#be interesting to put that in front of people when I have not sung Wicked outside of Car Karaoke With Friends in at LEAST a decade

[musical-chick-13]

WAIT. OMG I COULD SING "POPULAR" AND POST IT WHEN THE WICKED MOVIE COMES OUT

[witchesoz]

After Oz: Legends of Oz

I hesitated before doing this one, because this movie is mostly based on the book "Dorothy of Oz" by Roger S. Baum, and I haven't read said book. It is something that tends to get on my nerve, when people actually don't care about the original material an adaptation was based on, and consider the adaptation as its own entirely original piece of work, when in fact, a lot of it was taken from somebody's else work. I mean, the perfect exemple is Shining. Some people praise Kubrick for being a pure genius for inventing this story from A to Z, and consider Stephen's King television series a "poor attempt at a remake of the movie", when... you know, King originally wrote the Shining and Kubrick merely adapted it. In fact, people tend to forget most of Kubrick's movies were adaptation. Dr. Strangelove? Loosely based on "Red Alert". Lolita? Everyone knows it is Nabokov. A Clockwork Orange? Anthony Burgess. 2001: Space Odyssey? Inspired by shorts stories of Clarke, the co-author. Eyes Wide Shut? A 1920s German book, Traumnovelle. And so forth and so forth...

  Hum. Sorry for the rant. I just needed to explain why I always want to take in consideration the original material when tackling an adaptation.  But since I haven't read and can't get this book, I will mostly rely myself on the Wikipedia plot and other reviews I read. If you wonder, yes, Roger S. Baum is Baum's great-grandson (or great-great-grandson?), and he wrote "Dorothy of Oz" as a direct sequel to the first book, "The Wizard of Oz", ignoring all of the others, and... apparently he is not a really good writer. But anyway... I still decided to do a little something about this movie, because... well just because I wanted    Oh yeah, another thing... an elephant in the room I have to adress right now. I only discovered it this year, by doing research about the movie (because before I only saw it at the time of its released and then forgot about it). You can know it, or completely ignore it - yes, I know that this whole movie was the result of a huge scam that robbed hundreds of people out of their money, and that the case has been even brought to trial. But... well the movie is still here, people still saw it, it is still around, will be for still quite a long time, and it is now part of the Oz inheritance, that you want it or not. Anyway, a lot of Oz movies had a dark and troubled production. It seems almost like a pre-requisite: if you do an Oz movie, you'll never end happy. Maybe it is a curse? Who knows.

       So... let's get into the subject. Is "Dorothy's Return" a bad movie? (I'll use this name, because "Legends of Oz" was the name of the intended franchise of three, maybe ten movies). I wouldn't say so. A lot of people said it was crap, or worthless, but I wouldn't call it bad. People also said that it is a bland movie, and I would say yes - but only partially. I think a good lot of the extreme bad reactions were caused because of 1- people who just disliked the idea of more Oz adaptations, 2- people too old for this movie, because you have to remember that this is a movie aiming at children and 3- people who are hard-die fans of the MGM movie and not so much of the original Oz books. It may also play in account that Dorothy's Return was roughly released the same year, and played as a "rival" to "Oz the Great and Powerful".

    Now, note that it isn't a memorable movie (except for a few bits). It isn't an excellent movie. It isn't a cult classic (even though it may become it with the whole scam background, who knows?). It isn't something I would watch again and again with pleasure. It isn't something exceptionnal or groundbreaking, it is even quite generic. But, it has some good parts, and it manages to be entertaining, and honestly as a child I could have sit in front of it and watch it with no problem. Because, yes, it is a children movie. The action is rushed, the characters lack depth, some moments are too sugary-sweet or even cringy (for exemple the song "We'll work together". Seriously, I just looked away and sped up a bit because that was too sickening-sweet for me.) As a result, as a child movie they missed things that could have been really good (the old tree agreeing to be use for a boat, which is played straight up as him being killed, the characters even say so, but then it turns out he is still alive as a boat? You could have had a great, deep, fascinating almost philosophical moment, but you just waste it for a happy ending). Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, a children movie. As a result, some people called the movie "too simple". On the other side, people called the story "too confusing".

  To an Oz fan like me, it isn't actually confusing. It isn't at all - but indeed, for someone with a limited knowledge of Oz, it will be confusing. Because, while they base themselves on an Oz book that re-uses many elements from the books (the Queen of the Field Mices, the Sawhorse, the China Country...) it also decided to include a lot of elements from the MGM movie (the Wicked Witch of the West is the one from the MGM, Glinda is also quasi-identical from her MGM counterpart, the Winged Monkeys work with the evil people...). As a result, yeah, it may be confusing. But the inclusion of the MGM elements actually managed to correct some flaws of the original story. For exemple, in Roger S Baum's book, the Jester was merely a normal jester possessed by the ghost of the Wicked Witch of the West, through her magic wand. Wait, magic wand? There wasn't any magic wand mentionned in the original book! But in the movie, to use the broomstick of the Wicked Witch makes much more sense.

      I'll take a short time here to comment on the character of the Jester, who is, I think, the highest point of this movie. He is a good villain. A cliché but interesting backstory cashing on the idea of Oz vilains as siblings, a clear shout-out to the Joker which isn't so bad, interesting plans. He is also the provider of many nightmarish elements (the fate of Dorothy's companions, which I think was a very good idea, or the people turning into puppets and being used for a creepy dance) that made this Oz movie feel... well Ozian. Because a good Oz work is a work that will traumatize your kids! I guess a bit part of why the Jester works so well is that he basically repeats and remakes all his sister, the Wicked Witch, did in the MGM movie, and let's be honest, she was a great villain. (And this again makes sense when you remember the Jester is originally supposed to be possessed by the Witch's ghost). But at the same time he has his distinctive signature and style, with his Jester persona, his circus-related punishment and his personal plots to conquer Oz. [People noticed obviously the sweet irony of things in this movie. You have a double-character that, on the Earth world is a cheater and criminal trying to steal people of their houses and using several fake identities, while in Oz it is a villain that turns people into puppets he can manipulate and relies mostly on cheating and misleading Dorothy to her doom. Which is eerily similar to what the creators of the movie/franchise did with their financers and investors.]

  Talking about the Earth side... The whole "earthly" parts are all bland and not memorable. Just like Dorothy, who isn't really... anything to be honest. The songs sung aren't memorable either. All of that is a fail. A lot of people also considered the Earthly animation uncanny, or even disturbing, but I personally wasn't bugged by it at all. I saw much more uncanny animation.

    When it comes to the Oz part, I actually think they managed to create a perfect "Ozian story". As in, the general schema of the girl entering in Oz through an uncommon mean (here a people-eating rainbow, that I have to say was quite a scary scene to look at), then passing through many small kingdoms, meeting new friends, forming a team, discovering the villain and fighting him off - this plot was repeated by Baum times and times and times again, and probably comes from the original novel Dorothy of Oz. But it still works, as simple as it can be. Plus, the use of the China Country and the Candy County (I think its their name?) was quite a good choice. The China Country was one of Baum's earliest invention, while the Candy County (originating from the Roger S Baum book) is eerily similar to the Bunbury village, an invention of Baum, inhabited by living baked goods that also get angry at the protagonists for trying to eating them. Yes, all in all, the characters feel really Ozian. As for the other member of the team, "Wiser the Owl". Well... he had the potential to feel an interesting and Baum-ian character. But it falls flat because he just becomes one living fat joke. I mean, fat jokes can be funny. But when the character is mostly the joke itself well... yeah, not really working. He had a much interesting role in the prequel comic book.  

   Because yes, there is a comic book associated with this movie! As I said before, originally the project was to create a franchise of several movies, with toys, goodies, applications and video games. (Or at least that was the project the scam used). The comic is however found under the original title for the movie "Dorothy of Oz". I don't have much to say about it, outside that is was quite pleasing (even though it sometimes doesn't make sense when put in direct relationship to the movie), and that it introduced one interesting idea: that the magic of the broomstick/Witch relied mostly on manipulating the weather and nature. The Jester causes a flood to destroy the Munchkin town, he causes an earthquake to break the China Country, he uses heatwaves to melt the Candy County... And another interesting point, the role of Wiser. Indeed, in the movie he is presented as a "motor-mouth" that keeps talking about everything, knows a lot of stuff and has the tendency to finish other people's sentences. But it gets quickly overshadowed by the fat jokes (cause a big part of his character is that he used to be able to fly but now, because of his love for candy, he is too fat to fly). However, in the comic book he has rather the role of the one voice of reason and intelligence that offers down-to-earth, simple solutions to problems where the other Ozians search for more extravagant and magical possibilities. Exemple (SPOILERS: when trying to create a rainbow, the team searches everywhere, thinks of asking witches, wizards and candy makers. Wiser has to remind them that anybody can create a rainbow with just a good crystal and some light. SPOILER ENDING.)  

   (I actually read the comic book before looking at the movie, which may explain why I consider it better than the movie.) To return to my opinion on the movie... Not the greatest Oz movie, but certainly not the worst. Average, but on the good side. Entertaining and interesting, even though bland and generic. They got the feeling of an Oz story but they just didn't found a way to freshen up or make the story shine on its own. A good villain for a heroine easy to forget. Simple. Ideal for children, or to kill time, or just to inspire one for more Oz work.

[springtimebat]

The Autumn Meeting (Part 1/4)

Six suns peer down from perching clouds, leaving heavy, gilded dents on the heavens. They watch with amused, greedy eyes, their eyelids soft and rusted. They sit and wait for a hymn to be sung.

The city of tomorrow arrives in the early morning, on a thousand dying legs. The crow is beginning its call as the sun sets in the east, and the queen begins to cross the old town bridge just as the sky turns pitch black. The queen is young and full of life. Her hair is dark and wild. Her eyes are electric green. Naturally, the shadows clamber over each other, desperate to touch her skin. They claw at her footprints, grasp desperately at her diadem. The Queen places a shawl, a piece of midnight, careworn and devoid of stars, around her shoulders. She places galoshes on her feet. They snap against the cobblestones. The shadows attempt to bash her brain in. The queen pulls the shawl tighter around her neck and carries on. She must begin her quest before it's too late, before she misses her window. She pulls apart the ghoulish bonds restraining her and slips into the forest, the heavy frame of her home balancing on stilts behind her.

When the clock strikes the right time, three pilgrims meet deep inside the bowels of the forest to tell stories they stole off of wanderers backs. One is skull and bones, the second is more shark than man, the last is cast in iron and gilded armour, kept together with unsteady bolts and springs. The three are old, dear friends with different destinies that lead them to separate for months on end. Still, now they gather for a night in. They gather for the stories and for listening.

The forest is a protective shield, swarming with thistles, brambles and decaying pieces of junk. Years before, during the days of the dust, a king set up booby traps in the forest, hoping to capture some kind of beast. Now spikes and barbed wire festered among the moss, weary of a world full of colour beyond the tree trunks. The queen notices flashes of silver as she races through the trees; simply shadows against the bruised sunset and the sad oaks. Her feet dance around the puddles and quicksands. She flies through the grass and the rock until she comes across the meeting place from her stories. In a clearing stands a roaring fireplace and three men, huddled together like three fates. One stands up and hurls wood onto the fire, his back muscles tensing. He is a fish-man, with silver scales framing his brow and giant saucers for eyes. He wears the same strange uniform the Queen had seen him wear in an engraving once, all frills and ridiculous trimmings. The second man sits watching the third as they recite a poem. His body is masked by a suit of metal armour. Atop his helmet sits a boar’s head, its eyes closed, bored. The final man shakes their bones and clacks their teeth. He disguises his lack of skins with a cloak, similar to the Queen’s. He is standing by the fire, whistling a strange sonnet:

“-so the little girl set off to win back her foot. But the ogre’s own pair of feet were large and heavy. He was quicker than the little girl and it took her months and months of travelling to catch up-”

“Didn’t her parents worry about her?” Interrupts the fish man from his space at the mantle-piece, “Poor girl out on her lonesome.”

His friend groans and stamps his foot.

“She had no parents Abram. She was all on her lonesome to begin with and that’s how she lost her foot. Haven’t you been listening, you knucklehead?”

“Surely she has friends who would wanna know where she is...right? I mean, surely one of you guys would wanna know about my fins being cut up? Or my scales being punctured-”

“Enough! I have a story to finish Abram. Leave questions ‘till after the workshop.”

Abram lets out a tiny squeak but speaks no more. The skeleton grins in the firelight and begins again:

“The little girl carried on, always searching for her missing foot. She asked everyone she came across and slaughtered the many who tried to take her for their own, with their nets and their traps and their cages. By the time she finally found her foot she was covered in blood and guts and body parts. Still, she had found her foot and that’s what truly matters-”

“Where’d she find it Emil?” Abram asks, his eyes widening.

“I’m getting to that! Now where was I- oh right! The little girl, all alone and bloody in middle of a winter wood, found her foot on the low branch of a great oak much like these-” The skeleton waves his arms at the trees encasing the three storytellers, “The bone was still brand new, like a new pair of shoes elastic new. It had been left there many, many moons before by someone very tall.”

“What did she do then?” 

“Well, she grabbed her foot from the oak tree and put it back, snapping it into place so to speak. Then she began the journey back home. As she did she thought to herself, “The ogre must have not needed the foot as much as I did.” The End.” Emil raises his skull to the sky, grinning proudly. 

His friends give awkward coughs.

“What happened to the ogre?” Abram asks, frowning, “Surely something interesting happened to him.”

“Unimportant.” Emil growls. 

The suit of armour gives a squeak and stretches his wiry arms. Emil rolls his head to the side in annoyance. 

“What the girl did once she got home does not matter Gus. Not in the slightest. Don’t you understand what I was trying to get across? What I was trying to convey?”

“Not really.” Abram says, poking at the fire with a stick. 

“The moral of the story, of the stanzas, was that quests of revenge, of bloodshed, are simply pointless. The journey is important and needed. All the other benign details are just...unnecessary!”

“It was good ‘till the ending. You just need to rework the ending.”

Emil scoffs, “Amateurs! Both of you! And Francis, Boris and Johnson and…all of the folding folk at the board up in the mountains! I cannot compromise my masterpiece with...amateurs!” 

“I enjoyed it.”

The three men turn to see a young girl approaching their campground, her eyes an electric green, her pupils dancing. She has an amused smirk on her face. Her hair is a dangerous dark brown. Abram just stands there, blinking, confused. Emil turns his back on the visitor, muttering some obscenities about damned fairy folk under his musty breath. Gus on the other hand, recognises the queen immediately and falls to the ground in a bow, his chest plate and helmet clinking. The queen’s smirk grows into a grin and she pats the knight on the shoulder. 

“I enjoyed the blood and the guts...and the body parts.”

“Yeah you would,” Emil growls, “You and your tasteless, tasteless people.”

Gus gasps and places himself in front of the queen, as if Emil’s words can pierce her skin. Emil simply laughs.

“Look at this old fool! This old, old fool! She doesn't care for you at all my boy! She looks at you as she looks at the bugs swarming around her feet. Learn that Gus! Learn these young girls only want to look at you in amusement and never want to settle down!” 

“I want to settle down,” The queen replies, and she strides towards a chair the men have manufactured from fallen Autumn leaves, “I am going to settle down.”

“Ah see! I knew it! I knew you were that queen I’ve heard gossip about!”

“Gossip?” The queen’s eyebrows raise, “Gossip about me?”

“Oh yes. I’ve heard quite a lot of tall tales about you. Stories about you eating babies, stabbing your own knights with their own swords-” At that, Gus swallows and sits back down on the forest floor, shaking, “-stories of you charming snakes and cobras. Stories of you sleeping in their coils.” Emil stares at the queen, goading her to respond. The queen tuts and stretches her short, stubby legs. They were tired from hours of running as their owner searched the dark places. Her skin stretches and shifts in the firelight.

“I only ate one baby. The rest is just nonsense.”

“Hmmm. All the gossip came from your kind so I never took any of it seriously. Seeing you now makes me think it wasn’t so far fetched.”

The queen furrows her brow and rolls her eyes. 

“Are you all telling stories?” She asks, focusing on the dirt beneath her leaf throne instead of the man in front of her, “ When I was little I read stories about you telling stories together. In an endless loop.” 

The men fall silent. The queen sighs. 

“I would like to join you all. For just one night.” 

Emil growls. Abram roasts a marshmallow. Gus shivers in an invisible wind. His legs make a strange croaking sound and detach themselves from his waist, stumbling about on the rocky terrain.

“What are you queen of, exactly?” Emil asks.

“All sorts of things really.”

“Like what? What do you do? What are your day-to-day ac-tiv-teees?” 

“I look after the lost ones most of the time.”

“The lost ones?” 

“Folks made of time and sand. They come to us, my husband and I, full of regrets and sorrows. They lose themselves in our corridors and become our subjects. We transform their troubled minds into something sweet.”

“Sweet for the monarchy, one supposes, but not for everyone else,” murmurs Emil, picking at his cloak,“ I heard you two aren’t married already.”

“We will be soon.”

“Once your quest is complete, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. Once I return.”

“Do you take babies?” Abram asks, sitting cross-legged on the milkwood grass, “I heard you take babies.”

“Sometimes.”

Emil clears his throat, which makes his bones rattle in a very unattractive way. He then nods to Abram, who nods back. He turns to Gus, who by now is just a bunch of scraps flailing about in the mud. Gus’ head, however, has enough time to tilt his head back in agreement.

“Very well. You may join the club for a night. A single solitary night-”

“No baby eating!” Abram shouts from his corner. The Queen tuts and crosses her heart with a wicked finger. 

“I promise. No baby eating.” She grins. 

“-And you’ll be the last to go. No cuts!” Emil growls.

“Very well.” The Queen sighs and closes her eyes, listening to the whispers in the breeze. 

Emil looks to his companions, sitting by the campfire as they always do, and shrugs.

“Now that…compromise has been met I suppose we can continue with the workshop.”

“Finally,” Abram mutters. 

And as the four take their places in the storyteller’s guild, the woods begin to shiver with excitement. 

The annual Autumn meeting was only beginning.

[lilyharvord]

The Chain (Part 7)

Main concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything.  

Find Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6  

tag list: @delilahlbard, @king-maven-calore, @thatoddgirl777, @elliekratzzz, @evangelineartemiasamos, @evangeline-of-montfort, @scxrletguardsdawn, @freaky-freiday, @petergrantkavinsky, @kuwei, @whatsup-gorls, @katiemoore (here ya go ((: thank you for your interest),  @redqueenetwork(let me know if you want a tag and I’ll add you to the list ((: )

I wake to watery blue sunlight. The sun has just finished peaking over the horizon, making me grumble immediately. There was no reason I should be up this early. I didn’t schedule training, and I didn’t promise Gisa breakfast. Besides, I’m exhausted and my head is foggy, which is a very unwelcome combination. 

Sighing loud enough that Cal should hear me, I bring my arm up to cover my eyes. “Cal, close the curtains.” I murmur, before smacking what would normally be his back. I only hit empty sheets though. My eyes fly open as I sit bolt upright. 

This isn’t Montfort. 

The buzzing in my head is from the cameras trained on me, and the fogginess is from the alcohol last night. The alcohol I drank to keep from grabbing the knife next to my hand and stabbing it through the top of Maven’s when he reached across to offer me a glass of water. Even with that moment, I had made it through the night. I had given him a smile, one that I almost thought was real. I’d forgotten that he had been funny, that he had a good sense of humor. He was kind to me last night. I know he had been the first time around too. Deep down in a place that Elara had never touched, he had protected that kernel of love that made him fall in love with a Red boy in Corvium. I wonder if Thomas knew that he was one of the few things that kept Maven from completely losing his mind. So odd how two Reds made two princes question everything. 

I rub at my forehead to try and alleviate the ache there before giving up and throwing the comforter back to swing my legs to the side. The marble floor is freezing, especially after the warmth of my bedding. I wish Cal was here, just so I could throw myself back under the blankets and I stick my feet against his legs to warm them. He always hissed at the feeling when I did it, but let me anyway, only to leach the warmth from one of his hands and press it against my thigh to make me squeal. 

I have half a mind to crawl back into bed, bury myself in pillows and blankets, and pretend I’m in Paradise Valley during a snow storm. A light knock on my door startles me though, and wipes away the remaining fog in my mind. No rest for the wicked apparently. 

Standing quickly and ignoring the gooseflesh that erupts on my skin, I hurry over to the chair where I unceremoniously tossed my robe from last night. I blindly shove one arm into a sleeve and call for another second from the maids waiting outside, hoping they at least give me that time to look semi-decent. 

The three of them hurry in though, the one at the front carrying my dreaded schedule. I’d almost forgotten about it, and honestly wish that I had. Lessons that will bore me to tears, and then tense lunches and dinners with the ladies of the court are going to haunt my days while Elara stalks my nightmares. More acting, more games within games, I think I’d rather run head first into a wall than do all of that. 

The girl, who can’t be much older than me, dips her head as she offers the thin piece of paper, drawing a sigh from me as I take it and sink reluctantly into the vanity chair. I know exactly what it will say, but that doesn’t stop me from scanning it to check for discrepancies. Nothing seems out of place. Then again, Elara was too smart to give herself away on something like this.

Protocol lessons will be miserable. I can remember most of what I learned, but I can’t exactly show up and claim that. Maybe I can tell Cal to put me in training earlier. There was no harm in that right? 

I know that the best part of my day will be Julian. I hadn’t seen him at the feast last night, not that he would show up to something like that. He probably spent the night surrounded by his books, sipping whatever bitter alcohol he was willing to stomach for the night. If he’s on my schedule, Elara can’t possibly know anything. She wouldn’t dare put us together. He’d been a major collaborator with me, and we posed a serious threat because of that.

I read the schedule over and over again as the maids arrange my hair and pick out my outfit. When I glance over my shoulder at the tight leggings on the bed that have been laid out, I grimace. “Anything more… practical?” 

The maid brushing out the skirts of the gown to go with them glances at my closet hesitantly, only to disappear inside again. Another maid turns my head forward to the mirror as she begins painting my neck, chest and face with the silver paint. Her hands are delicate. With the work she does, and how well she does it, she must be an artist of some sort. 

Pants and a jacket appear in my peripheral vision, a silent question from the maid holding. I nod in agreement, and she hurries away to press and prepare them. My skin crawls in the growing silence. I can’t even hear the birds that are probably singing as they wake up outside. 

I don’t remember it being this awkward. Then again, I had been so focused on avoiding mistakes that I didn’t have time to think about the people around me. It had been that selfish part of me that fed the character of Mareena. She had died years ago though, and I plan to keep her dead and buried after what I did as her. 

I glance at myself in the mirror again, looking over the paint as the maid finishes and begins lining my eyes. It has been a long time since I let someone put this heavy of makeup on me. I look wicked and lovely. Beautiful, like a knife Evangeline would twirl between her fingers. 

Today will be the first chance to truly observe Elara since our encounter in the cells. Nothing appeared amiss last night, but I wasn’t going to put anything to chance in this den of wolves. Too much rides on my success to fail at this point. 

Stepping carefully into the pants, I let one of the maids help me into the jacket. Her fingers dance along my skin quicker than my lightning, careful to avoid touching the paint and smearing it. I feel like a china doll that might shatter if they handle me too roughly. 

Still, I’m ready earlier than I anticipate. Lucas and I might be able to simply stroll through the palace instead of the sprinting walk I remember from my first day. Even if I had arrived late before, arriving early this time around won’t change anything. In fact, it might even make Elara over look me more. I could use that to my advantage when I start poking my nose in places it doesn’t belong. 

The maids bow away from me when they finish, their hands tucked into the sides of their skirts. I raise my chin at the girl looking back at me in the mirrors. She looks cold, colder than I remember. I won’t let her take over again though. I won’t let her get the foothold she got during my initial time here. She had been armor then, but she’d still almost drowned me before I threw her to the side to save myself. 

Swallowing I turn away from the mirror and whisper my thanks to the maids before crossing the room for the doors. One rushes to open it for me, her eyes downcast. I glance her over, taking in her delicate features. She reminds me of Gisa so much, my stomach turns thinking about it. What is Gisa doing now besides bemoaning a lost future along with her broken hand? She heals, I remind myself, even if a part of her will never forget that phantom pain. 

I want to reach out and set my hand on this girl’s shoulder though. I want to comfort her, if only to reassure myself that everything will be fine. I squeeze my hand in a fist though and thank her before stepping into the hallway. I shouldn’t be thanking them so much, but the words leave my lips so easily. 

Lucas waits across the hall, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. But the minute I step out and smirk at him, his lips quirk up in that grin that sometimes haunts my nightmares. He would have continued giving that smile to world if it wasn’t for me. 

“Babysitting duty again?” I tease lightly, hiding the hitch in my breath by adjusting my jacket and pulling it closed too tightly. Nodding in the direction of the breakfast room and starting at a comfortable pace for my short legs, he says, “Do you want an honest answer?”

With a shrug, I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He gives me another smile and I give him a weak one in reply. “Here’s to us having a good friendship, Officer Samos.” I can’t bring myself to wish for it to be long. The pang I’d felt when I saw him for the first time again was not as bad as I thought it would be. It still ached, but at least I didn’t feel like I was swallowing nails when I looked at him. Maven was another matter entirely. The only positive was that I didn’t have to see him much around here. Not yet that is. 

“Likewise, my lady.” 

I chuckle at the title, both disgusted and amused by it. 

The breakfast room is empty when Lucas ushers me in ahead of him though. And when he enters on my heels, he glances around for a moment before whispering that the queen should be on her way. With a quick, practiced bow, he departs from the room. 

I’m earlier than I expected. I had hoped Elara was here already, that way she wouldn’t have the chance to surprise me. Lucas’s quick departure means Elara cannot be far away though, and I wonder if she scares him as much as she does everyone else. It’s odd to think everyone sneered at Cal’s mother just because there was a possibility that she had sung his father into marrying her, yet no one dared to whisper about the possibility that Elara might have done the same thing. I think if anyone tried they would end up dead though. I want to believe I would have said something. 

I walk by the wall of windows that overlook one of the numerous gardens, watching the way the rising sun’s rays catch on the dewy grass below. Reaching my hand out, I let the light play on the rings decorating my fingers. I miss my engagement ring, as silly as that is. I never thought I would miss a piece of jewelry. Still, I missed tracing the braided bands with my thumb and spinning it on my finger. It had become a habit during meetings while I was thinking. I miss that blood red stone the most though. 

The door from the other side of the room opens, and I tilt my head to see who it might be in the glass. Too bright to be Elara. My lips curl up in a smile as I spot Evangeline’s curtain of platinum hair cut across my peripheral vision. 

“Good morning, Lady Samos,” I tell her, not bothering to look at her as I do. Just the fact that I am not remotely surprised by her appearance will make her blood boil. I’m sure she spent countless hours perfecting her hair and outfit to make me feel inferior. The fact that I haven’t even deigned to give her the response she wants will send her reeling. I know it will. She’s too calculating to let it show when she replies though. 

“Such a change of costume for you Lady Titanos. Where are the pretty dresses?”

“I figured today called for practicality. Don’t you agree?” I finally turn to look at her, my smile rapier sharp. She returns the smile, her fingers dancing at her side.

Turning toward the table to sit down, I catch Elara sliding into the room like a wraith. Our eyes meet and I drop mine quickly, building up the mirrors I did when she first tried to invade my mind. It’s a maze in there, one that even I wouldn’t be able to find my way through. I trust it to hold, but only for a short time. My brain might be jelly by the end of this breakfast and I’ll have to go through the rest of my day with a headache if I’m not careful. 

Even during the long, grueling interrogation I had been terrified that she would find a crack in my armor, that she would slip through and find everything. I didn’t want to think about how pathetic I had felt, locked up in that silent stone cell, panic lacing my blood like a drug. There had been no way out, no way out if anything went horribly wrong. I guess I should be thankful that nothing did go wrong. 

