#because its seemingly installed into him; that if he obeys. he gets what he wants. but his cockiness has been letting him slack off

[sotogalmo]

1:44

Void ( @emthimofnight ) with Latin (translated)↓

since I alone am holy/I alone am the master/I am alone: lyrics from Obituary (by MaimtMayo) = the words in Latin are quoniam solus sanctus, quia ego solus dominus, ego solus.

And also also. Armisael's last quote: That is what it is to be lonely? That is what your mind is. It is what fills your soul. You are that sorrow.

This goes. With what im doing in a fic of mine:

(not just him tho. Doing the other siblings- title is called “Make amends, privileged ends, hiding sin, life begins: Three stages before humanity.”)

[bbnibini]

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – forty-six🔖

[ Burn the letter ]

(Mammon's affection reached MAX. You cannot raise his parameters any further.)

{ OPEN STATUS : YES

> approved > displaying capture targets

Mammon: 100♡/100♡ Satan: 85♡/100♡ Barbatos: 0♡/100♡ Lucifer: 5♡/100♡

CLOSE STATUS : YES >approved }

The piece of paper that brought you together only caused him hurt. Its scented pages filled with words of love that made you fall for him was nothing but an illusion. Your love was blind to the sides of Mammon that didn't fit the letter he had penned, forcing yourself to believe any semblance of feelings you had for him were true. Is it really love if you closed your eyes to the truth and believed everything had been perfect? Do you really love someone if you could only accept their good sides?

Such thoughts crossed your mind then, simmering there until it reached its boiling point---a love governed by ideals and strived for perfection. If that really is the love that you feel for him

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Then screw your ridiculous standards! But it hadn't been the case at all! Anger bubbled up inside you and spilled the remnants of your long-spent self-control. You wondered how your "wonderful boyfriend" had made such ridiculous conclusions. How many I love yous would it get him to understand that you didn't give a crap about the letter at all? It was him and had always been him! If your feelings for him started with an unexpected letter in your locker, then so be it. But you were free to fall in love with the real him! You wanted to shake him by the shoulders and shout at him a loud, drawn out,

"DON'T PUT WORDS IN MY FUCKING MOUTH YOU STUPIDMAMMONNNNNN!!"

…and kiss him while XXXX XXX XXX so he would fucking get that tattooed in his stupidmammon brain!!!! When you angrily texted Asmo and Levi about your boyfriend's genius conclusions, their seemingly endless spams of the laughing Blacjak stickers were already telling.

Despite your friends' best attempts to comfort you, you were inconsolable. Incensed, you held the letter near the fire and muttered stupidMammon under your breath in rapid succession, seeing it burn into ashes.

You put your phone down and groaned. You knew deep down that it wasn't good to hold onto your anger, but where the hell will you project that volatile piece of angst when every bone in your body is screaming "I want Mammon" both in a murderous and romantic fashion? You were pretty sure he was sulking right now, and any word you'll tell him won't ever register until he's calmed himself down. Well, you needed to calm yourself too, especially after you noticed that your fingers were actually burning from the fire.

Ow, was your delayed reaction, gingerly turning off the gas lamp and collecting the letter's ashes.

Wait a minute. You just had an idea.

By the time Asmo and Levi came to your room offering "tribute", they were greeted by your familiar figure laughing maniacally while looking at a pile of ashes. Judging from their nonchalant reactions, they seemed to have been already used to it. A tub of ice cream was planted on your cheek as Levi's attempt to snap you back to your senses.

"What flavour?"

"Both of them."

"Spoon."

A spoonful of mint choco ice cream was shoved in your mouth by a blank-faced Levi. The sweet and cool sensation on your tongue made you moan in happiness. Delightful!

"The Old One has finally calmed down, huh. Asmo, it's your turn." (Levi)

"Yay~ makeover time!~"

An equally cool gel was rubbed on your face, relaxing the remaining tense muscles in your body. Asmo seemed to delight on pampering you, smearing more products on your skin until your cheeks and your upper arms and legs were soft and supple as a cherub's butt.

Your nightly meetings with Asmo and Levi usually had a topic of interest. It was a universal truth in your friendship circle however that any enemy of yours is an enemy of both of them as well. It didn't matter the reason or the absurdity of your complaints. In pajama nights, it's always your ex who's evil and Lucifer who's unfair. Logic is literally thrown out the window in favour of satisfying all of your ids and egoistic desires. Saying that, it was rare on your part to initiate pajama nights on your own, as Asmo is its usual host, and his fling for the night or a completely clueless Solomon or Lucifer were your usual topics of hostility. Levi uses pajama nights as an excuse to rave about his favourite anime this season and was therefore banned from saying the word unless necessary™. Mammon was usually an avoided topic as well because your biased ass will side with the "enemy". Well fuck your usual. You've got a big ass target on his back and you're not afraid to shoot him (or maul him on the ground and have your way with him, whatever works). You realised your angry-horny highs were lingering within you so you calmed it down with another spoonful of ice cream.

"Fuck Mammon." you began your "meeting" with eloquence. Your two friends agreed by repeating your statement with malice only equalling your own.

"A question," Asmodeus raised his hand, pointing to the pile of ashes on your table. "That isn't Mammon, isn't it?"

"I wish." you rolled your eyes and pouted. "As stupid and dense as he is sometimes, I still love him. I brought both of you here today because I actually need your help."

"Just so you know, my arm strength isn't the best--"

"We're not burying bodies today, Levi."

"We're not?"

"I want him alive, Asmo…" you corrected. "...for now."

The two of them made sounds of affirmation. You spoke again. "I want to seduce him."

"Ooh~ How exciting!"

"S-seduce?!"

"We don't enter relationships to play house, sweetie." Levi threw a pepperoni at you upon your retort, causing you to giggle. "Joking aside, I was thinking of a public declaration of love! The more embarrassed he will get, the more he won't forget how much I love him, won't he?"

"How heavy~"

"Kinda creepy, dude…"

"Hey! I thought you're on my side!"

Asmo turned to the pile of ashes again and frowned. "And how is your public declaration of love related to your victim's ashes?"

"Oh! I was thinking of making it a good luck charm for him for the final exams!"

"How heavy~"

"C-creepy…"

"It's the letter. IT'S THE LETTER'S ASHES, GUYS."

Consulting both of them on making the good luck charm was the right choice. Levi's amazing at sewing while Asmo's sense for aesthetics was unparalleled. After arguing about the designs and the materials back and forth, the three of you finally agreed on one design. As they have dreaded, you only enlisted their help for them to teach you how to make the good luck charm yourself. No amount of their friendly reminders of your precious errors and sewing disasters intimidated you enough to consider probably asking for their help. If you wanted to win Mammon's heart back, you wanted to do it on your own! Time was limited however and so was the rift between you and Mammon growing further and further each day. You attempted to make peace with him despite his frequent attempts to avoid you, never losing your heart and staying close to your goals. You were thankful for Asmo's and Levi's undying support as if not for them, you would have started doubting yourself and charging through without considering Mammon's feelings. The least you could do is listen to him, even if you didn't agree with how he perceived your relationship.

Studying was done with the twins--Belphie's sleepy but academically inclined inputs helpful in answering the reviewers Satan prepared for you firsthand. It was a farfetched goal, but you wanted to top the exams and confess ala T☆kimeki Memorial under some big ass tree or maybe in an abandoned lighthouse. And going by the game's ridiculously high standards, no anime waifu or husbando would ever date a dumbass. If you want a CG event, top the exam, dammit! Forget your social life and hit the books! After all, Mammon looked a lot like your favourite capture target on the second installment. You wanted to look at the bright sides of your fight and start planning an otome-inspired way to end this pet project while you're at it. If not, you'd end up crying after Mammon rejects you for the nth time this week.

You swore you're trying to forget that already.  T_T

It wasn't like you weren't trying to text him either. It's just that he often leaves you on read or just spams you with nonsensical emojis. You attempted to send some noods once (his favourite hell-sauce flavour), but he only accepted your food and awkwardly tried to brush you off to the point that he almost ignored you. He would blush when you told him I love you, and would even look conflicted when he tried pushing you away, but in the end his stubbornness always wins. If he wasn't so cute when he's sulking, you would have already caused him bodily harm. You lied. You already karate chopped his ass a few times in your head. The several other times, you were doing…things to him.

After about 3 days, you managed to finish the good luck charm, which was actually good timing since tonight, RAD was holding a bonfire dance to commemorate the conclusion of the school festival. You had a vague recollection of the event being quite fun, but you were too tired from council work and too stressed over making up with Mammon to notice. He still had most of his stuff in your bedroom so you surmised that he got too embarrassed to tell you he wasn't angry anymore and probably, just probably, he realised how ridiculous his claims were especially after how your affections only intensified (and became all the more embarrassing) after your fight.

You began shamelessly bragging about him at random, and even hired a cheering squad (with you as their center) for Beel's fangol game. Contrary to their expectations however, you weren't cheering for the actual player himself, but one of his brothers watching on the bleachers.  

"That's my boyfriend over there! Look at him spectating! You're doing great, sweetie!♡"

The amount of angry Blacjak stickers he spammed you on your inbox was adorable. Your three days of Vitamin Mammon deficiency had finally caused you some intense withdrawal symptoms. Every demon in the vicinity received a hug. Even the angels weren't safe. A flustered Luke was your victim at breakfast. While Simeon's unsettling calm and soothing laughter accompanied you at lunch. At some point you felt like you hugged Lord Diavolo as well, because the day after, you were writing hundreds and hundreds of pages of reflection letters in Lucifer's study. Mammon had been its frequent victim of course, so most of the other victims exasperatedly told both of you to make up already(especially since it was getting kinda annoying). You agreed, but your lady love didn't. Unfortunately for them, you rather enjoyed the chase, so despite their complaints, you became even more annoying and relentless.

Levi had been understandably distant with you especially after your intense cuddling sessions the other day. You saw him visibly shiver as you called his name, only to calm down when you reassured him that you were reserving the rest of your frustrations at its source himself. Where was Mammon? Was a question you asked yourself as your eyes scanned the area. The moonlight was bright tonight, with several stars dotting the night sky. A large bonfire was placed on the center of the school grounds, dyeing everyone its warm red colour. Lord Diavolo hailed the tradition from Japanese school festivals, and was even excited to adopt a common legend that uncanningly fits your romantic agenda.

Confess your love to the one you like and you'll be together forever.

Romantic, right? It was a stuff from shoujo manga, and you were wholly supportive of it when it was suggested in the council meeting. Lord Diavolo was touched by your enthusiasm, meaning Lucifer (threatened) encouraged the other members who didn't raise their hands to approve of the proposal. Mammon was one of the demons who were "encouraged" which might explain his absence tonight. The announcer greeted everyone from the speakers and asked everyone to get into formation. Students of different realms began grouping themselves for the dance. You were beginning to feel nervous. "Where's Mammon?" you asked Levi and he only shrugged.

"Hiding from you, probably."

"That's not good. How am I supposed to confess to him?"

"With how many public displays of affection you've shown him, I'm sure he already got the message."

"I'll look for him."

You were reluctant to leave your spot, but you left anyway as you were worried about where he was. You saw him earlier when your class was cleaning up their booth, so he should still be in RAD. Probably. You looked for him in several empty classrooms, but your search had been fruitless. You bumped into Simeon who seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere (your first social interaction for your whole search) so you decided to take advantage of it.

"Have you seen Mammon?"

"Mammon?" the angel pondered your question. "I think he's at the rooftop? He seemed to be going in that direction."

He really is an angel!

"Thank you! When did you see him?"

"Just now, I think? He said he wanted to practice for some…thing." he immediately covered his mouth. "Oh my, perhaps I shouldn't have said that. He was practicing to make up with you, isn't he?"

"Seems like it." you couldn't help but notice the plastic bag he was carrying. Demonus? Leeks? There was medicine in there too. Simeon noticed you staring and smiled. "I'm afraid I can't join the nightly activities. I need to attend to someone."

