#but anyways we have to make persuasion campaigns and the one i settled on is to convince middle class american families

[orcelito]

I guess I should start making fliers soon

🤔

[rolllingthunderr]

UkaTake Unexpected d&d fluff | 1.6K words | SFW

tw: drinking //

-

“Well, this is unexpected?” Takeda stops in the doorway, smile threatening to take over his face and he puts a hand over his mouth to hide it as Ukai turns and frowns from where he’s sitting behind the DM screen.

Ukai leans back to smile softly at him, like he always did whenever he caught sight of him, something Takeda would never get over, before catching up with what he said and frowns. “Shaddup. Are you playing or what?”

“Yeah, we’re missing a few people.” Makoto smiles from where he’s sitting at the end of their kitchen table, paper and dice spread out before him with Takinoue in much the same arrangement beside him. “We need a healer.”

“Is this what you were sending me links for this morning?” He turns to Ukai, grinning as he watches him pull out a few character sheets and dice sets.

“Yeah. We don’t get many opportunities to play. How long’s this campaign been running Tak?”

“Two years I think?”

“Well i’ll happily join if you give me a few minutes to change. I may be a little rusty though. I haven’t played in years.” Before going to change he leans forward to kiss the top of his partner's head, smiling when Ukai sits up straight to lean his head back so he can kiss him properly.

“Hurry up. I’ll get you a drink. Whadda ya want?”

“That weird beer you got in, give me a few minutes.” He’s quick to change and go back into the kitchen, sitting in the chair that’s closest to Ukai which had apparently already been set up with a character sheet and dice.

“Cleric huh?” He takes a look over it. The class and level had already been set up, as well as prepared spells, but everything else was left blank so he quickly fills it in, using the memories from when he last played a cleric to create his character now as quickly as he can.

“Here Ittetsu.” Ukai comes back, passing him the beer with a kiss to his temple as he sits down, putting the other snacks he bought in towards the middle of the table.

“Thanks Kei.” Absently, he winds their legs together under the table as he sorts himself out while Makoto and Takinoue fill him in on the basics of the campaign.

“So we started out as mercenaries, but we sort of joined a plot to kill the king and that’s our focus on the minute.” Makoto explains. “We’re currently trying to break in the castle so we like, find you in the stables or something.”

“Sounds good.” He smiles as Ukai reaches under the table to grab his legs and pull his feet into his lap. Pushing over a packet of his favourite sweets as he does so, acting nonchalant about it although the tips of his ears are red.

Shifting so he’s comfortable and ignoring the eye rolls from their friends at their domesticity, Takeda settles in properly. “Alright, let’s get this started then.”

-

It takes all of twenty minutes before the apparent serious mood turns goofy, and Takeda leans into it heavily.

He’d forgotten how much he loved this game, and the customers at work had been particularly mean that day. He wished his teacher's salary stretched so he didn’t have to work through the summer but he did what he had to. It just meant he was all too ready to let off some steam now anyway.

“What do you mean I can’t flirt with the DM to get advantage?” He asks, pouting in the way he knows will get Ukai to flush, which causes Makato and Takinoue to giggle into their drinks.

“That’s not how it works babe.” Ukai sighs, but he’s very obviously trying to hide his grin.

“You’re the dm, you say what goes!”

“Exactly!” Takinoue leans forward, gesturing with his bottle. “We need advantage on that persuasion check c’mon please.”

“Okay if you ask i’m definitely gonna say no.” He growls, pointing right back.

“Shut up Tak.” Makoto hisses and Takeda can’t help but laugh at them. One of the good things about originally getting to know Ukai had been the friends who had followed him into their friendship. He had always been a little too awkward and earnest to make his own friends past being acquaintances. But Ukai hadn’t minded one bit and apparently, neither did his friends. And they were his friends too now.

“Yeah Tak.” He smirks, before turning the smirk to Ukai who averts his eyes.

“That’s not gonna work either.”

“Fine fine. Let me roll.” He gives it up, but he doesn’t miss the way Ukai squeezes his ankle. Maybe an apology, but it’s more likely a ‘hah’ at not giving in to his puppy eyes.

“Okay that’s a ten?” He grimaces given how low it was even with him adding everything to it.

Another squeeze. “Surprisingly, you come up against a particularly stupid guard and he lets you in without question.”

“Then i’m gonna kill him to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere!” Makoto slams the table, feral gleam in his eye that’s mirrored by all of them.

“Then roll for initiative.”

-

They end the night late and tipsy. And with plans to continue the next week given they had ended the session by being caught and thrown into the castle dungeons.

“Bye!” Takeda calls from under Ukai’s arm as they stand in the doorway. Waving Makoto and Takinoue off as they head home.

Once they’re out of sight they close the door and Ukai lets go, sighing as he looks at the messy table they’d left in their wake.

“Think we can leave it ‘till tomorrow?” He asks and Takeda nods, following to wrap his arms around Ukai’s waist from behind, burying his face in his shoulder blades.

“I mean, i’ve got the day off. I can do it whenever I get up.”

“Fuck I love you.” Ukai grins, turning around. Takeda just smiles back until he squeaks when unexpectedly Ukai reaches down to grab his thighs, hoisting him up. All he can do is wrap his legs around his waist and arms around his neck, laughing.

“What are you doing? I’m heavy c’mon-”

“I carry boxes of stock heavier than you babe.” Takeda can feel himself blushing and he buries his face in the crook of Ukai’s neck, grinning against the skin there before nosing it. Just to hear him sigh happily as he carries him carefully through their apartment.

He was secretly a sap. Or well, it was more a badly kept secret over an actual secret.

“Love you.” He nuzzles in. A little loose from the booze and he wiggles in Ukai’s grip, to feel his hands shift to settle him properly, and then while he’s there cop a feel of his ass which gets him laughing.

“You tryin’ to feel me up?” He pulls back, laughing even harder when Ukai drops him onto the bed, leaning over him as he kneels between his legs before lying heavily down.

It’s a weight Takeda loves, and he wraps his legs a little more firmly around his partner to keep him there as Ukai smirks down at him. He rests his elbows either side of Takeda’s head, leaning heavily down as he kisses him. Slow and open mouthed, completely sloppy.

Gross bastard. He really loved him

“Always babe.” Ukai grins in between kisses, one hand absently going to run through the strands of Takeda’s hair he can reach. Wrist bent a little awkwardly.

He reaches up to take the headband out of Ukai’s hair, chuckling when his hair falls into disarray around his face, strands falling over his face. He throws the hairband aside, hands going to play with it and spike it up before letting it all again, scratching his nails along Ukai’s scalp in the way he knows he likes.

“Hmm, you need to dye your roots again Kei.” He tugs at one of the strands, laughing when Ukai just licks a stripe up his face in indignant response. He goes to say something else, tease ready but the comment leaves his brain when Ukai starts kissing down his neck. He starts at his jaw, closed mouth kisses progressing to licks and then sharp nips the further down his neck he goes. Sucking hickies into the skin below the neckline of his shirt where the only people who could see the marks were them.

