. “This is my life now.”

“You okay?”

Giles turned in his chair so fast that he overbalanced and fell out of it.

“Oh, god, I’m starting to understand why I have to fix you up so often,” said Jenny with a rueful laugh, kneeling down next to him and gently tugging at his hands. “Rupert? Don’t die on me, okay? I really don’t want to have to tell the morgue guys that you died falling out of your chair.”

“Truly an undignified death,” said Giles, his thoughts still on the prophecy that needed translating. “Listen, Jenny, I—”

“No, I, um, that was my bad,” said Jenny, smiling sheepishly. “I sprung that one on you and ran.” She exhaled, looking a little embarrassed, and sat on the floor, waiting for Giles to pull himself up. When he was sitting next to her, she said, “I don’t—um, I haven’t—”

“Yes?”

Jenny was looking at her slightly scuffed shoes. Fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, she said carefully, “I don’t think anyone’s ever comforted me the way you did last week.”

Giles wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It took him a moment to finally figure it out. “The last time someone fussed over my injuries was when I was ten years old,” he said. “After that, it was all toughen up, Rupert, be a man.” And be a Watcher, too, but he didn’t say that. “I give largely what I receive, Jenny,” he said, “and while this—this whole marriage situation has been a trying situation for the both of us, you’ve handled it admirably and kindly.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

“Combatively yet compassionately,” Giles amended.

“That sounds way more on the nose than admirably and kindly,” said Jenny, looking up at him with a wobbly grin.

“Your asking me out took me by surprise,” Giles finished, “but…it’s not something I’m opposed to, if that’s what you want.”

“I think what I’m trying to get at is that I don’t know what I want,” said Jenny quietly. “This is a weird situation, Rupert. It’s hard enough for me to figure out how I feel about a person even without being fake-married to them, and…I thought maybe a date might help clarify things. For both of us.”

“That makes a startling amount of sense,” said Giles, surprised.

“Is me having a good idea that startling to you?” teased Jenny, leaning against him. Tentatively, Giles rested an arm around her shoulders, and his heart leapt when she didn’t pull away. “So, um, is tonight good?”

Tonight. All of a sudden, the words Giles had been poring over finally clicked together in his brain. The evening of the thousandth day of the advent of Septus—“Tonight’s no good,” he said weakly.

“Oh.” The hurt note in Jenny’s voice tugged Giles away from thoughts of the latest prophecy and solidly back to her. “Um. Okay. I mean, if—”

“No, Jenny, I, I still want to go out with you,” Giles said hastily, “it’s just that I was rather distracted by our conversation, and I need to catch up on the work I missed. Tomorrow would be lovely, or perhaps the day after—?”

Jenny blinked, then smiled.“Yeah, okay,” she said. “Tomorrow. Only you’d better not come home tonight all banged up, England, because we’re running way low on Band-Aids.”

“All right,” said Giles.

“Okay,” said Jenny.

He squeezed her shoulder. She surprised him by winding her arms around his neck, tugging him into a gentle hug.

“Uh,” said Willow, who had just come up to the open doorway.

“God, are they still in there being weird?” came Buffy’s voice from the library. “You’d think they’d take, like, a two-second break between classes or something.”

“Sounds like you’ve got business to attend to,” said Jenny to Giles, giving Willow a little grin. Willow gave Jenny a bemused smile back, then turned to hurry and chat more with Buffy about—a boy? Giles couldn’t make it out, and didn’t really care, because Jenny was now turning back to him. “I should go,” she said. “Leave you to your job thing.”

“Ah, yes, my job thing,” said Giles dryly. “How utterly American of you—” He was cut off by his own blush as Jenny pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and could only watch as she pulled herself up and exited the library with grace.

He sat there feeling all fluttery for a good two seconds, before he remembered exactly what the Aurelian prophecy had said. Wincing a little, he pulled himself up to enter the library. “Willow, Buffy, it’s, it’s good that you’re here,” he said, still a bit flustered. Good lord, Giles, pull yourself together. “There is a violent and disturbing prophecy about to be fulfilled.”

Buffy, who had already been opening her mouth with a teasing look in her eyes, froze. “The Order of Aurelius?” she asked.

“You were spot-on about the connection,” Giles confirmed grimly. “I've looked at the writings of Aurelius himself, and he prophesied that the brethren of his order would come to the Master and bring him the Anointed.”

“Who's that?” asked Willow.

Giles really wished he hadn’t been so distracted while he was translating. “Well, I-I don't know exactly,” he managed, “a warrior, but it says he will rise from the ashes of the Five on the evening of the thousandth day after the Advent of Septus.” This, at least, he’d finally figured out.

“Well, we'll be ready whenever it is,” said Buffy with conviction.

“Which is tonight,” Giles clarified.

Buffy took this in. “Tonight, okay…” She stopped, eyes wide with horror. “Not okay! It can't be tonight!”

“I can check again,” said Giles apprehensively, blinked, remembered that the calculations had been the one part he’d managed to do correctly, and hastily added, “but it’ll produce the same results, Buffy, my calculations are quite precise.”

“You were getting all smoochy with your wife in your office!” Buffy persisted, a plaintive whine in her voice. “There’s no way your calculations could be perfect, Giles!”

“Buffy has a really important date,” Willow explained.

“Owen!” Buffy added for clarification.

The name rang a bell. Owen Thurman, one of the seven people outside Buffy and her cohorts who had actually entered the library to check out a book. “Ah,” said Giles, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. When he himself had spent the last two hours thinking about Jenny to the detriment of his translations, it seemed a double standard to tell Buffy off for ignoring her destiny in favor of a date. “Well—it—the—prophecy,” he managed lamely, “is obviously more—important?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that, Giles,” said Buffy, seeing his indecision and (as usual) attempting to utilize it. “I mean, come on, weren’t you just asking your super amazing wife out on a date two seconds ago?”

“You heard that?” said Giles without thinking, then went flaming red. “She asked me,” he added, then winced; he seemed to be digging himself a bigger hole.

“My point exactly,” said Buffy, looking up at him with large puppy eyes—a more effective weapon than any quarterstaff, and Giles resented it. “I can totally just take down this Anointed guy whenever he shows up, right? You get a whole bunch of kisses from Ms. Calendar, I hopefully get a whole bunch of kisses from Owen—”

That did it. “There will be no—no kisses,” said Giles too loudly, “and no dates, there is an important prophecy that, if not thwarted, could lead to the deaths of those we cherish!”

“Whoa, Giles, cherish?” said Buffy, eyebrows raised. “I just wanna go on a date.” She blinked, then beamed. “Aww, do you wanna protect Ms. Calendar from the Anointed? That’s so cute!”

“They’re so cute,” Willow added, grinning in agreement.

Giles really didn’t want his day or his Watcher responsibilities to go on another Jenny-related tangent. “If my affection for my wife motivates you to actually listen to what I’m saying,” he persisted, “then by all means, do continue to appreciate it. But the point remains that the dark forces are aligning against us, and we have a chance to beat them back. Tonight, we go into battle—”

“Perhaps I miscalculated,” said Giles dismally.

“I’m thinking yeah,” said Buffy, who was still visibly glowering.

Giles was beginning to feel very foolish. He could have had a lovely date with Jenny, and instead here he was, sitting in a graveyard with an extremely irritable Buffy Summers. “Well, you know what they say,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light and optimistic. “Ninety percent of the vampire slaying game is waiting.”

“You couldn't have told me that ninety percent ago?” Buffy muttered.

Resigned, Giles pulled himself up. “Well,” he said, “we've certainly waited here long enough.”

“Besides, there aren't any fresh graves,” Buffy added pointedly. “Who's gonna rise?”

“Apparently no one tonight,” said Giles sheepishly.

The effect this had on Buffy was utterly astounding. Her ill-tempered demeanor forgotten, she jumped to her feet, all but bouncing. “Then I can bail?” she asked excitedly. “I can go to the Bronze and find Owen?”

“Oh, very well then,” said Giles, feeling a bit irritable himself. “Follow your hormones if you want.” As Buffy began to head away, he added, “But I assume I don't have to warn you about the hazards of becoming personally involved with someone who's unaware of your unique condition.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk,” she scoffed, looking affronted. “You married someone who doesn’t know you’re a Watcher.”

Giles felt her statement more deeply than he probably should have. The situation with Jenny was rapidly becoming much more complex than a fake marriage, and the things he kept from her were beginning to weigh much more heavily than they had any right to. He was doing the right thing, he knew that— “I keep things from Jenny for her protection,” he said, but it didn’t sound as convincing as it had when he’d first said it.

Buffy seemed to sense that change as well, because she didn’t press him further. “Well, I can do that for Owen too,” she said, and actually reached out to gently pat his shoulder. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture, especially coming from a girl who yawned her way through his lectures on duty and destiny. Buffy, Giles was beginning to realize, had different ways of showing that she cared, and not necessarily academically-minded ones. “And from what I can tell, Giles, you’re doing a great job keeping her safe. A whole handful of people have already died in the last month, but Ms. Calendar hasn’t even gotten a scrape, so—that seems pretty okay to me.”