"Come to think of it, Lucifer seemed to be feeling unwell today. It's the season for colds now, isn't it?"

"Oh…so it seems." huh that was rare. You haven't heard Simeon stutter before. "I must go now; good luck making up with him."

You nodded and thanked Simeon again before parting ways.

💌💌💌

You would have been against scouring RAD by yourself at night if you weren't already decently familiar with the area. Moving paintings akin to the ones at Harrison Potter decorated the walls, and cursed statues that uttered your name and sometimes said 'seven days' were seen to be standing once every corner of a wing or two. Demons have weird aesthetics, one that clashed with the humans when it came to beauty standards--or maybe it was simply Lord Diavolo's own weird tastes influencing the interior design, you didn't know. The stairs leading to the rooftop creaked at every step, but you were too afraid to look back. There was light peeking from the crack of the rooftop door, a faint vermilion that must be coming from the large bonfire outside. Slightly fatigued, you wiped the sweat from your brows and held the doorknob, finding that it was unlocked.

Wow!

The entire rooftop was decorated with…envelopes? From a corner faraway, you saw Mammon busy scribbling something on paper. He jumped from his seat and dropped his quill once he heard your footsteps.

"W-what are you doin' here?!"

You picked up an envelope from the pile that read With Love, From The Great Mammon and held back a chuckle.

"Oi, don't touch that!"

"Is it for me?"

"...."

You noticed he was blushing adorably once you took a few more steps closer, now at skinship range, you smothered the silly demon in your chest and stroked his head, peppering it with kisses.

"So you do love me.♡"

Mammon didn't reply and only hugged you back.

"Let's stop fighting, okay?"

No response.

"I love you, Mammon."

Thinking he didn't hear it, you said it again.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you. I can be stupid at times, maybe even insufferable but, I really love you, you know? I was really angry when you told me I didn't! I would have railed you on the floor if Levi didn't stop me!"

You felt him tense at your words and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry! I won't do that anymore! (Probably). So, how did you like my love declarations?" you asked as you loosened the hug, greeted by his still blushing face.

"It's embarrassing."

"Buuuuut is it memorable?"

"Shaddup…"he buried his face on your chest once again. "It's stupid, ain't it? Being jealous of yourself; the stupid letter that ain't even worth much but you really like anyway…"You kissed his cheek in between his speech, and you felt him relax again. You saw remnants of Gentlemammon™ as he looked up at you, bashful and even shy. "Feels like I ain't livin' to your standards sometimes."

"So you asked the witches to curse you?"

"...you seemed to really like it when I was cursed, so I was shocked when you said you didn't."

"Because I do prefer the real you. I wasn't lying."

You saw him open his mouth and hesitate to speak again. The lovely flush on his face deepened as he seemed to think deeply about something.

"A grimm for your thoughts?"

Mammon pouted. "They ain't cheap."

"Then would a kiss do?" you smiled impishly.

!!!

There was a rather loud music playing in the background---mp3 files from the student council's playlist that everyone had compiled. Satan said it was traditional folk music from the human world, but you couldn't really tell. It did cause you to strain your ears to listen to Mammon's almost whisper of a reply.

"...yeah."

And who were you to decline? You bent down to reach for his lips, his, warm and soft on your own. It was chaste, almost comically innocent, for Mammon pouted once you pulled away.

"It's a make-up kiss."

"Even gradeschoolers can do better!"

"I don't know. I haven't kissed someone in ages.

.

.

.

.

.

Maybe if I read that someone's letters over here, it will jog my memory?"

Mammon looked flustered as he tried to stop you from reaching from the pile. But instead of a dreaded envelope on your hands, he saw a trinket instead.

"I burned the letter and made it into a charm! For academic success!"

"You what?"

"I don't really care about the letter, dummy. I was just happy to receive it from you." You smiled bitterly. "Even if you told me you got angry for a stupid reason, I still hurt you. I don't want you chase a shadow of yourself or think I'm loving an illusion of you." You placed the charm on his palm and closed it with his fist.

"What matters to me is the Mammon with me right now: you . I love you Mammon for who you are so please don't ever forget that."

"I think I won't be able to even if I want to…" With all the embarrassing crap you've done? You couldn't help but agree.

"So, what about me Mammon? Do you love me?"

He surprised you by kissing your lips in reply and saying,

"I love you. I really love you."

[ Mammon's Good Ending obtained. ]

💌autoload save slot

💌go back to prologue

💌exit

💌masterlist

[ You have unlocked ~KEY 3: Mammon's Letter ~ ]

💌enter password

(hint: the colour of the flowers decorating the love letter's stationery; one word, lowercase)

[be-dazzled]

#SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for sensitive language and content

Keep on whispering in my ear Tell me all the things that I wanna’ to hear, ‘cause that’s true, that’s what I like about you

- What I Like About You, The Romantics

“Stop over. I’d like to take a picture!” Juvia hit him on the shoulders. She was unusually excited about the ad considering how she 'dead-pan’ called him 'that guy from the billboard’ the first time they met. “It’s the same as the one near the studio.”

Of course they were talking about that sport-drink billboard where he was wearing nothing but his aztec bandana and his full six-packs.

“C'mon, Juvia.” He whined, not really on-board with his girlfriend’s idea. “If you really want a picture of my abs I got it right here.” Gray said. One hand was on the steering wheel while the other slowly pulled the hem of his shirt upwards, teasing a little of that six pack he was talking about.

Juvia laughed dryly.

“Just stop over.”

Then, Juvia did the most 'tourist’ thing to do: posed and took photos with Gray’s sport-drink billboard in the background. She roped her boyfriend in and forced the poor guy to pose in front of his million-dollar deal.

“Just so you know, not everyone gets to score something like that.” Gray tried to save face as the ballerina had her phone out to take photos of Hoopster.

“Whatever. Just go pose in front of well… you.”

Gray could see Juvia folding her lips and fighting a laugh but that was one hell of good-looking abs right there and he should be proud of it.

—

Miles away, Gray could already see the sign – Isvan Home for Boys. The Ghini arrived at the entrance where a security guard on post greeted Gray with a one-hand salute. Thereafter, he let the black Lamborghini into the compound.

“Home for Boys?”

Gray only answered Juvia’s inquiry with a glance and a timid smile.

Ghini crawled in front of an average looking bungalow that sit on a wide area of land. All the while, Gray looked around for free space. He parked next to the ridiculous orange that was hurting his eyes, the Lava – Natsu’s Mercedes.

“They’re probably already inside.” He told Juvia as he cut the engine off of his Lamborghini.

He jumped out of his car and dashed to Juvia’s side. But the independent ballerina was already out of the car and had shut the door close behind her. Hoopster settled on holding her hand instead and leading her into the building. An older man waited for them at the entrance.

“Juvia, this is Mr. Gômon.”

The tall, rounder man had a prominent goatee and thick brows. He offered the new face a smile that made his eyes disappear.

“He’s one of my father’s closest friends and he runs this place.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

“No need to be all formal, Miss Juvia.” The older man then turned to Gray to give him a quick hug and a pat on the back. “Always excited to see you 'round this time of year.”

Gômon informed the two that Natsu and the others were already inside. But he didn’t go in with the new arrivals. The headmaster left the responsibility to Gray who knew the place like the back of his hand. Gray guided Juvia deeper into the building, navigating the old hallway like he was just there yesterday. In the middle of the seemingly typical bungalow was an open space where the kids could run around on the grassy ground. The figures who were standing on it were familiar to Juvia but the children interacting with them weren’t. The children, all young boys ranging in age, were in uniform – Fiore Knights uniform.

Gray pulled Juvia’s hand into a stop and stayed at the end of the tiled hallway that opened into the open space.

“Every year we hold a sports clinic for these boys.”

Gray hasn’t told anyone but just a sight of these young boys crowded around his team, wearing smaller version of the Fiore Knights’ uniform, bouncing balls in their hands, he felt pride swell up his chest. He was once like them but these kids had it worse than Gray. Gray still had one parent alive. The kids were orphaned at a very early age.

“Something the guys and I do, off the record.”

“So, no press?” Juvia asked.

“No. I don’t like them turning everything into a spectacle.”

Gray turned to Juvia, readying to let a little fact about him slip out the box.

“This was actually my dad’s idea. When he was alive, he brings me here once a year. He’d teach us basketball and I get to play with the kids my own age.”

It was one of the many good memories Gray had with his father. He’d run around with the kids all day. It felt more like actually playing rather than practicing. At least, once a year, he got to play like a real child. But now that’s all it was, a memory. Gray knew Juvia felt sorry for him. He could see it in her big blue eyes. But he wasn’t sad nor sorry. On the contrary, being able to continue his father’s legacy was one of those moments Gray felt fulfilled.

“Hey, don’t fall in too much in love with me yet, alright?”

Juvia playfully smacked him on his right arm.

“In your dreams, lover boy.”

This was supposed to be a happy, important day and he wouldn’t go dampening the mood with sad stories.

“Look! It’s the Cap!”

Gray and Juvia whipped their heads to look at the direction of one of the kids pointing at them. Well, Gray to be exact. Once the other kids saw the Team Captain, everyone raced over and their force tackled him to the ground. Juvia had to step away for a moment before she got tangled in that excited little mob which devoured her boyfriend.

They were talking all together, visibly elated at his presence. Gray swore his brain was about to explode with the kids all talking at once. But Hoopster was able to give each one of the boys a high five; no men left behind.

“Alright, alright! Take it easy, boys.”

“Hey, Captain. Who’s the pretty lady?”

Gray assumed his boys were too young to watch the dance show not to recognize the prettiest lady in 'My Star Can Dance’.

“Everyone, say hi to Miss Juvia.”

Obeying the Captain’s instruction, the boys greeted in unison. It was easy for Juvia to work that crowd; she dealt with little girls in her studio and Juvia’s students loved her very much. She turned on her charm and that big bright smile; even Gray fell for it.

“Hey, Cap! Stop flaunting yer girlfriend and let’s ball.”

It was Gajeel’s turn to tease his captain. But he still made sure he got the point across, because the Center was right, they might just lose some precious daylight if they kept playing around.

“Alright, boys! Let’s give the Captain some time to change into his Captain uniform.”

Gajeel called and gathered the kids back to start quick drills.

“Yes. Change clothes.” Loke winked at Gray, that kind of wink he knew had some double meaning. Loke was the kind of guy who made everything sound sexual, even just the word broccoli.

So, his Captain gave him the finger.

Fiore Knights’ Team Captain apologized for Loke’s joke by telling Juvia to just ignore the dimwit. Gray hesitantly excused himself from Juvia to run back to his car and slip into his uniform. But he didn’t want to leave her alone in an unfamiliar place. Good thing his mother chose that moment to make an entrance, with President Wakaba in tow.

“Go get changed, Gray. I’ll entertain Juvia for a while.”

When Mika Mine walked past him, she decided to act like a real mother and reminded Gray to put towel on his back. She made sure both Gray and Juvia heard it.

“Mother!”

But Mika was already hauling Juvia into the building and leading the giggly ballerina to where the open court was, Gray presumed.

Gray quickly changed into his Fiore Knights uniform. All the way from the common restroom to the outdoor court, Gray reconsidered his decision of bringing Juvia along at the Home. He had no qualms about sharing that part of his life with Juvia. He wanted to open up to her, so that she could get to know him better, deeper. That he was more than just a pretty face and reliable dance partner. He wanted to have that intimacy with Juvia and maybe take the relationship to the next level. The problem was leaving her girlfriend to his mother’s care. That woman could talk! And Gray’s afraid he wasn’t earning the plus points he wanted.

Gray was now trekking through the earthy pathway leading to the open court. The open space design was the main reason why Gray loved the basketball court at the Home. Green trees surrounded the area, warranting that natural, fresh air. It was simply freeing.