She walks to the head of the table, where a neat placement is waiting for her. “You should eat quickly, Lady Blonos does not tolerate tardiness.” She drops into her chair with cat like grace, and without another word. One of the servants that came in with her hurries forward with a bowl of fruit. 

I edge toward the table, but not before Evangeline cuts by me, one of the rings on her finger elongating to a point that she tries to swipe at my hand with. I yank my hand away to grab the chair and pull it back, hiding the dodge expertly. My eyes dart to her, and although she tries to hide her surprise at my agility, some of it still slips out. 

“You’re still taking Protocol?” She asks as she slides into her chair, trying to hide her discomfort as I do the same. 

Raising a brow at her, I smoother my confusion. “You mean you aren’t?” 

A servant places a bowl in front of me, but I don’t tear my eyes from Evangeline. What possessed her to try and snap at me like she did? I know she wants the truth, and I know she’ll eventually try to get it in the training arena, but I didn’t think she’d be bold enough to try here. Maybe she thinks Elara isn’t in on it, and she’d get away with exposing me? I doubt it. Evangeline is not stupid. She knows a puppeteer when she sees one. 

I pick up my fork and spear a melon before taking my knife and spinning it just enough that it catches the light. With a graceful flick of my wrist I slice of the extra green rim that must have been missed. Evangeline eyes the fluidity of the movement though, her cheek twitching imperceptibly at the silent threat.

(///////)

I hate Protocol. 

That is all I think as I stalk with Lucas toward the Glass Terrace for luncheon. I hate Lady Blonos and I can’t wait until I never have to see her again. Cranky, nasty old woman, with fingers like spiders grabbing my shoulders. A heartbeat after the thought crosses my mind though, I grimace. She dies a quick death at least. My hand twitches towards my own throat, imaging the blade that severed her head from her shoulders. There will be one at my throat too soon enough, when Evangeline faces me in the Bowl of Bones. 

In my distraction, I almost miss when we step out into the warm sunlight. My first inhale of fresh air settles my nerves though. What I wouldn’t give to be outside all day. But as I step under the glass canopy, I end up just hoping I don’t sweat my paint off. It’s hotter out here than I remember, and the humidity is miserable. At least in Montfort when it got warm there was a breeze. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck, and I tense as it rolls between my shoulders blades. Shimmying to get rid of it, I feel a few more beads pop up on my hairline. Cursing, I try to stand as still as possible. 

Elane appears in front of me so suddenly I feel like she purposefully cloaked herself to surprise me. Sonya is not far behind her either. Two parts of Evangeline’s little trio. I wonder if she kept Sonya around to hide her affair with Elane. I doubt it. Sonya would have figured out the truth before anyone else. 

“Lady Mareena,” they coo in unison, before bowing stiffly. I incline my head in response, playing the game they have started. 

“I’m Sonya of House Iral.” Soyna tosses her hair gracefully. I can see the way she shifts to make sure that movement is perfect. I would smirk at the posturing if I wasn’t focusing on locating Elara in the crowd of ladies. “And I’m Elane of House Haven.” 

Oh, I know. I’ve had far too many awkward walk-ins on you and Evangeline in her office for my liking. Then again, she had snuck up on me and Cal plenty of times too. A perfect little spy. Her lips curl up in a delicate smile as I look her up and down. Flirt, I want to tease, and have to almost swallow my tongue to keep from saying just that. 

“We wanted to welcome you.” Elane says as she looks me over as well. A few weeks ago in Montfort, she had looked me up and down under the outdoor lights of a restaurant too. Smiling after I had thrown my head back to laugh at something Carmadon had said, she remarked that I was glowing. I had turned a pointed glare on her, and she had turned away to sip her wine with a smirk. I’d waved her away saying it was just a trick of the light. Now, I can feel the same stare as she observes me, looking for the most minute details to hold against me. 

“Thank you.” I clear my throat after that, letting her know she’s stared just a little too long. Her lips purse just a hint, and her cheeks flush white under her makeup. 

“You also participated in Queenstrial?” I ask quickly, giving her a chance to recover. She may be a pain in the ass now, but she is my friend in the future and I don’t need Sonya getting any ideas about anything.  

Still, Sonya almost sneers at my words. “We did. Obviously we were not so lucky as you or Evangeline.” 

Luck really had nothing to do with it. I would never consider myself lucky. I dip my head in understanding. “My intentions—”

“Your intentions remain to be seen,” Sonya purrs, before turning about quickly and snapping her fingers. “Grandmother, come meet Lady Mareena.” 

I scan the crowd of older women that Ara departs from, looking for a familiar orange gown. Anabel is nowhere to be seen though. I don’t know why I thought she would be here. How had she managed to slip back into the court during Maven’s reign though? 

Ara eyes me even as she walks over, making me stand a little taller to try and appear like I’m uncomfortable with her presence. It doesn’t take much to do that though. All I have to think about it how Ptolemus severed her head from her body. 

Sonya yaps away, trying to make me uncomfortable, and for a moment she probably thinks she’s succeeding. It’s Shade’s face flashing through my mind at the same time that I remember the light leaving his eyes that really drives me to shake slowly though. I can almost taste the smoke of Corros on my tongue when I inhale. I can hear the airship engines screaming behind me, calling me like a siren song. All I had to do was turn and keep running for them. But Shade, Shade had to come back for me because I had to get my revenge. 

My stomach drops and I know my face pales. Not right now, I can’t fall apart right now. I squeeze my hands into fists, focusing on my nails dig into my palms. 

Sonya finally stops speaking and I almost jump before dipping my head. “Apologies for my absent… thoughts. It’s a pleasure to meet you my lady.”  

“I knew your father, Mareena. And your mother.” Ara observes coolly, her eyes looking me over like a butcher would their next slaughter. 

“I wish I could have known them like you do.” I reply, my mind still trying to keep up with the conversation while also trying to prevent a barrage of Samson’s carefully concocted memories from taking over. It’s a losing battle. My stomach turns as the Blackrun going down plays at an inhuman speed. Metal tears around me, and wind whips at my hair. I’m falling so fast that I can’t even draw enough air to scream. Am I falling into a cage or am I standing in a garden full of pretty women with fangs and claws? Am I wrapped in Cal’s arms or am I suffocating in the heat of this glass gazebo? 

“Your father had blue eyes, as did your mother.” Ara tests, her expression cold. 

I drag my eyes up and dare to meet hers. I tilt my head to the side, the sound of the gardens fading back into focus as by sheer willpower I force the memories back so that I can gather enough air to breathe. There is no way out of the corner I am in, and I can’t even begin to think of something to say to fill the silence. A whisper of skirts on stone distracts Ara as Elara cuts behind us to ask everyone to sit. I hide the twist of relief in my stomach by dipping my head again and excusing myself.

(/////////)

I’m so deep in my own thoughts, planning responses for any future Iral interrogations that I almost miss Maven appearing around the corner on my way to Julian’s. 

“Still alive?” His words make my back snap to ram rod straightness as I come to an abrupt stop that makes even Lucas stumble. My toes curl in my shoes and I can almost feel my lightning begging to come to the fore as Maven closes the distance. Why does he have to look so kind and young? How could I not have seen the honey coated trap for what it was? I’d needed a friend though, and he had been the perfect map to mirror all my insecurities onto. Elara probably didn’t even need to read my mind to know that. 

Play the game. I remind myself to smile sheepishly at him. I’m a good actress now, and I will make sure he believes every second of my performance. 

“Unfortunately for the other Queenstrial girls, yes.” The joke is a weak one, but he still chuckles at it. Next to me, I can feel Lucas’s presence still. He’ll usher me along so that we’re not late for Julian. His presence actually eases my tension. I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone with Maven just yet. The temptation to end all my suffering before it can begin might be too great. I need Lucas to get us moving again. I’d rather be early for Julian. The more time I spend with him, the happier I think I’ll be. And I’d rather be as far from Maven as physically possible right now. 

“They’re a slippery sort.” He admits, looking me over. I squeeze my hand into a fist, pushing my nail into my thumb to avoid lashing out at him. The silence gets so heavy his skin tinges silver and he looks down to avoid my unwavering glare.

“Where are you off to?” I finally mange to get out, forcing my fingers to unfurl. His eyes snap up and he blushes hard for a heartbeat. I caught him off guard. Good, slip up and give me a reason to hate you more in this moment. 

“I was actually on my way to walk in the garden. Cal was—” his lips draw tight for a moment before continuing “—supposed to meet me. He got caught up in a meeting.” 

I don’t want you around him either. I want to sneer and dig my nails into his neck when he shrugs in disinterest. I don’t want you hurting him more than you already have.

“How unfortunate,” I admit instead. He actually looks like he feels bad for Cal when he replies, “I don’t envy him his schedule.” 

Lucas clears his throat, and my eyes snap to him as he nods in the direction we should be going. “Someone told me she didn’t want to be late to anything today. And we’re going to be late now.” 

Maven’s eyes dart to him as if he just realized he was standing there. Tilting his head to the side like a little puppy, he says, “I was actually wondering if you were done for the day and wanted to join me in the garden.” 

“I have Lessons.” I want to smirk at the way his smile falls. He recovers marvelously though, and reaches out to take my hand. His skin is warm, the perfect temperature. He��d been icy last night. I wonder if Elara told him to find the perfect temperature, one to match Cal’s. 

“I won’t keep you then.” He murmurs before he passes us and continues down the hall. I feel like I’m going to be sick. That was how she did it. That was how she molded him into the perfect little shadow for me to love. She’d picked my brain for everything I liked about his brother from our first meeting and whispered it in his ear. Warm smiles and warm hands, she had probably told him, ooze sympathy and kindness, you’re the sibling that is unloved, the one to match my longing for something greater. Then she had molded his words and his ideals to match mine, the perfect counter to Cal’s abrasive thoughts of wanting to keep the world the way it was. I hadn’t even realized it, but Maven had put his foot in the door with this moment, and I had held it open for him. Sneaky son of a bitch. 

“You know, we’d get there much faster if you actually moved.” Lucas teases, making me almost jump. I glare at him before starting down the hallway so fast that he jogs his first few steps to catch up. 

“Shut up Lucas.” I growl under my breath.

(////////)

The minute I’m in Julian’s rooms I shrug off every bit of protocol, every nasty thought and let myself sag in relief. It smells just like his Montfort apartment in here. My heart aches even more when I remember the teas Sara used to put in my hands with her gentle smile as she sank down into one of the massive fluffy chairs they kept in their sitting room. It was always warm there too. Sara liked it cozy, and Julian let her have whatever it was she wanted, even if he melted into a puddle of sweat in every sweater he owned. 

Married for four years and Sara still acted as chaste as a young girl when he was around. I want them to have that happiness here too. I know I won’t see Julian smile the way he does when she walks behind him and trails her hand along his shoulders for a long time though. Every moment in Montfort was like she feared he’d disappear if she didn’t touch him continuously throughout the day.

I run my fingers along the faded covers of the books he keeps stacked around these rooms like columns holding up the weight of the world. I wish I could grab and carry stacks of them back to my room. I could bury myself in them and pretend I was curled up on my couch with my head in Cal’s lap while he ran his fingers through my hair and tried not to fall asleep. I could pretend I’m hundreds of miles and years away from this horrible place. 

I stop before the map I remember so well. I’d seen it so many times in this room that it had become a staple. I tilt my head as I look at the mess of lines and colors. The old world, before people tore it to shreds. We put it back together, or at least we had been trying to. I drag my eyes west from Archeon to find Ascendent buried deep in the mountains. It’s not even marked on this map. It never seemed so far away than in this moment. Even when I had looked at this map for the first time those mountains had only seemed a few hand lengths away. 

“It’s strange to look at the world as it once was,” Julian’s quiet voice makes me glance over my shoulder in his direction. In the silence of these rooms, he is a faint ember of life. He appears out of an aisle of his books, the afternoon sun cutting across his face like bars in a prison. His yellow robes whisper along the floor as he approaches me. I’d forgotten how this place had drained him. He looks like old, cracked paper. It’s fitting I suppose, but it’s not right. 

I can’t help but grin at him, unable to hide how happy I am to see him. He takes it in stride though, even giving me a little smile as he gestures to the map. “Can you find where we are?”

Don’t go so fast, I want to beg him. Let me stay here as long as physically possible. Let me be here in this sanctuary as long as possible. “I’ll try.” I whisper as I pull my eyes away from him to look at the map. He waits while I pretend to read. I could pick us out as easily as I can call lightning these days, but I go slow on purpose. Reaching up with a finger, I point to the inlet that is the Stilts. “There.” 

He nods, pleased. “Do you recognize anything else?” 

I bring my eyes back to the map. For a moment, I contemplate pointing out Montfort. Julian would be an impossibly useful ally here. The wisdom he could give us, the advice, it would be priceless. That’s a conversation to have with Cal though. He’ll probably refuse to bring Julian into this mess any earlier than we have to though. He can be so damn protective over the few people he has left. Julian would be able to handle himself though. Better than me and Cal probably. 

In the end, I point out Harbor Bay. His smile deeps and I relish in the warmth that floods through me by simply being in his presence. Even if he’s oblivious to our future relationship, I trust him more than anyone else here. 

“This is Delphie now,” he points out the city, and I nod as he traces the river to point out Archeon. We’ll be there soon enough, and Julian will not make it further than the gates of this city before Elara catches him and Sara. 

When he finishes, he looks at me expectantly and waits to hear anything else. Instead I turn to him and say, “The cameras are off in here.” 

His brows shoot up toward his hairline comically, and I have to stifle a laugh. I haven’t seen that look in a long time. There wasn’t much I could do to surprise him after our years together. The news I was planning on sharing might have been the last time I saw that look. 

“So there is a difference,” he mutters. 

“How did you get them to turn them off?” I want to know so that I can turn them off in my own room without people noticing. Cal and I could meet then, discuss our next moves without people noticing. We could meet to determine if things were proceeding correctly too. It would make all of this so much easier. 

“Mare, I’m here to teach you your histories, to teach you how to be Silver and how to be, ah, useful.” 

His lips pull into a disgusted expression, and I raise a brow as he changes the subject quickly. The way he looks at me though, makes me swallow the next words I am about to tell him. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and ask the same question I had asked before.

“How do you plan to do that Lord Jacos?” 

His eyes narrow for a moment, and I tense as I realize he never did tell me who he was. It’s not on my schedule, and there is no way Elara would tell me his name. She can barely spit out the name Jacos anyway. I have a feeling she thought Coriane’s spirit would be able to haunt her if she did utter it. 

“Your colors, yellow, house Jacos. Lady Blonos taught me the colors this morning. Your sister was Queen wasn’t she? Cal’s mother. You two even look a little similar.” I stumble over the words, trying to cover my tracks. It’s a pathetic attempt, one I know he can see right through. 

He at least has the grace and mercy to laugh outright at my last comment. The light returns to his eyes as he says, “your flattery will get you nowhere with me, Mare Barrow. But yes, I am the late Queen’s brother and Tiberias the Seventh, otherwise known as Cal, is my nephew.” He drops into a comically low bow. I chuckle at it. Even though I feel like I’m playing a game with him, it still feels like we are sharing a secret truth with each other. Forgotten gods, I just want to tell him the truth so that he can know and help me. I wonder if he would actually believe me if I did. Julian had seen plenty of crazy things in his life. What was one more?

“So you and I are supposed to stop a rebellion?” I ask as he rises. He tilts his head to the side, considering my words before saying, “yes, I suppose. My dear brother-in-law and his queen believe you can do so, if we use you properly.” 

“It’s idiotic,” I admit before turning back to look at the map. He watches my side profile carefully while I look over the map, and try to keep my eyes from snagging on Montfort. “They’re wrong if they think the riots will stop, and the people will stand down. The Scarlet Guard is marching, and they are not afraid. Change will come someday, whether that’s tomorrow or in a year, it will come. The world won’t stay the same, I won’t let it.” 

For a moment, the ragged inhale he takes makes me think I’ve said too much. But when he steps up next to me to look at the map he says, “I have waited a long time to hear someone say that. What my people are doing to you and yours is wrong to the deepest levels of humanity. You are right, change is coming, because the continuous cycle we put you through will end poorly.”

I look at him, seeing a different type of warrior. Julian had never been one for violence and destruction like me and Cal. He was built for manipulation and careful chess games. But he had spent just as much time if not more shaping the world alongside us. He would do it all over again too. I know he would. If he were in my shoes right now, he would suffer the hell, the torture, and any agony just to get us all to that shining future. “So what do we do?” 

He grins at me, a tiny hopeful smile that makes me square my shoulders proudly. 

“We start by figuring out exactly what you are.”

[aurorasilverthorne]

Total Misunderstanding Part #1:

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Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!! Esteban, Shuriki, Armando and Fiero belong to Disney.

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Note: Elizaveta, Aléjandro, Llorona and Esperanza all belong to me. If you use them in fanfiction or fanart, please remember to give me proper credit as their creator. Thank you.

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Esteban wasn't prone to sleeping late. He'd been an early riser all his life, but he'd spent the night entertaining the queen, and had indulged in one too many glasses of wine.

I should've stopped at three...

But Shuriki had been in such high spirits and invitations to her bed were rare these days. Esteban had begun to believe Shuriki was losing interest in him altogether. The previous evening had assured him she still desired his touch.

Esteban groaned. His head kept throbbing like a pulse as he tried to go back to sleep and not think about the day ahead.

Dame Elizaveta Kapeka of the Northern Islands was going to arrive later that afternoon and that was troublesome. Shuriki always viewed other women as competition. Esteban should've been worried, but all he could think about was the noise their constant bickering would make.

I'm starting to sound like Shuriki.

Shuriki was probably still in bed sleeping off her hangover. He sat up slowly so as not to irritate his already nervous stomach.

Had he even eaten anything? He couldn't remember. Esteban was debating on whether they should just forego their meetings for the day when his bedroom door flew open startling him so bad that he fell off the bed. When he opened his eyes, Armando was standing over him, his expression that of a man on the verge of panic.

"Dame Elizaveta Kapeka is here!"

Of course she is...

Esteban hauled himself up off the floor. "Where is the queen?"

"Sleeping," Armando answered sheepishly.

Esteban gave the steward a half-hearted scowl then snatched his coat off the back of a chair as he headed for the queen's personal chambers. He managed to make it halfway down the hall before pausing to retch in a gilded vase.

Apparently he'd eaten something after all. Carrots, or corn maybe? Esteban didn't really care and he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

The drapes were closed and the previous night's candles burned down to the wick when Esteban stepped into Shuriki's bedroom. He nearly tripped over a pile of clothing before pulling back the curtains on the massive canopy bed.

"Your Grace?

Shuriki groaned.

"Elizaveta Esfir Kapeka of the Northern Islands has arrived."

"Who?" Shuriki asked her voice muffled by the blanket covering her head.

Esteban could tell she was still half asleep elsewise she would have launched into a tirade.

"Elizaveta? Older lady, silver hair pulled back in a braided bun? Green eyes? Any of this ring a bell?"

Shuriki pulled down the blanket to scowl at him. "Seriously, Estéban? We've met a plethora of women that could fit that description."

The chancellor sighed. "La Monstrua de Ojos Verdes."

The Green Eyed Monster.

Shuriki had thought she was being clever when she had given Elizaveta the cruel nickname. He wasn't about tell the queen most of the palace staff called her that when she wasn't within earshot.

Shuriki scowled. "Ugh, not her."

The last time Kapeka had come to Avalor to talk trade, she and Shuriki had almost killed each other due to an argument over negotiations. Shuriki refused to say why she detested the other sorceress so much, but she and Elizaveta were always vying for dominance any time they had to interact with one another.

Shuriki wanted nothing to do with it. "Leave me here to die."

Esteban huffed. "It's customary in Avalor for the ruling monarch to greet visiting dignitaries."

Shuriki buried her head under a pillow. "I really don't care about proper decorum."

Esteban folded his arms and began to tap his foot impatiently as he tried to figure out a way to rouse her. Then it hit him like a runaway carriage. "Well, if you aren't feeling up to it..."

"-Oh, thank Maru-"

"I'm sure Doña Paloma wouldn't mind helping with the dame."

"That money hungry hussy?!" Shuriki grabbed his cravat and yanked him towards her. "Estéban, I told you to stay away from her!"

"Mamá...? Papá...?"

Esteban and Shuriki both turned to see their seven year old twins, Aléjandro and Llorona, hovering in the doorway.

"Oh, my little darlings..." Shuriki cooed.

She released Esteban and held out her arms to the pajama clad children. "Come here..."

Esteban knelt to steal a hug from the little ones before helping them up onto the bed.

"Why are you fighting? Did Papá do something wrong?" Alé asked.

"We weren't fighting, were we, Estéban?"

Esteban shook his head. He couldn't help smiling when their children were around. "No, just having a discussion, that's all."

"About what?" Alé asked.

"Oh, nothing important," Shuriki answered, giving Esteban a warning glare to drop the subject. She smiled softly at the twins. "What are you two doing out of bed so early, hmm?"

"I don't feel good," Aléjandro replied.

Shuriki frowned. "You don't? What's wrong?"

"My nose is stuffy and I keep coughing. It makes my throat hurt, Mamá."

"My poor, sweet boy..." Shuriki pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're running a fever. Estéban, cancel everything that's on my agenda for today. If Elizaveta throws a fit about rescheduling, tell her to go eat sand. And have breakfast brought up. The children need to eat, especially Alé or his illness will worsen."

Shuriki was adamant about not using vulgar language in front of the children. She would've been spewing obscenities at Elizaveta by now if not for them. "Yes, querida."

"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?" Aléjandro asked, giving her the cutest look he could muster.

Shuriki quirked an eyebrow feigning displeasure, but her facade cracked, and she gave him a smile. "Oh, alright. The cold treat will help with your sore throat, but you'll have to finish the real food first. Only then can you have the ice cream."

Aléjandro nodded and smiled. "Si, Mamá. Gracias!"

Shuriki chuckled. "You're very welcome."

What she didn't tell the child was that she'd be lacing his treat with a medicinal potion to combat his illness. Shuriki had learned early on that the best way to convince a child to take medication was to hide it in their favorite desserts and not tell them it was in there elsewise they wouldn't eat it and she'd have to force it down their throat which was something she didn't enjoy doing.

Esteban knew it was probably a bad idea to make Elizaveta wait, especially given they intended to reschedule, but his son was sick, and he felt like it had been ages since he'd enjoyed a warm meal with his lover and their children.

Esteban even made breakfast. He cooked them guava-cheese empanadas and pão de queijo with atole and avena because they'd do less damage to Alé's sore throat when he ate them. He prayed the fruit he'd put in the oatmeal would strengthen the boy's immune system and speed up his recovery. He also prepared some green tea with honey and lemon in the hopes that it would keep Shuriki safe from the illness while she was caring for their son.

Shuriki was waiting for him when he brought in the food. She'd retrieved four year old Esperanza from her crib so she too could enjoy eating with her parents and siblings.

Esteban blocked young Aléjandro's view of the ice cream bowls so that Shuriki could stir a vial of healing potion into the already half melted treat then feign resignation as she handed the child the bowl.

Aléjandro ate every bit without questioning his mother's motives. If he'd asked, Shuriki would've just fibbed and claimed she'd let him have the sweets first due to him giving her the puppy dog eyes. They couldn't risk him getting too full off the empanadas or the potion would upset his stomach.

The boy was half way through his second empanada when he began yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "Mamá...I'm tired..."

Shuriki bit her lip to suppress a triumphant smirk as she pulled him close and stroked his hair. "I know, child. Close your eyes. I'm here. No harm will come to you."

Alé tucked himself up against her side and buried his face in her shoulder. At first, she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then the boy lifted his head. "I can't sleep, Mamá. Sing for me, por favor?"

Shuriki groaned. She wasn't a fan of music or dancing due to having a problem with sensitivity to noise. She'd gone so far as to ban both from Avalor, but had allowed Esteban to keep a guitar. Shuriki had also let him teach the children how to dance. She'd even sung a lullaby or two back when they were infants in the hopes they'd fall asleep. She'd been in desperate need of rest herself, of course, elsewise Shuriki would've taken a dagger to the throat rather than be heard singing or seen dancing around even if it was for her children who were the only people she loved more than Esteban or herself.

"Why would you want that?" she asked. "My voice sounds terrible when I sing."

"But I like when you sing, Mamá."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"It helps me sleep and makes me feel better." He gave her another one of his puppy dog pouts. "Por favor, Mamá?"

Shuriki sighed. "Fine..."

The sorceress closed her eyes trying to gather her thoughts. The Northern islanders didn't have too many lullabies as music, dancing and art were all considered nonsensical frivolities. There was a song she did remember from back when she was a child. Her mother had sung it to her on the rare occasions when she was ill.

Now is the time for the wolves and thrushes, to sing to the moon from the forests and rushes.

Sleep, my love. Sleep my only dear, in the dark.

Fragile and magical shadows will suddenly start to appear, lovely and lyrical, a frightening miracle, within your ear.

Carefully raising their voices, in a chorus loud and gracefully clear,

Over and under, the multi-toned, wonder of dreams endear.

Why are they singing, calling, and braying all night long?

What are they trying so hard to convey with their haunting song?

Sometimes when somebody loves you, they say and do things you don't understand.

And there in the harsh truth lies the proof of a parent's love.

Aléjandro fell asleep midway through the song. Esteban sat and listened to Shuriki sing while she stroked their eldest child's hair.

He tended to forget just how hard her childhood had been. The Northern Islands was a dark, cold place with authoritarian laws and an intolerance for failure of any sort. It was a miracle that she'd survived what with the horrid weather and the unrealistic expectations heaped onto her by her parents, peers, and the royal family she'd once served.

Shuriki laid Alé down beside her and curled herself around him to cuddle and protect the child while he slept.

"Put Esperanza back in her crib, and make sure Llorona gets back to the nursery on your way out, would you, Estéban?"

Esteban nodded. "Si, mi amada."

"But I want to stay with you," Llorona pouted, "I don't want to go back to the nursery. There is no one there for me to play with."

"Nonsense. You've more than enough toys to play with," Shuriki said, "And the last thing I need is for you to catch whatever it is your brother has. Now run along..." Shuriki was only half listening or she would've realized it was the lack of playmates not the quantity or quality of toys upsetting her eldest daughter.

"But, Mamá-"

"I said no," Shuriki snapped.

Shuriki hadn't meant to be so harsh towards the girl, but the damage was done. Llorona recoiled at the sharpness in her tone before retreating over to Esteban who was putting Esperanza down for her midmorning nap. Shuriki wanted to tell Llorona to come back, that she was sorry for having lost her temper, but the girl had bypassed a preoccupied Esteban and already left the room before she had the chance.

Shuriki sighed. "Estéban, would you-"

"I'll check on her on my way back to my office," he promised, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "You just focus on Esper and Alé right now and leave everything else to me."

"Thank you."

"You're muy welcome, mi corazón."

"I didn't mean to shout at her," Shuriki admitted. "I just...it's so frustrating at times..."

"I understand what you mean," he assured her. "Llorona is going to be fine."

"Are you sure?"

Esteban nodded. "She's always been a resilient child. Give her an hour or two and she'll have forgotten all about it."

[hetalialoverwrites]

Ways to be Wicked

Part 2

First  -  Next

       Appearing in a cloud of magic, you greeted Ben with a smile as he had been waiting in front of his castle for you. "Ben!" You hugged him tightly, feeling his arms wrap around your waist. "(Y/n), thanks for coming back to Auradon." Ben said. "What are we, chopped liver?" Carlos asked, laughter in his voice. Ben pulled away and grinned at the others, going over to greet them, "Hey guys, nice to see you again." They all exchanged greetings and you took in a deep breath, remembering last year. It seemed like a distant memory now. And now that you had been spending some time with your people and engulfed in nature for a few months, you felt completely at peace. "Well, go ahead and get settled in your dorms. (Y/n), if you wouldn't mind, we have an appointment soon with Princess Ariel and Prince Eric later this week." Ben reminded you. "Oh, yes I remember!" You told him before walking with Mal and Evie to your dorms. There were beds once again... You and Mal sighed, "Again?" You grumbled together.

