#aza talks

[plasmafruittree]

I want to make some pals here but it's so fkig hard because I'm an introverted mess with anxiety. 🫣

[azalawa-scroggs]

I'm gonna ride the wave here and talk about Rise from the Ashes and why, even though I think it's a good retcon and doesn't involve any contradiction either factual or thematic, I believe it is still undeniably a retcon.

The crux of the matter, I think, is the definition of retcon. Here's what Merriam-Webster has to say about it:

the act, practice, or result of changing an existing fictional narrative by introducing new information in a later work that recontextualizes previously established events, characters, etc.

It has to change the narrative, not the events of the story themselves. It has to recontextualise the events in question. And I'd argue the case does those exact two things by establishing that Miles Edgeworth not only never willfully forged evidence, but was morally against it in the first place, even though the contrary had been implied in the four first cases of the game.

Here's how Miles Edgeworth is introduced in Turnabout Sisters, in the first conversation we have about him with Gumshoe. There are two dialogue options, one where you can say that yes, you do know him, or one where you say that no, you don't.

Here's what Phoenix has to say about Edgeworth if you pick "I know him":

I know him. He's a feared prosecutor. He doesn't feel pain, he doesn't feel remorse. He won't stop until he gets his "guilty" verdict.

And here's what he has to say if you pick "I don't know him:"

(Of course I know him... I was just playing dumb. He's a cold, heartless machine who'll do anything to get a "guilty" verdict! There are rumors of back-alley deals and forged evidence...)

The words "forged evidence" appear only in one of the two options. They're only rumours; there's nothing established. However this is the first discussion of his character; this is the first impression we get of him. The idea we are supposed to get from him is someone ruthless and without scruples, who "hates crime with an abnormal passion."

Later on there is of course the case of the updated autopsy report. The new report is entirely legitimate and treated as such. However it is presented by the narrative as an underhanded trick, with Phoenix exclaiming against it, and further establishes Edgeworth's lack of limits in his prosecuting ethics set up by the conversation with Gumshoe - confirming our bias. We're still talking about narrative intent here, not merely the facts of the story. The updated autopsy report is not an instance of Edgeworth forging evidence, however it showcases his ruthlessness, which by extension serves to corroborate the rumours Phoenix was talking about with Gumshoe - making you believe Edgeworth would indeed tamper with proof without showing him doing so. Edgeworth coaching the witness's testimony and withholding the wiretap has the same effect.

Right before the second trial day, we get to talk with Edgeworth himself, who has come to warn us that even though he knows Phoenix, Phoenix shouldn't expect any mercy from him. Here's what he has to say:

Edgeworth: [...] whatever Mr. White says today, it will be the "absolute truth." No matter how you try to attack his testimony... If I raise an objection, I have it on good faith that the judge will listen to me. Phoenix: (What, does White have the judge in his pocket, too!?) So... you're saying I'm going to be guilty. End of story? Edgeworth: ... I will do anything to get my verdict, Mr. Wright. Anything. Maya: Why... Why!? How can you torment an innocent person like this!? Edgeworth: "Innocent"...? How can we know that? The guilty will always lie, to avoid being found out. There's no way to tell who is guilty and who is innocent! All that I can hope to do is get every defendant declared "guilty"! So I make that my policy.

There is also the climax of the case, where Edgeworth tries to request the trial to be extended one more day:

Edgeworth: Ergo! I would like to request one more day before Phoenix Wright is granted his freedom. I need time to make one more inquiry into this matter. Judge: Hmm...! Phoenix: (Another inquiry...!? This isn't going to be another one of those "updated autopsy reports"! This guy just makes up evidence as he pleases! This is bad...!)

This heightens the stakes and creates tension as Phoenix puts his foot down and requires for the trial to come to an end on that day - and it does thanks to Mia's intervention. Once more Edgeworth forging evidence isn't shown, but is implied in a way that we are meant to take as fact.

So that is the image we have of Edgeworth by the end of case 1-2, our first confrontation with him. Someone ruthless, someone who will do "anything" to get his guilty verdict - even if that involves shady dealings (such as, but not limited to, tampering with evidence). Someone without limits.

Then 1-3 happens, where in the course of the trial Edgeworth realises Will Powers is innocent and helps us corner Dee Vasquez into confessing to being the true killer, therefore throwing his trial and helping us win against him. This is a big deal. This is a cornerstone of the arc of game 1, of Edgeworth's redemption arc. After that we get the infamous "unnecessary feelings" scene, where Edgeworth confirms it: he was shaken by the events of this trial and his first loss in the previous one. This is something new for him.

And afterwards of course is 1-4, where we get to the bottom of Edgeworth's vitriolic hatred for criminals and discover his backstory. We get to meet his mentor von Karma, "twenty times as ruthless as him," and witness him pull all the stops to prevent us winning and making our life really difficult. Interestingly he, too, skirts the line of forging evidence, but that fact pales in comparison to everything he does do: orchestrating a murder and framing Edgeworth for it, destroying the letter that incriminated him, hiding the evidence of DL-6 so that Phoenix cannot have access to anything to solve the case.