“You think so?” said Giles, surprised by how much he had needed to hear something like that.

“I know so,” said Buffy. “Now can I please go find Owen?”

Despite himself, Giles smiled a bit. “All right,” he said. “Go find Owen.” He was, of course, bothered by the prophecy not coming to fruition, but he could look over it again tomorrow with his head a bit less muddled. After all, with things going so well with Jenny and Buffy alike, it was quite possible that there was a lot less to worry about.

This possibility was smashed to bits about twenty-four hours later.

“Rupert,” said Jenny impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other by the door, “what is so important in that paper?”

“Damn it all to hell,” Giles muttered, grabbing a red pen and circling the headline, then shoving the newspaper into his bag. Turning from the dining room table, he felt a twist of sadness as he saw that Jenny had dressed up, leather jacket thrown over a long red dress—she’d even done up her hair. “Listen, Jenny, I, I need to run a quick errand before we—it’s a work responsibility, you must understand—”

Jenny’s impatience seemed to dissipate at that. “You look so upset about it,” she said with a rueful affection, stepping up to him and gently straightening his tie. “It’s okay. Just—” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, I could come with you!” At Giles’s look, she laughed, letting her hand drift to rest on his shoulder. “Don’t get all panicky, Rupert, I don’t need to get out of the car or anything, I just—if you’re running errands, it could be nice to have company, right?”

Giles considered this. It was true that bringing Jenny along wasn’t the wisest idea, but selfishly, he rather liked the thought of having her in the car. Really, he only needed to check in with Buffy, and then he could—oh no.

“Rupert?”

“My judgment is compromised,” said Giles helplessly.

Jenny frowned a little. “Okay, weirdo,” she said, and patted his shoulder. “Are we heading out to the car?”

Giles tried to remember the many, many reasons why his job as a Watcher was a thousand times more important than Jenny. He’d been so sure of all of them, those first few weeks of their marriage, when Jenny was turning the house upside down and yelling at him about computers, but…he cared about her. He hadn’t expected that to ever happen, and it was throwing him thoroughly off guard.

“We’re heading out to the car,” he said with finality. This sense of utter discombobulation would exist whether or not he and Jenny went on their date; he wasn’t about to heap missing her company right on top of it.

Jenny beamed. “Great!” she said, and opened the door, extending her arm. Surprised, Giles took it. “So are you gonna tell me where we’re going, or do I get to guess?”

“We’re going to Buffy’s,” said Giles, letting her lead him out the door and shut it behind them.

Jenny’s smile flickered; she looked almost suspicious. “Buffy’s?” she said. “At this hour?”

“Good lord, Jenny,” said Giles, going bright red. “Do you really think I would be inappropriately involved with a student?”

His reaction seemed to satisfy Jenny. Her mouth twitched. “No, I really didn’t,” she said. “It’d be a pretty stupid move to bring me if you were. So why are we off to Buffy’s?”

“She’s got nearly seventy-five dollars in overdue book fees and she’s been skirting the subject,” said Giles, the lie coming surprisingly effortlessly. He didn’t like how easily he’d become accustomed to lying to Jenny, but the fate of the world did depend on it, more often than not. “I thought I’d talk to her mum, see if that helps encourage them both to pay up.”

“So we’re the library mafia?”

Startled into laughter, Giles nearly tripped on his way down the porch, and had to grab onto the rail behind Jenny to steady himself. She was laughing too, reaching up to grip his lapels, and—god, it was intoxicating being this close to her. A strand of loose hair had fallen out of her updo, and without thinking, he tucked it gently behind her ear. “Here,” he murmured.

Jenny’s eyelashes fluttered, her smile becoming something almost lazily flirtatious. “I could just stay like this,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him. “Just right here.”

He knew what she was saying, but—apocalypse, prophecy, Anointed One—Giles pulled himself reluctantly away. “Just this one library book,” he said. “After that, Jenny, I’m all yours.”

He did his best not to think about what that insinuated. It didn’t really work.

Getting out of the car, Giles glanced one last time at Jenny, who was cheerfully flipping through the comics section of the newspaper in the front seat. She gave him a little wave as he walked up to Buffy’s house; it left him feeling even more confused.

It was certainly true that his priorities should first and foremost rest with the fate of the world, and even truer that a Watcher could not afford to place love before duty. He knew these facts intimately and couldn’t bring himself to dispute them, but another, more prevalent fact had arisen: saving the world meant more to him with Jenny in it. Jenny, who didn’t know him as a Watcher, only as her fake husband and verbal sparring partner. He had never really had someone in his life who hadn’t somehow been linked either to the Council or to magic, and having her, now, indisputably added more weight to the importance of saving the world. Protecting Jenny meant protecting the possibility of—

Of bandages after patrol and laughing in faculty meetings and holding someone tight. Of not feeling like some chess piece in an endless battle that would inevitably cost him his life. Being a Watcher had given Giles direction, but the people in Sunnydale were beginning to give him a purpose. It went against everything the Council said, and yet he couldn’t deny that it was making him a much more aware and effective mentor figure to Buffy.

Still quite confused, Giles rang the doorbell. There was the thudding sound of feet on the stairs, and then, flanked by Willow and Xander, Buffy opened the door, her face falling almost comically when she saw him. “That’s Giles,” she said.

“We need to talk,” said Giles simply.

“Buffy’s not home,” Buffy began, trying to shut the door, but Giles managed to squeeze through before she could.

“My calculations may not have been as far off as I thought,” Giles explained, rummaging in his bag to hold up the newspaper.

“Five Die in Van Accident?” Buffy read, frowning.

“Out of the ashes of five shall rise the one,” Giles continued. “That's the prophecy. Five people have died!”

“In a car crash,” said Buffy doubtfully.

“I know it doesn't quite follow,” Giles conceded, “but it’s at least worth investigating.” He pointed a bit lower in the article. “Look! Among the dead was Andrew Borba, whom the police sought for questioning in a double murder. Now, he may be the Anointed One. The bodies have been taken to Sunnydale Funeral Home—”

“Giles, why do you wanna hurt me?” Buffy interrupted.

As usual, Buffy defied any logical expectations. “I beg your pardon?” said Giles, bemused.

“Hey!” came a voice from the open door, and Owen Thurman stepped through, looking a little confused to see Giles there. “Uh, hi.”

Giles stared. “You have a date?”

“Yes, but I will return those overdue books by tomorr—” Buffy stopped, then frowned, squinting at a point over Giles’s shoulder. “Giles,” she said slowly, “is that your wife in the car?”

Giles turned very slowly, then winced. Leaning out the front seat’s open window, Jenny was watching the proceedings with affectionate interest. He made frantic motions for her to go back inside, but she must have misinterpreted them, because she responded with a small wave and a grin in Buffy’s direction.

“That is my wife in the car,” he said heavily.

“So it would be fair to assume that you have a date?” Buffy finished.

“Um, what’s going on?” Owen asked. Willow and Xander tugged him into the other room.

“And you think you can just show up, dump this stuff on me, and leave?” Buffy persisted indignantly. “That’s so not fair! Especially since this stuff isn’t even anything—”

“Buffy, Jenny has been asking why I’m not around to spend time with her,” Giles tried to explain.

“Yeah, well, that’s the gig,” said Buffy, chin jutting firmly out, arms tightly crossed. “Sometimes you have to throw your awesome, perfect, fairytale date out the window for a lead that isn’t even really a lead. If you think this is something to follow up on, Giles, you do it, but I spent a whole night in that cemetery and nothing happened and I need a day off!”

Giles looked at the genuine upset in her eyes. He imagined what it might be like to be feeling the complexities and sadness of not being able to tell Jenny what he wanted to tell her, but as a sixteen-year-old. Really, he thought, Buffy was doing much better than he gave her credit for, and she did deserve a day off after he’d put her through so much the night before. “I suppose it was a rather slim lead,” he allowed, giving her an apologetic smile. “And you’re right. It isn’t fair for me to demand hard work from you while I’m going out with Jenny.”

Buffy immediately uncrossed her arms, once again bouncing delightedly on her toes. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she gushed. “And look, I won't go far, okay? If the apocalypse comes, beep me.”

“Is everything cool?” Owen asked, rounding the corner with Willow and Xander.

“All set!” Buffy chirped.

“Yes, and, uh, you'll face a pretty hefty fine in the morning,” said Giles lamely.

“Well, bye,” said Buffy brightly. “Don't wait up.” Owen at her side, she hurried out the door.

“Is something going on?” Willow asked.

“Oh, uh, probably not, no,” said Giles dismally. He had very much been looking forward to a date with Jenny, but Buffy was right. He ought to set a less hypocritical example. “I suppose I'll just go to the funeral home in case, see if anything comes up.” Without waiting for a response from the children, he exited the house, hurrying down the porch steps and over to his car.

