#fallen london census | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finerandbonnier · 1 year ago

Text

Only in the Scant Light

Half a scoff escapes his mouth before Harjit manages to rein himself back in. Having recomposed himself his next words are careful and controlled. “It’s not that—” Harjit glances around the room and lowers his voice a bit. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of grief; grief alone I could handle. In truth, it’s not knowing how to feel about Lucian that I struggle with. The constant shifting between mourning him, to feeling like a fool for doing so because clearly he must have just become bored of me and left and then despising myself because what if he’s out there lost or injured while I just sit here forgetting what he looks like? Any one of them I could cope with but all at the same time? I don’t know what to do with that.” In a pub down in Fallen London, after a long afternoon walking the beat, a conversation take the turn to the personal.

[AO3]

It had not been a particularly productive morning. Having already worked through the streets neighbouring Mrs Chapman’s over the past few weeks you had been forced to set off further afield in search of new census subjects. This was easier said than done given the significantly more ambulatory nature the buildings of London had developed since their descent through the earth. Early this morning you’d set off in a random direction searching for new territory, trying to remember the little tricks Harjit had taught you to prevent oneself from getting turned around (Keep the destination clear in your mind. Sometimes you must move backwards to go forwards. Do not panic.) but more than once you’d found yourself right back where you’d started. Then when you finally managed to reach an unfamiliar street all the reward you got was a brief look at the Ministry insignia attached to your chest and a door slammed in your face. Eighteen damn times in a row.

Dejected, you unpin the badge from your lapel and slip it into your pocket as you turn back towards what you hope is home. If not, you’ll likely be wandering until evening and have to face Griz over the dinner table with nothing to show. Again. Picking your way through the cobbled streets you allow yourself to be consumed by your annoyance. Is it helpful to grumble about ungrateful, ignorant people who can’t even be bothered to answer a few simple questions? No. But it makes you feel better, so you let yourself indulge.

Turning the corner onto what is either a familiar street or confirmation that the butcher’s shop that used to be three roads over from Mrs Chapman’s has moved again you spot a familiar figure. Even from the back Harjit Singh is unmistakeable in his blue constable’s coat and turban. He’s not that far ahead so you go to call out his name in greeting but find it sticks in your throat. Maybe you’re embarrassed to reveal you might be lost to someone who always makes traversing these streets look easy, maybe you’re still feeling sore about your morning and don’t want to inflict your distemper on an innocent party, maybe you just want to be left alone. Whatever the reason you regret it almost instantaneously; he’s travelling in the same direction as you and now you’re stuck walking behind him. Not so close for your behaviour to be considered rude but still, it’s awkward. With every passing footstep the thought repeats itself in your mind, just do it, just say something. Instead, the momentum of your inaction carries you forward and you continue on in silence, too caught up in thinking about speaking to actually do so. At least he’ll probably lead you back towards home.

Harjit however is an observant man and you are not particularly light-footed; it doesn’t take him long to notice your tread following him. One hand travels to his hip as he tenses and spins on a heel to face you, clearly prepared to dispatch some hideous beast that had begun stalking him. His eyes widen with surprise when, instead of monster or criminal, he encounters your slightly sheepish face. Unlike yourself he shows no hesitation in calling out your name, “Were you following me?”

“No,” you lie.

His eyebrow cocks in a way that suggests he knows you’re not being truthful but, if so, he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he waits patiently for you to catch up to him and then sets off once more on his original bearing. The two of you walk side by side, a respectful distance between you.

“Are you returning to Mrs Chapman’s?” he asks.

“Yes, not that I’ve got much done this morning. I’m going to grab some dinner but I’ll need to set out again in the afternoon. If I can bring myself to,” you mutter the last sentence under your breath.

“You’re still working on the census?” He looks at the front of your coat, presumably noticing the absence of the ministry pin that you had taken to always wearing while on ‘official’ business.

“Yes, for all the good it’s doing me,” you sigh, “I know I sound terribly ungrateful and I’m not. Griz really stuck her neck out getting me this job and she didn’t have to. I needed the money, still do to be honest, so I’m very grateful to her. It’s just not work that I enjoy. Or that I’m any good at.”

“You seemed well enough suited to it when you interviewed me.”

“Try telling that to the fine residents of…” You turn to point back the way you came, acutely aware that you aren’t actually certain what direction that is. “I honestly have no idea what road I was just on. But they made it quite clear they were not interested in any questions I might have. It was different with you; I already knew you. That made it easier. Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me whine the entire way back to Mrs Chapman’s… err, if that is where you’re headed?”

“It is. I thought you might be lost— “

“I was not!”

“—so I was going to walk you home. But, if I’m not needed, I can just continue along my rounds…”

Panic sets in. You could probably find your way back from here, maybe, but you haven’t been paying much attention to where you were going since you joined up with Harjit, concentrating instead on the conversation and content to let the man whose job it was do the pathfinding. You try to school your face so your anxiety doesn’t show. You are a grown adult after all who can definitely find their own way home, not some lost child. When you think you’ve gotten your expression under control you look up to meet Harjit’s eyes and— oh, the bastard is smirking!

“You’re quite cruel.” Are you pouting? Surely not.

Harjit chuckles, and dear god you might be pouting.

“And you are quite lost,” he fires back.

“Fine.” You deflate, the tension dropping from your shoulders as your gaze drifts sideways, no longer able to look Harjit in the eye. “I may have gotten a little turned around.”

“And you would like my assistance in getting home.” It’s not a question.

“That would be much appreciated, thank you.”

Harjit offers his elbow to you and you link your arm through it. You feel slightly ridiculous, promenading along like a debutant at a ball but if Harjit feels self-conscious he doesn’t show it. He just walks alongside you, gently steering you in the correct direction whenever you go to make a wrong turn on your journey home.

“Thank you,” you say again, a little further into the walk when the buildings begin to look more recognisable.

“It’s no trouble, it’s my job.”

“No, not that. Well, yes that as well. But I was thanking you for the company, I was in a foul mood before and you’ve managed to knock me clean out of it.”

“Any time.” Harjit pauses before continuing, “Actually, if you’d like you could accompany me along my route some time? It might help you to get a little better orientated. Only if you wanted to, naturally.”

You mull the offer over. You’ve walked with Harjit before today of course, but only when you had enlisted him specifically to show you to a new location. Most of the conversations the two of you had shared had been on the occasions when he visited Mrs Chapman’s: either when he stopped by on his rounds to check in on the household or the times he arrived specifically to see Archie or yourself with some query, often about Lucian. Walking around the neighbourhood might be helpful and not just from a navigation perspective. It would be nice to have something to do outside of your room. Something a bit more normal than collecting overly personal information for your sinister, becloaked employer or the potentially treasonous activity Archie had roped you into helping him with.

Taking your hesitation for nerves Harjit carries on, “I wouldn’t take you anywhere dangerous and if anything happened, I am armed. I’d keep you safe, I swear it.”

As if your safety had been a concern! The idea any harm would befoul you with Harjit by your side had never entered your mind but his comment jars you into realising you had yet to answer him.

“Yes, I’d like that. Although wouldn’t I get in the way?”

“You’re not that much trouble. You just get a little turned around sometimes,” Harjit looks at you fondly as he speaks, “and a second pair of eyes would be helpful.”

Yes, accompanying Harjit sounded like a very fine way to spend an afternoon. Much more pleasant and interesting than, say, the tasks you currently had planned for the rest of today. At that a question springs into your mind and you find yourself unable to resist asking, “Did you patrol the neighbourhood this morning?”

“No, but I am due to this afternoon.”

Perfect. “Perhaps I could accompany you after lunch?”

“Today? I thought you were going to work on the census again later?”

“Oh, to hell with the census!” you curse and Harjit looks a little startled at the outburst. “Sorry. I mean it though. I could stay out all night and likely as not get the same result I did this morning. Besides, even if I did get any more forms filled out who knows what the Masters are doing with them? Perhaps it’s better for everyone that I’m terrible at my job.” Taking a breath to steady yourself you continued, “What I meant to say is: yes, I’d like to accompany you this afternoon if that’s possible. Maybe then I’ll actually feel like I’ve done some good at the end of the day.”

As the pair of you round the corner you’re on the familiar front of Mrs Chapman’s reveals itself right where you had left it. Your stomach rumbles with anticipation. Having set out so early this morning you had skipped breakfast and now you were feeling it.

Even mushrooms seemed appealing.

Harjit stops and turns to face you, unlinking your arms. “Then I will leave you here and return shortly once you’ve had something to eat.”

“What, not going to walk me to the door? How ungentlemanly of you!”

“I thought even you could manage to safely navigate your way unchaperoned to a building clearly in view, but perhaps I’ve overestimated you,” Harjit teases but even so he starts walking alongside you again.

“Maybe I was just worried I’d be carried off by giant rats the moment you turned your back.”

“I’d have watched you safe to the door, have no fear.”

Testing the handle to your lodgings and finding in unlocked (as was, perhaps unwisely, the custom given how many people came and went from the building during the day) you turn to Harjit and ask, “When shall I expect you?”

“I’d need to have set off by one o’clock, is that enough time for you?”

“Plenty!” You give an awkward little wave at him from the door and then, cursing yourself, scurry inside before you can see his reaction.

... ... ...

You wolf down the leftover mushroom stew that Horatia had left out for you in record time and then sit thumbing your way through this morning’s newspaper without managing to take in a single word on the pages. It was perhaps a little silly for you to be so excited to shirk your job just to help out someone else with theirs but for once you were looking forward to the afternoon’s labour. That had been a rare state for you these past few weeks so who could blame you for enjoying it?

Well, Griz might if she got wind of it.

The house is surprisingly quiet for this time of day so there’s little to distract you from your waiting. You can hear Horatia banging about down in the basement doing god knows what but she doesn’t show her face. Later, as you begin to methodically rip the corners off the broadsheet you’ve given up on reading, Archie passes you with a quizzical look on his way out the door, his little doctor’s kit in hand, but he doesn’t stop to say much more than a brief greeting to you. Griz thankfully is nowhere to be seen.