(On a side note: von Karma using "faulty evidence" against Gregory Edgeworth is actually an established fact, and I think the way AAI-2 retconned that to introduce Blaise was quite clever, but maybe I'll make a similar post about Manfred after the AAI Collection comes out in September)

So that's Edgeworth's arc, where he is confronted to a world where getting a "guilty verdict" isn't always the morally correct choice to make, and where his worldview is entirely deconstructed to allow him a redemption arc. His return in 2-4 continues that arc with his new motto of the "truth" being the most important thing (implying that hadn't always been at the centre of his considerations).

Now compares this with what he says in 1-5.

Edgeworth: Of course not! I didn't touch the evidence. Yes, I will do anything in my power to win a trial. However... I do have a code, and I follow it faithfully.

This is the first time we hear of Edgeworth having a moral code. This is the first time we hear of Edgeworth having limits to what he allows himself to do to earn his guilty verdicts. Up until now all we heard was "anything," as well as justifications as to why defendants deserve and need to be punished - "anything," by essence, implies not having limits.

It's not a contradiction. But it's a recontextualisation, and therefore a retcon.

I'm not going to give quotes or we'll be here the whole day, but we all know what 1-5 then does; SL-9, the Joe Darke killings, Gant's involvement.

By giving the rumours of forged evidence about Edgeworth a tangible starting point, the case reframes them, from something that he was previously implied to do routinely to a single event, one that was orchestrated behind his back and that he had no bearing on or even any idea it was happening. By establishing that Edgeworth does follow a moral code, his image of fearless prosecutor is deconstructed even further; where in 1-4 we were given a reason for his actions, now we are actually being told his actions weren't as severe as hearsay (and Phoenix's bias) led us to believe.

The case also introduces the idea of "working with the defence" and the search of the truth to Edgeworth, which plants the seed for his eventual return in 2-4 and deepens his character arc a little more.

Thematically, I personally think 1-5 inserts itself very well into the larger narrative. It plays with both themes and facts established by game 1 and teases themes and facts that will come in the next games (2-4, all of game 4). However it does recontextualise Edgeworth's arc by establishing he never willfully forged evidence, contrarily to what was previously implied, and giving him a retroactive caveat to his policy of "anything to achieve his guilty verdict" that hadn't existed before. Therefore, it is a retcon, albeit one that works, in my opinion, well within the larger arc of the games and with Edgeworth's character.

[inonibird]

Mmm...nothing like sipping gently-spiked hot apple cider from my NaNoWriMo mug, listening to my Sahuldeem playlist, writing the scene where [spoiler] and [spoiler] show up on [spoiler] to [spoiler] a [spoiler] on the [spoiler]. ☺️

[bookish-bi-mormon]

most John Green novels say "a manic pixie dream girl is actually a whole person with a full life and problems, you just never bothered to fucking ask" and I think that's beautiful

[aza-trash-can]

Idk why a tiktok of a dude playing the timpani part of New World Symphony came up, but the only thing I could think was "dude you're playing waaaaaaaaaaay too quiet"

I can atest to how the timpanis would always send my soul out of my body when they played cause I was always sitting right in front of them. It's a miracle I never jumped and dropped my trombone when they did that

[idlebirdsparagon]

just got to another Astarion romance scene and got negged through his entire confession:

"...I needed to get someone on my side. And seducing you was easy, frankly [Rude. True, but rude]. So imagine how stupid I felt when I started to...genuinely feel something for you [Okay?]. Trust me, I was not happy about it [I'm sorry??]. You were a complication I didn't see coming [My bad???]."

that's the height of romance right there. pack it in y'all, we've peaked

(note: I'm joking of course, I've been going feral over this scene since I got it I love it I swear, but damn it's hilarious to watch Astarion run full tilt into an objectively rude confession and have it cut to my Tav's less than enthused expression [see below])

[andrewknightley]

There is a special kind of strange feeling when your oc content gets more attention than your tiny fandom thats a mix of "yay people like my original art :D" and "wow the fandom situation is more dire than i thought"

[emjiroki]

i thought about chobei being affectionate the first time of your s/o, just a fluff sex with lots of kisses❤️‍🩹

So cute! Heart eyes!

He would be one to not know how to be soft at first, rough touches and teeth clashing kisses. But the moment you whimper out about it being your first time and if maybe he could try and be gentle, his hands are shaking and his heart thumping in his throat. He murmurs a quiet promise to take it slow; truthful that it would hurt for a minute at first but that he'd make you feel so good you'd forget everything but his name.

He would get overstimulated so quick too, never really taking it slow like that before, always only chasing the high and never really enjoying sex before you. But now? With your legs wrapped around his waist and your lips kissing a soft trail up his throat as your fingers move through his hair; it's a burning almost ethereal pleasure and he wanted to go slow and dissolve into it until he nothing left to give you.