“I’m guessing we’re not going on that date,” said Jenny, studying his expression a little sadly. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to make a quick stop at the Sunnydale Funeral Home,” Giles explained.

Jenny was now giving him a very exasperated look. “That is not a safe place to be, Rupert,” she said. “Why would you—I mean, what would—what did Buffy say to you that would make you think—”

“There was a news report,” Giles explained. “Five dead in a van accident. For research purposes—”

“I’m coming with you,” said Jenny.

“What—Jenny, no, I will not have you willfully putting yourself in danger like that!”

“Oh, and you get to do it whenever you want?” Jenny was full-on scowling. “It’s dark out, this town has a history of unexplained murders, and you tell me you’re going to a funeral home? Stick with those cemeteries I gave you and move on!”

Giles bit back a retort that her cemeteries were pointless to a Watcher, that they were all on sacred ground that made it impossible for any vampire to rise, and that he was a damn sight more prepared for a vampire than she was, especially since she didn’t even know what a vampire really was.“I’m going,” he said instead.

“Well, you’re not going alone,” said Jenny stubbornly, and to Giles’s surprise, she reached out through the open window, taking his hand with surprising gentleness. “You have a wife now, England, and I go where you go, okay?”

And there was something in her eyes that tugged at a lost, lonely part of Giles, the same part that leaned into her touch whenever she was bandaging him up after patrol. No one had ever wanted to go where he went. No one had ever looked at him like he was worth following—only told him that they would lead. He was possibly the most irresponsible, most utterly thoughtless husband on the planet for continuing to place Jenny in the line of fire, but having someone as kind and wonderful as her look at him like that…it was enough to make him say, softly, “Yes, dear,” without even thinking about it.

The Sunnydale Funeral Home was empty, but something had Giles’s Watcher senses on high alert as he stopped the car. “Stay here,” he said, getting out, slinging his bag of supplies over his shoulder, and crossing to the other side. He certainly hoped that it was just nerves, but there was still a pervasive sense that he was being watched—

He thought he heard a noise at his right, and turned, heart in his throat, but there was nothing. Relaxing a bit, he turned back towards the funeral home and found himself face-to-face with a vampire. To his shock, it hissed, an angry, primal sound, and stumbled back, holding its hands up in front of its face as though Giles were holding up…

…a cross.

Turning slowly, Giles saw Jenny, who was holding up a silver cross with a determined expression on her face. She grabbed his hand with her free one and pulled him roughly past the vampire, brandishing the cross as she shoved Giles through the half-open funeral home doors. “Get in!” she shouted, and followed suit, slamming the door shut behind them.

Giles was too stunned to remember to be afraid. “Jenny,” he said slowly, swaying a bit where he stood, “what—how did you—”

“Rupert, it’s okay, I’ve got this,” said Jenny quietly, gripping his shoulder to steady him. Without offering an explanation, she tucked the cross back into her jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly smaller cross on a chain. Quickly, she pulled the chain over Giles’s head, adjusting the cross so that it rested just above his chest. “Did you see their faces?”

“I—what?” Giles managed, still utterly confused.

“Okay, we’re gonna go with ‘no,’” Jenny quipped, smiling a little wryly.

There was a growl from behind them. Without hesitation, Jenny grabbed his hand again, all but towing him behind her and through the dark, winding hallways. Giles stumbled to keep up, slowed mostly by his whirling, panicked thoughts. Jenny with a cross, Jenny using a cross against vampires, Jenny steadying him—he was missing a piece of the puzzle, he felt sure of it.

Jenny pushed him roughly into an empty room, slamming the door shut behind her. Giles regained enough of his sense to first toss his bag onto the table and then help her in barricading the door with a heavy filing cabinet. It was clear that the door would remain shut for the time being, but not forever, and Jenny seemed to be coming to the same conclusions. “You’re okay?” she asked, raising a gentle hand to his face.

Giles felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t like looking at his wife with such suspicion. “Fine,” he said. “Completely.”

The filing cabinet rattled. Over Jenny’s head, Giles caught sight of Xander and Willow at the barred windows, their eyes wide and worried. Get Buffy, he mouthed in their direction. Xander mouthed back what? Willow, however, nodded, pulling Xander away.

“We need to hide,” said Jenny shakily, looking around the room. “Those guys don’t—they don’t mess around. Believe me, you and I are in no way a match for them.”

“I entirely agree,” said Giles distantly.

Jenny pulled open one of the morgue drawers. “Get in,” she said.

“Jenny—”

“Get in, Rupert, I can’t—please, just, please don’t argue with me right now, I don’t want you getting hurt!” Jenny burst out.

The panicked, half-sobbing note to her voice made Giles take another, slower look at her. There were a lot of emotions in Jenny’s eyes at that moment, but not a single one looked anything close to a dishonest woman. “Jenny,” he said, his voice softening. “Do you think I can’t handle myself?”

Jenny took a long look at him, and then she grabbed the front of his shirt, whirling him around and all but shoving him in the direction of the morgue drawer. Giles fell onto the metal, the back of his head hitting the drawer hard. Involuntarily, he grabbed Jenny’s hands, pulling her on top of him and into the drawer just before the momentum of her shove caused the morgue drawer to pull itself in, then slam shut again with them inside.

Too many things had happened too fast for Giles to process anything.

“I don’t,” said Jenny in the dark. She sounded near tears. “I don’t think you’re totally helpless. I just, I care about you, and this town is such a big, scary place, and you’re a sweet, incredible, wonderful person, and you always have to make things ridiculously fucking complicated, going out by yourself all the time and showing up all bruised, you scare the hell out of me, Rupert,” her babbling was reaching frightening volumes, especially since Giles had heard the crash of the filing cabinet hitting the floor and they were probably ten seconds away from being discovered, “and god, I know you probably think I think you’re helpless, but I don’t, I think you’re too damn smart for your own good—”

Giles couldn’t think of a way to keep her quiet for long enough to keep them both undiscovered. Coupled with the fact that, this close, she smelled of coffee and magic, and that he had just learned that his kind, wonderful wife wanted to protect him from the vampires outside because she cared about him, the conclusion he came to was both inevitable and very stupid. Grabbing Jenny’s face in one hand, he kissed her as hard as he could, winding his other arm around her waist to pull her tightly against him.

He was expecting her to pull back. He was expecting her to pull back, or stiffen in his arms, or hit him as hard as she could without making a sound, because no one was watching them and there was no reason for him to be acting like they were actually a couple. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to shift until her legs were all but twined around his waist, tangle her hands in his hair, and kiss him back like she’d been waiting to kiss him for the last three months.

And all of a sudden, Giles wasn’t thinking about vampires, or prophecies, or any of the things he should by all rights be thinking about: all that was in his mind was a desperate Jenny Jenny Jenny and it seemed almost unending. He wanted to flip her over, press her against the metal, but she had all the leverage and that was oh so excellent too, and oh, oh god, she was kissing his neck, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, and he was gasping and moaning and she was hurriedly moving up to silence his mouth with another series of breathless kisses—

The morgue drawer door banged open, they were pulled back out and into the light, and Giles heard Buffy say, very loudly, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”

Jenny’s lips stilled against Giles’s. Slowly, she pulled herself up and away, and then Giles was staring up at the morgue’s ceiling while Jenny got up and awkwardly dusted herself off. “Buffy,” she was saying. “What—uh, what are you doing here?”

“I hang out in weird places sometimes, I’m a teenager!” Buffy retorted, staring at both of them with horrified eyes. “Why were you getting it on with Giles in a morgue drawer?”

“What I do with my husband after school lets out is my business,” replied Jenny without missing a beat. “Besides which, you can’t tell me this is the weirdest thing you’ve seen in Sunnydale.”

“Oh, it one hundred percent is,” said Buffy disbelievingly. “What, do you and Giles get freaky in crypts too? God, I think I finally get why he likes you.”

Giles made as much noise as possible as he got up from the morgue drawer, which did a thankfully effective job of distracting Jenny from Buffy’s statement. “Um, Jenny, I, I believe that the fellows chasing us are gone now,” he managed. “You should probably head home—”

“And will you be heading home with me?” Jenny asked pointedly.

Giles looked helplessly over at Buffy, who gave him a very clear this is your problem, not mine look. “In a moment,” he said finally. “I just need to have a private word with Miss Summers regarding what is and is not an appropriate place to, ah, hang out.”

Jenny considered this, then nodded. “I’ll wait outside,” she said, fingering her cross, and headed in the direction of the door. Halfway across the morgue, she stopped, considered, turned, crossed the room again, and kissed Giles, a solid, purposeful kiss that left him with a fluttery feeling in his stomach. Then she left.

“I need to bleach my brain,” Buffy informed him. “Seriously. I could hear moaning, Giles, that was not okay.”

Giles decided to ignore this as best he could. “Yes, w-well, two more of the brethren came after us,” he managed.

“After you and your honey, or after the prophecy?” Buffy asked, frowning.