True to his word Harjit knocks on the door shortly before the clock in the parlour strikes one. Instead of racing to answer it like you want to you remain seated for what feels like the appropriate amount of time to signal ‘no I wasn’t sat by the door waiting for you, I am an interesting person with other things going on in their life’. Only then do you carefully place the now mutilated newspaper back down on the table and approach the door. You open it to reveal Harjit on the doorstep looking much the same as you’d left him.

“Punctual as always Constable Singh,” you greet him.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” he replies.

“Oh, don’t worry, you didn’t! Just give me a second to fetch my coat and we can be off.”

You collect your coat from the back of the chair where you’d tossed it upon your return. Shrugging the garment onto your shoulders you stop to readjust it and check you have everything before leaving. The outer pockets contain mainly scraps of partially completed census forms and other detritus, the inner one holds your house key and what few Echoes you currently have to your name. You give it quick pat down to confirm nothing is missing and, satisfied by the clinking you hear, step out into the misty London air closing the front door behind you. Harjit is patiently waiting for you on the pavement and you scurry down the steps at the front of the building to join him.

“So, what do you need me to do exactly?” you ask as the pair of you set out across the damp paving slabs.

“For now, just walk with me to the end of the street. Then we’ll each take a side and patrol along it. All you have to do is keep your eyes out for anything untoward or out of place, or anyone in need of help.”

“How are we defining out of place? Rats wielding tiny rifles out of place? Sentient swarm of bees out of place? Giant, blood thirsty, man-eating bat out of place?"

There’s a twitch of a smile on Harjit’s face, one he suppresses quickly to avoid encouraging you.

“Anything that you would be alarmed to find. If you’re in any doubt just call me over, better to be safe than sorry. Also, there are a few buildings I will need to check on. You can accompany me into some of them but if I ask you to stay outside, I need you to do as I say. Understood? If you can’t do that then I’ll have to call this whole thing off and you can return to Mrs Chapman’s right now.”

He’s deadly serious, there is no trace of your earlier banter.

You nod in agreement. “Understood.”

Besides, you’ve heard horror stories about what now lurks in the darkened corners of London and if Harjit says a building is not safe then you have no interest in entering it.

Satisfied you’ll do as you’re told, in this instance at least, Harjit walks you down to the end of the road and directs you across to the other side. Then the two of you work your way back up the parallel pavements. It’s quiet outside Mrs Chapman’s for once but you enjoy the gentle exercise and the peace while it lasts. Out of the corner of your eye, through the blanket of light fog, you keep watch of Harjit as he works. He searches with a practiced ease, the picture of efficiency, spending just enough time at each door and alley entrance to determine all is well without wasting a single unneeded second. You try to keep pace with him but it’s impossible to do so and remain satisfied that you’ve paid sufficient attention to your surroundings; in the end you settle for falling behind him. If it bothers him when he has to wait for you at the corner he doesn’t show it.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent in much the same way, the pair of you slowly working your way around Harjit’s designated beat. Not all streets are as quiet as the one Mrs Chapman’s sits upon.

On one a lady stops you to report a burglary. She launches into her complaint so quickly and with such frenetic energy you can’t quite manage to get a word in edgeways to explain that, whilst you might be accompanying a constable, you are not actually one yourself (as so readily demonstrated by your lack of blue coat and badge). Instead, you have to resort to frantically waving Harjit over, an action she takes great umbrage with. Luckily Harjit manages to calm her slightly as he jots her statement down in the little police notepad he carries around with him - although he does have to assure her that you will be suitably reprimanded by a superior for being out of uniform before she’s willing to let the two of you leave. Once you are out of her earshot Harjit drops his head to yours and explains close to your ear that such reports have become increasingly common in the neighbourhood and there was little hope of much recourse for the woman. Whatever had been stolen would be long gone.

On another road you find yourself distracted by a young lad with rosy cheeks and a cherubic face who stops you to ask very politely for directions. You’re about to tell him he couldn’t have picked a worse person and call Harjit over to assist when you turn and notice that he’s already standing right beside you; clutched in his grip is the wrist of a second boy, one whose hand had apparently been reaching into your coat pocket. Realising the jig is up the first lad bolts with such haste you only just catch a glimpse of the tattered back of his jacket disappearing into the gloom of a nearby passageway. The second lad struggles for a moment, clawing futilely at Harjit’s grip while unleashing a torrent of profanity that would make even the most hardened docker blush. Then he goes limp. You, naively, take this for capitulation instead of the feint it is and are stunned when next the boy launches a swift and brutal kick at Harjit’s shin. It has its desired effect, the pain causing Harjit’s grip to loosen just enough for the urchin to break free and flee after his accomplice. Harjit looks set to chase the pair but you talk him out of it. After all, you reason, it’s not like you even have anything worth stealing in that pocket. The worse the boy could have made off with was a crumpled handful of census forms and if the lad could find a use for them he would already have been doing better than you.

Harjit occasionally stops at buildings along your route just as he warned you he would when the two of you had set off. Some are populated and there he exchanges hushed whispers with whoever comes to the door. You stand off to the side, curiosity not quite able to overcome the manners drilled into you. More often the buildings are abandoned. With most of these he doesn’t invite you to follow him (although he rarely expressly forbids it) and on the whole you are content to wait outside; there’s something unsettling about these buildings: the way you could swear they didn’t exist until Harjit stops and points them out to you, the strange shadows at the windows that you have to turn away from to convince yourself it’s just a trick of the light.

This feeling of unease follows you into the one building you decide to accompany Harjit inside of. He on the other hand seems perfectly at home in the strange, decrepit house, more comfortable even than he appeared on the street outside. You cleave close to his back, hand poised ready to reach out and grab his coat sleeve at the slightest danger although it proves unnecessary. When you arrive at your destination, a room toward the back of the house, he invites you to look at the wall. At first there’s nothing there, just musty old wallpaper but you humour him and keep your eyes trained on it. Then it happens; the writing appears. Faint at first, a dull red. Then it grows brighter, amber to yellow to a blazing white like a fire stoked. The lettering is like nothing you’ve seen before, some esoteric ancient script no doubt. You feel the beginning of a headache come on and Harjit, sensing your distress, leads you out of the room. He explains on your way out of the building that some people react poorly to the writing but it should pass quickly now you’re no longer in its presence. Indeed, stood on the steps outside taking in deep breaths of cold, damp London air you feel much better. Harjit apologises and promises you needn’t accompany him into any further buildings, he says he just thought you might find it interesting. You wave his concern off and as you walk away your thoughts flick back to the symbols, turning them over in your mind. They were interesting. Maybe a future expedition to study them in more detail is in order. One when you are better prepared.

Later, after you had reached the halfway point of the route and begun to loop back toward home, you find yourself being hailed over to the other side of the road you’re on by Harjit. Down a darkened alley he shows you to his find - a seemingly abandoned litter of kittens, their piteous mewling clearly audible from the discarded crate they find themselves in. You crouch down to get a better look. They’re darling little things, barely old enough to open their bright blue eyes and you can’t help reaching out a finger to gently pet the closest silken head. Your mind promptly sets to work conjuring all manner of excuses to give to Horatia to convince her to let you keep them: they can live under my bed, I’ll feed them scraps from dinner; when they’re grown they’ll keep the rats out of the basement; just look at their tiny faces, how can you say no to them. Your thoughts come crashing to a halt however when it turns out the litter is considerably less abandoned than originally thought. Their mother returns, hissing and spitting contempt at the two of you and you beat a hasty retreat before she can sink her fangs into any wandering fingers.

By the time you two have circled back round to Mrs Chapman’s the afternoon has slipped well into evening. It’s hard to tell time without the sun to guide you but the lamps have been dimmed somewhat into what passes for dusk in the Neath. Your feet ache a little but it’s a pleasant ache. The ache of a job well done. You’re about to climb the steps when Harjit stops you just short of the door.

“You did well today,” he says.

“I got pickpocketed by an eight-year-old and nearly mauled by a tabby cat,” you respond but even the deadpan tone of your voice cannot negate the smile tugging at your lips.

“No beat is ever entirely smooth. I have colleagues who would have handled it worse.”

“Then that is a damning condemnation of the constabulary. But thank you. For all of this. I enjoyed it, and well, I do feel like I’m a bit better orientated in the neighbourhood.”

“How about a test then?” There’s mirth in Harjit’s eyes that from anyone else would have you worried you were about to be made the butt of a joke. “And if you’re not needed elsewhere perhaps a celebratory drink if you pass?”

Curious and thirsty you agree, “Why not?”

“Do you remember the public house we passed on our return leg? Three stories, green door. There was a drunken man hanging out of one of the upper windows singing.”

You have to rack your brains a bit but you think you know the one he’s referring to; a rendition of ‘Down Among the Dead Men’ that tuneless sticks in the memory.

“Do you mean The Gold and Fleece?”

“I do.” Harjit nods. “Do you think you could make your way back there unassisted?”

Up on the surface The Fleece had been your local, although it went by a different name then, but since the Fall your patronage had become sporadic. It had moved and the clientele had changed. You had changed. There had been that period when you hadn’t left your room much (or at all, to be truthful) and even after your recovery you hadn’t felt much up to the kind of socialising one does in a pub. You’d barely recognised the place when you passed it earlier, but yes, you believe you could find your way back to it.

“I do.”

“Then lead on.”

... ... ...

Luckily your confidence was not misplaced and you lead Harjit along the way back to The Gold and Fleece without any embarrassing missteps. The pair of you spend the walk in a comfortable silence, you concentrating hard on which way to turn next and Harjit politely allowing you the time to think. It doesn’t take you long to reach the pub but by the time you arrive you’re ready for a drink. You stop in front of the building before entering, the sound of patrons inside just about audible through the closed green door.

“Well, here we are,” you say with a little flourish of your hand toward the pub sign flapping gently above your heads.

“Well done.”

“Did you ever doubt me?” you tease.

Harjit only gives you a smile in answer, allowing you to draw your own conclusion, then he reaches past you to the handle and opens the door. You step into the warmth of the pub paying little attention to the publican yelling at you to shut the damn door before you let the heat out. Inside is cosy and bright, a pleasant contrast to the chill outdoors. London was never exactly known for its balmy climate but now it finds itself stuck in a cave the weather tends toward mild at best and almost Siberian at worst. At least rain has, for the most part, ceased to be an issue.