        During your time going to Auradon for your second year, you spent a lot of time with Ben and touring around the kingdom. You visited many princesses and princes. Many different sections of the kingdoms. However, it didn't really matter where you went, the media would always be following. And no matter how many times you told yourself everything would be fine... It wasn't. Every trip had something go wrong. Take your first meeting with some of the royals. To start off easy, Ben took you to visit Princess Ariel and Prince Eric in their seaside castle. You had dressed in your typical nature-themed backless gown with matching shoes and had done your hair nicely around your horns. You made sure to be presentable in front of Auradon royalty, not only being there as Ben's girlfriend but also as a princess of the Moors. Ben escorted you inside, you hold his arm as you saw Aurora do with Philip many times over the summer. You greeted Princess Ariel and Prince Eric politely and they did the same to you two, but they seemed to be slightly on edge around you. 

        Lunch had gone over well, despite a large amount of press taking pictures and recording everything that happened. The blunder came just as the servants cleared the table and more interesting discussions took place. You and Ariel seemed to be bonding over growing up in a non-human land with Prince Eric and Ben speaking casually with each other. Then Princess Melody, Ariel and Eric's daughter came toddling in the room and went up to her mother. You fawned over the little one, adoring the small children in the Moors and Ulstead. Ariel greeted her and picked up Melody, introducing the two of you. But when Melody's eyes landed on you, she started to shriek and cry in fright. With you, Ariel, Ben, and Eric panicking, the press practically had a field day. Then you remembered your mother's words when she told you offhandedly one day that some of the children in Ulstead were afraid of her. And you remembered your treatment at the hands of those on the Isle.

        Hiding a pained and hurt expression, you forced a smile onto your face and cast magic to hide your horns and wings from those in the room. Ariel and Eric were trying to calm their daughter down when you crouched in front of Melody, who was sitting on Ariel's lap. "Hey sweetie, what are you so worked up about little princess?" You cooed softly, noticing out of the corner of your eye that the cameras were pointing at you. Melody sniffled and calmed down at your soft voice and she opened her eyes to look at you. "Hey, there you are. I'm sorry I scared you. Let me introduce myself. I'm (Y/n). What's your name?" You asked, giving her a warm and patient smile. Melody sniffled and wiped her tears away with her fists before looking at you shyly, noticing you no longer had your horns and wings. "I'm Melody." The little princess spoke gently. You smiled wider, "Oh, that's a wonderful name for a lovely little songbird." You told her, at the same time making a small amber bird out of your magic. It flew around her and sung a nice little song, making Melody gasp in awe and giggle. You managed to save the trip but spent the rest of the time covering your wings and horns. But that seemed to start your downward spiral.

        Under the pressure of the media questioning Ben's decisions and if he was worthy to be king while dating a girl like you, you started to change yourself. Your horns were too scary, like a devil's... So, you hid them with magic. Your etiquette was dreadful, so you started taking more classes on top of your normal classes at Auradon Prep. Your magic was dangerous and frightened those you visited, so you stopped using it. You always came empty-handed to meet with others, so you started to make gifts for those you would visit with Ben. They were too impersonal, so you started to put more thought into them and more time. The way you dressed was not suitable for someone to stand beside the king in, so you changed into the preppy Auradon clothing. Your wings were intimidating and caused people to fear you, so you made them disappear out of sight as well. You were given multiple duties such as planning events, learning all of the laws of Auradon, royal etiquette, princess lessons, how to be a Lady of the Court, the starting of what a Queen of Auradon does... Things continued to pile on you as who you are, who you really are was stripped away. 

        It seemed that whenever you finished something, you were given three more tasks to finish on top of your schoolwork and planning things with Ben and traveling the kingdom. You didn't have any time to yourself anymore, not even to sit down and enjoy nature. To connect with nature. Even in your dorm, you had to give up more of your life, more of what connected you to your Fae roots. Since Cotillion was coming up towards the end of the school year, Evie had to start months in advance on making everyone's gowns and suits. So, within the first three months of the school year, yours and Mal's nests had to leave to make room for Evie's work. So, on top of planning everything for Cotillion since Ben had to focus on his kingly duties, for the most part, you had to make time to create hammocks close to the ceiling for you and Mal. Without magic because Evie scolded you every time you used it! And yes, Jane was assisting with Cotillion along with Fairy Godmother, but you had to make all the decisions, so you had to make sure everything went together and would run smoothly. 

        Regarding your magic and Evie, after you had started to struggle with your duties, Mal had suggested you used magic to lighten the load. So, you did, and it made everything just a little easier. But Evie found out and condemned you for using it, saying Ben wouldn't like it. Ben had hardly noticed all the changed you were making in the first place, or at least, he hadn't said anything about them. So, you decided to ignore Evie's protests as the workload piled on. And Mal... Your dear sister had seen what you were going through and decided that if you were going to hide yourself and had to cut yourself off from your Fae roots, that you wouldn't do it alone. So Mal had hidden her wings and horns. She had stopped using magic in public. She changed her schedule to make sure that it aligned with yours, so that if you had something to do, she could go with you to, she would. She helped keep you awake during school and homework. She made sure that you were eating enough even if you had to run to class and eat something small on the way because of how packed your schedule was.  When you started wearing preppy clothing to fit in, as much as you both hated it, she started to wear it too. When the media had managed to surround you, she had helped you get away from them. And... And when you cried over having to change your hair, she held you. They had decided that the only thing left that you had to change was your hair because it was unnaturally colored. 

        So, you cried that night with Mal holding you on your hammocks after Evie went to sleep. Because your hair was the last thing that you had of yourself. It was your connection to your father as its colors reminded you of flames, like your father's hellfire. Of course, you cried when you hide your horns and wings, as it was painful to lose your connection to your people. You had cried when you had to stop using your magic and being proud of using it in public because it was your link to your mother. You hated that you had to hide it like a dirty secret. And now you cried because you had to change your hair. Mal only held you quietly, a few tears rolling down her face as she felt pain for you and for hiding herself as well. But she didn't complain, knowing how much you loved Ben and just how much stress you had been under. And since she was the older twin, she would pull it together and be your rock because you've done the same before for her. And in the morning, your brilliant red amber hair and Mal's lovely royal purple hair had changed. You both spelled your hair princess length, which was impractically long, and changed the color. You had a washed out and dull (h/c) look with the tips of your hair your natural red amber. Mal had washed out and dull blonde with tips of her natural purple. And with that, you had lost yourself completely to what the kingdom wanted you to be.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hey guys, just to let you know, I didn't mean to make it sound like your natural hair colors are dull or boring!! I just meant that you should think of your natural hair color and change it to a duller and more washed out color is all. Sorry about the confusion!

[spaceorphan18]

Finding Kurt Hummel: The Purple Piano Project

Masterpost

3x01: The Purple Piano Project

Welcome to Season 3! I’ll try not to whine too much while we’re here, lol :)  

The season starts out on a relatively high note, however, making the whole thing feel a lot more promising than it ended up being.  This episode is fun and quirky and there are a lot of pianos for Kurt to drape himself on top of!! 

Future Plans

So – we start off the season much like season two – Ben Jacob Israel going around and harassing everyone about their summer vacations and future plans. 

Do you see the set up of this shot, guys?  Rachel chattering in the front while Kurt tries to be distracting in the background?  Well – get used to it, because this Hummelberry dynamic is going to drag us through the next two years, guys, lol.  No really – I enjoy Hummelberry in this episode, I do.  But we had no idea this was a set up for (I’m sure someone will argue me on this) the worst Kurt arc on the show – Getting into NYADA.  And, unfortunately, the Hummelberry dynamic (or more so the writer’s obsession with Rachel not being able to fail at anything) plays into that. 

Probably going off a rush of a summer where all they talked about was going to New York, Kurt and Rachel have all their future plans figured out.  They’re going to get a little apartment on the Lower West Side (yeah, sure), Rachel’s gonna be a big Broadway star, and Kurt’s gonna be married (legally!!!) by 30.  Yes – think about what is said here, I know Kurt has Broadway ambitions, too, but I find it funny that his dream aspirations include getting married.  

There are two key things I’d like to point about the whole marriage thing.  Kurt says by 30.  As we find in this season – not before 30 cause that is Too. Young.  But also.  Yes.  Kurt Hummel wants to get married.  And I’m pretty sure he already knows who his groom is going to be.  

But anyway, thinking about season 2, and how that started in such a dark place for Kurt, here we have the opposite – bright and shining optimism.  Oh, kiddo.  This really can only go down, can’t it. 

Purple Pianos

Kurt: Why’s the T-Rex eating the Jew?

It’s exposition dump time! As we get filled in that the Glee Club remains uncool after the Nationals debacle from last year.  Kurt gets his share of funny lines as we get filled in.  

Meanwhile – the glee club is three men down; Quinn pissed off the writers again, Lauren was fired, and Sam just couldn’t work out a contract deal.  So – Will gets the idea that placing purple pianos everywhere would inspire new people to join the club.  I’m not entirely sure how purple pianos are inspiring, but like Kurt, I’m totally on board with the whole thing.  

As seen in the background, the moment he can, he gets himself up and draped over one of the pianos. 

See – look how adorable he is on that piano!!! 

Anyway – Will bores us with another inspiration speech that means mostly nothing since no one joins glee club anyway…. 

NYADA – School for Witches

Lol – oh Kurt, you’re making the best faces in this episode so far….

First of all, let’s talk about the fact that Emma thought he and Rachel were dating (omg!), and the fact that he actually takes the pamphlet about ‘Me and My Hag’ (Lol).  Secondly, let’s talk about these sillies not doing their research on how Julliard is not a musical theater school.  At least Emma is doing the job she’s supposed to be doing in this episode! 

And then she steers them in the direction of New York Academy of Dramatic Arts.  Oh NYADA and my distaste for you begins, lol….  So, this particular school only takes 20 students a year.  Hmmm…  Looks a lot bigger than that in season 4 but whatever.  And the chances that two people from the same school and graduating year getting in? Doubtful.  But this is Glee, so here we go! 

Competitive Spirit

 It’s the first day of school, and Blaine is still a Warbler, but his resolve is crumbling because Kurt is very persistent (and flirty and adorable) in this scene. You know there’s some interesting meta floating around about this scene recently – about their competitive nature and about how Blaine really isn’t /that/ competitive, but Kurt totally is.  He doesn’t mind it at all, really, which means, in a way, that they’re on equal footing.  Ah, how that is all about to change. 

But what Kurt really wants is for Blaine to be around all the time so they can spend every minute of every day together.  Oh, Kurt.  Be careful what you wish for. But also – interestingly – they spent all the time together back when Kurt was at Dalton, and Kurt wants that little fairy tale to continue by bringing Blaine over to McKinley.  It’s obvious they talked about this at length over the summer, but I wonder what Kurt’s (more serious) arguments were for getting Blaine to come to public school. 

But anyway – the fun stuff – just how adorable and flirty these two are here! Hands might not have wandered south of the equator, but they were definitely up to stuff over the summer! 

We Got the Beat

I’ve always thought Kurt was very pretty in this scene.  

I should probably have more profound analysis.  

Well, there’s not much to say, other than Kurt’s used to being bullied by the school, and he’s not about to make himself a target by getting up and singing on the lunch tables, no matter how pretty the pianos are.  

Year 3 and Kurt’s still an awkward little dancer. <3 

This song is nice and fun and energetic.  Not really a favorite of mine, but man, what does it take to get this school into anything?  Geez! 

You know, for someone who is so particular about their clothes – I’m sure this is like the zombie apocalypse.  Poor Kurt. I love the food ray shield. 

You know, never once in all my schooling did I witness a food fight. 

Kurt is just not having it. 

Kurtcedes lives! If only to pass along exposition.  And to exchange bewildered looks as Sugar sings her god-awful song.  

You know it’s funny – I never noticed how seasons 2 and 3 (and 4 actually) openers have plotlines of – let’s open up glee club for everyone! Except not really because we’re a seclusive little bunch. 

Velma and Roxy

Small town is small after you’ve been to the big city.  But Kurt has a plan, that they’re gonna out preform all the other Ohio hopefuls so they can get a shot at their dreams.  I think, for the first time, I kinda get the purpose of this song (other than the blatant relation to Wicked and connection to season 2), but that they’re already counting in their victory against all the other hopefuls.  They’re putting their cart before the horse.  

Say what you will about Gay Hogwarts, NYADA does attract the witches….

The song itself is a little ridiculous but the performance is wonderful.  I love the choreography of this one.  And as always sound fantastic together, and this performance is no exception.  Say what you will about how Hummelberry was written – and I will say a lot over the next two seasons – Lea and Chris’s voices suit each other wonderful, and the show seems to latch on to that pretty well.  

Transfer

Not exactly a pic of Kurt, I know, but Blaine’s so frickin’ gorgeous in this scene.  And Kurt thinks so, too!! Look at that grin!  

But I’m kinda fascinated by this, now that I think of it, how Blaine’s all – check me out Kurt – in this kind of suave way.  And, oh Kurt, kind of caught up in his own drama to even notice that his boyfriend’s one outfit has changed.   

But, just, the excitement Kurt has when Blaine’s decided to transfer.  OMG! the boy is so happy.  

I love that Kurt has concerns – and they are so totally valid.  Blaine did transfer to be with Kurt, and that’s going to play a part in some of their bigger issues.  But for now, they can reveal in their happiness and not think at all about nasty, nasty break ups.  

And – getting Blaine into New Directions.  But since the only competition is Sugar, there really isn’t an issue here. 

Oh Kurt – so giddy that he’s once again getting sung to in the courtyard.  Can this year get any better?!?!  

Everything’s great util you light the piano on fire. 

Velma and Roxy II

Kurt and Rachel are so ready for this NYADA mixer! Only to find out that while at McKinley they might be special snowflakes, in the real world, they’re a dime a dozen.  I like the reality of this scene, tbh.  That you can give your 1 in a Billion speeches all you want, there’s always going to be someone else who seems like they’re more talented than you.  There are a lot of things Glee misses the mark on when it comes to college.  Or theater.  And this scene is a bit over the top.  But it does show that, hey, there are a ton of people trying to make it the same as you – and so you do have to ask yourself – do you have what it takes to compete? Or do you just walk away. 

I think now’s a good time to bring up the Glee Project.  I never watched it, tbh, so I can’t judge what kind of a show it was. But I’m not a fan of the results of the Glee Project.  And I don’t mean who won and who didn’t (Damien McGinty? Really?).  I mean that I have lots of problems with season 3.  But I think one of my biggest is that a show with a cast already overflowing now has to shoehorn these winners into the plot.  (I mean, think about how much space the show would have had without Rory)  Outside of Unique, I’m not really a fan of the characters that grew out of the Glee Project. 

That said, Lindsey Pierce was one of the winners, and her little moment to shine here seems perfect enough.  She’s a great vocalist, and I’m incredibly impressed by what she does here.  This performance is excellent.  

Anyway – going back to Kurt’s story.  It’s kinda hilarious how perfect a song choice this is – this group of kids basically stating that anything you guys can do Kurt and Rachel, we can do better.  Oh Glee with all its subtleties.  

So.  Kurt and Rachel make it back to the car and break down crying because that’s what happens when your optimistic view point gets smashed.  Poor kiddos.  

And then we get Kurt gives Rachel a pep talk v.2.0 (yes, i’ll be numbering these).  And it’s similar to the Born This Way talk – that Rachel is good enough to get in because she’s still special.  The thing, though, as much as I joke around, is that I do honestly like this scene.  Because Rachel is in Kurt’s corner, too, supporting him even though he’s down on himself for lack of extracurriculars.  The scene is a balanced one, where they both pull each other out of this dark place, and I can really do Hummelberry when this kind of thing happens. 

Gay High-five!!

You Can’t Stop the Beat

Oh, I have waited so long to screencap this.  There’s a gif out there that’s even funnier though.  

Anyway – there’s a ton crammed into this little scene.  Blaine joins glee club, which is yay!! But c’mon, Finn, you’re seriously having issues with Blaine possibly taking the spotlight when you and Rachel get all the solos? And Santana’s out for the week.  Why is she only out for one week? Who knows.  And then, finally, Kurt’s feeling ambitious and running for Student Body President, and Blaine’s super proud of him.  Can’t you tell by the still above?

But the moral of the story is you can pull all of the strings out of the purple piano but you can’t pull out it’s music.  Or, er,  something like that.  

Kurt’s feeling light and airy after that handjob.  Oh, wait, nope. 

It’s funny, I think this episode still holds up.  It’s crammed full of things, almost to a fault, but is still funny and endearing and services all the storylines it’s going to be presenting during the first third of the season.  I still really enjoy this episode even if season 3 goes mostly downward for me from here. 

It’s Season 3 people. Bam!

[kinsbin]

Champagne and Jealousy

Title: Champagne and Jealousy Word Count:  2087 Ship: Alexys/Lance [Canon/Self Insert]

Summary: At an awards show for Grave Encounters, Alexys runs into a fan that gets a little too interested in her. Lance comes to shoo him away, with a surprising admittance that, perhaps, it was because he was a bit jealous of her giving attention to someone else. 

Author’s Note: A writing comm for @bad-blue-moon-rising who requested some jealous Lance. It was super fun to write and I had a good time. I hope you enjoy it ;u;)b

Alexys had never thought too much about the concept of jealousy.

It was familiar, sure, but only in fiction. Novels and books had bestowed upon her the concept of it in association with fairy tales. To her, jealousy was associated with prompts in fairy tales. Where wicked queens grew jealous of their step daughter’s beauty and locked them away from the world, convincing them they were ugly until the handsome prince swooped in and freed them from the lifetime of stockholm abuse. It was used in horror movies, where a killer got jealous of their crushes potential love interest and chose to sneak into their house in the dead of night to murder them, approaching their crush with a blood soaked front only to be rejected and forced to kill the other as well in a fit of overwhelming heartbreak. Neither situation was desirable nor attractive to her and, thus, she had separated them far from the reality of life. In the vast distance between the space of comfort and like. It almost felt like a made up emotion at this point. Something fake and far away.

Until it happened, of course.

Lance sported a rather nice tuxedo, his face freshly shaven as a hand holstered a champagne glass between its fingers. Alexys stood at his side, accepting a similar glass from the approaching wait staff but never actually reaching for a sip, the smell of the liquid already moderately repulsing. It was, at least, beautiful to look at. The bubbles floated lackadaisicaly against the edges of the crystal finery, dissipating once they hit the top of the surface and popped with a satisfying, carbonated sizzle. It faded away amongst the cacophony of echoes that rang solidly throughout the rest of the large ballroom. Shifting from foot to foot, Alexys couldn’t help but feel slightly awkward in the knee-length gown she had chosen to wear to the event her boyfriend had invited her to.

The black and white attire television awards show was invitation only, after all. Grave Encounters had caught a lot of interest after several of its episodes became surprisingly prevalent in the ghost hunting and scientific community alike, hoaxes dismissed in favor of later episodes that were proven to be more real than ever before. It was enough to bring notice (and ratings) to the humble program, allowing it to slide into the contending of an Emmy Award for ‘Best Supernatural Reality Show’.  A prestigious honor, that was certainly, but also...an incredibly nerve wracking one.

A hand slid around her waist, a kiss pressing into her forehead as she felt Lance chuckle at her side.

“I’m the one about to get either celebrated or demolished in the public eye and you look like you’re going to vomit way before I am,” His tone was teasing as he nudged at her side gently with his hip, “You need to take a deep breath before you forget how to breathe, babe.”

“I can breathe just fine!” Alexys argued back with a mumble, brushing some hair behind her head and wrinkling her nose at the champagne again. Lance took a deep swig of his, draining the glass in a single chug and looking at Alexys’ own glass wearily. With a breath of defeat, she simply handed it to him, ignoring the grin of delight he wore as he accepted it and drained it as well, handing them off to a passing waiter in the process.

“I just,” Alexys started while biting at her lip, “Don’t like parties too much that’s all. So many people...so many people I don’t know and. It’s always so LOUD all the time and-.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Lance murmured as a hand slid from her waist to her shoulder, bringing her close with a knit to his eyebrows that expressed concern, “I know, and, it means so much that you came with me to this, honestly, it does...I promise, once we’re called up and after whatever happens on that stage, I’ll take you right home and we can crawl into bed and watch whatever movie you want, huh? I’ll even let the cats on the bed this time.”

“You see, you always SAY the cat’s aren’t allowed on the bed, but, every time I come home you’re always just laying on your back while all four of them are sitting on your chest purring at the same time. I feel like there’s a sort of conspiracy going on here.”

“They trick me into it!”

Alexys giggled, the light banter between the two of theme asing her nerves as the before party continued on, a multitude of guests and television stars alike chugging down the offered alcohol and food like there was no next day. Yet, with Lance, she felt grounded. She felt safe and with, at least, familiar people in an unfamiliar environment. She touched at his shoulder gently, desperate for the soft contact.

A photographer approached, echoing a constantly stated call for the group to line up so that he could take a photo for them for the local awards newspaper and events twitter. That it would take a few minutes so they were advised to finish whatever drinks or food they had on their person. Lance took a breath, looking over and giving Alexys a smile. “I’ll be right back, babe,” He spoke with a kiss to her temple yet again, “Stay right here. Or go chasing after some good hour d'oeuvres and bring them back for me okay?”

“Aye-Aye, captain.” Alexys laughed as he was taken away with the rest of the Grave Encounters crew. Alexys sighed and walked towards the nearby bar countertop, leaning against it and rolling one of her ankles, tired from standing even if she had cheated and wore converse with the sleek dress she had chosen. The music of the event hummed in her veins as she people watched, waiting patiently for the group she had come in with to return.

A shadow blocked her way shortly though, tall and almost intimidating in its placement. Alexys jumped in surprise, whirling around with wide blue eyes.

The man standing before her was big, almost meek looking as he held up both of his hands out to her in a signal that he meant no harm. The scruff on his face was finely groomed and appealing in a rugged sort of way. His eyes were bright blue, almost ice against his warmer shaded skin.

“Hey, woah,” He laughed, “Sorry to startle you, Dove. I just...noticed you standing around by yourself, looked like you could use some company.”

“Oh,” Alexys hummed awkwardly, “I was just...My group went to take some pictures with the camera guy and-”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “The Grave Encounters crew, right? You’re Lance Preston’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She blinked, surprised, “How’d you know?”

“Recognized you from some of those few episodes you appeared on,” The man grinned at her, “Though I gotta say you’re way prettier in person.”

Alexys blushed, discomfort mixing with flattery as the man leaned, perhaps, a bit too close to her for comfort. Red flags sung like warning bells in the back of her mind as she tried to step a little further to the side of him, hands falling together to fiddle with one another before clearing her throat softly, an effort to make sure her tone held no sign of stuttering for the polite refusal she was about to have to go on.

“Uh, yeah,” She managed out with a laugh, “Look, my boyfriend will be back in a second and-”

He reached out, touching her hand and sending shudders up her spine. His smile was sickeningly sweet.

“Why the rush? I thought I’d get to know you a bit better if I could...what, that stuck up ghost hunter’s better than a conversation with a fan?”

Alexys laughed and pat his hand in return, “No, not that. I just didn’t wanna be separated for too long and-”

A hand flew onto the man’s shoulders, a familiar voice laced with what she could only described as edged jealousy echoing hard against the backdrop of their conversation:

“She said she wanted to go look for me, you really should respect a gal’s decisions. Sides, I prefer ‘confident’ over stuck up.”

The man turned, seeing Lance’s face dark with annoyance at him. HIs own eyes narrowed sharply as he released Alexys, the two squaring one another up too close to be considered anything friendly. This is what it must have felt like, she imagined, to be stuck between two bears vying for control of a food supply. The power between them was bulking and immeasurable as the man quirked an eyebrow at Lance, his smile only thin and formal over friendly and wanting as he had been with Alexys.

“A right prick is what you are. What, can’t let your girlfriend converse with a fan?”

“When the fan is trying to hit on her and drag her away when she’s uncomfortable,” Lance retorted, making sure to put himself between them both, “Yeah, guess I have a hard time letting go.”

His hand snuck around her waist, bringing her close to him as if to prove the point he had made in his voice. Alexys blushed as she was held, so possessive and warmly, against Lance’s body. The other man glared at Lance for a moment, Lance returning it with his own tight, show-stopping smile while he reached out and gave the man a pat on his shoulder. “It’s about time for the show to start, big guy, why don’t you find your seat?”

“Tch, whatever.” The man backed off at last, seeing not only the rest of the Grave Encounters crew huddle slightly around, but the eyes of the security guards faintly chasing him as he limped away. Lance turned to Alexys, a hand touching her cheek as she looked up at him with a smile. “You good?” He asked, the possessive edge still in his voice.

“Yeah,” She sighed while leaning into the touch, “What made you rush back so fast?”

“I-” Lance’s face turned red as he rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand, “Saw the guy talking to you and….Uh….I got a sort of sixth sense for it I guess?”

“He was jealous as fuck that’s what he was.” Sasha chimed from across the table before moving on, a champagne glass in her hand and a knowing smile on her lips while Lance shot her a ‘how could you’ look of betrayal rivaling that of a kicked puppies. Alexys grinned herself, reaching out and giving him a hug to which he returned. “Jealous? Really?” Alexys couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in her mouth as she tilted her head up at him, “I….why would you get jealous?”

“Because you’re MY beautiful girlfriend, not his!” Lance pouted back, “Pardon me if I think other people hitting on you isn’t that wonderful.”

“...b-beautiful?”

The two were staring down at one another now, eyes wide as he had realized what he said. A smile formed again on his lips. Lance took the moment to lean forward, capturing Alexys in a hot and needy kiss. One that seemed to pour all of the passion he had between them. She could feel the chapped texture of his lips. Taste the bubbling champagne and leftover strawberries of their celebration dessert the night before. The scent that she got was of his cologne and the leather of a jacket he had worn to keep warm earlier in the cab ride there. It was so uniquely and overwhelmingly Lance that she couldn’t help but fall into it, even as he pulled away. Breath hot on her lips, he murmured words only she could hear:

“The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen or been with,” He admitted with a smirk, “I love you. And I’m happy to prove it to any dicks who try to get in our way.”

Alexys blushed as she was kissed again, warmly and possessively, until the echoes of the team to ‘get a room’ separated them. As Lance blushed and she laughed, she finally came to terms with the concept of jealousy once again in the real world.

Perhaps it wasn’t too real to her, but, it was real to others...and if it meant Lance kissing her like that more often, well, she couldn’t say it was a bad thing.

[sunnysynthsunshine]

3rd Comedy Monologue

“Do any of you remember Rugrats?”

“The 90s cartoon about talking babies that went on adventures”

“Yeah well you know Angelica the whiny,spoiled character?”

“I actually kind of liked her maybe it’s because I related to her when I was little or maybe it’s because I liked how cool she was she was able to tell the babies about stuff they didn’t know about, playing a part in their imagination.”

Anyways speaking of children,they’re alright and they are usually one of the following

“Mummy Daddy why do they get to pick a sweet not me what did I do?”

“Waaaa I want that I want that”

“Hi there, do you want to play?

“Your good at art,I couldn’t draw like that”

“Thank you young soul you are too pure for this world”

Me on the other hand,was a whinging cowardly little sod

Now I’m not a child anymore but I am still mistaken as one

Yeah,that happens

17/18 years old,old enough to vote,old enough to drive,old enough to move house & old enough to realise my phases of being a tory “skeptic” were pointless

Yet sometimes people still think I’m someone who likes ice-cream,toys and video games

Well I mean I do like those things I’m sure some of you like those things too

We are children at heart but physically and mentally we evolve and learn with time

I’ll be an young adult,and I love it I might not have a place of my own yet but I love being able to learn new things and see new places I couldn’t see when I was a kid.

Then again my teenhood wasn’t that good either because I had a developmental condition that made me different than others mentally,my interests were very intense and I got panic feelings when around crowds or in difficult situations

My primary school classmates liked JLS,Partying and other things that I didn’t like or couldn’t do

While now I’m warming up to certain things I’m still happy I didn’t like JLS.