“That’s what we have to find out,” said Giles. “I don't know what these brethren mean to do exactly. Find the Anointed, or—give him something perhaps. It’s all very vague. And the Anointed may be long gone.”

“But he may not be,” said Buffy grimly.

“We must find out,” Giles agreed.

Buffy nodded, then added, “I just need to get Owen and the others out of the way first.”

“Owen?” said Giles. “You brought a date?”

In answer, Buffy pointed indignantly in the direction of the still-open morgue drawer.

“That, that was, extenuating, she wouldn’t stop talking, she’s very—” Giles gave up on trying to explain and pulled out a handkerchief, working instead on cleaning his glasses.

“And for the record,” Buffy added, “I didn't bring him, he came. I’ll take care of it.”

“You can't make him go out there alone, we don't know where the brethren are,” Giles objected, replacing his glasses, and then realized with a sinking feeling that this statement applied to Jenny as well. “Damn,” he muttered. “I’ll search the morgue for the Anointed and keep an eye on Jenny. You—figure out some way to get Owen out.”

“On it,” Buffy agreed, rounding the corner.

Giles then did the quickest morgue search he could manage while Jenny was still waiting for him. As he was opening the second to last drawer, she came back in, still looking a bit pink. “Rupert, I know you’re all about the badly-timed research,” she said nervously, “but now seems like the time to make a speedy exit.”

Good lord. How was he supposed to keep Jenny here? “I have one more drawer—” Giles began lamely.

“Rupert,” said Jenny.

Giles gave up. There was only one clear way to distract Jenny enough to keep her in the morgue. Trying his best not to think too much about what she might think it meant, he crossed the room, taking her in his arms and pressing her gently against the wall. “I’d like to talk about that kiss,” he said, trying to bring back his flirty-confident voice from his Ripper days. He wasn’t quite sure if he managed it.

Jenny raised a hand, tracing his jawline. “Yeah?”

“I’d like to kiss you again,” said Giles, hearing his voice dip lower.

Jenny’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parted, her breathing picking up. She didn’t answer.

“Jenny?”

“Yes,” said Jenny. “Yes, please,” and somehow, even though she was the one up against the wall, it was her grabbing him and pulling him in for another kiss. It wasn’t as brutal, nor as desperate; this kiss, while still dizzyingly passionate, was softer and less urgent than the other. As she pulled back to catch her breath, Giles just had to nuzzle her neck, letting her hair tickle his cheek as he pressed his lips to her throat. “Rupert, we have to go,” she was whispering, but she didn’t sound all that convinced, and honestly, Giles wasn’t either. Outside this night, he wouldn’t ever be this daring, or this bold, and really, what was the point of leaving this moment for one where Jenny Calendar wasn’t squirming as he kissed a spot just above her collarbone?

There was the clatter of footsteps. This time, Giles thankfully had enough presence of mind to pull away from Jenny before Buffy entered. Without a word to him, she rummaged through his bag of supplies, finally pulling out a stake and beginning to hurry away. She then turned, giving Giles a pointed, panicked look, and said, “Make sure the others are okay.”

It was in this moment that Andrew Borba came up behind Buffy, throwing her into a cabinet. She fell to the ground.

“Buffy!” Giles shouted.

Before he could do anything, Jenny had shoved herself in front of him, again brandishing the cross. “Stay back!” she shouted, but Giles could see her hand shaking.

Borba shuddered. “Why does he hurt me?” he demanded, and slapped the cross out of Jenny’s hand, picking her up and throwing her into the crematory controls. Giles didn’t have a moment to register what had happened, because Borba was picking him up too, throwing him in the same general direction as Jenny—

“Ow,” Giles managed.

“Ugh,” Jenny added, smiling a little tiredly, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Quite,” said Giles. He’d only just managed to slam the crematory door shut in time for Borba to burn. “Um, Buffy—?” But Buffy was preoccupied with Owen.

“So, uh, weird night,” said Jenny. Giles caught sight of Willow glancing over her shoulder as she and Xander led Owen out. He tried to direct a reassuring smile in her direction, but his head ached far too badly for him to really manage it. “Can we go home now?”

“Oh, completely,” said Giles, pulling himself awkwardly up with Jenny still leaning against him. “Buffy? Jenny and I will be seeing ourselves home.”

Buffy nodded, but she didn’t quite seem to notice as he and Jenny left.

The cross necklace that Jenny had given Giles was an antique, one carved with covert and meticulous symbols. Research revealed that these symbols were all protection runes, all of them meant to repel demons and vampires and the like, and most of them surprisingly effective in doing so. Obviously, a Watcher couldn’t wear a demon-repelling cross on patrol; that rather defeated the purpose of getting close enough to kill them. It did, however, lend some new clarity to exactly why every single one of the cemeteries Jenny had sent him to had been on ground where vampires wouldn’t rise, as well as why her face tightened every time she said he would be staying late at school.

Giles ran multiple magical tests on the cross necklace. Absolutely all of them said the same thing: that the necklace was an item meant solely to protect. And while that did answer any questions he might have had about Jenny’s feelings towards him, it didn’t at all explain her knowledge of vampires, or exactly what she was really doing in Sunnydale.

#fic #very really married #i never know when i am going to update things #but big 2019 goal is to finally finish this!!!#i have so much of it written already; it being done is. so seriously plausible

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homelandstuff · 8 years ago

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Great Disorientations

by Shebaloo at HLS LJ (Discussion here)

Hey, crybabies (myself included!):

Alright, the worst happened. Our ship sunk 100 times faster than the Titanic, and our beloved Quinn, like Jack, sacrificed himself so that the woman he loved could sit upon that metaphorical life raft door that clearly could have fit two people (yep, still salty). We are sad, we are outraged, we are confused, and we need some relief.

Remember my now-debunked theory that Quarrie would totally happen this season? I’m revising it to give you the real reasons why the writers chose the story they did. Warning: this is a pungent trash post.

How could they kill Quinn again before this ship even sailed?

You may not have heard anyone say this yet, but Homeland is Prescient. Postmodern. Prestigious. Iconic. Did I miss any three-syllable-words that are synonyms for pretentious? They couldn’t exactly end on a positive note in season 6 after the ultimate big baddie—the Orangehead-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (no, not Brody)—was elected IRL. Remember the wave of wonderful people who died in 2016, before the inauguration? The writers realized that Quinn was one of those good people who could not live to see the inauguration of a dictatorial POTUS. He made the last, ultimate sacrifice for democracy. But, hate and insecurity still won. Can’t you see that this show is dripping with the gritty realism we want right now?

Why put us through that “Will they?/Won’t they?” dilemma for FIVE seasons, if this was going to be the outcome?

As HYH has pointed out, the writers revised the script considerably after Trump was elected. Gansa and co. heard Trump’s team play this after his victory speech and at the end of all of his rallies (seriously), and the wheels started turning.

Why did they end Quinn’s arc with him at his lowest point—thinking he was a “mutant” killing machine who could never be loved?

Don’t you know that tragedy is ahhht, my dahhhling? Homeland decided to make your favorite action hero a little more emo and tragic. Admit it, you enjoyed watching him writhing in pain, you little masochists! Right? The writers definitely thought you would. Why throw in a moment of happiness or tenderness when they were the conductors of a successful, fully functioning pain train? If would have been completely out-of-character and strange if Quinn’s pain suddenly stopped. They pulled through for you by allowing the pain to steadily mount until the bitter end.

Why didn’t Carrie ever tell Quinn that she loved him?

She totally did, in a “Homelandian” way. She said “It was never about the mission,” and then her chin wobbled. Isn’t that even better than an “I love you”? Think about it: all of the direct “I love you’s” on Homeland are lies: Carrie said it to Brody and Aayan when she was working them as her assets. She said it to Quinn on the phone when she was grateful that he (and all of the new PTSD) had agreed to come to Islamabad. Dar said it to Quinn so that he wouldn’t get shot in the face. If Carrie had told Quinn she loved him, or if Quinn had told her he loved her directly (not indirectly through the letter), then the love would have been a lie! Bottom line: Homelandian love is unspoken and indirect, while a direct “I love you” is Homelandian for “do what I say.” And, yes, Quinn’s “Do what I say” in 6.12 also meant “I love you.” Private message me if you would like a Homelandian translation of any dialogue.

What happened to the sexy season promise?

Didn’t you get the memo? NOT showing sex on a premium cable network is totally edgy and sexy now.

The opening credits end with the dialogue from the 6.02 ”Why?" scene and the embrace from the 6.03 “Hug” scene. Wasn’t this supposed to foreshadow something about the Quarrie relationship?

See the train running through their hug? That was the pain train I was telling you about! Totally symbolic and foreshadowing. They are glued together with blood and pain!

Hello, we were promised that the letter would be addressed?