It’s reasonably busy inside but not so much that you’ll struggle to find somewhere to sit. Most of the crowd is congregated around the bar but there’s a steady trickle of movement throughout as patrons collect their drinks, drift toward the fire to warm themselves or change seats in an attempt to avoid a particularly raucous neighbour. Occasionally a voice raises above the general background noise of the room and you catch a snippet of conversation; the price and quality of what passes for ale seems to be a popular topic. Harjit’s hand briefly touches your shoulder to attract your attention.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks.

“Anything’s fine, whatever’s cheapest!” you reply, straining to be heard above the din.

“If you’re sure? It is my treat.”

“I'm sure, I’ll go find us somewhere to sit.”

You slip into a side room and onto a bench where it’s quieter as Harjit heads for the bar to order. When he returns he’s carrying two small measures of a dark liquid. Whisky, or an approximation thereof. Not your favourite unfortunately but, well, a free drink is a free drink. You’ll just have to make sure you get the next round in and pick something more palatable. He rests your glass in front of you on the slightly sticky tabletop and places his own opposite before picking up a discarded stool from the floor to set himself down upon.

You pick up the drink and hold it out in front of you in a toast. “To not getting lost! Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Harjit echoes you while reaching out and pressing his glass against the rim of yours before the two of you drink. His lip twitches in amusement as you grimace when the whisky hits your tongue, woody and unpleasant. “I was like that at first. Lucian forced me to drink it until I developed a taste for it.”

You swallow and despite the taste the alcohol is pleasantly warming as it settles in the pit of your stomach.

“And so you plan on doing the same to me?” you ask.

His smile grows, almost reaching his eyes, as he speaks, “Yes.”

“And what if I never develop a taste?”

“Then you can sit there and grimace while we drink.”

Despite the smile on his face there’s a melancholy in his eyes. One you’ve begun to recognise. Harjit can be difficult to read, he keeps his emotions close to his chest and not out on his sleeve. Pleasant, polite, dutiful Constable Singh; at first you’d thought that was all there was to him. Then you thought he was just private, deliberately keeping everyone at a distance with a civil mask. Over the past few months of your relationship however you’ve come to suspect it’s not so much that he’s intentionally distancing himself, it’s just he no longer has anyone close enough to share the parts of him deeper than surface level with. In particular, you’ve started to become familiar with the little tells of sadness behind the brave face he puts on which appear only when he’s thinking of Lucian. In previous conversations you had tried to avoid mentioning his missing lover unprompted but now you think it may be worth changing tack.

“Any progress with Lucian?” you ask.

“No. It appears no one has seen him after you did that night.”

Your curiosity from earlier comes flooding back. “Was that what you were asking about, when we stopped at those houses?”

“Some of them yes. Others I was just checking in on the residents. Sometimes I hear news of a man matching his description but every time I follow it up it’s not him. I’m starting to think there’s a reason he’s disappeared so completely.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a reason!” you’re quick to respond. “A very good one no doubt.”

“I meant more that he may have left intentionally and covered his tracks. He was always good at going unnoticed when it suited him.”

“Ah…” You aren’t quite sure how to follow that and go to take another sip of whisky to cover up your reservation. Luckily Harjit continues speaking, removing the need to come up with a response.

“I’m not sure I’d even blame him. There are days when I wake up and can’t picture his face at all, not until I jog my memory with his portrait. It’s only been a few months. I could understand losing some of the finer details of his appearance but to be unable to recall it entirely… Maybe there’s something wrong with me, maybe I was never that taken with him if I can forget him so easily, maybe Lucian picked up on that and left.”

There’s a thought that springs to mind as he speaks but you’re hesitant to voice it, knowing it might be a mistake; that you might be crossing a boundary. The two of you are undeniably friendly but your friendship is still relatively new. Your conversations before this one rarely touched on deeper sentiment; even when discussing Lucian they had been more focussed on practical advice instead of any emotions involved. You sometimes get the feeling Harjit might want to open up about some of the things he avoids speaking of but your relationship had never felt close enough for you to be comfortable bridging the gap. It still didn’t in truth, but you had to put your comfort to one side. This was something you thought needed to be said.

“Please don’t be offended by this–” Harjit tenses as you speak but it’s too late to back out now, “–but I think you should be kinder to yourself.”

You half expect him to clam up or demand you drop the topic. Instead, Harjit looks at you with wary eyes, silent but apparently willing to hear you out.

“I mean it. There is nothing wrong with you, in fact I think you’re dealing with all this remarkably well. This thing with Lucian... you’re going through a terrible loss and you’re handling it with a strength I think very few could manage.”

“Terrible? There are people down here who have lost entire families, lost their homes and businesses or their lives. Loss is hardly unique in London these days, even if the circumstances around Lucian’s disappearance are unusual. He’s just one man. One man who was only in my life for a few years. I still have a job and a roof over my head. I’m still breathing. That puts me in a far better position than plenty of people down here.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to grieve—”

Half a scoff escapes his mouth before Harjit manages to rein himself back in. Having recomposed himself his next words are careful and controlled.

“It’s not that—” Harjit glances around the room and lowers his voice a bit. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of grief; grief alone I could handle. In truth, it’s not knowing how to feel about Lucian that I struggle with. The constant shifting between mourning him, to feeling like a fool for doing so because clearly he must have just become bored of me and left and then despising myself because what if he’s out there lost or injured while I sit here forgetting what he looks like? Any one of them I could cope with but all at the same time? I don’t know what to do with that.”

His confession momentarily stuns you but it doesn’t surprise you as much as it could have. There had been moments when Harjit sounded conflicted over Lucian, when you’d written off the bitterness in his voice as being from stress and obviously not directed at his missing lover or worse, himself.

“Right, well… perhaps you could try to cope with them one at a time then?” That had sounded less foolish inside your head. Harjit cocks his eyebrow but doesn’t otherwise respond, giving you the opportunity to clarify. “I mean it. Take some time and allow yourself to properly grieve him, and time to be angry at him, and time to worry about him. You don’t have to say anything, and it certainly doesn’t have to be to me, but I think you should try working through these feelings. Maybe in writing?”

You had expected Harjit to be silent, or at least to take his time replying but his response is instantaneous, “No, if I’m going to go through all this it may as well be with you. I have no interest in writing this down and, well, there’s no one else that I could even begin to get into this with.” He looks around, there’s still no one sat by you but the previously quiet room is beginning to fill out. “But not here. Too many people.”

... ... ...

Harjit leads you back towards your lodging house without saying a word further but unlike before this silence is tense. For a while you think his destination is Mrs Chapman’s but he stops short, on the same road but further up at a building you’d not paid much attention to previously. In fact, you struggle to find evidence of its existence in your mind before this moment. Same as you had earlier in the day the pair of you walk up to an unbarred door and enter the abandoned building without any issue. This time, instead of walking through to the back of the house he leads you into what was probably the former drawing room. This building seems in better shape than the other you visited. The wallpaper appear less decrepit, you are less worried that the ceiling will collapse in on you and there are no traces of the strange writing, or at least they are as far as this room goes.

There’s a small amount of furniture remaining, visible only in the scant light coming through the half bordered up window, dusty but otherwise intact. Harjit pulls two of the chairs close to one another but instead of sitting he hovers by the arm. Only when you take a seat opposite him does he finally lower himself into the chair and even then he remains perched on the edge.

“Alright so… shall we start with the first thing you mentioned, with grief?” you query, finding it almost physically painful to break the long silence.

“We’ll start with grief,” Harjit agrees.

You pause ready to see if he’ll continue speaking but he seems to be waiting for you to prompt him. You’re not sure what to say, not sure if what you might say won’t just make this worse but you’ve come this far and if he is willing to trust your judgement you can summon the courage to try.

“So, let’s assume Lucian is dead,” you begin. “He died that night I saw him, or maybe later during the Fall. What would you do?”

There’s another long pause before Harjit speaks and for a moment you think you’ve started too harshly and he never will, that the rest of the evening will just be the two of you sat in awkward silence and dirty chairs. Then his voice cuts through the room, stronger and clearer than you were expecting.

“There were so many times I’d thought him dead before. Times when he disappeared off on some ill-conceived mission and I didn’t hear from him for days after he was supposed to have returned. But then he would reappear. He would always reappear. I suppose it trained me to always expect relief after any concern. I don’t know what to do now it seems he’s gone for good.”

“He’d disappeared like this before?”

“No, never like this. But it wasn’t unknown for him to be untraceable for a bit. He often got himself involved in things he shouldn’t have. The Great Game, he called it. I’d asked him to be more careful in England when I agreed to come with him, but he laughed me off. Here he had home court advantage, he said, and it would be much easier. Evidently, he was wrong.

“It still feels like any day now he’ll just walk back through the door like he did in the past. I’ve not even tidied up his belongings, they’re still exactly as he left them; although how I haven’t gotten sick of the clutter is a mystery. I wasn’t able to bring many of my own effects with us on the ship here, I travelled with little more than the clothes on my back. So, I suppose they at least stop our— my— the room from looking barren.”

“And would you want to return home, to the Punjab?” you ask, “I know that’s not really a possibility at the moment, but if it were, assuming Lucian isn’t coming back?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Lucian was the only reason I came to England, with him gone it should be an easy decision to return. I left all of my family and friends behind and have not replaced them here with anything equal to their weight. I’ve not replaced them with anything really, I had Lucian and that was it for the most part. With him gone, I miss them terribly.

“But my decision to leave was not a popular one. I didn’t reveal the true extent of mine and Lucian’s relationship when I announced I was planning to go with him back to London, even the ones who would not have censured me for loving a man would have drawn the line at a British soldier. I know they would happily welcome me back, but I heard so often from them in those last few days before our departure that there was nothing in England for me. Perhaps I simply do not want to admit they may have been right.

“I am an outsider here; a fact this city is incapable of letting me forget and, while I have been amused at London’s quite literal fall, there is still so much of it I cannot stand. But these buildings—“ he gestures around the room, “— these pathways and places that are forgotten to most except the scant few people whose memory they inhabit. London has no shortage of outsiders and here in these secret places perhaps I feel a kinship.

“So, even if the option becomes available to return, I cannot say if I will take it.”