I on the other hand, liked the sims 3,dolls,the 1980s,old cartoons and films.

So...a game where you become God,plastic models,the age of neon graphic design, and innovative video games and...yeah that hasn’t changed has it?

Well I don’t play the sims anymore,my laptop has no cd rom drive,I used up the data on my old one, from downloads I’d buy from the exchange store

Sims also was one of the few things that got me into my “emo�� phase

I’d be looking at sims videos on youtube they’d usually be very sad and in the background there’d be evanescence,my chemical romance or avril lavigne

I’d be sitting at the back of the living room at a gathering and I’d be listening to Sims 2 sad story part 1 because it had good music. I later learned the names and that I was a bit of a goth,a emo,a metalhead because I liked gothic and j-metal any of that.

Dolls…..

now this was embarrassing I’m sure we all have those songs where as soon as you hear them you feel a film reel of negative memories return. For me that was

Barbie Girl by Aqua, weird because aqua are a good band,but that song oh that song it was so annoying

Picture this

Someone in their final primary school years, who still collects dolls,

Now!  Would you ignore that or would you use that outdated song as a way to mock them because they were still enjoying a thing, meant for children.

I received the latter,because of that when I’d hear people sing that song simply just because they liked it I’d get confused and offended a similar thing happened with my little pony

I used to sing and perform for people in the playgrounds other times I’d keep to myself

I loved my little pony before the new wave I loved rewatching episodes of the old 80s mlp series of goblins,witches and giants...oops that was a different show I was describing there

And one of the songs I’d perform was the original theme song

My Little Pony~ My Little Pony~

What will today’s adventure be?

My Little Pony…My Little Pony

Will there be exciting sights to see?

Nope to some of my primary school audience the lyrics were

“My little pony skinny and boney”

*sarcastic deadpan laugh*

Ha ha ha,  

Then again I wasn’t much better

I used to make youtube videos with those “dolls”

They weren’t very good

They had bad editing and barely any plot beyond badly structured fourth wall jokes

Yet I wanted the whole internet to know about them even if they weren’t interested

I was a easy target and while I did get tired of that,change interests and go into a different fandom direction

Some things were still the same

I was still cowardly,weak and timid and that was a problem

I was always following others,I didn’t make my decisions often,because of the condition and my own loneliness I couldn’t do things other teenagers could.

I never had a sleepover,I never had a crush that wasn’t one-sided and I didn’t have much independence

Even when I did have “friends” those friends I would later learn were not nice making me believe I had wasted years that I couldn’t get back.

On...the topic of regrets, dance  something I sometimes enjoy but when I studied performing Arts it was what I dreaded…

Note I’m ok with  anyone who does like to dance,party or do any of those things

I would just try to take part like everyone else but many times I was put aside or embarrassed in front of the others because of either me having a meltdown or because “my timing was off”

Yes,he did teach me some cool moves and I am more supple now but that was the content and even if I was crap I knew it and tried to practice

Everyday I’d practice each technical exercise and routine but it was still not good enough.in fact it was because of that and other reasons that I couldn’t do that course anymore

All because of,of….Craig Revel Hor not him but he was like him.

Because of that I had to take saturday dance classes...those weren’t fun

The most fun I had was from the songs we danced to and the few positive examples of small talk I attempted with the people there.

Otherwise it was not good...me and little kids specifically loud hyper kids don’t always go well when in the same place..again my timing was off it wasn’t told but I could tell

One of the moments I hated the most was the headshot day

Now we were supposed to just be getting photos taken but the photographer noticed I was shorter than she thought.I laughed it off because I know I’m short but then what did she say in response…

“Your a wee bit vertically challenged”

EXCUSE ME

Now,I may be short but in a class of kids and teens of different ages and heights I was far from the shortest person there.

When I was a teenager I wasn’t a proper teenager the only things that made me a teenager was my age,my angsty attitude and the drama I got into involving political meme posters and anime roleplayers.

The less I say about that the better

So while all the “adults” were telling me to beware of the adult years because of

Oooh responsibilities...ooooh independence ooooh….education

Honestly  it’s ok for me so far I’m a fairly organized person so studying is good,I did a assistant stage managing gig for a west side story production which was class by the way and I think i’ll feel a lot happier as a adult.

I have not much to mock about today my political jabs are sometimes good other times they’re like a bad Ben Elton joke on Saturday Live.

“Ha teresa may is like the wicked queen from snow white when she’s in disguise”

yeah? …..and  You look like you could front the band Wings mate

(pause)

Speaking of a bad Ben Elton joke

“Oh I never really understood the whole “comedy” business I always prefered being a bit of a writer and I think now with Bohemian Rhapsody being out that those critics will think

We Will Rock You wasn’t that bad.”

Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a show that layered it’s satire of the mainstream establishment under a sitcom narrative about alternative young adult characters where the comedy was good

for once

Once in every life time

Comes a moment like this

Oh I need you, you need me,

Oh my darling can't you see.

Young Ones.

Darling we're The Young Ones.

The Young Ones.

That show,oh I only watched last year but I have so many words

The jokes,the satire,the characters,the setting,the fact it still holds up

I found that show at the right time

It was august 2017

I had finished my GCSE’s,I had left a manipulative friendship and I felt horrible

When I’d go to the cinema people were making noise and I would remember the panic more than the film itself *coughs* Spiderman homecoming

I felt like I didn’t know how to laugh anymore

Summertime sadness

When edgy me came across ben elton’s ronnie barker memorial lecture

Being a fan of Porridge and Open All hours I listened and after hearing about a certain sitcom  I started watching...The Young Ones...and it was out of this world

I roared with laughter with each episode,I related to the characters and I felt a connection of some sort

Researching more about the “alternative comedy” genre and I saw a familiar name

I learned I had seen some of his work before,he was the andrex puppy,he was in that king Arthur cartoon and he was in that drop dead fred movie I didn’t watch just because internet critics said it was one of the biggest cinematic flops ever….

Yet I never knew his name until then and I’m still not over that

I looked up his other work,where he was richie,richie rich,lord flashheart and a b’stard of a conservative

(which I would later try to do an impression of, on my final girls brigade show.)

So many thoughts,so many emotions he changed my life

Many things and people have. He is one of them  

his work was incredible and iconic  and his mantras are very inspirational and useful. He made me realise a lot of things about life,my love of his work also resulted in me meeting most of the friends I have now.

It’s 2019 and I’m now the anarchist I always wanted to be,I’m out of my shell, a bat out of hell,I followed others for too long but I’m my own person now that’s who I will always be

Now say it with me   Young Ones..

You shouldn't be afraid.

To live, love, there's a song to be sung.

Cause we may not

Be The Young Ones

very long.

Oh,Doctor Rik.Mayall we miss you,you bastard

The world wasn’t as much of a crap place when you were there to cheer us up

But your still here spiritually in her hearts

As you said yourself we still have your shows  and poems

Now!  all you punks,skins,rastas,emos,hipsters,creators,viewers,performers,entertainers,observers and fellow peoples poets

let’s gather round and hold our hands in sorrow for our fallen leader

Love is the answer!  Goodnight

[ifthenslashers]

[Archive] Backstage with Anthony Rapp of If/Then

by Christopher Henley, DC Theatre Scene [Nov 6, 2013]

On a recent evening, he was at the National Theatre. Along with the rest of the If/Then company, he was rehearsing that show’s finale. He told me about looking out into the audience, empty of patrons, and imagining the seats filled.

For some actors at certain times, the prospect of being pulled out of the cocoon of the rehearsal room and onto the stage in front of a ticket-buying audience is nerve-wracking, if not terrifying. Rapp, however, told me how anxious he is to see those seats filled. And audiences are anxious for the curtain to be pulled back on such an unusually mysterious project.

Rapp said that the If/Then team has been working “super hard” for two years on the piece, as it has gone through development and been work-shopped. Sure, they’ve gotten feedback from a lot of sources during that process. But now he is “supremely eager” to test the work before the “new eyes and ears” belonging to the folks who will be filing into the National to see that increasingly rare occurrence, the out-of-town tryout of a new Broadway musical. After all, he told me, no matter how confidant anyone is about the strength of the piece, you can’t really know what you have until an audience is experiencing and responding to the work.

Since it was announced that If/Then would play here on its way to New York, it’s been just about the most eagerly anticipated event of the DC theatre season. It marks the first return to Broadway of Idina Menzel since her Tony-winning turn in the mega-hit Wicked. It’s the follow-up project by composer Tom Kitt and writer Brian Yorkey, the team that scored a surprising triumph with Next to Normal. (Its path to Broadway success, of course, had an important Washington stop along the way, at Arena Stage, before going on to New York, a Tony, and a Pulitzer.) And it reunites Menzel not only with Michael Grieff, the director of Rent, the phenom which put them both on the map, but also with one of her co-stars from that legendary show, Anthony Rapp.

Unlike either Rent or Next to Normal, If/Then is not part of the current trend of sung-through musicals. Though a couple of songs weave in and out of scenes, the show is a more traditional book musical, with dialogue separating the musical numbers. That formal structure, Rapp said, is the extent to which the piece is traditional. In terms of subject matter and style, it’s not your typical Broadway musical. Like Next to Normal, and the plot secrecy notwithstanding, it seems clear that this musical is more character-driven than plot-driven, more focused on the challenges of contemporary urban life than on the sort of “Life’s a banquet” affirmation that marks many a hit musical.

Part of the fun of seeing a show before its Broadway opening is comparing what you are seeing to the eventual settled show that opens on Broadway and is recorded for the original cast album. I remember a number from Mack and Mabel during which Lisa Kirk and the company sang to Robert Preston something like “Get her back!”; that song was cut before the Broadway opening. Also, my memory of “Chrysanthemum Tea” from Pacific Overtures is that it was a very, very different song when it played the Kennedy Center than when it was recorded on the album.

So, is the show in a state of flux? Rapp said changes involving structure and story order are theoretically possible. However, and more importantly, the foundation of the piece, its core, is very much the same as it has been throughout development. Changes have been made to some of the staging and to small bits of dialogue or lyrics. Director Grieff, according to Rapp, keeps honing away, keeps experimenting, but what’s been going on at the National is closer to fine-tuning than to overhauling.

As I said, Anthony Rapp is ready. And he feels as if If/Then is ready.

“It’s incredible material. It’s not like anything else out there. It builds on the history of musical theatre, but, really, it’s its own creation. It’s working on levels not typical to a musical. I think it will connect to people in a meaningful way.”

Added to all of this excitement, there is, as I said, an unusual amount of mystery surrounding the piece. Details about the plot are being tightly held, reminding me of the Woody Allen movies whose titles and plot points can remain unknown until the last moment. We know that Menzel plays a woman moving back to NYC from Phoenix. We know that she reconnects with Lucas, a college friend, played by Rapp. He’s a housing activist who lives in Brooklyn. (After all, in the early part of this century, the geographic center of la vie Boheme has shifted from the East Village across the East River.) Beyond that? “I can’t comment on the plot,” Rapp told me, before relenting a bit and offering that Menzel’s character and his had a “romantic history in college.”

Rapp and I talked about the much-discussed dynamic of how Internet buzz can negatively frame attitudes toward developing projects, particularly musicals.  Describing the If/Then process as two years of being “hermetically sealed” and “keeping a lid on things,” Rapp stresses that it isn’t because they have anything to hide (although obviously there is an interest in retaining some surprise regarding plot points) or that they are ashamed of anything. However, he acknowledges that a certain amount of protectiveness of the process is a necessity as a project is being incubated. Calling that protective impulse a calculated risk (presumably because it could provoke speculation and assumption), he stresses again how much he and his colleagues believe in the piece.

Rapp has been on an out-of-town pre-Broadway tour before, but that show was a revival (You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown), not an original piece. Although he says that substantial changes were made to it during a four-city tour, it’s not the same thing as taking an original piece to a close-by, classic tryout town. If/Then is his first experience of that.

Regarding his colleague Menzel, Rapp said that protagonist Elizabeth is a great role for her. She is on-stage for nearly the entire show. Menzel is “a force of nature” and her participation has engendered a great deal of interest in the project. Rapp, though, told me that, for his part, it’s a relief to have a good supporting role, and, presumably, not to have the stress of carrying the entire project on his shoulders. And he’s looking very much forward to the Broadway run. He’s been traveling a lot recently and is happily anticipating falling into the rhythm of doing eight shows a week during an open-ended run in the city he calls home. The cast have year-long contracts. (That’s five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, if you’re counting.) And this supporting role in a project that so genuinely engages him is also giving him a breather from a different project that has been simmering on another burner, his one-man show.

In 2006, Rapp published Without You: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and the Musical Rent. (The “loss” of the title refers to the death of his Mother.) Between roles and other performances (he famously does concert dates with another Rent alum, Adam Pascal), Rapp has developed a performance piece based on that book, and he is anxious for more productions of it, especially a run in NYC. In fact, he got close to that New York run earlier this year. However, the preferred venue ended up being unavailable, and then the dates for If/Then fell into place, so the NYC run of Without You is back-burnered for now.

It isn’t a surprise that Rapp has writing as well as performing skills, since his brother is the acclaimed playwright Adam Rapp. Anthony Rapp has had roles in both of Adam’s films. When I asked him why he is in both of the films, but hasn’t been in his brother’s plays, Anthony responded that some of that is schedule, some is because there aren’t always appropriate roles, but then points out that he did the West Coast premiere of Nocturne, Adam’s play about a young man who has accidentally killed his sister. (DC audiences may have seen the Studio 2ndStage production with Scott Fortier in 2002.) Anthony Rapp spoke enthusiastically about how much he admires his brother’s work, and “not just because he’s my brother.” He added that he is thrilled that so many others share that enthusiasm.

Rapp’s own musical tastes aren’t show-tune heavy. He told me that he likes the classics (and mentions West Side Story and A Chorus Line) and that he loves a great Broadway show. But as regards theatre music, what excites him are the shows since Rent and like Rent (and he mentions Once and Spring Awakening, in addition to Next to Normal) that work in a more modern idiom than the traditional hummable show tune-scored show. There will likely still be the adaptations of hit movies and the juke-box musicals, but what engages him are the projects that are more artistically forward looking than those safer prospects.

A friend told me that Rapp was in the Shakespeare Theatre Company lobby at the last performance of Measure for Measure and that he was rocking a beard. I asked if that was part of his calculus in taking the role of Lucas in If/Then. Perhaps, I thought, since he possesses such a youthful vibe and has an association with the show that might be called the Hair (or iconically youth-oriented hit) of the 90s, he was, as he entered his 40s, intending to cultivate an, um, more mature image. Rapp disabuses my Machiavellian insight. What appeals to him is a good role in a good show. He likes to work, he told me. Maybe he should be more “career savvy,” he said, and make calculations along those lines. But he doesn’t.

I asked Rapp, as he is in the trenches of the birthin’ of this new musical baby, to what extent eventual success is apparent at this point in a process. While noting that one never knows, he shared memories of the landmark and legendary works on which he was a collaborator. After all, he was in the original cast of the era-defining musical of the 1990s, as well as one of the few contemporary plays whose title concept has become a household phrase. He said that Six Degrees of Separation was close to perfection at the first read. Later, the audience at the invited dress rehearsal “went bananas.” It was similar with Rent. In the rehearsal room on day one, rehearsing “Seasons of Love,” he had the sense of something really extraordinary, a sense that “this was going to be an event.”

Rapp and I talked about how interesting it is that he has continued to collaborate with so many of the same people: Menzel and Grief here; Pascal during their tours; Rapp even assistant directing for Grief on Next to Normal during its initial NYC run at New York’s Second Stage. He spoke of how the trust, friendship, and intimacy among friends feeds collaborations like those, and how it inspires them to achieve their best work.

Rapp is thoughtful, articulate, and intelligent, and he makes a point of qualifying his remarks: “I can only speak for myself,” he will say; and, despite his palpable enthusiasm regarding If/Then, he stresses that you never know about the commercial prospects for a show.  You do know, though, how much he believes that, whatever the eventual reception of If/Then, it is artistically satisfying for the actor playing Lucas.

This run of If/Then will be the longest Rapp has stayed in DC. He hasn’t had much time to do anything else yet. During the couple of weeks of the run after its official opening, perhaps he’ll have the chance to explore the city more. Still, he has been impressed with it as a “sophisticated theatre city” and one that is “not unwilling to see something different.”

The other big story regarding If/Then is the return of the National Theatre as a tryout house. Rapp rhapsodizes about the theatre; about how close its back walls are to the stage, providing a much more intimate experience for the audience than they receive in some of the bigger Broadway houses.

A return to the Golden Age of the National?

All of this gets me nostalgic about my own theatre-going history at the National. I remember going to see the legendary Katherine Hepburn in A Matter of Gravity, only to realize, a few months later, that the unknown actor playing her nephew had become a movie star: Christopher Reeve. I remember sitting in the second balcony and seeing one man, one voice, fill the building more completely than a cast of dozens, watching James Earl Jones do his solo piece Paul Robeson. I remember seeing Helen Hayes sitting in a box during the awards ceremony that bears her name and her mentor Eva Le Gallienne giving a breathtakingly moving performance in the same building in The Royal Family a few years earlier.

A favorite tactic of mine was to buy cheap seats in the balcony, and then move down to empty orchestra seats. Yes, a settee blocked some of the action in Amadeus, but I remember watching Ian McKellen, during the very first U.S. preview, do those hairpin transitions from soliloquy to scene a mere few feet from me. Sometimes those orchestra seats were empty because they had views of the backstage. I remember seeing Eartha Kitt preparing for an entrance in Timbuktu. The contrast between her imperious character on-stage and the vulnerability, almost tentativeness, of her standing offstage will stay with me forever.

But enough about the past. If/Then is here, now, in the present and opened for previews last night.

[modernart2012]

Distant Places (All These Things I’ve Done)

@sumigakure​ Halloween Event 2017

Prompt 15: This Town Isn’t What it Seems

Prompt 12: Character finds out they’re a Supernatural Creature

Word Count: 15944

Rating: Mature

WARNING DESCRIPTION OF PANIC ATTACK

On AO3

 “Here we are Kakashi.” Sakumo sets down the final box in the gekkan; the rest are stacked pathetically, clinically in neat rows across part of the length of the hall. His son looks around silently, moving ninja quiet around the room trailing Fluffy and Pakkun behind like mismatched lion dogs from the front of a temple made flesh. His heart constricts heavily in his chest, everything about the scene painfully wrong. The neat and orderly boxes, the pervasive ringing silence, the way his genius son was simply nonverbal and constantly huddled in his mother's oversized scarf. Chiasa should have been here, should be laughing and teasing and failing to parse out her own handwriting on the boxes even though the boxes were always mislabeled and it wouldn’t matter which one was opened first anyways.

 He breathes in deep, slow and even like the military had taught him when he was in basic training, like the therapists taught him when the world was too overwhelming and threatening to drown him alive, and tries to let go. Chiasa had probably befriended all the dogs (or wolves, or foxes, or hyenas, or whatever canine she stumbled across) on her way through the Earth God’s Halls, leading a massive pack to the Lady of Death to await judgement and reincarnation. Four Almighty, she’d probably act as advocate for the dogs to be reincarnated into better lives, fight the Lady of Death herself. It wouldn’t help any to clutch desperately at her soul with his regrets; she deserved to go in peace after so long without, deserved better than to be tethered to this world to turn into a vengeful ghost instead of journeying on to the next life. He has things to focus on here and now, does not have time to dwell on the past and what is irreversible. Breathe in 4, breathe out 7, and turn to the future.

 “Kakashi, would you like to light the flame?” The lamp had been the only item he had carried outside of a box, the thing he had Kakashi place first in the shrive alcove by the fireplace in the living room. It should have been the first thing done, the flame lit and the prayers of blessing sung while smudging incense and lavender through the house, but Sakumo hoped the Fire God would give them a pass. Funerals and mourning were in there on the list of the Interdictions, right, where allowances were made for not strictly following the ceremonies and rituals? Kakashi nods, and barely touches a finger to the clarified butter soaked wick before it sparks up and burns true. Sakumo takes out the jasmine incense Chiasa had loved, and lights a stick to place inside the incense holder, then passes the item to Kakashi. “Once round the house, in all the rooms, and round the garden too. You don’t have to say the prayers, thinking them is fine,” Sakumo is quick to add that last bit. The therapists said Kakashi would speak again when he wanted to, and to not add pressure of speaking before Kakashi was ready on his own. Three deaths so quickly, one right after the other, deaths of people they were both close to; it was a lot of grief to process no matter how long ago it happened, and it didn’t harm anyone to let his son work through it like this. Kakashi nods and goes off, still trailing Pakkun like a vigilant shadow. Fuzzy settles down in the hall with a quiet boof, and he softly pets her cloud white head before getting on with his tasks.

 He’s just getting done with scrubbing down the still and sweep of the front door when Dai finally gets there. “Sakumo!” He’s enveloped in green and toned muscles before he can think about it. “I’ve missed you, my old friend.” Sakumo doesn’t answer, the words are unnecessary; he loosens the tension of his frame and hugs back. Clings to the solidness of Dai and the easy affection he offers, the warm port in the storm of his emotions churning like the wine-dark sea. Sakumo’s suffused with gratefulness; it was a good idea to move to the new Ranger station here with Dai, even if the job was technically to watch over some academic as they handled ...      something    .

 It’s above his paygrade to worry about, anyways, since all he needs to know is that the government is very interested in making sure whatever the project is is kept quiet and delivered to the military upon completion. It’s a stable, relatively non-dangerous position that means he can stay with his son and process the most recent loss, that of his wife without worrying about being shot by the enemy. Especially since his senses have been going haywire recently. Sakumo can smell that Dai had an oat kale banana almond protein shake this morning, had hugged someone who smelled like him yet subtly different and someone not - Gai, most likely, then Hisako- and paused somewhere with a lot of minerals. It bothers his nose, and Sakumo has to pull away to sneeze several times in quick succession to clear out his sinuses. Dai, of the same school of thought as their late C.O., whacks him heartily on the back, “There, there, get it out of your system.” Because sneezes originated in the chest and needed to be gotten out like a cough, according to Old Butsuma Senju - he had treated his lung cancer the same way, and died of it, the crotchety old bastard. As if summoned, Kakashi materializes at the base of the stairs, gaze unwaveringly on Sakumo and shifting on his feet like he wants to drift closer but doesn’t know if he should, if he would be welcome. He'd begun hovering over Sakumo at the slightest indication of illness too, but Sakumo didn't mind. He knew he'd do the same, probably would with the chill of the fall setting in given Kakashi’s penchant for catching colds.

 “Come on in Dai,” Sakumo offers, slowly making his way down the hall towards the kitchen, only pausing to ruffle Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi pushes up into the touch momentarily, then brushes by to retreat into the living room. Fuzzy turns her head just so, creating a depression where Pakkun can trip himself into, curl up snug and warm in her fur, and such that she can keep an eye on Kakashi. She’s never been trained in childcare, just picked up on it naturally, instinct running high when Kakashi was born and has kept up ever since. “I’m sorry, we don’t have much yet, I have yet to make it to the grocery store, but I can make tea?”

 Dai waves him off, “Don’t worry about it; I’m here to help you unpack and settle in.” Dai pushes a slim emerald green box tied in black ribbon across the corners. It rattles ominously, probably amythest, a piece of amber, malachite, black jasper, and beryl - stones for healing, for strength, for emotional cleansing and stability. Good stones for mourning, good stones for the shrine, to remember by. “Hisako is going to bring Gai and groceries later today, so let’s try to get at least the ground floor cleaned and set up.” Of course Dai would bring a traditional gift, and of course he would make nothing of it. Wouldn't even repeat the ritual phrases because Dai knew Sakumo hadn't found any comfort in them the first time with his father, or the second with his mother-in-law, or the third with Chiasa. It was uncool to do something when you know it wouldn't help. Didn't go with his nice guy aesthetic. Sakumo swallows down a choked sob, inhales for a count of 4, exhales a count of 7, and focuses on the task of setting up a house.

 “I was hoping to scrub down the floors and refinish them, at least while the floors are bare,” Sakumo offers in return. Dai will hear what he isn’t saying, that he’s restless and needs the physicality of labor to keep himself here. Dai’s not a stranger to Sakumo’s bouts of depression, of his techniques for self-care and processing emotions, been on the receiving end of his need to clean and organize many different times in their long friendship. Wallowing has never done anything for him, and right now he could use a distraction from the awful grasp of sadness rolling around his skull.

 Dai nods after a moment of careful consideration. “We’ll need to put up an iron horseshoe over the door first - local custom - then we can go to the hardware store for scrubbers, wood stain, and wood wax. The Doctor’s lab is right there, so I can introduce you then as well.”

 Sakumo hasn’t heard of the iron horseshoe superstition in anything but faerie tales, “You’ll have to appraise me of all the local customs, then.” It’s been years since he last heard one of those stories; Kakashi had quickly and effectively demonstrated his disdain for anything lacking in canine characters in stories as a child, and once he had figured out how to read, well, it was hard to lie about which characters were dogs when Kakashi could figure it out with a quick glance at the page. Dai strikes his signature ‘nice guy’ pose, and Sakumo hopes there’s a guide, if Dai is striking his pose of ‘working hard and showing results’. Maybe the locals are just really old-fashioned and uphold long-dead ancient traditions?

 The hardware store has eclectic ‘home security’ and ‘home improvement’ sections, an anachronistic array of modern and old items that constitute some value of security or improvement from salt lamps and iron to seals and normal electronic security measures. Sakumo wisely doesn't comment, because he's here for the foreseeable future and making enemies with the hardware store is a slippery slope to having the whole town against you. Local business owners are the ones to be in good with, especially in small towns out in the forest. He's looking forward to a long continued relationship with them, and his life.

 He leaves Kakashi, Pakkun, and Fuzzy on the porch of the Doctor's office, a repurposed house, because while he doesn’t want to leave his son with only canine care (as excellent as it is), taking his son into an active research lab is probably really low on the scale of Do’s and Don’t’s of parenting. Dai grins broadly, then raps loudly on the door. It’s scaled in iron, and the window boxes were full of primroses. An interesting choice of decor, but eccentric academic types were wont to be ... eccentric. Idly, Sakumo wonders about the forest that seems to mix so closely with the town, like the buildings were built in little pockets in between trunks and roots, almost something out of a high fantasy setting. Seriously, this looked like something out of the Lord of the Rings movies.

 “Hello, Hunter. It’s been a while.” Someone somewhere has stomped all over Sakumo’s grave, given the shivers crawling over his spine. He knows that voice, and still has flashbacks to that time in Yu no Kuni, with the absolutely      crazy     people being chased by two known wanted hitmen trying to ransom them. Of course he would run into one of them, that was just his luck.”You’ve aged well. Very well.” Fuzzy is standing, hackles raised but not growling. Those piercing, assessing eyes that have only grown more alluring and more bright with time finish perusing Sakumo and flit over to the corner. “And Wolfy too. Hello, Wolfy. How are you?” Fuzzy whines, high and confused, but still poised to move. The Doctor makes no move to touch Fuzzy though, which Sakumo has to begrudgingly give him props for knowing better than to touch a conflicted and scared animal.

 The pale, golden-eyed one leans languid in the doorway, long hair tied back into a high ponytail and there’s a smirk that screams      mischief    to Sakumo. His first thought is      beautiful    , second      breathtaking    , and third is      oh no    . He tenses, ready to move -      ready to flee     - because he distinctly recalls a decade ago as being a massive FUBAR SNAFU even for the Rangers. An International Incident, more wreckage than the World Wars, and sexual harassment by a minor. The only saving grace had been finding out their targets had been taken care of by some academic type via experimental seal.