“So, what did you think about the game?” Ukai asks when he stops, resting his chin on Takeda’s chest and Takeda can’t help but burst into laughter.

“You’re asking me that now?” He giggles, tucking Ukai’s hair behind his ears. “Nerd.”

“Says you, Mr Teacher.”

“I’m not the one who brings up dnd in the middle of a make out session.”

“Oh shut up we’re not kids, c’mon.” Ukai whines. “At least call it somethin’ sexier.”

“No can do. You like me for my awkward charm.”

“Love you.” Ukai corrects without even thinking about it, and Takeda instantly blushes so hard he has to cover his face.

“Love you too.” He mutters. Unable to move his hands.

Gently, Ukai moves his hands out the way to kiss him and take his glasses off. Reaching over to them on their bedside table, and Takeda whines at the loss of him. He’s too tired and tipsy to really have a filter so he reaches out without thinking. Flushing again and hiding his face when Ukai turns to face him again, smirking down at him before that breaks into a soft grin. Resettling himself in between Takeda’s legs. Shifting comfortably as he rests his arm back where they were.

“Fucking nerd.”

“Shut up.” He leans up to kiss him once again, and settles in for the night.

[vulpinmusings]

Letters from Buxcord 2 - Razorback

After much delay, my RPG group returned to our Monster of the Week campaign for our second mystery.  This time, Ash and his new companions look into strange happenings surrounding a rich family and an old slaughterhouse.

Samantha,

Any doubts I had about sticking around Buxcord are well and truly squashed now.  It’s only been about a week since the Santa-squatch incident and I’ve already squared off with something much bigger and purely magical.

It started just a couple days after Christmas.  I was trawling about town for more details on local legends in the hopes of finding some common sources or threads to follow, and wound up at Bayou Boating, the main tourist attraction in this small town.  They had a list of “local cryptids” posted on the wall, but it included several creatures that, unless the names apply to different mythics than they do in Taryn, do not tend to live in or around wetlands.  The one person on staff at the time – it is the off-season for boat tours – proved to be less than well-informed about the one local legend I asked him about.  People occasionally go missing in the bayou after foolishly going out there on their own at night.

Well, I can’t really put all the blame for my not getting a lot of info on the clerk.  I‘d only asked a few questions before I experienced a major pulse in the magic fields.  It was almost a textbook example of the ripples caused by an inexperienced Mage casting spells beyond their ability.  The pulse carried some lingering effects of the original spell, as I had a brief vision of a grinning shadow floating over the bayou.  I set off in search of the source, but as messy as the spell had been it was also far enough away that the magic settled and the trail grew cold before I got more than a block.

Nothing else happened for a few days, until I crossed paths with Nollthep and Lea again.  I hadn’t really seen either of them since the Santa-sqautch, and the simple fact that Nollthep was not in his shop and was asking after somebody should have tipped me off.  Whatever that fellow is, he seems to work for some higher being and has little to no personal needs outside of running errands for his “Boss.” Lea is normal other than her instinctual persuasion magic, but her paths and mine just hadn’t crossed in the last week.

At any rate, we three happened to meet up at the local park where Lea was performing with some small-time Punk Rock band that sings in Spanish.  That’s… I think the language matches best to Iberrian.  Anyway, Lea’s singing was infused with a mesmeric effect that had everyone (except yours truly, naturally) in love with the whole performance despite her not knowing the language or the words very well. Nollthep wandered up to us after the show was over, asking everyone he came across if they knew of any Wiccans or anybody named Clemonte.  When he got to Lea and I, his questions turned to the topic of whether or not humans need blood and hearts to live.

I don’t think I need to say how concerning that was, but I didn’t get a chance to press for details before our attention was stolen by a group of local law enforcement suddenly taking off in response to a call from a “Clemonte mansion.”  That got Nollthep’s full focus, of course, and Lea finally recalled that the Clemontes were a wealthy but reclusive and disliked family in Buxcord.  She alluded to some previous encounters with them that had left her particularly soured, but she agreed to lead us to the house.

The Clemontes live on a hill on the southern outskirts of town, with their driveway reaching all the way to the base of the hill.  As mansions go, it wasn’t all that large, but the fountain in front had the ostentation of true Old Money.  The butler who answered our knock at the door sealed the impression, and he would have turned us away on principle if Lea’s magic hadn’t kicked in and scrambled his senses enough to make him tolerant of three random gawkers intruding on his employer’s private business.

I don’t want to become to reliant on that kind of manipulation, but without the reputation I’ve got back home I might not have much choice for a while…

The police – a sheriff and two deputies to be precise – were in the living room questioning a young woman and paid us little mind as we peeked in for a look.  The reason for the call was glaringly obvious: a disemboweled corpse had been hung on the wall over the fireplace with a graffiti-style pig’s head and the words “I’m back” scrawled in blood below it.  A most disturbing sight, although only Lea showed any physical reaction.  I, of course, am too experienced to let my revulsion get in the way of solving a problem, and Nollthep is too inhuman to even have a visceral reaction to such sights.

The sheriff and pair of deputies who were on-site were surprisingly fine with the three of us stepping in and asking our own questions.  I’m hoping that it was just them thinking that we must be welcome since the we’d gotten past the butler, but it’s too early to rule out general incompetence yet. The girl was Sophia Clemonte and the corpse had been a security guard at the Clemonte slaughterhouse and had no reason to be in the family mansion.  Sophia was shook up by the corpse, but she was more concerned about her younger brother, Cyril, who was missing.  The police told us that the rest of the family were upstairs, so we decided to go up and interrogate them while the police were still busy getting Sophia’s story.

The Clemonte parents are named Archie and Penelope.  Archie’s a bit of a boor and seems to hate magic on principle, while Penelope had the aura of someone with the talent for magic, albeit one she hasn’t used in many years thanks to her husband’s influence.  From Archie, we got an explanation for what the message painted on the wall could have meant.  About twenty years ago, an employee at the slaughterhouse had suffered a psychotic break after being fired and killed several people before committing suicide.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get more than that out of Archie before Lea insulted him and he told us to get out.

On our way out, we decided to check in on the last Clemonte, the eldest son Zachary.  I didn’t get any sense that he’d inherited any of his mother’s ability, and he was callously unconcerned about the whole scenario and intent on heading out for a little walk despite all common sense.

Penelope caught up to us at the top of the stairs and, now out from under Archie’s gaze, opened up a little more about her history with magic as we headed back to the crime scene.  She used to practice the Wiccan traditions, but gave them up years ago and hid her books away. Young Cyril had shown an interest in those books, and Penelope had given him one of the less dangerous tomes to look through.  I convinced Penelope to show me where she’d hidden the rest of her books, and she took us to a surprisingly large room hidden behind a secret door in the kitchen.  The room was full of not just books but all kinds of the stuff you typically find in the collection of those who follow ritual-based magic traditions. There was a book missing from the shelves, but it wasn’t the book Penelope had loaned to Cyril.  Penelope said the missing book was primarily about summoning and controlling spirits.