[jayhandee]

God the movie of 'Turtles all the way down' really grabs me by the arms and shakes me real good and says "This you?" And points to Aza and Daisy. Goddamn, this movie somewhat helps me with dealing with my intrusive thoughts. My notepad will hear abt this.

[lesbiten]

people who are against zoos existing make my head hurt. its like such a popular opinion and 99% of it is based in straight up misinformation or pure emotional opinions instead of any amount of facts

[tedcruzisthezodiackiller]

I’m seeing a wave of anti zoo rhetoric that is genuinely concerning to me

[plasmafruittree]

I'm thinking about doing a simblr story.

[azalawa-scroggs]

On why I think the "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death" note was meant literally

I've had this in my drafts for a while after seeing a poll that elicited a little discussion on the topic. I know this is the fandom's majority take on the subject so I'll probably be preaching to the choir, but there (rightly) is discussion about it nonetheless so I felt like giving my arguments.

I'll put it under a read-more just in case people missed the warning in the tags. Considering the topic, naturally, here's a warning for discussion of suicide. Please take care of yourself!

The thing is that Justice For All is very, very ambiguous on that. It does what Ace Attorney is really good at doing - brushing a serious topic then waffling on it until it really doesn't say anything about it, giving itself the benefit of doubt but never making a statement. Both Phoenix and Franziska's dialogue strongly hint that they have a certainty that Edgeworth is still alive, and they're proven right. The narrative doesn't try really hard to sell us the idea that Edgeworth died - Edgeworth is even on the game's box art. I've watched a few JFA walkthroughs hunting for people's reaction to all the Edgeworth talk and his apparent death, and nobody really seems to buy it - either going through great confusion or immediately going like "oh he can't be dead there's no way - he's so coming back."

However. However. It's just impossible to ignore all the subtext that points at the note being real.

The game textually sets up Adrian Andrews as a foil to Franziska. In the parallel Edgeworth draws, Celeste is supposed to represent Manfred - a mentor she admired and whose guidance she lost. But it was a deliberate choice from the writers to have Celeste die by suicide. In the same game that spent a whole game-wide subplot on slowly revealing Edgeworth's apparent death by the exact same means. Edgeworth is the one who gives Phoenix the information about Adrian and Celeste's backstory. And Franziska revealed to us she wasn't seeking revenge for her father, but for her "little brother" - in the parallel between her and Adrian Andrews' stories, it's easy to see Celeste paralleling Edgeworth, not Manfred.

And in fact Adrian is also a clear parallel to Edgeworth himself. He, too, lost the guidance of his mentor and was left questioning everything. In the infamous scene where he interrogates her in the first phase of the trial, he even puts his own words in her mouth.

If you're going to say you would "choose death", that is of no concern to me.

If you consider Rise from the Ashes, Edgeworth's dialogue leaves even less room for doubt regarding his mental state. Compilation:

Edgeworth: Hmph. Some people need very little excuse to think ill of others. It's a fact of life. Impossible to stop. Some of them even go so far as to present me with toys like this… They think it's funny. (Referring to the award he was just given)

Edgeworth: Why, I ask you? Why!? All along, I've done only what I believe is right. I have nothing to be ashamed of! But still... Phoenix: (Wow, I've never seen him this out of sorts...)

Edgeworth: Hmph. I've had to live the past two years with rumors flying around. What's another allegation to me? Ema: Cheer up, Mr. Edgeworth! I'm rooting for you! Phoenix: (That's Edgeworth for you... Always trying to hide his real feelings.)

Edgeworth: There's no excuse for what I've done. Two years ago, I used false evidence to obtain a guilty verdict. That's what it all breaks down to, and nothing I do can erase that fact.

Edgeworth: I'm tired, Mr. Wright. I feel as if… something inside me has died. [...] I know the path I've walked. You don't need to tell me. And the path I've walked... hasn't been a just one. I can't forgive myself for what I've done... and no one else should forgive me either. Phoenix: (Uh oh. I think he's serious!)

Edgeworth: ... It's too late for me. No matter what anyone may say, I realized today that I can't change my own mistakes! Not only that, but I don't even trust myself anymore. Chief Gant was right...

And of course:

Edgeworth: If you'll excuse me… there are still some loose ends that need wrapping up. Take care, Chief Prosecutor. Phoenix: Edgeworth! What will you do now? Edgeworth: ... Phoenix: Well, whatever you do, just remember. What happened in this trial can either make or break you as a prosecutor. In the end, it's up to you. Edgeworth: I know... It seems I owe you my thanks too, Wright. But what I face now... is my problem. Phoenix: Edgeworth... I'll be waiting for you in court. Edgeworth:... Farewell.

I've pulled all my quotes from the wiki, which I believe takes the DS version, but the retranslation of the port makes things even more blatant. Instead of "either make or break you as a prosecutor," the line was retranslated as "You can let what happened kill the prosecutor in you, or you can let it help you grow."

I don't know how much more literal you can get.