The letter? What letter? Ohh, you mean that plot device? Sorry, they ran out of time. But it was implicitly revisited: he was never allowed a real life or a real love, and he kept chasing the darkness. Can’t say they didn’t warn you about this bleak goodness! But, hey, if you wanted something more concrete, you could make it work. In your fanfics, you may imagine that she pulls it out of the other drawer and reads it again after the looks at the photo of herself. Then Carrie makes a little scrapbook of all of the confirmation receipts indicating that Quinn loved her.

What kind of message is this show trying to send to veterans?

Oh, haven’t you heard? Homeland is prescient. This season, the writers examined the deaths of two brave soldiers: Elizabeth Keane’s son, and Peter Quinn. The truth is that a lot of soldiers die, and sometimes there are smear campaigns to label them as cowardly or toxic. Homeland gave us a completely necessary reminder of this reality in season 6.

Why did Carrie save Quinn in 5.12 if he was just going to die again?

Carrie was feeling a little bit guilty and a little bit loving. Also she ran out of missions, so he WAS her mission. It was tough to fulfill both her Quinn recovery mission and her POTUS saving mission in the end, so she had to choose one.

Why wasn’t there a memorial for Quinn?

You know, they wanted to include one. But there just wasn’t time. Weren’t you much more concerned about Brett O'Keefe's burps and the resolution of the CPS storyline? Oh, and they had waited until the last minute to include the obligatory Carrie-stares-at-herself-in-the-mirror scene that they revisit each season. Wasn’t it amazing how she put on her makeup, looked herself over, and removed the lipstick? This show was never about Quinn, silly! It’s about Carrie and her self-perception. Carrie had not put on much makeup all season, and it was difficult for her to put on that mask again. This was her way of showing that she is still grieving, folks! Carrie, Ruby Woo was definitely not the right shade for you. Not at that moment.

Why didn’t Carrie properly grieve for Quinn?

She was in total shock when she was in the car. Plus, she couldn’t break down crying in front of the esteemed POTUS. She had already embarrassed herself when she drunk dialed her in the middle of the night, and she probably wouldn’t have received that fake career opportunity of a lifetime if she had shown too many emotions in the car. Oh, and she did grieve! She saw the photo of herself in Quinn’s collection.

How could did Carrie “let him go” in episodes 6.11 and 6.12? What happened to the Carrie who said she couldn’t lose him Islamabad, refused to mercy kill him in Berlin, and spared him from a suicide-by-cop situation at her brownstone?

The therapist wasn’t exactly encouraging of her “intense” relationships, was he? He told her that the most important person in her life should be Franny. What if she risked her life to stop Quinn from driving the car, and Franny lost her mom for good? I predict that we’ll see Carrie further confront her savior complex in the seasons to come.

Why did they make a point to show Quinn bonding with Franny?

Rising action! They let Carrie smile once before their world came crashing down on them. Be grateful that you got one full moment of domesticity from Gansa the edgelord. Remember that pain is power and prescience, people!

How could they tease us with that Hop stuff?

Oops, you got trolled!

Did Carrie even love Quinn?

Um, yes, in a totally Homelandian way! She told him “we could have done more back there” with the Sandy situation, she told him to get over his drama king attitude when he was claiming the CIA was unjustifiably immoral, she defended her decision to sleep with Aayan to him, she told him she wasn’t any good for him, she greatly hesitated before she conceded to allowing Jonas to call an ambulance for him when he was dying for her, she waited 9 days before looking further into his disappearance, she woke him up for information that he didn’t have, she slept with Jonas immediately after thwarting the terror attack that she woke Quinn up for, and she rejected his hug-and-frisk move. Thank you to Rupert Friend for prompting me to think of all of the ways that she showed she was his Homelandian soulmate.

Remember when Otto showed up in episode 1? His whole purpose was to say, "If it's not me...then let it be someone else" and then CUT to Quinn. I thought that was supposed to be foreshadowing!

Red herring alert! Red herring alert! Don’t you see that the writers have wanted Carrie and Otto to be the OTP all along, and the cut to Quinn was either a total coincidence or a total ruse? Weren’t you feeling the angry, sexual tension between Carrie and Otto in that room? She even said “fuck” to him—that’s the word she always used around Quinn and Brody! Honestly, with all of this sexiness going on, I’m surprised she hasn’t started calling him “During.” The writers saw all of your backlash when he made the big proposal in 5.12, but they brought him back to tease this ship again. Did you see that he got a gift for Franny? How cute! You love it when Carrie’s suitors are nice to Franny, right? Plus, Carrie told Otto about Quinn. They can have a little mourning event together at his chateau. And there you have it: my season 7 prediction is that she crashes Otto’s wedding to the rando fiancee he mentioned, and Carrie declares, “You were the one most suitable for me all along!” Golly, be still my beating heart.

#hls discussion #homeland #homeland season 6 #hls lj #shebaloo

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blyanten · 8 years ago

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THE DUCK AVENGER PK2: #3 THE VOICE OF DARKNESS

Everett has decided to let his daughter out of the capsules! I’m guessing this means Ducklair Enterprises is up and running properly. As the wake-up process reaches its conclusion, Everett takes over, wanting to do the final step himself. He tells Juniper to open her eyes.

We don’t get to see the girl just yet, some things need to remain a surprise.

Meanwhile, the Avenger is having car trouble, rightfully wondering who’s going to protect the city from him. He has finally realized that he should have read the instruction manual before literally falling out of the sky, as the control systems switch off for a moment when the car switches to reserve fuel.

And nobody notices, because this is Duckburg.

He already knew that, it’s the fuel part that’s the problem. Also, the lack of a warning system, judging by the 100 feet fall. Once again, safety features: Not A Thing.

After flipping through the manual, the Avenger finds out that the car runs on monomethyl-hydrazine. He doesn’t know what that is, so it’s time to go home and find an encyclopedia. After the usual boring facts, it turns out that it’s rocket fuel.

I feel like that makes sense, but I can’t tell you why.

The Avenger has a brief fantasy spot about getting caught stealing fuel from a rocket, and Angus’s reaction, he decides to head to Ducklair Universe. Because goddamn, if Everett is going to cause this many problems, he can pay for having them fixed.

I strongly approve of this. It’s totally fair as far as I’m concerned, and a good solution, because monomethyl-hydrazine isn’t something you’ll find at the local gas station, but really, mostly because I think it’s a hilarious level of pettiness. From both sides, when we get that far.

Camouflaging the car as a fire hydrant (you can guess the joke), he sneaks up to the building, and finds a surprisingly high level of activity for the late hour. Guards with dogs, a bunch of workers and Birgit Q, looking less like an assistant and more like a ninja.

I do like the entire power-style she’s got going on.

Now, if Everett’s personal assistant is involved, this is probably important, but it’s nice of Birgit to confirm it.

The Avenger thinks to himself that he doesn’t like distrusting Everett-, wait.

Really? You don’t like distrusting him? I… I think he’s earned it. Like, he’s gone out of his way to earn distrust. I appreciate loyalty to friends, but damn. Let the distrust flow through you, Avenger.

-but there are still too many unanswered questions, so when Birgit sends several cars to Ducklair Manor, he abandons the fuel to follow.

Ducklair Manor turns out to be less that and more Ducklair’s Fancy Disney Princess Palace, complete with its own forest.

In the surrounding forest they appear to be building a platform of some kind.

A space station?

Everett is waiting for them, informing Birgit that he’s satisfied with her work. Also, the entire project is called Operation Profunda, suggesting that Everett was really paying attention last issue.

The Avenger is the blocked from further investigation by the two walking away and the workers deciding to get started. He leaves, deciding to be back later.

Then it’s dayjob time! The security team appears to have lost Rupert, but Donald has some suspicions about where he is.

-and that’s when I called the cops.

He’s off creeping on Stella, staring at her while pressing his face up against the windows of her workplace. To the point where the owners have been complaining about Rupert scaring their customers.

Luckily for him, the team is well aware of his obsession and are gently, Fitzroy excepted, trying to get him to focus on his job. Less lucky, said owners appear and threatens to make a formal complaint if Rupert keeps bothering Stella. Which completely fair, except that Stella isn’t bothered by his behavior. She’s apparently into creepy staring.

But they have more complaints, among them that Rupert is messing up their elegant crystal windows. Why anyone would want to have crystal windows is a mystery when glass is available. Bloom reassures them that it won’t happen again, and takes Rupert for a walk.

Donald asks Tempest who those guys, the owners were, and Tempest explains. She also says that in time Donald will learn to ignore them. He agrees, but before that time comes, he grabs an ice cream from a kid and throws it at the elegant crystal window, before giving the kid money for another ice cream.

He and Tempest heads into the store for their rounds, and that’s when trouble appears in the form of Hobey with a gun. Hobey forces the sales clerk (not Stella) to lower the shutters, and tells everyone that it’s not a robbery. It’s just a hostage situation!

Listen, it had to happen sometime.

Hobey wants to speak with the Avenger, because of course he does. Why else would Donald be in this situation?

One hostage panics, but after only one shot, Tempest manages to calm him down.

And while this is going on, Hobey is trying to reassure himself that Profunda will be pleased with him, and not punish him.