(Be sure to clarify that I’m not talking about Spiriter Warlock stuff here when you relay this to the M’Dales.  They’ll probably have a conniption otherwise.)

The sheriff had already had the corpse body-bagged when we returned to the sitting room, but I took a crack at searching the spot where it had been hanging, in case there was any lingering magic I could trace.  I got more than I bargained for; somehow, I managed to briefly link myself to the mind of an otherworldly entity (other than Nollthep) for a few seconds.  Demonic seems like an adequate adjective.  I had to sit down and catch my breath, and Lea charmed the butler into bringing us some coffee while Nollthep went to search Cyril’s room and one of the deputies was sent out to bring Zachary back. Nollthep came back with the missing tome, and we discussed whether or not to let Penelope know about it. We opted to keep her in the dark until I’d had a chance to look through it.

After much too much time had passed without either Zach or the deputy returning, I felt a ripple of powerful magic underlaid with that same sense of the demonic and led the group outside to see what was up. Standing by the fountain, holding Zachary up like a stuck pig and with the deputy lying broken at its feet, was an 8-foot tall humanoid figure dressed like a butcher and wearing a leather pig mask that was bleeding from the seams.  Reacting quickly, I wrapped the figure up in a Tangler while Nollthep produced a stack of playing cards and flung them one by one at the figure, as expertly as myself but without any spells attached.  The thing barely reacted.

Lea ran over to try and save the deputy, but her magic betrayed her, draining life out of the man rather than putting more in.

I tried to engage the creature in conversation, just to establish that it wasn’t sentient, and then tried to see how it liked a bullet in the head.

Did I mention I acquired a revolver shortly after the Santa-squatch incident?  It’s not my style, but without Carmilla around to handle the non-magical aspects of combat I have to make do.

Not that the bullet did any good in this event.

Nollthep tossed the spellbook to me and told me to try to find a counter-spell to whatever had summoned pig-head while he kept it busy.  I quickly found a likely looking spell and started Weaving it together to the best of my ability.  I hadn’t gotten far, though, before pig-head sensed the gathering magic and fled via dematerlization.

So, I learned that in this universe, evil spirits can sense when you’re trying to counteract the spell that summoned them to the mortal plan and can just get out of range before you’re done.  That’s an unwelcome complication.

Once the dust had settled, an ambulance was called in.  By some miracle, the deputy was still alive.  Zachary, on the other hand, was missing all his internal organs as well as having bled out.

In the course of informing the Clemontes and the sheriff about what had happened in the driveway and some of our suspicions, Nollthep and the Sheriff got into a bit of an argument about whether or not magic is real.  I could have gotten involved, but I was occupied with more important matters such as studying the spellbook and only rejoined the conversation when Nollthep left the room for a private conversation with Penelope and I overheard the Sheriff mention to Archie that there were reports of strange noises at the old slaughterhouse.  Over Archie’s protests, the sheriff insisted that everyone stay put until the morning and left his remaining deputy to keep an eye on us.

Once the Sheriff was gone, I made it clear that I did not intend to wait around or leave the case in the hands of people who didn’t even believe in the existence of magic.  I tried to conjure a basic mage-light to convince the deputy that I knew what I was talking about, but wound up with a tiny fireball instead.  It was sufficient to convince the deputy, at least.  Nollthep came back from his business with Penny and, naturally, agreed to accompany me.  To my surprise, Lea also wanted to come along, because she figured that since I’d chased pig-face off once, the safest place to be was at my side.

It was a long walk to the slaughterhouse.  It must have been abandoned shortly after the incident twenty years ago, because the place was empty and full of rusted equipment.  I felt the presence of pig-face as soon as we entered the building.  We decided that since pig-face had a… particular theme to him, we should start our search in the pork slaughtering section.  The plan was to locate pig-face and figure out how to restrain him so he couldn’t escape while I cast the banishing spell on him.

In the pig area, we heard the sounds of actual pigs in the preparation pens and went to look.  The things we found were mostly identical to normal pigs, but their eyes and teeth were more human than porcine, and they were munching on offal that included at least one intact human hand.  Nollthep, working on the assumption that the pigs were sapient, attempted to cast a translation spell on himself and wound up just speaking gibberish and apparently losing his ability to comprehend Lea or me for several minutes.

Then we saw pig-face up in the rafters, holding a blood-soaked mallet. Nollthep produced his throwing cards and put some actual magic into them that briefly set fire to pig-face’s sleeve.  The beast dropped down on us and walloped Nollthep.  As I Wove a lightning bolt, Lea ran for cover behind me.  She grabbed onto me briefly and, in that brief moment, the magic fell into place with my normal natural grace. The lighting struck pig-face, then arced off him and unlocked one of the pig pens.  The pig-thing inside charged at Nollthep, but he swatted it up and into another pen with ease.

Pig-face came after me next, and I threw up a barrier to try and stop his mallet.  I must have miscalculated, because the blow shattered the shield and knocked me back a bit.  Could have been worse, I guess, but still…

Nollthep pulled out a chain of tied-up handkerchiefs and tried to tie pig-face up with them.  It held for a few seconds, but not nearly enough time for me to even start the banishment.  Lea suddenly ran off into the heart of the slaughtering area, and pig-face chased her once he broke loose.  I got him in a Tangler, but it barely held him long enough for Nollthep to club him once.  I heard Lea say something about finding the meat grinder that pig-face had first died in as I ran to keep up with the fight.  I pushed past Nollthep and, in a bit of foolish desperation, tried to tackle pig-face and flip him off the walkway and into the machinery. You can probably guess how well that went.  Pig-face had me by the neck and dangling over the suddenly active grinder before I could regain my balance.  Nollthep whipped his hankie-chain around the specter’s arm to try and haul me out of danger, but pig-face resisted the pull and tossed a knife at Nollthep with his free hand. Then Lea found a meathook and chucked it at pig-face, and I was falling toward a mass of whirling blades and serrated rollers.

Reflex kicked in and I cast my Transport spell without thinking about how it would need to be adjusted.  By pure luck, the spell not only worked but deposited me safely on the walkway away from the fight.  As I made my way back to the action, I saw that my companions were in a bit of a panic thinking I’d just died (Nollthep apparently thought meat grinders just magically transmute flesh into meat or something and Lea didn’t see what happened).  Lea’s grief was so great she actually summoned a big root up through the walkway and into pig-face’s arm just as the creature made a move to throw Nollthep into the grinder after me.

As for myself, I was starting to get annoyed.  I’d cheated death by pure luck and pig-face was proving to very, very bothersome.  Simply restraining him was no longer an option for me.  He had to suffer a bit.

So I set him on fire.  It didn’t do much on its own, but Nollthep threw on some sort of powder that exploded and knocked pig-face off the walkway.  The creature threw the hooked chain from its belt and caught Nollthep by the shoulder, but I broke through the rusted chain with a simple Breaking before Nolly got pulled in after pig-face.