There’s a sort of finality to Harjit’s last sentence that suggests he’s gone as far as he’s willing to with discussing any grief he may feel be it toward Lucian, his homeland or otherwise.

“Do you want to move on?” you ask, “Or we could stick with this topic for a little longer?”

“No, let’s move on. That may not have truly counted as a discussion of any grief I might have over Lucian but I believe it is as close as I can get at the moment.”

“So, next we deal with the idea he may have, er, left you intentionally, was it?”

“Yes.” He nods stoically but there’s anger and hurt in his eyes.

“Alright, so let’s say he has and then you stumble across him on the street. What would you say to him?”

There is no hesitation this time when Harjit begins speaking and you suspect this is something he has wanted to get off his chest for a while, perhaps even to himself, “I’d want to know why. Why leave? Why leave in that manner? To disappear without a trace, without a word. More importantly, why bring me here in the first place? I just don’t understand why. If I was just some silly exotic toy he picked up that was to be discarded later, why let me come all this way?! He knew what it took to get me to agree to follow him to England, he begged and pleaded for me to leave my entire life behind, to take a chance on him. Was that all a lie?

“It took so much to get me to trust him. It went against my every instinct. But I was in love and I thought he loved me, that we would be together until the end of our days; I would not have gone with him for anything less. Was he planning on abandoning me all that time, was he really that cruel and I that stupid? Was it a game to him? To see how long he could string me along for, how far he could get me to go. And then, once some unknown win condition had been met or when he had simply become too bored I was tossed to the side. Could I have prevented this if I was smarter, less naïve? That question haunts me.

“Or did I do something? Did I put too much pressure on him? Did he see something in me that he could no longer love? That I’m the sort of person who would drag a friend from what was supposed to be a celebration to rant at them about the imagined failings of a man who might be lost somewhere, dead or dying! If he did who could really blame him for fleeing in the night?”

You had steeled yourself to sit back, to quietly listen and let Harjit talk himself through this (that was, after all, the whole purpose of this endeavour) but you are unable to let his last comments go unaddressed. “This is what I meant when I said you should be kinder to yourself. You hardly dragged me here, I’m the one who bought this whole thing up. Besides, it’s perfectly natural to feel angry at someone who has betrayed you.”

“I don’t even know if he has. That’s not natural, it’s completely irrational!”

“Those two things aren’t contradictory. And anyway, the whole point of this exercise is we work through your feelings from the assumption that the given scenario is true. For the sake of this Lucian has left you, abandoned you with no word.”

Harjit doesn’t respond, his face a stoney mask. You aren’t sure if he’s conceding the point or if he just cannot bring himself to argue any further. Perhaps you’ve gone too far with that last statement.

“Do you want to move on onto the third thing you mentioned?” Despising yourself, the third thing Harjit had mentioned was despising himself, but you can’t find it in you to voice those words out loud.

“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You recognise the deflection for what it is and allow him the out, but not before getting a comment of your own in, “Of course. But Harjit, I need you to know. There’s nothing you’ve said here that makes me think any less of you, that would make any reasonable person think any less of you. You’re a good man, one of the best in London—”

“That is rather faint praise.”

“Hush while I’m complimenting you,” you chastise him fondly, and are relieved at the reappearance of what might be the shadow of a smile on his face. “As I was saying, you’re a good man. And I have interviewed what feels like half of London at this point so I am qualified to make that statement. If Lucian couldn’t see that, then that’s his fault not yours. And if he has died, I am sorry and I hope you get some closure in whatever form you need it.”

“Thank you.” Harjit stands and brushes the dust from his coat. “Now, let’s get you home, I’ve kept you much later than I’d planned.”

You follow him back through the dark hallway back toward the street outside. Harjit holds the door open for you and you step through the threshold into the chill of the night’s air. The gas lamps lining the street have dimmed further reminding you of how late it had gotten but across the road there are still lights on at Mrs Chapman’s.

You turn back to face Harjit as he hovers in the doorway and voice a question you’re not sure you want to hear the answer to, “Do you feel any better?”

“Not really.” This is what you feared might happen. “I think it has helped to say some of it out loud, some of the things I couldn’t even truly admit to myself. But right now I feel terrible and exhausted. It’s been a long day for both of us and I just want to sleep.”

“I think that’s to be expected. You’re not going to be able to process these things in one conversation or one night. I’m just… I’m glad you felt comfortable opening up. You do so much for this community, you deserve some support yourself. Even if it is only from someone like me who doesn’t know what they’re doing and can’t tell left from right.”

He says your name, suddenly looking almost vulnerable, “Do you think he abandoned me?”

You answer him the only way you can: honestly, “No Harjit, I don’t.”

“And do you think I’ll find him again?”

“I– No. I think he’s gone. I’m not sure if he’s dead but whatever was done to him, I don’t think there’s any coming back from. I’m sorry.”

The look on Harjit’s face is that of a man confronted with a truth he’d known for a long time without being willing to acknowledge.

“Thank you for being so candid with me. I don’t think I could have coped with you lying in some vain attempt to spare my feelings,” he says.

“Anytime. And if you ever need a second pair of eyes with your rounds again, well, you know where to find me.”

Harjit nods. “I’d best get you back home now.”

You offer your elbow to Harjit and allow him to walk you the short distance back to Mrs Chapman’s. You had considered protesting that it was unnecessary given how the building was just across the street or even insisting that you should be the one to walk him back to his lodgings but you suspected given the events of the evening that would be a step too far for his pride. It had ended up an abnormal evening for the pair of you and the familiar ground of escorting someone home might do him good. The walk across the road takes only moments but by the time you two are standing at the door, ready to part, the discussion in that room feels a million miles away.

It's late enough that the front door to the house has been locked and as you fish around in your pocket for the key Harjit speaks, “I would welcome your company if you do feel like joining me again.”

“I’d like that.” You smile as you produce your house key and turn it in the lock. “And next time we go down the pub I’m buying!”

“Maybe you’ll even be able to drink the whisky without wincing.”

He’s not going to let you live that down is he, you think.

“Ahh, probably not.” you reply with a lopsided grin and, after the pair of you exchange your goodnights, as you turn toward the warmth of Horatia’s parlour and leave Harjit at the door you catch just a glimpse of the smile returning to his face.

#mask of the rose #fallen london #harjit singh #fic: one shot

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doorplays · 1 year ago

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Door Reviews: Mask of the Rose (2023)

Failbetter Games has had me on the hook since their browser game Fallen London (2009). I started it maybe 2013(?) and have fallen (heh) in love with the setting ever since. It’s so eldritch and strange yet somehow modern? Even tho it’s set in I think the late 1800’s? I love it.

My gaming blog actually started out as me blogging my experiences from one of their later games, Sunless Sea (2015). I played it a lot, but in time I moved on to other games, and so my blog evolved. I still played their games when I could, and even kickstarted their next two games. The first was Sunless Skies (2019), a sequel to Sunless Sea. And the second is this game, Mask of the Rose! And so we come here, to this review. Let’s get crackin’!

What’s it about? Mask of the Rose (2023) is about the early days of the Fallen London world. You are a Londoner who was there when the city fell down deep into the earth. And now you must adjust to the new world that has unfurled before you because of this. You start a new job as a census worker thanks to your friend, and from there you try to live your life, and perhaps even find love and/or friendship along the way, if you so choose! It is a mystery game that’s wrapped in a dating sim package, which I find interesting as I myself haven’t really played much dating sims, but have played a fair amount of investigation games, and thus my interest was piqued.

STYLE (Gameplay, Graphics, Music)

Gameplay revolves chiefly around visiting in-game locations and talking to characters. You can typically talk to 2 characters in one day, one in the Morning, and one in the Afternoon. Each character has a lot to say, and they even have quests of their own! There are a lot of them to talk to, with varying backgrounds, so there’s a lot to discover.

When talking to the characters, your wardrobe actually matters. Wearing clothes that you think would ingratiate you with the character you will talk to will make it more likely that they’ll be cooperative with you and your questions. This part of the game felt nice in theory, but felt like a bit of a hassle in practice IMO. Just felt like a hassle being asked every time if I think what I was wearing was good enough, I think?

After some time, you are introduced to the Building Stories mechanic, where you craft stories based on the needs of the characters. You have to fill in who’s who, their motives, and their actions. The game will then make a story at the side that’s based on what you filled up. These stories vary in use, but the mechanic is chiefly for solving the mystery in this game.

Gameplay for me feels kind of… basic? Though really, the gameplay is just a vehicle for us to experience the story. My main complaint really is that on first play, going through the text feels slow. I wish I can modulate the speed of the text to my liking. The Building Stories part felt like it was okay enough for the game, but I wish I had more opportunity to use it, and I wish it had more of an effect on the game world. I loved the concept of making a variety of stories for one of the characters, but they didn’t have much of a reaction to them I think.

The vibes of the game feel pretty good. It feels like there’s something strange in the air, something threatening, and yet there’s still a comfort to be had. You may be in uncharted territory, but you are still home. You are still with friends. And you may yet meet people who will be there for you.

The art is beautiful. The backgrounds are great and feel aptly lit. The characters feel solid. I love the variety of the character roster! The music… feels too sedate in my opinion. It does feel ominous, but I think it could use a bit more oomph. It might just be my own tastes though! Overall, the style is great, but the gameplay is just Okay for me.

SUBSTANCE (Story, Characters, Impact)

This is my first time really sinking my teeth into a dating sim and let me tell you, I did NOT expect to enjoy one this much! It was just great fun flirting with all of these characters as a person who hasn’t really flirted much in real life. The vibes between me and the characters felt nice, and it was nice getting to know them more.

What’s nice about this game is that you have the option to not pursue any romance. There’s a fair amount of modularity: you can go in pursuing both romance and intimacy, you can go in pursuing just one or the other, or you can even go in pursuing neither, just friendship! It cares about what the player wants, and adjusts accordingly, which is nice for this kind of game.

Beyond the romance, it’s nice to experience once more the delightful weirdness of the Fallen London world. The malevolence of devils, the industry of clay men, the ponderous nature of bats… there’s a lot to discover and experience. And in a world that, at its heart, is about love and the lengths you go for it, it’s very apt to do a dating sim game here.