In the sewers, the other homeless people are having similar concerns, but their goal is currently to not disturb her. Profunda however, is hearing voices. Well, a very specific voice, that calls for her.

Profunda decides it’s time for action.

Even on reread the constantly appearing questions are frustrating.

Outside Duckmall, the press has arrived, and inside the police is trying to figure out what to do. Armed an unpredictable is not a fun combination, even less so when they’re focused on something the police can’t give them.

We also learn that Bloom used to be a cop, but quit to avoid these situations. Probably would have worked too, except that then he went and hired a superhero.

Inside the store, Donald uses some black eyeliner to paint a mask on himself and uses some blue fabric to fake a cape. Tempest thinks he’s lost it too, while Donald is more focused on how ridiculous the situation is. He does however succeed in getting Hobey talking.

Sanity is not on display here.

It turns out that Profunda wants to team up with the Avenger to take down Everett. Because Everett is a droid out to take over the world.

Sounds a lot like the Evronians, actually.

While Donald is baffled at this information, Hobey, midway through telling him how to find Profunda, notices that his cape has a price tag.

The make-up wasn’t a clue?

Hobey proceeds to freak out and try to shoot Donald, who escapes into the underground storage via a back room service elevator.

Hobey responds by doing this.

Cheap elevator or surprisingly effective gun?

Tempest takes the opportunity to try and get people out, but Hobey and his magically reloading gun returns before they get the shutters open. He’s losing patience, and demands to talk with the real Avenger.

In the backroom, Donald turns out to have been hiding in a closet. Realizing he has to get out of there, he jumps down the elevator shaft, and falls through the destroyed roof of the evelvator. Still, he manages to sneak out the back and gather his equipment from inside a Duckmall mascot.

Rather than go and speak with Hobey, he calls Lyla and they meet at her apartment.

No, I think it’s a danceparty!

Lyla offers to lend him some Time Police equipment, since it’s not like she needs it at the moment, time travel being impossible and all. It should help keep Profunda out of his head.

At Ducklair Manor the whatever they’re building is almost done. Everett will take care of the last few details himself, because from now on, the area is off limits to everyone.

Profunda may not care all that much.

Stormdrains can actually be this big, I think.

The Avenger follows Hobey’s instructions to find Profunda, grumbling to himself about how you can’t deal with people who get inside your head.

Ignoring the fact that he’s done that before, of course, but that was magic, so… fine.

He finds the lair, but it’s empty. Following the trail, he finds two tunnels, one leading out of the city and the other to... somwhere in Duckburg. This makes the Avenger worry, while Profunda decides she is ready to answer the voice calling to her.

At Ducklair Tower, Birgit is transporting Juniper from the tower to Ducklair Manor. She barely gets out of the garage before Profunda attacks, her homeless army fireing at the car. Birgit tells the driver to keep going, and that’s when the Avenger arrives.

I swear, that name sounds familiar.

The situation escalates, with Profunda directing her army to ignore the Avenger and attack the car. Birgit, now behind the wheel goes pedal to the metal, but Profunda stops her.

Superpowers for everyone!

The car crashes, and the Avenger tries to talk to Profunda, but she declares their alliance over before it got started. She uses her powers on him, but the Avenger dodges, so her blast hits the ground instead. The Avenger traps her in a gravity bubble, letting her fall so her homless army has to catch her rather than attack the car.

The Avenger takes advantage of the distraction, going for the car since whatever it is Profunda is after is probably dangerous.

She looks like she’s halfway back into the crysleep/coma/whatever.

It’s hard to say who’s the most confused, but the Avenger grabs Juniper and gets her the hell out of there. Profunda is pissed, but as long as the voice keeps calling for her, she’ll find them. Birgit calls Everett, who tells her to return to the manor, before setting two psionic hound robots to the task of finding his daughter.

I’m sure that’s not traumatizing at all to someone who just woke up from a years long coma.

On a rooftop, somewhere, the Avenger is trying to communicate with Juniper, who is not responding.

At least not until the robots arrive.

When I am the undisputed ruler of the universe, boob armor will be forbidden.

They tie up Juniper, because Everett has clearly given up on being father of the year, and blast a sign loose from the building, causing it to fall on the Avenger.

Add boob windows to the list of forbidden things.

Luckily for him, Lyla arrives, in a new armor that looks like it wouldn’t stand up to 1/3 of the abuse the old one could, and picks up the sign. She’s been following him, thanks to the borrowed belt. The Avenger asks her for help, and Lyla tells him to not make a habit of it.

Too late.

At Ducklair Manor, Lyla confirms that Juniper is there through a brick wall surrounding the property. Everett is also most definitely not a droid, which is… good? What is definitely not good is that Profunda and gang has arrived.

Everett is unsurprised when the two robots inform him that there’s attackers on two sides, telling Juniper that it worked. She’s come.

Child Services? Yeah, I’d like to make a report.

Profunda shows up then, telling him it wasn’t hard, Juniper was practically screaming for her to come save her.

The homeless army attacks, and the Avenger jumps in. Everett is not pleased, telling him to stay out of his life, while the Avenger points out that kidnapping is not cool.

Profunda ignores them both and goes to free Juniper, when Everett activates a containment field. Turns out the entire structure was made for that purpose, to trap them there.

Profunda calls him out, basically calling him a bastard for using Juniper as bait and claims that this will not be enough to stop Profunda.

Everett says he only wanted to help her. Her name isn’t Profunda, it’s Korinna. And he’s her father.

So Juniper takes after the mom then.

The Avenger is baffled, but still fighting the homeless army while Everett tries to convince Korinna to stop fighting and stay with him and Juniper. He just wants his daughters back.

Cool motive, still murder seriously bad parenting happening here. At least wait until Juniper is coherent before throwing her into this situation! You can look for Korinna in other ways. Or just sit back and wait, really.

Korinna, understandably enough at this point, says no. She’s taking Juniper and leaving.

Everett, also understandably, considering what Korinna has been doing lately, isn’t about to let that happen. Really, nobody in this family should be trusted with the care of anyone, but neither is going to back down. So they fight.

This angle on this is 50% cool looking and 50% “it looks like you could take two steps and put her on the ground Mr. Mystical Martial Arts”.

Korinna is powerful, but Everett has the experience and, with some help from the Avenger attacking Korinna at the same time as he does, lands a painful mental blow on Korinna.

Both of them kinda freak out at this, Korinna pissed that her father hurt her, and Everett immediately apologizing. He also drops his guard, and Korinna lashes out, screaming that she hates him, much like a small child would.

This must have been a really unforcused blast, considering that they’re both fine afterwards.

Korinna’s homeless army collapses as Korinna flees. Lyla reassures the Avenger they’re fine, just knocked out now that they’re free from Korinna. When the Avenger tries to check on Everett he’s told to get lost.

At this point it’s starting to sound more like a bad breakup than a serious fight. Birgit’s “not again” headache look doesn’t help.

Everett tells Birgit to move Juniper inside, and the Avenger has to run back to Duckmall, because there’s a hostage situation everyone’s forgotten about.

Luckily, Hobey also collapsed when Korinna lost control over him, so everything there is fine. Except for the missing Donald Duck, who nobody’s seen since Hobey shot at him.

The Avenger runs off to change and hide in the elevator shaft, just in time as the police is currently searching the back room.

Don’t know if that’s what they were going for, but that’s a great “please don’t ask questions” face.

Everyone is glad to see him, though Bloom considers his attempt at talking to Hobey a bit thoughtless. Which, yeah, but still less that it would have been if he wasn’t the Avenger. But he got lucky, and luck is part of being security, so Bloom leaves it at that.

As he’s leaving, Donald thinks that he’s going to need a lot of luck next time he’s dealing with Everett. As it is, he only has more questions and Korinna took many of the answers with her.

On a highway leading out of Duckburg, a man with two children picks up a young woman, heading to Goose Beach.

#PKNA #duck avenger #PK2 #comic #review #sort of #for fun

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

Text

[SF] The Gulf | Ep. 7: Prisoner Swap (Season Finale)

Elijah was telling the truth. Or at least part of it.

A Gulf Sails Board Member is suspected of extorting Ben Rupert before Ben killed himself.

As soon as the new year hit, news broke. Then it came out that this same Board Member had influenced the decision to hire the third party investigator who urged the arrest of Elijah Braze.

And like Elijah said, the investigator did have a small conflict of interest. He owns about $25,000 worth of shares of a competing real estate company in Gulf Sails.

Elijah is clearly a sexual predator. But maybe he’s not a murderer.

Never-the-less, he’s still here on the island. (And I’ve woken up in a cold sweat more than once, after nightmares I don’t even want to repeat.)

The investigator was fired, and the join Gulf Sails/ Paradisia task force brought on someone new who in addition to investigating the death of Ben Rupert is now looking into the last investigator, and the Board Member.