For reasons I don’t quite understand yet, being subjected to the same form of death a second time proved to be enough to end pig-face’s return to the physical world.  Once he’d been thoroughly ground up, that persistent, buzzing sense of his presence vanished along with the human-toothed pigs.  The gore they’d been feasting on remained, however.  I took the hand I’d seen earlier for the police to check, in case it happened to have belonged to Cyril Clemonte.  Nollthep went into a panic when I mentioned that theory and he swiftly dug through the viscera looking for anything that could be a heart.  Once he found something, he vanished in a blink, presumably to deliver the goods to his Boss.

Lea and I returned to the mansion just long enough to tell the deputy what to expect when the cops went to the slaughterhouse and to hand over the hand.  I then made sure Lea got home safely before returning to my hotel room.

When I arrived, I found a card on the bed.  It invited me to visit a Madam Weaver, who apparently knows something that would be of use to me.

How useful it will actually be remains to be seen, but you may be seeing me or these letters sooner than I hoped.

With guarded hope,

Ash

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 26

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

Cold air and beeping.

Stiles knows before he even opens his eyes that he’s in the hospital, but he opens his eyes anyway to confirm it. Yep. The hospital. And Dad’s dozing in the chair next to his bed, Stella on his lap, which must be uncomfortable as hell for both of them.

He opens his dry mouth. “Wh…”

Dad’s eyes flash open. He leans forward, wincing, and rubs Stella on the back to wake her. “Stiles? You okay, kiddo?”

“Why’m I here?” he croaks.

“You got shot in the shoulder,” Dad says. “You’ve been in surgery.”

Oh, well that definitely explains why his arm wouldn’t work. Also, hospital-grade painkillers are amazing because Stiles isn’t feeling a damn thing. Not even guilt, which he knows he totally should be with the look Dad is leveling at him.

“I told you to pull over,” Dad says.

“Mmm.”

Stella blinks away. “Stiles?” she mumbles, and then scrambles to her feet. “Stiles!”

“Careful,” Dad says in a warning tone as Stella tries to clamber into the bed with Stiles. “Watch his arm, Stella.”

“I’m gonna…” Stiles says, pressing the button for pain relief. “Just have more of this.”

He passes out again, with Stella cuddled up against his good side.

***

Derek slinks into Stiles’s hospital room early on Thursday morning, carrying enough guilt for both of them. He’s also carrying a banana milkshake from the twenty-four hour diner on Third.

He’s amazing.

(Stiles is on a lot of morphine.)

Stiles makes a grabby hand for him. “You’re okay. Oh, thank Jeebus. You’re okay.”

Derek leans down and kisses him softly on the forehead. Stiles basks in the warmth of that for all of three seconds, then makes a grabby hand for the milkshake.

He slurps on it for a while.

“Did I imagine Peter?” he mumbles. “Is he a zombie now? Big ol’ zombiewolf?”

He dozes off again before Derek can answer him.  

***

Stiles pieces together what happened during his hospital stay. When he’s released on Friday evening—with strict instruction about meds and wound care—he thinks he’s got the full picture. More or less. Gerard Argent is in jail, awaiting trial for shooting Stiles, the other hunters have dropped off the face of the planet, Dad is running yet another misinformation campaign about what really happened and carefully excising the Hales from the narrative, and—oh yeah—Peter Hale came back from the dead and saved everyone’s ass.

That’s kind of the big one.

Stiles keeps coming back to that, and he really hopes that someone explains it to him at some point.

Dad picks him up from the hospital.

“Where’s Stella?” Stiles asks, as Dad clips his seatbelt up for him. Having his arm in a sling is going to be a royal pain in the ass. How’s he supposed to play video games Or do his homework? Or jerk off? He only ever jerks off with his right hand. Jesus. He’s going to have to change his entire routine.

“She’s at home,” Dad says. “She and Derek are making dinner.”

Oh, good, because Stiles was half-worried Dad would throw Derek out of the house for what happened on Wednesday night.

“It wasn’t Derek’s fault,” he says at last, carefully. “I couldn’t let him go alone, you know? And we couldn’t wait for you.”

“Stiles,” Dad says frankly as they wait at a red light. “I know why you did what you did. But as your father, I will never be happy that you chose to put yourself in danger like that. I’m angry as hell, kid, but I’m proud of you too.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose.

“It’s complicated,” Dad says. “I want to hug you and wring your neck at the same time.”

“You should ask Peter for pointers on that,” Stiles suggests.

“Not funny,” Dad says, but his mouth quirks anyway. “You’re grounded, by the way.”

“That’s fair. I’m glad I’m still here so you can ground me, honestly.” The words are meant to sound glib, but they come out too brittle for that, and Stiles’s breath hitches.

“Me too, kiddo,” Dad says, his eyes shining. “Me too.”

They drive the rest of the way home in silence.

When they get there, Stiles sees Derek’s Camaro parked in the driveway, and Jackson’s Porsche out on the street. All the lights are on downstairs and when Dad pulls in, the front door swings wide open and Stella races out to meet them.

“Stiles! We’re having pizza! Derek helped me make them! And Jackson cut the peppers for us!”

“Awesome!” Stiles hugs her with his good arm. “So we’re having a pizza party?”

“Yes!” Stella tugs at Dad’s belt loops. “Dad, did you get balloons? You were supposed to get balloons!”

“And I told you that I wasn’t going to leave your brother in the car while I stopped off for balloons,” Dad says.

Stella huffs, affronted.

“I don’t need balloons,” Stiles says. “Just pizza and you, you little peanut.”

Despite the lack of balloons, there’s still a party atmosphere inside the house. Stiles gets settled in Dad’s easy chair in the living room, careful not to jostle his arm when he sits, and it isn’t long before Derek appears, a cup of soda in his hand for Stiles, and grabs the footstool so he can sit next to him. He curls his fingers loosely around Stiles’s good wrist, and Stiles’s pain drain away.

“Hey,” Stile says.

Derek smiles at him. “Hey.”

Stiles looks up as Lydia steps into the living room, holding a tray of pizza. She sets it down on the coffee table. “Welcome home, Stiles.”

She leans down and kisses his cheek.

Stiles isn’t going to lie. A month ago he would have been fucking ecstatic to have Lydia Martin kiss his cheek. Now it’s…well, it’s about as exciting as when Stella does it. It’s warm and sweet, and sisterly. And Stiles wouldn’t change that for the world at this point.

Lydia fetches him a piece of pizza, and he reluctantly removes his arm from Derek’s loose grasp to take it.

“There another one coming,” Lydia says.

“I’m not really that hungry. But this smells great.” He takes a bite. “Meanwhile, I think you have some explaining to do, don’t you?”

“Do I?” Lydia asks, sitting on the couch and helping herself to a slice.

“Like, what the hell were you and Jackson even doing out there the other night?”