 Dai is either ignoring the awkward or exhibiting restraint - “So you’ve met Dr. Benzaiten before Sakumo! That’s great!” - or he’s oblivious. Sakumo sighs, and tries not facepalm. “This makes things so much easier!” Sometimes he has to wonder how Dai even made it into the Rangers, given the branch’s clandestine activities, but then he remembers that Dai is a hand-to-hand specialist who’s managed to take on people who were bullet- and magic-proof and win.

 The good Doctor snickers. It’s not mean, or at least it’s not at haughty and demeaning, but honestly amused, “Doctor Orochimaru Benzaiten, PhD. You must be the new Ranger assigned here.”

 Sakumo notes that the good Doctor doesn’t offer his hand to shake, or give any form of pleasantry. It might be hard to face someone you’ve perpetrated a crime against, he supposes, even if it’s a decade later. “Major Sakumo Hatake, Army Rangers. I am assigned here, yes, specifically to you.” It might be petty to restrain himself from minor pleasantries as well, but mirroring      is     a form of politeness. In like, Uzu no Kuni, or something.

 The silence that stretches out after that is heavy, the Doctor eying him speculatively, Dai grinning and Kakashi doing his best to hunker down behind the still wary Fuzzy. A glittering purple head rises up from what Sakumo thought was the Doctor’s neckline - now he can tell the scaled bit isn’t a collar, it’s a      live snake     - and tastes the air. The Doctor strokes slowly over the viper-diamond head, contemplatively, like he’s listening closely to something no one else can hear. It stirs the air enough that Sakumo’s nose is hit with conflicting information: dust, chemicals, Dai, flower-scent, and the smell of dried scales. He sneezes twice rapidly, if only his damn sensitivity to smells would settle down already!

 “Oh? Captain Maito, do see that Major Hatake is caught up on the local ...peculiarities. It will not do for a military man to be ... caught up in the local ongoings, after all. I’d hate to have something occur that can’t be fixed.” The Doctor slowly continues to stroke the snake’s head, sashaying his sharp purple eyeshadow and dangly iron earrings back through the door with a perfunctory snap shut. Sakumo tries to parse if that is a honest warning, or a subtle threat. It sounded like the Doctor is trying to say something important, but Sakumo’s missing most of the relevant puzzle pieces.

 Dai smiles confidently, “I think Dr. Benzaiten likes you! He actually spoke to you instead of glaring, snarking, and/or trying to make you out to be incompetent.” Which might have something to do with their last encounter, where at least two out of the three things Dai just mentioned happened. Sakumo and Dai step off the porch, Fuzzy herding Kakashi and Pakkun along and bringing up the rear.

 But, “Did he try that with you?” Sakumo’s willing to swallow his own reservations about the Doctor, especially because it’s his job to do so, but if the Doctor was mean to Dai for no reason, then he’s absolutely going to write back to Command and tell them about the Doctor’s nonsense. All of it. The previous incident was well documented, appropriately filed, and it’d just take a word to have the Doctor’s record black marked for sexual harassment.

 Dai levels him a clear-eyed stare, the same one Sakumo had gotten before Dai had slapped sense into him when Sakumo had worked himself into a nervous wreck right before his wedding to Chiasa. “Sakumo, I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t handle a sarcastic child. There are worse things out there than a snarky academic, you and I both know it.” He has to accept the truth of it though, the time with the Daimyo’s daughter was in fact      the worst    , not even for the treachery and number of bodies she created unnecessarily. A pretty, snarky academic really is nothing in comparison to having to toss still warm bodies into a volcano to hide the evidence.  “Besides, we still have a house to clean. Lucky it’s small, right?”

 Small, while generous as a descriptor, still means there’s a lot of scrubbing and cleaning to do. The last layer of wax barely dries before Hisako and Gai arrive, and then Hisako informs them that the rooms need to be repainted and anti-pest sprayed before they can even begin to think about living there. Sakumo thinks there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the bare off-white walls, but Hisako is as much a force to be reckoned with as Dai when she’s set her mind on something, so off they go back to the hardware store for paint.

 It’s dusk and the town looks completely different. There are figures who pass by like shadows, build up in the streets, that Sakumo only gets glimpses of in the gaslight. Perhaps they are people who work normal jobs, and only just now get to complete their chores for the day? Brigadier General Senju often complained of that, when she was single, and so did many other single coworkers. Balancing getting off work tiredness and the need for food and other household chores was always difficult.

 There’s a small platform in the middle of the central town square, front and center of a series of benches.Some people are congregated at the benches, talking softly, milling out patiently and with expectation. “Dai, what’s going on here.” Sakumo tips his chin in their general direction, trying to be discreet. Some of the shadows Sakumo could half see in the corners of his eyes raised the prickling feeling he’s always gotten when danger is near. Sakumo doesn't know what to call it, but there's a tingle in his spine that says something is off.

 Dai flicks his eyes to the groups, to the various forms about, some hooded, some veiled, and murmurs      sotto voce    , “We have a lot of people who live in the surroundings, and this is the only town in a 50 mile radius to have a paved road to get in goods. They come in once or twice a week, but usually on days the Headman has announcements or open forum.”

 “Headman?” Maybe Dai should’ve taken Sakumo to meet the Headman instead of the Doctor today; if things were this small town mentality, then the Headman was the man to meet first. The military tended to be formal about things like that after all, especially with military researchers based in backwoods places.

 “Dr. Benzaiten. He’s the main person who fixes things, after the last Mayor’s gristly death,” Dai mistakes Sakumo’s look of alarm, “Oh, that was a long time ago. Really, before our time, back when the Doctor first came here with his teacher to do some research. According to the locals, there were a bunch of lightning and thunder storms, and other weird happenstances, but the Mayor ended up dead.” Dai holds up two different paint color swatches. Why in the name of the Fire God Dai thinks Sakumo desires blood red walls or forest green walls is a mystery for the ages. Sakumo holds up a pale silver grey color and a toasted wheat bread tan swatch. Dai vetoes them immediately with neon pink.

 The man at the counter leans over, his full beard both glorious and intimidating in its sheer size. The urge to throw the regulation handbook at him is fierce, but      civilian     and      hardware store owner    . “Good riddance to bad business, uh. That Four-damned sonovabitch was up to his neck in the Twelve Hells’ business; he didn’t get nothin’ that weren’t already comin’ to him.” He draws his right hand across his eyes in a clawing motion, ripping off the glamour evil places over sight so that the person can’t tell right from wrong. Air God follower, then. Unusual for a hardware shop owner, but Sakumo wasn’t one to judge, since for all that the family name was Hatake he was sheer shit at earth magic. Much to his training sergeant’s eternal horror.

 Dai shrugs, “It was noted that it could have been murder, but the overwhelming consensus was ‘Act of God(s)’ and left at that.” Because nothing said Bad Idea like investigating God meted justice. He presses the first three fingers of his right hand to his chest clawed, and drags away. No one needs the God’s Eyes on them for good or ill; God attention never ended well for anyone involved.  

 The bearded shop owner eyes Sakumo, “You the one who moved in on Old Woman Kayano’s place, uh?” He blazes on, before Sakumo can answer, since it’s either stamped across his forehead or the small town rumor mill’s been busily at work within less than 24 hours, “Earth God Bless her soul, she didn’t have a lick of sense the Four gave sheep, wouldn’t listen an’ got herself got, uh. Tell you what, that place needs more than a lick an’ spit shine, real fixer upper, I’ll give you the discount.” He quickly selects a series of colors from the proffered swatches, and mixes them. “You’ll want salt an�� iron nails too, uh.” The man nods knowingly, like this is the most basic thing Sakumo will need in order to repaint his house. “Headman’ll be ‘round later in the week to set them up right an’ show you how, don’t think nothin’ of it.”

 Sakumo’s head is spinning with the rapid-fire information dump, plus the idea of letting the Doctor into his house, a place for his family, “Ah. My tha  -”

 The man slaps a hand over his mouth faster than Sakumo can blink, their faces drawn together uncomfortably close, “Right, up and forgot you ain’t got the run down quite yet, uh. Don’t go throwin’ around the ‘ank-thay ou-yay’ phrase or the like, some folks ‘round these parts are quick to drag that into a life debt, so mind. You’ll be fleeced of everythin’ you hold dear, uh.” Dai nods enthusiastically, so it’s either just this one person’s quirk or it’s an actual thing. Given the circumstances and Sakumo’s luck, it’s probably an actual thing, which meant - nothing good, Holy Fire God’s Flame. The man lets go but doesn’t end the eye contact.

 “Are these people that dangerous?” He can’t say his heart isn’t beating faster in alarm, since this is precisely the sort of thing that ought to have come on the mission parameter memo, and not a ‘local customs to be assimilated to’ bullet. Life debts haven’t been a thing for the last 400 years! And even then, they were usually invoked when someone actually saved your life, or someone near and/or dear to you.

 The man stares deeply into Sakumo’s eyes. And very slowly, with great emphasis, nods. Just once. Then he deliberately hits the total key on the register, letting the ka-ching of it processing echo in the space. “That’ll be $60.46 ryo, uh.”

 Sakumo pays, and stumbles out under the weight of the paint tins. Thank the Four for whomever invented paint and primer in one, for the amount of paint carrying they’ve saved him. They walk quickly, facing forward, idly discussing what color ought to be begun first - Sakumo thinks the pale Iron blue needs at least one coat today, since it’s the most pigmented, but Dai thinks they should finish the halls and powder room due to square footage. The town square is still busy, with more people flickering as shadows around the edges. Sakumo can see the Doctor speaking emphatically with someone in a deep emerald cloak, clearly annoyed but maintaining socially required politeness. They pass close enough to see the cloaked figure - surrounded by other figures tense with barely leashed energy - and hear her clear wind-chime voice snap with relentless wrath, “If you will not      find     and be       rid     of the      whore-begotten mongrel     I will have to do so      myself    .”

 The Doctor’s voice is cyanide sweet, dripping with venom and danger, “Lady, there are a thousand things you need to do yourself, but I caution you that this is not one of those things you should consider within your purview to act upon.” There’s a veiled threat in there, one Sakumo can read in the Doctor’s face more than the words - one that promises a painful reckoning if the woman finds and - given context, probably murders - whomever she’s deemed a ‘whore-begotten mongrel’. “Furthermore, you yourself were quick to claim you had ended that ‘mulatto half-breed’s existence’; are you saying that you failed to accomplish your own deed? My, my, Lady, which is it?” For whatever reservations Sakumo has from a decade ago, he cannot fault Dr. Benzaiten’s approach to handling this woman, who he finds less and less pleasant with each passing moment.

 The woman snarls, “Watch yourself Headman,” but the rest of the confrontation is lost to Sakumo as he and Dai pass out of hearing range. Sakumo can still      smell     the group though, ash and smoke, fallen leaves, sunlight, moss and bark, and something acrid that burned. Something festering and fungal, waiting to lash out.

 “Who was that?” He’s not looking for trouble, not really, but that was a clear and distinct threat and he’s got a sinking feeling that perhaps that is the sort of person the man at the hardware store was warning him about. He sneaks a look back, and the crowd has grown, the Doctor an unwavering pillar against their roiling, nearly unleashed rage, like a dark bulwark of light against the monsters in the shadows. He catches glimpses of fantastical outlines, antlers and twigs, and it must be something backwoods, small-society cultural to have such elaborate headdresses and accoutrements to their outfits.

 Dai grimaces, “They live around somewhere, and show up sometimes. Usually to talk to Dr. Benzaiten, or make a bargain. I’ve never heard someone else give them a name, as a group, but they make everyone uneasy.” That Dai hasn’t discluded himself is a massive red flag - Dai did his best to get along with everyone, after all. “Now, to paint! Yosh!” He bounds up the front steps with vigor usually found in men half his age.

 Sakumo sighs, and decides that he’d best concede the halls and powder room for painting if he wants any sort of sleep before going into work tomorrow.

 Day two in town has it’s perks - namely, the coffee machine in Dr. Benzaiten’s lab, and the many tissue dispensers, because there are so many conflicting smells his sinuses ache - and the ability to ask questions. “Was there ever a reasonable resolution to the ... discussion last night?”

 Dr. Benzaiten pauses in soldering electrical wires together, mouth hidden behind a sterile mask but his liquid gold eyes narrowed, evaluating, then widening. “Hold this.” He passes over a piece of quartz, milky white and occluded, gloves powdery still with nitrile. “You’re fire right? Or rather, lightning?”

 Sakumo is taken aback.“Er, yes?” He’s not sure what his magical affinity has to do with anything, but Small Lords of Ash and Smoke, eccentric academics are eccentric and Sakumo has nothing to lose by indulging something so minor.

 “Good, I need that charged. If you would.” His ponytail waves like a hypnotic onyx ribbon as he moves and maneuvers bits and pieces of electronics, wires, and various magical tools or various magical uses, and Sakumo idly wonders if it’s as soft and silk-like as it looks. “As to our... out of town friends, they are well aware that their previously overlooked ...      activities     are no longer so overlooked and have consequences.” Dr. Benzaiten’s eyes crinkle in what would be amusement if it weren’t for the dark satisfaction lurking in their depths. “Though that does remind me,” he fishes through a pile of papers offhandedly, before unearthing a pamphlet, “there is a guide to the general local quirks, especially in regards to our      oh so     friendly neighbors. Most of it boils down to ‘Don’t’; they have some ... antiquated ideas about equivalent exchange.”

 Sakumo decides it’s not worth derailing the conversation to discuss if that’s a Fullmetal Alchemist reference. “Is that why everyone gives them a wide berth?” He hands over the softly glowing crystal, and watches the sinuous grace with which Dr.Benzaiten pops it into a device and pushes various buttons. The machine whirs to life, fan whirling and spinning buzz that Sakumo has to forcibly phase into white noise. Perhaps he should see a doctor again, his ears have started to become more sensitive as well.

 Dr. Benzaiten tilts his head consideringly, assessing something of the readout, before shrugging elegantly, “Some people willingly interact, but their social norms are more strict than ours, and they often get themselves entangled in affairs well above their ability to handle.”

 “And then you have to fish them out.” The man is a decorated academic and researcher with the best University in the Elemental Nations, he’s got little to no other reason to be a Headman of a sleepy - for a given value of sleepy, since apparently the neighborhood is full of people  who consider murder fair play - hamlet in the backwoods - literally! Literature levels of murder in the wrong end of the Elemental Nations! - of Hi no Kuni.

 “And then I fish them out because they are mine and our neighbors aren’t allowed to mess with what’s mine.” And the decorated academic is possessive. Good to note, as it raises questions about where Sakumo stands. Highly uncomfortable questions. “Do try not to get yourself involved though, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and all.”

 Sakumo isn’t going to argue the point - it’s true and he painfully knows from experience - and tucks the pamphlet into his uniform jacket for later perusal. How much could ‘Don’t’ cover anyways?

 The door to the lab is knocked at rapidly, and then the assistant, Nawaki, sticks his head in. “Dr. Benzaiten, there’s been - ”

 “Who was it this time, Nawaki? If it was Youko, please go tell her I refuse to -” Dr. Benzaiten doesn’t look up from where he’s returned to soldering connections on a breadboard.

 “Noboru. It’s Noboru. Please, sir, it’s urgent.” His grey-green eyes don’t waver, even when Dr. Benzaiten bolts upright, eyes alight with anger and righteous indignation.

 “Major, I won’t be back in the laboratory today, please take the rest of the day off.” It’s phrased like an order, like the ones Butsuma Senju used to give, that made everyone hurry to obey, and on instinct Sakumo nearly dos the same. It takes a moment to recognize that he’s heard wrong, and that checking that his sidearm is holstered is the wrong action to be taking, even though it’s perhaps more expedient given. The men are hurrying towards the door, and Sakumo hurries after them.

 “This situation, are you sure you won’t need backup?” Sakumo’s a military man, always has been. He’s good at achieving the best outcomes, and he won’t leave someone in trouble when he’s capable of helping. Especially if it’s as urgent as this sounds.

 “If I thought you impeccable aim and impressive ability to track would be of any use, Major, I would be telling you to come along. As it is, you aren’t versed in the protocols and you have a small child yourself. About the same age as Noboru. Go home to your son, Major, there’s nothing you can do here.” With that, the Doctor and his assistant rush out the door.

 Unfortunately, Sakumo hasn’t gotten to where he is in life without a good bit of skullduggery, skulking, and snooping. And while he’s entirely sure he is completely able to follow Dr. Benzaiten and Nawaki without being spotted, noticed, or otherwise caught, there is one thing universities and the government are better at doing than the military - paperwork. And Dr. Benzaiten is a researcher in Experimental and Theoretical Magic, which means he must keep a detailed log of everything. Thank the Fire God and all the Small Lords for red tape.

 Dr. Benzaiten is one who keeps everything in handwritten logs. Small blessings. It’s nothing to use the master key access he has for his own needs to access Dr. Benzaiten’s office, to find his logs. And while Dr. Benzaiten writes in a shorthand that’s as complex and near as impossible to read, almost worse than nearly-completely faded Ancient Scripts, Sakumo had minored in Ancient Scripts for a reason beyond its use in code breaking. There’s nothing better than writing a senior thesis on the regional and dialectic variants of the shorthand for certain elements in spell writing that ends up having uses later in life. Because Dr. Benzaiten is definitely using a southeastern Mizu no Kuni regionalization, the Marsh Witches High Cant. Last Sakumo had heard, that was a matrilineally passed language, and also long extinct. Out of academic interest, he copies a few pages, but keeps an ear trained on the noises in the office. He absolutely does not need to be caught.

 It seems at least once a week there’s mention of ‘’thrs’ or ‘o’t’rs’ - Cant for outsiders, those who are not of or belonging to a Witch, with belonging originating in terms of vassals but here more likely to mean the regular townsfolk. Much mention of the ‘Peer High One’ - the leader of the neighbors, then, since the Witches failed to recognize male leaders unless they were vassals of another Witch - and her casual cruelty. No mention of what she’s been up to though, just that she rules with an indiscriminate iron fist - Dr. Benzaiten makes mention of the woman taking out her whims on her own vassals - and      something    . Fire God and all the Small Lords, Sakumo can’t tell if the word is smudged, miswritten, or something completely made up.

 His senses sting, muscles freezing as his ears prick at the slight sound of footsteps limping forward on wood - there’s someone at the door. Sakumo can smell blooming blood, and the tangy-fizz of magic, and something      wild    . He reflexively calls up his magic, because Dr. Benzaiten wouldn’t end up here if he was covered in that much blood, so whomever has gotten themselves here is either a badly wounded friend or a blood covered foe. “Hello?”

 There’s no answer for a moment, and that’s worrying in all the wrong ways, until, “Doctor? Are you here?” That voice is definitely neither Dr. Benzaiten’s nor Nawaki’s, but something akin to an older woman’s only more soft, more weathered yet clear and solid and nothing like the sharp shard sound of the leader of the people who live outside of town. Sakumo cautiously opens the door, and starts. A woman, his age, or not much older, pale and nearly blended into her dog’s grey-white fur.

 “Ah, Doctor, Takao’s been - you’re not the Doctor.” Near instantaneously, he finds himself at the end of a blade and staring into grey-nearly-black eyes, the same as his and his son’s.

 “I’m working with Dr. Benzaiten. You said your dog was injured?” He won’t begrudge the woman seeking aid for her dog. Not when he himself has needed help to care for Fuzzy when he has active combat duty and she’s been injured.

 “Takao’s taken a nasty hex to the side, I’ve done my best to keep it from corrupting more of his flesh, but I’m no medic.” Together they both support the massive beast into the lab, the poor dog visibly flagging with the effort needed to limp along. “I didn’t know what else to do, the Lady is raging so, and none of the others would dare disobey her or undo her handiwork.”

 “But you did?” She’s right, this is a nasty hex, something slowly leaching Takao of life and energy, destroying his muscles and ligaments. Sakumo’s seen similar though, in the bloody genocide in Mizu no Kuni a few years back - an awful, prolonged, painful way to die - but there’s a salve. One some Inuzuka with the 5th regiment had made up, that smelled like fresh shit combined with fermenting fish and rotting corpses but      worked    .

 He’s fumbling around his belt pouches - he has several vials of the stuff, since it works on most hexes by dint of being every anti-hex ingredient in a paste - when she speaks measuredly, “I am both her most trusted lieutenant and the one she distrusts the most. For all my loyalty, she only sees daggers in the dark or what would amuse her best and pain me most.” As he applies a thick coating of the salve, she wrinkles her nose and gags, “Earth God’s fertile soil and its bounty, what      is     that?”

 Sakumo is inclined to agree - somehow the smell is worse that he remembers - and has to breathe through his mouth to stop himself from puking. “Salve, good on hexes.” He accidentally inhales through his nose and has to fight the tumultuous roil of his stomach attempting to rebel. “I still need to channel magic through it to make sure it penetrates the tissue properly and removes all the contamination.” To Takao, who has been laying on his side patiently, panting and whimpering his pain but not moving, “You’re doing so good boy, I’m almost done, then you can rest okay?”

 It takes a touch of magic only to activate the properties, fire, not water, to burn apart the bonds the hex uses to latch on to the body, uses in order to leach energy and life in order to feed its own. Water and it’s life won’t help here, no, fire needs to burn out the infection and that takes precision.The white-haired lady is hovering but motionless, and it prickles every instinct of his, to not bare the back of his neck to a stranger, to someone he does not recognize as his leader, and it’s easy enough to distract himself from such old intrusive thoughts, “Can you not depose her?”

 She hisses startled, “Don’t even speak of such things! Even here the Lady has ears waiting to report back what was said and done!” She holds her elbows, arms crossed yet spine straight, a commander wearing her strength like armor, though a plate or two is clearly cracked and her vulnerability is showing through. “Is it done?”

 Sakumo has removed as much as he could - the rest will burn out and off in the next few hours, but that will continue even after he stops running his magic through the salve. “It’s done. Let me wrap the area, and then you can be on your way.” He softly pets Takao’s head once more in silent praise, feeling vindicated when the dog pushes up gratefully into the press of his hand, then gets up to fetch the bandages from the first aid kit. Dr. Benzaiten could stand to lose a roll or two or linen gauze; he’s stocked for a small war.

 When he gets back, Takao blearily opens his ice blue eyes and noses at his wrists, whining lowly. The woman cradles his large head and whispers in his ears as she runs her hand down his neck soothingly. He finally ties off the bandages. “Leave them on for a day, just to be sure that the salve has completely gotten rid of everything.”

 The woman and dog rise, the dog listing and the woman obviously supporting him. “I will not forget your kindness, wolf-souled one. I owe you a life debt.”

 The alarm bells in Sakumo’s head are ringing wildly, Dr. Benzaiten’s warnings running through his head. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her it was nothing, wracks his brain to think of something,      anything    to say. Finally he settles on, “Sakumo. My name. It’s Sakumo.”

 The woman smiles and it is warm and softly sunlight, “Sayaka. And this one is called Takao. Well met, Sakumo the Wolfling.”

 “Well met, Sayaka.” He wants to ask how he went from ‘wolf-souled’ to ‘Wolfling’ but decides it might have to do with social hierarchy the people who live around town use, and that’s probably not worth the headache.

 She leaves into the orange-red twilight, and Sakumo can’t help but think that there’s something so much worse going on here than whatever the town believes, whatever that Dr. Benzaiten believes - has them believe?

 There’s only one thing to do.

 “A      what?    ” Dr. Benzaiten startles so hard the micropipette tip he’s been distractedly trying to jam onto the micropipette goes flying. Nawaki screeches quietly then rushes out dialing on his phone.

 “A date.” Sakumo had talked it over extensively with Dai, with Hisako, and with Kakashi  (and Gai, though Gai had cheered that dating was youthful, for which Sakumo would like to blame Dai preemptively before anything comes of that) and Fuzzy and Pakkun. The only one of those conversations that had gone well was with Kakashi, who had supportively suggested he get a guide on how to date since it had been literal years since he’d last gone on one. Dai and Hisako had exchanged glances, Dai wincing and Hisako gently mentioning that just because it had been nearly two years since-      since     - that he didn’t need to feel like he was rushing to pretend like he was done grieving. Really. Take his time and if Hisako needs to recommend a therapist, she’ll find one who’s willing to do appointments via Skype.

 Things hadn’t gotten better on that end when he’d explained he wanted to mine Dr. Benzaiten for information, thus necessitating a situation where he (Sakumo) could liberally apply alcohol and loosen his (Dr. Benzaiten’s) tongue and find out what the Twelve Hells is going on in this town. Maybe he hadn’t explained things right, but Dai had told him it was uncool to use some pretty young thing like that - which while Dr. Benzaiten is pretty, and young, he is just as guilty of having ulterior motives and Sakumo knows it - and Hisako had winced and made dandan noodles for dinner to express her distaste for the idea.

 It’s not his fault that Dr. Benzaiten is entirely too much to take on alone. “This isn’t a late retribution for the sexual harassment back then, is it?” His eyes are more purple eyeshadow than gold, suspicious and angry.

 “What?! No!” Sakumo is quick to assure him it’s not that at all.

 “Not a prank, or otherwise meanly meant?” At this one Sakumo has to internally wince, because he has ulterior motives but he isn’t pursuing it with malice intended.

 Still he soldiers on. “No.”

 Dr. Benzaiten unhooks his face mask to reveal pursed lips, flush high on his diamond cut cheekbones, “Are you attempting entrapment via relationship so I am forced to take you along on Headman duties so that you can reasonably discharge your duties as my overseeing officer for the Army?” A single emerald painted fingertip taps pointedly against the top of the lab bench.

 He runs that through that sentence a few times, because it’s just convoluted enough to make sense, but not so convoluted there isn’t a right answer. “While that’d be a great way to do that, I’m pretty sure that’s morally wrong and for a different type of mission than this, also, no.” Sakumo smiles pleasantly, the one that crinkles his eyes just so, and pushes his hands into his pockets, relaxed. He can practically see the wheels turning in the doctor’s head. “Unless we’re doing International Incidents again?”

 As if it’s reflexive, Dr. Benzaiten snaps, “That was      entirely     Kagami’s fault, and you know it Jiraiya!” There’s a moment of dead quiet, then Dr. Benzaiten’s eyes widen in horror.

 Sakumo raises his eyebrows, notes both names for later research, but grins quicksilver mischief and says, “Not even one date and you’re calling me by another man’s name? That’s certainly fast, doctor.” At the wildfire flush running unchecked across pale skin, the sheer mortification made public, Sakumo eases, “If you’re actually that uncomfortable - “

 “Tonight. 8pm. The izakaya off the main square. We’ll split the bill, so don’t get any funny ideas. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wrangle a phone from my assistant and try to yell one of my best friends down from an aneurysm over the phone.” Flush still riding high, the doctor glides quickly out of the room, lab coat billowing like a flag in the wind.

 Sakumo’s going to chalk that up as a win, even if that win is slightly questionable. Now to figure out the highest proof alcohol the izakaya sells, and make sure Kakashi knows to go to the Maito’s tonight. He’s not throwing away his shot.

 Fuzzy insists upon joining him that evening, and Sakumo, not willing to risk being late by having to fight a 300+ pound apex predator trained by the military, gives in and resigns himself to her coming along. She follows close beside him, stopping to sniff fences and lampposts as well as thoroughly investigate the public fountain in the corner of the square, plus or minus some rather aggressive squirrels. They must give the squirrels steroids or the like, given the way they hiss - which, since when did squirrels hiss? - and flicker their tails irately. That is some power tail flicking.  

 All in all Fuzzy makes an utter nuisance of herself on the walk over, but settles down when they meet Dr. Benzaiten at the door to the izakaya. “Doctor. Good evening.” Sakumo slides open the door gallantly. Fuzzy slips past like a large white shadow and pants happily from just inside the door.

 He’s met by a pointedly arched eyebrow, silently judgemental, “Orochimaru, please. I must insist.” Orochimaru glides past anyways entering the premises easily. He greets the hostess easily, and they immediately get lead to a private booth. “So tell me, why exactly should I inform my best friends that you do not deserve to be pummeled into a pate for even looking at me sideways?”