He resigned his position on the board, but says it was just because he would be a distraction. He says the decision to hire the investigator was based on merit, and that the conflict of interest is a small one, almost impossible to avoid given the number of industries Elijah is involved in.

He claims he is innocent of everything, including extortion of Ben Rupert, and the media is just spinning the facts to make him look bad.

Plus, the revitalized task force insists it still has enough evidence to convict Elijah.

Francesco, the leader of Paradisia where Gulf Sails is docked, says that he can’t trust Gulf Sails anymore and insists they leave port within a week.

Gulf Sails will be leaving a number of platforms behind, people who defected and will now stay docked at Paradisia permanently.

“It’s like a ghost town,” Majorie tells me when I finally wish her a happy New Year on January 3rd. “So many people have left. Like, a quarter of the platform slots are empty. It looks so weird. Remember that club out on the northwest spoke, Giorgio’s? Not a dance club, the bar and restaurant. Iit also had a marketplace, and hosted events.”

“Yeah,” I say, “my family used to go there when we felt like slumming it for seafood.”

“Ohhhkay. Mine went when we wanted to indulge.”

I feel my face getting a little pink with embarrassment.

“Anyway,” Majorie continues, “They left, and took the whole neighborhood with them. Giorgio’s platform is the center of a new, like, 20 or 25 platform community. And some of the platforms were apartment complexes, so there are like 1,500 people just from that one incident who just floated away.”

“That’s crazy, but I guess I can’t say I’m surprised. Wasn’t that neighborhood full of the fringe type? They always had the dumbest complaints at community meetings.”

Majorie laughs, “That’s true, I remember them complaining that they always kept that side of the island pointed north, so they never got the good sunsets or sunrises.”

“Yeah, I remember the CEO was like, uh, doesn’t it say that in your contract? That’s why it was cheaper… And they always wanted to veto neighboring platforms if they didn’t like the business or the style.”

“Still they had a sort of appeal to them, like a fisherman village feel mixed with Mediterranean port. I loved walking through there on the weekend, when they’d have street markets. People selling homegrown veggies and homemade crafts. I kinda want to go visit the place in a few months… see what it’s like on its own.”

I smile, but can’t think of much to say. My heart sinks at the thought of her going off on an adventure in a couple months without me.

“So I’ve been getting great results from your analysis,” She says with pep, changing the subject.

She’s talking about the program I made to analyze videos against a cache of deep fakes versus real clips, to see if the patterns match up.

She says, “I’m already making more money just knowing who and what evidence not to waste my time on. And it’s so much easier to find corroborating evidence that it was manufactured if I already know it in the first place. Seriously, definitely worth the money I’m paying.”

“That’s great! Well definitely keep them coming. Glad I’m helping.”

“How’s work on the interface? Can you send me the tool yet?” she asks, once again.

“I’ve still got a couple snags to figure out,” I say.

But the truth is, I could probably let her use it now. There would be a couple issues I’d have to work with her on ironing out. But the real reason I don’t want to send it, is because, well, its mine.

Once I let go of the tool, I’m not that much use to her anymore, she could just analyze her own videos. And I know that probably sounds horrible, but what am I supposed to do, just give away something I poured all that work into it, which is now making me money I need to get off the prison island?

I doubt she would mind if I brought up some kind of licensing, but I just don’t know how to navigate that, what to charge, how to make sure it doesn’t just get out and I get nothing from it. Maybe I should just release it as a free tool online, and make money from traffic to the website.

“I could help you fine-tune it,” Majorie suggests, “After all, I am your first user, and successful test case,” she winks.

“It won’t be long,” I promise.

“It definitely has a lot of potential beyond just me using it too. Imagine if we could work together to get it recognized to use in official settings. Then you’d be making baaank. But that’s a way off. I’m sure you’d have to have studies done, and get it reviewed by experts…”

“Sounds exhausting,” I say.

On the next batch of videos she sends me, there’s a strange one in there.

It’s a video of Elijah Braze, meeting with two guys. They aren’t wearing any anti-facial recognition glasses or anything and can be easily identified. They are gang members.

I remember that Majorie mentioned gang members had stayed at the hotel during the time that Ben killed himself, and were suspected of being hired by Elijah to kill Ben.

You can even make out some of the conversation. So this seems to be the damning piece of evidence the task force has on Elijah.

But when I analyze it with my system, the video is a deep fake. Elijah never met with the gang members–at least not in this video.

“Hey you didn’t tell me you were sending a video related to the Ben Rupert case,” I say, next time I chat with Majorie.

“Wait, which video?” she asks, sounding shocked.

I explain.

“Oh, I… I must have sent that by accident.”

“Where did it come from?”

“It was just another piece of evidence the investigators sent me.”

“Well do you know where they got it?”

“I… don’t know. I guess it would be from the security system of whatever restaurant they were meeting at.”

“Well, you’re going to want to tell the investigators that whoever they got it from is a suspect. The video’s a deep fake.”

“Oh, wow. That’s crazy, I will definitely tell them. Thanks for letting me know! Glad I accidentally sent it to you.”

“Yeah, but there’s still the main video of Ben’s suicide I haven’t had the chance to analyze. That could confirm, at least, whether or not it was a suicice.”

“That’s true. Hey, I’m sorry, I gotta run, something just came up for work, I’ll talk to you soon,” and Majorie signs off.

It doesn’t add up. Someone is trying to frame Elijah for Ben Rupert’s death, whether or not it was an actual suicide.

And I’m still trying to figure out how the Gulf Sails Board Member fits in.

Even if it was a suicice, caused by the Board Member extorting Ben, why would he go to such lengths to make it look like a murder? I doubt they would try to somehow prosecute him for a suicide. And blaming Elijah for the death doesn’t cover up evidence of extortion.

So then the whole thing would have to be aimed at Elijah. Maybe it’s something to do with Elijah’s sizeable stake in Gulf Sails?

As the weeks wear on, little more happens with the investigation in Ben Rupert. The investigators maintain that they are sorting everything out, and preparing to try Elijah for the crime. Gulf Sails’ reputation hasn’t recovered. They island sailed to Lapachicola early after Francesco kicked them out of Paradisia.

And Francesco still maintains that Elijah is being falsely prosecuted. In fact, he’s the main relentless voice hammering away at Gulf Sails for being corrupt.

And Gulf Sails doesn’t have any one, singular cult-personality to counter his voice. Elijah was the biggest personality on the island, had the most celebrity. And the Gulf Sails CEO just isn’t a showy guy. So right now, Francesco is winning the battle of public opinion.

I didn’t get it at first, why Francesco would want to part ways with one of Paradisia’s biggest money makers of the year. But seeing the results now, it’s starting to make sense.

He keeps preaching that Gulf Sails is greedy and toxic, and that people need a simpler, less money-focused way of life. They can opt-out of the rat race by living in (or off the coast of) Paradisia. His numbers are swelling, and he doesn’t need to rely on Gulf Sails anymore to subsidize his society. Now it’s stand-alone, and his power has increased.

A few weeks after the New Year Crenshaw pulls me aside and asks if I’ve had any more trouble with Elijah.

“No, I’ve barely seen him since New Years’, he doesn’t even look my way.”

“Good,” Crenshaw says, “I didn’t want to have to extend my sentence here. But I would have.”

When I ask Eric about this later, he tells me how Crenshaw put the fear of god in Elijah one day when they ran into each other on the main path.

I would have loved to see how the blood drained from his face, and he lost his confident posture for a few moments. But hearing Eric describe the cowering apologies is almost as satisfying. Never thought I’d make such good friends in prison.

Unfortunately, that night I still wake up with a start from another nightmare about Elijah preying on me. I’ve taken to sleeping with the brass knuckles Eric gave me on my fingers.

By early February, my conversations with Majorie are finally drifting away from being consumed by Ben Rupert’s murder, or suicide, or whatever it was. She’s got a little more of her glow back, but I can still tell there’s anxiety in the back of her mind.

“Hey, remember how you mentioned wanting to check out that new neighborhood that floated away. The one centered around Giorgio’s?” I ask Majorie.

“Yeah, they’re growing too, I think they’re calling it New Sicily. What about it?”

“If you wait until this summer,” I say, “Maybe I can join you.”

She’s surprised, and the first honest smile that I’ve seen in months breaks out on her face. “Really? Things are going that well?”

“Yeah, I paid down seven grand of the debt in January. At this rate, I could be out in May.”

“That’s amazing, it can’t all be from analyzing the videos for me though, right? What are you doing? Did the blog take off?” she laughs, before catching herself, and smiling in a guilty way.

“Ha, no. Actually, you remember Dean? He’s been giving me business coaching advice. I started outsourcing a lot of my bug-catching job to people in places where labor is worth about half as much. I get four times as much work done in a quarter of the time. And even though they are only making half as much as me, compared to their cost of living, it’s like twice as much where they live.”

“Very cool,” Majorie says. “You’re almost running a charity.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

She laughs, “I’m only joking, it is good. It’s a great way to spread the wealth around the world, really, teach a man to fish, and all that.”