Jackson, speak of the devil, wanders in with the second pizza. “Sup, Stilinski?”

“Sup,” Stiles says. “I’d fist bump you, but, well, pizza takes precedence.”

Jackson sits down next to Lydia.

It doesn’t take long for Dad and Stella to join them—and Peter Hale as well, who is definitely not dead. Definitely, absolutely not dead. Stella would fall over if she was tugging so hard on the hand of a corpse.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles says. “Fill me in here! What the hell even happened on Wednesday night?”

“Actually, you should be asking what happened on Friday night,” Peter Hale says with a smirk.

“Friday?” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “I was there on Friday. I know what happened on Friday.”

Lydia smiles at him. “Well, about that…”

And she tugs the sleeve of her blouse down off her shoulder so that Stiles can see the wound on her pale skin he first noticed at the cemetery that night and then subsequently forgot about: a healing bite mark.  

***

So, Friday.

The dance, then Dad’s call to the Hale house, then the crash, and then every other fucking thing.  

On the way to the cemetery, when Stiles was holding Derek’s hand in the back of Chris’s SUV, apparently a very interesting discussion was taking place in the Porsche. A discussion in which Peter Hale proposed a crazy idea, and Lydia thought it over in that fast-paced brain of hers, and agreed.

***

“Shit,” Stiles says, his heart beating faster. “He must have been incredibly fucking persuasive.”

“Language,” Dad says, at the same time as Stella pipes up, “Swear jar!”

Lydia tilts her head thoughtfully, and flashes a smile at Peter. “Not really.”

“Not really?”

“He told me I stank of magic,” Lydia said, “and asked if I wanted to find out what sort.” She shrugs. “What was I supposed to say?”

“You weren’t worried about turning?” Stiles asks. “Or dying?”

Lydia raises her eyebrows, and smiles slightly. “Against an entire lifetime of not knowing something so fundamental about myself? Really, Stiles?”

No wonder he had a crush on her for so long. She’s fucking fearless.

“So what’s this got to do with how Peter’s here though?” he asks, setting his pizza down on the arm of the chair. “Wait. What sort of magic areyou?”

“I’m a banshee,” Lydia says, as matter-of-fact as if she’s telling him her star sign. “I can feel death coming. I can predict it. And I can do that because I apparently have a foot in both worlds. Or both sides of the veil.” She selects a second slice of pizza. “Is that poetic, or clichéd? Hmm.”

“So if you have a foot in both worlds,” Stiles says slowly, “then you exist in some place where there’s no barrier. You’re…” He wrinkles his nose. “Where you are, there’s a gateway?”

Peter smirks. “That was my theory, certainly.”

“Hell of a theory,” Stiles murmurs.

Peter shrugs. “If I was going to die anyway, and the chances of that were high, I literally had nothing to lose.”

“So that’s what happened,” Lydia says, although Stiles feels she’s explained exactly nothing. “Peter bit me, created a bond even through the veil, and on the night of the worm moon Jackson and I went out to the Hale house to perform the ritual that would bring him back. Which is where Gerard Argent found us.”

“I’m so confused,” Stiles says at last, and picks up his pizza again. “Where did you find this ritual anyway? In your amazing Latin werewolf book?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Where did you find your magic book anyway?”

Lydia exchanges a look with Jackson. “In the Hale vault.”

“Wait.” Stiles screws up his face. “Derek, you said that nobody could get into the Hale vault, unless…” He trails off.

“I told Jackson to look there,” Peter says.

Stiles punches Derek in the shoulder with his good arm. “You said nobody could get in there unless they were a Hale!”

“Right?” Jackson says. “You’d think the werewolf and the banshee thing would have been the biggest reveal I got that night, wouldn’t you? Apparently not.”  

“Holy shit,” Stiles says. “Holy shit.”

“Swear jar!” Stella reminds him through a mouthful of pizza.

“So who—“ Stiles cuts himself off. “Sorry, no, that’s none of my business.”

“Peter,” Jackson says.

Oh,” says Stiles. “That’s super weird.”

Jackson’s pinched expression totally agrees with him on that, but he seems to be rolling with it. And super weird or not, and whatever the story is behind Jackson’s adoption, a part of Stiles is glad that Jackson didn’t just get a name carved into black granite. That, however it works out, it’s someone who’s still here. Someone he can talk his issues out with, or punch them out if he needs, and he’s not just going to get silence in return.

“Okay,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “So you got the book from the vault. But why…” He looks to Derek helplessly.

“We didn’t say anything about trying the ritual because we didn’t know if it would work.” Lydia exhales slowly. “And we’d hoped, that if it did, we’d have Peter back before Gerard even came to town. But that didn’t work out how we’d hoped.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter says airily. “I’ve always been a fan of a dramatic entrance.”

“You couldn’t have dramatically entered before I got shot?” Stiles asks.

“Well,” Peter concedes. “Perhaps my timing was a little off.”

“Well,” Stiles says, “next time—”

Derek growls, and flashes his red eyes.

“No,” Dad says. “There will be no next times. You’re grounded until you’re forty, remember?”

“Excuse you, you said thirty!”

“Kiddo, you’re grounded until you reach retirement age,” Dad tells him. “No more werewolf shenanigans for you!”

***

Later, much later, Stiles is laying in bed, his left hand tangled in Derek’s hair as they exchange soft, sweet kisses in the moonlight.

“Hey, Der?” he asks in a whisper. “Do you think this counts as werewolf shenanigans?”  

Derek laughs softly against the line of his jaw. “Shh!”

[callioope]

Rogue One Characters ~ D&D 5e Classes

My recent return to watching Critical Role inspired me to think (obsess) over what the RO characters’ classes would be. I’ve already played Jyn as a rogue, which was super fun, so I continued the mental exercise for the rest of her friends.

My recent experience with D&D is with The Sword Coast in the Forgotten Realms setting (fifth edition), so that’s going to color my thoughts here, just FYI. It also means there might be other specialty classes out there I’m not aware of.

I’d love to actually build out their characters some day and wouldn’t it be fun to find a group to play them with, but for now I’m just entertaining broader ideas. They’re listed in order of how satisfied I am with the class I settled on (I like the first three, and I think the last three are really still up in the air).

Let me know what you think -- I’d love to see other interpretations! (I can’t talk to enough people about this, really. Just ask my IRL friends who do not care.)

The Quick List (full notes below the cut)

Jyn Erso ~ Rogue, Swashbuckler Archetype

Cassian Andor ~ Rogue, Assassin Archetype

Chirrut Îmwe ~ Monk, The Way of the Open Hand

Baze Malbus ~ Ranger, Hunter

Bodhi Rook ~ Bard, Bard of the College Lore

K-2SO ~ Fighter, OR Wizard, The School of Abjuration

Jyn Erso ~ Rogue Swashbuckler Archetype

Aside from the fact that Jyn leads Rogue One, this just seems obvious to me. We think of rogues as thieves or criminals, which seems fitting for Jyn’s backstory. Rogues are cunning, sneaky, they focus on Dexterity, and are talented in a variety of skills (including Acrobatics, Athletics, Deception, Insight, Intimidation, Investigation, Perception, Performance, Persuasion, Sleight of Hand, and Stealth).