The twists and turns the story takes… it really does feel true to the world. Eldritch, tragic, and yet… full of love. Unravelling the mysteries felt very rewarding, and seeing them through was very much satisfying. I loved it!

VERDICT

Mask of the Rose has a world and story that leaves you wanting for more. While it has some pacing issues with regards to the user experience, the art, story, and overall worldbuilding makes it all worthwhile. I recommend this game if you’re interested in a cool dating sim/mystery game!

Door Rates Mask of the Rose: 4/5!

#door reviews #mask of the rose #failbetter games

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elitexfourxlucian-archive · 1 year ago

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I feel like you could have fun playing Griz from Mask of the Rose. Left her life of aristocracy behind after the fall of London (literally - it's a Fallen London game) and now works for a giant robed figure taking census forms and trying to ascend in politics. Also definitely some sort of wlw, though I'm not sure what specifically.

((I looked her up, and I can see it :o ))

#starfoam #ooc #dash games

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insideusnet · 2 years ago

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England and Wales are no longer majority Christian, census data show | CNN : Inside US

London CNN — England and Wales are no longer majority Christian, and are slightly less White than a decade ago, newly released 2021 census data show. The two British nations have fallen from 59% self-described Christian in 2011 to 46% in 2021, the Office for National Statistics (ONS) announced Tuesday. The number of respondents saying they had no religion was the biggest gainer, rising from…

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t6fs · 4 months ago

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Hello Fallen London Community

Please take my Census!

This is intended as an in-character census of the Neath's residents. Feel free to fill it out for multiple characters! Mostly pertains to in-game stuff, but there's optional room for more nuanced responses! We've got a diverse cast out here!

Thanks for participating, if you choose to, and please reblog for a wider reach! I'll post some demographic stuff later, perhaps!

#fallen london #failbetter games #survey #fl ocs #fallen london census

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newstfionline · 3 years ago

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Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Sparked by pandemic fallout, homeschooling surges across US (AP) Although the pandemic disrupted family life across the U.S. since taking hold in spring 2020, some parents are grateful for one consequence: They’re now opting to homeschool their children, even as schools plan to resume in-person classes. The specific reasons vary widely. Some families who spoke with The Associated Press have children with special educational needs; others seek a faith-based curriculum or say their local schools are flawed. The common denominator: They tried homeschooling on what they thought was a temporary basis and found it beneficial to their children. “That’s one of the silver linings of the pandemic—I don’t think we would have chosen to homeschool otherwise,” said Danielle King of Randolph, Vermont, whose 7-year-old daughter Zoë thrived with the flexible, one-on-one instruction. The surge has been confirmed by the U.S. Census Bureau, which reported in March that the rate of households homeschooling their children rose to 11% by September 2020, more than doubling from 5.4% just six months earlier.

Facebook Wants You to Connect With God. On Facebook. (NYT) Months before the megachurch Hillsong opened its new outpost in Atlanta, its pastor sought advice on how to build a church in a pandemic. From Facebook. The social media giant had a proposition, Sam Collier, the pastor, recalled in an interview: to use the church as a case study to explore how churches can “go further farther on Facebook.” For months Facebook developers met weekly with Hillsong and explored what the church would look like on Facebook and what apps they might create for financial giving, video capability or livestreaming. Facebook, which recently passed $1 trillion in market capitalization, may seem like an unusual partner for a church whose primary goal is to share the message of Jesus. But the company has been cultivating partnerships with a wide range of faith communities over the past few years, from individual congregations to large denominations, like the Assemblies of God and the Church of God in Christ. Now, after the coronavirus pandemic pushed religious groups to explore new ways to operate, Facebook sees even greater strategic opportunity to draw highly engaged users onto its platform. The company aims to become the virtual home for religious community and wants churches, mosques, synagogues and others to embed their religious life into its platform, from hosting worship services and socializing more casually to soliciting money. It is developing new products, including audio and prayer sharing, aimed at faith groups.

A Mexican state suffers bloody fallout of cartel rivalry (AP) When they heard gunfire in the valley, residents locked their doors and cowered inside their homes. Some 200 armed men had just looted a gas station, according to a witness, and the shooting would continue for hours as an equal number from an opposing group confronted them. The authorities didn’t arrive until the next day. When they did, they found 18 bodies in San Juan Capistrano, a small community in Valparaíso, Zacatecas. The north-central Mexican state holds strategic importance for drugs being shipped to the United States. Mexico’s two strongest cartels—Sinaloa and Jalisco New Generation—are locked in a battle for control. One month after the June 24 killings, there have been no arrests. The military has sent reinforcements, but killings continue across Zacatecas: a doctor here, a police officer there, a family killed, eight killed at a party, two girls shot along with their parents. In a country that has suffered more than a decade of violence at the hands of powerful drug cartels, the situation in Zacatecas, as well as violence-plagued states like Michoacán and Tamaulipas, shows that neither the head-on drug war launched by former President Felipe Calderón in 2006, nor the softer “hugs not bullets” approach of current President Andrés Manuel López Obrador have managed to break Mexico’s cycle of violence.

Cars, pavements washed away as Belgian town hit by worst floods in decade (Reuters) The southern Belgian town of Dinant was hit by the heaviest floods in decades on Saturday after a two-hour thunderstorm turned streets into torrential streams that washed away cars and pavements but did not kill anyone. Dinant was spared the deadly floods 10 days ago that killed 37 people in southeast Belgium and many more in Germany, but the violence of Saturday’s storm surprised many. “I have been living in Dinant for 57 years, and I’ve never seen anything like that,” Richard Fournaux, the former mayor of the town on the Meuse river and birthplace of the 19th century inventor of the saxophone, Adolphe Sax, said on social media.

London cleans up after flash flooding drenches homes, subway (Washington Post) Londoners were cleaning up Monday after torrential rain left homes, roads and several subway stations flooded, the second unseasonal inundation in as many weeks. Whipps Cross Hospital in the northeast of the city canceled all planned surgery and outpatient appointments on Monday after basement flooding damaged its electrical systems. Eight subway and train stations were closed Sunday because of flooding, including Pudding Mill Lane, an above-ground station where video footage showed water surging through a concourse and up stairs. Residents used buckets, brooms and wooden boards to create makeshift flood defenses for their homes as storm drains were overloaded in parts of the city. The rain followed a spell of hot, sunny weather that sent Britons to lakes and the sea in search of relief.

French parliament OKs restaurant COVID pass, vaccine rules (AP) France’s parliament approved a law early Monday requiring special virus passes for all restaurants and domestic travel and mandating vaccinations for all health workers. The law requires all workers in the health care sector to start getting vaccinated by Sept. 15, or risk suspension. It also requires a “health pass” to enter all restaurants, trains, planes and some other public venues. It initially applies to all adults, but will apply to everyone 12 and older starting Sept. 30. To get the pass, people must have proof they are fully vaccinated, recently tested negative or recently recovered from the virus. Paper or digital documents will be accepted. The law says a government decree will outline how to handle vaccination documents from other countries.

Europe’s hotels and restaurants are eager to welcome tourists—if they can find enough staff (Washington Post) As Europeans embark on their annual summer vacations, they are finding that some restaurants and hotels are still shuttered or operating at reduced hours, with many citing staff shortages. American hospitality businesses report similar problems, which put pressure on employers to raise wages and offer better benefits. Europe, though, wasn’t expecting this. Expansive wage subsidy and furlough programs were supposed to help workers get through the pandemic and ensure they would still be in place when businesses were able to reopen. Those programs appear to have worked for the people they covered. A study in the International Journal of Hospitality Management found businesses that put employees on paid furlough instead of laying them off were more likely to retain them beyond lockdowns. But seasonal workers, of the sort that staff resort hotels, had to apply for normal unemployment benefits instead. And, after 16 months of on-and-off lockdowns, it is increasingly clear that many of them sought out new, and, in some cases, more stable jobs in the retail industry and other sectors. Many may not return to hotel reception desks and restaurant kitchens anytime soon, if ever. France’s hospitality sector estimates that 150,000 workers have left the industry. In Germany, union experts estimate that every sixth worker—almost 300,000 people—left the sector last year. There are about 200,000 vacancies in the sector in Britain, where the effects of the pandemic have been compounded by Brexit.

Flooding in India (Foreign Policy) At least 135 people have died in India following a weekend of catastrophic flooding and landslides after heavy monsoon rains. More than 130,000 people have been rescued from villages across Maharashtra state, while at least 100 are still missing. India’s Central Water Commission has warned of “isolated very heavy rainfall” across the state, home to Mumbai, in the coming days. The rains follow similar downpours in Germany and China, as scientists warn that climate change could make India’s monsoons stronger.

Pandemic leaves Indians mired in massive medical debts (AP) As coronavirus cases ravaged India this spring, Anil Sharma visited his 24-year-old son Saurav at a private hospital in northwest New Delhi every day for more than two months. In May, as India’s new COVID-19 cases broke global records to reach 400,000 a day, Saurav was put on a ventilator. Saurav is home now, still weak and recovering. But the family’s joy is tempered by a mountain of debt that piled up while he was sick. Life has been tentatively returning to normal in India as new coronavirus cases have fallen. But millions are embroiled in a nightmare of huge piles of medical bills. Most Indians don’t have health insurance and costs for COVID-19 treatment have them drowning in debt. The pandemic has devastated India’s economy, bringing financial calamity to millions at the mercy of its chronically underfunded and fragmented healthcare system.

Pandemic Olympics endured heat, and now a typhoon's en route (AP) First, the sun. Now: the wind and the rain. The Tokyo Olympics, delayed by the pandemic and opened under oppressive heat, are due for another hit of nature’s power: a typhoon arriving Tuesday morning that is forecast to disrupt at least some parts of the Games. Don’t worry, Japanese hosts say: In U.S. terms, the incoming weather is just a mid-grade tropical storm. And the surfers at Tsurigasaki beach say Tropical Storm Nepartak could actually improve the competition so long as it doesn’t hit the beach directly. Any sort of rain—typhoon, tropical storm, or even light sprinkling—will be a wild swing from the first three days of the Games. Svetlana Gomboeva collapsed from heatstroke on the first day of archery but recovered to win a silver medal. Top-seeded Novak Djokovic and Medvedev, who complained his first round match was “some of the worst” heat he’d ever played in, successfully leaned on the International Tennis Federation to give Olympics players extra time during breaks to offset the high temperatures.