Of course, none of this dialogue strictly refers to anything but a professional crisis for Edgeworth. But it is a true crisis, one he takes very deeply and personally - it is his entire moral system that is crumbling down. And the phrasing of some of those lines is downright chilling. "I can't forgive myself, and nobody should do it either" "I feel like something inside me has died" "It's too late for me" or even those ominous "loose ends"... Whatever his final conclusion, he is not doing well. That's one thing RftA makes abundantly clear.

But then why are Phoenix and Franziska so angry, you'll ask me? Grief, of course. Why is Franziska adamant he still lives? Grief, of course - specifically denial. Why does Gumshoe know Edgeworth still lives? Several options. Edgeworth contacted him knowing he'd need someone to help him come back once he decided to come back, or Gumshoe is the one that prevented his note from turning literal, or Edgeworth contacted him at some other point for another reason - it could have happened at any point in his little mental health gap year.

It just makes much more sense to me than the alternative. Why leave a note saying he "chooses death" so unambiguously only to rely on a play on words? He was shown writing a perfectly good resignation letter right before that - the note was meant to be one step further from resignation. And why leave his loved ones in the dark, mourning him, for one entire year if he just deliberately left for soul-searching purposes? The man is obtuse when it comes to feelings, and honestly I could see him pulling this, but... not in conjunction with everything else.

And his arc just makes it make so much sense as well. Depression is often a comorbidity of PTSD, which Edgeworth has, as close to canonically as possible without it being spelled out. He is in an extremely fragile place psychologically - two months earlier his trial dragged him across the coals emotionally, his traumatic past revisited and revealed in an extremely public way. His quest for "perfection" was shattered not just through the losses he suffered at Phoenix's hand but through the sudden, deep and complete betrayal of the man who taught it to him. He only had one moral high ground left - the fact that he never knowingly forged evidence - only for that to be ripped away from him too. Of course he could be nothing less than unstable.

So anyway I don't have any fancy conclusion but yeah I can't imagine "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death" wasn't meant literally. Even though I'm pretty sure that wasn't the authorial intent, I think it must have been somewhere in the works anyway, otherwise there wouldn't be so many hints to it.

[azaliyas]

i’m stuck babysitting her until my brother comes back from his trip w his wife 😔 and i also have to deal w my nephew who spilled water all over the floor and keeps running around naked

it’s hard.

i'll send you snacks and hugs

this is you rn

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Toxic Tutorials

(Both of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. Caliban and Murdock will only be mentioned, but my boys still deserve credit. So, for more information about Caliban, go here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: talk of death/dying, poisonous plants, toxic chemicals, talk of pain/sickness, implied murder, food, talk of eating/drinking, descriptions of illegal business, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

A soft, satisfying crack broke the silence in Azalea’s kitchen. The egg in her hand dripped with yolk and albumen—the same way a skull might drip with brains and blood.

After tossing the broken shell into the garbage can, she spent the next moment or two incorporating the yolk into a concoction of butter, sugars and 🅥🅐🅝🅘🅛🅛🅐 🅔🅧🅣🅡🅐🅒🅣. She repeated this process with a second egg, as well as a blend of flour, baking soda and salt. Once that was done, she exchanged her hand-mixer for a silicone spatula, which she used to fold in a bag’s worth of chocolate chips.

Just like that, Azalea had a bowl full of fresh, ready-for-the-oven cookie dough on her hands.

However, she wasn’t about to bake it. She left the mixing bowl on the counter before heading to the sink to wash the equipment she’d used. 

A few special ingredients had to be added before this batch of cookies could be completed. Obviously, Azalea could’ve just taken care of this herself. It wasn’t like there was anything to stop her. . .

As she set her tools on the drying rack, the long, loud, pre-recorded chime of her doorbell suddenly rang throughout the house. Azalea startled (whether or not this could indicate the cleanliness of her conscience was up for debate), but was still quick to compose herself. 

She walked through the living room and took a moment to peer at her reflection on the TV’s black screen. After checking her white button-down for stains and making some adjustments to her cherry-red headband, Azalea moved to the front foyer and pulled the door open. She discovered Murdock’s tagalong on her front porch. They flinched, probably having been rocking back and forth on their heels during their wait.

“Oh, hey!” The Newcomer blurted, offering a small hand-wave as their gray eyes met her brown ones. “You, uh—you must be Azalea, right?”

Azalea hummed in affirmation. “Just call me Aza if you’d like.” 

She held out a hand, which The Newcomer was quick to grasp. She took a few seconds to look them up and down as they shook. The Newcomer stood at an average height: much taller than her, about the same as Caliban and Murdock.

Aside from that, their characteristics were. . .vague. Vague enough to make the scarlet leather gloves on their hands stand out even more than they already did. A backpack was slung over their shoulder, boasting a pattern that resembled a hodge-podge of newspapers. 

“Nice to meet you,” they said with a polite smile. “Thanks for taking the time today.”

“Likewise! It’s no problem at all,” Azalea answered as she stepped aside. “C’mon in.”

The Newcomer stepped forward, their eyes wandering about the decor around them as their host closed the front door. They then padded after her as she returned to the kitchen. 