The Swashbuckler archetype (included in the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide) enhances the rogues melee combat abilities. She could dart away from enemies without inciting attacks of opportunity—a built-in Disengage that allows her to dual wield. Per the Sword Coast’s Adventurer’s Guide: “your method of fighting looks like a performance” (135). Does that not sound like Jyn?

Cassian Andor ~ Rogue Assassin Archetype

Cassian’s another character that sticks to the shadows, and the Assassin archetype is basically built for spies: “You focus your training on the grim art of death. Those who adhere to this archetype are diverse: hired killers, spies, bounty hunters, [...]. Stealth, poison, and disguise help you eliminate your foes with deadly efficiency” (PHP 94). Features include: Bonus Proficiencies with disguise kits and poisoner’s kits; Assassinate; Infiltration Expertise (ability to create false identities at level 9), Imposter (ability to mimic speech, writing and behavior at level 13), Death Strike.

Chirrut Îmwe ~ Monk The Way of the Open Hand

The mastery of martial arts and the connection to spirituality seems like an obvious fit for Chirrut. And the Guardians of the Whills are described as an “order of spiritual warrior-monks” on Wookieepedia. Monks study a magic energy called “ki,” what is described as “energy [that] is an element of the magic that suffuses the multiverse—specifically, the element that flows through living bodies” (PHP 76). Okay, so, it’s the Force.

The monk’s primary abilities are Dexterity and Wisdom, that sounds like Chirrut, too. For his Monastic Tradition, The Way of the Open Hand seems most fitting: “Monks of the Way of the Open Hand are the ultimate masters of martial arts combat, whether armed or unarmed. They learn techniques to push and trip their opponents, manipulate ki to heal damage to their bodies, and practice advanced meditation that can protect them from harm” (PHP 79).

Baze Malbus ~ Ranger Hunter

Baze was a little trickier. At first instinct, fighter seemed to fit, but Baze’s repeater cannon makes him more a ranged fighter than anything. Sorcerer was considered for its use of fireball, but that still didn’t seem to fit. I also considered Cleric simply because I like the idea of Baze as a healer, and a War Domain could put Baze in combat.

After much discussion, I’m currently entertaining the idea of Baze as a Ranger; per the D&D 5e PHP, a ranger is “A warrior who uses martial prowess and nature magic to combat threats on the edges of civilization” (45). Baze’s backstory as a Guardian of the Whill kind of fits that martial prowess, and his leaving the order could have possibly put him on the edge of civilization. Favored Enemy = Imperials, of course, and his Fighting Style could go to Archery for his prowess with ranged weapons.

Of all the ranger archetypes, Hunter then seems to fit the best: “As you walk the Hunter’s path, you learn specialized techniques for fighting the threats you face, from rampaging ogres and hordes of orcs to towering giants and terrifying dragons” (PHP 93). That could be Baze.

Bodhi Rook ~ Bard Bard of the College Lore

I’m not sure who gave me more difficulty, Bodhi or K-2SO. In canon, Bodhi begins the story as an Imperial pilot, and I’m not sure how that could translate to a D&D setting. A coach driver for some kind of villain who defects? Not sure.

In looking at his role in the story, though, it’s his message that inspires the entirety of it. In reading about Bards of the College Lore, I stumbled across this, “When the applause dies down, the audience members might find themselves questioning everything they held to be true, from their faith in the priesthood of the local temple to their loyalty to the king [...] they can expose corruption” (PHP 54).

Bards prefer to stay out of combat, something I see in Bodhi, too, although they’re capable if needed.

So maybe it’s a little bit of a stretch, but I can’t see anything else fitting him.

K-2SO ~ Wizard The School of Abjuration

K-2 presents two difficulties, since there are no droids in D&D. (Although I think I played in an Eberron campaign once that effectively had steampunk type constructs? That was a long time ago, I forget.) I know some people like to make K-2 a pet in modern AUs but this is a particular turn-off for me; he’s a sentient, not a pet. Anyways I suppose those who disagree might find a way to have him as a familiar or animal companion to Cassian, but I personally wouldn’t go that route.

So first, races to consider for K-2SO: goliath, merely for the height; dragonborns are also tall, and he could have silver/metallic scales; and then tieflings are generally outcasts, which kind of fits how droids are treated in the GFFA.

The first thought for K-2 was fighter, which I think does work. A friend suggested gunslinger a la Percy from Critical Role, since K-2 really wants a blaster (seems a stretch to me although I found it amusing). I see K-2 as naturally having a high intelligence ability score, and that screamed Wizard to me. That might seem kind of random, but it’d give the party an AoE spellcaster, which they’re missing, and I also see K-2 as seeing to odd jobs here and there (which actually might even suggest rogue, again?).

IF I went Wizard (which I’m by no means set on), I’d chose The School of Abjuration since it seems to focus on protection, which seems apropos for a character whose initial purpose is security.

But I’m probably overthinking this, he should probably just be a fighter.

What are your thoughts? I’m sure there are better ideas out there, especially for those last three!

Other Notes: 1. Given their religious bent and strict adherence to a moral code, I’d put Jedi as Paladins.

2. I also prepped “Leia Huttslayer” as a noble bard, for the same campaign I built Jyn for. I’ve idly considered Luke as a paladin, and maybe Han as a rogue?

[farfromdaylight]

arrival at kraghammer

have started my critical role rewatch! so here are my thoughts on episode 1. in general, there will be spoilers for the whole campaign in these posts.

i'm watching on alpha for two reasons: one, i have it so i was curious what it was like, and two, dear god, i don't have to see the chat anymore. like i love you guys but why the hell did you show the chat on the screen for so long. good god. also now i don't have to fast-forward through the break. all in all, a good experience.

anyway, it's very interesting what character traits are evident from the first episode, and what things are totally different. some things that stand out:

vex haggles right from the start (like, within the first twenty minutes)

keyleth gets a 2 on a persuasion roll

"how about we pose as brother and sister, creepy?" :') vex is already ragging on vax

trinket. just. trinket. lmao everything until they get the necklace is so fucking hilarious. i can't believe they spent SO MUCH TIME without it

ESPECIALLY BECAUSE TRINKET ENDS UP IN A FIGHTING RING LMAO

and keyleth turns into a bear to take trinket's place which i totally forgot about, this whole fight is fantastic

"He is drunk, you are offering him ale, and he's been laughing at a bear for two minutes. Make a persuasion check with advantage."

the comment cards, oh my god.

"My name is Tiberius Kraghammer." 😂😂😂

scanlan turning invisible and sneaking into the greyspine house for no real reason is just hysterical (travis suggests that he poop in there, which is hilarious given it is not a thing yet)

oh my god i forgot not everyone has an earring

"My name is Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III--" everyone, chorusing: "You can call him Percy."