Tunisian democracy in crisis after president ousts government (Reuters) Tunisia faced its biggest crisis in a decade of democracy on Monday after President Kais Saied ousted the government and froze parliament. It follows months of deadlock and disputes between Saied, a political independent, Prime Minister Hichem Mechichi and a fragmented parliament as Tunisia has descended deeper into an economic crisis exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic. Supporters of the rival sides threw stones at each other outside parliament on Monday morning. The move poses the greatest risk to Tunisia’s stability since the 2011 revolution that triggered the “Arab spring” and ousted an autocracy in favour of democratic rule, but which failed to deliver sound governance or prosperity.

#headlines #news

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heartlandhq · 7 years ago

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❝ the good girl is always a ghost, the body is always a wound. ❞

INFORMATION,

full name ⋯ Mariella Caulfield age ⋯ 23 years old pronouns ⋯ She/Her/Hers origin ⋯ London, England affiliation ⋯ Charles B. Washington Library position ⋯ Medic

SURVIVABILITY,

advantages ⋯ resilient & charitable disadvantages ⋯ temperamental & naive preferred weapon ⋯ pocket knife

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warning ⋯ none

BEFORE DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

Born to Louise Brodeur and Darby Caulfield in the midst of a very hot summer eve off the French Rivera, Mariella Caulfield was the product of a unconventional relationship. Despite their new addition, both refused to settle down into an indifferent, loveless marriage and instead agreed they would work to raise their daughter separately. Once she was able to walk she would spend time split equally between Paris and England. It was often that her parents fought on what values to instill into her, their core values and expectations never quite lining up.

Her father wanted her to be raised to live life as she pleased, whereas her mother would have preferred she was brought up in a more traditional sense. As a result, Mariella had very different relationships with her parents. To her dad, who she mirrored in more ways than one, she could do no wrong. Her mom on the other hand, she had grown to detest her daughter more and more with every visit. She reminded her too much of her father, a man she loved more than anything to hate.

The friction between she and her mother eventually came to a boiling point at age ten when child protective services were called to their townhouse by a neighbor. The elderly women next door often overheard screaming between the two of them and worried she might be abusing her child. The charges were investigated and eventually dropped, but the memory of being ripped from everything she knew and ( while briefly ) shoved into foster care has always stuck with her. While Louise was technically not guilty of anything, she did very little to prove otherwise once her parental rights were restored.

Even as a young child Mariella was the type who wanted to get out and explore, to meet as many people as possible and learn from them as she went. Her multicultural upbringing is what really set her love for learning into motion. Knowledge above all else was something her childhood was rooted in, and the fever to learn stuck with her well into her time at primary school. There was no one subject she enjoyed more than the other, but she had a particular penchant for STEM classes. She went through all the changes in potential career growing up; from wanting to be a ballerina, an astronaut, to even considering following in her parents footsteps and becoming a teacher; which is how they met.

On a particularly hot afternoon in the middle of summer, her father began complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. At first he assured her that it would go away, he would be fine. But as the night persisted and he wasn’t getting any better, she dialed 112 in the hopes that emergency response would make it on time. From the minute she arrived at the hospital she was captivated by the process and found herself asking questions to anyone who would speak to her. Mariella was thirteen then, and everything seemed to have fallen into place. Funny as it was, she found her calling through her father’s heart attack.

It wasn’t until she reached university that she really started experiencing the world for what it was, and she quickly felt like a fish out of water among the masses. As such it was rare you’d find her without at least two books tucked under her arm. Being a medical student took up the majority of her life, the courses work-heavy and requiring immense concentration, but she tried to be as social as she was dedicated to her education. The girl found herself mingling with people across the board rather sticking to one fixed set of friends. At her core she believed all people had something more to discover beyond what was shown at face value, thus she made connections wherever she was able.

Graduation from Med school arrived in a whirlwind of emotion, mostly exhaustion and relief. While as happy as she was to be finished with the bulk of her studies and onto the next stage of her impending career, Mariella knew this was one of the last times she’d have to well and truly enjoy being young before fully engulfing herself into the workforce. So, rather than planning visits with her parents for the holidays, she decided to celebrate on an impromptu trip to the States, setting off with nothing but a quickly packed suitcase and whatever money was left in her bank account.

AFTER DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

Monday, December 18th. Crowded among a group of strangers underneath an airport television, this is the first Mariella hears of the supposed virus. Their president addresses the nation and denies any claims surrounding a spreading epedemic, but even people from her side of the world found him to be repulsive and dishonest, so she wasn’t so sure he was telling the full story. But nothing around her seemed to be out of the ordinary, she pushed it from her mind as she boarded her connecting flight to Omaha, Nebraska.

Two days after her arrival a curfew is put into effect, but this doesn’t stop her from exploring the area in the days following. The reactions from everyone around her were varying, but most she spoke to seemed to believe they were going to be fine, that perhaps this was all some sort of sick practical joke. This ended badly when she found herself walking through town as the outbreak fully came into effect. Being small and quick on her feet played in her favour as she quickly got to somewhere safe.

Alone, unarmed, and terrified, she did the best she could for someone in her situation. They—whatever they were—began surrounding the hotel she holed herself up in, making any chance at escape very slim. Convinced she’d die there, whether by starvation or from being attacked when the reinforcements on her door gave way, Mariella began plotting an escape route. She knew very little about the outbreak as it stood, but was observant enough to notice that if they were distracted by a loud noise, she could make her way around without much trouble.

The next week or so is spent coming in and out of abandoned houses and scavenging whatever she can carry. Mostly everything she took was medical supplies, building herself quite the kit should she need to help someone in need. By that point her initial adjustment to the new world went by quite horribly. As time passed she quickly found that the more ‘savage’ way of living was not the one for her.

At first of the mind that the creatures were still people underneath the dirt and decay, Mary refused to kill them. To her, they could still be saved. There would be a cure. There had to be, right? Before she joins a group or finds a solid place to call home, a close encounter with a hoard is what changes her mind. Someone steps in to save her, and she’s felt indebted to them ever since. The near-death experience acted as a wake up call, and from that point on she stopped avoiding the inevitable; to survive, the undead had to be exterminated. The possibility of a cure ( or at the very least a vaccine to help the remaining humans ) still plays in the back of her mind.

The person that rescued her disappeared as quickly as they swooped in to aid her, but she got lucky shortly after and found a few people to travel with. Everyone within her group seemed to be handling the transition with relative ease — whereas she found herself keenly aware that she would not survive long if not for having capable people surrounding her. Though she may not be the greatest in combat or of much use when it comes to scavenging, she knows she’s a valuable asset in other ways, happily putting her medical knowledge to good use.

Monday, January 15th. Catching wind of a secluded library beginning a slow recruit if people, Mariella is among the first to offer her expertise. Thankfully she’s welcomed with open arms and feels she may have found herself somewhere much more permanent to call home. Trust doesn’t come so easily in their new world, though she’d certainly lay her life on the line if it came to down to protecting her people. Any people, actually, because prioritizing human life above all else is her number one goal. When she’s not tending to the ill or injured, the young woman proudly acts as a morale boost, doing whatever she can to keep everyone around her going. Where most people have seemingly given up hope on there ever being a way out, let alone a real chance of survival to the end, she remains fixed in her belief that there are better days ahead of them.

CENSUS,

faceclaim ⋯ Danielle Campbell played by ⋯ Faye

#danielle campbell #rp #rpg #town rp #new rp #{ a. }#{ f. }#{ 20. }#{ washington library. }#{ medic. }#{ faye. }#{ mariella caulfield. }

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travelh0 · 7 years ago

Photo

❤️ Double tap if you love this . . . My hometown growing up, was the town of Castleblayney or Castleblaney (/ˌkæsəlˈbleɪni/; Irish: Baile na Lorgan) It’s a relatively small town in County Monaghan, Ireland. The town has a population of 3,634 according to the 2011 census. Castleblayney is near the border with County Armagh in Northern Ireland, and lies on the N2 road from Dublin to Derry and Letterkenny. . Castleblayney is probably most famous for the scenic beauty of Lough Muckno. Muckno Lake, also known as Lough Muckno, is a freshwater lake in the northeast of Ireland. It’s home to Lough Muckno Leisure Park Recently, major angling access works have been undertaken and Lough Muckno is now an international standard angling venue. Park is open all year, seven days a week. Some history of Lough Muckno and my hometown . Lough Muckno Leisure Park in Castleblayney was originally part of the estate of the Blayney family from whom the town of Castleblayney takes its name. The twelfth Lord Blayney, the last to hold the title, sold the estate in 1853 to Henry Thomas Hope, after whom Hope Castle is named. Hope gave his name to the internationally known Hope Diamond, which had been cut from the Tavernier, the largest blue diamond in the world. The diamond had formed part of the French Crown Jewels but was stolen during the French Revolution. It later turned up at an auction in London and was bought by Henry Thomas. It was reputed to be unlucky however and Henry Thomas disposed of it in 1867. The Hope family had fallen on lean times by 1916 and sold out to return to England. Hope Castle now houses a restaurant and lounge and the grounds of the estate now form the wonderfully scenic Lough Muckno Leisure Park. Follow the forest trails or enjoy the spectacular views over the lake. There are numerous walking trails, a waterski & wakeboarding club, fishing, nature walks and Picnic areas. There’s also a world class golf course with views over the Lough. . Hope Castle at one time, contained a bar and restaurant. Unfortunately there was a fire in 2010 and since then it has sadly fallen into disrepair. While growing up, Castleblayney was quite notorious for the large (at Lough Muckno Wakeboard and Waterski Club)

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warninggraphiccontent · 5 years ago

Text

13 March 2020

Viral content

There's a definite theme to a lot of the links this week, unsurprisingly. I've also been keeping track of various useful pieces of advice from people used to remote working as coronavirus fundamentally changes how we work and live, whether in the short term or more profoundly - more on that next week.

But for now, here's an extremely useful tech handbook started by the team at Newspeak House, which has resources on everything from health advice and data about the disease, to advice on working remotely and tackling misinformation.