Azalea hovered in the space between her oven and the bar, gesturing towards the stools on the other side of said bar. “I heard you met my brother for a demonstration a little while ago. Did he treat you well?”

As they set their backpack down and took a seat, The Newcomer’s eyes widened. The smile remained on their face, though it grew ever-so-slightly nervous. 

“Yeah,” they eventually answered. “Cal was super welcoming. His methods were interesting to study.”

“That’s nice to hear. He said you were a great help.” Azalea could tell they were being genuine, but she supposed she couldn’t really blame their anxiety. Sure, they were new to the whole being-a-contract-killer-and-doing-other-types-of-illegal-stuff-professionally racket, but interacting with a cannibal was in a whole other ballpark.

Gratitude manifested in The Newcomer’s eyes, slowly but surely overtaking the wariness. It was a refreshing thing to see.

“Now, to business,” Azalea pronounced. She rested her hands on the bar, lightly drumming her nails on the marble finish. “What do you know about toxic stuff?” 

“I, uh. . .well. . .” The Newcomer chewed their lip in thought. 

Azalea stayed quiet, raising her eyebrows, showing patience and encouragement.

“Oh! I know almonds can mask the taste of cyanide,” The Newcomer eventually answered. “And arsenic is basically untraceable, since its key elements are vital to the diets of most mammals.” They paused, awkwardly glancing around the room. “That’s about it, I guess.”

“Hey, that’s still a decent start,” Azalea reassured. “You already know more than I’d expected.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just never really worked with poison before,” The Newcomer said with wide, uncertain-yet-curious eyes. They obviously weren’t afraid of the concept; just a bit shy about it. Their tone was somewhat similar to that of a schoolkid introducing themself to their new class.

(Which, in a strange way, they kind of were. If you squinted, at least.)

“A lot of people haven’t. In fact, a lot of people probably shouldn’t, because that’s how news stories about blue-ringed octopi being handled without gloves happen.” 

The Newcomer let out a light chuckle. “And that makes the professionals look bad, huh?”

“Exactly.” Azalea felt something grim etch its way into her smile. “And that’s why you’re here. Even if you don’t end up having poison as your signature, it’ll still be good for you to know your way around it. Just in case.” 

Azalea stepped away from the bar, beginning to pace the kitchen floor as she continued. “Different materials have to be handled in different ways. For example: if you wanted to use venom from a snake or a spider, you’d have to inject it into your target in order to get actual results.”

“Wait, really?” The Newcomer asked. “Venom wouldn’t work on a target if it was swallowed?”

“You’d think that it would. When I first started out, I thought so, too. But it all comes back to the difference between poison and venom. Which is. . ?” Azalea gestured toward The Newcomer, encouraging them to speak.

“If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous,” The Newcomer stated, as though they were practicing with grammar flashcards.

Azalea nodded. “Very good. Venom is harmful when it gets into your veins. And the acids in your stomach are actually strong enough to break down venom before it’s absorbed into your bloodstream. You’d probably still get sick, but that’d be it.” 

“. . .Oh! Okay, that makes sense.” The Newcomer replied, eyes thoughtful. They considered this for a good few seconds before inquiring, “What if the target had an ulcer? Would that make venom kill them if they ate it?” 

“Yeah, it would!” Azalea laughed. “And you said you don’t have much experience with this stuff!”

The Newcomer offered a timid smile, shrugging. 

“But when you’re taking on a job, you can’t really depend on something like an ulcer,” Azalea quickly added. “We may need to know as much about our targets as possible, but sometimes, our clients can only provide so much information. And even when we do our own research, we still have limits to deal with.”

The Newcomer nodded. “Right, right.”

“Getting back on track. Injecting venom can certainly be effective, but it doesn’t offer much in the discreet department.”

“And this family relies on things being handled quietly and carefully,” The Newcomer said with an air of understanding. “When in doubt, hide in plain sight.”

Azalea hummed. “And if poisoning a meal doesn’t count as camouflage, then I’m not sure what does.”

She quickly strolled over to the laundry room. On the cabinet above her washing machine, a vaguely owl-shaped watering can looked out over everything below. It was covered in pieces of colored metal, which gave the impression of spiky feathers. The very top of the can boasted a piece of coppery metal that had been cut into an upside-down, slightly-curved triangle to give the owl a pair of those ear-horn-things and a beak. The can’s spout was hidden behind said beak, which was flanked by a pair of wide yellow eyes with huge pupils.

Caliban had given this to Azalea for Christmas last year, and ever since then, it’d been one of her favorite household items. Azalea unfolded an elaborate mahogany stepstool beside the washing machine in order to reach the owl-can, then carried it over to the kitchen sink and held it under the faucet. 

“Would it be okay if I took pictures throughout the process?” The Newcomer asked from behind her. 

Though Azalea didn’t flinch, she became tense on instinct as she turned the water off. She then turned to face The Newcomer, her dark brown eyes drilling into their dull gray ones, looking for any trace of dishonesty or ulterior motives. 

The Newcomer blinked, and another type of nervousness appeared in their expression.