 Sakumo accepts the bottle of shochu from the waitress - prearranged after much deliberation between classy low stakes alcohol, like shochu or sake versus hangover inducing soju -careful to nod his thanks rather than speak it. “I do hope I’ve not given the impression that I’m that much of an asshole so quickly. ”

 Orochimaru’s lips twitch, “Fair enough. Now that I’ve gotten my required question out of the way, the crux of the matter, Why      did     you ask me out?” He accepts the proffered glass of shochu, and they both sip at the sweet white sweet potato shochu. It’s tasty, perhaps fish will pair well, but possibly green beans or yakitori.

 Sakumo thinks it over before answering, “You’re intriguing, and pretty. Should there be more to it?” Perhaps he’s getting the hang of telling the truth while also hiding his real intent. A scary yet exciting thought. Maybe he could go full on James Bond, super spy. Except James Bond was Navy, the soggy-bottomed loser. Maybe a whole new type of super spy? One who’s not a functioning alcoholic, for one.

 “Call me pretty and give me non watered down shochu,” Orochimaru toasts him over the rim of his glass, “You, sir, are playing dirty.”

 “Then I shall continue playing dirty.” Sakumo tosses back the rest of the shochu and refills Orochimaru’s glass. “How did Noboru fare in the end?”

 “Little Noboru was      snatched     out of his cradle by our dearest neighbors and their Lady has the gall to pretend like no one knows who did it and on whose orders.” Orochimaru runs a finger around the rim of his glass; Sakumo has no choice but to listen to it sing with his hearing acting as funky as it is. “Luckily Manda managed to help make the point clear that the Lady isn’t welcome to simply trapeze around like she’s the Queen of these parts anymore. Now you, what do you get up to when you’re not      lounging     around my laboratory?” Manda hopefully, stayed at home and isn’t anywhere near the establishment.

 Sakumo smiles, “I usually spend time with my son.” He fishes for his phone and swipes through the photos until he finds his favorite, “Kakashi. He’s 7, and a little genius. That’s his puppy Pakkun.” The pug is curled up in Kakashi’s lap like a small furry ball, barely visible.

 Orochimaru coos appropriately at the picture of Kakashi solving basic calculus equations, then freezes warily asks, “And your wife?”

 Sakumo lets the wash of ice cold sadness pour over him then exhales, slow and even, “She passed.” He forces himself to shrug, “Modern medicine is a miracle, but even that can’t fix metastasized cancer in the magic pathways.”

 “I’m sorry for your loss.” It’s sincere, for what that’s worth. For all Orochimaru is clearly playing a dangerous game with the people who live around the town, at least he’s not a complete sociopath. A stiff silence falls, and Sakumo tries to think of how to get it back on topic. Fire God’s Eternal Flame, he wasn’t the best dater around and he knew it. Why was this the plan again?

 The waitress comes around to take their orders, and once she’s left Sakumo tries again, “So what brought you out here initially?”

 “To shorten a needlessly complex story, my teacher won a grant to do some work for the military, and since I was assisting, I came out here with him. When his work was successfully completed, he left but I had unusual results that wouldn’t or couldn’t be replicated elsewhere in the world, so I left and came back to set up my lab. And now I mainly do research plus some work for the military as they find projects they need my expertise on.”

 “Fascinating. And the ... friendly folk who live outside of town? How long have they been a problem?” Sakumo tops up both their glasses, though he’s been carefully pretending to drink instead of actually drinking.

 “Mmm, about the same length of time, though they are usually quickly dealt with.” Their food arrives, small plates meant for sharing. “I have better things to do than to deal with their nonsense.”

 “Are they usually targeting those who live here or each other?”

 Orochimaru’s face twists, “Whatever catches their eye and suits the flavor of their cruelty for the moment. The Lady will target those among her people, and it’s disgusting. She has favorites to target, and one of them reminds me of you. Hair color, eye color, massive dogs like the wolf in      Princess Mononoke    had puppies.” He twirls a piece of yakitori contemplatively, before pointing the skewer suddenly at Sakumo. “Kind, earnest, honest, humble, loyal to a fault.” Sakumo knows his surprise is coloring his face, at the description his commanding officers have used to describe him since time immemorable, and Orochimaru’s smirk is triumphant, “You didn’t expect me to do my own research on you?”

 “There’s nothing particularly interesting to know about me,” Sakumo demures, because it’s true. He’s a single parent to a genius child who’s only doing his best to make sure his last living family member is healthy and happy.

 “Liar, liar, pants on fire, Mr. Youngest-Highly-Decorated-Major-In-the-Special-Operations-Division. You’re also in the running to make Colonel soon.”

 “And you have nearly as many patents as your teacher, the second most in the world.” Sakumo should’ve saved that as ammunition for later, but he can’t regret the faint pink spots that rise on Orochimaru’s pale face. He really is pretty, which is an unconventional descriptor for a male, but also intelligent and not shy about it. A little loose tongued under the effect of alcohol, but that’s to be expected when you have three un-watered glasses with no food to cushion the shock to  the system. Sakumo feels the sinking stone of guilt in his lower abdomen, the heavy rocks of regret weighing down his tongue. Perhaps this really was a bad idea.

 “I surmise that this is your first foray back into the dating pool, then?” Orochimaru’s eyes have sharpened and Sakumo wonders if perhaps he hasn’t stumbled into some sort of trap.

 The only thing to do though, is be honest. He scratches his cheek abashed, “Ahhh, what gave me away?” Under the table, Fuzzy snuffles about, as if she smells something intriguing, but Sakumo disregards that in favor of watching Orochimaru and the phases his eyes change through      eureka    -      satisfaction-regard-intrigue     lightning fast.

 They finally settle on a glimmer of laughter - still not mean, just teasing mischief meant without malice. “Beyond the fact we just had a conversation over drinks that can be primarily and  summarily described as ‘business oriented’, your phone keeps getting texts from someone named Dai sending you dating tips.” And this is why Sakumo doesn’t keep his phone on silent, Fire God forsake it. He can feel the fire of his blush all the way to the roots of his hair. “Don’t worry, I’m flattered. It’s not everyday someone decides all your various patents and magical skills mean you’re safe enough to test the dating pool with again.”

 “A certain International Incident, if I recall correctly, marks you as very dangerous.” A set of eyebrows rise, astonishment, interest, and smug pride conveyed with so little, and Sakumo hurries to continue before things get wildly out of hand, “But ‘dangerous’ ... is interesting. I like dangerous things.” He replays what he just said in his head, and wrestles with the mortification rising from the depths of his soul. Open mouth and insert foot. While it’s not      untrue    , even when applied to Orochimaru - he is pretty and lethal, considering what he may or may not have accomplished a decade ago against immortal hitmen - Sakumo suspects that a) he’s not supposed to come right right out and say it, and b) when did that become less than a total lie? Even as he turns it over and over in his head in the silence that follows, he can’t say it’s untrue - from what he knows about Orochimaru he’s prone to protectiveness, possessiveness, sharp wit, and carries himself with a lethal sort of grace. None of those are necessarily deal breaker things, nor is his penchant for trouble and being in the center of it - glass houses and those who live in them and such.

 Orochimaru shakes himself free of his excellent mimicry of a deer in the headlights. “That’s quite - I must myself admit that I find dangerous things also attractive.” His face is pointedly facing away, and all Sakumo can see are the sinuous snake earrings dangling from Orochimaru’s loose waterfall of midnight hair.

 “Ah.” Sakumo covers with a deep drink of his shochu. Mmmm distilled sweet potato alcohol. Refreshing and if Sakumo has enough of it, he won’t be able to recall any of this. Fuzzy sneezes thrice in quick succession and harrumphs before settling down. He’s not sure if that’s Fuzzy making fun of him or the situation or both.

 The silence that falls is awkward. Sakumo clears his throat and opens, “Maybe it’s better to stick to work talk or small talk?”

 “Agreed.” Orochimaru nods once. “How are you finding our sleepy little town?”

 “Are you asking as Headman or...?” Sakumo pulls off a piece of chicken from the yakitori stick. This garners no response, so Sakumo hedges his bet and goes a fifty-fifty split. “The area is nice, really, like something out of a fantasy novel, but ‘sleepy’ isn’t how I would describe it.”

 “You have nothing to fear of the kindly neighbors who like to kick up a fuss, truly; their Lady just likes trying to test the constraints of her power every now and again.” Orochimaru’s mouth thins and his nose wrinkles in distaste. Whether it’s at the woman called Lady refusing to recognize that Orochimaru is the new big dog in town after all this time, or at the pickled daikon - which is too pickled for Sakumo’s taste - but it’s clear the situation is a thorn in his side. How far he’ll go to deal with such a threat is an unknown, but Sakumo sincerely hopes it’s after his work here is done.

 “Yet she orders children snatched and hurts her own people. Why hasn’t anyone usurped her yet?” Because Sayaka had admitted to having reservations about her leader, and Sayaka couldn’t be the only one.

 “Power. She’s owed enough favors and promises that moving against her would be likely suicide. For them, her word is law and that’s all they’ve likely ever known.” Orochimaru shrugs one shoulder as if to say ‘what can you do?’

 It’s a fair point. Power often dictated societal morals in Sakumo’s experience, and often those with power had no morals, or if they did they - either the person or the morals didn’t last long. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps it would be worth looking into having this Lady classified as a direct threat to the safety and wellbeing of the people of Hi no Kuni, so Sakumo could take her out and restore some peace of mind here. Something to ask the Major when he calls for his weekly report in. He’s got enough first-hand evidence of the direct threat she poses, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s ever done.

 “You know, I’ve always wondered - ,” Orochimaru breaks Salumo out of his plotting, but himself gets broken off by the trill of his phone. “Apologies, someone must have put in the override code.” He checks the caller id, then vigorously swipes the “End Call” button on a “Kagami” - the second time Sakumo has heard that name, now he’s curious. “Wondered - ,” the phone rings again, once again Kagami. Orochimaru bristles, then angrily swipes the ‘accept call’ button, “      What?    ” If tone of voice could kill, this Kagami fellow would be dead 17 times over with just a word. Impressive.

 Whatever this Kagami is saying, it’s sing-song and gleeful, but too muffled by static and speed of talking for Sakumo to clearly make out the words. He does catch an ‘I told you so,’ and virulent laughter, though what this Kagami told Orochimaru and how it’s come true Sakumo has no clue. Sakumo can see the steady throb of Orochimaru’s temple slowly gaining speed, though, and worries for this Kagami fellows life expectancy.

 Sakumo grabs a napkin and slowly writes out, ‘Perhaps we should reschedule?’ Orochimaru takes a moment to read the note and then viciously shakes his head in denial.

 “Kagami, if you must know I am very busy right now. Yes, on a date. I know you know that because Jiraiya probably blabbed at poker night, and I know you know that I       know     about that time with the centrifuge toast      and     the turducken in the autoclave incident. I think perhaps Dean Senju would be interested in learning about those, hnm?” Fire God’s eternal flame, that’s vicious. Yet, clearly blackmail has it’s uses. Sakumo is conflicted between disapproving and admiring the elegant solution.

 Kagami is still speaking, but Orochimaru hangs up. “My sincerest apologies, Dr. Uchiha thought that was an emergency.” He glances at his phone when it rings again, and looks taken aback. “It’s far too late now. You have to pick up your child from Captain Maito’s correct?”

 Sakumo checks the time himself, and winces at the 45 text messages from Dai. Small Lords and Heavenly Courts preserve him. “Yes. I do need to get Kakashi.” He had collected some of  the information that he aimed for tonight, and some other ones more besides.

 “It’ll be fastest if I take you. Come.” He pushes up from the booth with easy grace, signalling for the waitress to bring the check to the front.

 Sakumo follows, trailing Fuzzy like a fluffy fluffy banner. “Er, did you have a motorbike I missed?”

 Orochimaru glances at him, then the check before swiping his card. “No something better.” They step outside, Sakumo about to protest the fact that the bill is very certainly      not split    , when the world turns to a swirl of light streaks and colors.

 Sakumo is glad it’s Saturday and that he can sleep off the combined hangover and migraine from the previous evening. Because apparently the migraine is a potential hazard of teleportation. Space-time compression. Something. Kakashi prods the bag of ice on Sakumo’s head to refreeze it, then nestles down again beside him. Sakumo warms with pride - or a hot flash, jury’s out on which - at the skill his son is already showing in magic. Fuzzy is curled around him on his bed, and Pakkun is somewhere in this tangle of fur and limbs. It’s a morning that would best be spent recalling the sheer excitement and delight on Kakashi’s face when he experienced the Teleportation spell for himself, or sleeping in, but all he can think about is the color of liquid gold by gas light and the Lady.

 And with his senses on full blast, overheating and lacking the will to extract himself from the puppy pile thrown together on his bed, even thinking leaches him of his last bit of energy.

 He goes in circles, until his thoughts are a well worn track anchoring him in the sensation overload that are his senses failing to remain at normal, until he falls into an exhausted sleep that is full of cruel laughter and blood coated in gold. Sakumo wakes to Dai shaking his shoulder, and can recall none of it but the unsettling feeling of being watched.

 In deference to his still throbbing migraine, Dai opts to whisper as he delivers Hisako’s cure-all tomato soup. “Dr. Benzaiten showed you the Teleportation seal in action?!”

 Sakumo can’t summon the energy to do more than tilt his head in question, and then mentally chide himself because now he knows      exactly     where Kakashi picked that up. “It’s only to be used in extreme cases, the doctor and his teacher found when they were developing it that it thinned the spaces between worlds. Or made reality fragile? Possibly caused one subject’s insides to become outsides, but that could have been something else.” Dai really isn’t helping. Thanks Dai.

 He and Kakashi spend the rest of the day sleeping in, surfacing every once and again to shift around; Sakumo can swear he feels a gentle hand pet over his head more than once, but it has to be wishful thinking. There’s no one there, after all.

 The following week passes quietly, Orochimaru makes no mention of Friday night or their discussion, but Sakumo can feel the weight of his gaze whenever Sakumo has reason to be at the lab. Which isn’t often enough, or even often at all. Sakumo dearly wishes he had more time at the lab, to weigh feelings against facts, to see if perhaps this researcher is someone he could find kinship and kindredness in, could date without pretense. His head says probably, his heart is wavering, and this mixed bag doesn’t help anything at all. That and the feeling there is someone watching him, watching his son. That might just be paranoia though.

 Commands from the capital have him setting up a secure communications lines, and reporting on the handful of military families stationed out here. There’s discussion of having a training base set up out here, which would require he and Dai to scout out the terrain and the obstacles. Sakumo feels like Central won’t appreciate if he says ‘crazy people who live in the forest’ as an obstacle, no matter how serious he is on that count. Dai thinks they should put it down anyways, but Dai is also earnest and faithful and sometimes fails to consider the fact that perhaps they      should     have trainees chased by crazy people on the orders of a madwoman. If they sign the consent form, they’re fair game for whatever gets thrown at them.

 That might just be Sakumo’s bitterness talking though; Colonel Shimura had spoken at length of peaceful military-civilian interactions, and that the Headman of the village would handle and continue to handle the situation and report to the government if necessary and that Sakumo was not to overstep his authority or tread on the toes of the locals by taking out the neighbor’s leader. Which is frankly idiotic since the Headman is a military scientist and protecting their asset and his work is his primary objective. If Sakumo ever becomes Colonel and Shimura gets ousted, he’s going to clean up the red tape and use common sense to lead, he swears it on the Fire God’s Eternal Flame. So mote it be lest his soul be consigned to eternal damnation in the Fire God’s Hells.

 He’s so consumed by the massive dump of tasks the Colonel sends his way that he almost doesn’t notice how eerily quiet the town becomes. Like everyone is huddled indoors, away from windows or doors, just waiting for the danger to pass. His senses ratchet up and catch on every slightest noise, every pin drop. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it’s been in the works too long and everything is a giant exposed nerve twisted up in knots and trembling with barely restrained potential energy, ready to explode.

 The phone ringing in the midst of all that tension should have been his sign. His phone ringing has never ended well for Sakumo, that the ringtone was even audible in the first place ought to have given him pause.

 He knows the voice on the other end of the line, “Major Hatake? This is Principal Takahashi -” His hands shake as he listens, and then his world bursts. He doesn’t know what to do - should he spring into action; should he wait for the authorities to arrive; should he scream and keep screaming?

 The decision is taken out his hands when his heart starts racing uncontrollably, his hearing sharpening until all noise is shrill and shrieky, his nose catching every scent in the vicinity, his jaw      aching     with the strain of something Sakumo cannot put a name to. A stringent voice snaps out orders, the phone tugged free of his hand and a third voice speaking. He feels more than hears the distressed whine of Fuzzy, the fingers against the pulse in his wrist and then the firm, cold hands against his chest, cold hands pressing one of his hands to a thin chest to match his breathing to. It doesn’t help, doesn’t fix the screaming in his ears or the flood of information or the bone deep pain that blooms and blooms and      blooms    . More commands  Something falls out of his mouth as he gasps for air, and he dimly realizes it’s one of his front canine teeth. First one, then another, then another, they tinker to the floor like something from a nightmare, and something sharper pushes out of his gums, filling his mouth with blood. Bones shift and move and sharpen, and if Sakumo thought he’d be able to draw breath he’d scream with the pain of it. Fuzzy pushes into his chest as if she can headbutt out the      wrongness     and circles him protectively, anxious and defensive.

 Then one by one the pains fade, plateauing. Sakumo finds himself staring into sharp gold eyes as he shakily inhales, holds, and exhales, and he wants nothing more than to collapse against those deceptively thin shoulders and weep. What he gets instead is a hard slap across the face, and virulent cursing from Orochimaru as he cradles the hand he used to slap Sakumo. “Get yourself together Major!” A fuzzy iridescent green glow encases Orochimaru’s hand, and Sakumo can      smell     the way the hurt eases.

 “What’s happened to me?” He wonders how he can even croak that much out when - when this is the ultimate nightmare scenario. The thing that haunts his dreams more than his first kill or the last rattling breath Chiasa breathed in that grey beige hospital room.

 Orochimaru, clearly not a believer in sympathy for those having a life-changing paradigm shift in worldview, forces him to his feet, then into Fuzzy for support. “I believe our fair neighbors would call it manifesting. Come on, we can chat as we move. Time is of the essence.”

 Nothing makes sense and everything is haywire. But it’s easy enough to fall in step with Orochimaru, who moves like a soldier headed into a standoff with a mission they aim to complete, no matter the cost. “Manifesting?”

 “Coming into one’s ... inheritance? Power? Whatever it is that marks our fair friends as something      other    .”

     “Other     meaning what exactly, beyond someone not from in town?”

 Orochimaru narrows his eyes dangerously. “We are later going to discuss the fact you can read Marsh Witch High Cant, Major, and the repercussions of going through my logs. For now,      Other     means the ones who have your son. Can you track him at all, Ranger?” Impatient, but now that Orochimaru mentions it, Sakumo can smell traces of his son, of      wild-sunlight-sprint-mischief    , and suddenly he’s moving.

 First it’s a quick walk, then a faster trot, a jog, then it’s the most natural thing in the world to flat out run. He can catch traces of      wild-sunlight-sprint-mischief     that is Kakashi, and can track it by nose alone, on the fly, and it’s exhilarating. Fuzzy sprints beside him, keeping pace easily with her long loping stride, pausing only momentarily to sniff through the air currents of the forest as it grows more dense and tightly grown, but it’s nothing to duck and weave and course correct with his every sense      singing.    The only hitch comes when he hits something of a wall. It’s not a wall, per se,  more alike to a convoluted piece of Ancient Script he hasn’t quite parsed the base of. But the scent of his son does go beyond it, that much he’s sure of.

 Orochimaru catches up, breathless. “Oh, Air God and the Heavenly Winds,      a trod    . Of course,      a trod    .” His omnipresent crystal bead bangle clacks as Orochimaru begins forming handsigns, but Sakumo stops him.

 “You punch through with magic the trod will ... collapse.” Sakumo hopes he’s reading the runes floating around correctly. It’s either collapse or destroy itself, but the result is still the same. There’d be no finding Kakashi. Something about the word      trod     itches at his brain, but Sakumo ignores it because      his son    . His son is in the hands of a monster, and he will rip her throat out with his      teeth     if he has to in order to get Kakashi back safe.

 “The only other option is to go Underhill and confront the Lady directly, which will mean we can’t surprise her and steal your son back before she notices.” Pale strong arms cross defensively, and as much as Sakumo agrees, there’s nothing to be done. He doesn’t even know where to begin with this ...      Veil     without at least two different reference texts, which could take hours to translate, filter for junk, translate again, and undo. They just      don’t     have the time. Orochimaru must see something of this resolve, and sighs resigned before grinning darkly. “Underhill it is. Let’s go make an Incident shall we, my sweet?”

 Sakumo bares his teeth in a parody of a grin, “Of course, let’s do what we do best.”

 Perhaps Sakumo should have checked that they were on the same page about what constitutes an “Incident”, since his version is kicking down doors and subduing people (killing them if only necessary), and Orochimaru’s just disintegrated his fourth person. “Are you even trying for survivors, Beautiful?”

 Orochimaru flexes his fingers testily, “First of all, never use “beautiful” as a pet name again. Second, letting anyone get away to raise the alarm at this juncture would be counterproductive as a scare tactic.” He whirls in a elegant movement to catch a leaping assailant - one with cat eyes and a tail and a truly horrific amount of serrated teeth - in the face. With a puff of magic, ink scrawls out across their face with a acidic hiss, then with a sickening scream they dissolve to so much ash and dust. Well, Sakumo can’t say he’s surprised, he’s long known Orochimaru is dangerous and not just superficially. Fuzzy rumbles low in her throat and licks some of the bright red blood off her well-coated muzzle.

 “But wouldn’t the scream make any nominal attempt at stealth moot?” He moves with a surprising amount of speed and finesse for the way his body’s muscles react a touch too fast, catching a whirling white blade with his reinforced gloves and then collapsing magic paths and deadening nerves with precise hits. Sakumo catches the blade before it falls to the floor, and after a cursory inspection, straps it to his side. Useful weapons were few and far between after all. Fuzzy races ahead, engaging with enemies unseen before they can spring their traps.

 Orochimaru had led them through an opening in a knotted series of branches and roots into a set of underground tunnels, but Sakumo had the disorienting feeling that the path they had taken was somehow bigger than the thicket had seemed from the outside. And things that had previously seemed obscure had finished unearthing themselves from Sakumo’s recollections. Still he’d like to wait for a little more confirmation -

 Sakumo catches the soft twang of a bow and easily slices the arrow in half, lets Orochimaru fire off a cyclone of scalep sharp air blades and inferno hot flames over his head to the hidden archer as he parries a longsword that rose up from the ground like an assassin’s blade. Their steadily smoothing ability to work together like a well-oiled machine - or a danse macabre for two, considering the bodies littering their path - makes Sakumo’s Ranger missions look like toddlers learning to walk. It’s like playing a MMORPG as a rogue with an exceptionally skilled mage laying down cover fire; he can’t keep back a feral snarl of unadulterated pleasure, if these lackeys thought they could go and kidnap Kakashi and get away with it then they were surely learning otherwise. The hard way, as Sakumo bisects some twig-figure’s legs at the knee. A ripple up his spine; danger there, move      now     -

 A blistering wave of lava rushes towards where they last were, Sakumo throwing them both bodily out of the way and into an antechamber clearly lit by sunlight. He ducks and rolls low as Orochimaru throws up a barrier with a fluid series of handsigns and follows it up with a harsh burst of wind to cool and harden the lava into an impassable door. It’s as simple as breathing to come up with his blade bared, Fuzzy growling, teeth exposed, ears high and fur bristling like a matched set.

 “And so you’ve come for the halfbreed, Headman.” The woman he’d last seen at the forum is seated on what can only be a throne, lavish with gold and jewels and surrounded by women holding pitchers and platters of food. “And you bring a second one with you.” Her sneer is poisonous, her hatred noxious, and Sakumo bares his teeth at her.

 “Halfbreed or not, you took one of my children, Lady, and we both know that is not something I will accept.” Orochimaru’s magic wreaths him like a second skin, a suit of armor made of scales. “Return him with no harm and I may be inclined to leniency.”

 Sakumo finally accepts that this is his reality as the woman rises, unnaturally lithe but eyes fully black and hair thick twists of vine and bone and wood and fur and leaf and antler that shift arrangement as if of their own accord. “Your leniency is a falsehood, Snake-souled Orochimaru, for you know only calculation. Didn’t your tales tell you not to lie to a Fae? Or insult a Fae Queen? You are in my domain now, Headman and Wolf, not neutral ground. The very essence of Underhill obeys      me    .” As if to prove her point, vines thicker than a all-terrain vehicle shoot up out of nowhere and bind Sakumo tight to the walls, narrowly miss catching Orochimaru but tie Fuzzy to the floor. If he struggles, the vines tighten.

 As if by design, the balconies and hidden galleries fill up with a vast assortment of strange and fantastic shapes and forms, more than Sakumo can count. Their noise fills his ears though, and their smells. Far too many of them smell of things Sakumo cannot name, does not want to face by smell alone.

 As if it’s less than a mere though, Orochimaru torches the remaining vines, letting the woman’s shrieks pass over him. “While it’s true I’ve entered your land, and have come into your Mound, Lady, you’ve broken oath. What’s that they say about lying and oath breaking?” His smile is placid, but screams of being caught red handed.

 “I have broken no oath, Headman. I have made no promise to you I have not kept.” Her snarl is rabid with rage, fury made real by the way flames gout and gutter up from thin air.

 Orochimaru tilts his head like he’s indulging a child’s tantrum. “The man and his progeny are mine. You said you would not harm those I have claimed as my own. Yet, you’ve caused the man great distress, and probably the child as well. You have broken faith by causing harm to me and mine.”

 The woman scoffs, “I have greater and first claim on their lives, they are of my people and thus mine to treat as I please. This is the truest truth I know, and you know it too.”

 Sakumo knows that set of Orochimaru’s shoulders, that shift of weight from one leg to another, and is not disappointed. Orochimaru is out for blood, and this will be the start of the end. “Yet, Lady, this is not the only oath that I speak of. You yourself said you laid the halfbreed to eternal rest and that has been proven false, Lady.”

 She starts. “What do you speak of, Headman?”

 Orochimaru clears his throat, “Lady, once upon a time you said you had been betrayed by your closest handmaiden, who loved another more than you, and thus conceived a child. Among you and yours, children are rare, and much beloved as symbols of the depth and strength of the devotion between the parents. You, Lady, were so enraged that you plotted to have the child and it’s father slaughtered, to cast out your most trusted attendant in disgrace as punishment. But, when the time came, something went wrong, and the child never died. The man and his child escaped your clutches, but you bathed yourself in their scents and glamored blood upon yourself and came back in false triumph. You cast your attendant into the Wild Hunt as their leader as punishment and have used her as your whipping post since.”

 “Wild conjecture.”

 “Ah, but Lady, I have proof. You’ve managed to tie him up, but the man you call Wolf is that child. And since he lives, the oath your swore to your attendant that you killed her husband and child is a lie. That is the promise I speak of.”

 Sayaka and Takao stumble out of one of the hidden alcoves, eyes wide and shining. A heavy hush has stilled even the most quiet of rustles from the crowd, like they are waiting for something. Now that she is away from the crowd, Sakumo can smell her most clearly.      Wild-sunlight-sprint    , heavily influenced by a deep seated grief and the iron tang of steel. He can tell the moment that she smells his scent, notes the similarities that Sakumo has long since figured out marks blood-kin. “Lady,      why    .” Sayaka tightens her grip on her tanto as if her resolve had hardened even as her voice broke with barely restrained emotion, and Takao falls still, waiting.

 The Lady does not respond, merely shrieks banshee-like and throws massive fireballs across the room. Sayaka moves, her and Takao so synchronous in their movements it’s like watching a ballet of flashing blades and snapping jaws. Orochimaru appears by his side, a thin gust of wind cutting through the vines holding Sakumo tight. By his side, a large purple snake tastes the air, slowly growing before Sakumo’s very eyes. “Hurry, find Kakashi. I will stay here and aid Sayaka as I can.” Fuzzy whines conflicted, like she could stand to take a shot herself at the Lady, but also to see Kakashi and ensure he’s unhurt.