He arrived at the basketball court where his team and the boys were doing basic drills. Natsu, Fiore Knights’ point guard, led the footwork exercise. Gray knew the pain of the 'low knee running in place’ exercise, especially now that his Vice Captain wanted to double the speed. But he wasn’t hearing any complaints. Burst of laughters echoed in its stead. It seemed as the boys were enjoying themselves. The girly giggles, one which Gray hoped was not enjoyed at his expense, came from the shaded side of the court where Gray’s mother and his girlfriend were bonding. Oh, Gray hoped Mika didn’t bring any of that embarrassing photo albums.

“Oh, nooo.” His face twitched.

No photo album but Mika was showing something in her phone. The woman actually went digital!

—

Gray jogged to the center of the court and joined the others. But he’s mind was still at the two women in his life sitting at the newly installed garden bench.

“Hey, Cap!”

Loke approached him first, breaking from the group to greet his Captain. Gray walked with him but he wasn’t paying attention even when Casanova audibly hissed.

“That doesn’t look good for you, Cap.”

That one got his attention and he engaged.

“What?”

“That.”

Loke was pointing at where the restrained laughters where coming. Both eyes, one blue and one darker, were still glued at the older woman’s phone.

“I bet now Mrs. President is showing your girlfriend some childhood photos.”

Gray wasn’t worried about that. He was a cute kid! Even when he was younger, Gray was already a chick magnet. Every middle-aged woman in their block loved to pinch his cheeks or place a kiss on them. Juvia would easily fall in love with that face. Such fact was the only thing keeping him sane.

“You know, little Gray. And you don’t want your girlfriend to think about little Gray.”

The Team Captain stopped dead in his tracks, pulling his son of a witch Small Forward with him. Gray turned to give Loke a look that was a cross between very, very confused and 'don’t f*ck with me’.

“Little. Gray.” Loke’s sly hazel eyes drifted down south. And he was very pleased with himself watching the Captain’s confused look morphed into horrified, as the idea registered in Gray’s brain.

Loke jogged ahead, filling the air with his loud 'I gotcha’ laugh.

The Small Forward was just obviously trying to pull his leg. In today’s game, the team of Fiore Knights resident Casanova was going against the Captain’s. He was just trying to get in his head. Couldn’t blame the man. Psy-war was all part of the game. And the ultimate playboy wasn’t above using such underhanded tactic.

—

Juvia heaved a long breath, letting the fresh air enter and expand her lungs. It was one of the things Juvia loved about leaving the city – fresh air and green scenery. It wasn’t only psychological, science backed up the benefits of the outdoors. She loved her life in the city but once in a while, Juvia wanted a change in scenery. That was why she travelled home as often as her schedule would allow.

Isvan wasn’t what she expected at first; it was too much like the city. When Gray won successive championships for Fiore, the previously unknown town became some sort of a tourist attraction. But the moment Gray turned the curve, Juvia saw the real Isvan – a simple country side.

Juvia never expected that Gray would bring her to Home for Boys. She knew Gray was a nice person, that there was something more to him that met the eyes. But she could have never seen it coming. It was Gray. He was a basketball god, on top of his game. He was young, determined and didn’t hurt the eyes. No, he was hot as hell. And when you were that rich and attractive, people say you could have anything you wanted. But if you look behind all those superficies, a real person emerges. Gray was actually funny, kind and despite that Prince Syndrome he got going the first time they met, Hoopster was actually a reliable person. He didn’t think about himself all the time just as those page-six stories would portray him to be. Figures, he was the Captain of one of the country’s successful sports team. His leadership carried Fiore Knights through three championships and it looked like Earthland hasn’t seen the last of them.

Celebrity-athletes like Gray would usually make appearances in just every charitable events some of them didn’t even know what for. For most, it was all for show, to gain some popularity. You could tell. You could always tell. When the kids ran to Gray, almost throwing him to the ground, Juvia felt a warm feeling swell up her chest. As she watched his nose crinkle and his eyes almost disappear from laughing, that warm feeling spread like wildfire.

She was just starting to get to know Gray better and so far, she liked what she was seeing. And when he said she shouldn’t fall in love with him too much yet, it was just impossible. She was falling in love with him every second.

Juvia couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. Mika Mine was telling her all about young Gray’s adventures. Of course, she was thankful for every bit of embarrassing information. She made sure she committed everything to memory. At last, Juvia had something over Gray to tease him about. Icing on the cake? Mika Mine showed her pictures.

There was one with a grumpy, eight year old in a prince charming costume. Mika said Gray wanted to be Spiderman for that Halloween but she didn’t like him hiding his beautiful face. Gray refused to talk to her mother for a week. There was also one with Juvia’s boyfriend in his first basketball uniform three sizes bigger than his 10 year old figure. But her absolute favorite, one Juvia would save later in her phone was Graysia. Gray’s little sister – or so his mother wanted to imagine. Mika always wanted to have a little girl but since they couldn’t afford another child, Gray would do. On one random afternoon, Mika dressed Gray in a pink ball gown and putting on him red lipstick. Oh, Juvia just stumbled on a gold mine.

Like some kind of magnet, Juvia could feel Gray’s presence in the court. Her eyes already drifted to where Gray was, about to join his group, wearing his latest Fiore Knights uniform. He was talking to one of his teammates, Loke. Whatever it was about seemed to horrify Gray. He looked at Juvia’s way and she smiled at him. That seemed to put Gray at ease and about to bury one gloating Small Forward.

After a few stretches and drills, Gray had the ball in his hand. He was talking to the kids and they were listening to him intently. Juvia was sure it was hard to keep those little heads to focus. Juvia had girls and she couldn’t keep their focus for more than fifteen minutes by just talking.

Gray finished his informal speech with two hand claps that really hyped the children. The boys quickly dispersed and Fiore Knights were left in the court.

“Watch this, kids!”

Loke, the show-off, exhibited a clean through-the-legs dribble before his speed brought him near the basket for a clear shot. She knew the guys were just showing off but the kids were extremely immersed. Their young eyes were glued at the five tall figures. And for most of those kids, they were probably watching their heroes in action.

Each member of Fiore Knights showed complicated footwork before perfecting a basket. Natsu’s shot did three rounds of spin and the kids held on their breaths until the ball went inside the. Laxus, the Power Forward, and Gajeel, the Center, jumped and perfected a dunk shot, earning loud cheers from the kids. Gray, staying true to his professional nickname, stayed a little outside the 3-Point-Line arc to make his famous three-pointer. The ball shot upwards and landed on a natural falling arc. It went inside the ring in a perfect curve. The kids frantically howled and clapped as the Earthland National Basketball three-peat champions took a bow.

The Captain waved the children back on the court, dividing them into two groups. In order to distinguish them from each other, one group was wearing the predominantly red Fiore Knights uniform, which the team wore in this year’s championship; the other wore last year’s gold accentuated jersey.

“They’re going for a match.” Mika felt the need to explain. “Gray takes the red team and Loke takes the gold team.”

“The team trains in the City. Who takes care of the boys?” asked Juvia.

“I believe you met Gômon earlier? He might look a little out of shape but he’s a good player. Silver… Gray’s father and Gômon were members of the same basketball team.”

It’s been years since the mention of the Fullbuster patriarch’s accident and eventual death in the papers. Gray and his mother might have a different life now but Juvia could still see hurt lingering in Mika’s eyes.

“The two of them always went here to train the kids long before we had Gray.”

Mika might have been smiling, but it was rather a weak and small one. Juvia knew not to ask about it. Something like that never really goes away.

“Oh, look. They’re starting.”

The kids were in the middle of the court, scattered within the center circle. Two kids were crouched down opposite each other, waiting for Natsu to toss the ball. Juvia scanned the court for that raven-hair she came to miss. He was at the side bench on the other end of the rectangle, holding a board and a short stick, which turned out to be a marker, tucked on one ear.

Juvia has seen Gray in action since he was just an aspiring but talented freshman in the regional basketball league. He captivated Juvia the moment he made his first three point shot. Juvia followed him around after that, always present in his games, even roping Levy in that Gray-crazed phase. Until she saw him kissing the head cheerleader of the opposing team. The memory left an ugly taste in her mouth; she didn’t want that image to get stuck in her mind and ruin the weekend. So, Juvia locked that image inside the drawer labeled 'never to open ever’.

Natsu blew the whistle. The first half of the game wrapped up with a tight score of 30-34 with Loke’s gold team in the lead.

“Uh-oh, that doesn’t look good.”

Juvia turned to Mika, confused.

“He doesn’t like losing.”

That one Juvia could attest to. Gray was crazy competitive. He probably hated that Loke’s team was having a lead on his. But Gray wasn’t screaming at his team; he wasn’t lashing out at anyone. Instead, he was throwing high fives and light pats at his kids. Then, he gathered them in a tight circle, raised the clipboard flatly so that the kids could see something he drew on it. He was giving them instructions, maybe devising some strategy to win the game.

“His always like that when he gets in the zone.” said Mika, her midnight eyes looking over where Juvia was. “When his eyebrows meet in the middle like that, you know he’s serious.”

Juvia squinted her eyes to look closer. Just as Mika said, Gray’s thick eyebrows were furrowed in the middle as he spoke. The woman was right; Juvia have seen that look many times: when the score and the clock weren’t in favor of Gray’s team; when he was about to make those little last minute three points he became famous for; or lately, when Gray wanted to nail a complicated choreography. Hoopster never wavered when he set his mind to it. That was one of the many qualities Juvia liked about Gray – his fiery passion.

After the short break, his usual smile crept up Gray’s lips and he was back high-fiving the kids. He even playfully kicked the other team’s coach on his butt and Loke hit back with words, to which Gray said something back. Knowing Gray, it was probably something kids shouldn’t be listening to.

When the 3rd quarter started, the ball was in Gray’s court. They managed to score six points over Loke’s team. Casanova wasn’t looking happy about it but Gray Fullbuster was full on gloating. Juvia shook her head. Gray Fullbuster was a fine, funny, kind and very, very likeable man but he let that childish him slip out sometimes. Juvia didn’t mind, it made him who he was.

Gray was sending signals to his team. The ball was played by Loke’s gold team and they made the shot, cutting down the score gap. Juvia caught a glance of Gray and he engaged, holding the gaze for far too long apparently because Gray didn’t see the ball coming, hitting him sharply in the head.

By instinct, Juvia bolted up the bench and so did Gray’s mother. But President didn’t move. In fact, he still held on his cane while he put the other hand on his stomach as he let out a straight guffaw.

“Wakaba!” Mika reprimanded.

“What? It was funny.”

But the glare was boring through him like a good 'ol drill.

The kid who threw the ball ran to the coach with the other kids, all worried. The Fiore Knights, on the other hand, shook their heads biting down a laugh. Getting hit in the head with a ball was common to basketball players. It just didn’t happen that often to the great and mighty Team Captain.

“I’m alright. No need to panic.” Gray assured, shouting to the other side to ease the worries on Juvia and his mother’s face.

“See? It doesn’t even hurt. He’ll live, Mika.”

The kids crowded around the Team Captain who just scratched his forehead and still all smiles. He patted the kid’s head, the one who threw the ball that hit Gray, and told everyone to return to the game. They did and quickly finished up the 3rd quarter with Loke’s team still in the lead.

Gray took that hit for nothing.

Loke said something and earned a very discreet finger for it.

At the last quarter, Gray’s team managed to minimize the point difference but the gold team still bagged the win. There was no hard feelings though, it was just a game. Team Captain often emphasized how important teamwork and, of course, sportsmanship were. After the game, the kids automatically fell into two parallel lines facing each other. The coaches instructed them to shake hands. Even if some looked like they weren’t up for it, the kids still obeyed the adults.

“Alright, then. That’s our cue.”

Mika invited Juvia back into the building. In the middle of the green patch were two buffet tables. Round tables cladded in white were scattered around. Once the children changed into their casual clothing, they wasted no time get cracking at the table full of varied treats.