In other news:

We're doing a very quick project for Nesta on missing data in preventive services - looking specifically at children's centres and youth services. Here's the write-up of a workshop we did - thoughts very welcome.

My colleague Nick celebrated three years at the IfG with a terrible chart. Hilarity ensued.

I was very sad to see that Clare Moriarty, one of the most inspirational senior civil servants to those of us working around data and openness in government, is leaving the civil service. This speech of hers from last year is well worth a read.

I'd forgotten just how good the FT's 404 page is.

Delighted to hear the good people at Citizens Advice are finding inspiration in our dataviz. You may be less delighted by the puns that followed.

And a reminder that we're hiring someone to run Whitehall Monitor. A big thank you to Jukesie for including it in his indispensable jobs newsletter.

Have a good weekend

Gavin

Today's links:

Graphic content

Viral chart

A very short thread on the power of data graphics and scientific communication (Carl T. Bergstrom)

Spot the difference... (Rosamund Pearce)

Everyone's job is to help FLATTEN THE CURVE (Dr Siouxsie Wiles)

Coronavirus: How peak of cases could be cut by 'social distancing' (Sky News)

How canceled events and self-quarantines save lives, in one chart (Vox)

It’s not exponential: An economist’s view of the epidemiological curve (voxeu.org)

Viral content

17 responsible live visualizations about the coronavirus, for you to use (Datawrapper)

Illustrative simulations of a transmission model of COVID-19 (The Lancet)

COMMUNICATION THEMES FROM CORONAVIRUS OUTBREAK (Visualising Data)

COVID-19: Research in Uncertain Times (Ipsos MORI)

In America, even pandemics are political* (The Economist)

Foot traffic has fallen sharply in cities with big coronavirus outbreaks* (The Economist)

Die Schweiz liegt auf Platz 6 der am stärksten betroffenen Länder – alles zum Coronavirus in 14 Grafiken (NZZ)

9 charts that explain the coronavirus pandemic (Vox)

Right or wrong, there’s no doubt the UK is increasingly an outlier in our Covid response (BBC Newsnight)

Soap is such an ordinary thing. Can it really kill a virus? (YES! Now wash your hands) (Prof Lucy Rogers)

From coronavirus to bushfires, misleading maps are distorting reality (First Draft news, via in other news)

Coronavirus: UK maps and charts (BBC News)

How Coronavirus Hijacks Your Cells* (New York Times)

How Deadly Is Coronavirus? What We Know and What We Don’t* (The Upshot)

Coronavirus Disease (COVID-19) (Our World in Data)

Total UK cases COVID-19 Cases Update (Public Health England)

Coronavirus Data Pack (Information is Beautiful)

Wie das Coronavirus nach Deutschland kam (Zeit Online)

COVID-19 MAP (/r/CovidMapping, via Pritesh)

How the World’s Largest Coronavirus Outbreaks Are Growing* (New York Times)

Exponential growth and epidemics (3Blue1Brown)

I’m no epidemiologist, but I am a #dataviz specialist, so here are some thoughts on coronavirus and log scales (John Burn-Murdoch, via Marcus)

When Everyone Stays Home: Empty Public Spaces During Coronavirus (The Atlantic, via Benoit)

#IWD2020

International Women’s Day 2020: Close to three in ten men say sexual jokes or stories at work are acceptable (Ipsos MORI)

Americans overestimate voters’ prejudices against women and ethnic minorities* (The Economist)

What do we know about gender inequality in the UK? (ONS)

Cabinet and civil service gender balance (Ketaki and me for IfG)

Seven in ten support equal coverage for women’s sport, but not at the cost of men’s coverage (YouGov)

A dozen+ visionary pioneers who did great (and good) things with data visualization (RJ Andrews)

Would making salaries public help end disparities?* (FT)

#Budget2020

The budget in charts - Tom, Graham (IfG)

Spring Budget 2020: IFS analysis (IFS)

The Stupidest Budget of All Time* (Tortoise)

Spring Budget 2020 response (Resolution Foundation)

Life and death

Why we run (Strava)

Diabetes risk: what’s driving the global rise in obesity rates?* (FT)

How Working-Class Life Is Killing Americans, in Charts* (New York Times)

Middle-aged generation most likely to die by suicide and drug poisoning (ONS, from 2019)

Changing trends in mortality by leading causes of death, England and Wales: 2001 to 2018 (ONS)

Mortality and life expectancy trends in the UK (The Health Foundation)

Everything else

Political trust (Will Jennings via Alex)

British Election Study 2019 Data Release – Internet Panel, Results File, and Expert Survey

Ministers (me for IfG)

Political protests have become more widespread and more frequent* (The Economist)

Getting moving: Where will transport infrastructure investment unlock city-centre growth? (Centre for Cities)

45 Minute Cities (Alasdair Rae)

National Primary Results Map: Where Biden and Sanders Have Won* (New York Times)

Joe Biden’s surge poses threat to Bernie Sanders’ US primary hopes* (FT)

Meta data

Viral content

Five ways coronavirus could shape our digital future (Jonathan Tanner for the Overseas Development Institute)

Coronavirus divides tech workers into the 'worthy' and 'unworthy' sick (The Guardian)

Coronavirus: A Digital Governance Emergency of International Concern (CIGI)

Fact Check Explorer: Coronavirus (Google)

NHS announces plan to combat coronavirus fake news (The Guardian)

Facts on Coronavirus (Full Fact)

Sifting Through the Coronavirus Outbreak (Mike Caulfield)

The Simplest Way to Spot Coronavirus Misinformation on Social Media (OneZero)

CORONAVIRUS and HAKKAR THE SOULFLAYER'S CORRUPTED BLOOD! Or what do people actually do in a pandemic? (Alex Krasodmoski)

On TikTok, coronavirus is just another way to gain clout* (New Statesman)

Chinese social media sites blocked medical information about the coronavirus, research indicates (Poynter)

Boris Johnson Has Summoned Major Tech Companies To Downing Street To Help In The Fight Against The Coronavirus (BuzzFeed)

Inside Dominic Cummings’s coronavirus meeting with big tech* (Wired)

How a global health crisis turns into a state-run surveillance opportunity (The Observer)

CIO interview: Sarah Wilkinson, NHS Digital (Computer Weekly)

#OpenDataDay

Celebrating the tenth Open Data Day on Saturday 7th March 2020 (Open Knowledge)

Celebrating Open Data Day around the world (Open Knowledge)

What is ‘open data’ and why should we care? (ODI)

What @instituteforgov is able to do with #opendata (IfG)

#opendataday, #ODD2020, #OpenDataDay2020

#Budget2020

Peter Wells

Owen Boswarva

What Works Centres

Digital markets taskforce: terms of reference (BEIS/DCMS/CMA)

If we want cutting-edge R&D, we must rethink our attitude to failure (Hetan Shah in City AM)

#IWD2020

In a world biased against women, what role do algorithms play? (CDEI)

Mapping Gender Data Gaps: An SDG Era Update (Data2X)

Why cars are unsafe for women* (Caroline Criado Perez for the Sunday Times)

Why the web needs to work for women and girls (Sir Tim Berners-Lee)

International Women’s Day: celebrating the black women tackling bias in AI (Ada Lovelace Institute)

UK government

The UK’s national data strategy is still missing in action (New Statesman)

Does Brexit Britain have a data strategy fit for purpose? - the public sector perspective (diginomica)

Price and prejudice: automated decision-making and the UK government (podcast) (openDemocracy)

The UK Has Slumped in Open Data Rankings: This Should Trouble All of US (Jeni Tennison in Computer Business Review)

MANUFACTURING THE FUTURE: COULD HEALTHCARE DATA HELP REBALANCE THE UK’S ECONOMY? (Reform)

Designing an Information Governance approach for London (LOTI)

Case for helping join up government services (GDS)

MPs told to hold to account those responsible for Post Office Horizon IT scandal (Computer Weekly)

UK.gov is not sharing Brits' medical data among different agencies... but it's having a jolly good think about it (The Register)

The UK’s tech sector has much to be optimistic about (Matt Warman MP for CapX)

I’ve written a bot @UKreleases that tweets out all the transparency releases governments departments post on http://gov.uk (Jon Stone)

At least 20,000 people denied information that could prove right to live in UK (The Independent)

DCMS to examine government data-sharing barriers ahead of programme of ‘radical and transformative change’ (Public Technology, via Colm)

We’re hosting a community meet-up to discuss how we archive data (Technology in Government)

Harnessing the potential of linked administrative data for the justice system (ADR UK)

AI, IoT, tech, etc

AI needs more regulation, not less (Brookings)

AI In Policing: Better Than A Knife Through The Chest? (Forbes)

Better intelligence about artificial intelligence (Nesta)

Reset (Luminate)

IoT Week[note 32] (LOTI)

Everything else

David Hand on Dark Data (Princeton University Press)

We Built a Database of Over 500 iPhones Cops Have Tried to Unlock (Motherboard)

The Robots Are Coming: Ethics, Politics, and Society in the Age of Artificial Intelligence (Kenneth A. Taylor, Boston Review)

How our network is considering data ethics: survey results (ODI)

Researcher danah boyd on how to protect the census and fix tech (Protocol)

How close is humanity to destroying itself?* (The Spectator)

Stealth political ads flourish on Facebook* (Politico)

#NICAR, #NICAR2020

William Gibson on the apocalypse: “it’s been happening for at least 100 years”* (New Statesman)

A Dataset is a Worldview (Hannah Davis)

Centre Write: Digital disruption? (Bright Blue)

Facebook sued by Australian information watchdog over Cambridge Analytica-linked data breach (The Guardian)

Frontex hits activist pair with €24,000 legal bill (EUobserver, via Giuseppe)

A catalogue of things that are stopping change: part II (Rose Mortada and James Reeve)

Opportunities

JOB: Senior Researcher - Whitehall Monitor (IfG)

JOB: Data Journalist / Research Analyst (Spend Network)

JOB: Team Lead - Data Technology (Data Unit) (DfT)

JOB: Policy Fellow (Digital Technology) (The King's Fund)

JOB: Data Science Campus Delivery Manager (ONS)

JOB: Social Media and Engagement Journalist (FT)

JOB: Partnerships and Community Manager (Understanding Patient Data)

JOB: Head of Public Policy (ODI)

JOBS: Good Things Foundation

EVENT: Digital Insight and Business Intelligence in Local Gov 2020 (London Borough of Redbridge and techUK, via Martin)

And finally...