 “Come on girl,” Sakumo asks, because he’s afraid. He’s afraid and angry and there are powers he cannot match at work here, given the way the earth and walls tremble and the air shivers. And, apparently, his mother. Who is very clearly not human, not with the way her teeth are wolf-sharp and her ears are delicately pointed, and not dead like he had always been lead to assume. With one last guilty whine, Fuzzy comes to heel by Sakumo as they resume trailing Kakashi. His stomach twists as the scent of his son gets stronger, as it floods with pain and fear and his subconscious howls in outrage, with the need to race back and take every ounce of this feeling out of the Lady, out of anyone who laid a hand on Kakashi.

 It’s clear to see that the rest of Underhill has been deserted, or more rather only left guarded by small hunched figures that barely come up to Sakumo’s knees and skitter away in fear when Sakumo bares his teeth and growls in their direction. The only one who gathers up the guts to hurl a crude wooden spear gets that same spear through the skull in quick retribution and the rest of it’s gathered mob scatters into the dank hallways like so many cockroaches from the light.

 Finally something breaks in Underhill, ripples and shifts and warps in some intrinsic manner Sakumo cannot place but that straightens the halls from their previous winds and wanders, lifts the deep pockets of dark in favor of something less gothic. More importantly, perhaps is the distinct muffled grunting Sakumo hasn’t heard in so long. “Kakashi!”

 His hair is matted with sweat, his skin pallid, and his scarf in tatters. The urge to snarl and bite and      tear flesh from bones     is back, and Sakumo swallows it down in favor of ripping apart the chains hanging Kakashi’s thin wrists above his head, to pressing ice to the swollen and sore flesh revealed, and holding Kakashi close as his whimpers of pain slow. “Dad?”

 It’s the first time Sakumo has heard his son’s voice in years, and it’s slightly slurred and hoarse. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.” Fuzzy noses around them, concern clear in her low tail and flat ears. “You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” Sakumo presses closer, nose near buried in Kakashi’s hair, and feels the tension coiling in his muscles ease as the distress bleeds out of Kakashi’s scent. Kakashi’s muddy and bruised and probably ought to see a medical doctor as soon as possible, but Sakumo wants more to just hold his son. “Fuzzy, lead us out of here.”

 It’s easier now, to follow the neat slink of Fuzzy through the corridors. Sakumo can smell that there have been creatures of not insignificant power passing through the halls recently, catches glimpses of them, but they seem to be fleeing instead of confronting Sakumo. He still doesn’t put away the tanto he reappropriated, not until the arrive at the rubble and ruin of the chamber where Sakumo had left the Lady.

 Orochimaru is covered in grime and dust, a little blood, but the color is high in his cheeks and his eyes are bright with excitement, and he’s perched on the head of a massive snake. Sayaka outright glitters with power, covered in blood, and is ripping chunks from the Lady’s corpse to stack into a what’s shaping up into a throne. As for the Lady, she’s ripped to shreds, eviscerated, face contorted in a rictus of pain and horror, her throat gaping open from what is clearly wolf teeth. Whether they were Sayaka or Takao is unclear, but Sakumo feels a grim pleasure at the sight. May she rot in the Lady of Death’s embrace for eternity.

 Sayaka’s head lifts up as a fresh and clean breeze passes through the room. Takao rises from where he’s been hidden in the shadow of the throne, and their gazes together zeros in on Sakumo and Kakashi like a laser guided shot.

 “Oh good, you’ve found the puppy. Hello puppy.” Orochimaru glides over, picking over the larger chunks of rubble like they’re minor annoyances. Kakashi wriggles out of Sakumo’s grip and to the floor, yet hovers close to Sakumo - not comfortable being coddled in front of strangers, however cool, but not yet sure to leave his father. Takao slinks over, eyes large and pleading and amusing in the way he tries to shrink several hundred pounds into something nonthreatening. Sayaka follows cautiously after.

 Now that Sakumo is looking for it, he can see more than just eye color and hair color that they share. There are traces of smile lines that bracket her mouth, the mole on the hinge of her jaw that Sakumo and Chiasa had both wondered where that trait had come from in Kakashi, the wild hope in dark grey eyes that maybe she wasn’t so alone anymore.

 They talk long through the day and well into the night, about the years they have missed and the lives unknown and the little things Sakumo had never heard before and aches to know he missed. The way Sayaka had tried to hunt him and his father down over and over and over but never could catch a trace of them, finally accepted that the Lady had told the truth and they were dead; the way Kakashi had woken one day with deep jaw pain and a mouthful of blood and found himself with wolf teeth instead of normal human ones; the soft story of how Sayaka had met his father and fallen in love. In some ways it is too much, in others too little.

 Sakumo exhales into the chill pre-dawn air, awake and restless. There’s so much more to know, questions he wants to ask but doesn’t know how to phrase, doesn’t know how to deal with the awkwardness of having a parent that he has never known after going without for a lifetime. He’s consumed by his own thoughts when Orochimaru extracts himself from the guest bedroom and comes out through the window, Manda looped around his throat like a scarf, bundled tight in a guest blanket.  This at least, Sakumo is confident in maneuvering.

 They’re silent and watching the pitch black skies slowly lighten to dark Iron grey for a long bet. “How’d you know?” Sakumo doesn’t look over to Orochimaru, where he’s perch himself comfortably on the rail of the porch.

 “The clues were all there if you had known what you were looking for. You’re both far too alike - and not just in looks. You magic is similar, an odd Lightning primary instead of Fire primary, though yours is colored by Earth - your father, I presume. And the Lady’s story had holes - why would she need to make a show of killing two defenseless people but not produce the bodies, not take a trophy? Though I can’t hold that particular piece of information against you; it’s not something I believe you were aware of previously.” Sakumo catches the edges of a slight head tilt and shrug.

 “What am I?” Sakumo suspects, has a word bouncing around his skull, but he isn’t ready to apply that to himself quite yet.

 “Have you still not figured it out? Even with Wolfy the way she is?”

 “What does Fuzzy have to do with anything?” His dog?

 Orochimaru counts off, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “Wolfy is entirely too large to be suffering from any kind of gigantism common to any species of wolf in the Elemental Nations. That notwithstanding, you’ve never wondered at her intelligence? Or the fact she’s lived so long without any visible health issues.”

 Sakumo has to argue, because he’s seen enough vets who’ve marveled over the same thing. “Magic increases the lifespan in animals who are around a lot of it.”

 “Only by a few years. A whole decade has passed and Wolfy is nearly exactly the same as when I last saw her. You too for that matter.” If Sakumo turned his head he knows he would see shining gold focused on him, studying him. They’ll be bright, even in this half light, glowing, and honest, because Sakumo has realized that Orochimaru doesn’t lie, no not outright. He’ll speak as if you know all the facts, as if you’re fully aware of all the shogi pieces moving around the board and all several hundred moves that may have come before, and then continue on. A perverse kind of honesty, but honesty just the same. Once again, with a quiet insistence, “Have you figured it out?”

 Sakumo swallows hard, his throat dry and only getting drier, “Fae. I’m Fae.”

 “Demi-Fae, since your father was human. Your son too, for the human blood that runs in his veins.” A quiet jangle of links, the tinkle of metal against metal that made up the scales of Orochimaru’s earrings. “The distinction doesn’t matter, since you’ve both Manifested.”

 Right. Showing Fae traits. Sakumo must suppose he got off lightly with wolf teeth - at least among Rangers, he can shrug and point out that Inuzuka file their teeth into a similar configuration, though maybe they’re also less human than he previously suspected. It might explain why they’ve always been able to work well together, but not mingled as one unit easily. They have a different leader, and Sakumo is the leader of his own group, small though it is. Which, “Sayaka killed the Lady didn’t she.”

 “She did.” It’s a quiet confirmation, and Sakumo is uneasy at it. Sayaka, who does not know Sakumo or Kakashi beyond the fact they are her blood, one who she has mourned and one who she never dreamed of existing. Sayaka, for all of that, took on someone who had a power beyond magic in the form of oaths and promises that leveraged people against their own whims, and won.

 “How?” Orochimaru himself had noted that it would be suicide to take on the Lady. Yet, Sayaka had won.

 “The rules of Underhill are more complex than what Fae would have you know. Oh, their rules for us are simple enough, but for other Fae there are more ... strictures than there are concessions. Likely because they are all out for power.” Orochimaru resettles himself on the thin rail, tucking his bare feet within the swaddling of blankets. “The Lady may have held power via promises, but those all became moot when I revealed her to have broken faith. On top of that, the fight itself was most likely viewed to have been retribution for blood kin. Vengeance, or justice, whichever you prefer.” Clearly, Orochimaru gave no more importance to one over the other, and Sakumo chose not to care. He could wrap his head around the politics, perhaps, easily step into the role of a parent who’s lost something and wanted retribution. “In either case, the Lady had no choice. She had already lost the majority of her power, and would have been cast out of the Court. It’s better now, with her dead and Sayaka the new Queen.”

 Apparently, Sakumo has a Fae Queen sleeping in his bed. Who is his mother, and willing to kill for him. There are worse situations to be in, if he thinks about it.

 The silence they’ve fallen into is heavy, something not quite comfortable but not quite heavy either. Orochimaru breaks it, “You went through my logs.” It’s not an accusation, just a simple statement of fact. There’s no use denying it, so Sakumo just listens. “Why?”

 Sakumo considers, and tries to extract the bare bones of the situation, “There was something afoot, and I needed to know what it was, not just for my job but also for my son.”

 “A simple man with simple reasons.” Orochimaru inclines his head, “Still ulterior motives.”

 “So did you.” He's fired back before he can truly think it through. At least in this, they’re both guilty of having motives behind motives behind motives. “Why else would you have asked for a sample of my magic, and how else would you have figured that my magic is similar to Sayaka’s?” The silence that follows tells him that Orochimaru’s conceded the point, but it’s barely a victory really. Sakumo sighs heavily, and turns to watch the way the sun’s first rays illuminate Orochimaru’s face, bare of heavy purple and hair loosely tied back. He’s lovely and intriguing and Sakumo wants to try getting to know this person who’s always thinking and moving and so very much the same but opposite. “So, where do we go from here?”

 “I like to think that we deserve to start over. I - I was wrong, back then to use myself and my body as a distraction, to sexually harass you, and I've never apologized for that. As well as now, having ulterior motives for what I’ve said or done while you’ve been here. So this is my formal apology.” It’s sincere, and that’s worth meeting equally.

 “I should apologize as well, for snooping through something that wasn’t, isn’t necessary for doing my job.” It raises the tiniest of smiles, true and genuine. It feels a little like discovery, and Sakumo can see how Orochimaru can get so engrossed in his work if everything feels like this.

 “I think you’re a good man at heart Sakumo Hatake, someone not swayed easily and I cannot say that I am not interested in knowing you better.”

 It’s difficult, to be honest, but Sakumo needs to say it. “In the interest of full disclosure; I'm not completely done missing Chiasa, I don't think I ever will be. She is someone I love, deeply, and I always will."

 Oro reads between lines, "But you're also ready to wade back in?"

 "Wade is a good word for it. If you're okay with slow, then ...." The ball is in Orochimaru’s court. He might not want to deal with the encompassing grief that comes and goes, or the fact that Sakumo will love Chiasa for the rest of his life. He’s used to missing her, not used to having someone there, used to mourning those who are lost.

 Orochimaru smiles and reaches out a hand, “Then, hello, I’m Dr. Orochimaru Benzaiten, genius PhD. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I like reading academic papers and writing scathing reviews, research, and have been called dangerous before.” His eyes are dancing and it playful.

 Sakumo can’t help but respond in kind. “Major Sakumo Hatake, single parent to a genius 7 year old, recently reunited with his long-lost mother, a Queen. I love spending time with my son and my dog, Fuzzy, and can be persuaded to listen to long rambles on any topic. Also, I like dangerous.” He smiles, and it’s weird around a mouthful of wolf teeth, but in the dawn light, it feels a little like a rebirth, and Sakumo can’t wait to see what comes next.

[focusontheeasternlightning-blog]

Uncovering the Mystery of “Judgment”

By En Hui, Malaysia

My name is En Hui and I’m 46 years old. I live in Malaysia, and I have been a believer in the Lord for 27 years. In October 2015, I moved to another city to take up a job.

 My new colleagues were all big fans of Facebook, which they used for chatting, finding new friends, and posting images. Seeing that I didn’t have a Facebook account they set one up for me, and I gradually learned how to go online and use it. Sometimes I would see the postings of some brothers and sisters in the Lord and I’d share them and “like” them. Sometimes I’d post things that praised the Lord or share the Lord’s grace with some of my good friends. Every day I felt that there was fulfillment in my life.

One day in February 2016 when I was browsing one of my good friend’s Facebook page I saw this posting: “We discussed the issue of judgment today in our group. We all said different things but, for the most part, agreed what it means. Someone said: ‘I don’t understand and I don’t dare say any old nonsense because it’s something that God will do in the future and we shouldn’t try and blindly guess.’ Someone else said: ‘Psalm 75:2 says “When I shall receive the congregation I will judge uprightly.” Everything that every single person does is being recorded by God, so when the Lord Jesus returns to judge all humans He will reveal our deeds to all as though playing a movie. So we should always be righteous and never do evil in order to avoid God’s judgment of being cast into hell.’ Someone else said: ‘It says in the Bible: “And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works” (Rev 20:11–12). From the text we can see that when the Lord Jesus returns in the last days He will set up a giant desk in the sky and will sit behind it. He will then unroll a scroll on it, and, with all of mankind kneeling on the ground, call out the name of every individual and judge each of them one-by-one according to the deeds they have done. Good people will be taken up to the kingdom of heaven by the Lord, while the wicked will be cast into hell.’”

After reading the posting I sat in my chair, and in my mind there formed a sketchy image of the Lord Jesus judging people: The Lord sitting on a throne, people kneeling in front of the desk and coming clean on all their sins in order for God to judge, and the Lord sending each one of them to heaven or to hell according to their deeds. I thought about how I’d been a loyal follower of the Lord for over 20 years and had tried my best to carry out His instructions. I believed that the Lord would see my piety and take me up to heaven…. But as I was thinking all this I suddenly had an idea: Now that I knew how to use the Internet why didn’t I do a search for “judgment” and see what came up? I opened up a browser and typed in the word and I can’t remember which link I clicked on but to my surprise this sentence popped up: “God’s Chastisement and Judgment Is the Light of Man’s Salvation.” This sentence piqued my interest immediately, and so I went to the web site to read more. As the web page loaded I heard the pleasing and thought-provoking hymn “God’s Chastisement and Judgment Is the Light of Man’s Salvation.” It was sung: “In his life, if man wishes to be cleansed and achieve changes in his disposition, if he wishes to live out a life of meaning, and fulfill his duty as a creature, then he must accept God’s chastisement and judgment, and must not allow God’s discipline and God’s smiting to depart from him, so he can free himself from the manipulation and influence of Satan and live in the light of God. Know that God’s chastisement and judgment is the light, and the light of man’s salvation, and that there is no better blessing, grace or protection for man.”

After the hymn finished I pondered over the lyrics, which I found to be quite moving. I began to think: “Is God’s chastisement and judgment really the light of our salvation? Is it mankind’s greatest protection and grace? How are we to understand this? For people to be purified and live meaningful lives does that mean they have to accept God’s chastisement and judgment?” I pondered over the words in the hymn, and many questions circled around my brain. I also thought: “If God were to judge man, wouldn’t man be condemned? And how come judgment becomes a light of salvation?” I was curious and a little bit excited because I had never heard any of this expressed before. Even though the judgment being talked about in the hymn was not how I understood judgment to be, I still faintly felt that judgment seemed to have deep significance and was related to a person’s future and fate. I checked where the hymn had originated and discovered that it was from The Church of Almighty God, and so I went to The Church of Almighty God’s web site. I discovered that the web site had a fresh and attractive home page and the content was rich and varied, with listening material, reading material, songs, discussions and lots of other stuff. I thought to myself: “How come no one ever told me about this web site? Something so good, but no one knew about it so that they could share it with me?” I clicked on the link labeled “books” and as I was scrolling down the list I saw this book Testimonies of Experiences in Entry Into Life. I clicked on it and saw that they were mostly testimonies about the issue of God’s judgment, for example “God’s judgment and chastisement saved me,” “God’s judgment and chastisement was a great salvation for me,” “I saw God’s love in His judgment and chastisement,” “God’s judgment and chastisement awoke my sinful spirit,” “God’s judgment and chastisement put me on the right path.” Because it was almost time for me to go to work I only had time to look briefly at a few of these testimonies. The authors all described how their corrupt dispositions were transformed and also talked about their deficiencies, corruption, mistaken views in believing in God, etc., and how these were changed through the words of judgment of Almighty God. This made me even more curious about “God’s Chastisement and Judgment Is the Light of Man’s Salvation.” Could it be that judgment wasn’t about being condemned? That it wasn’t about determining each person’s ending? I started to get agitated because I knew I had to get to the bottom of what “God’s Chastisement and Judgment Is the Light of Man’s Salvation” was talking about. I came to the conclusion that Testimonies of Experiences in Entry Into Life was probably a book that was extremely useful in helping people to believe in God, and that I should take a good look at it. But time was running short, so I turned off my computer and went to work.

That night, as I was tossing around in my bed unable to sleep, images of The Church of Almighty God’s web site kept on popping into my brain. I especially couldn’t get my head around the sentence “God’s Chastisement and Judgment Is the Light of Man’s Salvation,” and I really wanted to know what the “judgment” in the sentence referred to.

On getting up the next day I opened up The Church of Almighty God’s web site and started searching for anything to do with the word “judgment.” I saw an article titled “Christ Does the Work of Judgment With the Truth” and in it I read these words: “The ‘judgment’ in the words previously spoken—judgment will begin at the house of God—refers to the judgment God passes today on those who come before His throne in the last days. Perhaps there are those who believe in such supernatural imaginings as that, when the last days have arrived, God will erect a big table in the heavens, upon which a white tablecloth will be spread, and then, sitting upon a great throne with all men kneeling on the ground, He will reveal the sins of each man and thereby determine whether they are to ascend to heaven or be sent down to the lake of fire and brimstone. No matter what the imaginings of man, the substance of God’s work cannot be altered. The imaginings of man are nothing but the constructs of man’s thoughts and come from the brain of man, summed up and pieced together from what man has seen and heard. Therefore I say, however brilliant the images conceived, they are still no more than a drawing and are not able to substitute for the plan of God’s work. After all, man has been corrupted by Satan, so how can he then fathom the thoughts of God? Man conceives the work of judgment by God to be particularly fantastic. He believes that since it is God Himself doing the work of judgment, then it must be of the most tremendous scale and incomprehensible to mortals, and it must resound through the heavens and shake the earth; otherwise how could it be the work of judgment by God? He believes that, as this is the work of judgment, then God must be particularly imposing and majestic as He works, and those being judged must be howling with tears and on their knees begging for mercy. Such a scene must be a grand spectacular and be deeply rousing…. Everyone imagines God’s work of judgment to be preternaturally wonderful. Do you know, however, that God began the work of judgment among men long ago and all this while you have been nestled in peaceful oblivion? That, the time that you think God’s work of judgment is officially beginning, it is already time for God to make heaven and earth anew? At that time, perhaps you will have only just understood the meaning of life, but the merciless work of punishment of God shall bring you, still deep in sleep, into hell. Only then will you suddenly realize that God���s work of judgment has already concluded.” I was really surprised to read these words. These are words that reveal people’s innermost thoughts about God’s work of judgment of the last days, and their views, so accurately. The ideas expressed seem so real and practical. Could it be that the idea of a judgment in heaven that I’d been holding on to was just my imaginings? This passage shows that people all imagine the work of God’s judgment to be mysterious and supernatural. It also indicates that the work of judgment has already begun long ago and will soon conclude, and it also exhorts people to hurry and seek the manifestations of God. When I thought that these might be the words of God I became agitated again and I had a strong urge to immediately understand the meaning of God’s judgment. But there was just too much content on The Church of Almighty God’s web site and at the time I didn’t know where to start looking. So I decided to seek out the members of The Church of Almighty God and see if they could help me understand things.

I used the chat room on The Church of Almighty God’s web site to leave a message telling them that I was interested in learning more about “judgment.” Someone answered me very quickly, and introduced two sisters from The Church of Almighty God who interacted with me: Liu Hui and Li Mei. In my exchanges with them, I discovered that these two sisters were open and honest and very straightforward, which made me willing to have heart-to-heart chats with them. I said to them: “I really think that The Church of Almighty God’s web sites are very good. There are all sorts of spiritual books, hymns of praise, music videos, gospel movies, recitations of God’s words, etc. There really is a lot of content, but I just don’t understand what is meant by God’s judgment. I just read ‘Christ Does the Work of Judgment With the Truth’ which seems to say that God’s work of judgment has already begun and that the idea of judgment in heaven is just a product of human imagination. This is quite different from my usual understanding of judgment. Are you able to share your knowledge of this topic with me?”

Sister Li Hui replied: “Praise God! Let’s seek and fellowship together! I used to think in the same way as you in believing that God’s work of judgment of the last days was done in heaven. But after reading Almighty God’s words and fellowshiping with the brothers and sisters I came to realize that this really was just my own imaginings. Whether God’s work of judgment is done in heaven or on earth is clearly stated in some of the prophecies in the Bible. For example, Revelation 14:6–7 say: ‘And I saw another angel fly in the middle of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach to them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people, Saying with a loud voice, Fear God, and give glory to him; for the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters.’ In Psalms 96:13 it says: ‘For he comes, for he comes to judge the earth: he shall judge the world with righteousness, and the people with his truth.’ In John 9:39 it says: ‘For judgment I am come into this world, that they which see not might see.’ In these biblical verses it mentions ‘having the everlasting gospel to preach to them that dwell on the earth’ ‘for he comes to judge the earth’ and ‘For judgment I am come into this world.’ From this we can see that in the last days, God must come in person to the world of human beings, and He will come to do the work of judgment and judge all peoples and all nations. In addition, from reading the Bible we know that before God created mankind He created everything else on earth so that a suitable living environment would be ready for us. God then created mankind and arranged for mankind to live on earth, not in heaven. So how is it possible for us to go to heaven? Corrupt mankind has no choice but to accept God’s judgment here on earth. And in the Book of Revelation it is recorded that on the island of Patmos John saw a great white throne in the sky. In fact, this was just a vision of John’s, but some people have interpreted this to literally mean that when God returns during the last days He will judge people in the sky. This is typical of human’s notions, imaginings, and misinterpretation of prophecies, and is not a reality of God’s work.”

I was stunned by what I heard: I’d read all of the biblical verses that the sisters were sharing with me, so how come I’d never noticed the real meaning of those words? Yes! God had created mankind to live on earth, so how could it be possible for us to go to heaven? My faith really was full of vagueness and ignorance!

Sister Li Mei then fellowshiped this with me: “In the last days God not only incarnates Himself to do the work of judgment on earth but His work already started a long time ago and will soon conclude. God’s work of judgment isn’t done in heaven, like people imagine, and isn’t a case of condemning people as they believe. In fact, before God’s work of judgment concludes, every person who comes before God’s throne is someone who is to be judged, tried, and cleansed by God’s words. All those people who accept God’s judgment and are purified will be taken by God into the kingdom. But for those who refuse the judgment of God’s words, because their sinful nature won’t have been cleansed by God’s judgment they will continue to live among sins and commit sins, they will lie, cheat people, rebel against God and resist God. Because of their sins they will be annihilated in hell, which is a true manifestation of God’s righteous disposition. We who have believed in the Lord during these years have deeply realized that we have received redemption of our sins for believing, but the problem of our sinful nature hasn’t been resolved. We follow the Lord, yet at the same time we often go against the Lord’s instructions and instead give free rein to our fleshly desires and commit sins, such as lying, cheating people, engaging in backstabbing, and trying our best to win fame and fortune. We thirst after empty vanities and chase after the evil trends of the material world. And so on. We misunderstand God, especially when we encounter trials, accidents, and disasters, and then complain about God and even betray Him. We could say that we are living in a constant situation of committing sins and confessing them but never shaking off the shackles of our sinful nature. In the Bible it says: ‘And holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord’ (Heb 12:14). How can people who are as corrupt as we are enter God’s kingdom? Almighty God has said: ‘A sinner such as you, who has just been redeemed, and has not been changed, or been perfected by God, can you be after God’s heart? For you, you who are still of your old self, it is true that you were saved by Jesus, and that you are not counted as a sinner because of the salvation of God, but this does not prove that you are not sinful, and are not impure. How can you be saintly if you have not been changed? Within, you are beset by impurity, selfish and mean, yet you still wish to descend with Jesus—you should be so lucky! You have missed a step in your belief in God: You have merely been redeemed, but have not been changed. For you to be after God’s heart, God must personally do the work of changing and cleansing you; if you are only redeemed, you will be incapable of attaining sanctity. In this way you will be unqualified to share in the good blessings of God, for you have missed out a step in God’s work of managing man, which is the key step of changing and perfecting. And so you, a sinner who has just been redeemed, are incapable of directly inheriting God’s inheritance’ (‘Concerning Appellations and Identity’ in The Word Appears in the Flesh). So during the last days, God is implementing His plan and is carrying out a stage of judging, chastising, and cleansing of people according to corrupt mankind’s needs. The purpose is to thoroughly save us from Satan’s domain and remove the shackles of our sinful nature so that we can be purified and saved. From this we can see that God’s work of judgment of the last days is all about cleansing and salvation. It’s not about condemning us, as people imagine.”

Sister Liu Hui also fellowshiped this with me: “That’s right, Sister En Hui. Let’s think about it, if God’s work of judgment was to condemn and punish us then none of us who have been deeply corrupted by Satan would ever be saved or be able to enter God’s kingdom. If it were like that, what would be the point of God’s work of judgment? The words of Almighty God clearly state why during the last days God does the work of judgment and its significance for us. Let’s read two passages of Almighty God’s words together: ‘Man’s entire life is lived under the domain of Satan, and there is not a single person who can free themselves from the influence of Satan on their own. All live in a filthy world, in corruption and emptiness, without the slightest meaning or value; they live such carefree lives for the flesh, for lust, and for Satan. There is not the slightest value to their existence. Man is incapable of finding the truth that will free him from the influence of Satan. Even though man believes in God and reads the Bible, he does not understand how to free himself of the control of Satan’s influence. Throughout the ages, very few people have discovered this secret, very few have touched upon it. … If man is not cleansed, then he is of the filth; if he is not protected and cared for by God, then he is still a captive of Satan; if he is not judged and chastised, then he will have no means of escaping the oppression of the dark influence of Satan. The corrupt disposition that you show forth and the disobedient behavior that you live out are sufficient to prove that you are still living under the domain of Satan. If your mind and thoughts have not been cleansed, and your disposition has not been judged and chastised, then your entire being is still controlled by the domain of Satan, your mind is controlled by Satan, your thoughts are manipulated by Satan, and your entire being is controlled by the hands of Satan’ (‘The Experiences of Peter: His Knowledge of Chastisement and Judgment’ in The Word Appears in the Flesh). ‘By means of this work of judgment and chastisement, man will fully come to know the filthy and corrupt substance within his own self, and he will be able to change completely and become clean. Only in this way can man become worthy to return before the throne of God. All the work done this day is so that man can be made clean and be changed; through judgment and chastisement by the word, as well as through refinement, man can purge away his corruption and be made pure’ (‘The Mystery of the Incarnation (4)’ in The Word Appears in the Flesh). So how did we feel after reading God’s words? Looking at them from one angle, we felt that God’s words are extremely practical and describe our real-life situation very well. From another angle, we could see that if we wanted to be taken before God’s throne we would first have to pass through God’s judgment and cleansing to rid ourselves of the filth and corruption, and to escape from Satan’s dark influence. Only then will we be qualified to be taken by God into His kingdom. Without God’s work of judgment of the last days we wouldn’t be cleansed enough to become people who are after God’s heart and we certainly wouldn’t be able to enter God’s kingdom. We would just keep on committing sins and resisting God and would finally be annihilated by God in hell. Actually, from the real-life testimonies of the brothers and sisters of The Church of Almighty God we can see that God’s judgment and chastisement is the light that saves people. All of us have been corrupted by Satan, but because we can come before Almighty God and receive the judgment and chastisement in God’s words, our life disposition gradually changes. We go from disobeying God and resisting God to acceptance and submission; we go from arrogance, self-righteousness and obeying no one to being willing to put aside our egos and submit to truths and what is right. In addition, all that is expressed in God’s judgment and chastisement is the truth, and it is also an expression of God’s righteous and holy disposition, so the more we experience God’s judgment and chastisement, the more we know God. And the more we know God, the more clearly we can see through people and events. Accordingly, our viewpoints and values change to varying degrees. We become more and more reverential and fearful of, and submissive to, God. This is the effect on us of Almighty God’s judgment and chastisement. If we don’t have the judgment of the light of truth in God’s words, we have to live in darkness, committing sins and confessing them every day, over and over again, never shaking off the shackles of sin. In such circumstances how could we ever be taken by God into His kingdom?”