“Oh, look at that. They are already starting.”

Mika didn’t reprimand the kids but ordered the waiters to put more food on the buffet table and refill those which were running out. She excused herself from Juvia so she could assist in the party, leaving Juvia wandering alone at the open space.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Juvia let out a surprised gasp when she was pulled by the waist against a hard figure. She turned around to meet Gray’s meaningful eyes and slightly slanted smile.

“Not in front of the kids, Cap.” Juvia wrapped her arms around Gray’s neck, pressing her body against hers.

“You should call me that more often.”

“Cap? Cap-tain.” Juvia let the word roll on her tongue, which Gray liked very, very much.

“What are you doing?”

Juvia almost pushed Gray away when she recognized the voice, which was that of a child’s, and became highly aware of what they were doing. Although perfectly normal for couples, public display of affection shouldn’t be displayed in front of young eyes, like this one.

“I was just checking his forehead.” Juvia pretended to look at the area where the ball hit. “You know… where–”

“–where the ball made him its fitch? He was distracted.” The little boy said as he shrugged the shock that rounded two pairs of adult eyes.

“What?”

Gray had to crouch down and look the kid straight in the eye. He tried not to sound like he was scolding the kid.

“What did you just say?”

“You got distracted.” The kid answered, point blank.

“No, not that. The one before that.”

“Oh, that the ball made you its fitch?”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Yes, it is. Coach Loke told me so.”

Oh, so he was on Loke’s team.

“Well, Coach Loke is crazy.” Gray stood to his full height. “Don’t listen to him.” He tried to dismiss the kid by slightly shoving him forward.

“But he was right. You were looking at the pretty lady. That’s why the ball made you its fitch.”

“I’m going to kill that little fitch.” said Gray under gritted teeth so the little ears wouldn’t hear.

“Just go eat some hotdogs.”

“Those hotdogs on sticks?”

“Yes, Kenny. Those hotdogs on the sticks.”

“Cool!”

Then, Kenny ran off as if he didn’t just drop that 'fitch’ bomb on the two adults. And like he didn’t just insult Fiore Knights’ Team Captain. This generation’s Michael Jackson, some would say.

“Why are you laughing?”

Gray had his hands on his waist, pretending to narrow his eyes at Juvia, who was biting her lip to keep down a giggle. She couldn’t even open her mouth without laughing. The exchange between Gray and Kenny was quite entertaining.

“Let’s go and eat some hotdogs on sticks.”

Gray pulled her by the hand and led her to one of the long buffet tables. Holding hands was a safe kind of PDA which didn’t gross out the kids. But feeding each other those hotdogs earned a long 'eew’ from the crowd, even the old kids – a.k.a Fiore Knights.

—

Writer’s Corner: Hi guys! Did you see Hiro Mashima’s latest twitter post? It’s a new graffiti telling us what to and not to do during this lockdown/quarantine. Keep safe everyone.

Also, I’ll be tagging here all those who reblogged and commented on the last chapter! Thank you for your support!

@shounenmangaotphell @ftmains @sobatsu @ship-ambrosia @freeezingrain @nay-ssi @gruvia-galaxy @justbeingtruemyself @anaken101 @mika-milano @juvialockseroff @juviaafullbuster @jetblackrevival @icelyn20 @shampooneko 

[fanesavin]

The Commander of the Rajisthangard is summoned for questioning by the High Inquisitor and some truths are uncovered.

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (x) | (x) Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (x) (x) | Part 7 | Part 8  (x) | Part 9 (x) | Part 10 | Part 11 (x) (x) ]

(All the props to Lori for writing NPCs :D)

Fane had ordered for the Commander to be brought down for questioning. The room in which he’d been sat was small with nothing but a desk, a side-table and a couple of chairs around it. The man had been unarmed and asked to sit and wait. A tactic to let him sweat a little and met some power the Inquisitor’s way. After a little while, Fane let a guard open the door and stepped in carrying a jug and a couple of glasses that he set down on the side table. “Commander, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why you’re here, do I?”

Eagle Commander knew that everyone was to be questioned in the Keep, that was only fitting. He marched down at the appointed hour when his time came, and stood ramrod straight in the Inquisitor’s selected room, waiting for the noble to arrive. He was used to waiting for those of a higher status to arrive after him; and when the Inquisitor did, he bowed low (but with little courtly flourish) and then clasped his hands behind his back. He knew the Inquisitor through news - not as an Inquisitor, but as a Dawnguard leader. The respect was clear on his soldier-neutral grizzled face. “I do, Inquisitor.” He only sat - stiffly, like it was unused to sitting - when the Inquisitor explicitly requested that he did. It was more out of obedience than desire to be seated.

Fane let the man sit, not that he looked comfortable on the little wooden chair that creaked a little. Good. Fane remained standing, his posture relaxed as though this wasn’t an interrogation just a small conversation. “Tell me Commander… How long have you held the role?” seemingly unrelated questions, but conversation enough to break down the barrier if only a little. The man was a soldier after all, he mused thoughtfully “it must have been quite an honour to be asked to take up such a position… Tell me, how did that come about?”

“I was appointed Commander of the Golden Eagles, five months ago, after my predecessor was killed in the Battle of Seven Coins, when it reached the Bluesprings Keep walls and the Gates almost fell. He died protecting it.” A momentary pause of respect for the late fallen Commander. “I - ” The Commander wasn’t sure if he should say this, the Lady Ciara was so secretive about her position, but that was her role. The Prelate Theodore was well so, although the High Raj’s announcement should have made all of it public. But the High Raj was dead now, so the man made a decision then. “I was appointed as part of the High Raj’s Council, peace be to him. That was about one month and fifteen days ago, before the tour of the crown, as you recall.” The crown had of course made its way up to the North. “Before I was made Commander, I was a part of the Golden Eagles for fifteen years, under the various Lords who oversaw the Capital before it was called ‘the Capital’.” Those Lords, of course, hardly lasted during the war. The Capital was such a lynchpin location, it was constantly being warred over.

Eagle Commander looked up at the Inquisitor then. “I could go on, if you like,” he said, his tone offering, willing to obey should the Inquisitor need it. He also also added, in a reflective way “My daughter was a Dawnguard…”

Fane listened and where it was necessary nodded sympathetically it was sad indeed but a man that should have put an end to the death would have been a welcome relief for so many battle-weary soldiers. “Many people died in the wars, many good men and women,” the mention of the council caused him to tilt his head ever so slightly. “And were you aware of anyone else to be appointed to the council alongside you?” Of course, by now he already knew of Ciara’s position but it didn’t hurt to get confirmation of such matters. “Of course, we spoke a little when you visited the North,” he shook his head a little to say he’d spoken enough. Though the mention of his daughter, “aye… Mira? Was that not her name? I recall you mentioning her… I’m sure your whole family were proud of your achievement. Which is why it’s such a shame that this is where we end up don’t you think? The man meant to usher in a new golden age of peace… Killed by his own crown…”

“Yes,” the commander replied about the war, that familiar haunted, steely-glazed look in his eyes that many solders got when they thought of the war. The Golden Eagles were well-trained but also largely ceremonial, being guardians of the Keep. Fighting for the Keep, with the enemy so close to reaching the Castle, brought the reality of war to their doorstep. “Yes, Inquisitor,” he also replied with another glance. He didn’t particularly owe Lady Ciara anything now, so he stated, “Prelate Theodore, as you know. Lady Ciara Florent, and myself.” He nodded then, thinking of his now dead daughter. “We are prouder of her achievement, Inquisitor.” Another pause, respect for his child’s memory. “I am not happy this has happened. The High Raj had great plans. I think he could have benefitted this realm greatly. That crown…” He became slightly more casual then, because this was the Inquisitor and this seemed more like a discussion between two commanders, rather than an interrogation. He adjusted in his seat. “…that was no way to die. Was it poison or something, Sir? If I may ask? That’s the method of cowardly Lords and cunning Ladies, if you don’t mind me saying. If anyone challenged the High Raj to a proper duel, he would have bested them easily. I tested his mettle myself, at his request of course.” The Commander had enjoyed that, and it earned his respect of the young High Raj.

“Hm, and tell me, what did you think of your fellow council members? No doubt you had opinions of them and their potential ambitions?” Fane opted to move to take the seat opposite, no longer standing over and presiding a supposedly higher authority but maintaining the impression of equality. “Losing a child is one of the worst things to experience, I would not wish it upon even my greatest enemy” he sounded solemn and a flicker of sadness crossed his features the pain was unimaginable and he grew silent equally for his own late wife and child as much as for the Commander’s. “Venom it would appear… A cruel way to die… But he did not suffer.” Was it true? He couldn’t rightly say. “What were those plans if I might ask? Did they affect anyone in particular in a way they may not have liked? You and I know the justice of steel and taste of blood… These lordlings and their ladies who sit on their satin cushionings only know the game of masks. Which is why justice must be served to the late High Raj.”

 “The Prelate is a representation of the Cloverry, and a good one. Lady Ciara was knows the Capital well, she has been installed here for a while now and her knowledge is vast. I respect them both. If you don’t mind me saying, Inquisitor, I do not think either one would ever harm the High Raj. Perhaps they might be capable of it - I suppose you could say we all were - but he chose his Council well. Their loyalty to him was profound. As was mine. We all obey the High Raj, whomever that person may be; but Avitej Sharma should have been the High Raj.” The commander didn’t seem to understand that there was any difference between poison and venom, and so just nodded respectfully. “He suffered enough,” the man spoke in a low growl, not directed at the Inquisitor, just an emotional anger at the injustice. At the Inquisitor’s question, the Commander outlined some general political strategies that the High Raj had, which could be seen as imposing or strict, but nevertheless with an effort to be fair-handed. “I suppose there are Houses who may not approve, but no one can like everything across the board. In terms of post-war recompense, I believe every major House was intended to be both taxed and rewarded equally. With the exception of House Cardero of course, being on their Islands; and begging you pardon - your House. As you did not participate in the ten years of war.” He didn’t mean to imply anything negative by that, so he added, “Not as much as other House factions.”

“So you wouldn’t say anyone had any apparent motivation to wish him removed? No eventual gain of influence?” Though the mention of loyalty caused Fane to lightly drum his fingers on the table, not enough to make noise but an indication of contemplation over what the man said. “On the topic of loyalty, and I can tell you’re a very loyal man Commander… Tell me about the tour of the crown around the Kingdoms? Were there any incidents during the journey? I know you and your men guarded it… But were there any occasions that come to mind where it was left unguarded?”

“Here? In the Castle?” The Eagle Commander frowned, his heavy brow giving him the look of a giant grizzly bear. “I don’t…dally in the politics of the nobles, Inquisitor. ” The man looked like he wasn’t sure what to say, because he wasn’t sure what he was being asked. “I apologize, but I only look after my men, and protect the High Raj and his estate as it’s kept in the Keep. I hope that satisfies you…” he said a little warily now. Because although he was somewhat complacent about this new Inquistion being installed in the Keep (mostly because he knew what sort of man Savin was) he did of course only want a new High Raj appointed again. A good High Raj ideally, but he would serve a bad High Raj if that was what the Cloverry and Inquisition decided. And he assumed the North would return to their lands once it was all over. He didn’t think Inquisitor Savin had any desire to place himself on the throne, and he hoped that wasn’t what the question was implying. “My…duty is to the High Raj,” he said, to impress on the Inquisitor what the Commander’s life was. When the Inquisitor turned away from talk of court intrigue and about the tour, the Commander physically relaxed. “I can provide my detailed records of the tour, Inquisitor. I kept a record, as per the request of Lord Sharma, and Lady Ciara. The crown held the longest stays at Blackspire, Summerset, the Kesley lands, Hathurana of course…” He also rattled off a couple other holdings in addition, both of middling power, similar to Summerset and Kesleyland. “The most visitors attended those places as well, as I recall, hence the long stays. The Princes from the Forty Isles were all in attendance at Summerset, and there was a Red Priestess or two in Hathurana, but not the Lady Priestess who attended the Coronation. Two different ladies, if I recall. It had short stays in Honeywild, the High Peninsula, Eades…” And then some other smaller lands mentioned as well. He looked down at the desk that separated them. “The crown may have been left alone on a few occasions in the larger Holdings…I would have to check my records. Or you can verify them yourself, Inquisitor.”