Love in the time of quarantine

I made a graph of old relationships... (Jeremiah Lowin)

BETWEEN THE SPREADSHEETS (1843, via Alice)

I Work from Home (The New Yorker, via David)

Pi Day tomorrow

How a farm boy from Wales gave the world pi (The Conversation)

Even After 31 Trillion Digits, We’re Still No Closer To The End Of Pi (FiveThirtyEight)

Pi Day: How One Irrational Number Made Us Modern* (New York Times)

A colorful π chart (Datawrapper)

Everything else

What's your beverage of choice? (Jess Walker)

Cognition (Steve Stewart-Williams)

This is the scale of the universe (How Things Work)

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ourkenflood · 7 years ago

Text

Render unto Caesar

Sermon for Proper 24a / Matthew 22: 15-22

I am reading a book at the moment called “The Joy of ..... Tax”.

That’s T.A.X. – in case anyone misheard and thought I said some other three letter word ending in “X.” (Don’t pretend you didn't think it).

The first record we have a tax is from the ancient Babylonians. Even before there was money, as we understand it, people paid tax in goods – sheep and cows – and even in labour – a day’s work. It even looks like there were tariffs on imports – there is a record from around 1900BC of a person being imprisoned for smuggling. So, not only have we had tax for a long time, we’ve also had tax evaders.

One of the points made in the book is that tax is not just about money, but it is also a government and its values. And in liberal western democracies, where we elect governments on the basis of their tax promises; tax says a lot about society.

It is similar to a story that the former Bishop of Manchester, Bishop Nigel, told when he last visited here. He spoke a keen young man who goes to visit an old, wise Spiritual Director for the first time for guidance. They have a productive time together and mutually agree that it would be good to meet up again. And as the young man is leaving the Spiritual Director asks that him bring his last three bank statements with them next time. He is a bit taken a back. “Why should I bring my bank statements” he asks, after all he is there to talk of spiritual matters, of prayer, of inner discovery, and the stuff of heaven. So the Spiritual Director simply explains, “if you want to know the true values of a person, look at how they spend their money.”

I wonder what my bank statement says about me? How do I get my money and how do I spent it? I wonder what your bank statement says about you? What does it say of your priorities and what you truly consider to be important?

The reason I’ve started talking about tax is, of course, because today’s gospel is about a tax.

In particular, the tax concerned is not income tax or V.A.T. but a poll tax. You may remember the hatred of this tax, in some quarters, when it was temporarily introduced into Britain. But the riots in London were as nothing when compared with the rebellion that broke out in Palestine when the Roman governors began it there. Every man and women had to pay one denarius (that is the equivalent of one day’s pay) each year on top of all the other taxes.

One of the racist stereotypes that persists through the ages is of the money grabbing Jew. We can easily picture a character like Fagin from Oliver Twist, rubbing his hands together while gazing lovingly at a pile of coins. And like most racist images it breaks down when put against the facts.

The Jews of Jesus’ time were not opposed to this tax because they didn’t want to part with their money (or at least not to any greater extent than any of us want to part with money). The devout Jews of Jesus time were already paying a 10% tithe to the Temple, as many do to this day.

When we had a stewardship campaign a few years ago, the Diocesan Stewardship Officer told us that the average church goer in the Diocese of Manchester is donating about 3.5% of their income to the church. And yet we don’t keep promoting the stereotype of the money-grapping Anglican. But the simple fact is that, on average, a devout Jew is giving three times more than the devout member of the C of E.

The reason this tax was hated was because of who it was paid to – it went to the Romans, the foreign oppressor. This tax began the year Jesus was born. In fact the census that forced Mary and Joseph to travel Bethlehem was taken in order to begin this tax. In the 30 odd years it had been collected it was still despised.

In today’s gospel reading, the Pharisees and the Herodians are out to get Jesus. The previous day to this encounter, Jesus has cleansed the temple throwing out the money changers and stall holders. He was becoming a serious nuisance. They needed to either get rid of him or, at the very least, take him down a peg or two.

So they turn to the old problem of Roman tax. They much have thought they could really catch him out with this problem of the poll tax. They had a sure fire way of trapping him. So they begin by trying to lull Jesus into a false sense of security, they flatter him.

“Teacher,” they said ” we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth,” (Have you ever heard anything so grovelling?)

Then they put to him the supposedly innocent question, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not”. This question was supposed to be one which would get Jesus into trouble no matter what he said.

First Jesus could have replied “Yes, it is lawful”. This would have meant he lost the support of many ordinary people.

Many people still thought the Messiah was to be a political figure, a warrior, who would drive out the Romans and that Jesus was this person. But if Jesus said they should pay their taxes, these people would desert him. This Jesus of Nazareth was clearly not a warrior King sent by God if he went round telling everyone to pay their taxes to the foreign oppressor.

He would also lose the support of any devout Jews who followed him. The roman coin, which had to be used to pay the tax, was a piece of idolatry and blasphemy. Not only did it have a picture of the roman emperor on it, but it also proclaimed that this emperor was divine. No self-respecting religious Jew would even touch such a graven image. So Jesus clearly could not say pay the tax.

But Jesus could not say do not pay the tax either. If he said this, the Herodians, who only had power because of Roman support, could have reported Jesus to the Romans on charges of treason and got rid of him that way.

It was supposed to be a no win situation.

So what does Jesus do?

First, he asks to see the coin. It is such a simple act, but it turns the conflict on its head. Those out to trap Jesus are suddenly themselves trapped by Jesus’ request that he see the coin. For what are these righteous and respectful Pharisees, the pillars of their community, doing with such a blasphemous object on their person? Suddenly the accusers (for that is what they really are) become the accused. Such an apparently innocent request, to see the coin, exposes their hypocrisy for all to see.

Jesus seems to have had a particular hatred of the hypocrisy of religious people:

“Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!”, Jesus says elsewhere in the gospels. I always feel a little guilty when I read of Jesus gunning for the hypocrites, for if we are honest, who has not fallen into hypocrisy? We all fail to live up to the standards of goodness and honesty that we proclaim in our worship.

But then I remember the story of the Tax Collector and the Pharisee who go to the Temple to pray. The Pharisee stands in the middle of the Temple, thanking God loudly, that he is not like other people and a sinner, listing his acts of righteousness. The tax collector stands in the corner and simply says, “God be merciful to me, a sinner”. And it is the tax collector who goes home justified.

It is the Tax collectors utterly honest act of self-recognition before God that saves him from being one of the hypocrites. The problem with the opponents of Jesus was not so much that they failed to live up to their religious ideals, we all do that, but that they never acknowledged this before God. It was their lack of humility and honesty.

After asking to see the coin Jesus says his famous reply of “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Jesus’ double-edged command throws back the question of taxes to the accusers and issues a strong challenge.

Some people, reading this passage have proposed that Jesus was saying that the Church and the State should be kept separate. The affairs of religion and the affairs of politics are separate realms, or kingdoms, which should never meet. These are the emperor’s things over here, and these are God’s concerns, and they must be kept distinct and distant from each other. But the saying is too brief and specific to mean this.

There is a long tradition in the old testament of the prophets intervening in the political discourse of their day. If this phrase says anything to me, “Give to the Emperor the things that are the Emperor’s” it says that we should be good citizens of our societies. And being a good citizen in a liberal democracy means being informed and being involved.

In Jesus’ day there was an Emperor – a supreme ruler, a dictator. And in that society there was little choice but to pay your tax and do as you were told.

In our day we don’t have an Emperor. In a liberal democracy “giving to the Emperor” means giving our tax, but it also means giving our opinion, our intelligence, and our values. We have a Christian duty to stand up for God’s values in our society and we do this through the ballot box, and by making clear to our elected officials what our societies priorities and values should be.

If our bank statement says something about our values, then our government’s bank statement also reveals our society’s values. On the income side, what does it say about our society that poor and average earners pay a much greater percentage of income in tax than the wealthy. Yes, we told the rich pay more because income tax levels go up, but when you factor in things like, V.A.T., national Insurance, petrol duty, road tax etc etc, the rich pay proportionately less in tax. What is that saying?

On the other side of the balance sheet - where we spend our money as a society - what does it say about our society that our government is still pressing ahead with the roll out of Universal Credit when virtual every agency and expert is saying that it has already, and will, cause thousands of people to fall into debt and increase even more the number of homeless people our streets.

“Give to the Emperor the things that are the Emperors”, Jesus said, What are those “things”? Sometimes those things are our duty to give our society and government our loyalty. But sometimes it is our Christian duty to make clear our contempt and disgust at what is happening.

The second half of Jesus saying is, of course, “and to God the things that are God’s.”

This part of the saying was a challenge to Jerusalem, the Temple, the rulers and all the hypocritical underlings: give God back, what belongs to him. Jesus’ consistent accusation is that the religious leaders have failed to worship their true and living God. They have failed to live as God’s people as a witness to the world.

Only the day before, Jesus has caused a small riot in the Temple because the very place where Israel was supposed to come and give God the things of God, in worship, prayer and sacrifice, has become a den of robbers. So concerned with the small details of religion, status and power, the letter of the law, they have ceased to live out the spirit of their faith and give God the worship he deserves.

And this is a trap that not only the leaders of first century Judaism fall into. We all fall into it.

It happens easily when we turn inwards and stop looking outwards.

It happens all too easily when we start to think we have all the answers.

It happens most easily of all, when we forget our dependence on God, and think we don’t need God anymore.

Today’s gospel reading is not about Jesus delivering a theory on the division of Church from State or Politics and Christianity. The bible elsewhere, teaches us clearly that our faith clearly has political consequences. Neither is it about Jesus showing off how clever and intelligent he is in avoiding the trap of the Pharisees. Although, no doubt, this was one of the reasons why this particular story was remembered amongst the early Christians.

Today’s gospel is about exposing the religious hypocrisy which comes when we abandon being honest with ourselves and humble before our God and our neighbour. And it is about the ordering of our priorities and the promotion of God’s values - in our own personal lives and decisions, and also in our society and government. Amen.

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