“Yeah, and it gives me more time to focus on building out the deep fake tool.” I stop short realizing she’s still waiting for me to send her the program.

And a bit of an awkward silence commences until she says mechanically, “How’s that going?”

“Oh, it’s kinda still a mess,” I say. “It was easy enough for me to put it together so I can understand it. I know code enough to get the results I want, but not the interface side, how to make it easy for the user.”

“Well we’ll have to work on it together once you get off the island. The task force already put together their case against Elijah. They decided the suicide video was fake, but I’m not sure how they are going to present it at his trial.”

“So they still have their sights set on Elijah? I gotta be honest, I don’t think he did it. If someone took the time to fake a video of him meeting with the hitmen… kinda seems like he’s being framed. I mean you have more experience than me with investigations…”

I can’t believe I’m defending the guy…

Majorie shrugs, “The investigators cut me out of the loop a few weeks ago. I guess they got all they needed from me.”

Work. Work. Work.

A month passes in a snap.

On my birthday, March second, Eric invites me over for a low key celebration. Crenshaw and Brenton are there, waiting with a toast to yell “Surprise!” (Not that I’m too surprised… I assumed they’d be there for poker as usual.)

“You know, 21st birthdays used to be a big deal,” Eric says to me, “Time for you to have your first alcoholic beverage.”

Crenshaw and Brenton laugh. Looks like they may have started the festivities a little early.

“You remember that, old man? Going to yah first bah on yah 21st?” Crenshaw says, his New England accent even thicker from the booze.

Eric smiles, “I’m not that old. Being born in the New Dark ages meant I was going to bars by the time I was 11. Maybe I went to my first real bar around 21 though… by then things were rebounding. There were actual commercial establishments available to people who weren’t elites.”

“And we wouldn’t be 50 fuckin’ years behind,” I hear another voice break in, “If people hadn’t let the politicians destroy society.”

It’s George. I look on in disbelief. Is he here for my birthday?

“Ah, gawd, here we go, Mr. Anti-establishment has arrived,” Crenshaw says, nudging Brenton.

“Oh just wait til you see–or rather hear–the present I brought with me for the birthday boy here,” George says, just barely acknowledging me. “Kid loves history. So I came well prepared to give him my insights on growing up in The Kingdom during reconstruction.”

And learn about The Kingdom I do. In fact I get much more than I bargained for.

It starts innocent enough. A basic–albeit condescending–overview of The Kingdom while we all play poker. How it was started by a large farming family in Georgia in the wake of the collapse. How they held everything together by keeping the area safe enough to grow food, keeping people fed enough to not go entirely crazy.

But by the time George was born two or three decades later in the late 2050s, The Kingdom was a full fledged government. Technically a monarchy, although it was run more like a business. And it sounds to me like there was a little bit of feudalism mixed in there too.

But apparently, according to George, they still had the “Puritanical Judeo-Christian tendency to legislate morality.” And that’s where things fall apart.

Mind you, by this point it had been a couple hours, and a few bottles of moonshine later. Eric had taken all our chips, demolishing us in Texas Hold-em.

The history lesson culminated in George drunkenly opening up–if you can even call it that–about what exactly got him landed on a prison island with a life sentence for murder.

“And those god-damn sons of bitches wouldn’t just let my wife die with dignity, in a humane way. I had to do it myself!” He sobs, “I had to do it for her, she was so weak, she begged me, she begged me to take away the pain! And I had to do it with the tools I had available because they wouldn’t let me, let us, have the simple fucking medicine we needed! They had it right there. They used it execute murderers, but when it came to a sweet gentle woman who just wanted to move on from her disease, they wouldn’t… they just couldn’t…”

George is grasping for words, exasperated, practically gasping for breath, now just bawling with his head in his arms on the table. Crenshaw, Brenton, and I are just frozen in shock, sobered up pretty quick.

We meet Eric’s somber gaze, and he signals us to leave with a flick of his hand.

We happily oblige.

One day I see Elijah as I make my way to the cafeteria. I’ve been pretty good about avoiding him.

But now he has his bags with him in the lobby where the airships land. And as usual, I’m caught staring in disbelief, trying to interpret what it all means.

“That’s right,” Elijah says with a smirk, “I’m out of here. Like I said, my innocence would be proven. How sad in this day and age that you have to prove your innocence rather than being innocent until proven guilty, as it should be. But don’t worry. My replacement will be here soon.” He winks at me as he boards the airship.

What does that mean? Did they charge the Board Member instead? I haven’t seen anything about this in the news.

The next day it hits, the big headlines that the charges are dropped against Elijah, and the investigators are preparing to charge someone else. But they haven’t announced who, pending the arrest.

It’s really a weight off my shoulder. The bad dreams go away, and I can finally sleep easy.

And around the same time, I realize the money I just made will reach the threshold to get me off the island by mid April. Of course I’ll still owe Francesco the other half when I leave.

I never honestly thought I could become this successful, let alone in under six months. I owe a lot to Dean’s guidance, but also the focus provided by the prison island. And of course the incentive to pay off enough of my debt so I can leave.

“Well it wasn’t the blog, was it?” The warden laughs.

God he’s annoying. I just give him the raised eyebrows and a smirk. But when I think about it, if it weren’t for the movie blog, I might have never thought about how to detect deep fakes using a database of video clips.

“Hey Dege, if it’s okay, I’d love to get permission for Elba to contact you after you leave. You’re a pretty big success story… it’s not too often that someone becomes as productive a member of society in as short a time. We’d love a testimony, but I’d say there’s an opportunity for even more. I mentioned it to the higher ups, some sort of promotional deal…”

“Oh, really? Well yeah, you can contact me for sure. I’ll have to think about the rest.”

I imagine myself being the poster boy for a prison camp… not sure if that’s the image I’d want out there. Not that I could hide this episode in my life from anyone who bothered to look into it.

“Of course, and I’ll get in touch with more specifics. It’s been a joy having you here Dege, but don’t come back!” He laughs.

I can’t believe that I’m actually getting out of here this soon. It still hasn’t sunk in that I’ve paid my debt off in just six months when I thought it would take two years. And now, I’m actually making good money, I feel empowered, independent, useful, important.

The hardest part is saying goodbye to Eric.

“It’s days like today I question my sanity,” he chuckles, “living on a prison island…”

“Well you can leave for vacations if you want, can’t you? Take a break and come back.”

“I suppose I could. But I haven’t left this island in 25 years. I guess I’ve just been boycotting the real world. I don’t know what I would do with myself. I guess I’m just an old man stuck in my ways now,” he shrugs.

“Then I’ll come back and visit you,” I say confidently.

“I appreciate that Dege,” he says with sad eyes, “But I don’t want you to beat yourself up about it if you never seem to find the time.”

I scoff, “Come on Eric, of course I’ll be able to find the time.”

He pats me on the back, “Rodigio, it’s been great spending time with your these last few months. I don’t think my evening conversations will be quite as intellectually stimulating without you.”

I’d never really thought of myself as intellectual before.

As I’m walking down, with my things all packed, I pass George’s cabin. He’s outside, as usual, working in the garden. He stands up and walks over to his wall and looks at me. I stop.

Stand. Stare. Wait.

“We’re cousins,” he says. “Well, your dad and I are cousins.” Then he turns around and resumes what he was doing.

I just laugh.

“Hey, I might still hit you up for another history lesson online,” I say.

“At your own peril,” he replies, without looking up.

Down by the docks, I see the airship approaching from the bay. I look around, and breathe in the air, taking in the beauty of the shimmering green hillside. I still can’t believe this is what a prison island looks like. There’s a salty breeze, and the light sound of water lapping at the shore. And those birds… I never did figure out what kind they are, or where they came from.

I board the airship that will take me off the island.

To my shock, Majorie is on board!

I’m baffled. She came all this way just to fly back with me?

But no… She’s sitting in the prisoner section. She’s waiting to be transported to the women’s prison island en route to drop me back off at Gulf Sails.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she says, here eyes dissolving into tears. “But it’s not what you’ll hear. Believe me, it’s not what they’ll say about me!”

“What is it? I don’t understand.” But amid the sinking feeling in my chest, I’m starting to make sense of it. She was involved in Ben Rupert’s murder.

“Rodigio, you’ve got to listen to me, and believe me. Whatever part I played in this murder was entirely by accident. I helped them pay the hitmen, but I didn’t know what I was doing. They used me!” She breaks down in tears.

I want to comfort her for the remainder of the short flight, but they force me to sit in the visitor section, since I’m no longer a prisoner. All I can do is watch her cry from a distance. And think about what this means.

The realizations are washing over me. It was Majorie who made the deep fake of Elijah meeting with the hitmen. That must be why she wanted the analysis tool. Did she make the video of the suicide too? Then she would have had to know what was coming…

The flight is landing. They’re escorting her off.

“Help me clear my name!” she begs me through sobs as she is led off the airship.

“I will, I promise I’ll do whatever it takes!”

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