Fane‘s fingers curled a little on the table knuckles knocking on it momentarily. “If your duty was to the High Raj, as you say, and he charged you and your men with the task of guarding the crown. Explain to me how the item in your charge ended up being the very thing to kill him? You claim to love the man you served and yet you appear rather complicit in his demise wouldn’t you say?” His voice had grown stonier and a touch more accusatory, eyes thinning as he stared across the table aiming to make the man uncomfortable after settling him into a state of complacency. “I was led to believe your men kept vigil on the crown for its entire journey… Are you implying that isn’t what happened Lord Commander?“ his inflection grew a touch harder on certain words, to drill home the blame and guilt presently laying at the Commander’s feet.

He pushed his chair out, moving to the side table where he had placed the jug and cups earlier speaking while he poured the water out. “This doesn’t look very good Commander, at all, you and your men became lax in your royal duties and are therefore complicit in the death of the High Raj.” He poured water in one, and surreptitiously twisted a ring on his other hand, the gem swinging aside to reveal a small divot inside filled with a teal coloured powder and he emptied into the other cup before it too was filled with water. Nothing potent, of course, he wasn’t cruel but not above such tricks for getting the truth. It would mimic the symptoms of toxin, stomach cramps and the like but ultimately not do any harm. Fitting the gem back in place he turned back swilling the cups a little as he returned to his seat pushing the laced one towards the other man before a sip was taken of his own and setting it side. "What do you have to say in your defence?”

The tone shifted immediately, and the Commander stood up then, slowly so it didn’t look threatening, and assumed a stock-still at-attention stance. That of a solder being berated by his High Commander. Who, at the moment, the Inquisitor was. “If you find fault in my records, Inquisitor, then you may find me culpable of blame there. The tour was one of celebration, and although I took my best soldiers with me, their vigilance was, I admit, sometimes fractured and distracted while we were out of the Keep. If you are accusing my hand in the murder of the High Raj, however, then I respectfully deny this accusation. However, as there is no way to prove myself and your word is all that is needed to make me guilty of regicide, then - ” He blinked. “Then I understand your duty to do so.” He saw the water, and knew he was meant to drink it. Swallowing hard, the man waited for the Inquisitor to give him permission to step out of attention. He reluctantly took the water, and took a drink from it. He put the cup back down, and returned to standing at attention, his eyes forward and staring at nothing.

Fane watched the man’s features and here he stood Fane’s eyes narrowed a fraction, “sit down Commander, you shall not be leaving this room until I give you permission to do so. Where are the records presently? I shall have them fetched and brought here forthwith.” After receiving an answer and summoning one of his men to go and retrieve them, he returned to the table. “Perhaps you were lying to me about how much you loved our High Raj… Your men are loyal to you… They follow your word, and a word would be all it would take for the murderer to have the chance to tamper with the crown. Every man has a price, tell me… What was yours?”

The Commander had no intention of leaving, only in standing in order to re-establish their power dynamic: that the Inquisitor was solidly in charge and the Commander’s rank was decidedly lower, and friendly banter was over. Confused, the man sat down again, but still just stared ahead, as if sitting at attention. “Very good, Inquisitor,” he said, when Savin said he’d get the records fetched. He felt dizzy and broke out into a sweat. The man stared unhappily at the water but snapped back to attention once the Inquisitor returned to the desk. “I have no price, Inquisitor. I did not plot against the High Raj.”

Fane took no pleasure from treating another this way but to ferret out the truth it was unfortunately necessity. “No? I find that hard to believe, no one approached you, offered you anything to leave your post and let them have a closer look at the crown?”

The commander’s mouth was dry, but he refused to drink more water. The dryness was unnatural. “No, Inquisitor. I would never betray the Crown, or the High Raj.” He hated doing this, but the Commander wanted to believe that the Inquisitor was only going down this path for the sake of justice. He had to believe that, as he said, “During the tour, I was unable to stand vigilant at every hour of every day. I had to rely on my men…I had to trust my men.” Now he was angry though, appalled at the idea that perhaps, the men he’d hand-picked for the tour were not as trustworthy as he’d thought. But it was hard to concentrate. “Inquisitor…” he gripped the arms of the chair, his face turning read, nausea setting in. “Inquisitor please…I did not plot against the High Raj.”

Fane studied the mans reddening face he didn’t like having to do this, but it did seem apparent that the man was unfortunately telling the truth. He grimaced, and from his pocket produced a small white vial and slid it across the surface. “Drink this, it’ll settle the symptoms of the root” he waited wondering if the man would take him at his word. “I apologise for the necessity… But I had to ensure you spoke the truth… There’s too much treachery to trust anyone at their word these days.”

The Commander grabbed at the vial without hesitation. If the Inquisitor wanted him dead, then so be it. He was sworn to do anything for the good of the High Raj and right now the Inquisitor represented the High Raj. So he took the vial and drank its contents. He slumped forward, breathing heavily as his world was agonizingly righted again. Slowly, he tried to stand up, return to the stance he was most familiar with in the presence of someone who outranked him: standing, at attention. It was a stance of deference and respect. “I understand, Inquisitor,” he coughed. He didn’t actually understand, but it wasn’t for him to understand either. “If you will allow me to handle this matter. I will personally investigate each of the Captains who traveled on the tour. I swear to you that I will find out who stepped out of order. That is unacceptable. I will do this for the sake of the Crown and the High Raj - ” His now-red, watery eyes turned to look directly at Savin. “And for the Inquisition.”

Fane didn’t rush the man and he looked genuinely apologetic when the Commander’s eyes returned to him. As the man coughed Fane picked up his own cup and made a show of taking a sip himself to show there was nothing in it before offering it for the man to have, “here this’ll help with the cough…” But the man’s resilience in the face of what just transpired caused Fane to look at him with a newfound respect. “Very well, my Lord Commander, take some time to right yourself and when you’re able, conduct your investigation. Once you have a report give me - and only me - a full run down of what you find… We need a measure of the men in charge of the crown when you were touring. Their former and potential remaining affiliations and alliances. We need to know when the crown was at its most vulnerable… You have all the resources of the Inquisition at your disposal should you require anything.” He grew silent for a few moments pushing up straighter, “I swear on my oath as High Inquisitor that wewill find the person responsible for the Raj’s death… They will be brought to justice and pay for their crimes.”

The Commander was tempted, but shook his head at the offer of water. He’d withstood worse, in training and out in the battlefield. And now he had something to prove to the Inquisitor. The Golden Eagle Commander might not personally approve of the Inquisitor’s methods, but that didn’t mean the man thought he was ill-suited to the position of Inquisitor. There was a lot that the Prelate and the Master of Whispers did and said that he didn’t agree with either. Everyone had a job to do. He clipped his heels together, but did not salute the Inquisitor; a salute was only towards the High Raj. “Yes, Inquisitor,” he said in a clipped, militaristic voice. Emphatic and now with a new determination to find the traitor under his command. “If that’s all Inquisitor. I want to conduct my questioning before it’s learned that we have been speaking….” He growled then. “And I want to take the bastard down before he does any more damage.”

Fane gave a short nod looking over to his man by the door and giving a short nod for it to be opened. “No, nothing more, Gods be with you and your inquest Commander.”

The report came in after about a day and a half. 

Only the Eagle Commander and his Eagle Captains were allowed to stand vigil with the crown. Six men in total, taking shifts in pairs so one would always be guarding at all times. Each Captain was from a different region, for the sake of impartiality, including Kesley, Blackspire, and Forty Isles. The other three from small/middling Houses included the Commander’s House itself, which was a noble House from the Capital.

The Forty Isles Captain

Angrily admitted that he was bribed to step away from the crown while they were in Summerset when there was a diversion outside to lure away the other Captain. He was bribed with Forty Isles coin, and he didn’t know for sure but the sneaky-spy-person who bribed him seemed to imply that this was the work of the Queen’s Consort Juan Carlos. Hence the Forty Isles Captain feeling loyal to Juan Carlos took the bribe.

The Kesley Captain

Following its visit to Summerset the crown then went to Kesley land, the Kesley Captain broke down and admitted that he went away from his station (while his fellow scheduled Captain was relieving himself) to go snog a mistress illicitly while they were in Kesleylands. He just didn’t think anyone in Kesley would care to tamper with the crown, because Kesley supported House Sharma.

Both the Kesley Captain and the Forty Isles Captain were arrested and put in prison. The Forty Isles Captain, however, found a way to kill himself.

[claystripemovieblog]

Punching Up: The Last Jedi

Let me make one thing clear right off the bat: The Last Jedi is a great Star Wars movie. Folks are certainly permitted their own opinions on that, but anyone saying it’s a bad movie on the level of the prequels or “the worst Star Wars movie ever” is really quite silly.

However.

Part of the reason I love TLJ so much is that Rian Johnson really swings for the fences. He had big ambitions about what he wanted from a Star Wars movie, and he bloody well went for them, seemingly without much in the way of review by committee, at least not on the scale we’re accustomed to seeing from big studio blockbusters. This was great in terms of allowing the film to make bold decisions, but I believer it also contributed to how uneven the script turned out to be.

See, I love The Last Jedi because I can observe its ambitions (daring character choices, themes of failure and humility, feminist and anti-capitalist politics) and embrace its triumphs (beautiful cinematography, brilliant performances, meaningful stakes, a truly compelling A-plot with Rey, Luke, and Kylo). The pros outweigh the cons, and there are more pros in TLJ than in any Star Wars project since The Clone Wars and any Star Wars film since the last with “Jedi” in the title. That said, the sheer size of the movie’s reach (and runtime) left room for more obvious faults than any so far in the Disney era.

The movie’s pacing is all off. The plot meanders. Conflicts and relationships are muddled and sometimes confusing. The tone shifts around from fun romp to deathly serious, sometimes in the middle of scenes. The script needed at least one more pass. It needed a punch up.

So, in what might be the only installment of this series I do, I’ll be taking a look at the movie we got and, with the benefit of hindsight and fresh eyes, relate three major script notes that I would’ve passed along to Rian before shooting began had I been asked for some reason. To the best of my ability, these suggestions for changes do not lengthen the runtime or raise costs. Most importantly, they keep all of Rian’s ideas for settings, characters, and themes intact. They are:

1. Reduce, relocate, and reframe the Canto Bight sequence.

2. Make explicit Holdo’s suspicion of a spy on the Raddus.

3. Thematically connect the A and B plots by connecting Rose to the Force.

A lot of these feel pretty obvious and have probably been suggested by others before me, but I’m just gonna just assume that something I thought of is kinda original and would have worked out. Besides, the movie is just fine as it is, and Rian and everyone involved probably have perfectly good reasons why they didn’t go about things this way. But I really think I stumbled onto some really good Star Wars-y ideas building off these three points, and I had a ton of fun fleshing out how they’d work. Join me, will you?

1. Canto Bight

If one were to only look at reviews released in the days before The Last Jedi was released and its discourse got bogged down by dudes nitpicking minor details to justify misplaced nostalgia or obvious bigotry, one would get the sense that there was only one major issue with Episode XIII: Canto Bight. And make no mistake: the casino planet’s placement in the film is one of its most glaring flaws, though not an unforgivable one. The introduction of a fetch quest that leaves no major impact on the plot would be hard enough to justify as anything other than padding in a two hour movie; in a two and a half hour film, it’s presence just becomes puzzling.