They were quick to add, “Ah, if it’s a no, then I won’t push it. I just thought this could be some good material for my notes.”

“‘Notes?’” Azalea echoed. “What kind of notes?”

The Newcomer unzipped one of the compartments in their backpack, quickly fishing out a small roll of tape, an Instax camera, a mechanical pencil. . .and a journal. They offered the book to Azalea, who carefully took it and examined it.

The front cover was grayish-black card stock, adorned by image of a jumping spider which seemed to have been hand-embroidered with vivid purple threads. When she opened it up, she discovered lines of neat penmanship, as well as some sketches here and a few small photographs there. The first several pages were full, but there were still at least a hundred more pages that remained blank.

“I know my phone and laptop are safe, but Murdock said it’s good to keep an extra log,” The Newcomer mentioned. “Since I’m still just making my way here.”

Azalea pursed her lips in thought. That did sound like the kind of advice Murdock would give.

One part of her wanted to be suspicious; like The Newcomer had just said, any electronics belonging to Pentas representatives were in no danger of being tapped or recorded.

The same couldn’t exactly be said for something more physical, like this notebook. Especially if said notebook wound up being lost. . .or being turned over to an outside party. . .

However, another part of her remembered that not just anyone could join The Pentas Family. Underground business was never for the faint of heart—if you really wanted to make a name for yourself, then you had to earn it. You had to give up blood, sweat, and tears (and if you were to end up doing something traitorous, then even more of those bodily fluids would be taken from you. Violently). So, of course, The Boss was always vigilant when it came to bringing in new people.

Though she’d only known The Newcomer for a short time, Azalea could already tell that they were a good addition. They were just getting their feet wet, but they clearly had that cunning, unconventional and resourceful nature that The Boss invested in. 

“As long as you don’t aim the camera flash at my eyes, I’ve got no problem with photography,” Azalea finally stated as she gave The Newcomer’s journal back to them. “Just make sure you keep close track of this book.” 

“Of course,” The Newcomer said, nodding solemnly. 

Azalea took a few more seconds to peer at them before turning on her heel to lead them through the laundry room, out the backdoor, and into her backyard. 

The weather was lovely today. Birds were singing, clouds were slowly chasing one another across the sky. Sunlight glinted off the panes of Azalea’s greenhouse, making it almost appear to be sparkling.

The structure’s looks were truly just as deceiving as the things that it was currently protecting.

Azalea paused before the glass door, reaching into one of her pockets and fishing out a small bronze key. Although it didn’t have much of an antique appearance, its bow had been crafted to resemble one half of a pomegranate; the seeds packed inside were visible. If a mold hadn’t been used to make it, then the designing process must’ve been painstaking. 

She slipped the pomegranate key’s biting cuts into the greenhouse’s doorknob, then turned it to the left. Once she heard a sharp, confirming click, Azalea held the door open, allowing The Newcomer to step inside.

They gaped in wonder, slowly turning in a circle to take in the beautiful controlled chaos. She chuckled at the sight of a killer-in-training looking like a kid in a candy store. As she worked with these plants on a regular basis, she’d gotten adjusted to the veritable explosion of color in here.

White baneberries resembled tiny eyeballs, and the red branches they sprouted from added to an eeriness factor. . .Hydrangeas gave off soft, soothing vibes; the way their blooms clustered together could almost remind one of popcorn balls. . . Angel’s trumpets were colored similarly to pale peaches. . .Larkspurs came in a lovely mixture of blue and purple. . .Bleeding hearts were vividly pink and hung from sinuous, gently-curling tendrils. . .

And that was just scratching the surface of Azalea’s collection. 

The air in here was a bit more humid than the air outside, which seemed to make the various scents wafting off of the flora even stronger. Two of the four walls were adorned by wooden shelving, which in turn supported a few dozen flower pots that came in a plethora of shapes, sizes and colors (more past gifts from Caliban. He really knew how to make a horticulturist happy).

Some were kept in shade under suspended veils, and others nearly seemed to glow in the sunlight. Dew droplets clung to leaves here and there. A few baskets hung from the ceiling, almost identical to the decorations on lamp posts lining the streets downtown. 

Azalea led The Newcomer over to a wide folding table at the head of everything. She set the owl-can down, then rummaged through the boxes stowed beneath said table, dragging out some basic gardening tools, a bunch of small plastic bowls, and a bag of soil. The Newcomer placed their journal and camera on one corner of the table, trying to take up as little space as possible.

“We’re gonna kill two birds with one stone.” Azalea donned some clean leather gloves. “I’ve got a job coming up this weekend, and today’s repotting day for some of the plants. So, while I’m taking care of them, you’re gonna help extract some of their poison. Sound good?” 

The Newcomer nodded briskly, their eyes excited and unhinged. “Sounds great.” 

Azalea grinned. “Let’s get to work, then.” 

She stepped away from the table and surveyed the shelves, wondering which plant would be best to start with. She wound up choosing one specimen that was adorned by little rows of white, bell-shaped flowers dangling from thin stems. They looked like something a cartoon pixie might wear as a hat. Delicate. Innocent. 