"Fellows. I don't like goblins. I don't. Like. Goblins. They all die. Don't spare any of them."

like the fact that this is the only time goblins show up and it is the establishing moment in scanlan's backstory im just 😭

BAD NEEEEEWS tbh i think this moment might have been what completely sold me on the show, like the fact that there was a guy with a goddamn sniper rifle was just too cool to pass up

ALSO, THE HAND-DRAWN MAPS!!! i love the maps they have today, but there's something so charming about these.

laura forgetting hunter's mark and the chatroom reminding her :')

the naga thing in the first episode is so creepy and honestly it's just a precursor to all the weird shit this campaign has in store

"I turn into an eagle and....... I fly away."

"Can I inspire myself?" "...Because you're Scanlan, I'll say yes."

and then sam gets his first HDYWTDT!

which honestly is so poetic, if you think about it

"Just promise me you'll tell Pike about this? Because it was really cool!"

ah, man, just watching the first ep again reminds me of how hard i fell for this show. it was so easy for me to get invested in critical role, because it was obvious that the players had settled into their characters and their relationships were well established, so they all felt genuine. and then i watched the entire show (which was then 65 episodes) in the span of 3 weeks. this isn't my first time rewatching it, because i have a Problem, but i'm really looking forward to seeing it all again from the start.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Three weeks ago, after Leeann Tweeden accused Minnesota Sen. Al Franken of groping her and kissing her without her consent, we argued that Democrats ought to have pushed for Franken to resign. Doing so would have allowed them to claim the moral high ground at a time when allegations of sexual misconduct had implicated both Democratic and Republican politicians — including President Trump and Roy Moore, the Republican Senate candidate in Alabama. It would also have come at a relatively small political price, since Franken’s replacement would be named by a Democratic governor and Democrats would be favored to keep the seat in a special election in 2018.

Democrats didn’t see it the same way; instead, the party line was that Franken’s case should be referred to the Senate ethics committee. But the party has since shifted gears: On Wednesday, a cavalcade of Democratic senators — first several female members, such as New York’s Kirsten Gillibrand and Hawaii’s Mazie Hirono, but eventually including party leaders such as New York’s Chuck Schumer — called on Franken to resign. Franken’s office has said he’ll make an announcement about his future on Thursday, which many reporters expect to be a resignation.

So what changed? Most obviously, several other women came forward with accusations that Franken had groped them or made unwanted advances toward them, including two new accusations on Thursday alone.

Unfortunately, this was fairly predictable: Sexual predation is often serial. (Consider, for instance, that, on Jezebel’s fairly exhaustive list of prominent men accused of sexual harassment or sexual assault, all but a handful have multiple accusers.) The lesson is that even if party leaders think that an initial allegation against one of their members may be politically survivable or morally tolerable, it will often be followed by other accusations.

But something else changed too: Democratic leaders got a lot of feedback from voters in the form of polls, and it wasn’t positive.

Voters care about sexual harassment allegations — and thought both parties were mishandling them

Polling suggests that voters care a lot about sexual harassment allegations — a Quinnipiac poll this week, for instance, found that 66 percent of voters thought that politicians should resign when “accused of sexual harassment or sexual assault by multiple people.” And the poll also found that only 28 percent of voters approve of the Democrats’ handling of sexual harassment and sexual assault claims, as compared with 50 percent who disapprove. That’s better than the numbers for Republicans (21 percent approve, 60 percent disapprove), but not by much. Meanwhile, a Huffington Post/YouGov poll last month found equally poor numbers for Democrats and Republicans when voters were asked whether the parties had a sexual harassment “problem.”

Voters are also not necessarily interested in making overly fine distinctions among different types of sexual misconduct. A YouGov poll this week, for instance, found that roughly the same proportion of voters wanted Franken (43 percent resign, 23 percent not resign, 35 percent not sure) and Moore (47/22/31) to step down.1 All of this goes to show that voters face a number of complexities when considering these allegations, such as the number of accusers; the severity of the alleged misconduct; the age of the victims and their ability to consent; the amount of time passed since the alleged misconduct; the credibility of the accusers; whether the politicians apologize for the conduct or how persuasive they were in denying the allegations; and whether the allegations involved an abuse of public office. As a human being, I have my own intuitive and moral sense for how to weigh these factors — but as someone who tries to diagnose their political impact, I don’t necessarily expect everyone else to sort them out in quite the same way.

The moral high ground could also be the political high ground for Democrats

It’s reasonable to be a little bit suspicious of polls showing voters to be highly worried about sexual harassment because sometimes partisanship can outweigh voters’ self-professed concerns.

There’s also some partisan asymmetry in how voters interpret these claims. As The Huffington Post’s Ariel Edwards-Levy points out, voters in both parties largely believe sexual harassment claims made against the other party — but Democrats also tend to believe claims made against fellow Democrats, while Republicans are more skeptical about claims made against GOP lawmakers. Note, of course, that Trump won the Electoral College last year and received 88 percent of the Republican vote despite more than a dozen accusations of sexual misconduct against him.

All of this can be frustrating to Democratic and liberal commentators, who complain about “unilateral disarmament,” i.e. the notion that Democratic legislators such as Franken and Rep. John Conyers will be forced to resign because of sexual misconduct allegations while Republicans such as Moore, Trump and Texas Rep. Blake Farenthold will survive theirs because their bases will rally behind them.

This may be more of a curse than a blessing for Republicans, however. Somewhat contrary to the conventional wisdom, the allegations against Moore have had a meaningful impact in Alabama. Moore has put Republicans in an unenviable position: He’ll either lose a race to a Democrat in one of America’s reddest states, trigger a nasty intraparty fight over expulsion, or stay in office but potentially damage the Republican brand for years to come. Voter concern over Republican mishandling of the accusations against GOP Rep. Mark Foley, who sent sexually explicit messages to underaged teenage pages, was a contributing factor in the landslide losses Republicans suffered in 2006. And while it isn’t a perfect analogy because they weren’t accused of sexual misconduct themselves, Missouri’s Todd Akin and Indiana’s Richard Mourdock lost highly winnable Senate races for Republicans in 2012 after making controversial comments about women who had been raped.

So it may well be that Democratic politicians usually resign from office when faced with accusations of sexual harassment while Republicans usually don’t. If so, that could work to Democrats’ benefit. If the Democrat is in a safe seat, he’ll be replaced with another Democrat anyway. And if he’s in a swing seat, the party would often be better off with a new candidate rather than one who’s damaged goods.2 In Minnesota, for instance, Franken’s approval rating has plunged to 36 percent, according to a SurveyUSA poll, down from 53 percent last year. Whichever Democrat replaces him would have to win the special election in 2018 but would then probably have an easier time than Franken holding the seat for the full six-year term that comes up in 2020.

Moreover, a tougher stance toward accused harassers such as Franken makes Democrats look less hypocritical when party leaders such as Nancy Pelosi talk about having “zero tolerance” on sexual harassment.