There is an argument to be made for cutting Canto Bight from the film entirely. I’m sure the studio would have been more than happy to save a couple million dollars on makeup and visual effects. But there’s also an argument to be made that employing talented people to make cool creature and costume designs is the best reason to make these movies. And there’s also my argument: that there’s a much better place to put Canto Bight than the middle of the movie.

The Claystripe Cut of The Last Jedi would open on the casino world, with Poe, BB-8, and a recently revived Finn on the planet looking for DJ, whose role as a neutral slicer whose only loyalty can be bought is retooled slightly so that he is already being paid a great deal by the Resistance to work as an informant. Poe fills in Rose’s role of pointing out the evil at the heart of the beautiful city. The best parts of the original Canto Bight sequence; the funny BB-8 gags, the escape with the fathiers, and, most importantly, the set-up for the beautifully resonant ending with Broom Kid. As they escape on his stolen ship, DJ reveals his information: the First Order is going to attack the Resistance base! 

Keeping Canto Bight preserves all Johnson’s commentary on decadent capitalism, environmentalism, and war profiteering, but placing it at the beginning and cutting it down to a ten-minute action prologue solves a whole host of problems. 

First, and most pressing, it saves the second act of the film. The Last Jedi grinds to a halt when Finn and Rose fly off across the galaxy in the middle of a heated chase in the middle of deep space. The fact that this kind of mobility is apparently still available to our beleaguered protagonists saps the tension from the sequence at the heart of the movie by circumventing its central conceit- that our heroes are trapped and running out of time- and opening up too many questions and narrative demands. Viewers are kind of just left to answer for themselves why there was only one craft with hyperspace capabilities on the Resistances’s flagship, how the protagonists got a hold of it, and why they ought to care if the Raddus is destroyed if all the characters we’re invested in could have just flown off safely at any time and come back and forth as they pleased. Keeping the B-plot set in and around the Raddus and the Supremacy keeps things simple, the stakes high, and the plot moving.

Second, having Canto Bight at the start of the film introduces DJ in a much more natural and easy way. Instead of treating him like a MacGuffin and spending twenty minutes in the middle of the film to get a hold of him, DJ can just be a character in the movie. His role and screentime wouldn’t have to actually be expanded much at all, but his involvement in helping to save the Resistance and his presence in the film from the start would make his eventual subversion of the Han Solo “Greedy Jerk With a Heart of Gold” betrayal sting just a little more.

Third, this sequence would partially fix a problem that the end of the last movie forced Johnson into: namely, that it had to pick up right after The Force Awakens left off, meaning that the main characters of this new trilogy barely know each other. The lengthy gaps between the previous Episodes left room for audiences to buy that the protagonists became close friends and had plenty of other adventures with each other besides the ones we’ve seen. In Empire, this is important for driving home the stakes when the heroes are separated after they’ve apparently been together for months, if not years. When the heroes in The Last Jedi are separated, you don’t feel that, not only because no time has passed since we last saw them, but because they were barely together to start with.

Rey and Finn apparently have feelings for each other that are expressed in a single hug and a few tender looks at the very end, but they only knew each other for a few days in The Force Awakens and have only been apart for the same amount of time. The problem is worse with Finn and Poe, who, despite having great chemistry (one of my discarded notes was “MAKE IT CANON”, but, again, trying not to majorly change the movie here) have only interacted with each other for a few hours. They barely double that time in this movie, because Finn spends most of it with Rose. While the timeline in regards to Rey would be a little screwy if you stopped to think about it for too long, depicting Finn and Poe interacting on an adventure and being established friends would do a great deal to build audience connection.

Finally, placing Canto Bight at the middle starts the movie off with characters in a strange and interesting world instead of starting with Poe making “Your Mama” jokes at Hux- a fairly humorous that would be much easier to swallow if they were not the center of the first scene of the movie.

2. Holdo and Poe

This is probably the easiest of these fixes to make, practically speaking, requiring only two or three additional lines of dialogue to fix a problem that a lot of people have with The Last Jedi.

First, I’ll get it out of the way: this change is not to remove Holdo or her conflict with Poe from the movie. Laura Dern is a goddess. If I could fight for her to have been in the movies more, I absolutely would have. And the point of her subplot with Poe was pretty clear: Poe’s got a real disrespect for authority and opinions of others, particularly, it seems, from this very feminine admiral, and he needs to learn humility and self-sacrifice to become an effective leader. 

Now, that said, there are problems with how this story is told. Though I’ve read many hot-takes online saying that people who didn’t like this plot are misogynist doofuses that don’t listen to women, pretty much every man and woman I know felt like her role in the story was limited to just creating extra conflict until her awesome act of self-sacrifice. The only reasoning she provides for not trusting Poe is that she doesn’t like him, and while that is all the rationale one needs in reality to obey their CO, for the purpose of storytelling it feels lacking. How do we make the point of the conflict more clear from the very beginning? And can we add anything to it to make her decision to not trust him make more sense?

A lot of people have already argued that Holdo doesn’t reveal her plan to slip away to Crait because she is worried about a spy on-board responsible for the First Order’s hyperspace tracking, but that’s left as subtext at best. Why not make it explicit text? As is, the movie has the characters figure out how lightspeed tracking works seemingly out of some educated guesses; explicitly considering other options (and even leaving ambiguous what method the First Order used) would have been a compelling direction to take the story. Holdo telling Poe to his face that she won’t tell him anything because she doesn’t trust him to keep the information private would clarify the reasoning for her decision while maintaining the subplot’s purpose of developing Poe out of his toxic masculinity; even if it was a fair point, he would still certainly resent her for questioning his loyalty. It would make even more sense if we stick with the ramifications of the first alteration and have a shady DJ lurking around the Raddus the whole time. This minor addition to the dynamic also would make Poe’s leap to calling Holdo a traitor and his decision to mutiny make more sense now that the possibility had been introduced and discussed. 

A slight tweak to the dialogue alone simultaneously makes both characters more sympathetic and closes up some potential plot holes. And it costs zero dollars for additional visual effects.

3. Rose

In the first two notes, you’ll notice that the only practical alterations these changes would make to the shooting schedule would be having to get Benicio del Toro into a few scenes on the Raddus and replacing Kelly Marie Tran with Oscar Isaac in an abbreviated version of her biggest sequence. Obviously, Rose has gotten the short end of the stick thus far, and I want to rectify that with the third note by giving her a new role that fits her character better into the film’s themes. It’s tempting to not add any scenes to the movie because of its existing length, but I honestly believe that the problems with Last Jedi lie more in its pacing than content. I ultimately think adding just two or three scenes focused on Rose would not just make up for removing her from Canto Bight, but give her a bigger role in the Star Wars mythos.

I like Rose. She’s a fun audience surrogate, and Tran gives an earnest performance that I’m sure a lot of kids are going to really admire. But Rose also lies at the heart of the one part of The Last Jedi that I think is truly bad- not a nitpick (“Why doesn’t every commander just ram empty ships at lightspeed!?”), a nostalgic complaint (“Luke would never just give up!”), a minor quibble (“We don’t know Snoke’s backstory!”), or a personal grievance (”My Rey theory was so much better!”), but a genuine inconsistency with the plot, characterization, and themes that don’t make a lick of sense.

I am, of course, referring to Rose stopping Finn from sacrificing himself at the end, whispering that they won’t win the war by destroying things they hate, but saving what they love. A nice sentiment, and one that fits well with Star Wars, but one that does not mesh at all with what she did: buy Finn a few moments of extra life at the cost of allowing the First Order to kill both of them and all of the Resistance. Frankly, it doesn’t mesh at all with the Rose who was honoring the sacrifice of her sister by keeping cowards from fleeing the Raddus, and it’s just an amoral and stupid thing to do unless she somehow knew that a young Jedi-in-training the ghost of Luke Skywalker was going to show up and give them a way to escape.

Which is why, in this change, she does know. Or at least, she’s got a good feeling.

My idea really requires the addition of only one scene: Rose saying a tearful and emotional goodbye to her sister before she goes to attack the Dreadnought, seemingly knowing that she’s not going to return based off of a deep feeling (some might say “a bad feeling about this”). Because this sequence has been pushed back towards the end of the first act by Canto Bight’s re-positioning, this scene could be positioned in close proximity to Luke’s speech to Rey about the nature of the Force and how it belongs to everybody, making clear that this gut feeling is rooted in some sensitivity to the Force in regards to the lives of people Rose cares about. One extra optional scene on the Supremacy where Rose’s gut feeling kicks in right as they get caught, and we have enough set-up to justify Rose realizing as Finn rushes toward the battering ram cannon that she is not afraid of them being destroyed, trusting her instincts, and saving Finn from a needless sacrifice.

Beyond preserving the message and justifying her choice, this change fixes one other structural problem in The Last Jedi. While the theme of “learning from failure” is omnipresent, there’s relatively little else directly connecting Luke and Rey’s story to that of Rey’s friends or the rest of the universe. Everything the main characters learn and decide about having to restart the Jedi Order with a recognition that the Force actually belongs to everyone would have greater impact if the film actually showed someone who is aware of the Force without having the strength of a Skywalker still using that connection for good. Someone with a scrappy working class background who made all the difference for one of our main heroes. In hindsight, it’s kinda amazing that Rose written as the character she is and not used for that role.

So, what do you think? Am I crazy? Should I be hired as Rian’s creative consultant for the new trilogy? Should I make this a running series (ooooh, I’ve got stuff to say about Three Billboards, let me tell you...) Could you read through this wall of text? Let me know!

[doorsclosingslowly]

The Opening Act of Spring

Maul’s teacher has always been violence, and it’s never done him any harm. He should have no qualms about treating his apprentice the same way.

3.6k | pt. 3 of Runaways ‘verse | content warning for abuse | read on AO3

“What are you writing about, brother?”

“Mission dossier,” Maul replies. Not that their target deserves it, frankly. Ms Chykynn is a businesswoman from Corellia who sought fortune in an entanglement with the Banking Clan, and also a far-removed and minor former beneficiary and ally of Maul’s old Master. Somehow, she managed to bankrupt a rival family, possibly as a side effect of one of Lord Sidious’ myriad schemes, driving the parents to ruin and their daughter to suicide. Two days ago, the daughter’s widow set an astronomical bounty on the businesswoman���s head—detached only—but this information is unlikely to have filtered through to the target yet. She won’t even have hired security. Despite her tangled ties to Lord Sidious, she should be easy prey.

Maul had set their course for Corellia immediately, and they’ve been in hyperspace for two days now. They’ll drop out in eight hours to change lanes. They’ve slept and consumed their morning protein bars, they’ve meditated and sparred, and when there was nothing of any importance left to do, Maul had decided to begin preparing an in-depth dossier. He hasn’t done so in two years now, and he wants to keep his researching skills sharp.

It’s good that Savage’s brought Maul’s attention to what he’s doing, though. Chykynn is plainly ill-protected and weak. He has already read about Corellia, and even her city. This is superfluous busy-work.

Maul stretches his shoulders, and with the press of a button he saves his dossier attempt on the datapad he’s balancing on his knees, and then he closes the file. In its stead, he calls up the blueprints and notes for the DRK-1 Dark Eye redesign that he found in an office on Castell. Much more stimulating.

“What did you write?” Savage asks, not five minutes later. Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, his posture almost a mirror of Maul’s. Almost. He doesn’t have the discipline, even now, to force his feet onto his knees. Also, silent work and rest does not become him. He’s fidgeting periodically. He is much too interested in Maul’s activities.

“Three colon null-seven colon two-five dash dash esk krill usk vev dash leth underscore one,” Maul says.

His apprentice’s face remains blank.

“The file name. Look it up yourself. There is a box of datapads by the door—” a box that hadn’t been there when Savage first abducted him; shockingly there hadn’t even been a single datapad on the Sheathipede then— “and all the Versafunction Eight-Eights are patched into the ship’s comm system, take one of those.”

“It is quicker if you just tell me.”