Azalea lifted its pot—which looked like a kodama sitting cross-legged—off the shelf and set it down on the table. “You know what these are?”

The Newcomer blinked at her, then cautiously leaned forward to get a closer look. Their features softened. The plant practically smelled the way it looked: sweet and fragile. 

“. . .Snowdrops?” They eventually guessed. 

Azalea shook her head. “Nope.”

“Ladybells?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Cassiope?” 

“Close,” Azalea said, impressed, “but no. Give up?”

“Yeah,” The Newcomer admitted. Their tone was partially defeated, but still curious. “What are they?”

Azalea took one of the stems into her hand and held it away from the rest. “Lilies-of-the-valley,” she announced. 

The Newcomer grabbed their Instax, kneeling in order to get a closeup on the flowers. Azalea looked the other way as they focused the lens. 

Whrrrrrrrrr. . .SKRT-CLK!

A quick, sharp, bright light flashed at the press of a button. The camera softly hummed as The Newcomer stood up straight. A few seconds passed before a small photograph popped up through a slit on the camera’s side. The Newcomer pulled it out by one corner and carefully shook it up and down. The black rectangle in the center gradually filled with color.

Azalea offered a thumbs-up, which caused The Newcomer to beam as they taped the picture to a blank page in their journal.

As they wrote down and underlined the specimen’s name, Azalea wrapped one hand around the stems to bring them all together. She used her other hand to dig into the soil, gently lifting the lilies out and laying them down on the table. She separated two plants from the rest, pushing them and a pair of gardening scissors towards The Newcomer. “Just cut off the blossoms and put them in one of these bowls.”

The Newcomer took the tool into their hands, nodding enthusiastically. 

While they went to work, Azalea took the kodama-pot outside and upended it over her compost mound, getting rid of the old, dry dirt. After that, she hurried back into the greenhouse and gathered the lilies up. She held them in the center of the kodama-pot, carefully pouring some fresh soil around them. 

Once they had enough support, she gave them some water and returned the kodama-pot to its place on the shelves. Then, she glanced at the table and realized that The Newcomer had completed their task; one bowl was filled with the bell-shaped flowers. 

“Two leaves are enough to make a target severely ill,” Azalea said. “If you’re looking for more fatal results, then you’ll need to use five of the flowers. Its berries can work just as well, but they only sprout around fall.”

The Newcomer paused at this, quickly jotting down notes beside the photograph. “How long does it take? What does the poison do to a person?”

“The symptoms can occur anywhere from two to twenty-four hours. It typically starts off with headaches and dizziness. But then there’s nausea, vomiting, and chest pain. Near the end, the target will experience an altered mental status, an irregular heart rate. . . .and, eventually, cardiac arrest.”

“Holy shit,” The Newcomer murmured, eyes widening in shock. 

“Holy shit indeed,” Azalea said as she took another unique planter from the shelves.

This one was a mottled gray color, sculpted in the likeness of a wolf’s raised head. Its clay jaws were wide open and hollow; seven stems lined with dark purple, helmet-shaped flowers seemed to have sprouted from deep within the beast’s throat. 

As Azalea carried it over to the table, The Newcomer looked up from their journal. 

Their face lit up with recognition as they proclaimed, “Hey, I’ve seen those before! Wolfsbane!” Their uncertainty was made of some stern stuff, because it took no time at all for them to question, “Or. . .is the name monkshood? I’ve heard both, but—”

“It goes by both of those names,” Azalea interjected, “so, you’re right either way. Eating it will make your mouth go numb, your skin turn clammy, and cause awful stomach pain. And after that, a target can expect labored breathing and an irregular heartbeat. Just a two-milligram dose can kill within four hours.” 

The Newcomer’s hands were nearly a blur as they readied their Instax. Once again, Azalea had to brace herself for the flash, but it wasn’t long before she was removing more old soil and leaving three of the wolfsbane plants out for The Newcomer. 

“Every part is dangerous, but the roots are where this poison is at its strongest,” she explained. “You can take off the flowers if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“Got it,” The Newcomer stated, taping their new photograph to a fresh page in their journal. . .

___

“I still can’t believe I never thought to do my own research on the poinsettia myth,” The Newcomer stated. They were currently holding a calcite mortar-and-pestle, using it to grind some freshly-dried wolfsbane roots into a fine powder. 

Azalea shrugged as she reduced a mound of belladonna berries to paste with a stainless steel masher. “I mean, it’s partially true. Those things are toxic, just not deadly. Besides, I can’t really blame people for wanting to keep their pets safe, y’know?”

The Newcomer hummed, nodding, probably thinking about the beloved dog they’d mentioned to their host a little while ago.

About twenty minutes had passed since Azalea’s greenhouse had returned to being silent and empty (aside from all the greenery it sheltered). Azalea found herself back in her kitchen, The Newcomer still by her side, the two of them working on the fruits of the harvest.