Maintaining the moral high ground isn’t always easy. It means you have to hold your party to a higher standard than the other party. It means you sometimes have to make real trade-offs. But it can also pay political dividends and mitigate political risks. Democrats just lost an election in 2016 against a historically unpopular candidate because their candidate was disliked nearly as much. The political environment is favorable for Democrats in 2018, but perhaps the easiest way that Democrats could blow their opportunity is if voters conclude that as bad as Republicans are, Democrats are no better. With Democrats coming around to a tougher stance on Franken and Conyers while Republicans equivocate on Moore and restore funding to his campaign, they’ll be able to draw a clearer distinction for voters.

[haleashcroft-blog]

Challenge 001 - Q&A

Date: September 3

Location: Santa Cruz Police Station 

Closed

The crisp air of the air-conditioned police station caressed his skin, forcing flesh to raise with unwelcome goosebumps. Apparently, those charged with maintaining a comfortable temperature for the station had not noticed the shorter days finally succumbing to the persuasion of the changing season, or perhaps they did it on purpose, discomfort was a telltale sign of guilt and many would say anything – even the truth – to escape such an uneasy environment.

“Mr. Ashcroft,” an authoritative voice belonging to whom Hale assumed was the lead detective brought his attention away from the trivial thoughts entertaining the motivations behind the too-cold temperature and back to the present situation. A nod confirmed his identity to the stranger as a friendly smile spread over his features. He was used to wearing a mask of innocence, hiding the guilt of his past crimes behind the fun loving nature of a fool. No one questioned someone deemed unworthy of the intelligence of malice associated with murder.

“Please follow me,” the man said before moving further into the station. Hale allowed himself to be led through the short maze of hallways making up the station, restricting his posture to one of relaxation and ease under the scrutiny of those populating the precinct.

The interrogation room was both exactly what he expected and nothing like he expected. Despite the cold walls enclosing the lonely table and chairs in the middle of the linoleum floor, the room held a warmth to it that could only be achieved by the presence of chosen company. The detective gestured to the chair facing the mirrored wall, politely inviting him to take a seat.

Watching as the man took out a pen and notepad, Hale attempted to keep his hands from fidgeting on the cold table. Calloused fingertips longed to dance across the table if only to release some of the excess energy thrumming through his veins with the threat of exposure.

“Okay, Hale, your last name is Ashcroft, A S H C R O F T?” Another nod met the detective’s inquiry, the smile previous stretched across his face fading a bit under the intimidation of a simple question. “And your date of birth is April 3rd, 1981?” Another affirming nod pulled his chin up and down with a quick motion.

“Describe your night at the fundraiser.” The detective began.

Folded hands unfurled to twist his fidgeting fingers together, tracing the cracked lines of dried knuckles. “It was a pretty normal night until well… you know.” He said, gesturing vaguely to the heavy tension invading the atmosphere surrounding the pair. “I went to the fundraiser with my boyfriend and girlfriend –“

“Audra Velasquez and Leyton Velasquez?” the detective interrupted. Hale nodded and the detective signaled for him to continue his story.

“Anyway, I went to the fundraiser with my boyfriend and girlfriend. Everyone was drinking, judging each other, not as dramatic as Real Housewives but the same general atmosphere when you put a bunch of people who hate each other but are still trying to impress each other together.” A shrug moved through his muscular frame, signifying the absence of any crucial information pertaining to Clara’s murder.  

“Did you see anything suspicious?” The man asked, attempting to obtain more details of the night.

A slight shake his head only seemed to bring more scrutiny. “Not really,” Hale asserted, noting the curious gaze that met his vague words. “Her and her husband – Dalton - were getting into it at some point, caught a few people’s attention…” he trailed off, knowing he was directing any suspicion toward the man who, most likely, bore no more guilt than Hale. “I don’t know what they were fighting about but Dalton seemed pretty upset. Not beat the shit out of my wife upset… but I guess you never really know what will set a person off.”

Satisfied with Hale’s answer, the detective continued his questions without looking up from the chicken scratch scrawled across the notepad. “Where were you at approximately 11 pm?”

Hale looked at the man with raised eyebrows. “Do I look like the kind of guy who wears a watch?”

The deadpan look painting the man’s expression showed his dissatisfaction with Hale’s answer.

“I don’t know,” Hale relented, genuine ignorance underlying every inflection. “I wasn’t keeping track of time. I spent most of the night with Leyton and Audra, so I was probably with them or avoiding the company of some of Santa Cruz moms.”

The man’s doubtful gaze showed just how much he believed Hale, but Hale refused to reveal more details.  

“You’re rather new in town. Had you encountered Ms. Caldwell before?” Yet another nod answered his inquiry. “What was your relationship like?” he continued when Hale offered no more information.

“We didn’t talk,” he said, knowing even the vaguest form of the truth would indict him. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a full conversation with her. She spent most of her time glaring at me if I ever managed to cross her path; not exactly an invitation for friendly conversation.”

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Clara?”

“She wasn’t exactly well liked,” Hale said, knowing that anyone in the town could easily take blame for the crimes committed against Clara. “But I don’t think anyone really is. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes in this town can see how much the people hate each other. They won’t say it to your face, but they all talk about it with each other at book club. I mean, I got here six months ago and it only took people a week to start whispering. It’s a small town, that’s just how things go.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Hale sat back in his chair, allowing the previous tension to seep from in limbs in an attempt to once again appear uncaring and relaxed despite the detective’s scrutiny.  “I mean that people being awful to one another is kind of the norm here, and Clara was the queen bee. Yeah, it doesn’t typically go as far as murder, but if you’re looking for someone with a motive then you’re going to find a lot of someones. Clara pissed off a lot of people from what I understand.”

“Clara’s campaign against the Velasquez family begun just as you arrived. Do you ever hold yourself responsible?”

A small intake of breath, vile and sour on his tongue, stuttered between his lips in an inaudible sign of surprise. Regret and grief alike dug beneath his skin, spreading through his veins and seizing his heart at the detective’s blunt question. “Responsible?” The words fell from his lips without permission, echoing through the stagnant air of the interrogation room. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Of course he held himself responsible. Yet despite the glares and slurs thrown by those who deemed his relationship with Audra and Leyton as something sinful, Hale could never regret his decision to stay in Santa Cruz.

“What we have… Yeah, it’s not exactly the cookie cutter family Santa Cruz prides itself on producing, but that doesn’t make it wrong. People just don’t understand it, and Clara was one of those people; I’m not going to hold that against her. Yeah, she was awful to me, but she was awful to everyone.”

The skeptical gaze running over his vulnerable words with the careful consideration only an investigator could possess made a heavy weight of unease settle in Hale’s gut. The cracks of vague details and unanswered questions fracturing his story were obvious beneath the harsh light of the interrogation room, and Hale had no doubt the detective could see every defect in his statement.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Ashcroft.” The detective finally said. "We'll be in touch."