“Not for me,” Maul replies, and then, with over-exaggerated care, he holds up his datapad so that it blocks out the center of his field of vision. No more annoying brother. Methodically, he skips through the redesign notes: pressure sensors, photo-sensors, auditory sensors, a concept for olfactory sensors—a typically useless v2 idea—balancing software… There. The antennas of the current DRK-1 have an inconvenient tendency to break off at sub-zero temperatures, and Maul is curious how Sienar are planning to address the issue.

He can’t quite concentrate on the diagrams, though.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Savage instead. Maul’s brother untangles his legs and then flops down on his bed, evidently bored of fidgeting. Five seconds later, he rolls over, braces himself on his arms and one knee—the bed is too short—and starts doing lazy push-ups. The bed creaks. Despite Maul’s orders and his obvious restlessness and the fact that he asked for the information, the apprentice never even considered getting up and fetching a datapad.

This petty obstreperousness shall not be tolerated.

“Savage, read the dossier,” Maul says.

Another push-up, and Savage pretends not to have heard him.

“Apprentice.”

Creak, creak, creak.

“By now, you would have finished your reading, if you’d retrieved the datapad.”

“By now, you would have finished telling me about whatever it is you wrote,” Savage replies mulishly. “It would have been much more efficient.”

True. Irrelevant.

“I am the Master,” Maul says, because it must be said occasionally. He’s almost certain that Savage has forgotten that fact again, and more than a little worried that he himself might have, too. “You, Savage, are the apprentice. I have been lenient—” He doesn’t want to, can’t, imagine Lord Sidious’ retribution, should Maul ever have wasted his time like this. It would have involved force lightning, possibly, or skinning, if… if not worse. Master might have just left, might have simply discarded him for his lack of respect. Maul shudders. “I have been incredibly lenient, but when I tell you to read the mission dossier, I expect you to obey. With haste and diligence and eagerness. Without question. Being a Sith is a privilege. You are training to become the most powerful being in the galaxy, apprentice, and when your Master gives you an order, you will obey.”

Lord Sidious—his former Master, Maul thinks bitterly, it wasn’t because of his non-existent disobedience but nevertheless he was discarded—he would have laughed at this pitiful attempt at discipline. The obviously unfit and shy approach to training his apprentice.

(Maul had suspected, in small moments he never managed to eradicate entirely from his days, that He viewed his as little more than an attack dog, an assassin and errand-boy but not a successor, and here is the proof that He was right. He discarded Maul, didn’t need him for the Naboo mission or the grand millennial plan after all, and he was right.)

Maul is no Master. This is not training, this is…

This is a lazy, relaxed day.

This is wrong.

Some threat in Maul’s posture—he would be unduly flattering Savage’s mental capacity or commitment if he attributed it to the words—something that Savage can see in him now makes him stand up, quickly, and walk over to the datapad box.

DRK-1 schematics completely forgotten and trying to quench the anger at his own failure, Maul watches his unwieldy apprentice pick up the uppermost pad. It’s an Eight-Eight—pure luck, he’ll realize later—held together by spacer’s tape and chance ever since an unfortunate incident with a hilt prototype.

Savage shuffles back to his bed and then, with his back buckled and avid concentration, he stares down at the pad, but he’s pressing too many buttons. He’s pressing them seemingly at random. His left leg is beating against the blanket below it, thoughtlessly, restlessly.

“Apprentice, read the first sentence out loud.”

More fidgeting.

“You can’t read,” Maul says.

“I—”

“You can’t read. You should have alerted me, apprentice.” First the utter naïveté with money and the superfluous religious offerings and the propensity towards making unpalatable raw food, and now this. Maul will not fail, and he will not tolerate an uncivilised apprentice. “You should have told me that you can’t read. You used voice commands and holomaps to steer the ship, to hide your deficiencies from me, didn’t you, but we,” Maul snarls, feeling his patience fray, “are Sith. We are not barbarous outer rim yokels.” Or shall soon cease to be ones, at least, in Savage’s case. “We may be zabraks, but that will not limit us. There are certain standards I expect you to abide by, apprentice, and this is one of them. Everything important has been written down, and a true Sith shall not remain ignorant. You will become literate. You will start now.”

Savage is still sitting on the bed, clutching the datapad. He’s looking at Maul, eyes wide, but apart from that, his hurt—hovering in the aura around them, tingling at the borders of Maul’s mind—is hidden well in his posture. He’s learned something from Maul’s customary disapproving frown at emotional displays, at least. From the training sessions that are always harsher if he cries out at an injury. He can be taught.

(The reason had been minor, and that was the worst of it. Loneliness, maybe, since his nanny droid had just been decommissioned, or a broken finger or mockery, he couldn’t even remember why he’d started crying in the first place. He couldn’t remember anything through the pain. There was only one fact left in the world: Maul had started crying and his Master had seen, and the punishment wouldn’t stop until the tears did. Knowing this did not make stopping easier. It was a very long day.)

“Kneel down on the floor.”

The apprentice obeys quickly.

“Switch on your datapad. Search Sheathipede’s database for the Little Aurebesh.” Maul doesn’t know why he still remembers that title or that it was apparently often used as a test datafile and therefore might be accessible. He shouldn’t remember. It was so long ago, and he hadn’t even enjoyed Dirk forcing him to read it over and over and over because it was the only children’s book installed on his memory chips.

Savage is slower this time, pressing a button and then looking up at Maul and then pressing it again, and…

Alright, Maul can see the issue now. “Give it to me.”

The holobook isn’t there, only then he remembers to use reg expressions and change the directory and—Puddle Aurek-Besh by Kel-Shuuura. That’s it. Sheathipede is obviously ancient and yet, she has never been data-scrubbed and her memory banks still contain test files. The passphrases are probably still factory-set. An amateur oversight on Maul’s part, after the complete mechanical overhaul—he should take care of that security nightmare—but nevertheless serendipitous.

Lord Sidious never taught Maul how to read, that was Dirk the trusty rewired (or not) spy droid, and he adopts the methods he remembers the machine had used. It’s probably better this way. It’s easier to look at datapads when you’re not being thrown across the floor. (His Master laughs at his pitiful justification. Maul is unfit to train an apprentice.)

Kneeling next to Savage, he gives back the datapad and points at the scrawly illustration on the screen, the heads of two akk dogs meeting snout-first with thick red lines around their mouths forming the general shape of the letter aurek. “Look at those creatures. What do you see? What are they?”

“Maul, I am… forgive me.”

“Those are akk dogs.” Maul stretches out the sound. A necessary clue, perhaps, since his brother’s probably never even been to their wretched native planet. He stretches out the sound, and the seconds until he’ll have to… “That is the principle behind this book: there will be a well-known creature, and its visible body will be in the shape of the first letter of its name. If you know the animal’s name, you can deduce the letter. If you know the order of the letters, you can gain clues regarding its species. Two akk dogs. From Anoat. In the shape of an…”

Savage hums, low and anxious.

“Aurek,” Maul snaps. “See those slanting semi-circles. Aurek. You will try again and answer me promptly, apprentice.”

He is no droid and there is no electric prod, and Maul has never learnt Sith lightning, so he’ll conduct the lesson with what he has. His apprentice is not obeying fast enough, is not taking this seriously. With the flick of his wrist he calls his lightsaber close, and he tries not to feel cold. He knows what’s coming—whatever being will appear, Savage won’t know it. Savage will fail his order. He will be punished. This is the way lessons work: the desire to obey your Master, a harsh task, and the pain, the wish for survival, driving you to succeed. Savage will fail, at first, and he will suffer. It’s almost unfair.

It’s inevitable. Maul is Master, Savage his apprentice. Their roles were cut into stone and whispered and handed down long before either of them existed. Savage has—more or less voluntarily, if not intentionally—entrusted Maul with the sacred responsibility of teaching the ways of the Sith, of shaping him into the most powerful version of himself. He does not deserve Maul’s clammy hands; he deserves resolution. Help. He deserves to be taught. (Master looks down and laughs and laughs.)

With a deep breath and the press of a button, the next picture appears.

“Bruth!” Savage exclaims.

Something unwraps from around Maul’s hearts. He’s too happy to correct his brother for the fact that he should have recognized letter, not species. “Very good, apprentice. Now, the next one.”

Their luck runs out.

“Veeka-bird?” Savage guesses.

Maul’s fumbling hand only finds the lightsaber’s ignition button on the third try, but it does. In the space between them, the blade burns read.

“Palm-bird? No, please, brother… Give me more time. The Great Blind One? Moon-driver? No, just wait. Maul, you don’t have to do this, you don’t—Maul, no, wait, please…” Savage begs, but there is nowhere for him to go once he’s scrambled backwards against his bed. Nothing but Maul and Savage, Master and apprentice, and the ship and the saberstaff and the inevitable stream of wrong answers. There is nothing either of them can do to end this.

“The correct answer is cresh,” Maul says, and it tastes stale and empty inside his mouth.

Slowly, carefully, he brings the blade down.

(“Your timing has improved,” the droid said, and still it gave Maul a harsh shock that he couldn’t yet dodge. Not a disabling shock, although the exertion alone was enough to make him lie down for days. He stood up again and launched himself against the wall and backflipped. Another improvement. Another shock.)

The blade stops, still more than a decimeter above Savage’s arm.

“That’s good, Maul,” Savage says. There’s a tremor in his voice, and his eyes are fixed on the weapon that should, by now, have burned him. He’s very still. “That’s good. You don’t want to do this.”

And Maul doesn’t. He should, Master would, but—the ‘saber is so heavy in his hand.

“Let’s just… try this again, with the next letter? Can you do that?” Savage asks. “I promise I will get it right next time, brother.”

Maul can’t think of a better option—the blade will not move—and so he acquiesces.

Despite his promise, Savage doesn’t manage to name the next letter or animal, either, even though he talks for minutes and runs through a bewildering array of strange animal names, animals that Maul has never heard of, as if he could stop the lightsaber by inventing creatures, only interrupting the fantastical names to occasionally say Maul’s name.

It’s… whatever it is that Savage’s doing to defend himself, it’s working. The lightsaber is wavering too badly, now, and Maul switches the blade off. He is supposed to punish his apprentice, not accidentally decapitate him.

“That’s good, Maul,” Savage says, interrupting his litany for a moment to run his fingers across the scars on Maul’s hand, the hand that still clutches the saberstaff, and pulling it down towards the floor. Then he launches back into it, growing more erratic in his answers, not even bothering to match the type of animal—insect, bird, fish—to the clues in the illustration anymore.

It’s rhythmic. Meaningless. Soothing.

It’s utterly alien. The threats aren’t a motivation for self-improvement, the way Maul remembers them being, and Savage is just moving further and further away from any viable answers. It doesn’t make any sense: Maul had often loved his teacher and wished for his approval, and Savage does, too. Maul had wished to end his pain, and Savage is terrified. The situations are equivalent. There should be no reason why punishment doesn’t work now.

Savage should be learning.

There is no difference between now and all those times when it worked for Lord Sidous. No difference but two.

Savage.

Maul.

Master and apprentice, but not. Brothers. The lesson of lesson of strangulation, of near-death and terror, of dipping into the dark side to ensure your survival if there is nothing else left but your body and the hand of your Master cutting off your air supply—that lesson, just weeks ago, had been aborted as well because of Maul’s weakness. His inability to teach the way Lord Sidious does. He’d been terrified at the idea of accidentally ending his brother’s life, of losing whatever this new life is, and he had cried. He’d allowed himself to be held. Maul had been too weak to teach in the old ways then, and he is still too weak now. Will always be too weak. He doesn’t want to hurt Savage.

This failure, in hindsight, is entirely predictable. He took an apprentice too early, left and chose to challenge his own Master years before he was ready, and now he cannot even instruct Savage in the aurebesh, let alone the dark side of the force. He’d had no choice in leaving, at first, because Savage had abducted him, but—he chose to stay with Savage. Maul chose to make that mistake.