Oleander petals became liquified inside a food processor, and the lilies-of-the-valley met a similar fate thanks to a blender. Foxglove blossoms were being dried out inside a microwave oven, having replaced the wolfsbane’s roots just a moment ago. 

“And the hemlock trick!” The Newcomer pronounced, eyes widening as their previous frustration vanished. “A flower that forces you to smile when you die? It’s crazy how something like that can actually exist!”

“Yeah, well, muscle constriction is a heck of a thing,” Azalea replied. “Too bad hemlock’s so traceable. Can’t really be used unless you’re sending a specific message.”

It was honestly delightful to have seen just how inquisitive The Newcomer really was. If she’d met them in normal society, she probably would’ve mistaken them for someone who still had the luxury of innocence. 

The poison-preparation-process took almost no time at all. After lining up her used equipment by the sink, Azalea produced a box of glass vials that, while appropriately labeled, were empty. One by one, she handed a certain vial to The Newcomer, who paced around the kitchen to fill it with the right substance. 

And as they were taking care of the last vial, The Newcomer suddenly stopped short.

“Why’re those in here instead of your greenhouse?” They asked, pointing over to the living room. “Are they not poisonous like the rest?”

Azalea raised an eyebrow, following their gaze and quickly understanding. 

Just behind Azalea’s sofa, yet another planter sat in one corner of the front windowsill; it was in the shape of a human skull. Its teeth resembled tarnished brass, and purple spirals had been painted in the darkness of its eyesockets.

A hole had been carved out of the skull’s crown, and a healthy shrub currently protruded through said hole like an erupting geyser. Several lovely blossoms stood out against dark green leaves. The petals were a rich pink hue, funnel-shaped with a slightly rippled appearance. 

The space in her house was very nicely furnished, but these were the only flowers that had apparently been grown in here rather than outside. 

“Oh, no! They can definitely be life-threatening,” Azalea eventually answered. “I guess they’re just very special to me.”

“How so, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They contain grayanotoxins. So, their side effects range from blurred vision, vomiting, and low blood-pressure to convulsions, mild full-body paralysis, and even seizures.” Azalea strolled over to the skull-planter, reaching out to gently poke at the specimen’s petals. “All parts of it are deadly, although the leaves pack a serious wallop. But its real strength is in its nectar.”

“. . .Are you saying this plant’s honey can kill?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Azalea declared. 

The Newcomer blinked before starting to laugh. “I guess that must be the easiest stuff for you to use, huh?

“Yes and no. I have special connections to the local flower shop, which means I can send these off to contracted beekeepers,” Azalea explained. “But honey harvested from these flowers tends to be dark red, so, kinda-sorta-extremely identifiable.”

“Ah. I can see how that might throw a wrench into certain plans,” The Newcomer agreed, wandering closer. “But how does the honey work?” 

“After bees finish ingesting the nectar and secrete it into their hive’s combs, the water inside the honey will evaporate. That’ll make the toxins even more concentrated.” Azalea paused, grinning wickedly. “When consumed in large amounts, it generally does the same damage I just told you about. In smaller doses, let’s just say that the consumer’s gonna be. . .seeing things for a while.”

The Newcomer gawked at this. If their expression didn’t qualify for morbid fascination, nothing would. “Really? You mean. . .like a hallucinogenic?”

“It isn’t called Mad Honey for nothing.”

“Wow,” The Newcomer breathed. 

“I know, right? And can you guess what the best part is. . ?”

“What?” The Newcomer stared at the gorgeous pink blossoms, no doubt wondering how this risky treat they’d just learned about actually tasted.

“The honey’s actually legal to sell in the states!”

“Nuh-uh! You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not!” Azalea chortled. “It’s prohibited in plenty of other nations, but here? It’s just expensive as all hell.”

The Newcomer still looked very much disbelieving, but the shock in their eyes soon morphed into something more thoughtful. They considered this information for a long few seconds. 

They eventually remarked, “So. . .if you were to sell some Mad Honey to a target, as long as you played your cards right, their death would only be seen as a case of accidental overdose?”

Azalea jokingly clapped her hands, nodding and smirking. “I can see why Murdock decided to vouch for you.” 

The Newcomer stayed quiet. They offered a small smile in response; it was hesitant at first, but an undeniable trace of madness could be seen. 

Azalea reached over to clap them on the back, gently leading them back over to the kitchen. “Let’s get back to it. How’d you like to choose what I put in the cookie dough?”

Though The Newcomer seemed both excited and honored by the prospect, they suddenly stuttered, almost halting in their tracks.

That made Azalea give pause. “. . .Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Don’t worry,” The Newcomer blurted, shaking their head. “I just realized—I never got the name of those flowers.” They glanced over their shoulder at the skull-planter.

Azalea’s brief concern shifted back to unconventional happiness. “Oh, didn’t I say?” Her voice was coy, as she was well-aware that she hadn’t brought up the title at all. “They’re azaleas.”

@sammys-magical-au   @neons-trash-blog  @insane4fandoms  @callmegkiddo  @safe-hayven  @themarpsimp

[aza-trash-can]

4.2 trailer has me ill