After fellowshiping with sister Li and Liu it felt like a bright light had been turned on in my heart. What they said was true: The pastor, the elders, and the brothers and sisters in my church were all unable to extricate themselves from the bondage of sin. I myself also often committed sins in spite of myself, unable to implement the Lord’s words. Continuously living lives of committing sins and confessing them proves that we need God to return and do the work of judgment and cleansing. If I hadn’t looked into God’s work of the last days I would never have come to understand these truths. I’m so grateful for God’s leadership that allowed me to read the words of Almighty God and listen to the fellowshiping of the sisters. I also pondered over the written testimonies of the brothers and sisters of The Church of Almighty God describing the dispositional transformations they achieved through the judgment in God’s words. Then I felt that I understood a bit more about God’s work of judgment of the last days. My own erroneous notions had disappeared and I now knew that God’s judgment and chastisement is essential for us to escape from sin and gain purification.

Then I asked the sisters: “So how does Almighty God do the work of judgment?” Liu Hui answered: “Praise God! You’ve asked a crucial question. Let’s read two more passages of Almighty God’s words and then we’ll have a clearer idea. Almighty God said: ‘In undertaking His work of judgment, God does not simply make clear the nature of man with just a few words; He exposes, deals with, and prunes it over the long term. These methods of exposure, dealing, and pruning cannot be substituted with ordinary words, but with the truth that man does not possess at all. Only methods of this kind are deemed judgment; only through judgment of this kind can man be subdued and thoroughly convinced into submission to God, and moreover gain true knowledge of God. What the work of judgment brings about is man’s understanding of the true face of God and the truth about his own rebelliousness. The work of judgment allows man to gain much understanding of the will of God, of the purpose of God’s work, and of the mysteries that are incomprehensible to him. It also allows man to recognize and know his corrupt substance and the roots of his corruption, as well as to discover the ugliness of man. These effects are all brought about by the work of judgment, for the substance of this work is actually the work of opening up the truth, the way, and the life of God to all those who have faith in Him. This work is the work of judgment done by God’ (‘Christ Does the Work of Judgment With the Truth’ in The Word Appears in the Flesh). ‘Those who wish to gain life without relying on the truth spoken by Christ are the most ridiculous people on earth, and those who do not accept the way of life brought by Christ are lost in fantasy. And so I say that the people who do not accept Christ of the last days shall forever be despised by God. Christ is man’s gateway to the kingdom during the last days, which none may bypass. None may be perfected by God except through Christ. You believe in God, and so you must accept His words and obey His way. You must not just think of gaining blessings without receiving the truth, or accepting the provision of life. Christ comes during the last days so that all those who truly believe in Him may be provided with life. His work is for the sake of concluding the old age and entering the new one, and is the path that must be taken by all those who would enter the new age. If you are incapable of acknowledging Him, and instead condemn, blaspheme or even persecute Him, then you are bound to burn for eternity, and shall never enter the kingdom of God’ (‘Only Christ of the Last Days Can Give Man the Way of Eternal Life’ in The Word Appears in the Flesh). From the words of Almighty God it can be seen that in the last days God has incarnated Himself in order to express all the truths that cleanse and save people, as is needed by mankind. This shows God’s righteous disposition, one that cannot be offended, toward mankind. Through His words, God reveals people’s nature and substance and the true state of their corruption. Only through accepting the words of judgment that Almighty God has expressed can we know our own arrogance, cunningness, selfishness, evil, etc., which are part of our satanic nature and corrupt dispositions. Only through accepting God’s judgment and chastisement can we know God’s righteous disposition and develop hearts that revere God and truly repent. Then we can attain transformation and cleansing of our corrupt disposition, which is the significance of God’s work of judgment and is also the only road to salvation. Sister En Hui, as long as we earnestly read as much of God’s word as we can, then the significance of God’s work of judgment of the last days will become clear to us and we’ll see that only Christ of the last days can give people eternal life.”

Praise the Lord! I gained an enormous amount from communicating with the sisters. Even though I’ve yet to experience God’s judgment and chastisement, through fellowshiping with them and from reading Testimonies of Experiences in Entry Into Life I felt that God’s judgment and chastisement really can change people. I felt I too really need a stage of God’s judgment and chastisement to transform and purify me so that I will qualify for being taken into the kingdom of heaven. At a later date, after a few more days of fellowshiping, I came to understand more about God’s work of judgment and the truth concerning God’s name. I also learned how to discern the real Christ from the fakes, and real churches from false ones. I learned truths about God’s incarnation, the difference between God’s work and human work, how Satan corrupts mankind, and how God saves us. And so on. I came to the firm conclusion that Almighty God really is the returned Lord Jesus, and with a happy heart I accepted Almighty God’s work of the last days. Praise God! After that I had an unquenchable thirst for reading the words of God. By living a church life, fellowshiping truths with the brothers and sisters, and accepting the watering and feeding of God’s words I felt that my spirit was gaining true sustenance. All I saw was like this prophecy in the Book of Revelation in the Bible: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Rev 3:20). Today, not only have I seen this prophecy fulfilled but I’ve felt it being fulfilled on me personally. The words of Almighty God have knocked open my heart’s door and allowed me to hear the voice of God, know God’s work of judgment, and return before Him. Praise to God! All glory to Almighty God!

[angustdtt]

“Red-Handed” BTS V - Drabble

Anonymous requested: everything will fall into place -fight me you attractive stranger and don't you dare walk away- do it I dare you -with taehyung bts? a little smutty and fluffy?  A/N: Thank Noonie for requesting Tae! I decided to make a drabble~ I tried to do a different concept  Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated :3 Have a nice day <3 

Word Count: 2048  Length: Drabble Pairing: ReaderxTaehyung Genre: Smut-ish/Fluff Triggers: Roleplay, cussing

Masterlist

The sound of the coffee maker machine was muffled by the thick glass wall which separated the inside of the shop from you. Sitting at your favorite spot on the internal garden of your favorite Coffee Shop, thoughtlessly you played with the little drops of spilled Macchiato on the glass table, drawing little hearts or faces, writing small words or just circling around with your fingers. Waiting.

The scent of the processed coffee beans saturated the place, throw the glass you saw the barista behind the counter pouring hastily but evidently skillful the orders of the customers smiling at them when they thanked for the service. Your leg tapped anxious on the floor looking over at the tables where people sat together engaging in conversation, Everyone, but you. The day before at around six on the afternoon you received a quite odd text from your boyfriend, with some awkward enough indications for you to do the next day.

You decided to take off your phone from the pocket of your coat that hung from the back of your chair. You opened the conversation-

Tae: Tomorrow at this time go to that coffee shop you love to go- Tae: The one they sell that Cappuccino you like ok?

Y/N: Alright… Y/N: That was random…? Haha--

Tae:  And go to one of those tables on the outside... also use a skirt… Tae: And whatever I say follow my lead. ok?

Y/N: ---?? That mas more random! What do you mean? Follow your lead?

Tae: It won’t be fun if I explain it to you… Tae: Everything will fall into place.

It was definitely a weird text convo, you kept on demanding answers from him but he wouldn't answer your texts after that, so you decided to play along and just go to the coffee shop at the agreed time, at the agreed spot, with the agreed skirt… It was chilly outside because it was mid-autumn so under your skirt you put on some warm stockings, you rarely wear your skirts so you wondered why Taehyung would ask it from you, maybe he wanted you to look more formal? You pondered. “Was he gonna come with someone else?” Your eyes opened wide as plates “Like..his mother or father?”  you bite your nails staring at the cup in front of you as if it were to answer you. Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at yourself, you chose a casual baggy but warm outfit, your hair was a mess because in your haste to leave you forgot to brush it, “I can't possibly meet my in-law’s looking like this!” you whined silently, cursing Taehyung for not telling you before. Hurriedly you grabbed your phone again dialing his number praying for him to pick up.

‘C’mon, C’mon, C’mon…’ you reiterated ‘pick up, pick up…’

‘Excuse me...’ a deep voice called behind you. Touching you lightly on the shoulder. Without taking your ear away from the phone you turned to meet the owner of said voice.

‘What the F-...’ you put the phone down and exhaled a relieved breath ‘Kim Taehyung i swear to god...’ you started to complain

‘Kim...Taehyung?’ He heckled scrunching his nose  and frowning looking sideways as if he tried to connect the name to a face ‘Mmm...no’ he flicks his tongue ‘Never heard of him...’ You blink twice not looking away from him, “What.is.going.on?”

‘Oh, so you don’t know him?’ you crossed your arms, he shook his head no ‘Then...who are you mister?’ you lift your eyebrow giggling at the mischievous smile he had on his face at your question

‘Oh, My name is Han Sung...’ He bowed  ‘Nice to meet you...’ he winked.

‘Han Sung...’ you tilted your head and then nod. ‘Then sorry Han Sung-ssi, I must’ve confused you with someone else...’ you apologized to him, more weirded out about the situation. You tried to found some answers staring into his eyes, but  he kept looking away almost embarrassed

‘So...’ he started ‘I’ve noticed you are sitting alone...’ He pointed at the seat in front of you ‘I was wondering if maybe I can sit with you?’ You saw now he had a cup of coffee on his hands and by the look of the dry marks on one of the sides of it, he had already been drinking from it “How long has he been here? And more importantly what is he doing?”. You were dying to ask him what was going on, but remembered one of the texts you got from him  “And whatever I say follow my lead. Ok?” So you refrained.

‘Sure, go ahead’ you gestured him to take a seat in front of you, Taehyung, no…, Han Sung moved the chair and sat down, took a sip from the coffee and left it next to yours on the table. He licked his lower lip, scrubbing on the thigh of his jeans with his hands he looked down as if he didn’t know what to say next, you just were there looking at him being so awkward ‘Are you okay Han Sung-ssi? your words freed him from this trance and lifted his gaze

‘Yeah. sorry...’ He smirked ‘Truth be told I'm nervous’  he confessed taking another sip from his coffee

‘Nervous?, Why?’ inquired shifting your position crossing your leg. He looked at this movement and smirked yet again.

‘Cause I’ve been meaning to talk to you ever since you came into the shop, I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you’

‘What?’ you scrunched your nose ‘Tae what’s the meaning of all this?’ you shook your head confused. At the mention of his name he almost chokes on his coffee

‘HAHAHA WHO DAT?’ he exclaimed ‘I’m not Taehyung, I’m Han Sung’ He coughed awkwardly ‘HA-N  SU-NG’ he enunciated word by word as if to explain it carefully so you’d understand, you scoffed and looked away amused

‘For real,What kind of game are you playing here?’ you looked back at him,

‘Ah!’ He claimed ‘Games?, well my kind of games are....role playing games,’ He winked and you slapped your face mentally  ‘what about yours?’

‘I hate them’ he flinched at your quick statement, and looked down at his hands shrugging not knowing what to say next, “He wants to role-play with me?, Alright...” you supported your crossed arms over the table in front of you getting closer to him ‘But I guess with the right kind of person I might enjoy playing’ Taehyung smiled gaining confidence again.

‘I’ve never asked your name, sorry-- you are?’

‘Jun Ji Hyun’ you replied without hesitation. Han Sung frowned surprised.

‘Like the actress?’ He asked entertained

‘What actress?’ you pretended not to understand what he was talking about 

‘HAHA WHO DAT?’ you mocked him. He rolled his eyes

‘Alright, alright, Ji Hyun-ssi...’ he nodded

‘So, what now?’ You whip your hair

‘Hmm?’   

‘Are you just gonna act shy and stay there until you finish your coffee?’ you confronted him and he looked baffled.

‘What?’ You snort annoyed to his question.

‘I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you ’ manifest repeating his words ‘That’s not a charming phrase, if what your intended was to come out as flirtatious’ you sighed acting unimpressed. Han Sung stayed petrified, he opened his mouth to talk but close it again looking up just as if the words were scribbled on the air and he was trying to read them. You felt a pinch of guilt coming out as a little pedantic, but if you were gonna play this game, you would do it right. ‘You think I believe I’m the first pretty girl you ever saw? Tsk’ you flicked your tongue. Han Sung blinked slowly looking intensely at you, a challenging expression behind his eyes, huffing he but on his lower lip, he nodded

‘Alright…’ he shifted his position and slumped back on his chair a new laid back attitude ‘I get it, you're not just like any other girl...’ said Han Sung smug licking the inner side of his cheek looking at you up and down, you simply shrugged

‘I’m different’ replied ,a pinch of pride on your voice.

‘Indeed,’ propping himself forward he placed his elbow on the table resting his chin on top ‘Then I’m gonna be dead honest with you,ok?’ You gestured for him to keep on talking with your hands and he chuckled ‘I have been meaning to talk to you ever since you entered the shop with that pretty skirt of yours,’ you blinked twice. ‘With that innocent look and your sweet little voice asking for your coffee… I thought to myself “this will be easy” but now, being here… I can tell you are a much more than just pretty looks, and i find that way more interesting’ You shivered at the fuckboy attitude he was displaying and tried not to burst out laughing awkwardly because Tae wanted to do this, but you felt extremely distraught about the situation- either way to chose to keep acting out your role

‘Still not impressed mister...’ you shrugged

‘What can i do to get your attention then…? I’ve never, and i mean this’ he draw a cross over his heart ‘ Meet anyone like you, so...enigmatic’ He slide one of his hands under the table and gently grasped your knee, eliciting a tickly sensation that run all the way up your back, you coughed but did not move your knee away-

‘Ok, you got my attention...tell me more’ you encouraged him, Han Sung smirked drawing random patterns over your knee with his fingers, moving up your thigh slowly.

‘You know, people on the other side of this glass can see us perfectly right?, what a wicked girl you are Ji Hyun-ie’ You looked back at him not taking your eyes away from his face.

‘Let them...’ you replied dryly and took him by surprised. His had was almost reaching your mid thigh. ‘Stop there...’ you warned and his hands came to a full stop. In all reality, you never thought about the customers and the employees of the shop, you didn't want to be kicked out! It was your favorite shop!, but also didn't want to kill the mood so quickly.

‘I don't want to…’ he whined playfully, his hands starting to retake their trail once again, when you could swear you saw the barista calling the Manager looking your way

‘Then I’m gonna leave...’ you defined.

‘Do it, I dare you...’ He said dramatically narrowing his eyes and shaking his head tugging on your tight.Yep, it was definitely the barista calling the Manager, you sat up quickly but Tae followed your moves and grabbed your wrist ‘Fight me you attractive stranger and don't you dare walk away!’ he said out loud really feeling the drama running through his veins. You punched his arm and pointed to the other side of the glass where the manager was walking towards you.

‘Tae, the Manager!’ His eyes changed completely and turn to meet with the concerned manager gaze,

‘Fuck’ He let out, he looked at you completely back to his normal self and grabbed your hand like he always does. ‘Grab your coat’ he told and you did as requested. Hastily you both exited the garden and trotted by the Manager bowing on your way out. When you reached the street you both let out a relieved sigh, Tae grabbed his heart with his free hand

‘That was scary...’ His voice was gruff and out of breath, you giggled at his confound expression

‘What happened Han Sung? Never got caught red handed before?’ you mocked.

‘Yah, Don't laugh…’ he started but began to chuckle as well ‘I wanted to surprise you by doing something different’

‘Oh I was surprised alright...’ you smiled hugging him surrounding his waist with your arm pressing him close to you happy to have him back ‘Such a fuckboy Han Sung’ you scrunched your nose.

‘Yeah, he is an asshole...’ nodded your boyfriend. ‘Let’s never inviting him back’ he winked with a half smile at you.

‘Agree.’ you finished.  

[tanoraqui]

Alphabet meme            

Rules: Copy this post into a new text post, remove my answers, and put in yours. When you’re done, tag 10 people plus the person who tagged you. Most importantly, HAVE FUN!

I was tagged by took this from @ceescedasticity

A- Age: 21 B- Biggest fear: being helpless (related: going blind, people I love dying) C- Current time: 6:16pm D- Drink you last had: water E- Every day starts with: hitting Snooze at least once, then  checking Tumblr and other apps until I’m either really hungry or absolutely must get up for class F- Favorite song: “Defying Gravity” from Wicked springs to mind, so let’s go with that. G- Ghosts, are they real: Probably not? But I like to imagine they are. J- Jealous of: okay so you know that...Dove, I think, commercial that critiques beauty standards by showing a bunch of people, mostly women, saying all the things they hate about their bodies, all the things like their nose or their hair type or the width of their hips that they wish they could change? I hate those people. God. Imagine being able to say, “I hate my body” and mean something that fucking petty. Listen woman, I will take your lopsided nose if you take my aorta that will probably need surgery someday, okay? Shut the fuck up, I can’t even see anything wrong with you. Hey, want to trade eyes? I’m told mine look just fine. K- Killed someone: I KNEW THIS SURVEY WAS WRITTEN BY THE FEDS! YOU CAN’T PIN ANYTHING ON ME, COPPERS! L- Last time you cried: ...I was going to admit to, like, thinking about deceased family, but I actually shed a tear while listening to this kimallura song? Which is unusual for me, but idk, I was emotionally vulnerable at the moment, and the “Please tell me, Kima, what you would dare to say / As dragons rage and cities burn around us“ really got me. M- Middle name(s): after my great-grandmother. N- Number of siblings: 2 O- One wish: ...spontaneous appearance of a pint of raspberry sorbet and a spoon in front of me, right now. P- Person you last called/texted: telling someone I was, in fact, coming to Shadowrun, just late. Q- Questions you’re always asked: I like “Read any good books lately?” as a conversation opener at parties. R- Reasons to smile: dogs. my dog. she’s not here but I love her. S- Song last sung: I think I was singing along to the Moana soundtrack last night...again... T- Time you woke up: a bit after 1pm U- Underwear color: varied V- Vacation destination: Rome W- Worst habit: procrastination X- X-rays you’ve had: A Lot. Y- Your favorite food: chocolate-covered raisins Z- Zodiac sign: Taurus

Tagging @rattyjol, @@ensanguinedbirdy, @theroyalzookeeper​, @dimir-charmer, @silentrevelry, @penmeetspage, and anyone who sees it and is interested.

[classicfilmfreak]

New Post has been published on http://www.classicfilmfreak.com/2017/10/05/the-devil-and-miss-jones-1941/

The Devil and Miss Jones (1941) starring Jean Arthur and Charles Coburn

A neglected little masterpiece full of charm and good humor.

You would be in good company with many of the characters in this little comedy, The Devil and Miss Jones.  The head of the shoe division in Neeley’s department store, named, simply enough, Mary Jones (Jean Arthur), is a tower of strength, offering advice and encouragement to all.  Her boyfriend, Joe O’Brien (Robert Cummings), recently fired from the store, is a labor union organizer often in need of reassurance.  A darlingly sweet clerk, Elizabeth (Spring Byington, in a soft, unfussy role this time, for a change) is at the forefront in converting one of the villains in our little story.

The first of these, whom you might not at first like, is J. P. Merrick (Charles Coburn), supposedly the richest man in the world.  Among his holdings is Neeley’s department store, where he poses as just another clerk to expose agitators and fire incompetents, or those who simply offend him.  For those due a comeuppance, he records their names in his little “doomsday” pocket notepad.

The second villain, unredeemable as it will prove and who is Merrick’s first notepad entry to be fired, is the nasty shoe department section manager, known frostily only as “Mr. Hooper” (Edmund Gwenn, cast against his usual type of affability and benevolence).

Although The Devil and Miss Jones is an RKO film, the main title opens like a Universal movie, with Coburn, a scowl on his face and surrounded by flames, obviously the “devil” of the title, with appropriate demonic music by Roy Webb.  The camera pans right, to Arthur, her halo and innocent smile accompanied by contrasting angelic music.  She looks to her right, spies Coburn and blows heartily, putting out his flames and deepening his scowl.

Producer Frank Ross and screenwriter Norman Krasna (nominated for an Oscar) borrowed $600,000 from the bank to make the The Devil and Miss Jones, the first of two starring Arthur.  The second and last film in the short-lived production company was A Lady Takes a Chance (1943), opposite John Wayne.

The Devil and Miss Jones opens as three limousines, viewed from a low camera beneath towering New York skyscrapers, arrive at a stately mansion.  A solemn-faced businessman emerges from each of the first two cars and two from the third: Edwin Maxwell (the opera board chairman in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, 1936), Montagu Love (Henry VIII in The Prince and the Pauper, 1937); Richard Carle (Gaston in Ninotchka, 1939) and Charles Waldron (General Sternwood in The Big Sleep, 1946).

With portentous music, the large glass doors of the mansion are opened by the butler, George (S. Z. Sakall, Carl in Casablanca, 1942).  He leads the quartet of gentlemen into a great hall where they sit nervously and wait . . . and wait.

Presently, J. P. Merrick enters and the four men, clearly yes-men of the first order, mull over a front-page newspaper showing an effigy of their boss during a recent union demonstration.

“I pay you a great deal,” an angry Merrick tells them, “to take care of my interests and my privacy.  I want my privacy.  I haven’t had my photograph in a newspaper in twenty years.”

After Merrick has abruptly dismissed the men, a detective they have hired, Thomas Higgins (Robert Emmett Keane, Burton in Boys Town, 1938), enters with a scheme to expose the department store culprits—in “two or three weeks,” after his wife has had a baby, of course.  Merrick discharges him.  He thinks he can assume Higgins’ name and do a better job himself, undercover, in two or three days.

Merrick arrives at work as Thomas Higgins and reports to Hooper, who immediately irritates him.  Afterward, Higgins will write in his notepad, “Fire Station Manager.”

Higgins is assigned to slippers, and is quickly encouraged by Mary, head of the shoe department: “Don’t forget people can always do without slippers.  They have to be convinced.”

He at first refuses to take his lunch hour, because at home he pampers a weak stomach with milk and Graham crackers and carries pepsin-flavored chewing gum in his coat pocket.  But upon Mary’s insistence, he takes the hour off, asking to just sit withElizabeth, that he isn’t hungry.

After much persuasion, he reluctantly takes the tuna fish popover she offers him, her own “invention,” she says.  After a bite or two, she asks him how he likes it.  “I don’t know yet,” he replies.  When he finishes the popover, he admits, “Tastes good.”

During the day, an irate young man, Joe O’Brien, handcuffs himself to a heating pipe, protesting the firing of him and other employees who tried to organize and announcing a union meeting that evening.  He is hauled away by two store detectives.

Before all the employees, tears in her eyes, Mary gives an emotional testimonial, asking Higgins to stand as an example of how Neeley’s will discard him for a younger man.  Higgins looks about, perplexed, irritated and disbelieving.  Afterward, Elizabeth purrs, “You were wonderful.”  He replies, “I didn’t do anything.”

When he returns home after work, he tells George no more Graham crackers: he wants a lunch of tuna fish popovers to take to work next day in a shoe box.  When George protests that the chef has never made popovers, Merrick barks, “Then get one who does.  If certain people can make them on a little gas strove, then that idiot downstairs ought to be able to make them.”

Next day, Elizabeth asks Mary to ask Higgins to go with her to Coney Island with Mary and Joe.  He agrees when he discovers that Hooper has been taking her out.  Higgins brings from his cellar a bottle of his finest wine, label removed, to impress his new-found friends, but they find it awful, preferring the “wine” made by the grandfather of Joe’s iceman, who stomps on the grapes in the bathtub with his feet.  “Why didn’t he take his socks off?” Higgins surmises.

In a long sketch, Higgins wanders away from the group in search of the bathhouse where he had exchanged his street clothes for swimming attire.  In trying to sell his expensive watch to make a phone call to his chauffeur, he is deemed suspicious by a policeman (Regis Toomey, Sanders in His Girl Friday, 1940) and brought before a police station sergeant (Edward McNamara, another police sergeant in Arsenic and Old Lace, 1944).  Joe and Mary arrive shortly.  Joe uses his legal knowledge to intimidate the policemen into releasing Higgins.

At the end of the Coney Island visit, Joe gives up on crusading for the employees and discards his list of four hundred names, those who support unionizing.  Higgins hands it to Mary, who suggests he keep it.

On the return from Coney Island, Mary finds the real Higgins’ business card which the masquerading Higgins accidentally drops, identifying him as a spy for the department store.  She tells a stunned Joe, who suggests she “get him” in the store the next day—and retrieve the list of names.

In a comic sequence, Mary finds the heaviest possible shoe in the stock room to use to knock out Higgins, hesitating more than once until she is saved the trouble when a heavy riding boot falls from the top shelf and renders him unconscious.

Higgins is revived and hauled to the store manager, Mr. Allison (Walter Kingsford, Dr. Walter Carew in the Dr. Kildare series, 1937-1947).  Higgins speaks up for the employees, which changes Mary’s mind about him.  When Allison agrees to concessions if they can prove there are four hundred employees who support unionizing, Higgins produces the list from his coat pocket.  Allison reneges and insults Higgins.  In a scene worthy of the Marx Brothers, Mary takes a flying leap across Allison’s desk, retrieves the list and she and Higgins run about the office, each eating half the shared list.  Joe struggles with Hooper.  Mary later commandeers the store intercom and calls for all employees to leave their work and unite in a protest.

From his mansion, Higgins slips unnoticed among the protesters and says he has arranged a meeting between Merrick’s board of governors and representatives of the employees.  Still unaware of Higgins’ true identity, Mary, Joe and Elizabeth file into the boardroom with Higgins.  The yes-men out-yes themselves in agreeing with Merrick when he supports points made by the workers.

Elizabeth is brought to tears by an insult and leans against Higgins.  The board members rush to his aid.  “Are you all right, Mr. Merrick?”  “Are you hurt, Mr. Merrick?”  Stunned by the much-delayed revelation, Elizabeth pulls away, Mary slides down the wall in a scream and Joe faints.

But all is resolved.  Next scene, in an ocean liner ballroom, employees and executives dance together, Merrick and Joe with their new brides.  And to a chorus of “He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” sung for Merrick, everyone is off to Honolulu.

The obvious star of The Devil and Miss Jones is Charles Coburn, alternating brilliantly between the wicked Merrick—lovable, somehow, even then—and the strong but affable Higgins.  He earned an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor, although he is more than “supporting.”  He would win a much-deserved Oscar two years later for The More the Merrier, also with Arthur.

Although Coburn steals the limelight in The Devil and Miss Jones, the others handle their parts well.  Jean Arthur is her usual dependable self—did she ever give a weak performance?  Robert Cummings’ dramatic limitations as an actor aren’t, by the nature of the comedy, here exposed, and his strongest suit as a light comedian is boyishly displayed.  Spring Byington is, as said earlier, “soft” and “sweet.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bnw87j_ow78