Naïveté and youth and the deep heavy knowledge that if Maul had returned to his Master, Savage would be dead now. It was the wrong choice, but it’s too late to go back now. It was wrong, but still, it feels…

He can hear Master laughing somewhere deep inside his mind (Maul is no Master—) and it only makes him grateful that his brother is still holding down his ‘saber hand.

Maul is no—

Abruptly, Savage’s voice cuts through the revelation. “Brother. I’ve taught before, showed children how to walk, how to sew and make weapons and fight. I know how to do it. Teaching’s not that difficult, really, if you care.” Something flashes across his force presence, unflinching white hatred, and then it’s swallowed again by love and anxiety and regret. “If you feel it is important that I learn how to read, I can show you how.”

If his would-be Sith Master can’t even execute a simple lesson, he may as well try. Maul is tired. He nods.

“Let go of the lightsaber, brother.”

A slow shuddering breath, and then Maul obeys.

“It’s alright to ask me for help when you don’t know what you’re doing, brother.”

This is—

Savage keeps his warm right hand wrapped around Maul’s, but he pulls it up slightly, away from the weapon, and Maul acquiesces. With his other hand, Savage gently rolls away the saberstaff, and then he instructs, “Show me the shape of the letter. The first one. Aurek? Trace it on the floor.”

Maul does, hesitantly and then over and over, pulling Savage’s hand along. This isn’t teaching, he thinks. It shouldn’t be this easy. This is wrong, but he doesn’t let go, even when he feels the ghost of electricity lashing across his skin.

+

(Maul misunderstood the point of lessons, in fact. Of punishment. Even though Lord Sidious wasn’t as invested in developing Maul’s mind himself and left the task to his servants, he wasn’t in the habit of him to do something as flat-out impossible as naming animals that Maul had never seen. He wanted his weapon to progress, after all. Moreover, the desperation for approval was usually enough.

He asked for things that could be accomplished, at least most of the time, unless he wanted to punish Maul.

It’s just that the pain doesn’t feel any different.)

+

“What do your datapads say of Wrath, brother?” Savage asks, later. The lights inside the cargo hold where they always sleep and where, mere hours ago, Maul almost hurt… Where Maul received yet another proof of his own failure. The lights are shut off and dark, now, except for the one lamp that always flashes its comforting green through the open door.

Maul’s wrapped up and warm inside the blanket that Savage insists he use, and he’s almost asleep. Blearily and angry and still uncertain, he blinks open his eyes again, and finds Savage’s irises shining at him through the gloom. “What,” he grumbles.

“Wrath. The first nightbrother. What do they say?”

“Learn to read and look it up yourself.” Maul pulls the blanket over his head. Slowly, the air grows damp and hot and stale around him, and it’s a sufficient rejection to make the room blissfully quiet.

It’s enough, for almost a minute.

“They say nothing, don’t they.”

Savage is entirely correct. Maul had looked for information, years ago when he was small and his droid caretaker had revealed Maul’s birth species. When, for a few hours, he’d failed to understand that the answer as to what he was was Sith, and that was sufficient. He’d read what little research there had been about the nightbrothers, but nothing had ever mentioned this ‘Wrath’ or anything else that Savage likes telling Maul about, not even the strange animals he spoke of today. (Nothing had ever mentioned that someone like Savage was waiting for Maul.)

“Nobody ever wrote about him,” Maul agrees. “I said that everything important has been written down, I never talked about this ‘Wrath’. I do not care about your backwater myths. It’s night. Shut up.”

Blessed silence.

Five minutes later—

“Who was Wrath, brother?” Maul whispers. It’s not quite an apology for today and as close as he’ll ever manage. Entirely by accident, those are also the words that are always used, the child’s call for the Elder’s recital.

Maul doesn’t understand why there’s a hitch in his brother’s heartbeats. He’ll never find out, but still he falls asleep with the soft age-worn cadences of strength and worship and ownership, of terror, of a man and a witch and a child and the long journey to bring that child back home entering his ears for the first time—for the thousandth time—for the first time he can remember.

Tonight, despite everything, he will not dream.

[ramajmedia]

Mr. Robot: The 5 Best (And 5 Worst) Episodes According to IMDb

Mr. Robot is one of the smartest and most thought-provoking shows out there, one that often pushes the boundaries of television. Presented through compelling characters—most notably the series' unreliable narrator Elliot Alderson played by Rami Malek—the show's themes are incredibly relevant to the modern world.

Season 1 was a sensational hit, but season 2 elicited a more mixed reaction from critics and fans. Season 3 won back a lot of goodwill, with many feeling as though the show captured the essence of what made it such a hit in the first place. Now a fourth and final season is set to premiere in October, culminating in the conclusion showrunner Sam Esmail planned from the very beginning.

Before the new season drops, it's worth revisiting the best and worst episodes of the phenomenal series. Fortunately, viewers have been able to rate each episode on IMDB, providing a clearer sense of which episodes resonated with fans and which ones weren't so successful.

Don your fsociety mask as we explore the best and worst of what Mr. Robot has to offer.

RELATED: Mr. Robot: 10 Things That Need To Happen Before It Ends

10 Best: "eps1.0_hellofriend.mov" - 9.3

Mr. Robot's pilot episode is a perfect hook into the series. From Elliot's first scene in Ron Coffee's Shop to when he's in Times Square and sees the news that Terry Colby has been arrested, every moment in the pilot creates intrigue and sets the right tone for the series.

As engaging as the episode is the first time around, it's even better as a re-watch, where fans notice how every little detail subtly hinted at plot twists that were revealed later in the first season, especially in Elliot's interactions with Mr. Robot and Darlene.

9 Worst: "eps1.3_da3m0ns.mp4" - 8.1

Much of this episode revolves around Elliot going through a drug detox, which manifests in intense hallucinations. Enjoyment of the episode really hinges on one's investment in his hallucinations. While there's satisfaction to be found in combing through the nuances and foreshadowing in each hallucination, too many fans found them tedious and an impediment to the first season's momentum and overall plot.

Thus, it's currently the lowest-rated episode in Mr. Robot's run. That the lowest rated episode in the show's history sits at an 8.1 speaks volumes to the show's quality, though.

8 Best: "eps1.7_wh1ter0se.m4v" - 9.5

This episode forever changed everything fans thought they knew about Mr. Robot. It introduces the enigmatic Whiterose, whose role challenges much of what the audience assumed about Dark Army, E Corp, fsociety, and the hack that became known as 5/9.

At the beginning of the episode, it's revealed that Darlene and Angela know each other and are close. By the end of the episode, fans know that Darlene is actually Elliot's sister. As if that wasn't enough, Elliot finds pictures of himself as a kid with Mr. Robot, making it seem as though Mr. Robot was his father all along. Forcing the audience to reevaluate everything they know is an integral part of the show's identity, and this was one of the first episodes to pull off such a feat with perfect precision.

7 Worst: "eps2.0_unm4sk-pt1.tc" - 8.3

The first season ended with numerous cliffhangers that left audiences eager for a second season. For fans wanting answers, the first part of the season 2 premiere is a disappointment as the mysteries remain and more questions arise. Elliot seemingly living off the grid with his mother and obeying a strict routine to weaken Mr. Robot feels isolating for him, but also for the audience who is mostly kept in the dark.

A flashback at the beginning of the episode tantalizes the possibility of finding out what happened the night of the hack and where Tyrell is now, but it cuts away before anything too significant can be revealed. There's an enormous payoff for all this ambiguity and mystery by the end of the season, though at the time it was certainly frustrating for fans who had long been waiting for answers.

6 Best: "shutdown -r" - 9.5

With several long-running storylines colliding and key shifts in the status quo, the season 3 finale serves as one of the most rewarding episodes in Mr. Robot's history. Practically every character from Elliot, to Angela, to Dom and more learn new information that upends their world, forcing them to make life-threatening decisions that give them a new role for the fourth and final season.

For Elliot in particular, there's finally tangible hope that things will be made right and the real 1% of the 1%—Whiterose—will finally be held accountable and have to face the consequences. The post-credits scene raises the stakes even further with the return of Vera, a character from season 1 with whom Elliot still has some serious unfinished business.

RELATED: Mr. Robot: 10 Of Elliot's Best Quotes, Ranked

5 Worst: "eps1.2_d3bug.mkv" - 8.3

With the first two episodes of the series primarily focused on Elliot, this one largely shifts its focus to Tyrell Wellick. Tyrell's lust for power and his twisted, unorthodox methods of getting what he wants are put on full display.

While some appreciate having a better understanding of who Tyrell is as a character, the episode paints him in such a despicable way that it's difficult to walk away feeling anything but disgust. The corrupt, manipulative, cutthroat corporate figure is a stereotype. It's not until later in the series that Tyrell becomes a more nuanced and even tragic character.

4 Best: "eps3.5_kill-process.inc" - 9.7

The long-awaited Stage 2 comes to complete fruition in this episode. Elliot tries to stop Stage 2, but, in doing so, makes it worse, leaving him feeling responsible for the 71 E Corp facilities that are destroyed and the thousands that die as a result. Confronting Elliot with utter failure, and the feeling that, despite his best intentions, he is accountable for such widespread death and destruction is a bold move, even by Mr. Robot's standards, one that pushes Elliot to new and fascinating places as a character.

The ending is only part of the standout episode, as watching nearly every key character try to help or prevent the culmination of Stage 2 is an equally thrilling and nerve-wracking experience to watch. The suspense is escalated even further with most of the characters not knowing what the end of Stage 2 actually looks like, making the final result genuinely devastating to behold.

3 Worst: "eps2.0_unm4sk-pt2.tc" - 8.4

After a somewhat slow first part of the season 2 premiere, the second part kicks things into gear more. E Corp CTO Scott Knowles wears an fsociety mask and publicly burns $5.9 million to satisfy fsociety's ransom demands. Gideon Goddard is killed by a man he just met in a bar. The episode ends with Elliot receiving a phone call from Tyrell.

It's a more exciting installment than the first part of the season 2 premiere, but the payoff of these events moving forward is mixed. As a result, it seems like there was more emphasis placed on shock value than on the development of characters, plot or themes, which is a disappointing rarity for Mr. Robot.

2 Best: "eps3.4_runtime-error.r00" - 9.7

As a commercial-free episode presented as one continuous tracking shot, it is the most ambitious and technically impressive installment of Mr. Robot so far. These elements allow the audience to feel completely immersed in the pure chaos of the episode, following Elliot and Angela throughout E Corp headquarters as the Dark Army unleashes Stage 2. Because of the fluid way in which the episode is delivered, Elliot's helplessness as he's unable to stop Stage 2 feels palpable, as does Angela's determination and fear as she tries to successfully complete a task that was intended for Elliot.

As if this isn't enough, Darlene also tells Elliot she's working with the FBI and about how Angela has been helping Mr. Robot without Elliot's knowledge. The episode ends perfectly with Elliot and Angela coming face-to-face after their harrowing experiences and the truth finally bared before the two old friends.

1 Worst: "eps3.3_metadata.par2" - 8.5

The fourth episode of season 3 is mostly setup for the next two episodes, which are the two highest rated in the entire series. Stage 2 is nearly at hand. Elliot and Darlene try to take steps to stop it while Angela, Mr. Robot, and Tyrell take steps to make it a reality. There are some rich interactions between Elliot and Darlene, and it's compelling to watch Angela as a full-blown agent of the Dark Army.

The once-mighty Tyrell Wellick is just sad to watch, as he wishes he could go back to the time when he loved Elliot and viewed him as a god. There's also Tyrell trying to arrange safe passage to the Ukraine with his wife and child after Stage 2 is completed, but he's unaware about Joanna's tragic fate from earlier in the season. It's undeniably a setup episode, one that's necessary, but isn't everyone's cup of tea.

NEXT: Mr. Robot Final Season Trailer: Elliot Prepares For A Bloody Christmas

source https://screenrant.com/mr-robot-best-worst-episodes-imdb/